#recently got i will make it through this year if it kills me done on my thigh

[userkirian]

tattoo this song on my thigh and let it be part of me forever.

[sanguineterrain]

Jason is definitely the type to go feral over his best friend he hasn't seen in years. Hear me out: he's alive again, and not only that, but he's huge. Strong. People are afraid of him. So the reader is in town, walking the streets, and they meet again, maybe when he protects them as Hood. And reader is ecstatic to see Jason again of course and he's the same but also, all he can think is minemineminemine and I WANT YOU. mans is down horrendous for his sweet best friend that he missed and he's been in love with them for so long and now that he has them, he's not giving them up

idk if this was a prompt but i got inspired <3 thanks for stopping by anon

jason todd x gn!reader. feral jason i guess, but really soft jason. jason who yearns to be yours. jason who'd do anything for it, even if it meant one sided devotion... and also, jason who is loved by you. 1.2k words

****

"I don't understand why you can't come to my apartment."

"I told you why." Jason's posture is rigid but his tone is gentle. Because he has told you why he won't enter your home. Multiple times. Doesn't mean you don't challenge it every time you meet him on a random rooftop.

"It would be fine, Jay," you say. "I trust you."

"I know. But I don't trust everybody else," he says, words crackling through his modulator. That had frightened you at first; in fact, everything about a newly-resurrected Jason Todd had frightened you. From his height to the guns, you'd been sure that night in Gotham would be your last.

But then it had become clear that cheated death aside, nothing could kill his heart.

"You haven't visited in a while," you say.

You don't mean for it to sound accusatory.

"I know," Jason says. "Been busy. The Bats..."

And you knew. You knew the second you found out that Jason was alive that it would be like this, that he wouldn't be completely yours. He wasn't yours when he was Robin either, perhaps even less so.

And what's wrong with that? You have no right to ask him to be yours. To give you more.

But the recent distance has frightened you. Maybe it's for safety's sake, but your selfish heart wishes that he'd drop that for once.

Then again, there's always that dread in your stomach that perhaps Jason Todd doesn't love you the way you love him. And perhaps he never will.

"Well, I wish you'd call," you say.

This is wrong. You shouldn't be picking fights. Jason doesn't go dark out of cruelty, only necessity.

Jason sighs. "I can't. 'M sorry."

You cross your arms. It's chilly tonight.

"Do you even want to see me?"

He tilts his head. Dangerous.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to intrude," you say. "You're busy and all the stuff with B, I don't—I mean, I wouldn't hold it against you if you—"

Jason takes two long strides and closes the distance. You swallow the rest of your sentence as he backs you up against the brick exterior of an abandoned apartment. Your heart picks up. You're not afraid; the fear went long ago. You're just... something. You're something about Jason.

The last time you two hugged was after Willis' death. You'd wanted to wrap him in his cape, thought maybe that would make everything feel as small as he'd been.

Now, a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, Jason clearly does not need a cape. Right?

He takes off his helmet, lets it hang on his hand. His other hand is by your head. You lean back, let your neck go on display. Jason doesn't miss the movement.

"What're you doing, Jay?" you ask levelly.

Maybe he thinks you don't notice this distance but you do. You don't want to push him to talk about it, because as upsetting as it is, you're still strangers to each other.

You are and you're not. He died and he didn't. You grieved and you didn't. You burn and... you burn.

But you're tired of being and not being. You won't let him keep you in emotional purgatory. If he's done with you, he should just say so.

"If you don't want to meet anymore," you start, and let the words hang in the air.

"I—" he starts, then swallows. He tosses his helmet to the side. He doesn't touch you, just hovers inches away. Jason smells like lilac and gun smoke.

"I don't think you understand... my devotion," he says, voice low. "How much power you have over me."

Your eyes widen. "Wh—"

His green eyes reflect the streetlight like a cat's. The sight stops you short. Jason Todd is hot metal on a knife's edge, and it would do you well to remember that.

His hands curl into fists. He shakes his head.

"Sorry," he whispers like a prayer. "Not tryna scare you." His chest rises and falls rapidly. "'M I scarin' ya, sweetheart? Tell me and I'll go home, shake it off. Wait forever. I can be good. Won't want what I don't deserve."

"I'm not scared," you say, and it's the most sure you've ever been. "Not scared of you, Jay."

He breathes a laugh, like he can't quite believe you. His breath is warm on your neck.

"You'd be the first," he says. "The only one."

This, you believe. This, you have wondered some nights, knowing that even Batman isn't sure what to do with a son who lives with death on his shoulder.

"You don't have to devote yourself to me," you say, because that makes you pause. Who are you to be his god?

Jason laughs again, strong and sure. He sinks to his knees in front of you. His white streak glows in the light.

"You think it's a vice?" he asks. He rests a hand on your left thigh, testing. You lay your hand over his, so he holds your other thigh too.

He hums. "You do. You think you're holdin' me hostage."

Jason takes a shuddering breath and flattens his palms over your legs. Then he leans in and rests his cheek on your leg, nose near the apex of your thighs. Your belly flips.

"Let's make one thing clear. My devotion is my only redemption. 'S the only thing that makes me believe I'm not all rotted inside. Makes me behave. In this world and the next, I'm yours."

"I... Jason, you belong to yourself, not me. I don't—"

"You don't have to do anything. If it's too much, then I'll disappear. You can carry on."

You stroke the exposed side of his face. He looks up at you.

He is still. You have made him still.

"I'm yours too," you say.

He shakes his head. "You don't hafta—"

"Do you think being yours is a curse?" you ask, gaze sharp.

"Don't promise something for balance's sake," he rasps. "I'll be yours without you being mine."

Your heart is still. He has made it still.

"I'll keep coming back," Jason whispers, eyes wide. "If you're mine, I can't leave. Y'don't know what you're doing. Don't give yourself to me."

"I do. I'm yours."

His grip tightens around your legs. Jason shakes his head.

"Don't do it," he says into your thigh. "I shouldn't have anyone. I'm-I'm only meant to be yours. Nobody's mine."

But you know. You can slide your finger along his teeth and he'll wait with his mouth open. You can touch his edges and he'll turn his cheek so you won't nick your finger. He would sooner chew his own tongue.

"It's alright," you say, and kneel. You dirty your knees right alongside him. "It's okay, Jason. I know what I'm doing."

His breath hitches. Jason presses you into the brick, tucks his face into your neck. His arms wrap tightly around your waist.

"Sorry," he whispers frantically. "'M sorry. You can push me away. Sorry."

"I won't do that." You hold him and let him take you. "I know you're good. I thought—I thought you were pulling away, and I..."

"I was," he admits, muffled in your skin. "'M sorry. Was the only way I could think of to let you go. You deserve better. Couldn't think 'round you, honeylove. Knew it was a death sentence when I found out that you still lived in Gotham."

"It wasn't," you say. "Best thing that's ever happened to me."

Jason huffs. "You say that now, but..."

"No. I say it now and I'll say it again. Keep me, Jason. I'll keep you too."

[moonstruckme]

hello maeee!! i hope youre well!!

ive been STRUGGLING with higher level classes recently and its absolutely killing me 😭

could you maybe write something about reader who struggles academically (whether it be on certain subjects, procrastination, overworking , etc. is completely up to you!) with poly!marauders/one of the marauders??

sorry if youve already written something like this, this request is a bit self indulgent 😭

-💡

Hi angel, I'm really sorry you've been going through it! Thank you for requesting though, all the best requests are a bit self indulgent ;)

cw: academic stress

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 678 words

James is a patient teacher, and in an effort to repay his kindness you’re really trying to keep your tears from falling. 

You keep your eyes steadfastly on your potions textbook as you flip through it. You’re blinking rapidly, looking for the chapter that contains yet another bit of information you’ve failed to retain, when Remus’ warm hand closes over your shoulder. 

“Careful,” he warns, bringing a steaming mug of coffee around you to set it on one of your closed books. 

“Thank you.” Your relief is immense. You’re the sort of tired that makes your eyes hurt and your brain feel dead, thoroughly worn out by hours of studying. You pick it up and take a sip. Look at your boyfriend in betrayal. “Decaf?��� 

Remus gives you a look. “It’s evening, dove. You won’t be able to sleep.” 

“I’ve got some sleeping draught for later.” 

“Ah, substance abuse.” Sirius tosses you a grin from where he’s lounging on his bed, his own homework long since finished. “Must be very dark times.” 

Your face feels suddenly very hot. You turn it down towards your book again, but the quiet splat of a tear dripping off your nose and onto the pages gives you away. 

“Hey, hey.” Sirius sounds immediately panicked. “I’m joking, abuse whatever substances you like.” 

“Angel, what’s wrong?” James’ voice is surprised, but his hand finds your back anyway, rubbing between your shoulders firm and sure. “It’s okay. We’re nearly done.” 

You suck in a breath, hoping to collect yourself but horrified when it only triggers another hiccup of sobs. You put your hands at your hairline, hiding yourself. 

“I’m going to have to sucker punch Slughorn,” Sirius says, sounding mildly horrified at this realization. 

“Dove.” Remus steps in front of you, lifting your chin. “What’s going on? Are you tired, is that it?” 

You nod pathetically, tears carving hot paths down both cheeks. “I just feel s—so stupid,” you whimper. 

Remus’ brows hook in the middle, but it’s James who says, “Hey, why?” 

He thumbs away the wetness from the cheek closest to him, encouraging you to look at him with his hand on your face. His eyes are big and warm behind his glasses. 

“Because you’re having trouble with your homework? That happens to everyone sometimes.” 

You shake your head. “It used to be sometimes. I don’t know what it is, this year—” you stifle another sob “—I feel like I can’t understand anything anymore.” 

Remus sighs. “I think you’re just overworking yourself, sweetheart.” 

You almost want to laugh. “You think this is the result of working too much?” 

“I think that schoolwork is all you’ve been doing lately,” he says patiently. “I understand that you might be having a difficult time with the upper levels this year, but you’re not going to absorb anything new if you don’t take some breaks.” 

“True,” Sirius pitches in. “That invigoration draught you keep under your bed is making you twitchy, babe. You can hardly expect to pay proper attention in class when you’re nearly bouncing out of your seat.” 

Remus’ eyes narrow. “What?” 

“Bollocks.” Sirius makes a face. Sorry, he mouths to you. 

“Let’s go to dinner,” James saves you, closing your textbook and vanishing your coffee with a flick of his wand. “It’ll be good for you to think about other things for a bit, and we’ll finish up when we get back.” 

The prospect of a break relaxes you enough for your tears to abate. James swipes the remainders from your cheeks and pushes at the corner of your lips until you smile halfheartedly. 

Remus hums his approval. “You need to eat something proper,” he says, pinching you sternly under the chin, “and stop trying to usurp your circadian rhythm with potions.” 

“Substance abuse,” Sirius quips, hopping down from his bed to lead the way to the great hall, “best kept for the weekends, as I always say.” 

“Do you always say that?” James wonders aloud. “Seems rather impromptu.” 

“Well, that’s the mark of a good line, Jamesie. It always sounds off the cuff.”

[zombiefiilm]

Next to You

spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: sharing a room with the person in the bau that hates you the most makes you go through more emotions than you thought possible

warnings: kind of enemies to lovers, arguing, crying, no use of y/n, smut, nsfw - 18+ only, apology sex, soft sex, fem oral, protected p in v, praise, typical criminal minds death and unsub mentions

word count: 2.7k

Last minute cases in desolate towns in the midwest often meant that there was nowhere for the team to stay. It wasn't uncommon for you to have to pair or group up with other team members in dodgy motel rooms.

The most recent investigation had brought you all to the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, a long day ending with a drive to an motel that housed 7 rooms in total.

You, Reid and Rossi were the last to arrive so when Prentiss handed you a room key and told you that you would be sharing with Reid, it was already too late to complain.

"It's for your own good" she she grinned, picking her go-bag off the floor beside her.

"I hate you" you sighed.

"Sure you do" she was already walking off. You've been face to face with serial killers regularly, and this was just surviving a few nights in the same room as Spencer Reid, you could do this.

You walked back outside to find Reid standing in the dark by the car, right hand in this pocket and his left leaning against the black SUV.

"Looks like you're with me, Reid" you announced and the way that his face instantly dropped almost knocked you over. It was almost like you'd told him you were about to kill him.

"Come on" you began walking down to room 4, Spencer following shortly behind as you unlocked the door.

Being met with just one double bed though was enough to bring tears to your eyes. The couch looked like it had been through the war and there was no way on earth you were even touching it. And the sigh that Spencer let out made you want to rip your own hair out.

"I'm gonna sleep in the car" you quickly turned around to walk out of the door.

"You're not sleeping outside with a killer targeting women the exact same age as you on the loose" he stopped you in your tracks. He was right. "I can take the couch".

You were a little surprised at the chivalry but thankful none the less. "Are you sure?"

He didn't answer, instead dropping himself onto the couch.

Feeling content with his actions, you dropped your own bag on the floor beside the bed and told him you were going to use the bathroom before cleaning yourself up and changing into the oversized t-shirt you were using as pyjamas.

Coming out of the bathroom again, you were going to tell Reid that he was free to use the bathroom now but he simply glared at you.

It was as if he wanted to make your life hell. He always scowled at you, made snarky comments on little details about you, gloated whenever you got anything wrong. He always drove you up the walls, since you first started at the BAU, and you never knew why.

It's not like you had done anything to him, from what you knew at least. You smiled and shook his hand when you met him and even thought he was cute, you treated him just like you did with everyone else on the team, but you quickly noticed how differently he treated you.

You gave him plenty of time to warm up to you before you let yourself develop any solid opinions on him. You were warned about how he took to knew people, and you were understanding at first. But after you were several months in, and now years, and he still treated you like an outsider, you were no longer shy to expressing your dislike for him.

Other people on the team noticed it too, you, JJ, Garcia and Emily often discussing it with each other, but if one of them ever mentioned Spencer's attitude to himself, he'd deny everything and brush it off.

You really tried to not let it get to you, especially with the support from others, But man, did it upset you.

Spencer eventually got himself ready in the bathroom and came back out, silently setting himself up on the couch as you sat in the bed and did some research. There was a nice silence for a while, and then:

"Could you stop turning the pages so loud" he sounded irritated already and you hadn't even spoken to each other in the past 30 minutes.

"What?" you matched his tone, was he really trying to start a fight with you right now?

"I can't even think with how much noise you're making"

"I'm not making any noise, Reid, what's wrong with you?"

"You're flicking the pages, I can't pay attention to anything else"

"Oh so the sound of paper is able to stop boy genius in his tracks?" you mocked, pissed off at what he was choosing to do do.

He glared at you in response, he looked like he was about to blow a fuse.

"I don't know how to help you here, Reid, I'm trying to work on the case"

"Yeah, trying, it's not like you've ever actually done anything important for one" his voice had raised slightly.

"What?"

"You're practically incompetent, how you got recruited to the bureau, I'll never know" you hadn't even noticed him standing up, but it suddenly made you feel uncomfortable so you got out of the bed too, standing on the opposite side of the room.

"Excuse me?" you were completely shocked now, how had he gotten so far.

"You heard me. You have no place on this team. All you do is mess things up, you can't figure anything out and then you go and let our unsubs go"

Oh

You knew exactly what he was talking about. During one of your first cases, you had unintentionally informed an unsub that the FBI were searching for him during an interview with his wife and he got away. He was dangerous and you had never forgiven yourself for the people who had died before he was finally caught.

You just broke down in tears after that. It felt like he'd re-opened the wound right there and then.

"Fuck you" you spat through tears. You couldn't even look at him now, turning your back to him to sit on the bed.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry" it was like he had suddenly snapped out of the unexplained rage he was just experiencing.

You felt the bed dip as he sat down behind you, and then a hand rest on your shoulder.

You were edging on losing the ability to breathe. It wasn't even just remembering the worst experience you had on the job, it was the fact that Spencer had used it against you just to get a reaction out of you. You wouldn't have even expected that from him.

He just sat behind you as you attempted to regain some sense of composure, not saying anything else. Was he finally feeling some sense of remorse for how horribly he had been treating you?

Once he noticed that your breathing had slowed, he called out your last name, your work name. It felt so impersonal in that moment. Not that you'd ever been on a first name basis with him, but you gave no reaction to him.

He tried again, squeezing your shoulder this time. You gave him nothing.

But then he whispered your name. Your first name. It was quiet, apologetic.. desperate.

You sniffled, wiping the tears from under your eyes before you turned around to look at him. He was sitting right behind you in the bed now, his big brown eyes practically burning a hole in your head. You knew you probably looked like a mess now, face red and wet, eyes puffy, and hair mangled.

"God, I'm sorry" his hand reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek "I'm such an idiot, I can't believe I said that".

You flinched at his touch, not saying anything back to him.

"If I could take that back I would, I did not mean it. It was just in the moment" he tried to hold your face in his hand but you avoided his touch.

"In the moment?" you repeated "What even was that moment. It's like you wanted to have an argument with me for fun".

"I don't want to argue with you, I just.."

"You just hate me" you finished.

"No! I don't hate you, I'm just stupid and don't know how to deal with how I feel about you"

You looked directly into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "How you feel about me?"

You managed to catch his gaze as it briefly flicked down to your lips. It felt like something was drawing you closer as you moved towards him.

"Please, let me make it up to you".

"No. Are you saying you've treated me like this because you can't figure out what to do about your feelings for me? What are you? Twelve? You've made my life miserable."

The tears spilled out again, what was he even saying?

"Please, just let me show you how sorry I am"

His voice was laced in what could only be described as desperation, it was making you want to hear him out, forgive him, and you didn't quite know why.

"Please" his voice was on the verge of breaking.

Your walls were crumbling down, it was like he'd cast a spell on you

"please"

You only nodded, allowing him to to lean in closer to you, finally cupping your head in his hands and softly pressing his lips against yours.

It was like he was purposefully avoiding any roughness as he gently kissed, from your lips down your jaw and then down your neck. He looked at you then, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question. And you nodded.

He loosely grabbed the hem of your shirt, and you let him lift it up over your head.

He didn't touch you yet, kissing your lips again as he began to slide your underwear down. You manoeuvred enough for him to take them off you completely. He was so gentle that you didn't even think of feeling self-conscious being completely undressed in front of him.

He urged you to spread your legs and quickly laid down on his stomach in between them.

You barely had time to blink before his lips were on you, kissing up the inside of your thigh. as his hands wrapped around you, holding you down.

Then, he was softly licking up your cunt, softly moaning to himself as he tasted you. He avoided your clit, dragging his tongue everywhere except where you needed him most.

"Spence" the nickname drove him crazy, he finally felt like maybe you could be his.

He finally flicked his tongue over your clit and you couldn't help but push your hips against his face, a whine slipping from your lips.

He only egged you on, using your legs to pull closer to his mouth. He kept circling your clit, increasing the amount of pressure he used as your squirmed under him.

Every few moments, he'd bring his tongue down again, dipping into your hole gently, gathering your slick, before suckling at your clit again.

Slurs of his name, swears and a few 'oh my gods' were the only coherent sounds that could leave your mouth. He had gotten you incredibly sensitive and you felt like you could tip over the edge at any moment.

Spencer himself couldn't stop himself from moaning at your taste, your sounds, how your skin felt under his hands. The vibrations pushing you further.

He suddenly sucked a bit harsher, almost nipping your clit before going back to his previously gentle movements.

The contrast between the rare harsher movements and his gentle attention had you bucking into his face, only to be stopped by his hands pushing you down.

All of a sudden, you felt your release. You moaned much to loud as you writhed under Spencer's mouth, him carrying you through your orgasm.

Just as you felt yourself come down, you went to pull yourself away from Spencer, but he refused to let you, keeping you pinned down to the bed as he let himself taste your release.

"Spencer, please" you were so incredibly sensitive at this point, your body jolting at every small movement. You had to bite the side of your hand to stop yourself from yelling out from the pleasure.

He suddenly pulled off of you with a soft *pop* ad sat up, quickly kicking his trousers and boxers off as you reached forward and loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

Now that he too was undressed, you felt more equal, it was almost metaphorical as if he was agreeing to end the weird tension between the both of you.

He sat between your legs again, lifting your legs around his hips. You hadn't noticed the condom he had taken out from his pocket until you heard the crinkle of the foil as he opened it.

He quickly rolled it down his shaft as you finally got the chance to look at him. You felt yourself clench in anticipation.

He finally lined himself up and you were subconsciously pushing your hips down towards him.

"Please, Reid" you practically begged as he leaned forward but he stopped at your words.

You looked into his eyes, pleading for him to fill you up, but he didn't.

"Spencer" you whined, and he quickly rutted his hips into you.

"Thats it, good girl" he praised as the air was knocked from your lungs.

He started slow, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to finally caress your skin. It was like he was trying to memorise the curves of your body with one hand. He grabbed at your hips, held your waist, squeezed your breasts, as he slowly picked up his pace.

He couldn't get enough of feeling your body as he pinched your nipple, marvelling at the way it hardened further.

"God, you're so beautiful" his hand finally fell down to your clit, rubbing small circles in time with his thrusts.

You couldn't even get a single word out at this point, too tired and desperate to say anything.

"I'm so sorry baby" if he didn't have your attention before, the name had definitely gotten it now. "I'll be so good for you from now on" you could tell he was close from the waver in his voice, but you too felt your 2nd release approaching.

"You're so perfect" his rambling was interrupted by groans, "never want to leave your side ever again" his thrusts had last there rhythm as he circled your clit quicker, desperate to get you to cum before him.

It didn't take long for the coil in your stomach to snap, vision blurring as he continued his thrusts. Not much after, he plunged into you one last time. You could feel him coming inside as he filled up the condom, his chest now flush against yours.

You both laid there for a few moments, enjoying the hot, sticky embrace as you caught your breathe.

Silently, Spencer pulled out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash before pulling his boxers on. He then got you cleaned up, helping you put on your own underwear afterwards, before you got into the bed.

He tried to walk over to the couch but you were not letting that happen. “Get in here Reid" you muttered, laughing quietly as he practically jumped in beside you.

As he faced you in the bed, he brushed a stray hair behind your ear. "I'll make it up to you, I'm sorry, about everything" he kissed you once more, it would take more time for you to forgive him, but for now you let yourself fall asleep in his arms.

[heartfullofleeches]

What if someone from "Sheep"'s old pack came back around and tried to expose them, maybe for joy in suffering or to get people to split away and have an easy meal?

Sorry if this read weird I'm tired as hell

(I doubt any of them would recognize "Sheep" after all these years, but here's what would happen if any predator tried to reveal "Sheep's" identity.")

[Warnings Physical Violence, "Sheep" has a panic attack.]

-

"How stupid can you lot be?"

No...This isn't real. It's all a bad dream, right? You'll wake up any minute now, surrounded by all your friends and neighbors you've yet to acquaint yourself with. Perhaps you'll finally join Rabbit on one of their picnics. Or maybe Swan can teach you how to play chess - surely he must be tired of you asking which piece is which every time you play.

Claws digging into the meat of your shoulders stake you within the world of this cruel reality. This isn't a dream. You can't wake up, even if you chewed your own tongue off and suffocated on the blood as every cell in your body screamed at you to do. It would save you the torment. Your mouth hangs open, ragged draws of air and the smooth, filed surface of your canines preventing you from carrying out the deed.

"A sheep? This thing?" The cackle he barks causes your knees to curl against your chest - body instinctively trying to make you as small as possible. What do you have to be do afraid of? If you weren't so spineless you could've done something by now. Everyone is going to die now, and they'll die hating you.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we grew up from the same pack!"

It won't be long now- the concern for their fellow neighbor bleeding away to further terror and confusion. Were you responsible for the recent disappearances? How long until you devoured everyone? Monster. Beast. Wolf.

The townspeople are in a frenzy. What should they do? If the wolf's claims are true.... No- That could be dealt with that. The most important thing was getting you away from him before he hurt you anymore. They're so many of them. It'd be easy, right? The thought crosses their minds, but no one dares to speak first. A rabbit grows annoyed of their hesitance. Whilst the town is bickering amongst themselves, you're laying there - cowering for your life as that wolf threatens to ruin it for you. It isn't fair. The knife in their basket was for cutting cakes for you to share...

"Liar....."

As the rabbit weaves through the crowd, another resident of the town returns home from her daily gatherings. Rocks weight the pockets of her dress - the shouts and panic from her fellow neighbors channeling miles throughout the forest. Scrambling to find the sharpest one, she throws it directly at the back of the wolf's head.

"You damned liar!"

The wolf staggers forward - a pitiful whine escaping you as his claws retract from your shoulder. Blood gushes from the back of his cranium, a sharp ringing in his ears bring him to his knees - landing center on the blade aimed at his stomach.

"About a week ago, Sheep and I found a robin's nest in my backyard.... They got all teary eyed when the last egg wouldn't hatch... Tell me.... Would a wolf do that?"

Rabbit plants their foot on the wolf's chest, twisting the handle of their knife as they rip it from his bowels. The wolf grabs into their ankle, using what little strength he has to shove them off of him. Mouse leaps onto him from behind, slamming another rock into the nape of his neck.

"Take it back! Take it back! Sheep isn't anything like you! How dare you accuse them! You monster!"

Stop....

Your voice is too quiet for any of them to hear. You doubt that'd stop them anyway. They'll kill him. He came here to do the same, but does that make it right? Strong arms lift you from the dirt floor - mindful of their antlers as they place your head to their shoulder. Mayor Moose always knew you best - hushing your sniffles as soon as they begin. Swan stands off to the side behind him, refusing to meet your eyes. He tucks the coat of his suit over the handgun strapped to his belt.

"I'm sorry..... I'm so sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Swan still fails to look up at you. He knows if he does- there's the smallest chance he'll give into your pleads.

"Get some rest. You'll need it after the day you've had."

Carried away from the commotion, the defenses your fellow townspeople confess, the blood they spill so that your innocent is kept - the blood loss and sheer shock of it all lulls you into a dreamless slumber.

It's the best sleep you've gotten in months.

[strawberriesoup]

lollipop٠࣪⭑

── .✦ You make a deal with Jisung.

word count: 2.1k

genre: fluff, skater!jisung x female reader, friends to lovers, neighbor au

warnings: cursing, reader is kind of a brat, kissing, borderline making out, much fluff

taglist: @jisunggy

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Maybe this deal wasn’t such a good idea.

Your most recent obsession, Stardew Valley, had you begging Jisung to play just one game with you. planning to bug him into submission, you would bring up the game every chance you got. After about a week, he finally relented and agreed to play with you. On one condition. You had to let him teach you a trick on that goddamn skateboard of yours.

You from this morning had agreed. You from this morning was an idiot.

Now, you’re sweating your ass off on a dingy green park bench in the middle of July, chugging what little water you have left out of your regrettably small bottle. It had been what, three hours now? And you just couldn’t get the damned trick down. If you have to hear the words, “One more time! You were so close!” again, you might commit a war crime. The plastic of the bottle crinkles as you crush it and toss it towards the nearest trash can. You miss.

In an attempt to get Jisung’s attention, you sprawl your limbs obnoxiously over the length of the bench.

“You’re trying to kill me.” You groan, theatrically draping an arm over your face, “Your sick games won’t work forever.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a whiner you would get the hang of it faster.” Jisung suggests helpfully as he successfully throws your bottle in the trash and takes a seat next to you, shoving your leg out of the way to make room. He’s sweaty as well, and proceeds to take over any space that is left on bench.

You are most definitely not thinking about how you would love to devour him whole right now. No, that would be silly.

Five years ago, Jisung moved into the neighborhood. Both of you being in freshman year of high school, it started with you two carpooling to school. Which turned into doing homework on the weekends. Which resulted in the two of you being permanently attached at the hip.

And the whole time, you’ve had the biggest, juiciest crush on him.

That little smirk when you’re teasing him? Smitten. When he raises his arms and you can see a sliver of that waist beneath the folds of his hoodie? Good lord. And don’t even get you started on his habit of running his hand through his hair.

But of course, you’re too much of a chicken to actually tell him about it. Besides, he probably doesn’t even like you like that, and you’re not about to make a fool out of yourself to find out.

“Well excuse me for not particularly enjoying having heatstroke. I’m done.”

Arms crossed, you challenge him to say something. Unfortunately, he’s gotten pretty good at dealing with your shit over the years.

In favor of a response, a pointed look is sent by Jisung, one eyebrow raised along with a just barely suppressed smile coloring his features. A bead of sweat rolls down the left side of his flushed face, suggesting that he’s probably just as warm and uncomfortable as you and he’s not complaining. Whatever. You’re still going to bitch about it.

“But you were almost there, I swear! Just one more time, pleasee?” Jisung pleads, widening his eyes and sticking out his lower lip. Not this tactic again. You hate it when he does that. He knows you can’t say no. It’s an unfair advantage.

Skateboarding with Jisung had been a nearly daily exhibition for around a year and a half now. Well, you say “skateboarding” but it really just consists of you riding to and from the convenience store at the end of the block every couple of days. Which you manage to do without falling over, thank you very much. Jisung was just a natural at it, always had been. You were, quite frankly, not.

You had never attempted a trick, content with simply watching Jisung in his element. There’s something theraputic about watching a master of their craft in action. Also you were scared of falling and breaking an arm again.

Fine. Fine. You’ll try one more time.

“Okay, one more time. But this is the last try, or I swear to God I’m going to feed your hamster to Bagel.”

Jisung grips the front of his shirt in mock offense at the threat, his gasps of, “You monster!” trailing you as you stomp off with your skateboard onto the open pavement.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Now remember, left foot on the back edge…”

A small breeze had started to pick up, alleviating some of your discomfort. The surrounding air was less stifling now, the wind bringing the scent of freshly cut grass to your senses.

What was this trick called again? A strawberry milkshake? It was one of the “easier” tricks, according to Jisung. If by “easy” he meant that it’s the mental equivalent to stepping on a lego, he was right on. This shit is hard.

The firm hold that Jisung’s hand currently has on your waist makes it even harder. He’s really not helping you focus on the task at hand.

With a deep breath, both in preparation for the trick and to quiet down the rushing of blood in your ears, you repeat the same motion you had been working on for the better portion of the afternoon.

Front foot off. Wrap around. Land.

By Jisung’s reaction, you would think you had won the lottery. He’s pumping both fists in the air and shouting, completely beside himself. You landed it! You really did!

You then proceed to wipe out on the pavement.

Yeah, that checks out.

As you’re brushing the fall from your pants, you are nearly bowled over by Jisung, who sweeps you up and spins you around in a tight hug. The rush of the breeze around you has you laughing breathlessly, holding on to him for dear life.

“Yes! Holy shit, see? I knew you could do it! That was awesome!” He sets you down, looking at you with beams of pride spilling from his crinkled eyes and heart-shaped smile.

“I did it! I finally did it!” You squeal, the adrenaline and genuine excitement of the moment taking control of your body as you bounce up and down, gripping his fingers as you do so.

The grin Jisung gives you is bright enough to light up even the darkest corners of the world, you’re sure of it. You want to keep him in your hands forever and never let go.

But, you do. After a minute of joint celebration, you inform him that you’re going to sit down for a minute to catch your breath.

Finding a nearby tree, you settle beneath its branches, eyes adjusting to the newfound shade. The grass is cool beneath your palms, calming your sun-kissed skin.

As you watch Jisung continue to skate you’re reminded of just how good at this he is. He navigates his skateboard like it’s as simple as walking, every one of his tricks are landed with precision and ease. His habit of biting his lower lip in concentration anytime he performs an air is doing nothing for your sanity though.

Your crippling sweet tooth prods at you, so you decide to reward yourself. Rustling through your bag, you pull out a lollipop, popping it into your mouth. Its tart sweetness bathes your tongue, and you cross your legs, humming contentedly as you resume your attention on Jisung.

After about ten more minutes, he’s jogging over to you with his skateboard in hand. Your heart noticeably picks up its pace. Stop that. Calm down.

Taking a seat next to you, Jisung runs his hand through his sweat-damp hair, one arm supporting his weight and the other coming to rest on his knee. He looks ethereal, skin glowing with the gentle brush of light falling from the tree above.

Then, without so much as a “hello”, the lollipop is yanked from your hand and held out of your grasp.

“Jisung, are you serious? Give it back!” You shout in exasperation at the loss of your sugar source. Is he seven years old? Who does that?

“Nuh-uh, what’s the magic word?” He stretches his arm away as you basically tackle him, reaching vainly for the candy.

“I’m not the one who should be saying please here!”

You have an idea. Grabbing the front of his shirt, you pull him towards you. This is definitely the dumbest thing you’ve done all week. But it’s too late now. You can see his eyes fly wide, trying to process the situation as you plant a kiss right on his lips. He’s soft. And warm.

When you pull away, you take the opportunity to snatch the candy back from Jisung’s now limp hand. Popping the sucker back into your mouth, you grin at him smugly. It worked.

Jisung sits there, unmoving. Lips slightly parted, he stares at you, his gaze shifting from your eyes, fluttering down to your lips, and back again. Shit, was that a bad idea? That was a bad idea. You probably should have asked first. What the fuck were you thinking?

Before you could blurt out any sort of apology, he’s grabbing your hand and the candy is pulled from your lips with a pop. It falls onto the cool grass below.

A shaking hand slots underneath your chin with barely suppressed eagerness and he pulls you to him, capturing your lips in a proper kiss. The heat from his body and the sweep of his breath over you are all-consuming. blocking out the world, save for him.

This. Him. Everything about it just feels… easy. Natural. The way he cradles your jaw firmly, but with a careful gentleness that is entirely and solely Jisung. The way his free hand drapes down your side, coming to rest on top of your hip. The way his lips move in perfect harmony with yours.

The tree’s rough bark presses against your back as he leads you backwards, the sweetness of the lollipop being traded between your mouths. A flame starts to burn in your chest, spreading like wildfire until your whole body is alight with the flicker of butterfly wings.

Drawing away to look at you, Jisung runs his tongue over his glistening lips.

He’s holding himself back. He wants nothing more than to consume you, your essence, everything. He wants to show you how much he cares. He also wants to suck every last drop of sweetness from your lips. But he won’t. Not yet. Not until he knows you want it as much as he does. But, God, you drive him crazy. His eyebrows pinch and he shakes his head, trying to clear it.

You feel the loss of his ministrations on you like a load of bricks. Wrapping a hand around the back of his head, you pull him onto you once more, wanting -no- needing more of him. He needs more of you too, as is evident by the way his hands tighten and by his quiet gasp of breath when you oh-so gently nip his lower lip, teasing him.

This time, you’re the one to pull away, giggling awkwardly as he squeezes his eyes shut, clearly attempting to pull himself together.

Peeking at you, he finally makes eyes contact, feeling the need to say something, anything.

“Wow…” Is all he manages out, and your giggles morph into full on laughter. You make a kissy face at him which earns you a shove to your shoulder, and Jisungs ears turning a bright red.

“Hey! Don’t make fun of me!” he complains, bringing out that pout of his again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say, patting his shoulder, “you’re just such a dork.”

With your side of the deal completed, it’s his turn to pay up. With the steadily setting sun lighting your way, Jisung accompanies you to your house after the silent agreement to play games now, sort out weird feelings later.

epilogue ─☆

As your game loads up, Jisung decides to sit on the couch as far away from you as possible, curling up and hunching over his respective screen. Occasionally, he glances up at you, looking like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Okay. What is he hiding.

You (with grace) crawl across the couch to him, taking a page from his book and snatching the switch from his hands. He yells and kicks you in protest, but not before you had seen his screen.

J.one J.one’s Farm

Day 9 of Winter, Year 3 124,196g

Hours Spent: 106

One hundred and six hours. Jisung had told you that he’d never heard of the game before, let alone played it, and had very begrudgingly agreed to humor you. This whole time he’d been playing it? Why didn’t he- oh.

Jisung looks up at you with a sheepish grin, having been caught in his little scheme.

“I just wanted you to skate with me- ow!” he exclaims, bringing up his hands in defense as you bonk him with the switch.

“Next time maybe just ask?”

“How would I have gotten my kiss then?”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Little Girl Gone

So I Heard You're Back in Town (1)

Mob Boss!Natasha x Mob Boss!Fem!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Mob Boss!Fem!Reader

warnings: 18+ Violent themes, Guns, mentions of killing, mentions of thr*wing up, smoking, Dark Natasha word count: 2231 a/n: Wrote this first chapter over the course of a day. It is proofread, but I am only human~

“Shoot him.” Her voice didn’t waver. It was demanding as she stood tall behind you, casting a shadow over you. Your hand shook with the revolver in your hand. “Y/N. Shoot him.” Her hand on your shoulder in a death grip.

“Shoot him.” Her voice didn’t waver. It was demanding as she stood tall behind you, casting a shadow over you. Your hand shook with the revolver in your hand. “Y/N. Shoot him.” Her hand on your shoulder in a death grip.

You slowly, shakily pulled back on the trigger until the loud BANG reverberated. The body in front of you thudding to the ground, a pool of blood forming. The smell of metal and sulfur fill your nose as bile rises from your stomach.

Dropping the gun as you stumble away. You don’t make it far before the bile finds it’s way in your mouth as you clutch your ribs as your throat burns and ears ring out. You weren’t made for this, but she kept saying you were. Her hand on your back, rubbing soothingly. “Such a good little girl Y/N.” She assures you that it took less convincing this time and you didn’t get sick until after killing them this time.

You push her hand away as you stumble away. “I don’t need your praises Natasha.” You grumble wiping your mouth and head back upstairs to your room. The one you share with Natasha the head of the Russian mob around here.

You keep saying you’re going to leave. Get out of here, but if she caught you, you’d be on the other end of her gun so you wait and plan. Get everything in order before leaving in the middle of the night. Leaving behind not only Natasha, but the city for a long time.

=================================================

5 years later

BANG! You didn’t give them a chance to try and explain as the other two men beneath you try to scramble backwards. Placing the gun back in it’s holster you grab both of them, “Where do you two think you’re going?” Both of them trying to get out of your hold only for you to grip tighter. “I still have questions for you two and I suggest you answer them.”

“A-anything! We’ll tell you anything you want!” One of them managed out. A smirk crossing your face.

“Good boy. Now tell me. Where is Natasha Romanoff?” You voice and eyes go icy it’s a question, sure, but it’s also a demand.

A snap of your fingers and your right hand woman, Carol, comes over. Taking out the two men once they’ve given you the information you required.

You walk over to two girls, recent additions, Kamala Khan and America Chavez. “Girls I need you to follow up on the information we were just given and please be careful. Natasha is ruthless. Stay a good distance and if you spot her at all contact me immediately. Am I understood?” You look between the two of them. Kamala a smile on her face.

“Yes Ma’am! We won’t let you down.” You smile, ruffling their hair before seeing them off. You too could be ruthless with outsiders and that was all thanks to Natasha unfortunately, but the heart you had before wasn’t gone. Not one bit, just buried a lot further. You still taste bile, but it no longer comes up.

“Carol when you’re done here meet me back at the house with the others.” You let her know as she starts disposing of the bodies.

“You got it boss.”

=================================================

You’re lounging when the text comes through,

“Boss we’ve got a surprise for you!” It was from Kamala.

“What is it?”

“One of Natasha’s.” Your heart dropped.

“Bring them here. Now.”

Another twenty minutes goes by before Kamala and America are bringing in a girl who looks not much older than them. They were smart enough to blindfold her at least. They bring her over to you and set her on her knees in front of you.

Even without seeing her eyes you can tell she’s terrified. Leaning over you take the blindfold off, green eyes almost matching Natasha’s and red hair.

“Are you Natasha’s sister?” You ask. She shakes her head frantically. “Who are you?” You ask, softly.

“W-Wanda. Wanda Maximoff.” The name didn’t ring any bells. You study her face and the genuine terror that fills it.

“I’m not going to hurt you Wanda. Are you one of Natasha’s?” You lean back against the couch, keeping one hand in your lap the other stretching the back of the couch. She shakes her head and you eye Kamala. Who throws her hands up defensively.

“S-she offered me a loan...I’m a single mom I have twin boys and when I couldn’t pay her back she took me and told me I’d work for her, but...but...” Wanda started to cry and you leaned back over gently cupping her cheek, wiping her tears away as you shush her gently.

“I was once were you were. Natasha took me, changed me. I won’t let her do that to you. We’re gonna pay back that loan of yours. You’re under my protection now, understood?” She nods frantically. “I don’t want anything in return except to see you happy with your boys. I won’t let her hurt you or them.”

“T-thank you...thank you...” You kept your composure around Wanda. Leaving her for a moment to discuss with Carol what was going on.

“I’m going to stay with her, make sure Natasha or her people don’t get close.” You tell Carol who wants to disagree, you can see it in her eyes. “You’re in charge until I get back from this.” Her attitude changes after those words. “If you do anything I wouldn’t then you’ll be digging your own grave and laying in it.” I tell her with no emotion to give as she gulp's, eyes widening.

“Yes Ma’am.”

=================================================

When you arrive at Wanda’s house the two of you entering are met with her boys running down the hall to meet her both hugging her tightly. Then another face comes around the corner and your hand is on your gun in an instant, Wanda holding a hand out to you.

“Y/N. This is Darcy. My friend and she was watching the boys while I was at work.” Wanda informs you, you loosen up, plastering a smile to your face.

“Hello Darcy. It’s nice to meet you.” You hold out your hand for Darcy who hesitantly takes it.

“I met Y/N through work and I invited her over for some coffee and cookies.” Wanda lies and you have to admit it isn’t half bad. She doesn’t give away an telltale signs of lying.

“Okay. Do you need me to stay?” Darcy asks.

“No. Sweet girl you’ve done enough. You watched them almost all day so thank you. Go rest. Please.” Wanda hugs Darcy tightly before the girl leaves.

Wanda makes her way to the kitchen and you hear her start up the coffee pot. Oh maybe she wasn’t lying about the coffee and cookies.

You look around the house. The boys are in the living room, playing video games and remind you of yourself when you were younger. A smile on your face before carrying on through the house, checking all windows and entry points. You look out the back door, checking the perimeter of the backyard when Wanda comes up behind you.

“I don’t mean this in any offensive way, but will you be enough?” She asks and you can’t help, but chuckle, looking over at the mom you’ve found yourself protecting from your ex.

“Natasha was the one who trained me. I know all the tricks she has, but I’ve learned more tricks after I left her. She doesn’t know what I’m capable of anymore. So don’t worry. I’ll be all you need.” You smile at the redhead, a soft smile belying just what you’re capable of.

“Well thank you and I do have coffee and cookies. Homemade of course.” Wanda smiles, her nose wrinkling up as she does so.

“How could I say no?” You follow her to the kitchen island, sitting down while she stands across from you. Conversation flowing between you as the boys make their way out at some point asking if they could have some cookies and ice cream so they could make ice cream sandwiches. Wanda allows it and as she grabs the bowls and ice cream the boys bring their attention to you.

You give the two boys a small smile. “How do you know our mom?” Little interrogators.

“We met at work.” I tell them.

“How long have you worked together?”

“Long enough.”

“What are your intentions with our mom?” You almost choke on the cookie you were swallowing at that question.

“Tommy!” Wanda shriek's at her son. “Enough questions. Unless you don’t want cookies and ice cream?” Wanda walks over with the bowls.

“Sorry mom...” Wanda gives a cheeky grin pulling her son in, giving him a kiss on top of his head.

“I know you’re just trying to protect me, but I’m your mom. I protect you and your brother.” Wanda pulls her other son, Billy, you had learned was his name. Hugging both of them before getting the ice cream and cookies, sending them back off to the living room.

“I’m sorry about that.” Wanda apologizes and you can see the faint blush on her cheeks.

“No need. They obviously care and worry about their mother so I’m glad that I’m here. I won’t allow Natasha to break you guys apart.” You tell her, sipping on her coffee, your eyes flicking over to her and you can see the wetness in her eyes. She wants to cry, but won’t allow herself right now. She shakes her head, dismissing the tears from her eyes.

“So will you be staying? We have a guest room.”

“I will, but I probably won’t sleep.” Wanda nods in response.

“Well you can always stay in the living room?”

“I’ll need to be close to you. If they come here. They’ll come for you.” You remind her and a tint of red finds it’s way to her cheeks once again.

“Y-you can stay in my room then?” She offers and you smile with a nod.

=================================================

“Are you sure you won’t sleep or change at least?” You were still dressed in a suit from work. You’d taken off your jacket, tie and vest.

“I need to be ready if she sends anyone.” You sit on the bed next to Wanda, cupping her cheek. “I promise I won’t let her do what she did to me.”

“You keep saying that, but you still seem to have a lot of humanity to you.” A small, dry chuckle leaves you.

“I didn’t let her, but I can be rather ruthless when it comes to protecting those I love and care about. You just haven’t seen it.” You look into her eyes and she’s searching yours as if they’ll answer her questions that go unspoken. “Get some rest Wanda. I’ll be here.” You let your hand slip away as you stand up, moving to the other side of her room. Looking out the window.

Wanda laid back onto the bed, taking longer than usual to sleep, but eventually it came and you smiled at her sleeping form.

“I won’t let her touch you.” You whisper before making a round around the house, checking everything once again. It was going to be a long night.

=================================================

You stepped outside for a smoke, letting out a cloud when something caught your eye, just in the corner. You snap your head; gun in hand ready in an instant.

“Come out. Now.” You called and the figure came to the moonlight. Natasha. You didn’t falter though it being her threw you off and not Yelena or Kate or even Clint.

“You and I both know you won’t shoot.” Natasha says in a condescending manner. Your eyes narrow at her,

“You’re right I won’t, but not for the reason you’re assuming. I don’t want to wake up and scare the boys.” She laughs at your remark.

“Oh you’re funny Y/N. We both know you’ve never had the stomach. That’s why you ran away little girl.” You tilt your head to the side, neck cracking.

“That little girl’s gone. Honey I’ve changed so much since you last saw me.” She takes a few steps towards you.

“I think you’re in a little too deep sweetie, don’t you?” She says, but stops when you hold out the cash. “What’s that?”

“This is half of what Wanda owes you. You’re going to leave here right now with it and tomorrow I’ll give you the rest with interest and you’ll leave her alone. No more innocent lives need to ruined because of you Tasha.” She takes the money counting through it and laughs.

“You haven’t changed.” She said before turning on her heel. “Tomorrow. Noon. Our usual spot.” Once she was gone you could breath a sigh of relief as you headed back inside.

Softly carrying your tired body up the stairs. Stopping to check on the boys first before slipping into Wanda’s room. You slipped out of your pants and unbuttoned your top leaving you in just a tank top and panties.

You hadn’t shared a bed with someone since Natasha. You find yourself hesitating a moment before slipping in keeping as close to the edge with your gun just under the pillow. Wanda either had a really comfortable bed or you were just that exhausted because sleep took you almost instantly.

[housethemd]

So in the episode where House is on methadone

Everyone is trying to figure out what’s going on with House, why he’s being nice, etc etc and eventually Wilson is just like “he’s on heroin.”

The surety with which Wilson says this really struck me. Like Wilson doesn’t just suggest House must on drugs that aren’t Vicodin, doesn’t even merely suggest House could be on heroin. No he says with absolute certainty that House is on heroin.

The only way Wilson could be so sure, would be if he’s seen House on heroin before.

Now while I’m quite convinced that House was an occasional recreational drug user prior to the infarction, heroin usually isn’t a drug you might take just for fun at a party every now and again. This leads me to believe that sometime in the early days post infarction is the most likely time House used heroin.

I’m imagining Wilson showing up after work to check on House. Stacy left weeks ago and House is still dealing with that on top of healing and being newly disabled so he’s been in a pretty god awful mood that only Wilson seems to be able to tolerate.

But when Wilson gets there House is in a better mood. Not just a better mood, he’s happy. Wilson knows immediately something is going on.

“What did you do? What did you take?” He’d ask. He knows people’s moods don’t change overnight like that, so either House took something or he’s planning to kill himself. Both are equally possible given his recent trauma and mental state, and Wilson needs to figure out which.

“What? Nothing. Well Vicodin but you know I’ve got a prescription for that.” House would reply, waggling his finger in Wilson’s direction like this is all some kind of joke.

Wilson frantically searches through everything within arms reach of House. Thankfully even with his better mood House can’t move very quickly, and Wilson manages to unearth a bag, and dashes out of House’s reach to open it. It’s filled with powder and syringes and Wilson has done enough ER shifts to know what it is.

“No, House. No. How did you even get this?” He’d ask, shocked.

“It’s easy when you know the right places to go.” House would say, not looking at Wilson anymore.

“The right places to… House you can barely get from the couch to the bathroom how the hell did you get this?”

“I guess I was sufficiently motivated.”

And Wilson’s heart breaks. He doesn’t have it in him to be mad at his friend. His life is upside down and House has never been good with change. Wilson does throw away the needles and flush the drugs and it pisses House off (“Do you know how much I paid for that?”) but once House calms down he makes House swear never again, that he won’t go down that road. Wilson says he’ll do anything, even write him more Vicodin prescriptions if he just promises not to use heroin again.

And House promises.

So when House is suddenly in an unexplainably good mood years later, Wilson thinks he knows exactly what’s going on. He’s angry, House promised. Wilson held up his end of the deal for the most part, so he comes up with a plan to catch House and make him admit to it.

But we all know how that plays out.

[anim-ttrpgs]

I recently ran an oneshot for my friends in Eureka.

It was a lot of fun and went mostly smoothly! The charakter creation was very easy. It still took more time than I expected, but that was simply because the players needed it to decide on which traits etc. to pick.

The central resolution mechanic with 2d6 is of course tried and true (I assume. Never played one of the many other 2d6 games.) but especially the Eureka system felt really good.

I think I read in a recent post of your's, that you are overhauling the chapter on combat. That seems very important to me. Even though I read the whole book once before running the game, I had immense problems finding out how small details of the combat worked during play. The musings on game design (eg, "yes, the combat is deadly, thats on purpose heres why" and such) where really enlightening to read, but got in the way when searching for concrete stats.

I will run the same oneshot again for different friends. The game seems really promising to me.

My mystery took place on a single in game evening, and none of the players were monsters. Having therefore only scratched at the surface of Eureka, I am looking forward to running it more.

Woo! We LOVE hearing about this kinda stuff!

And yeah everything about how the combat-related rules are structured is getting overhauled. All of that was written like 2 years ago when I was a slightly worse game designer and MUCH worse at writing coherent paragraphs and hasn’t been touched since until now. Instead of being split across like four paragraphs (what was I thinking), there will be just two chapters on it: “Instruments of Violence”, which is mostly just a giant list of references for the stats and special rules of weapons and armor, and “Dangerous Situations”, which covers every rule related to how your investigators can get killed. Some of these clean-ups are already available in the latest patreon release, and the rest are coming soon to both patreon and the itchio beta.

Combat is a very rare thing in Eureka, but when it does come up, we want it to be tight and granular, but without wasting the players’ time, which I think we’ve done pretty well at.

Like the book says, combat is deadly and there’s a reason why: so it doesn’t waste the players’ time.

This is a twofold problem to solve. The first layer of it, we solved by making sure the numbers are low. Most weapons can take a character down in 2 to 3 hits, so a single instance of two guys smacking each other will never take too many rounds.

Secondly, well, combat is dangerous and deadly, and if the PCs approach it without a plan, they’re gonna die, or at least get their asses kicked fast. Otherwise, well, I consider that a waste of the players’ time. If it was predetermined that the PCs would win otherwise the story can’t continue, well, what did we roll all those die, look up all those stats, and track all that HP for? Why didn’t we just describe the PCs winning and move on? Combat matters because it can change the outcome of the adventure, and if it can’t change the outcome, why are you rolling dice? Of course with death being so possible, to keep it fun, we gotta include lots of “tools” like cover, positioning, different weapons, special melee attacks, etc. that the PCs can use cleverly to give themselves an edge, and *earn* their survival.

Oh and also yeah can’t wait to hear what you think about the monsters. Funny thing about that, everyone who has read the rulebook knows that monsters and other supernatural creatures are supposed to be really rare, like one supernatural person for every 3,000,000 normal people kinda rare, but, monsters are super cool and fun to play, and are one of the big draws of the system, so we were kinda worried that that rarity wouldn’t come through in play, everyone would just be monsters. We considered setting a limit on how many monsters can be in a party? But quickly decided against it, because then players would have to compete for the limited monster slots, and people might even feel like if they’re not filling in that slot every single adventure, they’re missing an opportunity, and so every party would max out their monster limit every time and there’d, again, be way too many monsters.

In practice, though, most parties in Eureka seem to be comprised of all normal people, or all normal people and 1 monster at most, even without the limit. And I suspect this is both because monsters are kinda difficult to play despite their immense power, and, just to brag, because we made the normal PCs fun has hell to play too. :)

[ch3rriewine]

Photo Booth Kissin' {P.P.}

summary: Peter's an awkward loverboy, but he's your awkard loverboy.

warnings: none i think just fluff :3, TASM!Peter Parker x reader hehe, no use of y/n, reader is kinda like super girly w the bows and sparkles idk

a/n: I HAVENT WRITTEN IN MONTHS SORRY here tho!

Peter’s life was boring—peaceful, but boring. Don’t get him wrong; being Spiderman is cool and all, but Peter Parker’s life could use some work. The most exciting thing that has happened to him recently was the time he got two yolks in one egg. Riveting stuff, right?

During another one of his literature classes that he doesn’t know why he took, he spots you. With a bow in your hair and a knit sweater falling over your figure, your head propped on your manicured hand while scribbling notes with the other. You sit in front of him and if Peter squints, he can see the small doodles littering the pages. Before he knows it, the professor announces that the lecture is done for the day. Peter panics; he wants to talk to you before you disappear and turn out to be a dream, but what would he even say? Doesn’t matter anymore since he chases after you to the door.

“Hey,” he says, looking a tad flushed after tripping over someone's water bottle.

“Oh, hi” you respond, your eyes a little widened at the sudden interaction.

“I, uh, I’m Peter” he say, sticks out his hand for you to shake. You take it and tell him your name. He repeats it in his head about a hundred times.

“I just, uhm, wanted to ask about…” he trails off, trying to remember if there were any assignments given. “The essay he said we had to do, yeah. When is it due again?” he hopes to any higher being that there was an essay due soon.

“Ah, yeah, it’s due next Monday” you reply, giving him a tight-lipped smile, ready to go back to your dorm.

“Cool, uhm, thanks! See you around, hopefully” with that, he bolts, leaving you confused and flushed. Hopefully

The cute boy in your class wants to see you around.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Two days later, Peter sees you again. It’s in the same class, and you’re as pretty as ever. He psyches himself up to sit next to you.

You look up from your laptop when he asks you if he can sit next to you. You nod, of course, and smile. He looks nervous, with fingers tapping on the table and cheeks a little red. It’s cute.

“Have you started on that essay?” you ask, trying to start conversation since it looks like he won’t.

“Huh? What essay? We have an essay?” he turns to face you, eyes wide.

“Yeah, the one you asked me about?” you laugh a little.

“Oh, no, I didn’t” his shoulders slump back down, and you smile at him.

“I didn’t either; I had other work to finish” he stares at you a little; it’s flattering, really. How shy he is around you. He barely knows you, but he’s convinced himself that you’re the greatest thing ever. He also may have looked up your instagram and fallen even harder as he looked at all your posts. Peter now knows what you ate at Thanksgiving 3 years ago.

“Same, I’m in STEM so you could imagine” he says, resting his head onto the table. Sleep deprivation a thing he is well acquainted with, unfortunately.

“STEM, wow, you must be smart then. Why’re you taking a classic lit class then?” Sure, you might’ve slipped in a compliment; it's not a crime to flirt a little. It takes Peter a few seconds to respond as he processes what you said, you think he’s smart.

“Uh, I was going through a phase with classic lit at the time, and I’ve been lazy to drop it. And, uh, I’m not that smart—pretty average actually. Like the most moderate person ever” He’s rambling and kind of lying. He’s doing really well in his other classes.

“Yeah? I think you’re pretty smart if you’re in STEM. Not everyday a guy is both pretty and smart.” His cheeks turn even redder, if possible, and he makes a sort of out of breath sound. “If you need any help with this class, I’d be happy to give you my notes on the book”

Jesus, you’re gonna kill the poor boy.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

From then on, you sit beside him and throw in some flirty comments while he struggles to reciprocate. It feels too good to be true, how you seem interested in him and how you eagerly talk to him after lectures, even giving hm your number to talk about “class”. He’s waiting for the day you ghost him.

“Hey, would you maybe want to, like, hang out? Like on a date or something? Or just as friends! Actually, yeah, just hang out as friends; forget I said date sorry,“ he flounders, waiting for the rejection. Oh God, he’s just messed up the whole friendship and you’re gonna think that he’s weird and a creep and-

“I’d love to go on a date, Peter,” you smile “I was waiting for you to ask.”

“Oh, great, is Saturday at 3 okay? I’ll meet you outside your building and we could walk to that arcade?” He asks, eyes hopeful.

“Saturday at 3 is great. I love arcades, but you have to help me with the claw machines” For someone so smart and handsome, he doesn’t let himself think people like him.

“See you Saturday, Peter” you tiptoe to kiss his cheek, leaving sticky residue from your sparkly gloss and walk to your next class. He stands in place, a little starstruck and a lot flustered. He leaves the lipgloss there.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

Saturday finally comes, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. You’ve switched outfits countless times, your hair is out of place, and your makeup doesn’t seem to flatter you. You’ve settled on a pretty blue dress with tights to protect you from the small chill. Two little bows clipped into your hair and knit cardigan falling over your shoulders—makeup finally looking presentable enough with maybe a little too much glitter on your eyes, but whatever. Your phone chimes as you’re applying pink sparkly gloss, and your heart skips a beat. He’s here.

You throw your phone and lip gloss in your purse and bolt out the door. You spot him outside your building, as promised. He looks wonderful. Brown sweater and worn-in denim jeans—you can’t believe he’s so shy around you when he looks like that. He finally spots you, and wow, he thinks.

“Hey," he scolds himself for being so casual when he should be whisking you away to Italy, or something. He could’ve at least gotten you flowers.

“Hi, you look great,” you say in front of him, and seeing you up close is making him fall even harder, if possible.

“You look, wow, you’re just, wow” he can’t even believe you’re into him.

“Cmon, I wanna win some plushies,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him along. He grips your hand harder and laces your fingers.

The walk is calm and the air is starting to get cool. You talk about class and a show you started. Peter listens intently, making mental notes about what you like and don’t like. Your hands stay intwined, and his thumb traces patterns on the back of your hand. He’s gotten more comfortable and less panicky in your presence, so you get to see his personality shine through. He’s incredibly funny. You can’t stop laughing on your way there, and he can’t stop thinking of more things to make you laugh.

The arcade is dark, with flashing lights from every game. Peter goes to buy some tokens, refusing your offer to pay half. Grabbing Peter’s hand and making a beeline for the claw machines, everyone knows they’re rigged, but you don’t care. You eagerly take the tokens and attempt to win the Kuromi plushie. After the 5th? 6th attempt? When the claw has dropped the plushie, you give up.

“Why do they do this to people! It’s false hope!” you whine to Peter as he laughs at your pout.

“Lemme try,” he nudges you over and puts in a token.

You watch with eyebrows furrowed as he wins it on his first attempt.

“What the hell, Peter?” you crouch to pull the plushie from the machine.

“What? Do you not like it?” He faces you, examining the stuffed, is she a rabbit? What animal even is Kuromi?

“I love her; just, how did you win it?” You look up at him incredulously. He must have some weird power that makes him win every claw machine.

“Oh, I don’t know; just position it right?” He laughs, his eyes crinkling in the process. You want to smooth them out with your fingers.

“Thank you!” you’re genuinely really excited over a cheap stuffed toy, not because you really wanted it, but because Peter won it for you. You wrap your arms around his neck in thanks. Peter freezes. He fees like a teenager at how he’s reacting to a hug of all things. He snaps back and hugs you back. You pull away to kiss his cheek. This is the second time you’ve kissed his cheek, and he doesn’t know how he’ll ever get used to it.

“Lets go play games, pretty boy,” pulling away and leaving Peter to gather his brain and follow along.

You watch as he plays Pac-Man; its silly, but you love his face when he’s focused. Brows furrowed and lips in a thin line. He really is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen. And he’s infatuated with you! Of all people! You swear half the girls in the class have a crush on him, but he gets nervous around you. You play some air-hockey, which you won (he let you win), and he won you some more plushies and some candy at the infamous claw machines.

When the games get old, the two of you leave the building. The sun is setting at this point, and you’re dreading leaving him.

“Oh, look! There’s a photo booth!” you point, excitedly tugging on his arm. “We should take some pictures.” you drag him into the booth, both of your thighs squished together and his legs at an awkward angle. He feeds the machine a few bucks, and the screen starts to count down.

You put on a sickly sweet smile, scrunching your eyes while Peter smiles big with pearly white teeth on display. The second photo you lean into Peter and he wraps his arm around you, pulling your body close to his. The third photo, you go for it. You grab his face and kiss him. His hands stay in the air as the glitter on your lips transfers to his. You taste like vanilla. You pull away, a little anxious that he didn’t want it. Those thoughts get pushed away when he grabs the sides of your face and kisses you until you can’t think. His hands are warm and big covering your cheeks as his lips move against yours. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck once more and deepen the kiss. Your lips move together in tandem as he strokes your cheeks with his thumbs, the movement comforting.

The fourth photo is blurry, and you walk out with all your lipgloss on Peter’s lips.

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter One)

Summary: The loneliness was killing him. He was already dead and somehow it was killing him. For every day that passed with only the other undead for company, Simon’s voice grew more and more quiet. He was desperate. Desperate for an anchor to the humanity that kept slipping through his cold, stiff fingers. Word Count: 3200 Warnings: no smut this chapter (this fic is the slowest of burns y'all, strap in for a looooong ride), briefly referenced (non-graphic) SA in the OC's backstory, semi-graphic violence, POV switches denoted by line breaks (it starts off from the OC's POV but switches to Ghost's pretty quickly) Notes: It's finally here. My contribution to the Zombie!Ghost community. You can think the creators of his Alone skin to converting me into a monsterfucker (after all the years I managed to avoid collecting that kink, smdh) and @xoxunhinged for making me utterly obsessed with poor, sweet, undead Simon. Their fic sick <3 is absolutely amazing and was definitely a huge inspiration for Dove. They are just a fantastic writer, I literally cannot gush over their stories enough. I highly, highly recommend that y'all go binge read their stuff, and Unhinged, if you're reading this, I'm your biggest fan <3 (also please don't read this cuz it sucks in comparison to yours and I'll die of embarrassment if you do /hj). AO3, Masterlist

Lelia had just turned twenty when she was married off by her father. He was a politician, and her hand in marriage to some rich and powerful CEO’s son had been traded for monetary support of his campaign. Lelia’s husband was not kind, and the end of the world hadn’t changed that, when it happened three months later.

They had been evacuated to a military safe zone early on, early enough that Lelia had avoided seeing the complete and utter carnage the virus wrought upon the world. That had been why, after finding herself whored out by her husband to the soldiers in charge for better rations and amenities, Lelia decided she would be better off on her own. She’d run away, escaped the base and disappeared into the woods.

She lasted less than a day.

After hours of running, fueled by pure adrenaline and an overwhelming need to finally be free of Andrew’s casual cruelty, Lelia found herself alone in the woods, surrounded by the ravenous, snarling zombies she’d only heard of in other survivors’ stories. She’d never actually seen one of the undead, at least not while they were still alive… for some sense of the word.

Out of options, Lelia scrambled up a tree—and how she’d managed that, as unathletic as she was, she once again chalked up to adrenaline and some recently unearthed instinct to survive—perching on a thick, sturdy branch as high up as she could get. A clawed hand grabbing her foot nearly spelled her demise, but with a frantic kick, she shook the moldering limb off and hoisted herself up.

She stared down at the mass of walking corpses beneath her, and then briefly closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. There were at least a dozen, though it was difficult to count them in the darkness when they kept moving around. For all she knew, there were more. Either way, she was done for. She wouldn't have been able to fight back against even a single one. She was foolish to think she could survive out here, on her own. But she found that she didn’t regret leaving—at the very least, she got to taste freedom before her inevitable demise. The only thing she regretted was the painful, gruesome way in which she would go, once she ended up on the ground. And she would end up on the ground, she knew. Whether she simply tipped over after passing out from exhaustion, or lost her grip on the tree trunk… well. If Lelia was lucky, the fall would kill her instantly. She desperately hoped that God would grant her that one mercy, after all she had been through.

She knew there was no point in delaying her death. That she was only prolonging her own fear and suffering. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to let go. Her hands stayed stubbornly locked together as her arms hugged the tree, the toes of her shoes—ballet flats, since she owned no trainers or hiking boots, even months into the apocalypse—planted firmly on two slightly lower branches to help keep her balance. She stayed like that for hours, until her limbs locked up and her muscles burned. She pushed her body to the limit, eyes dry and irritated from refusing to fall asleep, knowing exactly what would happen if she did. It was an exercise in fruitlessness, in needless agony, and yet Lelia bore it as stoically as she could, the only sign of her terror the silent tears dripping from her eyes. Because despite it all, despite knowing it would change nothing, Lelia didn’t want to die.

“Please,” she whispered, the first words she’d spoken since escaping the base. Her voice was hoarse from disuse and thick from her tears, and the small sniffle that followed it sounded clogged. She didn’t know who she was talking to—God, maybe, or perhaps a figment of her imagination, just so she didn’t feel so alone—but she knew no one would hear her. No one ever heard her. No one ever listened. “Somebody please help me… I want to live.”

***

Ghost tilted his head to the side as he examined the woman in the tree. He had been drawn by the loud snapping and snarling that had plagued the forest for hours now, signaling a gathering of the undead. The only thing that brought so many to the same place was the promise of a meal. And so, after waiting a while to avoid having to actually do the killing of innocents—something that bothered the vestiges of humanity that rattled around in his infected brain—he’d headed in the direction of the noise, hoping to find some leftover scraps.

Instead, he found her. A tiny slip of a girl, trembling in a tree and looking for all the world like a fragile little bird, too weak to fly away to safety but not yet resigned to her gruesome fate. Ghost found himself unusually curious, and he studied her for what could have been minutes or hours. He wasn’t sure—time had lost all meaning not long after he turned. Sometimes, weeks would go by without him noticing, the only indication that any time had passed at all being the changing colors of the leaves. The small part of him that was still able to feel emotions worried about how he would be able to mark the passage of time when it was no longer autumn. He tried not to think about it, in the rare moments that he could form semi-coherent thoughts. He preferred to spend that time reminiscing on happier days, trying to recall the names and faces of family and friends from before. He had already forgotten most of them. Only a few memories lingered—bright blue eyes, a deep Scottish burr, the scent of clean soap, and, much fainter, whiskey.

When Ghost came back to himself, he realized he had drifted closer to the girl in the tree, now standing right at the base of it, staring up at her like all the other infected. The only difference was that he wasn’t scratching at the bark and growling like some rabid animal. He was still, milky white eyes trained on her face. Round cheeks, big brown doe eyes, pretty pink lips, and a small, upturned nose, framed by loose, auburn curls that went down to her waist. She was beautiful, the part of him that was still human noticed. The part of him that was driven by an unceasing instinct to rend and consume flesh, on the other hand, was drawn in by her scent. Light and floral, with a hint of something sugary, she smelled like she would taste incredible. Saliva pooled in his mouth and dribbled out, his broken jaw hanging uselessly.

“Please. Somebody please help me. I want to live.”

Her voice was angelic, despite the fear in it, and Ghost perked up at the sound. It was as small as her and as sweet as she smelled. Everything about her screamed of an innocence he’d long thought purged from the world, from her voice to her scent to the tear tracks on her face that glistened silver in the moonlight, her pale skin nearly glowing. She reminded him of a dove—small and frail and pure. Easy to break and easy to kill.

Don’t let her die, Simon’s voice said in his head, like a distant echo. She doesn’t deserve to die, not now, not like this.

Ghost, who had not heard Simon’s voice in a long while, shifted uneasily. He had helped the living often, in the beginning, when he'd realized he still held some measure of sentience, of control over his new, cannibalistic instincts. In return, he had been shot at, stabbed, slashed, skewered, and otherwise attacked. The human part of him had understood, and the first few times it happened, he’d simply retreated, despite his growing desire for companionship to chase away the terrible loneliness of his cursed existence. Most people had been confused by the zombie not trying to eat them, but far too relieved to try and chase him down to finish him off. They had simply accepted their strange good fortune and ran the other way while they still had the chance.

The last human he had tried to save had not been so smart.

After scaring away the horde of undead chasing the man, he’d remained, still and silent so as not to seem like a threat. He had known then how foolish it was, had known he should have left right away, that his decaying body would only be damaged further by a vicious hack from the man’s gore-covered machete—but the loneliness was killing him. He was already dead and somehow it was killing him. For every day that passed with only the other undead for company, Simon’s voice grew more and more quiet. He was desperate. Desperate for an anchor to the humanity that kept slipping through his cold, stiff fingers.

The man had charged at him, nearly taking Ghost’s arm off, and dejected, he had turned to leave. But this man was different from the others, stupider—or perhaps a little mad. He had pursued Ghost brutally, intent on ending his miserable existence. Part of Ghost had wanted to let him, but another part refused. This was not much of a life, not a life at all, really, but it was his and he wouldn’t let anyone take it away from him.

And so, after the dozenth swing, he’d snapped.

The man had been no match for his strength, wouldn't have been even before the virus had enhanced it. Ghost had batted the machete away like it was nothing but a toy, and then sunk his claws into the vulnerable flesh of the man's exposed throat, ripping it out. Hot blood had sprayed across his face, blood that was still there to his day, as Ghost had devoured a human for the first time, stuffing clumps of flesh into his mouth, manually moving his broken jaw up and down in order to chew. The process had been long and repetitive, but every second of it had been utter bliss.

Ghost had methodically stripped every inch of flesh from every piece of bone on the man’s torso, gorging himself on the delicious meal. He’d eaten the organs with vigor, surprised to find that each had tasted a little different. His favorite had been the liver.

Simon’s voice had stopped insisting he helped people, after that day. Though whether that was because he was afraid of snapping again, or because feasting on a person had degraded his humanity that much more, Ghost was unsure. And sometimes, when he had those brief moments of clarity, it unnerved him that he didn't particularly care either way.

But there was something different about this little dove. Simon had spoken up again, for her, for some reason that should have been unknowable to Ghost and yet wasn’t. He didn’t want to see her torn to shreds by the other undead, either—though in truth, he couldn’t fully tell if that was because he wanted to protect her, or if it was because he wanted to eat her himself. She smelled so sweet, after all, he just knew biting into her flesh would be the closest he ever got to seeing heaven.

No, Simon snapped, and Ghost grunted, shaking his head as he tamped down on his beastly urges. Then, he turned around, facing away from the little dove in the tree, and snarled viciously at the other undead. A little more than half fled immediately, but those that remained crowded closer, snarling back. Ghost swiped a massive, gloved hand at them, knocking two of them over, and screeched, the sound blood curdling. All but one backed down, shambling away with a chorus of agitated hisses.

The only one left, a zombie that had once been a man only slightly larger than Ghost, roared a challenge and flung itself at him. He caught it easily and slammed it into the ground, its bigger size no match for his greater strength.

The thing that used to be a man growled and groaned as it tried to get back to its rotting feet, but Ghost didn’t give it a chance, stomping down hard on its skull. It gave easily with a slight squishing sound, brain matter splattering over his black, grime-covered combat boots. Ghost snarled once more in victory, then looked back up, towards the girl he had done all this for.

She stared down at him in pure terror.

Ghost felt an unexpected pang of hurt at that. For a second, he wondered if he should leave her before she pulled out a hidden knife and hurled it at his head, but the thought was quickly discarded. He didn’t want to leave the little dove. She would never survive on her own.

So instead, he backed up several steps, giving her plenty of space to climb down without getting close to him.

She didn't move.

Ghost could be patient, though, vaguely recalling long hours spent silent and still, peering down the scope of a rifle. So he remained standing there, quiet and unmoving, for as long as it took.

It turned out that that was a very, very long time.

Half an hour passed—and the fact that he was aware enough to know just how long had gone by was quite unusual—before the little dove moved. It was her legs, finally giving out on her as her feet slipped off the branches below her. She wobbled slightly, and Ghost rushed forward with a growl that almost sounded concerned, ready to catch her. He heard her let out a frightened whimper when he moved, and he tried to coo at her to let her know he wouldn’t hurt her, but it just came out sounding like a small, off putting gurgle. He quickly went quiet, knowing the disgusting sound was the opposite of reassuring. He cursed his past self for breaking his jaw after he’d been bit—a last, desperate attempt to stop himself from biting and infecting anyone. He didn’t know if he would be able to talk, even if it was intact, but he’d at least have been able to try.

“Please,” the girl whispered, forehead leaned against the rough bark of the tree as she shook like a leaf in a windstorm. “Please go away.”

Ghost swallowed, hesitating. He didn’t want to leave her. She would die if he left her. And that was rapidly becoming an intolerable outcome for him. He didn’t understand why. It just was.

But she could also die if she fell from the tree and Ghost’s ruin of a body failed to catch her in time. And she would fall, if she didn't come down soon. He could see that all the strength had left her frail body, and that she was only holding on through sheer willpower. Or maybe fear.

Ghost let out a soft groan that he hoped she would somehow understand was an agreement. Then, he turned around and walked stiffly back into the forest, until he was hidden in the darkness. He could still smell her, though, tantalizingly sweet, and if he squinted, he could see her silhouette. The pale pink, ankle length skirt and matching jacket she wore—Ghost groaned quietly in frustration at the impracticality of it, wondering where she had come from to be so clean and still wearing such fancy clothes—was practically a beacon as it reflected the light of the full moon.

Several more minutes passed before the little dove finally began to fly down from her nest. Ghost was tense the entire time, relearning the feeling of fear as he watched her climb down, half expecting her to fall and break her neck. And she did fall—but only after she'd made it most of the way, only a couple feet left between her and the ground. He could hear the small, startled oof she let out as her bum hit the dirt, and he twitched, ready to run back to her—but she stood up on shaky legs a few seconds later, dusting off her skirt and quickly glancing around before seemingly picking a direction at random and beginning to walk in it. Her movements were almost as stiff as his, and he hissed a little in displeasure at the thought of her being in pain. This was why she should have come down when he was there. He would have carried her somewhere safe, and she wouldn't have to limp around aimlessly in the dark, tired and hurting.

For such a large man, Ghost could be incredibly quiet. And he was, as he tailed her for another two hours, never any more than ten steps behind her. She didn’t even look over her shoulder once. She may have been a little dove, but she had the survival instincts of a newborn kitten.

She finally collapsed from pain and exhaustion, crawling into a hollowed out tree trunk that only someone as small as her could have fit into. She was out in seconds, he could tell from the way her breathing changed from panicked to steady, though still labored from exertion. It wasn’t a horrible spot to hole up in, but she was far too exposed for his liking.

He approached her with silent footsteps, careful not to wake her. As he did, he scanned the area with his senses, since she had neglected to. There were a few infected shambling through the brush about twenty or so meters away. If they got any closer, they were bound to smell her. But that was alright, because Ghost had no intention of leaving her alone while she was so vulnerable.

He gazed down at her, milky white eyes taking in her shadowed features. She looked young, painfully so, at least compared to his forty years of age. Or was it forty-one, now? He was sure his birthday had passed, it was at the end of summer, but he didn’t know if it counted as getting older, since he was no longer alive.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the girl again. She couldn’t be more than twenty, that much was certain. And he was watching her sleep like some nasty old perv.

The thought had him turning around, placing his back a mere foot away from the opening in the tree trunk. He didn’t want to make her feel trapped if she woke up, but he wasn't willing to leave enough space for something to slip in and attack her, either. He would keep her safe tonight. And maybe, just maybe, if she saw that he was useful and wouldn't hurt her, she wouldn’t shoo him away like a stray dog in the morning. Though he knew that even if she did, he wouldn’t leave entirely. He would be her shadow, her Ghost, a benevolent specter haunting her every step, and tearing apart any that dared to threaten his little dove.

Your little dove? A voice asked in his head. He didn’t know if it was Simon’s or his own or someone else’s. But it was his that answered.

Mine.

[youlikegoodstuff]

Their anniversary (prologue)

All Might x arch nemesis! reader

Gender is neutral here. Reader is a villain called Highland Havoc

Summary: it’s All Might’s and his nemesis’s anniversary, and the fans are done waiting for the villain and hero duo to kiss.

Tw: none. Just a tensions and shipping. Swear words. Stolen stop signs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It Is Fine Now. Why? Because I Am Here!”

As always, All Might made a dramatic and enthusiastic entrance, even after years of duking it out with you.

“Took you long enough. You’re usually very early to our anniversary.” You said with a smirk on your half-masked face.

All Might’s signature smile only widened at this as his hidden eyes took on a slight mischievous look.

“My apologies, my arch nemesis! Allow me to make it up to you by making a special reservation for you in jail!” He said rather lightheartedly.

The bystanders who chose to stay looked on in anticipation, ready for an absolutely glorious battle like the ones before.

“Oh no worries! You don’t gotta make it up to me.” You said with a wicked grin before launching yourself at the man.

If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t last a second in the presence of All Might. Hell, he’d have them in front of a police station by now…

But you weren’t All Might’s arch nemesis for nothing.

Highland Havoc was the name, and causing havoc is your game.

Accurate to your villain name, you created chaos with your strength-based quirk, destroying government buildings, totaling police cars, tearing out parking meters, and stealing stop signs.

One thing that separated you from the rest of the villains wasn’t just your ability to rival All-fucking-Might, but your surprisingly noble morals.

You weren’t destroying small businesses or killing people, in fact, you’ve saved people on several occasions.

You were basically a professional villainess with standards.

You were a bad guy… but not a bad guy…

The worst you did was wreck a couple hero office buildings and steal thousands of stop signs, but you never ever stole candy from a baby.

In other words, you were just a cheeky little cunt.

You were a menace… but you were Musutafu’s favorite menace.

You casually tore out a stop sign that sat on the corner of the street (one that recently replaced the old one after you stole it) and placed it on your shoulders while smirking through your mask.

“So, what’s on the agenda today? You failing for the millionth time to land a good hit on me?” You teased.

All Might chuckled heartily, but he felt the same thrill coursing through his veins that he always felt when he was ready to fight you.

“I do hate to burst your bubble, my dear,” he began, using a nickname to tease you right back. “But I’m not about to go easy on you just because it’s our anniversary.”

“Oh I don’t expect you to hold back, I’ve been waiting for the opposite actually~” You said before lifting the newly acquired stop sign and twirled it expertly in your hand.

All Might’s eyes followed your every movement like a hawk. He never took his eyes off you these days when you were facing each other, and for good reason: you were not to be underestimated. He knew better than that.

“Still got that nasty habit of collecting those silly signs, I see.” He said with that signature smile as he flexed his thick muscles, getting ready for your first attack.

“You call them silly, but the city seems to take stop sign theft very seriously.” You said while getting into your own fighting position.

All Might scoffed as he rolled his shoulders to loosen up his muscles even more.

“And rightly so! Stop signs are important, you know.” He scolded before looking you up and down with a scoff “And that mask of yours is still downright hideous. How can you handle wearing that thing?”

“You and your issues with my mask. Always having a problem with it, lad.” You sighed and rolled your (e/c) eyes.

All Might looked around the city in feigned disbelief, as if searching for a nonexistent culprit.

”And whose fault is that?” He said, glancing at you again with a smirk. “If you just took the damn thing off, I wouldn’t complain all the time. Your face is probably the only nice part of you, but I have yet to confirm that.”

“Oh shush, you just want to be able to identify me so the coppers can hunt me down.” You said with a scoff.

All Might crossed his large arms over his built chest and let out a huff.

“Now that is the last thing I want, my dear.” He retorted, his smile faltering for a moment before a mischievous grin took over. “You’re my favorite villain to wrangle; I’d be devastated if you were taken off the streets.”

The bystanders who stayed to watch were getting restless, excited, or annoyed at the two…

All Might, the #1 hero who has been the world’s symbol of peace for years; and you: #1 super villain in the country and top ranked pain in All Might’s ass, has not once made any moves on each other.

Many years of rivalry… and their OTP still haven’t made a move on eachother…

…And it was driving the tabloids and the media batshit insane.

People were dying to know what was going on with the two, and for those who had that gut feeling, it was absolute torture for the hero/villain duo to not just fuck each other already.

Who would’ve thought the hero and villain would end up in a tango of sexual tension that lasted 15 years?

“Just kiss already!”

One guy in the gathered audience yelled loudly, saying what no one else dared to say.

All Might and you immediately both stopped what you were doing and looked over at the random citizen. You both had that “deer in headlights” look, and even with half of your face covered, the surprise on your face was obvious.

All Might actually went a shade of pink in the face.

The hero finally turned to the civilian. “S-Sir! This is a-ah-a battle! That would… be highly inappropriate in such an important moment!” He said firmly, but he looked so flustered.

“You have very interesting fans, All Might...” You muttered, glancing away from the hero.

“They’re your fans too.” All Might bickered.

Before he could retort against you, the same obnoxious idiot spoke up again.

“Maybe you two should just cut the bullshit and make out already!” He said, and several cheers came from the small crowd of onlookers.

All Might’s face went red again and he began to stammer. He was starting to get flustered by the comments. He tried to gather himself quickly, and he turned to the crowd again.

“T-This is not a performance! We’re not some dance for your e-entertainment! You people should take this seriously!” All Might protested, but the comments were getting to him.

More hollering and cat calling stirred from the audience; some were even chanting a ship name for you two.

You just deadpanned… but you were admittedly a bit amused.

“…you wanna just start the fight? Can’t really hear them over us throwing punches.” You suggested.

All Might looked back at you, a slight look of relief on his face.

“Y-Yes, an excellent idea! We’re wasting time here!” He said, flexing his arms and getting back into his battle stance.

The hero was trying desperately to ignore the chants and the cheers and whistles from the audience, which was only making him more and more flustered.

Even after 15 years, All Might was never bored of battling you. He was expecting your attack and was ready for you when you ran at him. He was also relieved that he didn’t have to listen to those insufferable comments for another second.

To add to that, Even though the crowd really, really wanted you two to finally French kiss, they weren’t disappointed when it came to you both fighting. For now, they didn’t try to push you two… for now.

You immediately launched yourself forward, leaving a small crater behind you. At the last moment, he sidestepped your attack and aimed a punch directly at your ribs.

You placed your free hand in front of your ribs and grabbed his fist as he unintentionally swung you around. Once you jumped away from him, you swung the stop sign at his head.

The man quickly blocked the blow with his massive forearm and pushed the sign away.

He wasn’t just going to accept any injury without at least putting up a fight. He was itching to actually land a solid hit on you, which was a challenge due to your strength and agility.

He took the opportunity whilst your stop sign was pushed away to aim a kick at your side.

All Might cringed inwardly when you were sent through a wall. He really was dreading the paperwork… Technically, you destroyed that building, he’s just doing his duty.

…Also, you had a tendency to let him strike on purpose so he could indirectly damage buildings *cough* *cough*-

As you were recovering from that kick and standing at the edge of the hole you left, the people in the audience were whistling and hollering at you two.

All Might stared up at you with a scoff before marching over to the new hole in the wall.

“Damnit, why didn’t you dodge???” He almost whined.

You chuckled as you placed your stop sign on your shoulder and jumped down, landing in front of him with a deep thud.

“C’mon… you know why~” You said cheekily.

Despite the mask covering your lower face, he could tell you were smiling.

He let out an aggravated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his signature smile up through gritted teeth.

“You’re terrible.” He muttered.

In the background, some of the more overbearing and blunt All Might and Highland Havoc fans in the crowd started shouting again.

“Get a room already!”

“The damn sexual tension is more thick than Midnight!”

All Might was blushing furiously, trying to tilt his face away from anyone’s sight.

‘If I hear one more comment from these people…’ he thought to himself, keeping up that friendly All Might front for his fans and for himself.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted by another loud comment.

“Stop being pussies and kiss already!!” A more blunt and shameless fangirl yelled from the crowd.

All Might looked at his nemesis with a strained smile on his face.

You… You just deadpanned.

“…I’m just going to swing this at your durable head, is that okay?” You asked plainly yet genuinely, holding up your stop sign to show off your weapon of choice.

All Might let go of his restraint and rubbed the bridge of his nose again.

“That is absolutely fine.” He replied in annoyance before pulling his hand away to look at you. “In fact, could you please hit me in the face? I’d rather we got serious.”

Just then, another shrill female voice cried, “Oh come on, a kiss would be soooo much better tho-“

All Might gritted his teeth and interrupted. “Please, random citizen, I’m trying to concentrate!!”

Unfortunately, because All Might lost concentration, you took this chance to slam the sign part of the stop sign into his face.

He took the hit like a champ and stumbled back, but it didn’t knock him down, just caused him to fumble with his massive feet until he got his footing again.

He clutched his now throbbing cheek and winced.

’Note to self: keep your focus from now on.’ All Might thought to himself as he righted himself.

He smirked through the pain and glared over at you again.

“…You’re going to pay for that.” He said.

Instead of trembling in fear, you simply blinked in surprise, amazed that you actually nailed him in the face with the metal sheet so easily, before looking at the stop sign.

Your shock quickly turned into amusement after you did a double take.

“Oh my God!” You laughed from amusement and shock as you stared at the imprint of All Might’s face in the stop sign.

All Might’s glare and smirk dropped for a moment, instead looking at her with a bewildered look before following her gaze to the sign.

When he saw the All Might face-shaped imprint, he actually snorted.

The fans in the background were cheering and hollering at the scene unfolding on the battlefield between their favorite number one hero and number one villain.

You continued laughing while leaning onto the pole of the stop sign for support.

It wasn’t even one of those taunting laughs he always heard from you, it was one of those rare, genuine ones.

The hoarse sound of your laughter was so unbelievably beautiful to his ears…

In all the years he’d known you, he rarely ever heard a genuine laugh, a guffaw or an eruption of amused cackling. He always thought you were a snickering or a scoffing type.

…In all honesty, the sound of your laugh was almost more damaging than a stop sign to his face.

“I actually managed to immortalize that face you made into the sign! Definitely going into my stop sign collection!” You laughed out, wiping a tear from your eye.

Your comment luckily broke him out of his smiling stupor.

“H-Hey, I do not make that kind of face during battle…”

“The sign says otherwise.” You said while getting control of your laughter.

All Might’s face was slightly flushed as he internally pouted at you but still kept his signature smile on.

“Well… that’s obviously not my normal look!” He protested before turning to a more playful tone.

“…Though you must admit, that is a lovely face, even imprinted into a sign like that. I can see why you’d want to keep it, Havoc.” He said with a cheeky lilt to his tone, trying to tease you back.

You smirked and brought the dented part down to your face to study it.

“…actually, you’re right… even caught that beautiful jawline of yours.” You said before lifting your free hand up to tug at your mask.

You pulled the mask down, and for the first time in 15 years, you exposed your lower face to All Might and the crowd.

All Might’s eyes went the size of saucers.

He was finally getting to see your face. He had been yearning to know what you looked like beneath that hideous mask of yours for years.

A little part of him had hoped you would unveil yourself to him in battle for years, yet here you were actually doing it, Freezing the hero from disbelief and awe.

The audience had gone dead silent at the sight of your revealed face, and more than one fan was filming the historic moment.

… and It was about to get more historical… cuz you lifted the All Might face dent and gave it a little kiss before lifting the mask back over your lower face.

It was almost like a scene from a film, except it wasn’t scripted at all.

All Might’s jaw had dropped to the floor the moment you kissed the imprint, but the realization of what had just happened didn’t sink in until your mask was over your face again.

Everyone in the audience was stunned, and for a moment, no one uttered a breath. The silence was so loud, you could hear a pen hit the ground.

Then the crowd roared.

The collective roar and screams of the audience were deafening, and they rang in the ears of both the hero and the villain.

All Might was still staring at you in disbelief, a bright red blush spreading over his face.

As was expected of people who were witnessing such a sight, the fans had their phones out and were taking pictures at record speed. One or two people were actually full on crying with tears of joy.

You stared back at All Might with an amused and mischievous look in your eye as the crowd and potentially the whole world were collectively losing their mind.

All Might tried desperately to find words to say, but he was so stunned that he couldn’t even process his thoughts.

The hero’s brain had short circuited and his jaw was hanging open. All he could do was gape at you while the people in the background were gushing and crying and screaming about a number one ship in history being finally confirmed.

But then, he quickly realized that he was just standing there like a fish out of water, and there are cameras surrounding both of them, filming the whole scene.

He quickly schooled his features and placed his hands on his hips and lifted his head.

“O-OKAY, LET’S BE CALM ABOUT THIS!” he bellowed, but the fans were still making sounds like they just won the lottery.

At this, he groaned in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

He didn’t know what to do anymore. This was the worst. The fans are going to make this moment in history live on forever.

He finally removed his hand from his face and shot you a look.

“You did that on purpose….” he muttered to you.

“Oh did I?” You asked innocently while holding a dark gloved hand up to your masked face and kicking a foot up behind you.

All Might squinted his eyes at you in annoyance.

“Don’t give me that, you knew exactly what you were doing…” He grumbled.

The audience was still going berserk, cameras were flashing from all sides. The former hero was just so over it at this point.

You snickered like a little vixen while still holding your hand to your masked face. He was slowly getting more and more irritated at how amused you looked.

“…Why did you even do that!?” He demanded with a shaky tone.

The crowd was still hooting and whistling in the background, but All Might didn’t care, his focus was completely on you.

You simply shrugged.

“Sorry, my dear~” you purred out, using the pet name he used for you using your strength-based quirk to jump off to somewhere else, leaving All Might to deal with the damaged building and the crowd of shocked and excited bystanders… and a news helicopter.

All Might was so too caught off guard by his own pet-name being used against him that he forgot to give chase to you.

He eventually came to his senses and whipped around to search for you in the sky, but you were long gone by now.

Groaning and pinching his nose for the 5th… 6th time? 10th? The hero turned back to the aftermath of the confrontation and was immediately bombarded by the fans who were clambering around him.

That night…

Yagi Toshinori *hated* paperwork.

At this point, he was used to doing excessive amounts of paperwork, so he was able to get through it all rather quickly.

But today’s paperwork involved the entire incident that had occurred between you and him. His hands were cramping up from signing forms and writing down details of your little escapade.

He was just scribbling away as the TV played in the background, playing today’s news. And of course, the entire day’s events featured heavily on tonight’s broadcast.

Yagi lifted his head to take a break and watch the replay of the confrontation on the newscast. Once again, he was met with seeing himself standing on the battlefield with his jaw on the floor as cameras captured your little… display.

Immediately, he groaned and put his head down on the desk with a thump, mumbling into the wood.

“I actually can’t believe it, she really just made it known to everyone!” The news reporter said a little too excitedly for someone who’s supposed to be unbiased.

The news reporter had obviously been waiting for this moment her whole career. She was acting like a fangirl, which in a way, was very realistic of her since many people would react the exact same way.

“Who would’ve ever thought that the number one hero or number one villain would actually have some kind of affection for each other? Could it even be love?”

Toshinori was just sitting there, face on the desk, listening to the broadcast as his now deflated, fluffy hair draped over his desk.

The news reporters continued to talk about what had happened, but something said by the man reporter caught his attention.

”It’s been 15 years, today marking the 15th anniversary of All Might’s and Highland Havoc’s rivalry… it’s about damn time.” The older news reporter, a 50 year old man, said.

“Daikaku, you shouldn’t swear, we’re on live tv.” The younger news reporter said with a hint of worry.

But All Might didn’t focus on that…

15 years. 15 years of you being his nemesis…

He hadn’t even realized that it had already been that long. And he hadn’t realized that he had feelings for you for 90% of that time… that was… a really long time.

The news broadcaster interrupted the former heroes thoughts when the subject was changed to an All Might fan.

“Let’s listen now to what the fans have to say about the incident that unfolded in today’s fight.”

All Might groaned when he heard that. He just knew the first fan they were going to show was going to be an overly obsessed and delusional fan. And of course, that is exactly what he got.

“I CALLED IT! I KNEW the two of them have been dating in secret for YEARS!!” The first fan cried out through one of the speakers of the call, clearly a child.

All Might was so over it. He wanted to bang his head on the desk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes. That fan at the end is 100% Midoriya.

This takes place 3 years before All Might meets Midoriya, which means he’s 11 and All Might is 46.

Let me know how well I did and if you’d like more 👍👍👍👍

…or don’t. I’m planning on making a lil series anyways, like it or not.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Never meet your heroes (A-Train)

Description: A-Train hates Y/N and tries to get her kicked out of the seven.

Word Count: 1,653k

Author’s note: This was a request but I changed a few things about it.

Y/N was thrilled when she found out that she was going to be the new member of the seven. She was a big A-Train and Maeve fan so it was going to be awesome working with them. Well so she thought. You would think everyone would have been super nice but it was only Homelander and The Deep that talked to her. The Deep was a little too forward with trying to sleep with her but Homelander seemed nice. She didn’t wanna freak Maeve or A-Train out with being a fan so she didn’t really talk to them either but anytime she looked at them they didn’t seem to notice her.

A-Train didn’t like her at all. She acted too friendly with everyone like they were all best friends. This job wasn’t what she thought it was and she was about to find that out. During a meeting it had slipped that Y/N was a huge fan of him and Maeve. Maeve didn’t have a reaction but A-Train looked at her with disgust. It broke her heart that he looked at her like that. She did nothing wrong. So being the type of person she was she confronted him about it which wasn’t a good idea. “Look, we aren't friends around here. I get that you’re a fan of me but I’m not taking a picture with you or giving you my autograph.” She felt tears welled up in her eyes and walked away without a word.

After that she avoided him at all cost. Maeve was actually really nice to her which was a bonus but she had such a crush on A-Train that it broke her heart that he was like that way. A-Train tried to find dirt on her, anything that could get her out of the seven. She had nothing on her except a fan account on twitter that she had. He scrolled through it and it was for him. Pictures of him with fans and all of his “saves”. Posters for his movies but one tweet caught his attention. It was a dirty one. He read it and smirked. It might not get her kicked out but it was something that would embarrass her. 

Y/N woke up to her phone going off. It was Maeve. “Hello.” She answered in a tired voice. “Check my recent messages.” Maeve told her. Y/N looked at her phone and gasped. A-Train had retweeted a tweet from her fan account for him and called her out. So many comments calling her a whore and saying that she only joined the seven to fuck him. Tears welled up in her eyes again. Why would he do this? She didn’t wanna leave her bed after that but she had too. She got up and wiped her eyes to make it look like she hadn’t been crying. She did her makeup and hair and sighed.

Today wasn’t going to be good. In the seven’s meeting room everyone was there. Maeve gave her a pitied look as she sat down trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. “Y/N, You now look like the supe slut.” Homelander said. By the tone of his voice he didn’t sound impressed. “I’m sorry sir.” She said and looked up at him. He looked at her with a straight face. “We can’t be tweeting about wanting to fuck another member of the seven.” He said. “It was 3 years ago.” She stated. “Well it’s brought into light now. How will we fix this?” She honestly had no idea. This wasn’t something she had thought about. But it was odd that A-Train wasn’t getting yelled at for it. He watched with amusement as Homelander glared at her.

Maeve wanted to kill A-Train for this but held back. “I want this situation fixed by tomorrow. Got it?” He asked her. “Yes sir.” She said. The rest of the meeting she could not focus. The fact that he did that was crazy to her. She got up after the meeting was over and happened to walk out at the same time as A-Train. “Why’d you do that?” She asked him. “It’s funny.” He said. But it wasn’t. She shook her head, “I haven’t done anything to you though. I’m a fan of you and you expose me.” She said with tears. He looked at her and he was kinda shocked. “You’re the one who wrote the tweet.” He said and walked away.

She watched as he walked away like it was nothing. A day later he ends up killing someone on the street by accident. He was now getting shit for it and she didn’t feel bad. She wanted to laugh in his face. Homelander was pissed about that and forgot about the dirty tweet. “It was karma.” Maeve told her as they ate lunch. “It really was. I’m glad that my tweet isn’t the talk of the town anymore.” She said. “I bet now you want nothing to do with him.” “Yeah no he’s a dick.” She said.

A month goes by and Y/N and A-Train manage to avoid each other at all costs. That was until they were paired on a mission together. Y/N was the first one to have a reaction to it. “Can we not?” She asked. “Yeah there’s no need for her to come along.” She turned towards him, “Excuse you? What makes you think that you’re needed?” She asked him. “Cuz baby I’m the A-Train.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to Homelander. “You guys are going and that’s final.” He said. Y/N sighed, there was no way out of this. 

“I mean I can’t believe I have to go on a mission with him after he did that.” Y/N exclaimed to Maeve. She shrugged, “that’s just how Homelander is. He doesn’t care about personal shit.” Why would he? Unless it had something to do with him. Y/N had to mentally prepare herself for this mission. A-Train walked in the room and Y/N left without looking at him. “Why are you a dick to her?” Maeve asked him. He didn’t answer her and sighed. “She’s a fan and you expose her.” She pointed out. She wanted to call him an asshole.

“I don’t know but it’s not like she’s nice to me either.” He says. Maeve looks at him like he’s a dumbass. He is but she didn’t say that out loud. “You started it.” She pointed out. He hated that she was right. Y/N didn’t do anything to him but he was a dick to her and for no reason. He needed to fix it. 

Y/N sighed as she waited for A-Train to show up for the mission. She honestly thought saving people meant actually saving them and not a set up like this. 5 minutes later he appeared. “Sorry i'm late.” He said and she just rolled her eyes. She was done talking to him unless she had too. The mission went as well as it could go and Y/N sighed after it was all over. “I need a drink.” She mumbled but he heard her. “I know a good bar down the street.” He told her. She looked at him confused. “Why are you trying to be nice?” She asked. “I’ve been an asshole to you for no reason so just let me buy you a drink.” He said. “I’ll take a free drink.” She said, making him chuckle.

He held out his hand and she took it. He had them there before she could blink. “Woah.” She said and he chuckled. “Pretty fun, right?” He asked. She shrugged, “oh okay.” He said and opened the door for her. She entered the bar that was full of people but they found seats at the bar. A-Train ordered them drinks, “Thanks.” She said and he nodded. Maybe it was the stress of the seven or the stress of everything but she downed her drink. “Damn.” He said and she chuckled. “So why are you being so nice to me?” She asked again. “I was very rude to you and I had no right to be.” He said. “Yeah, especially to a fan.” She said. He set down his drink and nodded, “I’m sorry. The tweet wasn’t okay of me to do and I regret it.” He told her.

She gave him a small smile, “Never thought I would hear that.” She said, he finished his drink. “It takes a lot out of me to say that.” He tells her and she playfully rolls her eyes. “You owe me.” She tells him. “What do you want?” He asked, ordering more drinks for them. “Your name.” He looks at her confused, “That’s it?” He asked. “That’s a start.” “Reggie.” He said and she smiled. He had a pretty cool name. “Reggie.” She repeated, “I like it.” That made him laugh. “What else?” He asked. “Do you like being in the seven?” She asked, he was surprised that it went from his name to a personal question. “There are times that I don’t.” He says not giving much away. “I get that.” She said. “What about you?” He asked her.

“It’s cool to work with two people I’m a fan of.” She said and he chuckled. “It’s Maeve and who else?” He asked, jokingly. “You. Still you.” He looked at her and saw that she wasn’t lying. Even after all he’s done? “Still?” He asked and she nodded. She scooted her chair closer to him. He turned towards her and she did too. “Always.” She said with a smile. He felt himself smile and learned it. She saw and leaned in too. Their lips touched and she felt fireworks go off. She dreamed of this moment and she couldn’t believe it was happening. But as fast as the kiss started it ended. “So do you still feel the same way you did when you wrote that tweet?” He asked.

[peachyfnaf]

Hello chatters. currently 8:30 in the morning, and I've been seeing a lot of Sun love going around (based btw) which reminded me that even though I don't yap about him nearly as much as I do Nexus, Sun was also given such a short end of the stick when it came to this arc.

I don't care for Monty, but I do love Puppet, but the way they both pressured Sun into choosing what to do with Nexus (New Moon at the time)??? that shit is so fucked. and yeah, because I am who I am (a Nexus apologist lol), I was mad and hurt when Sun was unable to tell them to not kill him. but unfortunately that tracks for him.

Sun's trauma response is, most of the time, to freeze. he's done it before when confronted by past Eclipse's, Bloodmoon's- if you're willing to use other dimensions as examples, Servant Sun quite literally froze and surrendered with his hands in the air out of fear when Old Moon first met him.

So, he did it again. he was put in a terrifying situation, and he froze. which led to Nexus freezing in space too amiright ahahahahhhhh

So, shit was already fucked for him at this point. because not only did he lose a close family friend (Solar), tried to help the other 3 through their grief and prioritizing their feelings over his own because he was- objectively- the least close with Solar, lose his brother to madness (which we now know there was like 10x more to that then just 'grief' makin' him act as he did. y'know. glares at Dark Sun and NSP), could basically do NOTHING as Earth was kidnapped by Ruin/Bloodmoon, and Nexus was blasted into space by Puppet.

And even though that was the end of that main arc, dude CONTINUED TO BE HANDED L'S AFTERWARDS. Old Moon being brought back by Monty (Monty.. >:[) without Sun even being asked about it first, Sun not being given the chance to properly heal from/mourn Nexus because O.M was now there, he filled his role, and O.M does not like Nexus. (chatters, I'm gonna warn you, ever since he came back, I've been an Old Moon hater. do not like that guy.) anD THEN EVERYTHING WITH DAZZLE/EVELYN??? july 16th of this year was like a very high peak in what's, to me, a very low-on-the-chart arc, but THAT DOESN'T MEAN SUN WAS OKAY DURING IT JFCCC. the TRAUMA he was reliving during that time HURTED

And even where he is now- he got his magic back, yuippee yayyy!!!

Because of it it seems like he's now intrinsically intertwined with NSP, and multiple people want to use him as a goddamn radar to find Wither Shards now. one of those people literally being The Creator, yaknow, like the stories Biggest Bad???

And another, "oooh, yaknow, that happeneddd, ahahahahhh.." was The Creator psychologically torturing him in one of the darkest SAMS eps' to date because of it.

AND. And, finally, the most recent episode that was Yapped to me about that well. 1, just made me hate O.M more, and 2, made me want to just wrap Sun in a blanket in front of a fireplace. The "Invaded By CRINGY FNAF in Vrchat" one. the way O.M spoke to Sun in that ep, the use of the gravely K.C voice that O.M only uses when making threats, I- I'll fuckin-

LEAVE THAT LITTLE GUY ALONE. I HOPE WHEN YOU AND NEXUS INEVITABLY FIGHT YOU GET CLOCKED IN THE JAW FOR THAT ONE. GOOD LORD.

...I've been typing this for like 50 minutes, apparently I had a lot more to say when it came to Sun than I first thought DGAIEPHDWGWLAH

Canon. canon, please, let Sun do something. let him be the one to free Nexus from NSP corruption, because of how much he's been shown to be resilient to it. let Sun be the one to stop The Creator's next big scheme instead of Moon. let him do things as important as all the others instead of just cleaning. the pieces for him to do so are right there. now put them in place.

[signalburst]

Shōgun Historical Shallow-Dive: the Final Part - The Samurai Were Assholes, When 'Accuracy' Isn't Accurate, Beautiful Art, and Where to From Here

Final part. There is an enormous cancer attached to the samurai mythos and James Clavell's orientalism that I need to address. Well, I want to, anyway. In acknowledging how great the 2024 adaptation of Shōgun is, it's important to engage with the fact that it's fiction, and that much of its marketed authenticity is fake. That doesn't take away from it being an excellent work of fiction, but it is a very important distinction to me.

If you want to engage with the cool 'honourable men with swords' trope without thinking any deeper, navigate away now. Beyond here, there are monsters - literal and figurative. If you're interested in how different forms of media are used to manufacture consent and shape national identity, please bear with me.

I think the makers of 2024's Shōgun have done a fantastic job. But there is one underlying problem they never fully wrestled with. It's one that Hiroyuki Sanada, the leading man and face of the production team, is enthusiastically supportive of. And with the recent announcement of Season 2, it's likely to return. You may disagree, but to me, ignoring this dishonours the millions of people who were killed or brutalised by either the samurai class, or people in the 20th century inspired by a constructed idea of them.

Why are we drawn to the samurai?

A pretty badly sourced, but wildly popular history podcast contends that 'The Japanese are just like everybody else, only more so.' I saw a post on here that tried to make the assertion that the show's John Blackthorne would have been exposed to as much violence as he saw in Japan, and wouldn't have found it abnormal.

This is incorrect. Obviously 16th and 17th century Europe were violent places, but they contained violence familiar to Europeans through their cultural lens. Why am I confidently asserting this? We have hundreds of letters, journals and reports from Spaniards, Portuguese, Dutch and English expressing absolute horror about what they encountered. Testing swords on peasants was becoming so common that it would eventually become the law of the land. Crucifixion was enacted as a punishment for Christians - first by the Taiko, then by the Tokugawa shogunate - for irony's sake.

Before the end of the feudal period, battles would end with the taking of heads for washing and display. Depending on who was viewing them, this was either to honour them, or to gloat: 'I'm alive, you're dead.' These things were ritualised to the point of being codified when real-life Toranaga took control. Seppuku started as a cultural meme and ended up being the enforced punishment for any minor mistake for the 260 years the ruling samurai class acted as the nation's bureaucracy. It got more and more ritualised and flowery the more it got divorced from its origin: men being ordered by other men to kill themselves during a period of chaotic warfare. I've read accounts of samurai 'warriors' during the Edo period committing seppuku for being late for work. Not life-and-death warrior work - after Sekigahara, they were just book-keepers. They had desk jobs.

Since Europe's contact with Japan, the samurai myth has fascinated and appalled in equal measure. As time has gone on, the fascination has gone up and the horror has been dialled down. This is not an accident. This isn't just a change in the rest of the world's perception of the samurai. This is the result of approximately 120 years of Japanese government policies. Successive governments - nationalist, military authoritarian, and post-war democratic - began to lionize the samurai as the perfect warrior ideal, and sanitize the history of their origin and their heydey (the period Shōgun covers). It erases the fact that almost all of the fighting of the glorious samurai Sengoku Jidai was done by peasant ashigaru (levies), who had no choice.

It is important to never forget why this was done initially: to form an imagined-historical ideal of a fighting culture. An imagined fighting culture that Japanese invasion forces could emulate to take colonies and subdue foreign populations in WWI, and, much more brutally, in WWII. James Clavell came into contact with it as a Japanese Prisoner of War.

He just didn't have access to the long view, or he didn't care.

The Original Novel - How One Ayn Rand Fan Introduced Japan to America

There's a reason why 1975's Shogun novel contains so many historical anachronisms. James Clavell bought into a bunch of state-sanctioned lies, unachored in history, about the warring states period, the concept of bushido (manufactured after the samurai had stopped fighting), and the samurai class's role in Japanese history.

For the novel, I could go into great depth, but there are three things that stand out.

Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. He's a novelist, and he did what he liked. But Clavell's novel was groundbreaking in the 70's because it was sold as a lightly-fictionalised history of Japan. The unfortunate fact is the official version that was being taught at the time (and now) is horseshit, and used for far-right wing authoritarian/nationalist political projects. The Three Unifiers and the 'honour of the samurai' magnates at the time is a neat package to tell kids and adults, but it was manufactured by an early-20th century Japanese Imperial Government trying to harness nationalism for building up a war-ready population. Any slightly critical reading of the primary sources shows the samurai to be just like any ruling class - brutal, venal, self-interested, and horrifically cruel. Even to their contemporary warrior elites in Korea and China.

Fake history as propraganda. Clavell swallowed and regurgitated the 'death before dishonour', 'loyalty to the cause above all else', 'it's all for the Realm' messages that were deployed to justify Imperial Japanese Army Class-A war crimes during the war in the Pacific and the Creation of the Greater East Asian Co-Properity Sphere. This retroactive samurai ethos was used in the late Meiji restoration and early 20th century nationalist-military governments to radicalise young Japanese men into being willing to die for nothing, and kill without restraint. The best book on this is An Introduction to Japanese Society by Sugimoto Yoshio, but there is a vast corpus of scholarship to back it up.

Clavell's orientalism strays into outright racism. Despite the novel Shōgun undercutting John Blackthorne as a white savior in its final pages - showing him as just a pawn in the game - Clavell's politics come into play in every Asia Saga novel. A white man dominates an Asian culture through the power of capitalism. This is orthagonal to points 1 and 2, but Clavell was a devotee of Ayn Rand. There's a reason his protagonists all appear cut from the same cloth. They thrust their way into an unfamiliar society, they use their knowledge of trade and mercantilism to heroically save the day, they are remarked upon by the Asian characters as braver and stronger, and they are irresistible to the - mostly simpering, extremely submissive - caricatures of Asian women in his novels. Call it a product of its times or a product of Clavell's beliefs, I still find it repulsive. Clavell invents (nearly from whole cloth, actually) the idea that samurai find money repulsive and distasteful, and his Blackthorne shows them the power of commerce and markets. Plus there are numerous other stereotypes (Blackthorne's massive dick! Japanese men have tiny penises! Everyone gets naked and bathes together because they're so sexually free! White guys are automatically cool over there!) that have fuelled the fantasies of generations of non-Japanese men, usually white: Clavell's primary audience of 'dad history' buffs.

2024's Shōgun, as a television adaptation, did a far better job in almost every respect

But the show did much better, right? Yes. Unquestionably. It was an incredible achievement in bringing forward a tired, stereotypical story to add new themes of cultural encounter, questioning one's place in the broader world, and killing your ego. In many ways, the show was the antithesis to Clavell's thesis.

It drastically reigned in the anachronistic, ahistorical referencees to 'bushido' and 'samurai honor', and showed the ruling class of Japan in 1600 much more accurately. John Blackthorne (William Adams) was shown to be an extraordinary person, but he wasn't central to the outcome of the Eastern Army-Western Army civil war. There aren't scenes of him being the best lover every woman he encounters in Japan has ever had (if you haven't read the book, this is not an exaggeration). He doesn't teach Japanese warriors how to use matchlock rifles, which they had been doing for two hundred years. He doesn't change the outcome of enormous events with his thrusting, self-confident individualism. In 2024's Shōgun, Blackthorne is much like his historical counterpart. He was there for fascinating events, but not central. He wasn't teaching Japanese people basic concepts like how to make money or how to make war.

On fake history - the manufactured samurai mythos - it improved on the novel, but didn't overcome the central problems. In many ways, I can't blame the showrunners. Many of the central lies (and they are deliberate lies) constructed around the concept of samurai are hallmarks of the genre. But it's still important to me to notice when it's happening - even while enjoying some of the tropes - without passively accepting it.

'Authenticity' to a precisely manufactured story, not to history

There's a core problem surrounding the promotion and manufactured discussion surrounding 2024's Shōgun. I think it's a disconnect between the creative and marketing teams, but it came up again and again in advertising and promotion for the show: 'It's authentic. It's as real as possible.'

I've only seen this brought up in one article, Shōgun Has a Japanese-Superiority Complex, by Ryu Spaeth:

'The show also valorizes a supreme military power that is tempered by the pursuit of beauty and the highest of cultures, as if that might be a formula for peace. Shōgun displays these two extremes of the Japanese self, the savagery and the refinement, but seems wholly unaware that there may be a connection between them, that the exquisite sensibility Japan is famous for may flow from, and be a mask for, its many uses of atrocious domination.'

Here we come to authenticity.

'The publicity surrounding the series has focused on its fidelity to authenticity: multiple rounds of translation to give the dialogue a “classical” feel; fastidious attention to how katana swords should be slung, how women of the nobility should fold their knees when they sit, how kimonos should be colored and styled; and, crucially, a decentralization of the narrative so that it’s not dominated by the character John Blackthorne.'

It's undeniable that the 2024 production spent enormous amounts of energy on authenticity. But authenticity to what? To traditional depictions of samurai in Japanese media, not to history itself. The experts hired for gestures, movement, costumes, buildings, and every other aspect of the show were experts with decades in experience making Japanese historical dramas 'look right', not experts in Japanese history. But this appeal to 'Japanese authenticity' was made in almost every piece of promotional material.

The show had only one historical advisor on staff, and he was Dutch. The numerous Japanese consultants, experts and specialists brought on board (talked about at length in the show's marketing and behind the scenes) were there to assist with making an accurate Japanese jidaigeki. It's the difference between hiring an experienced BBC period drama consultant, and a historian specialising in the Regency. One knows how to make things look 'right' to a British audience. The other knows what actually happened.

That's fine, but a critical viewing of the show needs to engage with this. It's a stylistically accurate Japanese period drama. It is not an accurate telling of Japanese history around the unification of Japan. If it was, the horses would be the size of ponies, there would be far more malnourished and brutalised peasants, the word samurai would have far less importance as it wasn't yet a rigidly enforced caste, seppuku wouldn't yet be ritualised and performed with as much frequency, and Toranaga - Tokugawa - would be a famously corpulently obese man, pounding the saddle of his horse in frustration at minor setbacks, as he was in history.

The noble picture of restraint, patience, refinement and honour presented by Hiroyuki Sanada as Toranaga/Tokugawa is historical sanitation at its most extreme. Despite being Sanada's personal hero, Tokugawa Ieyasu was a brutal warlord (even for the standards of the time), and he committed acts of horrific cruelty. He ordered many more after gaining ultimate power. Think a miniseries about the Founding Fathers of the United States that doesn't touch upon slavery - I'm sure there have been plenty.

The final myth that 2024's Shōgun leaves us with is that it took a man like Toranaga - Tokugawa Ieyasu - to bring peace to a land ripped assunder by chaos. This plays into 19th century notions of Great Man History, and is a neat story, but the consensus amongst historians is if it wasn't Tokugawa, it would have been some other cunt. In many cases, it very nearly was. His success was historical contingency, not 5D chess.

So how did this image get manufactured, to the point where the Japanese populace - by and large - believes it to be true? Very long story short: after a period of rapid modernisation, Japan embraced nationalism in the late 19th century. It was all the rage. Nationalism depends on a glorified past. The samurai (recently the pariahs of Japanese history) were repurposed as Japan's unique warrior heroes, and woven into state education. This was especially heated in the 1920s and 30s in the lead up to the invasion of Manchuria and Japan's war of aggression in the Pacific. Nationalism + militarism = the modern Japanese samurai myth, to prepare men to obey orders unquestioningly from a military dictatorship.

This persists in the postwar period. Every year since 1963, Japan's state broadcaster NHK commissions a historical drama - a Taiga Drama, where many of this show's actors got their starts - that manufactures and re-enforces the idea of samurai as noble, artful, honourable people. Read a book - read a Wikipedia article! - and you'll see that most of it stems from Tokugawa-shogunate era self-propaganda. It's much like the European re-interpretation of chivalry. In Europe's case, chivalry in actual history was a set of guidelines that allowed for the sanctioned mass-rape and murder of civilians, with a side of rules regarding the ransoming of nobles in scorched-earth military campaigns. In Japan's case, historical figures that regularly backstabbed each other, tortured rival warriors and their lessers, and inflicted horrific casualties on the peasants that they owned (we have a term for that) are cast as noble, honourable, dedicated servants of the Empire.

Why does this matter to me? Samurai movies and TV shows are just media, after all. The issue, for me, is that the actors, the producers - including Hiroyuki Sanada - passionately extoll 'accuracy' as if they genuinely believe they're telling history. They talk emotionally about bushido and its special place in Japanese society.

But the entire concept of bushido is a retroactive, post-conflict, samurai construction. Bushio is bullshit. Despite being spoken of as the central tenet of 2024's Shōgun by actors like Hiroyuki Sanada, Tadanobu Asano, and Tokuma Nishioka, it simply didn't exist at the time. It was made up after the advent of modern nationalism.

It was used to justify horrendous acts during the late Edo period, the Meiji restoration, and the years leading up to the conclusion of Japan's war of aggression in the Pacific. It's still used now by Japan's primarily right-wing government to deny war crimes and justify the horrors unleashed on Asia and the Pacific during World War II as some kind of noble warrior crusade. If you ever want your stomach turned, visit the museum attached to Yasukuni Shrine. It's a theme park dedicated to war crimes denial, linked intimately to Japan's imagined warrior past. Whether or not the production staff, cast, and marketing team of 2024's Shōgun knew they were engaging with a long line of ahistorical bullshit is unknown, but it is important.

It's also important to acknowledge that, having listened to many interviews with Rachel Kondo and Justin Marks, they were acutely aware that they weren't Japanese, to claim to be telling an authentically Japanese story would be wrong, and that all they could do was do their best to make an engaging work that plays on ideas of cultural encounter and letting go. I think the 'authenticity!' thing is mostly marketing, and judicious editing of what the creators and writers actually said in interviews.

So... you hate the show, then? What the hell is this all about?

No, I love the show. It's beautiful. But it's a beautiful artwork.

Just as the noh theatre in the show was a twisting of events within the show, so are all works of fiction that take inspiration from history. Some do it better than others. And on balance, in the show, Shōgun did it better than most. But so much of the marketing and the discussion of this adaptation has been on its accuracy. This has been by design - it was the strategy Disney adopted to market the show and give it a unique viewing proposition.

'This time, Shōgun is authentic!*

*an authentic Japanese period drama, but we won't mention that part.

And audiences have conflated that with what actually happened, as opposed to accuracy to a particular form of Japanese propaganda that has been honed over a century. This difference is crucial.

It doesn't detract from my enjoyment of it. Where I view James Clavell's novel as a horrid remnant of an orientalist, racist past, I believe the showrunners of 2024's Shōgun have updated that story to put Japanese characters front and centre, to decentralise the white protagonist to a more accurate place of observation and interest, and do their best to make a compelling subversion of the 'stranger in a strange land' tale.

But I don't want anyone who reads my words or has followed this series to think that the samurai were better than the armed thugs of any society. They weren't more noble, they weren't more honourable, they weren't more restrained. They just had 260 years in which they worked desk-jobs while wearing two swords to write stories about how glorious the good old days were, and how great people were.

Well... that's a bleak note to end on. Where to from here?

There are beautiful works of fiction that engage much closer with the actual truth of the samurai class that I'd recommend. One even stars Hiroyuki Sanada, and is (I think) his finest role.

I'd really encourage anyone who enjoyed Shōgun to check out The Twilight Samurai. That was the reality for the vast majority of post-Sekigahara samurai

For something closer to the period that Shogun is set, the best film is Seppuku (Hara-Kiri in English releases). It is a post-war Japanese film that engages both with the reality of samurai rule, and, through its central themes, how that created mythos was used to radicalise millions of Japanese into senseless death during the war. It is the best possible response to a romanticisation of a brutal, hateful period of history, dominated by cruel men who put power first, every single time.

I want to end this series, if I can, with hope. I hope that reading the novel or watching the 1980 show or the 2024 show has ignited in people an interest in Japanese culture, or society, or history. But don't let that be an end. Go further. There are so many things that aren't whitewashed warlords nobly killing - the social history of Japan is amazing, as is the women's history. A great book for getting an introduction to this is The Japanese: A History in 20 Lives.

And outside of that, there are so many beautiful Japanese movies and shows that don't deal with glorified violence and death. In fact, it makes up the vast majority of Japanese media! Who would have thought! Your Name was the first major work of art to bridge some of the cultural animosity between China and Japan stemming from WW2, and is a goofy time travel love story. Perfect Days is a beautiful movie about the simple joy of living, and it's about the most Tokyo story you can get.

Please go out, read more, watch more. If you can, try and find your way to Japan. It's one of the most beautiful places on earth. The people are kind, the food is delicious, and the culture is very welcoming to foreigners.

2024's Shōgun was great, but please don't let that be the end. Let it be the beginning, and I hope it serves as a gateway for you.

And I hope our little fandom on here remembers this show as a special time, where we came together to talk about something we loved. I'll miss you all.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

pairing: dad!bucky barnes x au pair!reader

warnings: age gap (reader is 10 years younger than bucky), smut (18+, dni if under 18)

author’s note:  hey guys! it's me, like wayyyy too many months later but i did promise i would post it this year even if it's like next year in a few hours but here it is!

masterlist

oh oh i'm falling in love, oh no i'm falling in love again, oh, i'm falling in love i thought the plane was going down how'd you turn it right around

Y/N stared in disbelief at the Sergeant, not entirely sure if she had heard him correctly. Maybe it was the Scotch. Could Scotch go bad, could it expire? Sure old Scotch was better than a recent one but surely there was some sort of limit as to how long a liquid can sit lost in time until it gives you some sort of poisoning. Surely malt and water couldn't last forever without causing some sort of illness or hallucination which would explain why Bucky Barnes had just told her he loved her. Or maybe he told her that he loathed her, that would make more sense.

      - I'm sorry, I think I didn't hear it right ... What did you say? - she asked and Bucky swore she was trying to kill him or maybe embarrass him. However, his ego was high on the three glasses of Scotch he already had.

      - I said I loved you.

      - You love me? - what else was there to ask. Maybe she was mishearing him again, yet it came more of a disbelief rambling rather than the question she meant it to be.

      - Yes. - he said, moving closer to her, his eyes more interested in the shade of her lips rather than her eyes which were sure to bring any grown men to their knees. - I love you, I really, really like you Y/N.

      - Like a friend?

Had Y/N been anyone else Bucky would've probably laughed and had Bucky been anyone else Y/N would hide in her bedroom until he disappeared. Things were ... different, she guessed. It felt different to hear it from him, different than when she heard it from Christopher or her first boyfriend or the first guy she ever liked. It felt unsure in the way which she didn't know how to reply, she didn't know when to reply. It was a mature and immature feeling, threading almost along the line of paradoxical. It was if the feeling itself verified her madonna persona yet tempted the whore which laid under, the temptress. It was both tempting and comforting for something that was so out of her reasonable comfort zone.

      - No, not like a friend. - he was close enough she could smell the remnants of his cologne, the scent of scotch in his breathe. - I love you like lovers do.

      - Is that what we are? Lovers?

      - Are you ever not questioning me?

      - It's a fair question, isn't it? - she raised her brow almost in defiance and moved closer, tempting him further. - I thought you liked my questions.

Bucky rolled his eyes before his hands grabbed her hips and moved her closer so their noses touched. They stared into each others eyes for what felt like a while, the mere sound of the wind brushing through the trees outside sounding like electricity until he made his move, moving closer until their lips collided. As if they'd done , they move closer to each other, their bodies pressing together in a heated embrace. Their lips meet in a passionate, lustful kiss, and the world around them fades away as they lose themselves in the moment. She pulled away, biting her lip almost in a painfully shy manner.

      - I should go back upstairs. I have to take Sadie to school tomorrow. - she cleared her throat, wiping her cheeks as if she could wipe the heat of her cheeks.

      - Of course. - Bucky moved away as she got up from the couch. - Hey, I can take her if you want to sleep. It's fine, I can go to the office later.

      - It's fine, it's my job. Uh ... good night, Sergeant.

She ran up the stairs like an embarrassed school girl, almost tripping on the bottom of her pyjama trousers, and rushed into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. What was she doing? She couldn't make out with her boss, that went against her contract ... I mean, it wasn't like there was a clause stipulating she couldn't make out with Bucky yet it was still highly unprofessional. He was her boss, her very attractive, tall and rugged handsome boss ... but her boss. Her boss who was sometimes unprofessional himself, he had even inserted himself into the Christopher situation. Still, she was a professional and a professional doesn't make out with her boss.

She laid down in bed with a huff, staring at the lights in the ceiling of her bedroom. Did Bucky had the same lights in his ceiling? He probably did, this was his house after all. The same house she was living in for free, the same house of the man who paid her a really good salary.

      - Y/N? - a knock on her door interrupted her mind's rambling. She got up and opened to see Bucky staring at his feet. - I wanted to apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable, it was unprofessional on my part.

      - No, no, it's my fault too, I mean ... I kissed you back. - she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly.

      - Please don't apologise, I should've known better but it's damn good scotch, which isn't really an excuse. - he started rambling himself, looking at her like a high schooler would look a girl he really wanted to take on a date. It was cute. - Maybe we shouldn't drink more scotch.

      - Yeah, you're probably right.

He shrugged playfully before turning to go to back to his bedroom before he could do anything else he would regret, however, Y/N was still very much considering whether she should do something that she could regret tomorrow.

      - Sergeant Barnes? - she called after him, almost in a faint whisper so his daughter wouldn't wake up. - Are you gonna ask me out?

      - Excuse me?

      - You said you loved me. Are you gonna ask me out?

      - Do you want me to ask you out? - he smirked, crossing his arms.

      - I'm not gonna answer that question. - she met him in the middle with an equal smirk. - I wasn't the one who said I love you.

      - Yeah but I wasn't the one asking the boss to ask her out.

      - Ask me out, Barnes.

      - Is that an order?

Bucky was close, close enough she could see the smile lines resulting from and she couldn't help herself, she didn't want to help herself. She kissed him, her hand placed on the back of his neck as they kissed. It wasn't soft or sensual, it was needy, as if they would cease to exist. She pulled him towards her bedroom, her hands grabbing at his jumper to pull it over his head. She had heard he was very well built and she had caught glances of him shirtless before but seeing it so up close, every defined muscle, the texture of his skin made her want to scold herself for not having looked harder the other times.

      - I don't think I've been in this bedroom for this long. - he pulled her shirt over her head as he looked around the bedroom. It was her bedroom after all and she wasn't in the mood to usually let him inside to see anything. - Or seen you shirtless this long.

      - Do you ever stop talking? - Bucky smiled and looked at her.

His hands wandered down to her hips and his thumbs lightly brushed over her hips. He pinned her against the door, his leg between hers as he pressed himself closer to her. His lips drew a pattern from behind her ear to her collarbone, his fingers snapping her bra strap against her skin.

      - Do you know how long I've waited for this? - he chuckled as he felt her body close to his, the shape of her breasts pressed against his chests and the sweet nothings of the moans she was trying to keep from escaping. - You've been tempting me since the moment you walked through my door.

He chuckled as she held in a gasp, his body moving closer and closer to her. He turned her around, kissing her hard again and threw her in the body, covering her uncovered body with kisses as he massaged her skin. She felt him slide his hands just a bit further down, kissing and softly bitting her skin. The feelings are overwhelming and the mere foreplay of kissing and massaging is sending shivers down her body. Everything about him was making her go crazy.

      - Bucky, please. - he smiled and he kissed back as he let his fingers move down a just little lower. He leaned in and nuzzled into her more.

His thumb pressed over her clit just over her cotton white underwear, rolling it in small and torturously slow motions making her moan. The fabric moistened under his finger making him smirk as he extended his neck to kiss hers.

      - You're so wet. - he chuckled as he kissed down her legs and to the laced hem of her underwear. - You wanted me just as much as I wanted you.

      - Wait, what are you doing? - she cupped his face, pulling him up.

      - I'm gonna eat you out, baby. What does it look like?

      - I've never had anyone do that to me before so maybe we could skip it?

      - Christopher didn't eat you out? - he chuckled. - No wonder you're so wound up over some over the underwear play. No one is treating you right.

      - You really wanna talk exes?

      - If you let me eat you out, you won't regret it. - he looked at her waiting for her consent. Y/N weighed out the options and the benefits, mostly considering her memories of when Sadie was at her grandmother's and Bucky brought in flavour of the month Samantha and for the whole week Y/N could hear nothing but loud moaning. She wanted the loud moaning as well so she nodded her head.

Bucky grinned like a devil, kissing down her collarbone all the way to the hem of her underwear. His hands slide inside her underwear, pulling it down her legs and throwing it somewhere into the floor. He kissed the side of her knee, the 2 day old stubble of his unshaved beard burning the skin in a very good manner. His kisses continued down her knee to her calf as he placed her legs on his shoulders and lowered down to her heat. Bucky swore in that moment he could happily die in the middle of her legs happily surrounded by her scent. He kissed and bit the inside of her thighs, definitely leaving marks which would make sure she would never forget. His thumbs spread her wide open and his head fully lowered now, his tongue licking a long yet slow strip up to her clit. The sensation was new for sure, it was nothing like what she had ever felt before and as she was learning to adapt to the new feelings his tongue was causing, he starting suckling on her clit, his tongue ever so slightly teasing the top of it. She gasped in a moan, her hands gripping at his hair.

      - Bucky! - she said in between shallow breathes bringing him immense enjoyment that he was causing her. He started eating her out like a starved man, her fluids coating his chin and neck as he went in for another lick before he started to use his fingers. Her nails gripped the sheets.

      - Chris didn't treat you like this? - he came back up biting the side of her knee. - I bet not, which is why you're so wet.

      - Go back. - she almost pouted and Bucky couldn't say no. He went back down and started suckling on her clit while his fingers pumping in and out of her hole. Her fingers tightened around the sheets and on his hair and she started to see black spots in her vision, she attempted to control her breathe but found herself unable to do so as Bucky's mouth and fingers brought her to orgasm.

Her back fully hit the mattress and she stared at the lights in her bedroom with her mouth softly open as her breathes came out softly. Bucky kissed his way up to the corner of her mouth before fully kissing her, his knee rubbing against her core. She whimpered, leaning her forehead against his shoulder.

      - You're good? - he asked, kissing the side of her head.

      - I'm good. - her hands made their way to the top of his sweats, trying to pull them down.

      - Someone's needy. - he grinned as he helped her shake him out of his sweats and underwear. He grabbed her thighs and put her in positions before grabbing his cock and lining it up with her entrance. He looked into her eyes once more looking for reassurance before he sheathed himself inside her, groaning as he did so. Her legs wrapped around his hips, helping him bottom out as he leaned towards her to kiss her once more. - Can I move, baby?

      - Yes, please.

His hips moved ever so slightly making her moan which was a sign for him to move. His hand held hers and he began to thrust in and out, his balls hitting her bottom as he did. He drowned her moans with a kiss, moving again fast enough to make the headboard hit the wall. The bedroom filled up with their moans and the smell of sex as she reached the her last orgasm of the night. Once Bucky felt her release, he began chasing his own, throwing his head back and groaning. He finished inside of her, ropes of white spilling out from her hole and in the sheets.

He fell to her side and smiled, merely happy to look at the sight of her before the two fell asleep.

(...)

She woke up next morning to the faint chatter and laughter downstairs. She rubbed her eyes, looking at the state of the room. Memories came rushing to her and she couldn't help but slightly smiled as she wrapped herself in her robe and made her way downstairs. Sadie was dressed and was sat at the table eating pancakes while Bucky was nursing a cup of coffee.

      - Daddy did your hair, huh? - she said to Sadie as she reached her, noticing her lobbed ponytail. She took the scrunchie off and started to plaid the hair.

      - Thank you! - she said through the food she was eating.

      - Sleep well? - Bucky asked as he hid a smirk behind his coffee cup.

      - I did, did you? Sore? - she asked as she grabbed a cup of coffee herself. - You look a bit blushed still, Sergeant.

      - Are you busy this afternoon?

      - Depends.

      - Reservations downtown at 7?

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