#she’d also be a better hero

[natsaffection]

heyy this is my first time making a request and idk if it's okay but what if reader is like an anti-hero or villian and when reader gets hurt she shoves up to Natasha's apartment thinking she would maybe help her? idk if it works but I've been thinking about something like this and it would be great if you actually write itt😭😭😭

Lines crossed. | N.R

Avenger!Natasha x AntiHero!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Gore and injurys

Word Count: 2,6k

A/N: These are the stories I like the most. 🙏🏻 And I feel honored, that I can write your first ever request! 🏆

The city of New York was no stranger to chaos, but in recent months, a new shadow had begun to loom over its streets. This shadow was not the kind of evil the Avengers were used to dealing with..This was different. And this, was you, a name whispered in fear among the criminal underworld, a vigilante with a taste for vengeance and a history stained with blood.

You had risen to the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted list, a place usually reserved for supervillains and global threats. Your methods were brutal and unyielding, your sense of justice unwavering. To some, you were a hero. To others, a menace. But to the Avengers, you were a problem that needed solving.

“Another one,” Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, murmured as she stood over the lifeless body of a notorious gang leader, his blood pooling around him in a grotesque halo. “It’s her again.”

Clint joined her, shaking his head. “She’s getting bolder. This is the third one this week.” Natasha's eyes scanned the scene, taking in the familiar hallmarks of your handiwork. The precision, the brutality, the unmistakable sense of finality. "She’s not hiding anymore. She wants us to know it’s her."

Nick Fury appeared behind them, his expression unreadable as ever. "We need to bring her in. She's crossed too many lines, and now the media's starting to pick up on it. The last thing we need is a vigilante making us look incompetent."

Natasha nodded, her mind already running through the many encounters she’d had with you. Each one had been a battle of wills, fists, and wits. You were good, damn good. But Natasha was determined to be better.

You wiped the blood from your hands, your breathing steadying as you looked at the man you'd just eliminated. He had been a monster, a predator preying on the weak and innocent. You felt no remorse. In your eyes, justice had been served.

You knew the Avengers were close. You could feel their presence like a storm on the horizon. Especially Natasha. Your fights had become a dance of sorts, each trying to outmaneuver the other, each knowing that one day it would come down to a final, decisive confrontation.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced at the message: another target, another mission. Your work was never done.

Back at the Avengers' headquarters, the team gathered around a holographic display of the city, pinpointing the locations of your recent activities. "We need to be strategic," Steve said, his voice calm but firm. "She’s not just any criminal. She’s trained, skilled, and she's got a mission."

Natasha’s eyes never left the display. She knew you better than most. She understood your motivations, your drive. And she knew that stopping you would require more than just brute force.

"It’s personal for her," Natasha said quietly. "And if we’re going to bring her in, we need to understand why she’s doing this." The team nodded, each member resolving to bring an end to your bloody crusade. But for Natasha, it was more than just another mission. It was a challenge, a test of her skills and resolve.

You moved through the city like a ghost, your mind focused on the task at hand. You knew the Avengers were watching, waiting. You relished the challenge. Each encounter with Natasha had pushed you to be better, sharper.

But you also knew that the game couldn’t go on forever. One day, it would come to an end. One way or another.As you prepared for your next mission, you couldn't help but wonder: when that day came, who would be the one standing? You or Natasha?

The city was alive with the sounds of sirens and distant traffic, but your focus was razor-sharp. You moved through the shadows, your target's location clear in your mind. You knew the Avengers were closing in, but you thrived on the edge, where danger and adrenaline fused into one intoxicating rush.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your target, a corrupt businessman with ties to multiple criminal organizations. You slipped past his security with ease, your movements precise and silent. As you stood over him, your eyes cold and unyielding, you knew this would send another message to the underworld and the Avengers alike.

Just as you were about to strike, the window shattered, and Natash swung in, landing gracefully on her feet, guns drawn. "Y/n, this ends now," Natasha said, her voice a mix of resolve and urgency. You smirked, stepping back to assess the new threat. "You always know how to make an entrance, Romanoff."

The two of you circled each other, the tension thick in the air. You made the first move, lunging forward with a series of rapid strikes. Natasha countered, your fists and feet a blur of motion. Each move was calculated, each strike intended to find a weakness.

The fight spilled into the hall, your movements fluid and fierce. You were relentless, your skills honed by years of training and combat. But Natasha was no less formidable, her experience and agility a match for your raw power.

In a desperate bid to escape, you knocked over a set of shelves, creating a momentary barrier. You dashed down the corridor, but your path was blocked by Steve. "Going somewhere?" Steve asked, raising his shield.

You didn’t hesitate. You launched yourself at him, your attacks relentless. Steve defended himself with his shield, but your sheer ferocity pushed him back. You knew you had to move fast. Every second counted.

A blast of energy struck the ground near you, and you turned to see Tony Stark hovering in his Iron Man suit. "You’re surrounded. Give it up."

With a quick glance, you calculated your options. You grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher, using it to create a cloud of smoke. In the confusion, you darted through a side door, your escape route planned to the last detail.

In the aftermath, the Avengers regrouped, frustration evident in their expressions. "She’s good," Clint said, rubbing his bruised arm. "We almost had her."

"Almost isn’t good enough," Tony replied, scanning the area for any sign of you. "She’s always one step ahead." Natasha looked at the ground, her mind replaying the fight. She admired your tenacity and skill, but she also knew that each encounter brought them closer to a dangerous tipping point.

"We need to change our approach," Natasha said. "She’s playing a game of survival. We need to make her see that we’re not the enemy." Steve nodded. "Agreed. We need to understand her motivations. If we can reach her, maybe we can end this without more bloodshed."

Weeks turned into months, and the chase between you and Natasha became legendary among the Avengers. Your reputation as a formidable adversary was solidified, but so was Natasha's determination to bring you in. Every encounter became a game of wits and skill, a deadly dance with an undercurrent of something more.

One night, Natasha found herself on a stakeout at a high-end nightclub. Her sources had tipped her off about a major criminal deal going down. She knew you would be there, drawn to the opportunity like a moth to a flame. Natasha blended into the crowd, her eyes scanning for any sign of her elusive target.

Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. "Looking for someone?" your familiar, flirty voice whispered in her ear. Natasha spun around to find you, dressed to kill and wearing a mischievous grin.

"Yes, you." Natasha said, her voice steady despite the surprise. "You're getting bold." You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And you're getting predictable, Romanoff. I knew you'd be here."

Natasha moved closer, lowering her voice. "This ends tonight. You're coming with me." You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Are you asking me out on a date, or is this another one of your attempts to arrest me?"

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. "Depends on how you look at it." Before Natasha could react, you leaned in, your lips brushing Natasha's ear as you whispered, "Catch me if you can." Then, with a swift movement, you disappeared into the crowd.

Natasha's heart raced as she pursued you through the crowded club. The thrill of the chase was intoxicating, and she couldn't deny the electric connection between you. You were always one step ahead, leaving clues and taunts that kept Natasha on her toes.

The chase led them to the club's rooftop, the city lights sprawling beneath them. You stood at the edge, the wind whipping through your hair. Natasha approached slowly, her eyes locked on you.

"You can't keep running forever.“ Natasha said, her voice a mix of determination and something softer. You turned to face her, your expression unreadable. "I'm not running, Natasha. I'm fighting. Just like you."

Natasha took a step closer, her heart pounding. "We don't have to be enemies, Y/n.. Let us help you." Your gaze softened, and for a moment, Natasha saw the vulnerability beneath the tough exterior. "You don't understand. I've crossed too many lines. There's no going back for me."

Natasha reached out, her hand brushing your arm. "It's never too late to make a different choice. You can Trust me.“ You looked at Natasha, your eyes searching for something. Then, with a sigh, you pulled away. "Maybe in another life, Romanoff."

Before Natasha could react, you leaped off the rooftop, landing gracefully on a fire escape below. Natasha rushed to the edge, but you were already disappearing into the night.

—

One fateful evening, you found yourself cornered by a gang of criminals. You fought valiantly, but the numbers were overwhelming. By the time the dust settled, you were grievously wounded. Blood soaked your clothes, and every step sent waves of agony through your body.

Desperation set in as you stumbled through the dark alleys. You knew going to a hospital was out of the question. The police would arrest you on sight, and SHIELD agents were everywhere. You tried to treat your wounds in an abandoned building, using whatever you could find. With shaking hands, you attempted to stitch a deep gash on your side, but the pain was too intense and your vision blurred.

Realizing the severity of your injuries and your inability to treat them alone, you remembered, „You can Trust me.“ You had placed a small tracking device on Natasha’s shoe during one of your fights, anticipating you might need to find her someday.

The rain pelted the city in relentless sheets, washing away the grime of the day. You stood in front of Natasha's apartment door, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You leaned heavily against the frame, your vision swimming. Despite the pain, you forced a playful smile onto your lips. You had to get inside. You had to see Natasha.

With a trembling hand, you knocked on the door. It felt like an eternity before it finally swung open. Natasha stood there, her expression a mix of surprise and annoyance.

"How did you find me?" Natasha asked, her voice cold. You tried to straighten up, wincing as you did. "Miss me already, Romanoff?" you said, your voice weak but carrying a hint of flirtation. "Couldn't stay away.."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here. Why are you here?" Ignoring the question, you leaned against the doorframe, your legs barely holding you up. "Thought I'd drop by... see your lovely face," you managed, your vision beginning to darken around the edges.

Natasha's patience snapped. She grabbed her phone, her fingers quickly dialing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s number. "Enough with the games. I'm done with this."

Your heart sank, your body swaying. You tried to take a step forward but stumbled, your strength failing. You collapsed into Natasha, who caught you out of reflex. As your full weight pressed against her, Natasha's eyes widened in horror. Blood soaked through your clothes, warm and sticky, covering Natasha's hands.

"Oh my God.." Natasha whispered, her phone slipping from her fingers as she cradled your limp body. "Y/n, what happened??" Your head lolled to the side, your eyes struggling to stay open. "Guess I... pushed it too far this time..“ you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Natasha quickly assessed the situation, her mind racing. "We need to get you inside.“ she said, her tone urgent. She half-carried, half-dragged you into the apartment, laying you on the couch. Blood pooled on the floor, and Natasha's hands shook as she grabbed her first aid kit.

"Stay with me, Y/n," Natasha urged, tearing open your shirt to reveal a deep, gaping wound along your side. The sight of old scars crisscrossing your chest made Natasha's heart clench. "God, what did you do?!“

She worked quickly, her training kicking in. She poured antiseptic over the wound, her hands moving with practiced precision. Your body trembled with pain, your fingers digging into the couch. "God, that burns," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "F-Fuck, Natasha, it h-hurts..“

"I know it does," Natasha said, her voice softening. "But I need you to stay with me. I don't have any narcotics, so this is going to be rough."

Your eyes were glazed with pain, your breathing shallow. "Just do it…" you managed to say. Natasha threaded a needle, her fingers slick with blood. She began to stitch the largest wound, her focus intense. Your body shook with each stitch, your teeth clenched to hold back screams. The raw pain was almost unbearable, and low moans of agony escaped your lips despite your best efforts.

"You're doing great," Natasha said, her own voice trembling. "Just a few more." Your fingers clawed at the couch, your knuckles white. "Natasha... please, hurry," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper.

Natasha's heart ached at the sight of your suffering. "I'm almost done," she said, her tone soothing. "Just hold on a little longer."

Your eyes fluttered, your strength fading fast. "Sorry... for your couch...and for everything," you whispered, tears mixing with the blood on your face. "I never wanted it to be like this.."

Natasha's eyes were full with understanding. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I need you to hold on." She finished the stitches, then bandaged the wounds as best she could. Your body relaxed slightly, your breathing still labored but more steady.

"It's done," Natasha said, sitting back and wiping her forehead. "You're going to be okay." Your eyes closed, exhaustion overtaking you. Natasha grabbed a blanket and covered you, then sat beside you, holding your hand gently. "I'm here," Natasha whispered. "You're safe now. Rest and we’re sorting everything tomorrow out, okay?"

You whimpered softly, your body shaking from the pain and the cold. Natasha gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, her expression tender. "I never thought I'd see you like this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes fluttered open, focusing on Natasha with difficulty. "Guess... I can't always be the strong one.“ you murmured, a weak smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's heart tightened. "You don't have to be strong all the time," she said softly. "It's okay to let someone help you." You nodded weakly, your eyes drifting closed again. "Thank you, Natasha.“ you whispered.

Natasha squeezed your hand gently, "You're going to be alright," she said, her voice filled with determination. "I won't let anything happen to you."

As she sat there, watching over you, Natasha knew that this was a turning point. You had come to her for help, and that meant there was still hope. She would find a way to bring you back from the edge, no matter what it took.

Part 2

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Across Every Universe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey Jordan, can i request something where Dean Winchester always have a crush on the reader but never said something to her until one day Sam and Dean are transported (based on the episode French Mistake) and Dean actor Jensen and is married to the reader of the universe and she pass the whole day giving Dean hug and kisses because for everyone is Jensen. When Dean and Sam came back to their universe him and the reader start dating? Fluff 

Summary: Sam and Dean are taken back to the same place where Dean is known as Jensen Ackles and Sam as Jared Padalecki. This little trip makes Dean realize his feelings for you.

Square Filled: "god, if only you knew what you did to me" (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

No matter the position you’re in, you’re not comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lie down on your side, your back, or your stomach. Not to mention the heater isn’t working in the Bunker so it’s very cold. You have three blankets over you while wearing long sleeves and pajama pants. The broken heater doesn’t help your running cold either. You’re not sure where you caught it from but you’ve been trying to stay away from the brothers to not get them sick.

That doesn’t keep Dean away, though.

He’s a complete sweetheart to you since he always brings you soup, makes sure you’re comfortable, and spends time with you even if you tell him not to go near you. You don’t know what you’d do without Dean in your life.

Speaking of, he knocks on your door and enters wearing his usual hunting attire.

“Going on a hunt?” you ask and sit up slightly.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay here and take care of you.”

“Other people need you,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay in bed, watch movies, and make some soup later. Did you fix the heater, yet?”

“I have someone coming in a few days. He’s also on a hunt.”

“Right, no non-hunters here,” you chuckle.

“I’ll call you later and check up on you, okay?”

“My hero.”

You cuddle with your blankets more and Dean leaves your room with a slight blush on his cheeks. Before he closes the door, he looks back at you in thought. God, if only you knew what you did to me.

He closes your door and meets his brother in the library. As soon as they are packed and ready to go, they start the long drive to the next state over. When Dean gets onto the highway, Sam turns to Dean with a knowing smile.

“So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had a thing for her? Years? When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I mean it, Sam. Stay out of it. I can handle it on my own.”

“Apparently not, or else she’d be yours.”

Dean punches his brother not gently in the arm and Sam laughs. Dean kept the music high so he could avoid talking about his feelings for you. They get to the town that has its residents sacrificing themselves in the name of God. If anything, it warrants some kind of visit from the Winchesters.

The town looks like a normal town with normal people just trying to live their normal lives. They have no suspicions that something is happening but they only just arrived. They get there late at night so they will have to do their work tomorrow morning. Dean takes out his phone when his brother goes into the bathroom to shower and calls you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing alright but not any better.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, I did.” He can hear the smile in your voice and that makes him smile. “And I ate my soup and drank water.”

“Don’t forget to tell her goodnight,” Sam says loudly from the bathroom.

Dean grabs a pillow and chucks it at his brother. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you chuckle, having heard Sam.

“Night sweetheart.” He hangs up and turns to his brother with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam and Dean actually get more than four hours of sleep that night but when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The motel is gone, the shutty beds and blankets are gone, and the peeling wallpaper is gone. What replaces it is a nice trailer, a comfortable bed, a big aquarium, and other nice shit that Dean has never had.

“Sammy?” he calls out. He gets up and leaves the small trailer only to run into Sam. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looks around and spots a name on the side of the trailer that’s behind Dean. “Oh, no. Look.”

Dean turns and sees the name ‘Jensen Ackles’ on the side. He turns back around and sees ‘Jared Padalecki’ on the trailer opposite his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? We’re back in actor land? What happened last time?”

“Gabriel sent us here to avoid Raphael and his minions. I have no idea how we ended up here.”

“I bet it has something to do with the fact that people were sacrificing themselves in the name of God. My guess is that angels are involved.”

“There you two are.” Sam and Dean turn to see Castiel--Misha--walking toward them. “They’re looking for you two.”

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

If Sam and Dean didn’t do a good job trying to act last time, then they certainly aren’t going to do a good job now. It’s funny in hindsight but it makes for a very long day of filming. After the twentieth time messing up, Dean is ready to get the hell out of there to figure out how to get back to his world.

He looks to the right and sees you at the snack bar. He immediately calls for a time-out and leaves the set.

“Time out?” the director frowns and looks at him. “Everyone, take ten!”

“Y/N?”

“Come here, you have to try this. Gen made it,” you grin at Dean. You take a scoopful of food and present it to him. He opens his mouth and accepts the food, pleasantly surprised by the taste. “Oh, you have something on your mouth.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb and lick the food off. Dean is so confused about your behavior but doesn’t have time to figure it out. Your phone rings and you check who is messaging you. “I gotta go. Gen is here.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before walking off. Dean can’t move after that quick kiss. You did it so casually like you’ve done it a thousand times. He is forced to go back to acting but he can’t do a good job because all he’s thinking about is your lips on his.

They aren’t getting enough filming done so the director calls it for the rest of the day. Sam and Dean convene outside to make it look like they’re busy so no one else talks to them.

“She kissed me, dude.”

“What?”

“Y/N or the woman who she’s supposed to be. She kissed me like we’re together or something.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re going through the five stages of teenage excitement but can we focus here? How are we going to get out of here?”

Dean looks around and spots you entering his trailer.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be back.”

Dean leaves to his trailer and Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Dean!” he hisses but receives no answer.

Dean enters his counterpart’s trailer and sees you where the bed is. You’re grabbing some night clothes out of the drawers since you’re not going to be leaving the trailer for the rest of the night.

“Hey, I talked to Gen about the cabin and she got it all set up for us this weekend. I’m so excited to spend some time away from all this for two days.”

“Are we dating?” The comment makes you laugh. “What?”

“Are you okay?” He looks kind of nervous so you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know how to make you feel better.”

“How?” he whispers.

You run your hands down his chest and take his hands. You take him to the bed and toss your night clothes onto a nearby chair. You fall onto the bed while pulling him so he lands on top of you but he stops himself with his hands so he doesn’t completely crush you.

You pull him down to kiss you and that’s enough to bring Dean into the delusion that you’re Y/N and you’re his. Your lips are softer than what he thought and your body fits so perfectly against his. He slips his tongue into your mouth to get familiar with you. You tug on his hair to get some traction so he pulls away from your mouth and kisses down your neck.

Your neck has always been a sensitive spot for you and he really knows how to work you up. He licks up and down your neck before latching onto the side of it. You gasp, tilt your head back, and moan something that brings Dean back down to reality.

“Jensen.” You’re not his. You��re not you. You’re Jensen’s. You’re not supposed to be with him. He pulls away and pants above you. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we just lay here instead?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me get changed.”

You slip out from underneath him and grab the pajamas you set aside earlier. You strip down naked and Dean has a hard time not looking at you. He can’t help but think you’re a complete stranger. The pajamas you’re wearing are revealing but he feels better at looking at you with clothes on. You climb into bed with him and cuddle into his side, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your head.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Tell me the story of how we met.” You look at him in confusion. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay, I got tickets to a red carpet event that my ex-friend invited me to. We were going to see the movie My Bloody Valentine because we thought it was going to be the next big movie. The entire cast was there, including you, meeting fans and taking pictures with them. When we locked eyes, it was like something was pulling you to me.

“You came over to me, complimented me on my dress, signed my poster with your number on it which I still have, and the rest is history. I never got together with you because you were a big celebrity. You were genuine, kind, funny, charming, and very sexy. It was hard not to fall in love with you.”

Dean notices the big ring on your finger and puts the pieces together.

“We’re married?”

“Yes, we are,” you laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… really happy.”

You lean over and kiss him. The next morning, Dean leaves his trailer before you get up. He doesn’t want to wake you even though he wants to. He finds Sam outside his own trailer with a book in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean sighs.

“I might have found a way out of here, no thanks to you.”

“What if we didn’t leave?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The love of my life is my wife here.”

“That’s not your wife, Dean. She’s Jensen’s wife. She thinks you’re him. Why would you take that away from him? You have a girl waiting for you at home, a girl with whom you’re too scared to do anything about. Don’t take her away from him because you want what they have.”

Dean knows he’s right. He can’t stay here. He’s using this world as an escape from his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean sighs. “What do you have?”

“I found this book in the prop section. This might be a TV show but it does have some useful books to make it look real. There’s a ritual we can do.”

And a ritual it is. Once they get the stuff needed and perform it, they are brought back to the town they arrived in a couple of days ago. In order to properly tackle this town, they’re going to need some angelic help. Maybe Castiel can meet them back at the Bunker and figure something out then.

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is go looking for you. You’re still stuck in bed watching your favorite movies on Disney+. You pause your movie when your bedroom door opens.

“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his shoes. He climbs into bed with you and pulls you close to him. “Dean?”

“I love you,” he blurts. “I should have told you this years ago but I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you. You make everything better for me, and you’re a better hunter than I ever was. God, I love you so much.”

“I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get you sick,” you smile.

“I don’t care,” he whispers and kisses you.

This is where he belongs. Right next to you.

x

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[natalievoncatte]

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

[keepingitformyself]

and my waves meet your shore

A/N: this one has been in the drafts for two years.... synopsis: natasha seems to have found silence in all the noise.

MASTERLIST

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: angst, fluff.

warnings: sad natasha :(

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha romanoff has lived a very lonely ife.

however, as sad as it may seem natasha never once payed any heed to it. relationships and rapport had rarely been acknowledged by her superiors during her time in the red room. but if it ever was it was only to display the inconvenience it would bring to her life.

so as a stead natasha had only ever put her mind to the things she was instructed to, unfortunately companionship had never been in that spectrum for her.

her lack of agency had always made that easier for her. she was always taught to deflect at any first sign of fragility and she never needed anyone else because— well she was simply better off on her own.

still, thoughts of having any sense of togetherness or intimacy would sometimes cross her mind, but as soon as they came she was always quick to brush them off.

it took her some time to discard the habit of having that mentality.

natasha’s upbringing was one made up of unspeakable catastrophe, things one simply could not ever bear to speak about. she had taken too many falls, and she had shed too much blood and tears for a life she never intended.

but when she did manage to set herself free, plagued with nothing but the haunts of the past she left behind, with the very small amount of hope she had left in humanity, she rose slowly from the depths of a narrative she’d never spare a glance back at again.

and she had clint barton to thank for that. he would never understand the amount of gratitude she had towards the archer. he had given her a sense of family, a sense of home. he let her in and introduced her to his own life outside of what it meant to be on the light side of the fight.

he was her first shot at a real human relationship. her shot at a second chance.

it had flicked a switch inside of her whenever she saw clint hug his kids and kiss their cheeks. natasha had only ever known cruelty, she had never seen something so benevolent before.

she liked it whenever she got to see that side of him, the side that wasn’t so stoic and on high alert all the time, the side that wasn’t agent barton.

it changed her perspective when it came to the world. she had only ever seen the ugly in people. her experience with some of the most horrendous things had allowed for her to see the humanity in others.

but unfortunately, never in herself.

even after switching her allegiance to the avengers she still couldn’t bear the thought of the person she used to be, the one that was the exact opposite of who she is now.

she devoted herself to the fight and had made her own separate code to live by. it became a need for her to do only the great or good, so much so that she was willing to put her own life on the line if it ever came to it. her entire life became one of redemption.

natasha romanoff had lived a tragic life. no one would ever understand her and her troubled past, and no one had ever made the time to try.

that is until she met you.

she had met you in a weird time in her life. taking down what was left of shield also meant exposing who she was before her years as an agent at shield.

many people were out of a job after that. some moved on, others promoted into whatever secret agency would come next. you however, had been offered a spot next to the world’s mightiest heroes.

she was wary of you, of course. she had the right to be. it wasn’t everyday someone would show up out of the blue and offer her a piece of themselves.

you were like that a lot. natasha quickly learned you had no problem in sharing parts about you to make others feel better. sure, you weren’t someone who carried a large amount of baggage like the rest of them, but that felt refreshing to most of the team.

natasha never got to pick her battles before, until now. she’d always deny saying that she hated the fight more than she showed.

the truth is, natasha wasn’t ready for a fight much like this one, but nonetheless, it was still one she wouldn’t surrender to.

—

natasha has nightmares. bad ones too.

it’s the same thing every time they happen. she wakes up in the night and paces her room, it feels like a fire inside. the smoke that isn’t there manages to make her feel like it consumes her into its flames.

she feels helpless in its flames, she convinced herself that the lifetimes worth of nightmares is what she deserves. she cries and hopes that it ends soon, all she can do is hold her own until it passes.

suddenly, you barge in. you find natasha on the floor, looking frail and disrupted. you don’t waste a moment in rushing towards her.

you don’t even think about how you’ve never been in such close proximity to her. then you hug her. you tell her that she’s okay, that it’s okay.

she never pushes you off and it surprises you, natasha quickly figures that she likes to be held and you feel warm against her, so she lets you.

you kiss her dampened forehead and keep coaxing her, telling her anything and everything that you think might help her. you never push her into opening up, you understand the intimacy of it, natasha is thankful for that.

when you feel her breath steady and her cries have grown quieter you walk her back to her bed. you both look at each other for a moment and she breathes out before saying.

“thank you.” her voice comes out in a rasp.

you only nod, a small smile on your face. you make your way to leave until you feel her hand graze your own. you meet her eyes again with a furrow in your brows.

the look she gives you tells you that she doesn’t want this to be brought up again and that she trusts that it will remain between you both. your hand touches her own,

“you can trust me.” is all you say before leaving back towards where you came from.

when natasha wakes up that morning she finds that she hates her reflection in the mirror. she notices pieces of her old self when staring into her eyes.

she clenches the counter under her hands and squeezes her eyes until she musters up enough courage to walk out of her bedroom door.

when she makes her way into the busy kitchen she’s greeted instantly by everyone. she smiles and greets back, acting as if nothing had happened the night prior. that is until she feels a warm cup being pushed into her hands.

“morning, i made your coffee. i’ll serve you a plate in just a moment.” you greet the redhead with a smile. she raises her eyebrows in surprise and takes the coffee in her hands.

she sits besides clint and hums in contentment once she figures out that you made her cup just the way she liked it. black and one sugar.

you make breakfast easy for her to feel comfortable in. you act as if nothing had happened and continue to pass around jokes with the boys. natasha even passes you the ketchup bottle with a small smile when you ask for it. your mind cheers at the small progress you think you’ve made.

now, natasha knows that she can somewhat trust you and in the enlightenment of that she starts to loosen herself when it comes to you.

since then you’ve seen more of natasha around the building and you notice how she’s open to your company even more.

you now find the redhead sitting next to you during meals if she finds a space empty and she acknowledges you with a smile if you see her passing in hallways throughout the day.

one particular moment that really catches you by surprise is when you finally let yourself make the time to sharpen your knife collection. you hadn’t had the chance to since work piled up and it wasn’t until today that you were now allowed a free day.

and when you make it to your armory you find that all your blades and knives had been sharpened and cleaned. a note left by the redhead in your locker.

‘i know you haven’t had the time. -N’ you’re left shocked but don’t even question how she knew this despite never mentioning it to her.

two weeks later, she walks up to you in the middle of your workout. she taps your shoulder and you remove your earbud to turn towards her.

“hi!” you say too enthusiasticly, surprised she had walked up to you to start a conversation.

you’ve learned by now to never push for her attention, you let her come to you when she wants to. everything had to happen at her own pace if you want to be her friend.

she invites you for movies in her room later that night. a shy smile invades her face as she releases the sentence, you could tell she seemed a bit nervous at the idea of being in a room alone with you.

you agree as cooly as you can, careful to not overexcite your response in case she suddenly sees it as weird.

later that night you find yourself in bed with natasha, she shares her bag of skittles with you whilst she chooses a movie. you smile when you notice the stash of snacks she had hidden, a variety of skittles and reece’s. you make a mental note to gift her some more of her favorite snacks.

she makes you watch her favorite bond films, you never point it out but you know for most of the movies she had watched you instead.

the gears turn in natasha’s head. she watches you laugh and sees the fascination swirl in your eyes as you become invested in the action sequences.

she searches and searches for any sign of bad intention in you. part of her has not fully comprehended how someone like you had wanted to be involved with someone like her. she knows how patient you’ve been…but why?

she absolutely cannot help it that she feels this way, not when it’s been programmed into her to never be this vulnerable.

but every bone within her knows you’re anything but ill-intended. her mind just simply can’t wrap around the idea that someone seems to want to stay.

once the movie had finished you stayed back for a while to talk. you had no problem in taking charge of most of the conversation, you knew natasha was still adjusting to you.

she asks you questions, you answer.

you tell her about your family. you grew up in brooklyn, a cute brownstone in the park slope neighborhood. you had two older siblings, each four years older. a brother, a stockbroker and your sister who was an interior designer.

you notice the small quirk in natasha’s face when you mention your siblings, you decide not to question it.

until two weeks later. you’re in her room again and she brings it up during a harry potter marathon.

“i have a sister.” is all she has to say before you pause the movie.

“pardon?” you look at her, but she’s still staring at the screen.

“i have a sister, or had, i don’t really know where she is now.”

you tread carefully with your next question.

“do you think about her a lot?” the question finally makes her look at you.

“all the time.” she whispers.

you think of how devastating it may be for her to know someone out there was once a part of her.

“thank you for telling me.”

—————

after a solo mission to johannesburg you come back in very bad shape. you’d barely made it out by the time an airlift came to retrieve you.

and once you’re lifted into the jet by a combat med you don’t notice the worried redhead that’s in the jet waiting for you as well.

she grabs your face in her two hands, worried expression on her face.

you’re breathing heavy, and you’re clutching your stomach with the same arm that’s throbbing.

all you can really do is give her a bloodied smile.

you take a sharp breath in, “hey…” then your eyelids go heavy and you don’t really remember much of anything after that.

by the time you’ve landed it’s all a mess. everyone hears about your state, and the whole team is there to meet you at the landing dock when you’re being carried in a stretcher into the compound.

natasha only talks to three people until you wake up. steve to report everything to, and bruce and doctor cho for any inquiry on your state of health.

despite everyone’s efforts to convince natasha you’re fine, she’s stays put and keeps her eye on you through surgery. clint tries to get her to eat but his attempts fail, only met with complete silence. and wanda tries to tell her to at least freshen up for you, but she’s met with silence yet again.

it’s all honestly a bit off putting how eerily quiet she got. the team decides then, that when it comes to you it’s best to just let her be.

but she’s there again when you wake up in the med bay. she instantly hears your shift in breathing and wakes up only seconds after you do.

“you’re awake.” is the first thing she says.

and you in your disoriented state say,

“good. i’m really loopy still, so i can’t really tell if i’m dreaming or not.”

natasha lets out what sounds like a relieved sigh or a laugh, but it makes you smile, and you both stare at eachother for a few seconds.

you look at her, a grateful smile on your face.

the gears in natasha’s head turn. something about the way she found you almost twenty four hours ago had shifted something in her.

she was with steve when you reported you may need extraction as soon as possible. your breathing was ragged and you let out at strangled whimper before the line cut off.

“i’m going.” was all natasha said before she headed off to pack a bag. she was there before the extraction team fifteen minutes later.

it was hard to think of anything else besides you, on her way to you. and it was hard to think of anything else besides being with you when she finally got to you.

it was something she couldn’t quite place, or maybe she could, maybe she wasn’t ready to face it yet.

you squint your eyes at the redhead next to you, noticing her deep in thought state. you almost think you see a twinge of something else besides relief in her eyes. but before you could question it almost robotically a mask is put back up.

“i’ll go get, cho.” is all she says before she clears her throat and leaves.

after that, you catch natasha around you alot. more than usual.

suddenly every partner mission you’re assigned to, natasha is there with you ready to go.

and you never find out, but she made steve promise to assign you both together. she never really tells him why, even when he asks she’s quite good at deflecting those questions.

and quite honestly, he didn’t have it in himself to question her, knowing she always had everyone’s best interests in mind.

it’s a little past midnight when you find natasha sitting on the compound’s balcony. the distant hum of the city mixes with the soft chirping of crickets, creating a quiet melody that feels oddly serene. she doesn’t startle when you join her, doesn’t even glance up, but you notice the slight tension in her shoulders ease as you settle into the chair beside her.

the silence between you stretches, comfortable yet charged with unspoken words. she’s never been much for small talk—her world operates on subtleties and actions rather than open confessions. you’ve learned to understand her language, the way she communicates through fleeting gestures and careful glances.

“i didn’t expect you to be awake,” she finally says, voice low and steady. her gaze is fixed on the horizon, as if the view holds answers she’s not ready to share.

“couldn’t sleep,” you reply, mirroring her tone. “too quiet.”

she huffs a quiet laugh. “you don’t strike me as someone who likes noise.”

“i don’t. but sometimes, silence is its own kind of noise, don’t you think?”

her eyes flicker toward you, studying your profile like she’s trying to decipher a code. you don’t push; you’ve never needed to. natasha unfolds on her terms, like a flower reluctant to bloom under artificial light.

“i used to hate silence,” she admits after a moment. “it felt… heavy. like it was waiting to crush me.”

you nod, not saying anything but giving her the space to continue.

“then, i realized it wasn’t the silence i hated. it was being alone in it.”

the admission hangs in the air, raw and unguarded in a way natasha rarely allows herself to be. you shift in your seat, careful to keep your movements unassuming.

“you’re not alone anymore,” you say gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

her head tilts, and for a brief moment, you see the war behind her eyes—the battle between wanting to believe you and the deep-seated scars of her past telling her otherwise.

“it doesn’t feel like it when you’re around,” she finally says, her voice soft but carrying the weight of her sincerity.

it’s a small victory, but one that fills your chest with warmth. you glance at her, and this time, she meets your eyes. there’s a vulnerability in her gaze, a quiet plea for something she doesn’t know how to ask for.

“you don’t have to carry it all by yourself,” you say. “not anymore.”

her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, and she looks back out at the skyline.

“i know.”

it’s not an overt declaration or a grand epiphany, but it’s enough. natasha romanoff doesn’t find solace in words. she finds it in actions, in the quiet moments shared with someone who sees her for who she is and stays anyway.

natasha hesitates, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of her chair. she’s rarely still for long—always poised, always prepared to move, to act. but tonight, she’s caught between the present and the thousand questions swirling in her mind.

her voice comes unexpectedly, low and careful. “when you were hurt on that mission…” she pauses, her jaw tightening as she fights the urge to retreat into herself. “…i realized something.”

you turn toward her fully, watching as she wrestles with whatever it is she’s trying to say. her hands rest on her lap now, and her gaze is focused on them as though the answers are carved into her palms.

“nat…” you prompt softly, giving her space to continue.

she exhales, a sound heavy with reluctance and resolve. “i’ve lost people before. more than i can count. and i always told myself it was… just part of the job. you can’t stop to feel when you’re in the middle of everything. you can’t afford to.”

you stay quiet, knowing this isn’t the moment for interruptions.

“but when i saw you…” her voice falters, her fingers curling into fists before relaxing again. “it wasn’t the same. i didn’t—” she stops, looks up at you with a rare vulnerability that makes your chest ache. “i didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t come back.”

the admission is small, almost swallowed by the quiet around you, but it lands with the force of something much larger. you feel the words settle in your chest, warm and grounding.

you lean forward slightly, letting the closeness fill the space between you. “you don’t have to say anything you’re not ready for,” you offer, keeping your tone as gentle as you can. “but just so you know… i’m not going anywhere.”

natasha’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze searching yours as though she’s testing the truth of your words. slowly, her hand moves, and she brushes her fingers against yours. it’s tentative, a question wrapped in the smallest of gestures.

you respond by turning your hand over, letting her fingers slip into yours. it’s not much—a barely-there connection—but to natasha, it feels monumental.

“i don’t know what this is,” she admits, her voice trembling just slightly, “or if i even deserve it. but... you make me feel something i didn’t think i could anymore.”

your breath catches at her confession, the subtle weight of it more than you expected but exactly what you’ve been hoping for.

“i think you deserve a lot more than you give yourself credit for,” you reply, your thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. “and whatever this is, i’m okay with figuring it out… with you.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, but the way her grip tightens around your hand is all the answer you need. the silence that follows is comfortable, filled not with the weight of unspoken fears but with the quiet promise of something new.

natasha glances at you once more, her green eyes soft in the moonlight. “thank you,” she murmurs. it’s the second time she’s said it to you, but tonight it carries more meaning, more intention.

for the first time in a long time, natasha feels the silence settle.

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (ii)

SUMMARY: When Soldier Boy doesn’t return from Nicaragua, Vought creates a bullshit lie, talking him up as a hero who died in a devastating, world-saving accident. You’re handed down the mantle of leader as Payback, and spend your time trying to live up to how Ben had lead them, while also attempting to figure out what truly happened to him.

WORD COUNT: 2945

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Vought’s corrupt behaviour, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, death, gore, vomit, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, smut; descriptions of sex.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Ben didn’t come home from Nicaragua.

Blown to pieces by some Russian laser weapon (what the fuck?), the.. chunky remnants of his body were taken away in a helicopter. Presumably to be experimented on.

It made you sick. Ben might’ve been an asshole, a deep rooted cunt, but he didn’t deserve to have his corpse be defiled like that. Maybe you’d just gone soft for him, that’s all. Maybe his hushed, sweet words and gentle touches, in his last few days, had softened your heart.

But you spent nights grieving your loss, hyperventilating in your room as you felt his fingers tracing your hips again. If you closed your eyes tight enough, you could see him.

You’d never planned for Ben to die. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to do. He was supposed to be ageless; a man who didn’t die. Vought would hide him away when it became suspicious, and he’d live peacefully… as peaceful as he could get, anyway. That was what was supposed to happen.

But his guts were strewn across the base camp in Nicaragua, and you’d never see him again.

It only took Vought three months to create a bullshit cover story.

After all, they couldn’t tell America their beloved Soldier Boy was actually at the site of a cocaine smuggling operation when he was blown to bits. No, that’d taint his image that Vought had spent literal decades moulding. He needed to die a hero. A man that would live gloriously in textbooks and stories.

A nuclear reactor meltdown is what they came up with.

Fucking bullshit, really.

The man was practically immortal (which did raise the question of, how the hell did the Russians kill him in the first place?). Some radiation wasn’t going to take him out. You’d watched him take two full magazines from an assault rifle, and get back to his feet like nothing happened.

And now he was dead. You didn’t know how. You wished more than ever that he’d let you accompany Payback on this godforsaken mission. Because you were utterly clueless as to what had gone down, and no one was answering your questions, tearing up whenever you mentioned the place.

You wanted — needed — to know how this was possible.

You knew Ben, better than anyone else on the team, even Crimson, who stood up on stage, talking about how good of a man Ben was.

Ben was a good man — to those he thought deserved to see that side of him. He was reserved and harsh and rude. And, yes, he was naturally an asshole. But, there was a part of him capable of respect and kindness and love. It was just stuffed deep within.

You’d been drawing it, slowly and carefully. You’d dug your hand in and grasped onto it, worming that side of him out of his heart with every night you’d spent cuddled into his chest. And he’d been warming. His touches had been gentler, his words softer, his eyes more admiring. You’d made him that. You were the only one he’d deemed worthy of his love and trust and respect.

Crimson had never seen that side of him. She’d never even come close to opening him up, seeing who he truly was.

As she talked fake stories of their blinding romance, about how he was such an incredible boyfriend, you just rolled your eyes in the audience. The only time Ben spent with Crimson outside of the public eye was when he was balls deep inside of her. And, even then, he liked to say she was a terrible fuck.

He also liked to say you were a good fuck. It was his favourite compliment; as funny was that was. As he railed you against his mattress, his hands keeping you firmly where he wanted you, he muttered praises.

That was different to the Ben the other women got. He’d degrade them: call them every name under the sun as he practically broke their pelvises. With you, sure, he was rough, but he complimented you; whispering and grunting softly, making sure you felt pretty and loved as he violently fucked you into unconsciousness.

And he always made sure you were okay afterwards. Ben giving aftercare was not something you’d expected, but he was damn good at making you feel safe and secure. He was a man of many talents.

The country was honouring him, as you begged for any kind of rational answer from Payback, from Edgar, from Vought. You were close to falling to your knees and pleading. But they didn’t care. Too busy basking in the boost of popularity that came from Ben’s death.

So, they upped their game.

And, when Vought erected a statue of Ben outside of Vought Tower, you threw up in the bathroom. The night you were named the new leader of Payback, you threw up again.

Apparently, it’s what Ben wanted. Which was bullshit. He wanted you in his kitchen with a dinner plate (lovingly, he’d told you that night. How could something like that be a compliment? You didn’t know, but it was Ben, so you guessed it was possible). But, you couldn’t fight it. So, nearly exactly three months after the last night you saw him, you took his place.

It felt wrong, and disrespectful, and you were lost and out of place. You had no knowledge on how to lead a team of asshole supes, that didn’t respect you or really like you that much.

Ben did this so easily. He lead Payback like a natural born leader. You lead like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

But you did it anyway.

“Soldier Boy was a national icon.” You held the microphone with shaking hands, willing them to stop, staring out at the gathering of civilians. It was wrong; America was mourning a death they’d all been lied to about. You swallowed your bile and pushed on. “And I am honoured to be taking his place as the leader of our brave and dedicated superhero team, Payback. I will be leading in his image, and his honour, and I hope that my work would make him proud.”

It was all bullshit.

You hadn’t written a word of this shit.

Edgar had shoved it into your hands and pointed you onto the stage. No warning. No cooperation. No opinion. Just… here you go, now go put on a show.

But, the audience was eating it up, and Edgar and your PA were giving you a thumbs up from backstage. They liked your performance. Ben, however, would be gagging in his mouth hearing this. He’d probably mock you, and claim you’d be better off just blowing his dick. He’d be right. Every word that was coming out of your mouth was corporate propaganda.

Your hands curled tighter around the microphones, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to be here. You wanted to be home, as far away from Vought and these grieving people as fast as possible. “Soldier Boy was a respected, beloved hero, within your hearts, and Vought’s.” God, what cliche, sappy horseshit. “He was a good man, who lost his life saving millions.” You held back your scoff. “Vought will forever live in his shadow. We ask that you give us time and space to grieve our loss. Thank you.”

The audience applauded, loud and roaring, as you walked off stage.

The rage bubbling up in your chest was ready to burst, overflowing. This was all fucking sickening. No one was telling you anything. And they expected you to get on stage and do these speeches? To sit, cry and look pretty as you grieved the mighty Soldier Boy?

Fuck that. You were going to get answers.

There was some dark shit happening behind the scenes, and it had Vought’s grubby handprints all over it. The cover story. Payback’s silence. Edgar’s lack of care. None of it was adding up.

The moment the audience could no longer see it, your mouth curled to a scowl, heels clicking as you stormed up to Edgar. You were going to get answers, even if you had to physically get them. You’d find out what happened to Ben in Nicaragua, even if it cost you your head.

Stan Edgar, despite knowing he was now on the receiving end of your anger, stood tall. Cocky bastard. You could kill him with ease. But, of course, he didn’t care. There was only one person you’d ever seen Edgar cower from — Ben. To be fair with the guy, though, anyone would cower if Soldier Boy was screaming at you, inches from your face.

“What is going on?” Despite your rage, you kept your voice to a low hiss, not wanting to attract attention to your anger and frustration. “Can someone fucking explain to me, what is happening?” He began to walk away, and you followed. your words still flying out. “Why am I taking Ben’s place? How did he even die? You were in Nicaragua — what happened? Why did it take you so long to come up with that shitty reactor meltdown story?”

He turned to face you. You abruptly stopped, almost smashing into his chest with the suddenness of it, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I understand you’re upset.” You rolled your eyes at his professional tone, hands linked behind his back. Typical. “But I cannot answer those questions.”

“No, I deserve to know” You demanded. It was a losing battle, and you already knew that, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try your hardest. “What. Happened?”

You weren’t getting an answer from Edgar. And that became clear when he turned his back to you, engaging in a conversation with his secretary, and leaving you in the dust. Glaring at the back of his head, you muttered obscenities.

If you weren’t getting it from Edgar’s lips, you’d get it another way.

Namely, breaking into his office that evening.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Now, you weren’t a seasoned criminal, but Ben had taught you a thing or two. He was, very much, a criminal, and knew things you were never too curious to ask about. Like picking locks. Which was the most normal of his odd knowledge. (The fact that man has known the recipe to make a bomb was… terrifying.)

Picking a lock wasn’t in your expertise, but you remembered enough from what he’d shown you. Enough to kneel down in front of Edgar’s office door, and use a bobby pin to turn the lock until it clicked.

You grinned, internally thanking Ben for his… strange teaching techniques. Glancing down the hallway, both ways, you ensured it was empty; that no one was about to see you going against every rule in the book. Once it was cleared, you slipped inside the door with practiced ease, and shut the door behind you.

The sun was setting over the horizon — the golden hour hue lighting up the room enough for you to make your way over to Edgar’s shelves. You were determined to find something. Anything.

Something was going on. Something sketchier than Vought’s usual dirty work. And you were going to figure it out.

Your index finger skimmed the folders, peeking at the names. Until you found Ben’s — a cream folder with ‘SOLDIER BOY’ written across the front. Pulling it out, your eyes locked onto the bright red ‘DECEASED’ stamped under his name, your heart squeezing.

Swallowing thickly, uncertain, you flipped it open. Reasons over the contents, your eyes narrowed in concentration and then narrowed further in frustration.

It was nothing you didn’t already know. His past. The human trial experiment. Comp V. Ben had already told you all of this.

You glared at the deceased marker on the front of it, and then slid the folder back into the right spot. Alphabetical order, you noticed. You continued flicking through the files, trying to find something that could be labelled as suspicious.

Your ears perked at the sound of sudden buzzing from across the room. Like a dog to a squeaky toy, you rushed over, watching a piece of paper print out of the fax machine.

You snatched it up the moment it came out.

BCL-RED was the title word.

What the fuck was that?

You’d never heard of it before. It had to be an acronym, but your mind came up blank, as you racked it for any familiarity. Cursing internally, you scowled — damn fucking code words.

Before you could read ahead, a voice floated into the office from outside.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, suddenly very panicked. Returning the paper to the machine, you dashed for the door, poking your head out just enough to peek down the hall. You spotted Edgar just a ways down, facing away from you, talking to Black Noir. Quickly and silently, with expertise learnt on the field, you crept out of the office, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

All the way back to your room, you muttered the words to yourself.

BCL-RED.

… BCL-RED.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

It wasn’t in any folders documents anywhere. Not even your PA knew what a BCL-RED was.

You felt like a dog chasing its tail. Going in circles, trying to find any clues as to what happened to Ben. Every day your suspicions rose. Something wasn’t right. Edgar was having hushed conversations. Payback was having meetings that excluded you.

Your trail lead you to Grace Mallory.

The young woman handed you a cup of coffee, hands scarred and calloused from her days at war. Quietly, you thanked her, sat comfortably on her sofa, cradling the coffee. “I have to respect your strength. Putting up with Soldier Boy every day.”

You cracked a smile, sipping the steaming coffee. “He was a… acquired taste.” Your laugh was breathy and quiet, thinking back to Ben and his unique personality. “What happened in Nicaragua?”

Grace sighed as she settled back. She was pretty. No doubt Ben tried to get in her pants while he was there. “It happened quickly.” Your brows furrowed, sitting forward, elbows on your knees. “We were ambushed. Your team couldn’t find their guns from their asses.”

“Sounds about right.” You murmured. “I told Ben he needed me out there. The stubborn dick wouldn’t listen. Looks like it bit him in the ass, eh?”

“Big time.” Grace agreed. “There was an explosion. It knocked me out.” You listened attentively, frequently sipping the coffee. “When I came to… your team were in ruins. Half of ‘em were dead, the other half injured.”

You chewed your lips for a few beats. “Black Noir still hasn’t recovered. Doctors said he’ll never be able to talk again.”

Solemn, she nodded. “Not surprised. His face was more hole than it was skin.” You grimaced at the imagery. “Crimson Countess told me Soldier Boy was dead. He’d been killed by some… laser, his body taken by a helicopter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You sat back. “Huh.” You murmured. “She’s lying.” You decided. The story wasn’t right. Sure, it was feasible, under different circumstances. But, in battle? When Ben was on his A-game? No way.

Grace looked confused. After all, why would Crimson lie about something like that?

You didn’t know.

But you were going to fucking find out.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

That night, you didn’t return to your room. Instead, you slipped into Ben’s in the dead of night. It hadn’t been touched since he left for Nicaragua. Since he’d railed you against the mattress and left you bed-bound for two days.

The air was musty, with dust covering each surface. Crawling onto the bed, you tugged open the curtains, letting sunlight in for the first time in months.

Every surface was covered in dust. And there were still drugs laid about. Half snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table. Empty pill bottles decorating the floor. An ash tray that reeked of marijuana. God, this man had been like a teenage boy.

Flicking on the light, you gathered your bravery, and spent a few hours cleaning his room up. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to feel closer to him. Feel like you were doing something for him. Ben hated it when things were messy. And he loved it when you cleaned up after him. You hated feeding into that old, sexist mindset he had.

But, god, you’d do anything right now to hear him demand you fetch him a drink.

After you cleaned his room, you stripped his sheets, gagging at the old stain. Definitely your cum. And his. Gross. You stuffed it into a basket, kicking it away from you.

Okay… remember to not touch that again without gloves.

As you finished the last, final touches, a glint of metal on his bedside table caught your attention. Curious, you padded over, expecting a pistol.

Instead, you found a chain.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Delicately, you placed the necklace in the palm of your hand, brushing your thumb over the metal surface.

His WW2 dog tags.

Swallowing thickly, you blinked back your emotion. Why the fuck were even so sad? You weren’t even dating the man. Sure, you’d been his friend for years. You’d been protecting him. He’d been protecting you. You’d been his right-hand man practically.

But, still!

With a lump in your throat, you carefully placed the dog tags over your head. The dog tags were cold against your chest. You tucked them under your shirt, inhaling shakily.

With one last look around the room, you turned around and walked out, with a basket of laundry balanced on your hip.

You weren’t going to rest until you found out the truth. That was for sure.

A/N: sorry for the lack of soldier boy in this chap :( he makes his grand return next chapter !!! in all his sexist glory lmao. he’s so fun to write, tho i do feel like a horrible person writing some of the shit he says. definitely fun to explore this universe and all its fucked up possibilities. thank you guys for the support on chap one :’) <3 next chap will also be longer promise

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[kimmie2me]

HEYYY I LUV UR POSTS LIKE HELLO?!?! also im sure u know abt the bakugo hc with him with him having hearing aids and is it ok of u make like a fic with him signing nasty stuff to reader cuz he can and nobody around them fully learned sign language yet? PLS AND THANK U!!! 💕💕💕

first of all, THANK YOU!! ILYSM!! second, i am BACK!!!! exams went well, i guess. i didnt PASS or FAIL, but whatever.. third, I LOVE THIS IDEA HAHAHHA!!! here is, what I think, a great welcoming back gift to give u all ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ (ignore that Kaminari's text is blue..there's no yellow. ALSO, mina is NAWT taking pink. thats OUR color now.)

Of Silence and Secrets

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Reader

…..

Bakugou Katsuki hated his hearing aids.

Hated how they fit, hated how they felt, and most of all, hated what they represented. Weakness. A crack in the armor he’d spent his entire life forging. When the ringing in his ears started as a brat in middle school, he didn’t think much of it. Just the fallout from a quirk-boosted explosion, nothing he couldn’t handle.

Years passed. The ringing grew into dull hums, muffled voices, and missed sounds. A villain’s retreating taunt he couldn’t catch. The screech of a car he didn’t hear. Kirishima shouting his name three times before Bakugou finally turned around, snarling, “What the hell do you want!?” while Kirishima just looked… worried.

His hearing aids were a damn nuisance. At least, that’s what he told himself every single day.

They whined if someone got too close, buzzed when he adjusted them wrong, and gods forbid he so much as grazed them during a fight—one hard knock, and they’d go flying. He could hear again, sure, but better hearing came at a price: realizing just how insufferably loud the world actually was. Katsuki had spent months in denial, refusing to accept that his ears, like the rest of his high-octane life, couldn’t keep up with him.

The ringing had started in his late teens, growing louder until it followed him everywhere. He blamed it on the explosions, the debris, the constant yelling—but really, he knew. His mom did too, though she’d spared him the lecture until the day Kirishima cornered him in his agency office with a sheepish grin and her voice on speakerphone.

“Katsuki.” The way she said his name—sharp, biting, and so unlike her usual bark of “Oi, you brat!”—made his stomach drop. “What if somethin’ happens? What if you miss an evac order or—hell—a cry for help? Hah? What then?”

“… Tch.” He had scowled so hard it hurt. “Fine. I’ll get the damn things.”

The intervention was humiliating, but the worst part? She was right. He hated that more than anything.

That was the first night he slept with the hearing aids sitting on the nightstand. He’d finally picked them up after a year of constant badgering—from his mom, Kirishima, hell, even that damn Deku. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear better—it was the admission that killed him.

But now? Now the stupid things were glued to him. Mostly.

The tech was incredible, of course. Damn nerds at Hero Support had outdone themselves. The hearing aids didn’t just amplify sound; they filtered it, isolating voices during chaos and syncing with comm units. They were waterproof, explosion-proof—Bakugou-proof. Allegedly.

But they weren’t indestructible. He’d broken five pairs in six months. Kaminari had nicknamed him “Break-aid” after the third replacement. Bakugou threatened to shove them where the sun didn’t shine.

And yet… they worked. Too well.

He could hear the scratch of pens during hero conferences, the obnoxious tapping of Kaminari’s foot against the table, the quiet sigh of his own breath. The worst part? The incessant talking. It was everywhere. Fans, reporters, civilians—people who thought their every word needed an audience.

Thankfully, he’d discovered the mute button.

The first time he used it, Kaminari was midway through a rant about his latest gadget. Bakugou, in a rare moment of self-control, didn’t yell. He just flicked the switch, leaned back in his chair, and smirked as Kaminari kept babbling. No explosions, no shouting, just blissful silence.

But there were downsides.

Combat was a nightmare when they broke. Shouting “HUH!?” every five seconds wasn’t exactly strategic. That’s when he decided to learn sign language. Not because anyone suggested it—hell no. But because he’d be damned if he relied on a gadget to do his job.

The process was… frustrating. Hands clumsy, movements stiff. Kirishima tried to help, but his signs were barely legible. Kaminari? Useless. Sero was too busy laughing to be much better or resorted to typing in the Notes app on his phone when it was pretty serious. Deku? That nerd had picked it up in a week, naturally.

But you? You made it bearable.

“Like this,” you’d said, your fingers forming a perfect sign. “Thumb tucked in.”

Bakugou grumbled, but copied you.

“Good. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, ’Suki?”

Your patience annoyed him almost as much as it calmed him. And somehow, over weeks of practice, his stiff movements turned fluid. He’d never admit it, but he liked having this… language, this connection, with you.

And then he realized something else.

You understood him. Not just the signs, but him. The sharpness he couldn’t quite soften, the quiet gratitude he couldn’t voice. And better yet? No one else around him could understand a damn thing he was saying.

It started innocently enough—well, innocent by his standards.

“Bored out of my goddamn mind,” he’d signed at you during a hero conference.

You’d smirked and replied, “Same.”

But then, Bakugou being Bakugou, had an epiphany: he could sign anything.

The first time he tried it, you were sitting across from him at a formal hero banquet. The room was filled with pro heroes, reporters, and politicians. Everyone was dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and pretending the world wasn’t on fire outside.

Bakugou caught your eye and, with the most deadpan expression, signed: Wanna fuck?

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly knocked your glass over. You choked, coughing into your hand, and when someone asked if you were okay, you waved them off, avoiding his gaze.

He smirked, sipping his water like he hadn’t just propositioned you in a room full of Japan’s elite.

…..

It got worse.

During a meeting with the Hero Public Safety Commission, while a bureaucrat droned on about policy changes, Bakugou’s hands moved under the table. He made sure you were looking before signing: I’d rather have you ride me than sit here with these extras.

You froze mid-note, the pen slipping from your fingers. Your face burned as you ducked your head, pretending to scribble something in your notebook. Across the room, Kirishima noticed your sudden movement.

“Hey, you good?” he whispered.

“Fine!” you squeaked, glaring at Bakugou.

He tilted his head, feigning confusion, then casually leaned back in his chair. He looked so smug you wanted to scream.

At a press conference, surrounded by the press corps, TV cameras, and the elite of the hero world, Bakugou stood stiffly at the podium, bored out of his skull. Beside him, you shuffled the note cards you’d prepared, doing your best to stay focused on Midoriya’s answer to a question about villain reform strategies.

Bakugou glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking at how focused you looked. That only made the idea pop into his head faster. He adjusted his stance, one hand casually coming up to rub his neck as the other signed with precision:

I’d fuck you so hard over this podium, the microphones would short out.

Your brain stalled like a computer blue-screening. The cards slipped from your hands, scattering onto the stage floor. You froze in horror as a sea of reporters looked up from their notebooks.

Midoriya, ever the anxious public speaker, stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, are you okay?” he asked.

“Y-yeah! Just... clumsy!” you stammered, dropping to your knees to collect the cards. You didn’t dare look at Bakugou, whose hand came up to his mouth as though stifling a yawn—but you knew he was hiding a smirk.

To make things worse, while you scrambled on the floor, he signed again, deliberately slower so you couldn’t miss it:

Would’ve pulled your hair too, just to hear you scream.

Your face burned so hot you were sure you’d melt through the stage.

It didn’t stop there.

At the next agency-wide meeting, Bakugou sat across from you in the conference room, arms crossed as a pro-hero you couldn't bother to listen to went on and on about new combat protocols. The room was packed with pro heroes, all seated shoulder-to-shoulder.

Bakugou, who’d already tuned out after the first ten minutes, caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow. Before you could react, his hands moved subtly under the table:

I’d eat you out on this table, right in front of everyone, and make sure you couldn’t stay quiet.

The coffee cup in your hand slipped, splashing onto your notes. You cursed under your breath, grabbing napkins to clean the mess.

Kirishima, sitting beside you, leaned over. “Whoa, you okay? You’ve been jumpy lately.”

You forced a smile, not daring to look at Bakugou, whose expression remained infuriatingly neutral. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

It became a game to him.

While Kirishima nodded and went back to his notes, Bakugou adjusted in his chair and signed again:

Bet you’d cry if I used my mouth the way I’m thinking. Probably beg me to stop—but you wouldn’t really mean it.

You slammed your pen down so hard it startled Kaminari, who glanced over with a confused look.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, refusing to look up.

Across the table, Bakugou leaned back, feigning boredom, but his eyes glinted with amusement.

It escalated during a casual outing with the crew.

Everyone had gathered at a bustling ramen joint after a long patrol, crowding into a booth that was way too small for so many people. Bakugou sat to your right, thigh pressed against yours under the table. As the conversation flowed around him, he picked up a pair of chopsticks and casually started eating.

Then, as Mina told a story about her latest villain takedown, he turned his head slightly toward you and signed with one hand:

The things I’d do to you under this table would make you scream so loud they’d kick us out.

You froze, chopsticks hovering mid-air. He didn’t even blink, slurping his noodles like he hadn’t just dropped a verbal nuke into your lap.

“What’s wrong?” Mina asked, noticing your deer-in-headlights expression.

“Uh… spicy broth,” you choked out, grabbing your water and gulping it down.

Bakugou, still chewing, glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and added another one for good measure:

Bet I could make you cum without anyone noticing. Wanna test that theory?

You almost choked on your drink, coughing so hard Kirishima patted your back in concern.

At a charity event, he raised the bar again.

The ballroom was filled with reporters, politicians, and wealthy donors, all eager to mingle with Japan’s most famous heroes. Bakugou hated these events with a burning passion, but at least you were there to make it tolerable.

You stood beside him, chatting politely with a group of businessmen, when you felt his gaze on you. Slowly, you turned your head, already dreading what was coming.

He didn’t disappoint. With the straightest face you’d ever seen, he signed:

You’d look so much better on your knees, with my cock down your throat, than in that dress.

Your hand shot out, nearly spilling your champagne as you fumbled to keep your composure. The Pro Hero you were speaking to paused mid-sentence, giving you a concerned look.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

“I—I’m fine,” you stuttered, setting the glass down before you could break it.

Bakugou tilted his head innocently, signing again:

Bet you’d love it if I bent you over that balcony upstairs. Bet you’d be dripping by the time I was done.

Your jaw dropped, and you 'accidentally' kicked his shin under the table. He didn’t even flinch.

It wasn’t just formal settings, either. Bakugou would strike anywhere.

During a team training session, you were sparring with Kaminari while Bakugou watched from the sidelines. When you finally landed a clean hit, knocking Kaminari flat on his ass, Bakugou clapped slowly, catching your attention.

Wanna know what else you could knock flat? Me. On my back. With you riding me till I forget my own goddamn name.

Your sparring stance faltered, and Kaminari took the opportunity to trip you.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked, offering a hand to help you up.

“I’m fine!” you snapped, shooting a glare at Bakugou, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

The worst of all came during a live broadcast.

The Hero Public Safety Commission had organized a televised Q&A with Japan’s top heroes. You sat between Bakugou and Midoriya, fielding questions from both the moderator and the live audience. Bakugou had been unusually quiet for most of the event, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.

But then, while the moderator addressed Midoriya, Bakugou caught your attention.

His hands moved lazily, almost imperceptibly, as he signed:

After this, I’m gonna pin you to the wall in the dressing room and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk out of here straight.

Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked away, heart hammering in your chest.

“And what about you?” the moderator asked, pulling your attention back to the present.

“I—I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” you stammered, cheeks flaming.

Beside you, Bakugou leaned back in his chair, smirking as the moderator repeated the question. His hands shifted again, just enough for you to catch his next message:

If you blush any harder, they’re gonna think you’re into this.

You resisted the urge to scream.

Because, for Bakugou, nothing was funnier than watching you squirm. And knowing you were the only one who could decode his filthy little secrets? That was just the icing on the cake.

…..

Over time, the signing became a secret game. A language only the two of you shared, even if it was insanely one sided. In battle, it was strategic—efficient, silent communication when words couldn’t cut through the noise. Off the field? It was something else entirely.

After a particularly grueling patrol, Bakugou flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging his hearing aids out and tossing them onto the table.

“Another shitty day,” he muttered.

You hummed in agreement, leaning against him.

Without thinking, he signed: You’re the only thing that doesn’t piss me off.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nothin’, Cupcake. Just watch the TV..”

And for once, you didn’t press.

Because sometimes, silence said enough.

[bugsandboos]

of course i hate that marinette has the weight of the world on her shoulders, of course i’m glad she was able to be so open with alya about it throughout seasons 4 and 5.

however.

i love that she FINALLY has another huge secret she must protect with her life. no telling alya this time about how she told the whole world her boyfriend’s dad was a hero rather than a domestic terrorist.

sure, people like kagami, felix, nathalie, and tomoe know. however, i’d like to argue that none of these people are those that she’d confess her life-altering secrets to.

what’s cool about this gabriel agreste secret is that it not only isolates her from those that are the MOST important in her life (adrien as marinette, chat noir as ladybug, alya), but it also allows her to form connections with the more unlikely bunch (felix, nathalie).

she does consider kagami as one of her best friends, even if she’s not close with her like she is with alya—i’m really curious to see if this secret either strengthens their friendship or drives a wedge between them. kagami didn’t look too pleased with ladybug in the special when she lied to adrien about his father (understandably), yet she chose to respect her wish to keep the truth hidden. so excited to see how this shared secret changes their relationship, for better or for worse.

and honestly, going back to marinette just carrying this secret (sort of) on her own, i feel very much at home with it. the core of the show s1-s3 was that marinette had her secret identity to protect, and now she also has a secret identity to protect that ISN’T HERS!!! are we getting deja vu here!!!!!

[sarahreesbrennan]

I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.

[leth-writes]

yandere spiderverse

today I’m kinda going insane over the idea of a yandere spiderverse. Just the idea of your death being a canon event in pretty much every universe, the thing that makes or breaks each spider-person (spider-being?). Your death is what either motivates them to become a better hero, or the very thing that corrupts them completely. It’s the difference between being a hero and being a villain. So, you kinda serve as a Gwen figure for most of the spiders.

As a result, when they see Miles’ universe and you’re just… alive, all hell breaks loose.

Since Miles’ universe is a little to the left, especially with all the anomalies, you’re able to slip through that cosmic crack and avoid your death completely. I can honestly see you being a close friend of the Peter that died in Miles’ universe, so when the others all go to Aunt May’s to access his lab, there you are.

You’re giving everyone a tour of the lab, explaining to Miles all the different suits and their purposes and their histories, and they’re all just staring at you, this person they’ve all lost. Peter B.’s having a flashback to you falling, Penny’s thinking about holding you in her arms as you bleed out, Noir’s thinking about seeing you be shot, etc etc. Chaos ensues. They’re NOT letting you get involved, no matter how much you want to help them. You’ve spent the better half of a decade working with Blond! Peter, and you’re used to engaging with all the craziness that comes with the spiders. You’re so used to that particular brand of obsessive you probably don’t even notice how weird they’re all being.

I’m just imagining that it’s a universal constant among the spiders to be a little bit obsessive. I mean even in the films, Andrew Garfield’s Spider-man self-admittedly stalks Gwen all the time. It’s normal for them to keep track of the people they love, using any means necessary. I’m talking following you around, taking pictures of you, stealing your stuff, getting rid of any threats, saving you in case of danger, even trackers in your bag or clothing.

You don’t even blink, you’ve been through all this with Blond! Peter before. It’s honestly a bit comforting, like he’s still watching over you. You’ve had any idea of a normal relationship completely twisted.

That sense of normalcy is also what saves you from being completely kidnapped; if you run, you activate that predator sense they have and they’d give chase, it’s like a horror movie. They definitely let loose, showing their more spidery habits, including that insane flexibility and strength.

You hide behind a dumpster and Peter B. picks it up with one hand, stuff like that.

Anyways, so you don’t run. They still keep you confined to May’s place, who’s more than used to this and doesn’t really notice.

You’re trying to help with the planning and suddenly they’re all blocking your view from the terminal, looming over you, and they’re all like “It’s okay :) Go sit down :) Let Peter B. bring you a hot chocolate, maybe give you a back massage!”

They love that loose, easy sense of affection you have. It’s nice, many of them have been completely isolated since your death, too emotionally wrecked to feel comfortable reaching out or making new friends. Besides, no one could replace you.

You’re probably closest to Peter. He lost you almost a decade ago in his universe, so it’s like looking into the past. He has this almost paternal sense looking at you, he’s so protective he won’t let you out of his sight. He’s particularly disarming, so even if he’s not letting you leave, it comes off almost as a joke. Still, he can be intimidating when he’s pinning you down to the chair with webs and telling you not to worry, that he’ll take care of the Prowler once and for all, that he won’t let you get hurt ever again.

Gwen hadn’t known you very well when she’d lost you, she hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to kidnap you; you died in the same incident that took Peter from her, and that caused the rift between her and her father. It practically ruins her life, losing everyone and everything she’s ever loved in one moment. It hurts even worse knowing she’ll never get to grow closer to you; she was trying not to weird you out with how intense her feelings were. It’s her greatest regret, not just kidnapping you when she got the chance. She makes sure to work with Peter, keeping you trapped in May’s house. She’s the most likely to physically restrain you, with or without her webs.

Noir is used to the grim realities of his world, but losing you sucked every last bit of variety and life out of him. He becomes disillusioned with the system, harsher and harsher and less likely to pull back when fighting. He loses all regard for himself or for others. Seeing you is the most intense burst of color he’s ever seen; he never realized what he was missing, not being able to see the shine of your skin, the gleam in your eyes, the way the sun catches your hair just right so you look like you’re glowing. He’s entranced by your beauty, and you’re most likely to find him just kinda staring at you. It’s honestly kinda creepy, but hey, all the spiders stare at you, so you find yourself putting it out of mind.

[randomness-is-my-order]

after five books from percy’s perspective, getting a look into how other characters see him and his strength in heroes of olympus FINALLY knocks us over with the sheer badassery of percy jackson and that might just be the top reason for why i like son of neptune so much.

like this is percy’s view of his own self. too humble, most often self deprecating than not, entirely avoidant of claiming any credit:

...and THIS is how others see him, like he’s a person who literally oozes god aura, who is intimidating despite dressed like a rag doll, absolutely dishelleved like he was dragged assback through the mud

and dangerous?? yes, percy embodies that adjective even if he will never see himself that way:

and these are just a few examples. you also have more subtle things like reyna remarking that percy’s smarter than he looks or her saying she’d rather he become praetor so the camp would have two strong leaders instead of one.

that itch of percy appreciation that i felt after completing pjo, knowing the absolute hell he went through was finally sated in son of neptune because this world is truly a better place with more percy admirers around.

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader but no gendered terms in this chapter, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, parental angst, sick parent (cancer), some reader backstory for storytelling purposes, talks of pregnancy and readers womb, fatphobia from a parent, food mentions. (lmk if I need to tag something else for filtering!!)

Chapter Three: Don't tell mum

It is an ungodly hour of the morning and you have a sugar hangover and a canopy bed full of empty wrappers.

You’d spent the night crying and cursing stupid posh, blond men with trust funds and selective sperm practices. Which then led you to curse even stupider, infuriating wankers with pretty brown eyes and smooth burnished skin.

(Also the perky twits the two species have tea and procreate with, but you’re trying to do a better job of showing unwavering solidarity with other women. Despite the present fuckery at hand that is.)

A brief glance in the mirror of your vanity reflects the deep dark circles under your eyes and the evidence of your emergency chocolate eclairs on the bodice of your moo-moo. The silk lined linen had been no match for the wild disarray of your hair during the night. You looked quite frightening really. You don’t even need to glance at the framed Olivia Pope photo on your nightstand to know your fictional icon would be utterly disgusted at the state of you.

This would not do.

Sitting up from your pillow you point an accusing finger to the wobbling lipped wretch in the mirror and take a deep steadying breath for fortitude.

"Tits up, buttercup! There's no crying in show business!" you bellow at the watery reflection firmly.

The wretch in the mirror looks no more enthusiastic than before.

Mentally you shrug. Sure the motto is not as an effective motivator as it is with the raspy American accent of your chain smoking paternal aunt, but still. It's the thought that counts! With shoulders back and head high you're determined to expel angst from your body like water off a duck's arse. You force your mouth into a semblance of a smile that doesn't reach your eyes and tumble-scooch out of the nest of blankets in the middle of your bed. 

It was Saturday and you had an overbearing mother to visit (and subsequently lie to). If you didn’t get it together she’d smell the bitter notes of ‘Eau de Failure’ wafting over you like a shark scenting blood in the water. So with that in mind, you prepare for war with a nice candle and the motivating sounds of a beloved global hero. 

“Breakup, shmake-up! Alexa, be a dear and play Chaka Khan, we need this show back on the road. Pronto!”

An incoming text comes in briefly interrupting your improvised rendition of ‘I’m Every Woman’ while you perform (lounge) in the tub. With suds scarily close to your face you squint at the message from your father with one eye.

> Nurses called, mums in a mood.

You scowl. To be frank there’s not a time as of late where your mum wasn’t in a mood. Waving an arm in the air to dispel the bubbles covering your hand, you type out a text back.

< Gobsmacked, truly. Send rating for level of risk in engaging the matriarch, Skipper.

The reply comes in seconds. You can imagine your tech averse father having already expected the request and having a reply at the ready. 

> Threat level five, Captain.

You scrunch your nose and make a whine of irritation. 

Bugger. The scale only went up to six. 

With a sigh you send a simple ‘Roger that’ and sink lower into the bathtub. It was probably best to add more bubbles and break out the epsom salts. You were going to need all the relaxation you could get.

An hour later you’re dressed and slathered in body butter, glistening like a plump glazed ham. 

Outside your flat you’re shifting your bag around to find the knock off sunglasses somewhere traversing at the bottom when the sound of the door across the wall causes you to tense. Kyle stands in his doorway shuffling with a small plastic bag in hand and a sheepish smile. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes and scrunching his face as if the light filtering in the drab hallway disturbs him greatly. 

Your gut clenches seeing the serene yellow glow cascading across his brown skin. (It wasn’t fair that even the sun was a biased ninny and painted the bane of your existence out to be an ethereal creature.)

You give him a look up and down that you hope is less awestruck and all venom. It’s hard not to get distracted by the low hang of his gray sweatpants and the compression shirt that encompasses his broad chest. 

Sweet blueberries, the man dressed like a common whore. 

Sniffing you turn your nose up at him, shoving your sunglasses on your face when you finally reach them.

“Garrick.”

He smiles wider despite your dry tone. “Good morning, love.” 

“Were you just standing there at the door waiting for me?”

Kyle gives you a flat look in return with slightly less chipper-ness. He shifts his arms to rest in a cross, the bag swinging from the crook of his elbow like a metronome. His biceps bulge in a way that makes you want to clutch your pearls. 

(Or bite him. Hard.)

“I wasn’t waiting at the door.” He’s not quite mocking the cadence of your voice but you still wonder if you could get away with braining him with your overstuffed bag.

“I just happened to be nearby and I know you always leave around this time on Saturdays.”

You roll your eyes. 

“So you were waiting at the door then. You know Garrick stalking is illegal in the UK. I would hope you’d know that being military and such.”

Kyle narrows his eyes into slits. His nostrils flare as his once bright smile turns sardonic, gravely affronted.  

“Don’t know if you’re always such a charm in the mornings, love, but like I said, wasn't waiting around.” He clips. You are incensed at the degree of excitement that shoots through you at his rare snark. 

(You make a mental note to have one of the cute nurses at mum’s care center check you over for possible head trauma.)

“Besides,” He gives you a pointed look. “You would know something about illegal acts considering you’re the one who got banned from the resident’s meetings for nicking the snacks.”

The gasp of offense you let out is involuntary. Morning Kyle was not only scandalously dressed but also very rude!

“I did not steal anything, Garrick, they were complimentary for the residents!” You snark haughtily, pushing your sunglasses up your nose with a manicured finger. “I happen to be a resident you know and I gave my compliments when I took them.”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. The sleep layered tenor makes your toes curl in your sensible slippers. 

Bugger he was pretty. 

“Is there something you need from me?” you ask when his laugh trickles off into chuckles.

Kyle sobers and shoots you a sheepish glance. “Ah yeah actually. I wanted to give you these.” 

Kyle maneuvers the bag off his arm and extends it to you. With an abundance of caution you accept the offering like one would handle a ticking bomb and peek inside. 

An assortment of moon cakes greets you at the bottom of the plastic. 

You can smell the crisp outer shell and the sweet red bean filling of the pastry signifying their freshness. You do the mental math in your head and realize he’d had to have been up at the crack of dawn to get in line for them at the shops around the way. 

The treats sold out in minutes and you very rarely got the opportunity to get them on your own during the season as you were prone to sleeping in.  

“What’s this for?” 

“It’s an apology.” He gives your bewildered look a self deprecating grimace. “I don’t know what the other night was about but I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings.”

Okay, no. Can’t have any of that now. 

You straighten up and put your hands on your hips. Kyle’s eyes follow your movements, staring for longer than polite. You clear your throat and he looks away when you give him an eyebrow raise in return. 

“Firstly, Garrick, you didn’t hurt my feelings, don't insult me. I was just taken aback.” pausing in consideration you peer over the rim of your glasses at the man. “What exactly did Madelyn tell you?”

Kyle shifts, one side of his mouth twitching upwards bringing your attention to the facial scar on his cheek.

“Nothing, actually. Just a lot of crying and mumbling about some Hugo. I honestly thought she was talking about a dog before I realized it was some chap she's seeing.”

You hum. Interesting, really.

You’d been sure he’d known more than he’d let on or at the very least that Madelyn would prove to be the unsavory sort to spill the beans on the sister wife shuffle you’d been unwittingly involved in. 

A glance at your watch shows you that you’ve spent too much time dawdling. No need to ruffle mum’s feathers further.

“Well, this has been lovely, Garrick, but I have to cut out. Places to go, people to see and such.” You shake the bag in your hand in emphasis, “Thanks for the goodies. it ‘s very... Sweet of you.” 

“You’re welcome, love.”

You’re glad you thought to wear your shades, the smile he gives you is infused with satisfaction and warmth. (He really should be much more careful where he aims those things he’s liable to blind someone.)

With a twirl of your wrist you give Kyle a halfhearted wave goodbye. He watches you until the lift closes.

What a strange duck.

You find your father at his usual haunt within the oncology unit of the extended care center. 

“Step away from the vending machine, Skipper. I come bearing tastier morsels.”

You smile at his wide eyed panic as he turns to you with shoulders to his ears. He curses low and pulls you into a bear hug, tight enough that a passing nurse shushes you for the squawk you let out. Your father’s miserably dramatic groan vibrates throughout your own chest and he lets out a puff of air.

“You’ve gotta announce yourself kid, I nearly shit myself.”

With a laugh you poke a finger into his rib causing him to jerk away from you. “It’s shat, do try to act like a proper Brit won’t you? Besides what's the fun in announcing myself when I can catch you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. Mum will be pissed you’re wasting money on vending machine biscuits ya’ know.”

Your father gives you a droll look when you snatch his change and shove it in your own pocket. 

(Someone has to pay the child tax after all.)

“Shit or shat, same difference and you would be the one responsible for cleaning me up, brat. And, I’ve been divorced from your mother for nearly a decade so I don’t care what she won’t like. I'm a grown ass man, I’m not afraid of her.”

Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head you swear you can see your medulla. He was so full of it.

“Yeah? So, if I told you not to tell mum something you’re not going to do that thing where you blurt it out the second she looks at you?”

He puts a hand over his heart in reply. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything. I’m a little offended right now, when have I ever run off at the mouth.”

You stomp your feet in irritation. He didn’t get to play clueless!

“Literally all the time. You’re the reason she sent me to that awful boarding school for nicking one of your cigarettes! I’m still scared of nuns you know- stop laughing!”

Your father continues to chuckle and pats your face. When you swat his hand away the look he gives you is unimpressed and flippant.

“In my defense, you were thirteen and had no business smoking in the first place, much less skipping class to do it. I had to put fear into you so you didn’t come out a delinquent.” 

“By telling mum?” You quirk a brow.

“Course, what’s scarier?” He gives you a smug look, linking his arms in yours. You both set a pace down the hall in the direction of your mothers room. 

“Besides, I wouldn’t be a father if I hadn't done whatever it took, you were very rebellious and snotty at the time. But still, it worked out didn’t it? Got a cool nickname out of it. Siggy, the chain smoking lawyer.”

You start to glare at him but the word father makes you wince and he catches it. “What’s the look?”

“So about being a father,” you slow to a stop just outside your mothers door. You give the nurse at reception a tight smile and try to come up with a way to say the thing. 

“Hugo got someone pregnant.” 

It takes the old man some time for it to click. You watch his mind whir putting together the things you didn’t say. Finally he levels you with a smirk much like a cat who drank the cream would wear.

“No shit? Didn’t think he had the cojones for that, you’d kept them in your purse long enough.”

The look you give him is unimpressed, he snickers. How dreadful, you were being parented by a child. 

“Yes well,” you look away “according to him I wasn’t mother material and he dumped me for the other woman.”

Your father hums “Tragic that. Didn’t like him very much so I can’t say I’ll miss him. He send you off with something?”

He motions his head at the plastic bag you fiddled with subconsciously. With a snort you hand it over, watching his eyes light ups when he digs through its contents.

“No, gift from my neighbor.” you wait until he’s taken a moon cake out of its individual wrapping before leveling him a glare. “Under no circumstances are you allowed to tell mum that Hugo and I broke up.”

Your father shrugs off your concern with a wave. “Yup got it. Won’t hear a peep out of me about it.” He takes a big bite that sends pastry flecks over his shirt and you roll your eyes.

Facing the door to the hospital room you roll your shoulders back and prepare yourself mentally.

The sound of a wrapper crinkly disturbs whatever inner peace you search for in the universe.

“Please Siggy, I served with guys in the Navy with less seriousness going into battle.” 

Good grief.

“Eat your sweets please.” You cluck, “I need to meditate before I walk in there.”

Your father ha-rumps in reply but thankfully keeps quiet. When you feel some semblance of self control you shoot a look behind you.

“Remember not a single word!”

Your mother is propped against mounds of pillows. She looks every bit like a queen holding court despite the tubing and wires running along her body. Her sallow skin is grayish in tint, far from the myriad of browns you remember from your youth. 

Yet her scowl remains sharp and dagger-like in nature.

“Oh, how nice of you to show up. I thought this was your way of telling me you want me to die alone.”

Your father shoots you a look as he finishes off the cake. Threat level five indeed.

You smile at her sheepishly which only makes her glare more.

“I got tied up with my neighbor, sorry mum. I’m here now though. What’s been going on?” 

Your mother says nothing instead choosing to follow you with her eyes as you make your way to the armchair beside her bed. When you’re seated she sucks her teeth and looks you up and down before gesturing at your still standing father with her head. 

“Why did you bring this traitorous shadow on my doorstep, eh? I already have a sickness, why must you make me suffer more?”

Your father rolls his eyes before gesturing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Alright… glad we had this talk. I’ll just run to the cafeteria.” Your father turns tail and leaves without waiting for a reply. Your mother gives you a look.

“Wisdom chases your father but unfortunately he is faster.”

“Please, that’s mean, mum.” You ignore her brush off, “He comes to visit with me every weekend even when he doesn’t have to, maybe you should give him a break.” 

Your mother is silent, choosing to disregard your scolding by facing away and watching the drama playing out on the telly. You allow the dismissal, watching along with her and sharing occasional comments on the plot. 

During an advertisement break she folds her hands into her lap and shifts to get a good look at you.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

You jerk back into the cushions of the chair, “No!”

She frowns. “Why not, you are getting old? 

And here we go.

“Mum,” you start carefully, “You say this every time you see me and I have to remind you once more that I’m not old. It’s actually pretty rude, you know, to suggest I need a baby because I’m aging.”

She huffs adjusting the nasal cannula. You look at the IV in her thin hand and the feeling of wrongness makes your body vibrate with anxiety. 

She shouldn’t be here.

You don’t get a chance to think about it anymore when she leans over the railing of her bed to stare deep into your eyes.

“What’s happened to that Humphrey fellow, what is he saying about your empty womb?”

For fucks sake!

“It’s Hugo and he’s got nothing to say about my womb because it’s not his bloody-” you refuse to amend the curse when she swats at you with the hand closest to you, “it’s not his bloody business mother, I’m not a breeding mare!” 

She narrows her eyes, jaw working as she contemplates your tense shoulders. “Where is he?” 

You recoil. For. Fucks. Sake!

You try to look casual while sitting back in the armchair, your unseeing glaze pretending to be interested in the period piece that now plays on the in-unit television.

“He’s around or whatever. Doing fiancé things and all that jazz. Super happy. Great guy, truly the best.”

Your mother lets out a sharp ‘Ha!’ She calls your full name in the tone. The ‘I have birthed you and I will end you’ like filicide is her right as a mother, tone. You sink low into the chair.

“What, mother?”

“You are lying, I can tell. Where is Harold and what happened to your engagement? If you’ve run off another man I will cut you from my will.”

You snort humorlessly.

“Like I said Hugo is fine where he is. Besides you don’t have a will, I know because I oversee your legal paperwork and you refuse to sit down and draft one with me.”

She mumbles something unintelligible about everyone speaking death onto her when your father walks into the room with a cup of coffee.

You see the second your mother sets up a plan of attack and your father does too in the way he freezes in fear like a doe in the path of a wolf. 

“Where is the child’s husband-”

“He broke up with her!" He blurts with wide, dodgy eyes, "Got some girl pregnant and ran off.” 

He returns your disgusted look with a shrug. “Sorry, Siggy got nervous.”

Seriously, the man needed some backbone! He’s not even married to her any more! You’re opening your mouth to lay into him when your mother launches her own attack on you both.

“Do not call my child that awful name, you discombobulated fool!” you mouth the word ‘discombobulated’, the woman was creative with her insults, you’ll give her that.

“And you!” she wags her finger in your direction with a stiff lip, “You should be ashamed of yourself for lying to your own ailing mother. Quickly, how did you manage to run this one off? I am dying to hear it.”

Primly you sit up, adjusting the hem of your shirt around your tummy. Your time in court was much less daunting, to be honest, but you’re a believer in faking it until you make it.

“Mumsy, I didn’t run anyone off, thank you very much. In my defense he was a cheating oaf and he is free to do what he wants, it's no skin off my back.”

She laughs haughtily and it makes you feel awful. 

“He wouldn’t have left if you gave him children!”

The dark desire to mention that giving a man a child hadn’t worked out in her favor when you catch your father’s look. He shakes his head, knowing you well enough to pluck the vicious thought from your mind.

You swallow back the biting retort in defeat.

“Mum please. Hugo said he didn’t want kids right away” you mentally add the ‘children with you’ with a frown, “I believed him when he said it and that’s not something I should be punished for.”  

Your mother sits back in bed, raising her hands in the air in defeat. 

“Everyone else in the family has a grandchild or three!” She cuts her eyes at you, “Why was I the one cursed with a child who buys ugly bags instead of raising babies.”

The pit in your stomach grows as tears prickle your eyes. “My bags aren’t ugly and its very mean of you to suggest that.” you whimper dejectedly.

Your father takes a step and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“I think that’s enough, we should be comforting our child not being insulting. You didn’t like the man anyways so what's the issue?” 

Your mother just tuts and closes her eyes like she couldn’t be arsed to have you both in sight a moment longer.

“He was also a fool.” She opens one eye to peek at you, “Your cousin is expecting again by the way.”

So that's what this was about, you snort.

“Yes well, terrible for you to compare me to my underage cousin when she’s barely a teenager with her second child on the way. You know as well as I do the family was in a kerfuffle about it the first time!”

Your father hums in agreement, voicing his support (a little late after having caused this mess, but still.)

“You should be proud to have a kid who has degrees, a great career -an admittedly shit flat,” He ignores your sound of objection “but otherwise really fabulous things going on. Say something nice, please.”

Your mother sniffs “I’m getting older and who knows if this sickness takes me to glory. The child obviously wants me to die without a grandbaby.”

Your sigh is deep and loud in the room. You know for a fact she's bringing up her cancer to twist the knife in deeper. Yet you heard from her yourself that the doctors crowed about the progress of her health.

“Mum please don’t keep saying stuff like that. It really hurts my feelings because you know I love you and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

You watch your mother fight to not soften with your admission. She doesn't look directly at you, glancing more in your general direction. You place a hand over hers on top of the covers, squeezing her fingers tight. The dull shine of her wedding band catches the light of the side table lamp. 

She squeezes your hand back and lifts it out from under yours to pat your fingers. You know it's the only form of apology you’ll get from her. She does ruin it though, moments after.

“Your wrists are like sausage casings, have you gotten bigger?”

Yes well, that was your sign that it was time to go.

“Well lovely as always to see you mum,” you shift to a stand reaching for your bag at your feet and patting your father on the arm. “Think I’m going to pop out and consider my life choices and all.”

She tells you not to be cheeky when you kiss her cheek. She ignores your father’s goodbye  and continues on with watching her shows.

On the walk out front your father stops you from leaving. He lights up a cigarette, the cloying menthol aroma turning your stomach. 

(You never could pick one up again after that traumatizing moment in secondary school.)

Your father is quiet for some time, flicking the ash of his cigarette occasionally in deep thought. You don’t make an effort to break the silence, thinking of your own recollection of another successfully humiliating interaction with your mother. They’d been happening a lot more as of late and it was starting to wear a hole in your heart.

When you shuffle in place your father finally looks at you with a softened glint in his eye. He stumps out his ciggie and places a hand on your shoulder.

“You and your mother are just alike.”

Snorting, you look off to the darkening parking lot, settling your gaze on a flickering street lamp in the distance. You try to ignore the warbling view from behind the tears in your eyes.

“Wouldn’t let her hear that. I’m sure she’d pop her lid at the very suggestion.” You don’t mean to, but bitterness coats your tongue before you can stop yourself, “Poor, fat, pathetic Siggy mucking her perfect plans up as always.”

Your father shoots you a warning glance, not liking your tone or the self deprecation dripping from your mouth. Being under his steel gaze makes you feel childish but you refuse to show it, meeting his look head on.

Because like it or not it was the truth. Whether she said it outright she wasn’t satisfied with your person.

You’d grown up always being on the wrong end of your mothers ire. No matter how hard you tried otherwise. But there wasn’t an excellent mark you could get, a partner you could bring home, or even a diet you could go on. You were always just… lacking.

Your father sighs in the night.

“You’re just as hard headed as her, you know that? Just as quick to cut down an idea that doesn’t fit your vision.”

Catching the defeated slump of your shoulders he calls your name. When you don’t look at him he tucks a finger beneath your chin forcing you to meet his gaze. Love and sadness sit on his weathered skin like a cloak. 

“It’s not a bad thing, Captain. I know being all brass and bull dick helps you at that fancy ass firm of yours but it keeps you from smelling the roses from time to time.”

You wrinkle your nose at the crassness, not sure how to take being compared to bulls testicles. He continues on.

“You also got her flare for dramatics and her ambitious nature. It’s why you two have been butting heads since you could set up and talk.”

Whoa, not the case!

“She butts heads with me!” You cry out, “I don’t know what I could possibly be doing to trigger her but I’m exhausted figuring it out. I just want-“

The lump in your throat stops you and you take a shaky breath. 

“I just want her to be on my side for once? Instead of being worried about me embarrassing her in front of the family.”

He gives you a sad smile.

“She’s just scared. Been on the wrong end of the hyenas before, I think she tries to nag you into submission in hopes she can spare you half the pain.”

That you can’t help but give an unbelieving look to.

“Please she acts like the head hyena most days. It’s hard to believe she’s ever been judged the way she judges me.”

Your father hums humorlessly, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to smush you into his side.

“You’d be surprised. She’d gut me, then stuff me over the mantle for saying it, but I have it on good authority that she’s on thin ice with her side of the family as well.”

You sniffle past the tears on your lashes, blinking to peer at him. “Well don’t leave me in suspense, old man. What’s the story behind that?”

Your father chuffs and flicks the tip of your nose, you whine rubbing the sore spot left behind. 

“I got your old man alright, you little shit.” He laughs boisterously, “They’re pissed she dared marry me, an American. Then by doing me the honor of birthing you, the most loving, headstrong tornado of a child a man can ask for, despite their objections.”

The forehead kiss he plants on you brings more watery fluid to your eyes. You hide the emotion by frowning and pretending to wipe off imaginary residue from your forehead.

“I’m not following.” You snark flatly. It earns you a pinch.

“They’re pissed she went against them then had the nerve to agree to divorce me when it was all said and done. That’s on top of inconveniencing them by getting sick. Your mum’s been on the chopping block far longer than you’ve been and the pressure is getting to her.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you imagine he’s reliving the hard years that came about after the divorce. The constant yelling and coldness within your childhood home still sends ice down your spine. Your father notices the resulting shiver and rubs your arm to provide warmth into your limbs.

“Despite our differences, I know your mum is just worried you’ll face the same treatment she did when she went and ran off with me, the ‘no good American’ while on vacation.”

You sigh, still not really understanding. It was definitely unfortunate their treatment of your parents' marriage. You’d witnessed it in the slick remarks of your aunties and the other elders over the years. 

Your father had done what he could to shield you from figuring out his ostracism up until he’d asked your mother for a divorce. 

It wasn’t fair to either of them that the family was so caught up in outdated traditions to see your parents had loved each other once. But you couldn’t live like this and you say so.

“You said it yourself, you've been divorced for ages. It’s not fair that she puts so much pressure on me when I don’t give a damn about what they say. I’ve never amounted to anything they want and I refuse to exhaust myself trying to meet her expectations.”

Your father nods in agreement.

“That’s valid, Siggy. Ultimately I just want you to make your own path. I’ll talk to her about laying off, promise.” He cocks his head and squints at you. 

“What?” You give him a worried perusal.

“Are you still mad that I spilled the beans about the fiancé situation?”

You laugh, pinching him around the middle. “I’m still very upset actually. You sold me out so quickly, it’s like you didn’t even try!”

He shrugs shamelessly. “It was me or you. I had to put myself first in the end.”

You roll your eyes and enjoy the swaying hug he keeps you in. After some time he speaks, peering at you.

“Your little friend Blue is right, by the way, that Hugo man does look like a chihuahua.”

“Dad, please.” 

“I’m just saying, Captain, might have gotten lucky after all. wouldn’t want you to go off and birth a litter of pups with a french accent.”

Your resulting cackle echoes loudly into the night.

A/N lol sorry for taking forever for an update and all the parental angst lmao. If you can’t tell I suffer from mommy issues and I was avoiding writing this chapter. Excited, next part the good shit begins :’D

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[legacygirlingreen]

That time of year again… // Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC (NSFW)

Hi friends! I have been battling the flu for a week now so there’s a delay on strumming hearts pt 2 but I managed to scrap this together for those who celebrate Christmas! Also hella unedited so RIP.. anyways, Hope your day has been fantastic!

Screenshots in art by: @sinty2ek - seriously check out their page, it’s great if you aren’t already following 💚

Warning: smut (duh), Sebastian gets dom for a moment but overall is worried about her, loss of virginity, consent is hot, size difference, etc

Word count: 7,700

All characters are aged up and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The first December after the events in Feldcroft, he had come down with a bout of dragon pox that landed him in the hospital wing for weeks. The second his finals had come to an end he wound up in a bed, with nurse Blainey rushing around him, and he didn’t realize what exactly was happening until the first of the year when he was released. In a way, he’d been thankful, that not really being conscious or alert through the worst part of the year.

That vile illness saved him from going to an empty home with too many bad memories to sulk and more than likely drink his uncle's firewhiskey. He had “come too” so to speak the morning of his birthday - New Year’s Eve or Hogmanay for the Scots - but in his house it had always been about celebrating himself and Anne. Knowing he’d be unable to grieve the loss of his sister from his life with nurse Blainey in the room he laid in the hospital bed trying by any means to distract himself.

She had come around several times seeing he was much better but still not quite healthy to be released. As his energy grew so had his restlessness. He was so grateful when his friend, the only one he had anymore, had so sweetly continued to try and attempt to see him. He had heard snippets throughout his stay from the nurse about how the girl had frequently attempted to come see him, and she’d caught the girl trying to sneak in a few times, firmly reassuring the hero of Hogwarts that dragon pox was no laughing matter.

It warmed his heart when he was finally awake at how the pile of books slowly started to accumulate, giving him a much needed distraction. She even slipped in a title to the stack he knew she must’ve stolen from the restricted section, and the thought of her puttering around amongst the ghost to get him comfort while sick, made him smile.

And on his birthday in the morning when he awoke he saw a small slice of cake alongside a neatly wrapped gift and a small note containing his name. Blainey had informed him how desperately the girl had begged to stay on the far side of the hospital just to see him and how upset she’d been handing off the gift and pastry before sulking back downstairs.

As sweet as it all was, he was somewhat grateful to the nurse for keeping the girl away. Not only would he never be able to live with himself should he be the reason she contracted the often fatal illness, but he honestly didn’t want to be seen like that.

He’d been quite honest with himself over that first summer holiday on his feelings for the girl. He had come to terms with the awful ways in which he’d treated her and decided her miracle of not turning him in and standing by him should never go wasted. In those hot months in feldcroft he decided that he’d never hurt her again. And perhaps one day he’d tell her how he felt.

Because as the first July without Anne and Solomon raged on as he tended the garden, all he continued to think of was her shimmering eyes dreamily staring up at his own in amazement as he showed her the undercroft. Or how silky her hair had shown in the moonlight that night they raided the goblin mine. How small she felt pressed against him when he’d pulled her to safety from that spider. How brilliant her smile was when they discovered the first of Isadora’s memories. Or how she held him so tightly the night before they left hogwarts in May when she’d found him crying in the undercroft…

But that former Yule where he laid in a hospital bed, covered in sweat, scabs and looking like death itself, he was almost more thankful that the nurse had prevented the girl of his dreams from seeing his current state. Sebastian had always been a bit cocky. And he knew that he had some baseline qualities to which made him attractive, despite the ones he tended to dislike. He often hoped his messy hair would be considered more charming in her eyes. Or she’d notice that he’d started shaving by purposefully leaving it a few days sometimes so she’d have to notice the dark hair adorning his chin. He found the few of his features he could be proud of and he was thankful that she’d not seen him sick when she’d left that sweet gift.

The girl had dropped off a blank, leather bound journal, simply explaining in her note how proud she’d been of him for not messing with dark magic and that she hoped he’d use the journal to vent his feelings, frustrations, discoveries and anything else as he continued to turn over a new leaf. It had been sweet and something he’d never done before but if he was honest in the last year he’d nearly filled the damn thing after he taped in her note to the first page.

That remaining school year and the start of the current left him following around her like a lost crup puppy. Although feeling a bit self conscious earlier on about his newly acquired dragon pox scars adorning his body and the few on his face, he quickly resolved the issue when she come to him with a potion to cure it that she promised she had done the heavy lifting with garreth on. It overall did the charm and returned his face and skin to its original state.

Anywhere she needed to go after that, he was there. She needed someone to hold books? Sebastian had two hands. She needed an escort through the forbidden forest to find a lost niffler? He was carrying the small creature back for her. She wanted company even on a night he was exhausted? He’d brave the lack of sleep and stay up with her.

At some point during the year she had come to him and confessed she hadn’t been sleeping well, professor Weasley and her head of house recommending she relocate to her room of requirement instead of a dorm so she wouldn’t disturb her roommates with the nightmares.

So every once in a while when he too was struggling to fall asleep he’d find a note slipping under his dormitory door and he’d be slipping off to the tapestry in the hall to make sure she was okay.

Deek had found them most mornings still awake by the fire just chatting and decided perhaps Matilda didn’t need to know everything. Not even on the rare mornings he found Mr Sallow’s arms wrapped around his dear friend as they both slept soundly in her conjured bed. As far as Deek was concerned both children desperately needed whatever sleep they got, and the hero of Hogwarts only seemed to sleep in the arms of that Slytherin boy with the brown eyes that never left her.

As they found themselves in their seventh year, Ominis eventually trickled back into their lives. Having seen the changes made by Sebastian, and the reassurance from the girl he truly had given up after the damage he brought, Ominis decided that his found family was still better than his birth family. Despite that, he still had obligations at Yule until he was of age, leaving the pair behind as he boarded the train in Hogsmeade in December.

Sebastian wasn’t looking forward to Christmas this year. Not that he truly had for a while - Yule always brought forth the nasty reminder of those who were missing - a number that was increasing for him by the years. But this was going to be the first he was actually conscious for after his sister left. Given the previous dragon pox year he wasn’t sure what was going to happen this year.

Almost as if sensing his nervousness going into the holidays she approached him during dinner the last day of their examinations as she sat down gently and leaned a hand over to place on his arm, startling him out of his deep thoughts while he stared at his mashed potatoes.

Hey Bash, are you alright?

He looked up with a small jump as he saw her brow furrowed and her gaze laced with concern. Her sweet voice caused that ever present stirring to arise in his stomach as he sighed and turned towards her, making her drop her hand from his bicep in the process.

“I suppose” he said after a moment looking down and seeing where her thigh was almost pressed against his own and where she had laced her hands together in her lap after she let go of him.

After a beat of silence she spoke again.

“You’re feeling sad about the holidays this year aren’t you?” She asked and he almost let out a small yelp at how wonderfully she was able to capture exactly what he’d been thinking without him even having to explain himself.

Looking back at her empathetic expression he nodded. Of course she was understanding. She had always been nothing but caring since the day he’d met her.

Sighing, she averted her gaze and grabbed one of his forgotten peeled orange slices off his plate and popped it into her mouth, slowly allowing the fruits somewhat bitter-sweetness to coat her tongue before she swallowed and looked back at him.

“This is the time of year I feel the most alone” she admitted as she looked back up at him from her seat on the Slytherin bench.

Sebastian recalled the times she had mentioned growing up in a muggle orphanage in London. How abysmally poor and mismanaged it was run. How professor Fig had come, lying that he was a long lost relative to the nuns before “bringing her home” as he explained to the young witch that she had accidentally wound up at a muggle orphanage instead of a magic one when her parents were discovered dead by non magical policemen when she was an infant.

Spending her first Christmas at Hogwarts when Professor Fig was still alive had been wonderful. she’d been allowed to travel to visit him and Ominis and Anne during the last Christmas he’d had at feldcroft with the professor just during the day. Sebastian also remembered fondly how happy she looked celebrating Yule with them before she returned to hogwarts for the rest of the holiday: not before giving him a quick kiss to the cheek and scurrying off behind the late man. It had been Sebastian’s first decent Christmas since his parents died.

Now the pair sat in the great hall carrying the weight of loss and loneliness as they went uncertainty into the holiday season.

“I don’t want to go back to Feldcroft alone this year” he admitted bluntly as he continued to peel the orange, handing her a slice as he ate another. As they silently ate the fruit he kept thinking about how he felt conflicted in returning. A part of him hoped Anne would show up again but he knew deep down it was unlikely.

“What if… what if you didn’t go back to Feldcroft? What if you stayed here… with me?” She asked quietly without looking up at him.

Sebastian had wondered if he should stay at the school given he had no family to return to, but he worried she see him as imposing as hogwarts truly was the only home she had.

“You want me to stay?” He asked, unsure if she meant it but hopeful she did want him there.

“Of course I would. I always want you around. I think it’s silly for us both to be alone during Christmas if we have each other we could be keeping company.” she explained as she finally looked again.

“What about our dorm rooms-“ he asked as she shook her head with a small amount of blushing working its way to her face.

“We can stay in the room of requirement. Professor Weasley was returning home this year so she won’t be checking in and last anyone heard you were going to feldcroft. Only one who would know is Deek and he would never tell a soul. That is, if you are interested…” she explained to him.

He almost stuttered in his reply, taking in that the girl was willingly offering him to stay with her for an extended period of time alone and unsupervised. Sure he occasionally fell asleep there when she invited him but never for multiple nights in a row and with the intention directly.

“You want me to stay with you alone?” He asked and she gently nodded.

“I would. We can conjure a tree and decorate it together in the main room. Take care of the beasts in the vivariums and sneak down the library to get books to read… it could be fun” she reasoned and he nodded.

“Alright. I think I would really like that. Only if you’re sure you are alright with it. I can also sleep on the settee in the main room-“ he offered and she shook her head, opening her mouth to speak before pausing and looking down.

“You can if you prefer that, but I -“ she trailed off as she looked at his wild expression before continuing as she tucked one of those stray hairs so often around her face behind her ear as she admitted, “I do sleep better when you are around… the nightmares don’t usually happen when you are with me…” she told him.

He knew the feeling. In fact he knew it so well that the only peaceful sleep he often found was in her room when they fell asleep after hours of talking together. He never knew how but eventually once he would calm her down and they’d talk, he would wake up the next morning with her nestled against his body as if during the night they had reached over to hold one another.

“I-“ he paused, raking his own hands in his hair as he also admitted, “me too. I think the only real sleep I’ve gotten all year has been in the room of requirement”

“So you’ll stay? With me?” She asked and he nodded.

“I’d love to”

————————

The next morning he’d slipped out of his nearly empty Slytherin dorm room with a small bag over his shoulder of the stuff he usually brought home. Some clothes that weren’t his school uniforms, a few books, a quill and some ink, some snacks, the few toiletries he had and the journal she’d given him the previous year. As he snuck down the empty halls he came across the door to the room or requirement, now revealing itself to him with no problem, before he pushed inside.

Once there he could see the always lit fire in the main room, the vivariums grand entrances, along with all her potting and potions stations. Something about the place always felt so inherently homie and incredibly authentic to her.

“Uh…” he looked around seeing the absence of the witch who had invited him, knowing it was really early in the morning and she possibly could still be asleep, but usually she rose earlier. As he went to check the small bedroom that had appeared a few months prior, the door opened behind him and she shuffled in carrying a small basket.

“Oh, you’re already here. I snuck down to the kitchen for some breakfast and I was going to pop by the dungeons later-“ she started to ramble as he looked at her clothes.

Most of the time she wore her uniform, as most students did, but when she wasn’t in her robes she usually looked a tad mismatched. Often finding random articles of clothing with protection charms while exploring, she wore a tacky blend of them. The girl also usually opted for trousers not skirts or dresses as exploring was easier when you weren’t “worried about the wind blowing up or fabric getting caught” by her own words.

Instead she stood before him in possibly the first time he’d ever seen her without trousers or one of those hideous wool skirts all the students wore. She had a white blouse with an emerald green dress overtop that had only a few white embellishments along the skirt. It wasn’t the most elegant of dresses but it certainly was beautiful, especially since he rarely saw her like this.

He set his bag down and walked towards her, and upon further inspection she also had her hair tied back - not an uncommon sight - but she’d left most of it down, only pulling the front strands out of her way as she tied it back with a bow.

Very different from how he usually saw her.

Upon realizing he had been staring she felt self conscious, asking him “how do I look?” As she awkwardly stroked the material of her skirt down with her free hand.

“You look beautiful” he said without a second thought before he looked at her face, something he’d done so often but as her eyes softened he realized he shouldn’t affirm she looked this way only because of the clothes or change to her hair.

“You are beautiful” he spoke when he found himself planted in front of her, boldly admiring her face and not the wardrobe.

She noticed his correction along with the implications it carried as she fell under the wonderful scrutiny of his gaze. As she did so, she turned to take in his appearance with his lack of the Slytherin robes, swamping them for a simple shirt and vest as he stood in front of her. Usually disguised by school cloaks she could see how wide his shoulders had gotten, along with the exposed skin of his forearms from where he’d rolled his sleeves up. The skin that usually laid covered, now proudly displaying the freckled skin below the light dusting of dark hair, as well as his veins that went into his hand.

“You okay?” She heard his voice ask gently as she looked up from his hands to his face once more.

“Sorry, yeah, I mean thank you-“ she told him as she moved past him and walked down the stairs of the main room into the back area. Sebastian didn’t question as he followed her down into the deeper parts of the room.

Once they emerged in the area he noticed there was a large tree in the middle of the room with some pillow cushions on the floor in front of the fireplace. He realized she must’ve been awake a while to have conjured a tree and made the cozy nest where they likely would read together during the day.

“You’ve been busy” he teased as she walked them over to the fireplace and lifted her skirt ever so slightly so she could settle herself on the ground comfortably.

“I just wanted you to feel as at homey as possible” she explained as he sat down next to her, his long legs stretching out in front of them. Looking between their bodies he noticed her hand sat atop one of the cushions on the floor and he carefully plucked it from the space between them.

As he ran his fingers over the delicate and soft skin of her hand he tried to ignore the way his cheeks flamed at his bold action.

“I really appreciate the effort but you don’t have to play host you know? I am just happy to spend time with you” he explained as he looked at her, giving a reassuring squeeze to her hand to truly affirm his words.

She didn’t respond as she stared at the way he continued to clutch her much smaller hand. He worried she would seem disappointed by his request to remain as laid back as possible so he in turn shifted the conversation.

“You said you grabbed breakfast?” He asked and she pulled her hand back to grab the basket, opening it up with a smile to show the goodies she had brought. As she continued to go through the options he couldn’t shake the way her hand in his own had felt like the most incredibly natural act in the world.

———————

After a day of reading, exploring the room, decorating the tree together, and just talking he was on cloud nine. Everything had felt so comfortable, so natural, as they fell into a rhythm alongside one another.

That was, until it was time for bed.

Once again he insisted if she preferred him to sleep on the sofa he would more than happily oblige, understanding that sleeping in the same bed carried heavy implications. She swiftly reminded him that they had indeed fallen asleep in the very bed in her room of requirement before. But for Sebastian, those moments had never been intentional, and to do so from the jump felt like a much deeper step.

To go to bed willingly alongside one another felt like the kind of thing reserved for married couples, certainly not friends of the opposing genders. And especially not a friend he often dreamed about kissing… as well as other more intense and vulgar things…

Regardless, her sweet smile and bright big eyes told him it was okay in her book, and who was he to question that. So as she slipped off into the small bathroom area to change for bed he stripped himself of his clothes and quickly threw on his own night clothes, tossing his dirty ones in his bag just as she returned.

Sebastian hadn’t recalled ever seeing the nightgown she wore. Usually she had something much thicker and denser but this one seemed… thin.

It was suddenly as if Sebastian’s mouth had lost all its moisture and he couldn’t help but stare as the silk she wore seemed to hug areas he usually wasn’t granted access to see.

Since when had her breasts been this full? Has she always had such an intense dip in her waist?

“Sebastian?” She asked him in mild concern as he stared distantly, his mind very much elsewhere as she came closer to where he stood slack jawed. When she found herself in front of him, he looked at her like a wild animal that had been caught by a hunter.

“I…” he trailed off as he took one more, very obvious, look down at her barely clothed breast. The view from up close confirmed his suspicions that she had forgone any form of camisole as the brief outline of her nipple shown through the silk.

“What’s wrong?” She asked gently, not fully comprehending his reaction.

“I… I think I may need to sleep out there” he said shyly as he pointed to the main area, his voice much more painned than he intended it to sound. At his explanation her heart fell as she couldn’t comprehend his reasoning.

“But why? Did I do something to upset you?”

“What?” He asked her as he looked at her hair which he realized was now completely down, something he’d never been privy to see before. It made him want to reach out and touch the long strands and see if they were just as silky as he imagined.

Quickly snapping his eyes back to her suddenly saddened expression he firmly said “You’ve done nothing wrong”. This further plagued the girl as she couldn’t place why exactly he was acting in this manor.

“I don’t understand. I thought you said you slept better when we were here together… Don’t you want to share the bed?” Her hurt expression cut through him as he realized she was still not understanding that his resistance was not due to anything about her personally… more or less it was about his lack of control in regards to his wandering hands should they lay in the same bed all night.

“Come here,” Sebastian explained as he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing her palm and pulling her to do the same. She simply sat next to him as he turned to face her, his knee slightly framing her hips and he did his best to try and ignore how close they really were.

I don’t trust myself.

If she hadn’t watched him say it she wouldn’t have believed he muttered the words.

“What do you mean-“ she asked and Sebastian almost grew frustrated with the girl for her lack of awareness at how much of a beauty she was, along with the fact he was so irrevocably in love with her it pained him.

“I mean you are too bloody gorgeous like this that I don’t trust myself to behave like a gentleman” he let out with a frustrated sigh. He knew he shouldn’t get so worked up, especially not to show frustration at her, but the throbbing starting in his lower region was making it hard to fully concentrate on his emotions.

All he heard was her gasp, fearing she’d seen the arousal in his night trousers but when he looked up, all Sebastian saw was the girl cautiously clutching her hair trying to make sense of his words.

Closing his eyes, he ran his hand over his face. Why was he such an idiot? She probably thought him some sort of delinquent. She probably hated him. She-

She had turned her body to face him and placed a hand on his shoulder when he opened his eyes.

“Bash” her timid tone called out and all he could muster upon having her so close was an eyebrow raise to acknowledge he heard her speak.

What if I don’t want you to behave like a gentleman?

Sebastian wasn’t sure he heard her correctly or if he was about to wake up from another one of those wet deans where he stained his sheets dreaming about being buried inside her.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for” he reasoned, knowing how innocent in many regards she seemed. It wouldn’t surprise him if no one had explained the marital act to her at all.

Instead of replying she simply inched closer until she was directly in front of him. Sebastian anticipated her to stop but when she cautiously climbed on his lap his breathing stopped. He kept his hand firmly planted at his sides as she settled herself atop him, her hands resting on his shoulders for support.

“I do know what you’re referring to,” she said bluntly and her boldness made him question just how much he might know of her. Behind those innocent gazes perhaps she’d been a temptress this whole time and he was just to blind by his affections to notice.

He hadn’t realized she had lifted one of his hands until he saw her concentrated expression examining his right hand up close. She studied the calloused skin of his palm before placing his open hand along her waist. Suddenly he felt the warmth of her skin through the silk nightgown along with the beautiful dip of her curves that laid underneath.

“I thought, but you-“ he couldn’t think of an intelligent response as she looked at his face. This led to the both of them staring at one another in silence as he kept his hand firmly planted where she’d left it.

Leaning forward she placed her fingers lightly on his chin, noting the stubble growing from his face as she traced over it. He’d shaved it in the morning but she always enjoyed seeing the small, dark hairs when he stayed with her after nightmares.

“If I ask you to kiss me, are you going to run away Sebastian?” She asked him while continuing to trace her fingertips over his face in the areas his facial hair had started to grow.

Sebastian didn’t reply as his hand finally tightened and curved over her waist. Lifting the other, he placed it on her cheek gently as he let his eyes move to her own.

“Are you sure? If I’m honest I don’t think I can ever let things go back to normal if we do that” he admitted to her with a sigh.

Of course he wanted her. Wanted to be with her. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to lay with her. But if this was just some Christmas Eve fun that never would go anywhere he couldn’t stomach it.

Instead of replying she simply leaned forward into his hand, smiling to herself as she felt the warmth of his palm against her skin. Sebastian took a shaky inhale at realizing she was signaling he could go ahead while she looked at him through her heavy lidded lashes.

Exhaling gently he leaned forward just enough to ever so softly press his lips to hers.

He could hear the way she inhaled sharply through her nose before he felt the slight pressure of her returning the kiss. It was cautious. Unsure. But still she continued to press on physically and metaphorically.

Sebastian let out a groan as he felt one of her hands tighten in his dark hair, her fingers weaving in and out of the locks along his sensitive nape. In response he pulled her closer to him by the hands firmly planted on her waist and cheek.

Feeling herself more tightly wrapped in his embrace she gained more confidence in the movements, shifting on his lap ever so slightly and letting out a gasp and breaking the kiss when she felt that beautiful ache between her legs at pressing upon his hard thigh.

She had touched herself before, sometimes rutting into a pillow to find relief, but to use the boys thigh in seeking that feeling once more she felt electrified.

Sebastian couldn’t help but feel the full extent of the throbbing in his pants, when he realized she was humping his thigh to get off. The girl he assumed knew little, quickly proving him wrong as her gasps and sighs carved into his neck.

“Hey..” he told her, moving his hand down to her hip to still her movement for a brief moment as she removed her blush covered face from the privacy of his neck.

“I need some guidance on where exactly this is headed” he asked her.

“You’ve always rushed unto everything with no plan before. Why do you need one now?” She retorted one more trying to find the friction she desired on his lap.

Sebastian let out a soft groan as her center moved over his erection and he paused as he considered her words.

“That’s different… I don’t want to be disrespectful or hurt you. I have read that sometimes intercourse can be painful for the woman and I would never want to cause you harm” he explained and she rolled her eyes, catching him off guard with her frustration.

“I’m not made of glass Seb” she told him before aggressively beginning to kiss the side of his neck. Teeth nipping, lips sucking and tongue soothing the skin as she once again resumed rutting her hips.

“But-“

“Oh Merlin, would you just let me do it” she said frustratingly as she pushed his shoulders back until he fell on the bed, as she crawled over top of his shocked form.

Sebastian barely had a chance to get a word in before she was unbuttoning his sleep shirt. He didn’t say anything as he helped her slip it down his arms upon undoing the buttons.

“Do you want me?” She asked him curtly as she looked down at his half naked form with a surprised gaze.

“I - of course “ he told her.

“Then act like it, Sallow.” She told him and suddenly like a fuse had been lit, Sebastian flipped the girl onto her back and started kissing her shoulders and collarbones with vigor. He hadn’t even realized that as he flipped her over he had pulled her nightgown down significantly but he brushed it aside as he kissed her body.

She grew warm at how suddenly the reservations left him body and he responded so well to her noises and gasps. Sebastian seemed to so easily locate all those spots that made her feel weak as he kept kissing her body.

Soon he was reaching for the ties holding up her nightclothes and she leaned up to help him remove it. As her fingers moved to undo the latches he grumpily pushed her hand aside to do it himself.

“Been wanting to unwrap you like a gift for so long now. I want to do it on my own,” he gritted out against the shell of her ear before removing the top of her dress, pulling it up and over her body and tossing it onto the floor.

As she shivered from the draft in the room, Sebastian looked down and realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He assumed that even though she lacked a camisole she at the very least would have breeches, but no. She was fully naked as she lay underneath him.

“You sneaky little witch planned this didn’t you” he gritted out as he leaned down to take one of her pert little nipples in his mouth, groaning at the sweet taste of her skin along his tongue.

“I had hoped it could be a possibility…” she said through a whine as he flicked her now erect nipple with his tongue before moving to the other one.

When he successfully gave it the same attention he release it with a pop as he looked back up at her face hungrily.

“So that innocent routine was just an act?” He asked her as he moved back up her body and leaned his weight down on her. She could finally feel his arousal through his pajama pants and she shivered as he used his free hand to trace down her torso.

“Tell me what you hoped for… did you hope I would kiss you…” he trailed off kissing her now severely flushed skin before pulling back to look up at her through his thick lashes as he kept teasing. “Did you hope I would… touch you here?” Sebastian asked as he ran his fingertips ever so gently over the skin of her chest.

His index finger moved down painfully slow until it was right at the base of her opening and he looked into her eyes intently as he breached her walls with his finger, smiling as he asked “did you hope I would enter you here?”

Sebastian only brought his finger back out slowly as she whimpered at the loss of the stretch that she’d felt around his knuckles and upon hearing the noise he shoved it back in again causing her eyes to go wide as she clung to the quilt.

Shoving another finger alongside it, he continued to work her open so she’d be able to take him with ease. Curling his fingers and scissoring them within her, he took his time appreciating every noise she made and every pull her body made on his appendages.

He wasn’t done teasing the girl yet because just when she was nearing an orgasm he pulled his hand away to look at her exasperated expression with a grin as he shoved the soaked digits into his mouth and licked them clean.

“Well?” He asked her and she remembered vaguely he had asked her what she had hoped for.

“I wanted you to… be inside of me…” she admitted somewhat ashamed and he chuckled at her relapse into innocence.

“My fingers?” He eased as he brought them close to her opening once more before changing his mind and grabbing her hand from where it was still clutching the quilt and bringing it over his arousal before asking “or my cock?”

“Your… cock…” she said as if she was out of breath and he smiled down at her, suddenly breaking the trance he’d been in and softly stroking her messy hair away from her face as he laid down next to her.

“You sweet, darling girl” he cooed as he pulled her into his frame. “You may have whatever you desire” he told her before leaning up to passionately but delicately kiss her once more.

She carefully reached for the tie on his sleep pants as she undid the knot and pushed them off his hips. Sebastian reached down to loosen his breeches and pushed them off his body to assist her before maneuvering his way between her open knees, laying over her.

“I’m sorry if I got carried away…” he admitted, realizing that his brash actions may not have been what she wanted.

“Don’t be. I found it to be… quite stirring” she admitted and he laughed at her choice words. Caressing her cheek he leaned down to kiss the skin between her eyebrows before pulling back.

“We do this at your pace. Promise you’ll let me know if it stings” he asked her and she nodded, brushing off the concerns as she reached for his cock, only to have him palm his manhood with a slight groan as he shook his head.

“I mean it. I don’t want to hurt you.” He told her sternly and she looked up at his concern laced brow.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine-“ she said as she finally unwrapped his hand from his manhood, finally getting to feel the full size of him as she looked down in shock.

Sebastian was much larger than she imagined. Not that she’d ever seen one in real life before but, even from anatomical drawings she’d seen and the girlish whispers she realized he was much more endowed than she assumed.

“Oh…” she said as she looked down, losing her nerve as she saw the way his cock looked massive between their bodies and the way it pulsed under her scrutiny.

“We don’t have to do it if you are nervous” he told her as she tore her gaze from his manhood back to his face.

“I want to” she said firmly and he looked at her for any signs she was lying or feeling pressured.

“You’re sure?” He asked her gently, his thumb tracing over the skin of her chin as he held her face carefully.

“Just… go slow…” she told him, parting her legs further and reaching down to assist him.

Sebastian grunted as he felt her lining his head up with her opening and once he could feel they were properly aligned he let go of her chin to reach for her hand, holding it in his own as he encouraged her to look up.

“Look at me, don’t worry about what is going on down there alright? Just look into my eyes…” he offered and she nodded, pulling her gaze directly into his own as he ever so slightly pushed his hips forward.

Everything went okay for a few moments until her breath hitched and he paused, not tearing his eyes from hers as he stopped pressing in. When she looked as if she adjusted, he continued until the entirety of his head was inside of her, pausing once more.

He couldn’t help but sigh as he sunk into her, enjoying the warmth of her body around him as he parted her. Every so often he’d stop and ask if she was okay to keep going and she never told him it hurt but he could definitely see the discomfort at the new and what he imagined, intrusive, feeling.

However for him… it was like coming home, to a place he’d never known was so wonderful. Her body eventually opened up and accepted all of him and he found his mound of dark curls pressed against her own, slightly more manicured patch of hair atop her womanhood.

He could feel the press of her hip bones on his as he laid there, waiting for her to adjust to the fullness of his length within her body. Sebastian almost felt amazed at where it all had gone, as she was so small in comparison to him and he knew his cock well exceeded his classmates from their time sharing dorms and bathrooms.

“Do you think you’re ready for me to move?” He asked her with the softest tone he could muster despite feeling like he was going to burst free at any second.

“You’ll be gentle?” She asked timidly and he almost removed himself entirely at the tone she asked him with.

“I promise. I don’t want you to be in pain. Does it hurt now?” He asked her, not wanting to know the answer but needing to have it regardless.

“It’s moreso just… pressure? Maybe moving will help” she offered as an explanation and he nodded, ever so carefully pulling his hips back before slowly sliding back inside once more at a snail like pace.

Eventually his movements became more comfortable, confident, and controlled - as well as slightly faster.

At first her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes but after a moment she seemed to relax her eyebrows as her mouth fell open. Sebastian watched her reactions intently as she gave herself over to him.

Somehow he moved to an angle causing a pleasured noise to spill from her lips and he felt himself twitch knowing that she was slowly starting to feel good.

“Hey, I like seeing those pretty eyes Love” he said gently as he nudged her nose with his own, causing her to open them once more and blush up at him as he continued to press within her.

“There you are… so incredibly beautiful. You are an angel…” he whispered as he picked up the pace but kept his tone soft.

His words and his moments caused her to feel a stirring in her stomach that was similar to when she rode highwing and she would dive low.

“Sebastian…” She sighed his name as a mantra while she reached up to hold his cheek in her hand, the other curled around into his hair.

“My gorgeous witch… so lovely inside and out…” he continued to praise her as her eyes grew glassy at his sweet words and without thinking a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye, his thumb moving to catch it the second he spotted it.

“Did I hurt you-“ he quickly asked but she stopped him by leaning up to kiss him, her hips rising to meet his shallow moments as he groaned.

Pulling away she continued to hold him close as she whispered

I love you Sebastian Sallow…

Hearing her call his name like that, and saying she loved him, caused him to stutter in his movements and his cock begin to angrily throb looking for that final push of release.

He moved his hips much faster against hers as he leaned down and groaned out, “I - love you too… so much… uhhh fuck… need to… finish… where” he struggled to choke out as he kept his momentum while driving into her.

Realizing she was likely much further behind he had the foresight to lean his hand down and start playing with her nub, causing her back to raise sharply as she whimpered and clawed at his back.

“Need to pull, out-“ he grunted and she shook her head violently beneath him.

“No. Please. Don’t -“ she said through a loud sob, her body beginning to clench around him as she looked up at him fiercely saying “please finish inside…” she begged.

He didn’t need to ask twice after she gave him permission. Pushing harshly on her clit, she came with a scream and with that, her body pulled his cock so tightly that he followed.

As her body milked him for every drop he had he couldn’t help but feel the strong sense of pride running through his mind as he flooded her with his seed. He looked down watching her wide eyed expression as he continued to pump his load deep within her body, only slowing once he ran out of stamina before he collapsed on top of her.

Sebastian was spent as he laid on top of her chest, his face pressed against her sweaty skin and he slowly began trailing butterfly kisses across her neck at the same moment he felt her brushing his hair off his forehead to do the same.

Suddenly he heard the clock chime loudly in the main room, signaling midnight and he removed himself from the crook of her neck as he softened within her, his spill slipping out of her and between their thighs. It felt so overwhelmingly perfect and then he realized something.

“Happy Christmas” he whispered as he tucked her hair behind her ear and she looked up at him slowly realizing that he was indeed correct and they had made love on Christmas Eve through the official start of the day itself.

“Happy Christmas Sebastian…” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from the screech she’d let out and he leaned down to kiss her once more before pulling her body into his, neglecting the mess between them.

“Well, I for one think this Christmas is already off to the best start imaginable” he admitted before pecking her forehead and he smiled when she laughed, the chuckle causing both their bodies to shake.

“Of course you’d say that”

“What? I’ve got the girl I love in my arms. What more can a man want?” He asked her and he looked down just in time to see her face turn up to meet his.

“You love me?” She asked softly and suddenly it was his turn to chuckle.

“I think that what we just did goes to show that but yes, I do love you. Terribly so.” He admitted as he brought her closer into his arms.

“I love you too” she told him as he smiled, his eyes starting to grow heavy.

“I heard you the first time… although if you feel so inclined to repeat it, I can guarantee that’s not the sort of thing one grows tired of hearing” he told her as he drifted off to sleep holding her in his arms thinking about how much more pleasurable this was than going to sleep with dragon pox on Christmas.

THE END

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Monster Part 3

Description: Part Three of the monster series

Here is the other parts: Monster Part Two

Word Count: 2,252k

Author’s note: I will not be updating this until season 5

Y/n sat on the side of the camera as John looked so depressed and annoyed to be on FireCracker’s show. Y/N hated that he was but knew that he kinda had too. Victoria was also there and that was the exciting thing. But by the look on John’s face, he didn’t care. Of course FireCracker would praise John. That made both Y/N and John roll their eyes but John had to hide it better. He put on the fake smile that he learned to do.

Y/N zoned out during the whole thing until Homelander said something. “Ally Victoria, really?” Homelander laughed. Y/N sat up in her seat now listening. “We’re all here to tell the truth so.. Tell the truth.” Victoria looked a little scared and cleared her throat “The truth is…” But Y/N was more interested in what John’s response would be. “I’ll do it.” He says. Y/N’s heart was pounding but for once she enjoyed the show. “Victoria here is a super hero.” “Thanks for the compliment.” She said but that wasn’t what he meant. “It’s all true.” FireCracker said and this is where Y/N would zone out but this was interesting.

Y/N covered her mouth as it was exposed that Victoria was a supe. Homelander got up and walked away as Victoria tried to get his attention. Y/N sat in shock but John pulled her up to follow him. “I worked my whole life to keep that secret.” She told him. “Well secrets rot your soul.” He said and Y/N wanted to laugh. But she could tell this was very serious. “Baby, can you gave us a second?” He asked her and though she wanted to hear she agreed and walked away so he couldn’t see her as she listened to them.

“Your girlfriend is working with Butcher. You don’t think she’ll tell them?” “Why do you think I sent her away?” He growled at her. He really didn’t trust her? Her heart hurt at that but she didn’t walk away until they were done talking. She ran away before he could find her and called MM.

She sat on the table watching Frenchie work on the virus. She knew that eventually she’d have to pick a side but she felt safe with both and she would always side with boys no matter how much she loved John. “If I had another choice I’d take it.” MM said to Hughie over the phone. Frenchie flipped him off making Y/N laugh. He smiled at her, “So how are you and the bad Supe?” He asked. Y/N wished that he didn’t ask that. She was trying to keep them separate.

“Frenchie, you don’t have to act like you want to know about that.” She tells him. “I know but I also know where your heart truly lies.” He said. Did she even know? Y/N felt her phone vibrating so she looked down and saw that John was calling. She answered, “Where are you?” He asked not even saying Hi. “I am relaxing, why?” She said which wasn’t entirely a lie. “I need you home.” He said and she sighed. “I will be later.” “You’re with him aren’t you?” He asked but it sounded almost like a growl. “No. I have no idea where Billy is.” That was the truth. He sighed through the phone. “Whatever you’re doing, come home after.” He says and hangs up.

“Frenchie you stay here. Kumiko and Y/N you’re with me.” She wasn’t paying attention until her name so she looked up at MM. “Me?” She asked and he nodded. She got up and followed him out the door. “What’s the plan?” She asked as the walked. “We fucked up our offensive. All we got is defense.” He tells her. “About Victoria?” She asked. “And the virus.” Hearing about it made her sick. Annie wasn’t herself and that Y/N could tell but she hadn’t been around much anymore.

“For all we know the shifter could be here.” Y/N looked around at everyone for a sign of a flaw but truth be told a shifter could act just like the person. “Does he know you’re down here?” MM asked her. “Hopefully not.” She said. “He doesn’t have tracking on you?” She shrugged, “He trusts me enough. Not enough to share information though.” She said. “Annie is the shifter.” Hughie said.

Y/N and MM looked at him. “Look forward. Like we aren’t talking.” He said and they did. “How do you know?” Y/N asked him. Annie came up to them and showed off the ring that Hughie gave her. Y/N’s jaw dropped but for a different reason than that. He proposed to the fake Annie? MM was trying so hard not to crack but Y/N couldn’t hide her shock. One second she is staring at the ring and the next she is unconscious on the ground.

When she woke she looked around and noticed that she was in Homelander’s bed. She sat up way too quick, “Too fast. You need to relax.” He said and sat on the bed. She looked at him in horror and confusion. Did he know where the president was hiding? How did he get her? “You weren’t answering your phone so I went to your house.” He brought her from there? “Why’d you remove me from my bed?” She asked. “I want you to move in with me.” He states, ignoring her question.

The shockness she felt got more intense after that. “Oh.” She said and looked away from him. “What do you mean “oh”?” He was kind of offended. She sighed, “I overheard you tell Victoria that you sent me away from that conversation because I’m working with Billy.” She says. “Oh.” He said. “I try to keep our relationship separate from work.” She says. “Yeah but you can’t.” He said. “What does that mean?” She asked. “You can’t because Butcher and I are mortal enemies and you’ll have to pick a side.” He said and he wasn’t wrong. But Y/N didn’t know what side. “Look I know this isn’t easy for you but unless you plan on giving me information on what they are planning, then you have no need to be with them.” He said.

But she doesn’t support him in his actions. She couldn’t say that out loud. “What are you going to do if I choose them?” She asked. “I will have to kill them all and maybe you.” He did not just say to her. She stood up, “John, are you fucking serious right now?” “You brought it up.” He was acting like it was no big deal. “I’m well aware that I will have to choose a side but it’s not now.” She said. “Billy wants me dead. I want Billy dead. There is no soon.” Billy wasn’t even talking to her right now. “Billy hates me now so I have no idea what he is doing.” She said.

“There ya go then. You don’t even have to choose.” She wanted to roll her eyes. “The others? Those are my friends.” “They wanna take me down also so that’s still his side.” “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you didn’t say that to Victoria.” “How do I know you won’t go back and say all the things you know to them?” He asked. “I’m not. Like I said before, I am keeping us separate from them.” “You can’t!” He stood up. Y/N rolled her eyes, “I have been!” He laughed. “You don’t think that you are uneasy around you and keep things from you because of that?” He asked.

“They think I’m using you.” She yelled. His eyes widened at that. “They wanna kill me Y/N. They are going to try every little thing they can too.” She knew that he was right but she didn’t wanna choose a side. She doesn’t want it to come down to that. “They have a right to John.” She whispered. “What did you say?” He growled. She looked at him with tears in her eyes, “They do have a right to kill you John. Not that I want that to happen but you have done terrible things John. And if you don’t see that then you need to open your eyes.” He looked down at her words.

She got up from her spot and went over to him. She wrapped her arms around him, “But I love you John. And if I can prevent them from killing you I will.” She whispered. He looked at her. His expression was unreadable, making her heart beat. “If you love me. You’ll leave them and be with me.” He tells her. “Okay.” She whispered. “Okay.” She leaned up and kissed him. She wasn’t sure what she was doing but she hoped everything worked out in the end. John wasn’t around, thankfully. So when her phone started ringing she was quick to answer it.

“Hughie” the phone said, so she answered. “Hey, can you meet up with us?” She knew that she should have said No but she didn’t want to. “Yeah.” She said and got ready. John was at the Vought tower and wasn’t due back for a while so she wasn’t rushing for that reason. She was rushing because she wasn’t sure what Hughie was calling her about. She looked in the mirror and sighed. John can’t know about this.

Seeing Victoria and her daughter was the last thing she expected as she walked in the room. Everyone gave her a look of hesitation on the situation besides Hughie. “What’s going on?” She asked Frenchie. “Victoria wants to get away from Homelander and she’s afraid her daughter’s life is at stake.” He said and Y/N nodded. Well she shouldn’t know that. Nor should she be here. Y/N sighed but her heart started pounding at the sound of “oi” from none other than Billy Butcher.

The guy who hates her guts. She hadn’t even thought about him not being there. She looked over at him and he looked good. He was no longer sick it seemed. He looked around and noticed her. The smirk almost dropped from his face. She stared at him, wondering what his next move was going to be. It was like the room went silent and the ringing in her ears started as Billy had tentacles and got a hold of Victoria. Everyone but her tried to stop him but it was no use. Even her daughter who Billy threw back.

Y/N watched in horror as he broke Victoria like a kitkat. Hughie and her had the same expression and she looked at Billy as he took the virus. “I should kill you too.” He said to her as he went to leave. “Oh by the way, you’re fucking welcome!” He said before leaving. Y/N looked at the rest of them in horror. His words didn’t affect her as much as she thought they would. He was a monster just like Homelander. Maybe he’s secretly been like that all along.

John was in his room at Vought Tower where Y/N finally found him. He looked happy. “I uh went back with the boys to get my things.” She said which wasn’t a lie. He turned to her, “So you’ve made your decision?” He asked and she nodded. “Yes.” She placed the box of her things down and went to sit right next to him. “Victoria is dead.” He told her and even though she was there the look of shock on her face saved her from telling him what she knew. “The President did it.” He said and she looked confused. “He confessed to it but you know I think? I think there’s more than just that.” He said and he wasn’t wrong. “More than what?” She asked. He chuckled, “She was killed by someone that wasn’t him.” He said and she was hoping that he wouldn’t start name dropping.

“You exposed her to the world. Did you not think of what would happen?” She asked. “It was all part of the plan.” He said. Before she could question it he pulled out a small velvet box. She covered her mouth as he turned towards her. “You were never part of my plan but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” He said as he lifted open the box to show a diamond ring. “Will you marry me?” He asked and she nodded without thinking.

He laughed a happy one for once and she hugged him. The tears that were streaming down her face weren’t just from this but from everything. She pulled away from the hug and kissed him before putting on the ring. “It’s beautiful.” She said and stared at it. “Beautiful things for a beautiful girl.” He said and she looked up at him. “I love you a lot John. Thank you!” She said and he nodded. “I love you more.” He said and picked her up. “Now I can fuck my fiance.” He said and she giggled. He carried her to the bedroom and dropped her on it.

Y/N woke up and saw that John was asleep next to her. She looked at his naked body and smiled at the memories of the previous night. She grabbed her phone to check the time but saw a message from Billy. Was he threatening her? She opened her phone to see the message and covered her mouth.

Is it a bad time to tell the woman that’s fucking my enemy that I’m in love with her?

[kingkatsuki]

Imagining Mitsuki trying to play matchmaker

And maybe she’s done that before, thrown girls at her son hoping he’ll hit it off with one of them and give her grandchildren. But it just royally pisses him off and he wants nothing to do with any of them. Then maybe she gives up for a while

But booooyyyyy oh boy, if you’ve caught his eye and she notices? She may not have introduced you, but she’ll make it happen. Just trying to help him out ya know?

She’d have to be as subtle about it as possible though. I could see him pushing you away just to spite her, even if he was head over heels for you.

I got a little carried away talking about this, but I just love the idea of Mitsuki meaning well, but never quite getting it right.

Warnings: Mitsuki tries to play matchmaker.

Word Count: 1.6k.

It isn’t that Mitsuki wants to force him into a relationship, she means well. She doesn’t like the thought of him coming home to an empty apartment each night, especially because she’s one of the few people who know about his night terrors. She’s been on the receiving end of many a call at four in the morning where he’s calling to make sure everything’s okay, or hearing him as a young man screaming in the night when he wakes up from another one of those nightmares. And although she’s taught him well, never needing to learn to cook, clean or use a washing machine— some companionship can’t hurt.

There was a time that Mitsuki thought that Bakugou wasn’t searching for love— that he’d already found it. His cheeks turning a violent red when she’d suggested that he was dating Kirishima, immediately reassuring him that she wouldn’t love him any less and that she’s happy he’s found someone as Bakugou tried to set her straight.

It isn’t that she ignores Bakugou when he says he’s not looking. She’s just worried, and maybe she’s right. Maybe he is lonely, and could use someone to help fill that void between work and sleep.

A mother can always tell, after all.

But Mitsuki’s methods can be a little unorthodox. Masaru tries to tell her not to meddle, that their son will find love when he wants to. On his terms, when he’s good and ready. But now he’s pushing thirty, not even a tabloid based rumour about a girlfriend and she starts to get antsy.

The window for grandchildren is slowly closing, and the hope is diminishing so of course she has to take matters into her own hands. It’s for Bakugou’s benefit, it’s like she’s doing him a favour.

At first Mitsuki is trying to set him up with someone based on attributes, wealth, success, career goals. Even though it’s difficult trying to find someone as motivated and strong as her son, she knows there are thousands upon thousands of women out there that would love to date him.

And poor Bakugou would prefer to be doing anything else with his time, sitting in his boxers playing video games and sipping a beer sounds far better than a twelve course dinner with portions so small he’s got to cook at home after. Especially with women he could care less about, listening to them drone on at him about their meaningless lives while he picks at his hors d'oeuvre two courses in.

No matter how perfect these women seem on paper, how compatible they are based on personality tests and star signs the dates never work out.

When this tactic doesn’t work, Mitsuki still won’t give up. Working in the fashion industry for as long as she has means she’s got a phone book full of gorgeous women. Personalities may not match up, but however bias it may sound she knows her son is an attractive man. So it’s easy to scroll through her contacts to find an array of women who would jump at the chance of a date with the Number Two Hero (also another benefit she slips in to conversation).

Bakugou tugs at the black tie around his neck as he stands awkwardly in the corner of another one of his mothers networking parties. Wondering how at 29 he’s still subjected to this kind of misery, thinking this would have stopped well into his teenage years. Groaning internally when he can see her out of the corner of his eye dragging a pretty young woman towards him. He knows the drill, knows exactly what that old hag is up to as she gives him a warning glare that only he can see. Turning to the poor girl with a faux sincere smile as she introduces her to him, her hand tightening around his forearm in warning as he offers his hand out to the poor girl.

But as quickly as Mitsuki arrived she’s gone, pretending to wave at someone in the crowd as she excuses herself and leaves Bakugou standing alone with this woman. Listening to her begin to rattle off ad campaigns or endorsements she’s been involved in like he gives a fuck, and talking about how many offers she’s received for her next one. It’s all he can do not to tell her that he doesn’t care and walk off as he notices that old hag watching from across the room as he throws back his whiskey and excuses himself to the bar. At least there’s enough alcohol to drown out the pain and suffering his mother is currently inflicting on him.

Mitsuki’s quick to join him, wine glass in hand, as she asks what he thinks and gushes about how pretty and perfect she is.

“Yeah? So why don’t you date ‘er then?” Bakugou scoffs as his mother rolls her eyes and he can tell if there were fewer people in the room she would’ve hit him upside the head by now.

It’s exhausting.

Groaning as he collapses into bed to find one new text message from the girl he’d been introduced to hours earlier. Knowing that his interfering mother had clearly given his phone number out— again.

But when perfect matches, and pretty faces don’t work Mitsuki changes tactic. After that, it’s just anyone.

Bakugou could be saying thank you to a girl in a coffee shop whilst he’s out running errands and Mitsuki is asking if she wants to go on a date with her son— she already had a boyfriend. Or the kind waitress at lunch who gave him a little extra spice in his ramen— she wasn’t interested in men. And even one time where Bakugou stopped to let a lady onto the train before him— she ended up posting about it all over social media before he’d even arranged the first date.

Deep down, there’s never anyone Bakugou truly wants. Dates are done out of obligation, and spending a few hours taking someone out for food or drinks means his mother is off his back for a few weeks or a few months depending on how well he can hide the immediate break up.

It’s a few months later when Bakugou realises the true lengths of how far his mother is willing to go to get him married off. He’s given a short, curt answer about his last break up. A “relationship” that Mitsuki thinks lasted for six months, but really there wasn’t even a third date. He’s out for drinks with the guys after work when Mina shoves her phone in his face, drunkenly squealing about how she didn’t realise he was trying to date people right now. And Bakugou didn’t realise himself— grabbing the phone from her as he assessed the profile. Thinking it was just another scam account trying to con lonely, desperate women out of their money, but he notices it. Pictures uploaded to the profile that only his mother has access to, key words that she’s used on many occasions to describe him.

That old hag. He groans, passing the phone back to Mina as he steps out of the bar to call his mother. Hearing the disappointment in her tone when he says he’s not interested. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact she made the profile, telling him there’s hundreds of women replying to his page. That he can have his pick of any of them if he wants to— but it just doesn’t feel right?

Until there’s you.

And there’s almost something about you that makes Mitsuki not try, because however much she loves and adores her son you’re almost too good for him? You exude happiness, positivity and love. And Bakugou is well, Bakugou.

And somehow you get together and you just work? Like there’s some sort of gravitational pull navigating you into each others orbit. And everything is just easy.

It’s not like expensive dinners, formalities and pretense. It’s comfortable, safe, warm. When Bakugou finds his place with you, he wonders how he ever spent so many years alone. Now he can’t ever imagine life without you, and Mitsuki is shocked when he appears at the door with you for the first time. Because for the first time, her son looks genuinely happy.

The most positive thing about it is now she no longer has to try and play matchmaker for Bakugou, the hard work is finally over. And now she has far more things she can annoy him with instead— like grandchildren and marriage.

And although she may hate to admit it, she’s happy that her son could pick a better match for himself than she ever could. No matter how much she insists that if she’d met you first she would’ve immediately set you two up on a date.

Bakugou finally found his own happiness in you.

But just because she no longer has to play matchmaker, doesn’t mean she won’t try to organise your wedding, your first home, your first child. And you better be prepared for her slightly unorthodox methods for that too— as she buys you pretty lingerie for birthdays, Christmas, Valentines—

“You can’t buy my wife lingerie for valentines, you old hag!”

“Maybe if you’d marry her she’d actually be your wife, you little brat. You should be grateful I’m trying to help.”

And oysters being the main course when she invites you over for dinner—

“They’re a natural aphrodisiac, you know”

“You can’t talk about sex so openly when we’re eating, you old hag. Jesus—”

Most family dinners include Masaru offering you a large glass of wine in the kitchen as you watch your spouses argue together.

But deep down Bakugou is just grateful that you stick around even though Mitsuki is almost a third wheel in your relationship. But you make the perfect team, and together you can handle anything— even his mother.

[minnophee-writes]

Right Where You Were Meant To Be

Fandom: Avengers [Marvel]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size Reader

Summary: The reader has a crush on Bucky the second she looked at him but she also has feelings of self-consciousness about her body and doubts she’d ever end up with Bucky or any guy like Bucky. That all changes one night at one of Tony’s parties.

Word Count: 2,760 words

A/N: This is a cute little one-shot idea I had and just wanted to write out. I feel there aren’t many plus-size!reader stories so I wanted to make my own. I’m a chubby girl and felt like I needed some love, lmao. Any mistakes I take responsibility for, this story wasn’t beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!!! <3 <3 <3 [edit: this is an old fanfic lol]

It all started when you looked at him for the first time. He had just moved into the Tower, and you had just gotten the job as Tony's new assistant since Pepper had become CEO of Stark Industries. Because you worked in an environment with superheroes who were very fit and healthy, you had become self-conscious of yourself; whether it would be what you wore, the things you ate, or just how your body looked in general.

Being a bigger girl, it often took a toll on your mental health when you would notice the glances, the whispering, the judgmental stares, and how shopping for clothes in your size was difficult, and it made you feel like you had to lose weight to fit in and belong. You felt alone and isolated.

You didn't have any friends; you didn't even talk to many of your co-workers, and just kept to yourself a majority of the time. When Bucky moved in, you noticed he did the same. He didn't speak much to the rest of the team, he mostly stayed in his room, and only hung around Steve. Bucky was very fit, and his muscular body showed it whenever he wore tight-fitted clothing. You would never wear tight-fitted clothing for fear of having your plumpness accentuated.

After five months working for Tony and having a more friendly relationship with the rest of the team, you had built a few close bonds with some of the heroes. Wanda and Natasha were your closest girlfriends and would regularly have 'Lady's Nights' every Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Tony, Clint, Sam, and Steve were like your older brothers and would look out for you.

You and Steve made it a routine to do small exercise and yoga in the afternoons just after 4 o'clock. How this all started was because you wanted to accomplish small goals for yourself, as Sam told you to do to help with your mental health.

"Steve," You called out as you stepped into the Tower's gym, the one place you knew where to find Steve if he wasn't in the common room.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)! What's up?" Steve turned to face you as he held the punching bag still while he watched you walk closer to him, noticing you fidgeting with your fingers nervously.

"I just... I wanted to start doing light exercises, you know, to boost my endorphins, and so I have something to do in the afternoons when I've finished with work." It wasn't a complete lie, but it just sugar-coated the fact that you just wanted to lose weight to gain confidence in yourself.

Steve had agreed to help you; he wouldn't push you too much either because he didn't want you to strain anything and not push you out of your comfort zone too much. Both of you would exercise for an hour each day in the afternoons. This routine had been going on for six weeks, and you were enjoying it. You felt better about yourself each week when you would check your progress and write down how much you lost during the week; you were more confident than you were all those weeks ago before asking Steve for help.

During one of those afternoon exercises, you and Steve were both in the Adho Mukha pose with Steve wearing his usual tight t-shirt, that you swore was a size too small, and shorts while you wore a loose, black tank top, and tight-fitted leggings that complemented the shape of your plump ass. You were so in the zone that you hadn't heard the gym doors open and the sound of footsteps coming closer to you. Bucky stood behind you and Steve, him getting an eyeful of your butt while he cleared his throat to catch his best friend's attention.

"Hey, Bucky! I didn't notice you were there. (Y/N) and I were doing some yoga, would you like to join us?"

You. Were. Mortified. You quickly stood up beside Steve and looked down at your feet, trying to avoid looking at Bucky after having your ass practically in his face.

"Uh, I kinda have to get ready for 'Girl's Night' tonight, but I think Bucky can keep you company." You nervously spoke, having your words jumble out quickly due to your inner-embarrassment. "I'll see you later, Steve!"

You bolted out of the gym as fast as your legs could go and made it up into your room without another incident. When you flopped onto your bed, you let out a loud, exhausted sigh before closing your eyes shut tightly. 'Why did I have to act like a nervous wreck? You didn't even let him talk for Christ's sake!' After beating yourself up over the little incident, you started to get ready for 'Girl's Night' with Nat and Wanda.

~~~~~~

It was two hours into 'Girl's Night' and you, Nat and Wanda had, at least, drank four glasses of Kraken Rum and about three shots of Vodka. You were more relaxed and carefree, enjoying your time with your best friends while gossiping about an episode of Criminal Minds you all saw the other day together.

"Not gonna lie, I would love to have a man like Morgan. Have you seen his muscles? And how he kicks down doors like a badass?" You gushed.

"That is true, and I fully believe Morgan and Garcia should be together. They have chemistry and look so cute!" Wanda loved her Morgan and Garcia ship.

"Eh, I like to have a super cute genius but that's just my opinion" Nat took a sip of her fruity vodka drink while shrugging her shoulders.

"Of course you would, you're with Bruce and that's a little bias, Nat." You gently shoved your red-haired friend playfully.

You and Wanda giggled like school girls when Natasha scoffed before she pointed an accusing finger at you.

"Well, says you, (Y/N)! You practically drool whenever you see Barnes."

That shut you up quickly. 'How does she know?! Play it off...'

"That's very funny Nat, but I don't know what you mean."

"Don't bullshit me, (Y/N). I've seen the way your cheeks get all pink and how your eyes are glued to him whenever he walks by. You're so smitten it's grossly cute." Then Wanda turned to you with a small smirk on her face.

"Maybe you should ask him to work out with you and Steve!"

Flashbacks of your embarrassment earlier that day made your face go pale. 'Absolutely not'. You shook your head furiously, staring at your two friends with fear. There was no way you'd have the guts to do such a thing, not after how you acted around him before. Plus, you didn't want him to look at you with disgust when he looks at you working out. You shake off all the negative thoughts before finishing off your last bits of rum.

"I think I'm going to head off to bed now, gotta wake up early tomorrow. Tony wants me to help him organize and plan a gala party to celebrate his newest project. And when I say to 'help him' I mean I'll be doing most of the work while he hides away in his lab with Bruce." You said before walking off and waving the girls goodbye.

2 weeks later...

You had most of the gala planned out. You had booked a cute catering company to organize some food dishes for everyone and even hired a group of people to decorate one of the large common rooms that would fit all the guests on Tony's guest-list. You had even bought a cute new dress to wear for the party. The party was starting that night at 7:30 and you would hopefully get everything done while having an hour and a half to spare to get ready.

When the decorating and planning finished, you quickly made your way to your room and got showered and changed. You stood in front of your mirror for quite some time, nitpicking every flaw you could see, judging your appearance because you knew how the other women at the party were going to look flawless and have every man swooping in for them. A sudden knock on your door snapped you out of your negative thoughts.

"(Y/n), you ready?" Wanda's voice called from the other side.

"Y-yeah! I'm coming now." You dashed for the door to get away from the mirror so you can't put yourself down even more. Once opening the door, Wanda linked your arm with hers, and both of you walked toward the elevator.

Telling FRIDAY which floor, you both arrived just as a few of the guests were mingling around; drinking, eating, and chatting. You glanced around, hoping to see the familiar faces of your friends, spotting Sam, Nat, and Clint near the bar where Natasha was serving the drinks. Tony was standing next to Pepper and being an absolute flirt as always while Steve and Bucky were standing near a corner with drinks in hand. Before you could make your way over to the bar, Wanda told you to wait where you were while she goes to quickly touch up her make-up, disappearing before you could say a word. You stood there awkwardly and looked around, making sure everything was going swimmingly until you felt a presence behind you. A tap on your confirmed that someone was indeed behind you.

You turned around to see a group of two slender women and three muscular men staring at you with smug and cocky smiles on their faces.

"Can we get some more drinks? And make them with a little more alcohol this time." One of the men quirked an eyebrow, waiting for you to scurry off to grab their drinks.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not part of catering. I'm-"

"You certainly look it though, I mean, you're not dressed like you're here as a guest. The dress you're wearing looks like the other catering staff." A woman spat, her eyes narrowed at you. You started to feel self-conscious about your outfit now, realizing the color-scheme looked very similar to the catering staff.

"Plus, the dress isn't that flattering for your body hun. We can practically see your muffin top and panty lines with how tight that dress is on you." The other woman commented while she leaned to the side to glance at more of your plush figure.

A stinging sensation began to appear behind your eyes, feelings of doubt, and an anxiety attack began to make themselves known. So looked away from the group and quickly made for the elevator, shooting Wanda a quick text saying you weren't feeling too well. 'How stupid of me to think I even looked good or that I could fit in at the party.' By the time the elevator doors reached your floor and the doors opened, hot tears were falling down your cheeks as you tried to furiously wipe them away with zero results. The tears kept flowing down as you began to walk down the hallway to your room; quiet footsteps barely making noise as they followed you. Just as your hand settled on the door handle, a warm hand clasped onto your shoulder gently. With a yelp, you spun around with a jump to look at your "attacker", only to find a pair of stormy blue eyes staring at your teary eyes intensely.

Bucky's eyes held hints of concern and worry, but it was hard to see because he was good at hiding his emotions, and the fact that your eyes were blurry from crying.

"You okay, (Y/n)? I saw you leave the party quickly and noticed how fast your breathing was." Bucky had to look down at you because he was so tall, or was it because you were just very short?

"I'm fine, Bucky. I just don't do well in crowded places or with so many strangers. I got a bit overwhelmed but it's fine now." You weakly smiled but he could see right through it, he always did.

"You had a panic attack after speaking to a group of people and judging by the looks they gave you while talking to them, I can only believe it wasn't a pleasant conversation." Bucky then brought both his flesh and metal hands to cup your face while he peered into your eyes more. "Tell me what happened, doll."

You sighed, you knew he wasn't going to let this go. Even though you both barely spoke to each other, he still cared for you like the both of you knew each other for years. Something about his calm voice and caring nature helped your nerves settle.

"They thought I was part of catering and asked if I could get them more drinks. I told them I wasn't catering, only for them to make snarky comments about my outfit and body. But it's fine, I'm used to having those comments made to me, I've dealt with those types of people all my life." Your hands gently held his and tried to move them away from your face but Bucky didn't budge.

"You don't believe them, right? I mean, I think the dress looks good on you. It shows off your curves and any man who doesn't get blown away is blind."

You gave a humorless laugh and shook your head at Bucky, looking down at the floor.

"You're just saying that to be nice to me, Buck. We both know girls like me don't belong in a place like this, or a party like that. You can go back to the party, I don't want to waste more of your time." You went to turn away when Bucky held your upper arms tightly.

"Not a chance, doll. I'm not a fan of crowds myself and was about to leave the party myself until I saw you run away. I'd rather spend my time with you and making sure you don't ever think that you don't belong."

You both stared at each other for a few seconds, his stare was intense with adoration and love while you stared at him in shock that he'd want to spend time with you. Before you could blink, Bucky leaned down and you felt his soft lips on yours, his arms wrapping around you and caging you into a warm and gentle embrace. Your hands rested onto his firm chest while his hands rested on your lower back, just above your butt. At first, you were in shock but then you gave in to the kiss and snaked your arms around his neck, your fingers embedded into his long hair.

The kiss was full of passion, and so much love that you didn't think it was possible. When the need for air was too much, you both separated and looked into each other's eyes once again.

"H-how? Why me? We barely know each other!"

"Because, (Y/n), I've been smitten for you since I first laid eyes on you but didn't have the guts to tell you. Steve's been a punk and trying to get me to join your work out sessions for weeks but I was too nervous to do it." Bucky's cheeks tinted red as he chuckled.

"And why's that? I was scared that if saw me working out, that you'd be grossed out by my body." You explained, chewing on your bottom lip.

"I could never be grossed out, sweetheart. I love a woman with curves and plumpness to her. I was nervous that if I watched you work out, I would try to make a move on you too fast and scare you away. I didn't want that to happen." Bucky grabbed your chin and leaned in again, his lips almost touching yours. "And you looked downright sexy in those tights, they shape your ass well."

You gasped and lightly smacked his shoulder while he smirked at you. His playfulness coming through. You made the first move this time and got onto your tippy toes to kiss him. It was quicker than the first but still held the same emotions. With so much strength you underestimated he had, Bucky lifted you up - your legs wrapped around his waist - as he opened your door and carried you over to your bedroom. Both of you watched a bunch of movies in your room; many kisses were shared before you both passed out, cuddled up under your fluffy blankets, safe in Bucky's arms. 

Right where you were meant to be all along.

[girl4music]

‘When In Rome’ doesn’t seem all that important of an episode at first. But then you realize Xena basically commissioned Gabrielle to kill Crassus. It’s painful cause you know Gabrielle is a person that genuinely does appreciate human life and won’t kill just for the sake of it. If it can be avoided, she will avoid it. Yet, she’s forced to decide time and time again for what to do in the heat of the moment and the conclusion seems to always be for somebody to die. Whether it be herself, Xena or other, and sometimes even at her own hand. She said she accepted the consequences of living her life with Xena early in their travels together, but I don’t think she accounted for the fact she’d have to kill just to keep her and Xena alive. Or, like in the case of this episode, to save Vercinix, a good, innocent man and a hero to his people, from being executed at the order of Caesar. It wasn’t just about sacrificing her own life, it was also sacrificing and betraying everything she stood for so that her and Xena could survive. Season 4 was the storyline for this. Choosing pacifism because she believed it was the right Way for her, then breaking it again when Xena was left vulnerable and defenceless and she had no other option but to make that split-second decision to kill those soldiers that were going to kill her. It was inevitable the way she’d end up. Whether it is a good thing or not is up to you and how you perceive the situations that happen within the episodes. Your better judgement.

This is the life Gabrielle chose. To experience and face all the violence, blood and pain again and again, being just as much a partaker in it as trying to stop it from happening… Just to be with Xena. That’s got to be the most tragically romantic, beautiful and powerful thing I’ve ever known. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Xena and Gabrielle truly are the greatest love story ever told, and I’m not just saying it because they’re my OTP. I’ll be damned if I ever find anything more romantic than Gabrielle’s insistence to throw away her morality for Xena. She’s going against her own sense of self time and again just to protect and defend people’s lives. Especially Xena’s. It’s a testament to how much and how deeply she really loves her and that’s so incredibly romantic. Wouldn’t you agree?

This is another episode where no one really cares about the Xena/Caesar fued. This episode belongs to Gabrielle and her struggle to betray her ideals by personally sending Crassus to the executioner. Commissioned and expected to by Xena, no less.

She's the heart of the whole story here. It all wraps tightly around her.

Just like 'The Deliverer', without what's going on with Gabrielle, it's just another cat-and-mouse Xena VS Caesar game and even though I love the Rome episodes, they're not as interesting as you think they are without Gabrielle’s stuff. And as great as all the other writers are with Gabrielle’s representation and development, only Steven truly gets what Gabrielle’s about. Him and Renee really make this show resonate far beyond a villain-turned-hero seeking redemption story.

Without Gabrielle - this show is half its watch value. Well and truly.