#to want to shove someone into the dirt and beat them until they stop breathing

[miniwheat77]

You catch them with your panties. HC’s (141 + König.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, suggestive themes, MINORS DNI OR ILL BEAT YOU, panty stealing, sorry if I missed any.

Captain Price:

It was not something you’d expect out of someone like your Captain. He was always very stern and professional.

You needed to tell him about something you’d overheard one of the new recruits saying, being an idiot and you just wanted to put a stop to him before anything happened, you knocked at your captain’s door, walking inside of his room when he tells you to come in. He’s sitting on his bed, sweatpants on. “Hey Y/N, something wrong?” He asks. “Uh.. I just needed to let you know something I over-“ you narrow your eyes, seeing that he’s clutching something in his hand. “Did I interrupt something?” You ask. “What? Oh, no. Go ahead.” He nods. The familiar edge of fabric catches your eye and he moves it behind himself further, you’re almost positive your Captain is holding your missing pair of panties.

The worst part? They’d been missing for over a week now.

“What do you have in your hand?” You ask. “Nothing. Just.. what did you need to tell me Y/N?”

You cross your arms. “Give it to me.” You reach your hand out. He swallows hard. “I-“ you raise your eyebrow. “Look.. M’sorry. I just…” he breathes. You push your hand closer to him and he places them in your hand, the familiar peach color sitting in your hand. You can’t believe this. You turn your back, going toward the door. “Wait Y/N! I’m sorry.” He breathes. You rest your hand on the door handle. Turning toward him. “Why did you take these?” He practically gulps at the question. “Because.. I just- it’s hard being on base with nothing to relieve myself and it’s not like you’re into men like me.” He breathes. “I’m sorry.” He sighs. You back up into the door until it latches with a click, and he looks confused for a moment. You turn to lock the door, hearing another small click, and when you return your gaze to your Captain, his eyes are wide.

“If you wanted a pair of my panties, you could’ve just asked.” You breath. “If you wanted my pussy, you could’ve just asked.” You smile, finally bringing your eyes up to meet his. His pupils are blown wide, heart still thumping at the shock of what you’ve just done.

He closes the distance between the both of you, ready to relieve the built up tension that’s been building for the last few months.

Ghost:

Your eyes were heavy as you walked down the hallway to the women’s barracks, going back to your room. Your hair was still wet, you were coming back from the showers. The hot shower that relaxed your aching muscles from the mission you’d just finished, cleaned your body of the dirt and blood that had accumulated over the course of the few days you were gone.

Just as you reached for your door handle, you heard a grunt coming from the room next to yours, Ghosts.

He had the corner room, right before the women’s barracks. He had just gone on a mission with you, he was alongside you the entire time.

You move closer to his door, finding that it’s still cracked. Unusual for ghost, but he knew what he had to come back to. A pair of your panties that he’d gotten away with. He couldn’t wait. Your eyes widened when you saw him. Knees hooked over the edge of his bed, his right hand pumping his cock furiously. His left holding your panties up to his nose. They were plain cotton panties. But anything to smell you. He can’t help himself as he runs his tongue up them, trying to hard to just get a taste of you.

You push the door open completely, stepping inside.

You push it almost all of the way closed behind you, leaning into it and letting it close with a thump, latching. Ghost jumps up, eyes going wide when he sees you. “Shit! Y/N what the hell!” He gasps, reaching to cover himself, shoving your panties underneath his thigh and pulling a blanket over himself. You laugh, making your way toward him. “So.. it’s you Hm?” You taunt. “You’re the reason all of my panties have been going missing.” He flinches at your words, hating how much of a creep he was for it. “Where are they? Hm?” You ask. He avoids your gaze, like a kid who’s just got finished getting scolded for stealing from a candy store. “I’m sorry.” He breathes. “I swear I’m not a creep or anything like that-“ he breathes.

You pull open his nightstand drawer and there they are. Multiple pairs of your panties are in there. You chuckle, his eyes clenching closed. “I need these back, I’m down to my last few pairs. But here.” You tug the waistband of your panties down your thighs, pulling them off completely. “Exchange?” You smile, pushing them out to him. He swallows hard, taking them. “I’ll save them for later.” He breathes. He stands up, placing a hand on your throat and pulling you into him.

“I want the real thing now.” He breathes, lips only centimeters from yours.

Soap:

Soap knew he was going to get caught eventually. At some point he’d get caught. He carried your panties with him everywhere, he was obsessed. He has them in one of his pockets in his vest, a pair in his nightstand too. He’d exchange them out while you were asleep.

He knew he was a creep for it, but he was obsessed with you, obsessed with the way you smelled, everything about you. He makes his way down the hallway, heading into the mess hall for a cup of coffee. He had just gotten off watch but didn’t have time to fall asleep, so he’d kill time in the mess hall. “Hey, Soap. Can you come help me out? I need something down from a shelf and can’t reach it.” You surprise him. He nods his head. “Sure, lead the way lass.” He smiles. You got along well with Soap. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. You open your door up, closing it behind the both of you. He doesn’t see you lock it behind you but you do. “What did you need me to get?” He asks. “Can I just.. see something?” You mumble. He looks confused. You reach for his pocket and he jerks away from you. “What are you doing?” He asks. “Let me see Soap.” You narrow your eyes. “No.”

“Soap, give them to me.”

He freezes up. He pauses, and you reach for it. He lets you take them out of his pocket. “I can’t believe you.” You scoff. He looks down at the floor. “How long have you been doing this?” You ask. He shrugs. “Johnny, look at me when I’m talking to you.” You cross your arms. He looks up, eyes very gentle. Clearly regretful. You laugh. “Johnny. Do you like me?” You ask. He looks away. “Look, I’m sorry I did it.” He sighs. “Answer the question Johnny.” You step toward him. He takes a step back, gasping lightly when his back hits the wall. “So what if I do?” He mutters. “You should’ve said something. Because why have my panties when I can give you the real thing?” You breathe, looking up at him.

“Be careful. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He mumbles. “Seems like I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.” You smile. “M’not going to stop you. You can keep stealing my panties all you want.” You shrug, turning away. He stops you, grasping your wrist and spinning you around. You can see the fire you’ve lit in his eyes. He leans in, inhaling the scent of your hair.

Before you know it, he’s backing you into your bed.

Gaz:

Gaz had worked along side you for quite some time now. Doing what he was doing was nothing new to him, Gaz really thought he’d never get caught.

For months and months he’d been sneaking into your room and stealing panties out of your dirty clothes. He was getting careless since he’d been doing it for so long. You had the same routine and Gaz always followed your routine to a T, scoring himself a pair of your panties.

You were meant to be showering.

You always showered at this time every single night, you’d never once done anything different. But last night, you’d forgotten that you’d run out of Shampoo. You needed to go back to your room and get a new bottle and that’s when you looked confused. Hearing the sound of shuffling in your room. You were only wrapped in a towel, still dripping wet from the shower. You peeked through the cracked door. You noticed Gaz digging through your clothes, but when he grasped your panties, bringing them up to his nose, your eyes widened.

You didn’t know what to do, you’d just caught him in such a sinful act, he was so invasive. No wonder you’d noticed your panties going missing. It was him, it was always him. You step inside, closing the door behind yourself. “Looking for something?” You ask. Gaz spins around, hiding what he’s stolen behind his back. “Uh- I was just..” he pauses. “You were just.. taking my panties?” You smirk. He looks down at the ground swallowing hard. “I.. I’m sorry. I just..” he stutters, not knowing what to say. “Put them back.” You nod. He does it immediately. “Get on the bed, Gaz.” You cross your arms. He looks up at you, eyes wide. “W-what?” He’s confused. You grasp the edge of the towel, pulling it and letting it fall down. Looking around your feet. “I said get on the bed.”

He swallows hard, nodding his head. He moves quickly, laying back on your bed. You start by the foot of the bed, crawling up his body, until you straddling his hips. Resting your hands on his chest, your bare pussy brushes over the seam of his jeans. “You didn’t have to go steal them.” You giggle. His cheeks are burning up. “You could’ve just said something.” You breathe, leaning down into him. “I know that now.” He breathes. “And I’m going to take advantage of it.” He growls, grasping your hips and flipping you over.

König:

König was obsessed with you the day he met you. He fell hard for you, anytime you were around he breathed in your presence like it was a drug. He was addicted.

The first time he’d gotten his hands in a pair of your panties is because your dirty clothes had gotten mixed up while waiting to be washed, and he kept them for weeks. Fucked into his fist and clutched them hard in his hand until they no longer smelled lien you, that’s when he knew he needed to get his hands on another pair.

He repeated this for weeks. He’d take a pair of your panties and when they no longer smelled of you, he’d sneak into your room for another pair.

You were meant to be going on a mission, gone for a couple of days. As soon as the helicopter left the ground, he was making his way for your room. Except you hadn’t gone on the mission. You spotted his creeping into your room, and looked in confusion. What was he doing? You made your way up to your door slowly, peeking inside. You found him digging through your clothes for a pair of your panties and when he’d gotten his hands on a pair, he sat down on the edge of your bed. He smelled them, groaning out as he tugged at his belt. Your eyes widened when he grasped his cock, beginning to pump himself. Letting your panties rest around his shaft. He tilts his head back, a moan leaving his lips.

He was so busted.

You pushed the door open, it knocked into the wall behind it, and König jumps up, lowering his shirt to cover himself. “Y/N- I thought you were on a mission.” He breathes. You can’t see his face but his cheeks are burning in embarrassment. “Yeah, I was supposed to but I have to have my knee checked out before I can be approved to go again. What are you doing hm?” You smirk, closing the door and moving closer to him.

“I- I was just..” he mutters something in German but you can’t hear him. His eyes are dark and full of lust as he stares at you. You move closer to him, and he backs up further into the wall. Cornering König was probably not the best of ideas, he was like a caged animal. You reach out, grasping his shirt. You feel his body go rigid. You raise his shirt up, exposing him to you. You smile, letting go of him. “Go ahead. Continue. M’not going to stop you.” You breathe. Stepping back. He’s completely exposed to you, feeling his dick throb from your actions. “You didn’t have to sneak around, you could’ve just asked.” You smile. He moves closer, wrapping his hand around your throat, staring into your eyes.

“Ich bitte nicht, ich nehme.”

He growls, pushing you back into your bed.

[anisespice]

tall fem reader?

tall fem reader!!! thanks for the request, anon :)))

hq ver.

pairing: college!tr x tall!fem!reader

warnings: mature language, MDI, suggestive language, reader mentioned in chifuyu’s but not present, mild mild mild cat-call in hanma’s - just crack overall, honestly lol feel free to let me know if i missed anything!

notes: planned to make this a whole x whoever you want type beat, BUT figured just doing a headcanon broken into different heights would be more efficient lol plus MORE CONTENT - gonna make a pt. 2 with some hq men, but for now — t.rev! :))) hope you enjoy <3 !!

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow

small — ♡

When it came down to a relationship, MIKEY wasn’t shallow enough to let physical appearances stop him from pursuing someone he wanted—He liked what he liked, fuck what anybody else had to say about it. The blonde never had issue with your drastic height difference, seeing it as more of a perk than anything else. His best friend was tall, so why not his girlfriend? It just meant whenever he walked down the street, he’d look like a total badass with his two attractive beanpoles at his side.

However, a lot of the buzz on campus mostly centered around Mikey’s height rather than yours. It never bothered him, but it certainly got you tight anytime someone tried to uplift you whilst putting him down in the process.

“A shrimp like him wouldn’t know how to handle all that leg of yours, mama. Lemme take you out tonight, show you a good time with someone who’s more on your level, whaddya say?”

Barf.

Mikey would merely give them a dead-stare; unbothered king. You, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to knock them down a size or two.

“First of all, your busted-looking ass could never be on the same level as me. Second of all, where my man lacks in height, he makes up for elsewhere, so he handles me very well, thank you. You’re probably the type to just shove it in without any sort of technique, thinking that’s enough to get a girl to finish. My man won’t bust once until I’ve came up to four times, the fuck can you offer me besides being six-foot? Hm? That’s right, not a damn thing. Remember that next time you talk shit, dirt-neck.”

Read him straight to filth. And God forbid Mikey had his gang with him anytime some scrub tried to spit game, best believe they’d dog the guy until he scurried away in humiliation. It always filled him with great adoration for you wherever you checked someone in his defense, your entire relationship giving off the same energy as that one meme with Kevin Hart’s character being protectively held by the lady. It’d been put in the groupchat a number of times just to tease the delinquent, but he’s unashamed at the fact you could easily pick his ass up. If anything, he was all for it, even requested piggy-back rides from you more often than his right-hand man—Draken’s back appreciates your sacrifice.

Now let someone try and spit game at him.

“Yeah, normally guys feel emasculated when their girlfriend’s taller than them, y’know? I’m surprised you don’t, though. No offense, [_____] just doesn’t seem like a good fit for you. I mean, must be tough to lay in the same bed, or even put her in your lap without feeling smothered or crushed. Wouldn’t it be much better to have someone a little smaller-”

“She could sit on me until my pelvis collapsed, and I would thank her. And, full offense, if I was single, still wouldn’t pick you even if you put a gun to my head. Keep my girl’s name out your mouth, you don’t deserve to breathe the same air let alone be on first name basis. Now, quit wasting my time—Do you have the notes from yesterday’s lecture or not?”

You don’t play about him. He don’t play about you. Period.

And as far as sharing a bed, cuddling or otherwise, Mikey was a sucker for being held like a damn squishmellow. Didn’t matter if you took up most of the leg space, dude would be wrapped around you like a python, so snug and warm you’d be lucky to even escape his grasp for food or the bathroom. Once he’s sleep, he’s SLEEP, and then you become the squishmellow.

“Mikey, I will be right back, turn me loose-”

“Zzzzzz…” out like a light. Drooling and everything, face smushed up against your boobs, just content. You’d think he’d been working the graveyard shift. And God forbid he ended up laying on top of you, sprawled out starfish style…you for sure weren’t going anywhere then.

Even if you expressed this dilemma after he woke up, the blonde merely yawned. “Just pick me up and carry me with you…”

“You’re smoking crack if you think I’m gonna haul your ass with me into the bathroom. I love you and all that, but we ain’t at the stage where I can comfortably use it with you in room.”

He shrugged. “Mm. Guess you don’t have to go that bad. G’night.”

“Mikey.”

“Shh, I’m sleeping…”

A gremlin. But, your gremlin. ♡

—

medium — ♡

CHIFUYU still can’t believe he bagged you, frfr.

There’d be moments where you’d catch him staring, as if he figured you’d disappear the second he took his eyes off you.

It’d get a little creepy sometimes, but it was endearing all the same. He wasn’t the shortest guy, though he wasn’t the tallest either, and standing next to you was a constant reminder of that. Not that he held any resentment toward you for it, he absolutely loved your height. However, there was always some form of insecurity that would resurface anytime someone called attention to it.

And today, his best friend and co-worker, Baji, would not only be the culprit, but an unlikely source of reassurance.

While they were stocking up inventory, the ravenette couldn’t help but notice the stool his friend was using to put a box in a particular high place. Wearing a mischievous grin, Baji pointed. “Oi. You should take that home with you. That way your girl won’t have to strain her neck when she kisses you.” He snorted, thinking he was the funniest man alive.

Normally, something that lame wouldn’t phase him, but guess today he was feeling a little more sensitive. With a grunt, the former blonde coolly spoke, “Maybe you should shut the hell up, and stock the damn shelves.”

“Whoa. What’s up your ass?” Baji furrowed his brows, walking over to lightly kick at the stool’s metal leg, making it jerk. Chifuyu sharply gasped, latching onto an empty shelf to steady himself. He exhaled, relieved, then shot a glare. But, Baji wasn’t perturbed.

Chifuyu sighed. “Nothing. I’m fine...”

“Fine my left nut. You don’t get short like that unless there’s something on your mind,” not the best way to phrase that, but at least he was genuine. Chifuyu rolled his eyes, coming down off the stool to brush past the ravenette.

“Not in the mood, alright?”

Baji was left standing there, dumbfounded.

The entire vibe had been thrown on its head, and he didn’t understand why. Awkwardly, he went back to assorting through the contents within the nearest box, bottom lip stuck out in thought as he briefly glanced at Chifuyu’s back mere feet away. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He knew not to pry, but curiosity always won gold in the end. Baji replayed the conversation in his head, using his impeccable deductive reasoning to draw his own conclusions.

And then suddenly, an epiphany.

Without a hint of warning, the ravenette quickly walked over and slapped his friend in the middle of his back. Chifuyu yelped, nearly dropping the box in his hands before whipping around to fix Baji with a wide, incredulous look. “T-The hell?!”

“So. She dumped ya, huh? [Sigh] Look man, don’t beat yourself up, a lot of guys fumble the bag from time to time. If ya need a shoulder to cry on…don’t use mine, but ‘tora might let you-”

“Hah?? What are you—[_____] didn’t dump me, dumbass!”

Baji blinked. “Oh. My bad, jus’ figured that’s why you’re in your feelings.”

“And you thought the best thing to do was to hit me, then tell me to cry on someone else?” Chifuyu squinted when the arsonist gave a shrug. He sighed again, carefully setting the box down. “It’s not about [______]. Well, technically. The other day we had lunch with a few of her friends. They apparently have been dying to meet me for some time. And things were going great until…”

Chifuyu trailed off, leaving Baji in suspense.

He grunted. “‘till what? Jus’ say it, bet it isn’t even that bad-”

“They were shocked to see her with someone who barely came up to her elbows.”

Silence filled the storage room. Chifuyu continued to keep his eyes trained elsewhere while his counterpart merely stared for what felt like hours, but only seconds. And then…

“Pfft.”

Chifuyu looked up and sneered, blushing furiously as he threw a chew toy from one of the boxes at the fiend. “Hey! Don’t laugh! Do you have any idea how humiliating that is??”

Baji, to his dismay, effortless caught the toy, even squeaking it a couple times just to annoy him more. Taking a moment to collect himself, the ravenette still wore his sharp grin as he spoke through airy giggles. “So? Who cares what they have to say?”

“I do! They’re [_____]’s friends, everyone knows their approval is just as crucial to the relationship as the parents…if not more.”

“Mm. Pretty sure you’re overthinking this.”

Chifuyu gave a sarcastic laugh, “Pretty sure I’m not.”

“Alright. Lemme school ya on how women operate when they get in their little cliques.” Baji dusted off his hands, missing the eye roll the former blonde gave once again. With his pointer held high, he declared, “If majority of the friend group is taken, they’re just being protective. No doubt they’ve been there for every heartbreak, every fight, ‘nd jus’ don’t think anyone’s good enough for [_____]. Jus’ gotta keep your head down, and don’t give ‘em any reason to be weary. Simple.”

With a slow, skeptical nod, Chifuyu pursed his lips at his fellow delinquent. It wasn’t unlikely, so at least he’s correct in that regard. However, the line between facts and feelings began to blur the further Baji continued.

“But, if majority of them are single, then you’re screwed either way —Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

“Wow, that’s so helpful. You sure schooled me, Baji-san.”

“‘m serious. You gotta watch out for the single ones in the friend group. They’re all passive aggressive, try to get under your skin, push your buttons. Then, before you know it, they’re in your head, get you so worked up only for them to turn around and play victim, saying you can’t take a joke, and now you’re the fucking bad guy! Classic textbook emotional manipulation—Don’t fall for it. ‘cause they’ve got it down to a science, I’m telling ya.”

Chifuyu’s eyes widen at the sudden intensity that overtook the room, taking a small step back when Baji jabbed his finger at him, as if he were warning him of some conspiracy. “Uh…you good?”

Baji took a moment’s pause. Then, he cleared his throat.

“Sorry, got a little carried away. All’s I’m saying is, don’t sweat. Lotta chick’s pick on the best friend’s new fling, t’s like a war tactic—Poking at our fragile egos ‘nd all that. But, seems like you did fine, otherwise you’d be crying all over ‘tora right now.” Baji shrugged.

Chifuyu blinked, now his turn to be dumbfounded. “Huh.”

He frowned. “‘Huh’? I jus’ gave you some killer, black-pilled insight on cracking their code of conduct, and all I get is a dry-ass ‘huh’? Tsk. I’m charging you next time, goddamn freeloader.”

Chifuyu glared, but softened soon after. After taking his words into consideration, the former blonde couldn’t help but feel lighter. “It’s just... didn’t expect that to actually make me feel better.”

Baji scrunched his nose. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean? Oi, don’t ever doubt my knowledge. It may be selective, but I got it when it counts. Besides, thanks to me you won’t take that stool home after all.”

“I wasn’t planning to take it home in the first place.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, elbows.”

“Hey!”

—

large — ♡

“Hey, baby, those legs go all the way up?”

It was moments like this where you detested not being able to blend in with the average crowd. Attention always seemed to gravitate toward you no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, like being covered in honey while trying to walk in front of a herd of bears. And it didn’t help that you were currently wearing heels tonight, accentuating your legs even more in the little, black cocktail dress you sported. You were headed to a party a mutual friend of yours was throwing, and you wanted to surprise your man by wearing the new Jimmy Choos he bought you, knowing how much he loved how your legs with the extra height on them—Evidently, so did the prowling degenerate on the streets.

You had elected to ignore them. HANMA seemed to have other plans as he came to a complete stop in his tracks, slowly turning around to walk up on the moron who had the nerve to open his mouth. Low, golden eyes gazed down at the waste of space, face calm but a murderous aura oozed off him like pheromone, suffocating the slimy bastard into submission as he attempted to shrink away. But, he wasn’t about to let him get away so easily.

A wide, eerie grin spread across his face. “Could’ve sworn I just heard you cat-call my girl right in front of me. But, you wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that. Right?”

The guy nervously looked back for reinforcements but his buddies were already long gone. Hanma’s grin immediately dissolved from his face, kissing his teeth before grabbing the guy by the front of his collar and twisting. “Fuckin’ hate repeating myself.”

Hanma wound his arm back, dead set on knocking the guy into an early grave until you intervened at the last second. By grabbing onto the balled up fist, you brought it to your lips to place a tender kiss on the inked skin. You felt his muscles relax, but he still held the offender by his shirt, only slightly playing attention to you cooing in his ear.

“Baby, you promised no fighting tonight, remember?”

“I know, doll, but this fucker,” he shook the guy around in his tight grasp, unhinged grin making its appearance once more at the sound of him blubbering, “deserves to have his shit rocked for even looking at you. I’m just gonna teach ‘em a little lesson about manners, that’s all. I’ll be quick.”

You scoffed, “You and I both know you don’t do quick.”

Hanma snickered. “First time for everything, right?”

“Shuji.”

Tugging on his arm, you were able to redirect all of his focus onto you, sinister eyes melting into sweet caramel as his pupils dilated the second they locked on yours. It always did something to him whenever you came up to eye-level. Sure, you were already pretty tall but the heels nearly had you towering him. It gave him a weird sensation, one that made him want to drop everything and worship you like the deity you were. Especially in situations like this.

Hanma felt like the smaller one for once. It drove him insane.

You fixed him a stern look. “Drop him.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he discarded the guy onto the pavement like an old can, wild eyes eagerly watching you and waiting for your next request. Taking his free hand into yours, interlacing your fingers, you led the rest of the way by pulling him from the nobody now cowering near a bush, no doubt rethinking his life choices while you kept onward to your destination. You didn’t get all spruced up to not be seen tonight, and you’ll be damned if any more time got wasted on some loser he’d put in a coma after one hit. After a short moment of silence, you expected Hanma to be mad at you for not letting him knock someone’s teeth loose. But when you glanced back at him, you should’ve known you’d be greeted with absolute smugness as you shook your head in mirth.

You elected to ignore the obvious tent in his pants…but he’d surely plan for you to do otherwise later on.

[tes-trash-blog]

Maybe this is because I read Ender’s Game and hated it, or maybe this is because I generally hate most war fiction floating around that can be summed up to “we good, they bad, they dead, we win”, maybe I just hate lazy colonization fiction in general. Either way, it’s started an itch about Ysgramor, the Return, and the circumstances surrounding the extinction of the Snow Elves.

So that’s exactly what I’m going to rant about tonight.

TW: Everything.

Part 1. The Circumstances Surrounding The Return, aka Saarthal

So, it’s established in Nordic lore that Saarthal was the first Atmoran city to be constructed. As to where the other Atmorans that braved those seas before Ysgramor’s initial arrival went, your guess is as good as mine. Tamriel was always a safety valve for malcontents and yearners, and there certainly were humans there before the Harbinger. Strangely enough, there doesn’t seem to be remains of the potential villages in Skyrim. Same as the Snow Elven cities that surely dotted the landscape. Hm.

I digress. Saarthal is, for the intents of this rant, the first real city. For reasons lorekeepers are divided on, the Elves attacked. Modern consensus is that the Atmorans discovered the Eye of Magnus, and the Elves wanted it. Elven lorekeepers argue that the attack was a result of various provocations from the city. Either way, the city was sacked, in spite of the city’s best efforts to fight back. Tragic, no matter which way you parse it. So much that Songs of the Return asserts that Ysgramor’s grief was such that he cried tears of ebony, and his son forged Wuuthrad with those tears. On a boat. Using lighting as a forge, and the seawater to cool the metal. All that, and he still managed to get that lovely detail of a caricatured Elf screaming in pain!

Three mourning people, and already their thoughts are not on how to go home and lick their wounds, but how to best kill Elves. Not a single thought to maybe arguing for peace in their homeworld, instead they braved the war torn Atmora to gather warriors.

Violence is not an answer. It is a question, and already Ysgramor’s was shouting a hearty “Yes”.

Part 2. The Return, or Fantasy Manifest Destiny

So in spite of Atmora being a war torn hellhole, Ysgrmaor and his two boys go back. He commissions boats, and finds able warriors to sail with him.

I feel like I don’t need to tell you how expensive boats are. I guess I’m trying to say is the dude had money, or enough social capital to have them commissioned. Either way, he ignored the ongoing war in his own home to wage another across the sea.

“But tes-trash-blog! These were people who have been traumatized! This is their grief talking, and grief does things to you!”

And yet. From Songs of the Return, Volume 2:

“Yngol, the elder, was the brave strategist, bringing his learnings to bear on the battlefield that his enemies would be defeated before they even know the battle had begun. Ylgar, the younger, was possessed of an unwavering spirit that drove his singular prowess to overwhelming feats in war. Together, the mind and the arm, they were capable of sowing a destruction most thorough and glorious to any foe who stood before them.”

So… Three perfectly peaceful, grief-stricken and traumatized folks, but one was strategic enough to “end a battle before it began” and the other was basically a berserker. And yet the Night of Tears was a massacre of innocent civilians. Ysgramor felled a number of Elves during the attack, but they were all innocent civilians.

A goddamn Word Wall says not to ask for peace for peace is weakness, but hey. They were innocent, peaceful people, their hands forced by “treacherous Elves”.

They apparently found battle, “though none remain to tell what those battles entailed”. How convenient. They took slaves, and cut out their tongues.

This is all under the banner of grief, of anger. It’s seems a bit too systematic to be purely emotional, and Songs of the Return even says the Companions were shrewd and sharp. They knew what they doing, but let’s assume they were purely acting out of grief. Let’s assume they only wanted vengeance. Let’s assume their only goal was revenge against those Elves for killing their kind.

Surely they stopped there.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

Part 3. A Homicidal Maniac Drives A Race To Extinction. What Happened Next Will (Not) Surprise You

The Elves are dead! Vengeance is complete! Surely Ysgramor, now fully vindicated and no longer hearing the screams of his dead friends, can rest.

Well.. No. As it turns out, he and the rest of the Companions didn’t stop. They went as far as Black Marsh where they killed Argonians, to Elsweyr where they met, killed, and skinned the Khajiit. They even reached Hammerfell, where they met round eared folks. But they were different, so they too found war. It almost seems like grief and trauma and what have you were flimsy excuses to drive an entire culture to extinction.

It almost seems like those Five Hundred Atmorans were a war-hungry bunch, bent on colonizing. The Songs of the Return only ever continues to echo this sentiment, with talk of “rightful claims” and “bringing the light of the proper gods to the heathen land of elves and beasts.”

It’s fantasy Manifest Destiny, plain and simple. It’s a genocide of an indigenous people, and the invasion to other lands because “we good, they bad”.

At best, this is a story of people going mad with grief and rage, and being unable to reconcile that pain. Given that the Companions are still a highly respected faction in Skyrim, one can assume they never learned their lesson.

Part 4. So Where Does This Leave Us?

KA Applegate said it best, in regards to the controversial ending to her Animorphs books:

“Here’s what doesn’t happen in war: there are no wondrous, climactic battles that leave the good guys standing tall and the bad guys lying in the dirt. Life isn’t a World Wrestling Federation Smackdown. Even the people who win a war, who survive and come out the other side with the conviction that they have done something brave and necessary, don’t do a lot of celebrating There’s very little chanting of ‘we’re number one’ among people who’ve personally experienced war.”

And John Kessel doubles down on that in his essay “Creating The Innocent Killer”, which I highly recommend:

“Ender gets to strike out at his enemies and remain morally clean. Nothing is his fault. Stilson already lies defeated on the ground, yet Ender can kick him in the face until he dies, and still remain the good guy.  Ender can drive bone fragments into Bonzo’s brain and then kick his dying body in the crotch, yet the entire focus is on Ender’s suffering. […] As Elaine Radford has said, ‘We would all like to believe that our suffering has made us special—especially if it gives us a righteous reason to destroy our enemies.’

But that’s a lie.  No one is that special; no one is that innocent.”

Substitute Orson Scott Card’s self insert Gary Stu with Ysgramor, the names of his enemies with Snow Elves. Go ahead, I’ll be right here.

Genocide is genocide, be it caused by grief or rage or land dispute or magic eyeballs.

And yet that pride over genocide, that elevation of Ysgramor is one of the Nord’s more defining traits. They’re a proud, boisterous people who frown on magic because it’s the work of “weaker races”, who honor the Companions even though they’re basically mercenaries with a genocide fetish (see: The Silver Hand, the Glenmoril Witches), who drink and get rowdy and are so goddamn proud of their axes. It’s an open carry nation that makes it abundantly clear that outsiders aren’t welcome. They are descendants of killers, as are most races in Tamriel, but they never let you forget it. Hell, the more popular skald song is “The Slaying of the Falmer Princes”. In game, you can barely walk into a tavern without hearing a bard say “Kill Ulfric!” or “Kill the Invaders!”. The latter is pretty ironic, if you think about it.

Once I heard someone somewhere say, “Well, the Elves deserved it.” I can’t remember where, it may have actually been an argument in real life, but they refused to say anymore. I assume this is what all arguments for Ysgramor and against the Elves boils down to.

So. Did the Snow Elves deserve extinction? Did the Elven civilian at modern day Fort Greenwall deserve to be cut down? Did his daughter, who wasn’t even born when the Night of Tears happened? The women and priests deserve debasement and slavery? What of those whose tongues were cut out from their mouths, those who were crushed under black quarry stone while forced to build Windhelm?

Or is “they deserved it” just an excuse, a candy pill to swallow so the offender can avoid bitter truth?

[vanillann]

guitar club meets on fridays- (e.munson x gender neutral!reader)

i. ii. iii.

eddie munson masterlist

WC: 1k

based off this request!

I was going to murder Eddie Munson with his own kitchen knife. Who did he think he was? Forgetting your anniversary because of a board game.

I stood outside the classroom, my foot idly tapping the beat to I’m on Fire while Dustin Henderson’s screams echoed off the walls.

We’ve been together for a year, a whole year of waiting for DnD to finish and band practice to let out. God, why couldn’t I come first, at least on our anniversary, but here I was as a bunch of underclassmen yelled and Eddie’s giggles filled the empty halls of Hawkins High.

After a few more minutes, the laughs died down and Wheeler's kid came tumbling out with the brightest smile you’ve seen on him.

“(Y/N)! Why didn’t you come inside!” Mike stood in front of you, gentle brown eyes and you wished it was Eddie standing before you with concern.

“Wasn’t welcomed,” I frowned down at the cheap red tennis shoes on my feet. Mike said nothing, feeling the awkward tension and making a run for it.

Dustin didn’t even say goodbye until he was running behind Mike, obviously feeling awkward.

Dustin didn’t even say goodbye until he was running behind Mike, obviously feeling awkward.

Dustin didn’t even say goodbye until he was running behind Mike, obviously feeling awkward.

“Do you realize it’s October 5th?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugged, attempting to reach out to me but i quickly stepped back.

“Do you know what you were doing a year ago today?”

“No,” Eddie looked almost shocked I would ask.

“You 're doing me! For the first time I might add!”

I watched the shock overcome his face, his hands finding the roots of his curls. That son of a bitch truly forgot, it wasn’t some funny joke, he simply forgot our year anniversary.

“No, no, no!” Eddie rocked on the balls of his feet, readying to reach out for me again but he must’ve thought better.

“You seriously forgot?”

I couldn’t hide the quiver in my voice as I watched his panic state. He didn’t have some secret date planned, he simply forgot something he knew was so important to me. He put DnD before me, again.

“I’m sorry! Why don’t we go to Pops and grab a burger or something,” that stupid perfect smile stretched wide across his face but it only made my blood hotter.

“No, I’m not some last minute plan Eddie! Just go home, I’ll see you later.”

No kiss or hug, I simply stormed from the stuffy building. My heart had been punctured by the knife of his negligence. I had been mentioning to him the whole week about today, telling him directly to be free so they could spend some time together, and yet here we are.

DnD always won, I didn’t even realize it was a competition until now. He’d always pick that little group of middle schoolers and a few upperclassmen over me, without fail. If he wasn’t with them, he was spending his time at band practice with the same upperclassman as before. Never did I fit into that schedule unless someone was out or sick. I was number three and as selfish as you sound, I wanted to be number one just today.

I wanted his hands to be all over me even when it felt inappropriate, I want his words to shower me with candy sweet compliments. I want to be number one today, but I was just a last minute burger plan.

How much more depressing could I get?

Days passed in a blur of anger, Eddie and I not speaking once within that time. He had all the time in the world for DnD and the band. Eventually, I stumbled upon the metalhead leaned against my sand colored Toyota with a little “I’m Sorry” within the dirt in front.

“You wrote it in the dirt? That’s going to wash away when it rains,” I didn’t even get a permanent apology.

“I thought it would be romantic!” Eddie’s hair was messier than normal and his purple underage bags made me almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

“Thought wrong,” I mumbled under my breath, finally stopping before him. His body covered my driver side door and I wanted to shove him right into his apology and leave.

“Okay okay, but I think you’ll like this part,” he pulled a fresh sheet of paper from his binder, which shocked me. Eddie Munson holding a binder with paper in it? Looking down at the page I felt my frown only grow deeper.

Guitar Club

Meets Every Friday Night at 7

No. Matter. What.

“Another club! This was what we were justin arguing about Edward!” My hand went out to push him lightly, but a quick side step quickly revealed my car or more likely what was in my car.

A lovely black electric guitar sat in my driver seat, a small price tag still attached but the total scribbled out with black ink pen.

“We’re both doing this club,” Eddie’s breath tingled against the lobe of my ear. His body hovered over me, and I wish I could stay mad at him but I was short circuiting.

“I don’t want to join some stupid club watching me play an instrument I don’t know,” I huffed again, turning to face him and I missed those eyes.

The eyes that would watch me walk on the sidewalk with concern when a guy passed by. The eyes that made me love him. Stupid windows to the soul bullshit.

“We’ll the instructor,” he gestured his arms up and down, “already closed admissions. I saved you the last seat, the only seat.”

He made a club for me. He bought a binder for me. He printed a fake flier for me.

He bought me a guitar.

He loved me.

“You can’t buy me a guitar every time you screw up, you know.”

“Yeah, my wallet is well aware of that fact.”

I opened the driver side door and ran my thumb over the strings, enjoying the tang of metal on my fingers.

“So does this mean I’m fucking my teacher?” My eyes were bright, almost as bright as his. Almost.

“Oh I love how you think.”

stranger things taglist

@meaganjm @Me0EeRp

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@dev1lbella @casteel4evr

join the taglist!

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[belovedmuichiro]

take this inotan drabble I made lmao

“What’s love?”

Zenitsu snaps his head up, surprised and quite baffled that those two words came from Inosuke’s mouth.

He gives the feral boy a funny look, but Inosuke has already turned his head like he’s preoccupied with the rocks in the dirt even though he’s the one who asked in the first place. Taking a slow, tentative bite of the rice ball in his hand, Zenitsu asks, “what do you care? I didn’t know you even knew love existed.”

The snarky reply earns him a swift rock to the head that he’s unable to dodge in time. He stands up quickly, ready to fight Inosuke like they always do, but he stops when he realizes how red Inosuke’s face has become. Zenitsu has only seen him like this once, it was when he was sick as a dog but refused to admit it. He squints with confusion, reading over his body language until his face lights up with a wonderful, embarrassing realization. 

“This is about Tanjirou, isn’t it?” He needlessly asks. He already knows the answer, he just wants to see Inosuke squirm a little. 

“No!” Inosuke snaps, shoving his discarded mask back on his head, shooting up into a threatening stance that only scares Zenitsu a little.

“It is!” He cheers, half teasing and half, well, happy for his friends? It’s a complicated feeling since he swears up and down that he hates Inosuke (even though he doesn’t), and he definitely doesn’t hate Tanjirou. Plus, he loves love! Well, whatever, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t milk this for all it’s worth. “I can hear your heart beating faster! You loooove Tanjirou!”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” 

The sudden roar has Zenitsu running for cover behind the closest tree, hoping it’ll somehow protect him from Inosuke as he charges at him like a real boar. Fortunately, Zenitsu has only learned to get faster in their years of friendship, so even when Inosuke does poke his head around, he’s dashing behind the next tree, moving so quickly that Inosuke can’t follow. He tries though, and all that results in is Inosuke slamming his head into the trunk hard enough to shake the needles off its branches. 

“Stupid boar,” Zenitsu mutters under his breath, crossing his arms and coming out in the open, “fine, I’ll tell you what love is so long as you stop trying to attack me!”

Inosuke stops and stares at him through the mask, and Zenitsu can tell he’s weighing his options inside that thick skull of his. He ultimately growls out a, “fine,” and sits down with his back against the tree he just hit. 

Deciding to trust his word, a decision he may regret, Zenitsu walks in front of him to sit down as well. As he does, he starts to wonder how he’ll begin to explain something like love, and realizes that this will be a very fun conversation indeed. 

“Love,” he starts slowly, “is when you have someone very special to you. Much more valuable than anything else in the whole world.” And that might be a solid starter, but Inosuke’s hand reaches up to touch the fur of his boar head and Zenitsu realizes he didn’t specify that inanimate objects are not the same. “For people!” he blurts, “it’s usually when someone makes you feel like that. Someone special.”

Inosuke stares at him again, probably glaring at him and bluntly states, “you’re shit at explaining things.”

He’s very lucky his mask is still on, because otherwise his pretty green eyes would’ve gotten a fistful of dirt shoved in them. 

“Will you just listen!?”

“Then say things that make sense!”

“Be smarter!”

Once again, Inosuke jumps up with every intention of beating Zenitsu into the ground. The blond throws his hands up in a weak attempt to protect himself from the attack he won’t be able to escape and yells out, “hey! You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” But… that kind of stuff usually means nothing to Inosuke.

Surprisingly- no, miraculously, he actually stops and sits back down, albeit with puffs of anger coming through the nostrils of his mask. Zenitsu blinks, slowly lowering his arms and listens extra close to Inosuke’s breathing just to be sure this isn’t some demon impersonating his wild friend. It’s not. 

“You’re really serious, huh?” He asks, perplexed by this side of Inosuke he’s never seen before. 

“Just tell me!” Inosuke snaps again, but with a little less bite this time, more like… he’s flustered. 

Zenitsu hums, he thought he was doing a good enough job with the first explanation, but things are always more difficult when you’re explaining them to somebody with very little concept of social customs. It’s like teaching a child… if the child could beat you within an inch of your life for saying the wrong thing. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling?” he suggests slowly, gaining confidence as the idea forms itself in his head, “and I’ll tell you if it’s love.”

Inosuke lets out a low growl like an animal and Zenitsu prays he didn’t set himself off again. The growl trails into a firm, “fine.” Zenitsu lets out a sigh of relief. But… he does wonder if Inosuke knows he just admitted to having feelings for someone. 

“It feels like my heart is doing flips in my chest,” he sounds annoyed by it, “even when I try to move it around to get it to stop!”

Ugh, Zenitsu resists the urge to gag at that. Inosuke’s incredible flexibility is, quite frankly, disgusting.

“An’ I feel stupid when I’m around him! Like I’m sick or something! I hate being sick! But it’s not… bad. It just distracts me during battle! I wanna make sure he’s safe n’ shit, even though he really strong and smart.” He pauses to think for a second, and Zenitsu feels a little light-heated at the unintentional confession. Is it possible that he’s actually in love with Tanjirou? “An’ he does a lot of irritating shit that doesn’t even bug me! Even when he cries, it doesn’t make me mad and want to hit him like I do with you!”

“Thanks..”

“Sometimes he holds my hands and it makes it feel like it’s on fire.”

Zenistu damn near chokes on his own spit hearing that, his face twisting into pure shock and confusion, “you guys hold hands!?”

“Yeah? So what, you hold hands with the demon girl!”

“I like Nez-” he throws a cautious glance over to her box a few feet away where Tanjirou left it. It’s still an hour or so before nightfall, so there’s a good chance she’s not awake. “I like Nezuko, I’m trying to… woo her…”

Inosuke snorts, “you’re terrible at it.”

“Whatever. You can’t even tell Tanjirou likes you when he’s apparently been holding your hand all the time!”

“I’m going to kick your ass after this.”

“Please do, I can’t handle how oblivious you are.” He sighs again, then gestures with his hand, signaling and saying at the same time, “continue.”

Inosuke huffs, “I just feel like he’s the best person in the whole world, and I want to bite anyone that gets too touchy with him and be with him forever!”

Like a deflating balloon, Zenitsu’s shoulders fall with exasperation, wishing not for the first time that he didn’t have the dumbest friends in the world. 

“Inosuke.”

“Wha’!?”

“You’re in love.”

He expects him to yell again, but all he does is whisper a tiny, “oh.”

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds, not knowing what to say and kind of afraid of what the other person will do if they start talking again. Zenitsu opens his mouth to try and somewhat ease the tension, but he’s interrupted by the shuffling of grass and dirt coming from behind the two of them in their makeshift camp. 

“I got some firewood!” Tanjirou announces cheerfully, completely oblivious to the conversation Zenitsu and Inosuke were just having. He turns to the two of them, a little surprised to see them sitting together instead of fighting. “What’re you guys doing?”

“Nothi-”

“NOTHING, SENTARO, LETS GO CATCH SOME FISH NOW!”

Zenitsu whips his head back to Inosuke and makes a face that begs the question are you stupid? But Inosuke doesn’t notice, he scrambles to stand up and run down to Tanjirou, purposefully ignoring Zenitsu and his unhidden judgment. 

“Sure thing, Inosuke,” Tanjirou agrees with a smile, then looks to Zenitsu one more time, “do you want to come with us, Zenitsu?”

Not unless he wants Inosuke to smack him. “Nah, I’ll get the fire started here. You guys have fun… or something like that.”

Tanjirou raises an eyebrow in confusion but doesn’t press on the matter. “Alright, we’ll be back in a few! Come on, Inosuke!”

Inosuke cackle rings out through the forest as they run down to the river they saw a little ways away from the camp. Zenitsu pretends he didn’t see them holding hands as they went, but he smiles at the thought of it anyway. 

“Idiots.”

[allisonlol]

Hey! if your requests are open, can i please request a scenario where the reader and dazai have a relaxing bath together after a long and hard day of work for both of them? (im sorry for my english)

a/n: ofc! this is a very cute request <3 pls don’t apologize, your english is perfect!

warnings: mostly fluff, some suggestive content but nothing explicit

“i’m so exhausted…” you sighed, shoving open the door to you and dazai’s shared suite. today had, quite literally, been the longest and hardest work day of your entire life. you and dazai had both been appointed to spy on an enemy group and monitor their movements…and let’s just say they did a LOT of moving around the city. to make matters worse, right before you were going to head back to the ADA, the two of you had somehow been spotted…resulting in a long and intense fight against five of their members.

“i can’t take another step…” dazai whined, about to collapse onto the bed. at the last second you pulled him backwards so he fell onto the floor. “what was that for, belladonna??” he asked dramatically, looking up at you with confusion.

“there’s no way i’m letting EITHER of us get in bed while being covered in so much dirt and blood!” you gestured down at your own bloodstained clothes, giving him a pointed look. “we’ll have to shower and change first.”

dazai groaned, flinging an arm over his face. “i don’t have the energy for that…”

you turned to the full length mirror on the wall, looking yourself up and down with a furrowed brow. you barely had any energy left either, and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with your boyfriend and fall asleep. however…

“we could take a bath together, maybe?” you said expectantly, turning back to face dazai. this piqued his interest, and he sat up from his spot on the floor.

“now THAT sounds like something i’d be willing to do.” dazai flashed you a smile, climbing to his feet and already dragging you in the direction of the bathroom.

“someone’s excited…” you muttered to yourself, slightly amused. once in the bathroom, you wasted no time filling the tub with hot water and picking out all the essential supplies you would need.

“which one sounds better: lavender or rose?” you asked offhandedly, weighing the two scented bath salt options in your hands.

“whichever you prefer, darling…” dazai smiled at you, finding your inability to chose over such a mundane thing adorable.

“lavender it is, then!” you said, dumping the salts into the water. the two of you removed any weaponry still on you & stripped out of your bloodstained clothing.

“these are definitely getting thrown out…” you sighed, kicking your clothes to the corner and wrinkling your nose at the smell. “i would’ve never guessed we’d have such an eventful day. i hope that doesn’t become a regular thing…”

“there’s no point in worrying about that now.” dazai pointed out, gesturing for you to join him in the bathtub. you obliged, sighing in relief at the feeling of the warm water on your sore body. closing your eyes, you leaned your head back against his chest and let yourself relax for the first time that day.

“this definitely beats showering alone.” you breathed, inhaling the lavender fumes from the bath salts.

“i knew it would,” dazai grinned, leaning forward to kiss down your neck. “after all, it lets me spend even more time with you…”

peeking open your eyes, you turned slightly to splash some water at him. “not now!” you giggled a bit, “we’re supposed to be RELAXING, remember?”

“my apologies, belladonna…” dazai winked, splashing some water back at you. “you’re just too beautiful to resist.”

“mhm…” you rolled your eyes amicably, reaching past him to grab the body wash so you could finally get the layer of grime off of your skin from the day’s events. you scrubbed at your skin until it was red, only then satisfied that it was clean. however, when you went to get the shampoo for your hair, dazai stopped you.

“allow me?” he asked while taking the bottle from your hands. you nodded gratefully, closing your eyes again as he massaged the shampoo into your hair.

“i could fall asleep…” you sighed. you weren’t joking, either. the whole situation plus how hectic your day had been now left you on the brink of passing out.

“me too, love.” dazai pressed a single kiss to your shoulder while rinsing out your hair. “i cant wait to finally be able to go sleep after this-”

as he was in the middle of talking, however, your cell phone started ringing from its spot on the floor next to the tub. you groaned, sitting up and reaching to answer it. “who the hell could be calling at this time??” you answered the call, feeling your heart sink at the sound of kunikida’s voice on the other end.

“hello y/n-san, i hate to call you at a time like this, but i was asked to inform you that the agency is in need of you and dazai’s help again…”

a/n: this was a great request, sorry it took longer for me to answer !! i was a bit backed up with requests, hope you enjoyed tho :D

song i listened to while writing: lovefool by the cardigans

Thank you!

[luminnara]

It’s Been A Long, Long Time | Alpha!Bucky x Omega! reader Part 2

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part one | Part two | Part three |

Warnings: NSFW, Knotting, ABO

Tags: @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch

The soldier’s rut seemed to come around on a perfect schedule. Like clockwork, every few months Amoretta would be pulled out of her usual living space and sent to the rutting cell to wait for him. Sometimes, he came in smelling fresh and clean, like they had just hosed him down. Other times, he was covered in dirt and blood, most of which didn’t seem to be his own. She didn’t care; her heart soared every time she heard his heavy boots stomping towards her, and she always faced him with a confident, even gaze. 

They would spend his rut together, the soldier knotting her over and over until it passed. He grew bolder with her, showing her affection she never thought he was capable of. He would carefully lay her down on her side so that he could curl around her, waiting for his knot to go down so that he could start all over again. His hands became increasingly gentle, calloused fingertips brushing over her folds carefully as he tried to pull those beautiful moans out of her throat. 

He often succeeded; Amoretta woke up to his touch more times than she could count, her thighs already trembling as he played with her clit. The soldier was good at getting her ready for him, though she was almost always prepared to take his cock anyways. Her body responded to him eagerly, slick always pooling between her legs whenever he was nearby. She couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like if HYDRA didn’t have her on so many heat suppressants. 

Even without her hormones raging, she was falling for him. He was big and strong and protective, always putting himself between her and the guards whenever they appeared in the doorway. If it weren’t for his trigger words, Amoretta was positive he would tear them apart before they even got close to her. Did that mean he felt the same way about her, too? Or was she just being a silly omega, stuck in a cold series of tunnels, latching onto the only alpha she was ever permitted contact with? 

She couldn’t tell. 

She didn’t really care.

All she knew was that she wanted him. She had begun looking forward to his ruts, and by the end of her first year in captivity, her body had begun being able to predict when they were coming without the use of a calendar. It was like waking up on Christmas Day, excitement flooding her while she waited for the guards to come let her out of her cell. It always put her in a good mood, knowing that she was about to see the one person who seemed to care about her in that godforsaken place.

And he did. 

He cared.

Whenever he saw her, the soldier felt his chest swelling with happiness. There were no bond marks on either of them, but she was his, and she knew it. His omega knew that he was there to keep her safe. He was driven by a simple urge to take care of her whenever he saw her, his need to protect her always taking over his mind. She was so much smaller than him, but she took him so well and fit so perfectly against his chest when they laid together. He never wanted it to end. 

“Alpha?” She asked one night, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

His knot had gone down a little while earlier, but he was too exhausted by a full day of fucking to go at it again yet. Instead, he was dozing, an arm draped over her protectively while she snuggled up against his chest. 

“Hm?” He grunted, cracking an eye open. 

“Do you…” she sighed. “Never mind.”

He was fully awake now, both eyes open as he looked at her. “Do I what?”

She bit her lip, feeling stupid. “Do you think we would be together outside of this place?”

He was silent as he thought about it. He didn’t know anything other than HYDRA. Shit, he had never stopped to wonder if there was anything other than HYDRA. Did he have a life besides killing? He had no memory of it, if he did. 

“I’m sorry, it’s dumb.” Amoretta said, burying her face against his chest. “Forget it.”

“‘Mega,” his chest rumbled with the word. “It’s not dumb.”

“Then why didn’t you answer?” She huffed. 

He snorted quietly. There it was again. That brazen attitude she always had. 

“Because...I don’t remember anything outside of this.” He finally said. 

Amoretta looked at him. “Nothing at all?”

“It’s always been HYDRA.” He didn’t sound too concerned.

She frowned. “Well...if it wasn’t. If we were just two normal people.”

“Normal?”

“You know.” She couldn’t help but smile a little. “Just...two people, living in a city—“

“New York.” He interrupted quietly.

She paused. “New York?”

“A city. To live in.” He said. “New York.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. Why would he choose New York? It was a large city, to be sure, but it seemed out of character for him to interrupt with something like that, especially considering that they were currently being kept somewhere under Eastern Europe. They were as far away from the States as they could get, and she had expected to be talking about someplace like Paris, or Moscow, or Berlin. 

She knew the soldier was someone HYDRA had captured a while ago, which meant he had to have had some sort of life before they pumped him full of the serum. Could this be part of it? Was he...remembering? If he was, she wanted to know more. All HYDRA used her for was getting their asset through his ruts, so she had plenty of time to think, and plenty more time to be curious. The most interesting thing in the compound with her was him, and she had spent hours just wondering about him. This could be her chance to actually get him talking about something other than rutting, and she wanted to encourage more.

“Okay, New York.” She said, a reassuring hand on his arm. “What part?”

He thought for a moment, trying to concentrate. “Brooklyn.”

“Why Brooklyn?”

The soldier shrugged. “Heard about it. I think.”

“Never been there?”

“...I don’t know.” 

“Hmph.” She played with a strand of his dark hair. “If we lived in Brooklyn, what kind of life would we have?”

“A house,” he said. 

“We’d have a house?” 

He nodded, his nose finding the scent gland on her neck and rubbing against it. “Filled with lots...and lots...of pups…”

Her heart skipped a beat and she immediately felt heat coiling around in her belly. She couldn’t help it; she was pre programmed to get excited at the concept of being bred. Even without her heats, the thought filled her chest with butterflies. 

“Wanna breed you…” his voice pulled her back to reality. 

Amoretta licked her lips, grinning. “Then breed me, Alpha.”

He let out a playful growl, somehow finding the strength to roll her onto her front and grab her hips. He held onto her tightly enough to leave little red marks, but he never had to worry; she was strong. She was made for him. He knew that she could take whatever he gave her.

“Want my knot?” The soldier asked, toying with her wet folds for a few moments before he shoved his cock inside of her. 

“Y-yes, Alpha!” She squealed, pussy immediately tightening around him. She had grown so used to his size by now, she hardly even needed any preparation to take him. Her body accepted his girth eagerly, wanting nothing more than to feel his knot catching on her.

He groaned appreciatively as he began thrusting in and out of her, setting a lazy pace for himself. “‘M gonna fill you up, Omega...gonna fill you up, get you nice and pupped…”

Her cheeks were flushed as she listened to him, skin burning as her alpha fucked her. She loved the sound of his voice. She loved everything about him. 

“Please,” she moaned, melting down against the sheets. 

“Yeah?” He let go of her hips, moving both hands to hold her ass. He gave it a squeeze, chest rumbling happily at the feeling of so much supple flesh in his grip. “Fuck, omega...my pretty ‘mega…”

She sighed happily, her pussy squeezing his cock as a little orgasm fluttered through her. He was good at that, and giving her those tiny little ones every so often with nothing but his words. 

He snarled at the feeling. He wanted more. 

A metal hand snaked around her front, finding her clit and rubbing it roughly. She immediately cried out, surprised by the sudden stimulation, and it wasn’t long before her thighs were shaking and she was a moaning, crying mess underneath her soldier. How did he know what to do? Why did he even care if she got off, when she was only there to please him? 

He had to be more than just a flesh and bone HYDRA machine. She knew he had to be.

As she tipped over the edge, he followed close behind, his breath hot on the back of her neck as he bit into her shoulder. The pain felt dull, despite his massive fangs tearing into her. It always did; Amoretta was never worried about it, often sporting bruises and bite marks after her soldier mounted her. With the quickened healing abilities her body now had, nothing lasted very long before fading anyways. 

She wished they would stick around, though. She wanted to feel claimed. 

She felt his knot swelling and she sighed happily, slumping down onto the cot as he pressed his chest against her back. He began lazily licking at her shoulder, swiping his tongue over the bloody wound to soothe it. 

“One day,” he grumbled, “One day, ‘m gonna mark you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Wh-what?” She asked, looking back at him. 

He nodded, sure of himself. “You’re my omega. An’ one day, I’m gonna make sure everybody knows.”

—

How many years did she spend there, in HYDRA’S compounds? After the first, it was easy to lose track. She was kept on a monotonous schedule that consisted of a few feedings a day, exercise sessions, and the occasional “doctor’s visit.” Those always just meant that her suppressants were being increased, as her body was growing steadily angrier about them. She was building up a tolerance, the doctor said, and they would simply have to keep ramping up her dosage. 

She dared to ask why they couldn’t just let her have heats like normal, and the answer was simply that they didn’t have the facilities ready to raise super soldier pups. The thought of being separated from her own offspring mortified her; it was bad enough that she was always so far away from her alpha, and she knew she couldn’t bear to give up her pups for some twisted HYDRA program. 

So she shut up, and learned to deal with the side effects of the suppressants. They made her constantly nauseous, not enough to make her vomit, but definitely enough that she was uncomfortable all day. As her dosage increased, so did her headaches, and there were moments she considered begging the doctors to take her off of them so that she could feel at least some relief. 

But she knew that would be a bad idea. She had to continue acting like she had absolutely no interest in returning to her normal heat cycle, or else risk HYDRA thinking about how quickly they could get things ready to start a new super soldier program. Amoretta wanted to keep their minds off of it for as long as she possibly could, and it seemed like she was successful; it never came up during her visits to the lab, the doctors seeming much more focused on how to keep her from getting pregnant at all. 

It was for the best. She knew that. But part of her whined and yearned to be allowed to start a little family with her alpha, even though he hadn’t given her a bond mark. With every rut she spent with him, she felt herself growing more and more comfortable at his side, wishing more and more that they were normal people. She wanted to live that life in Brooklyn with him, to smell fresh air again instead of the recycled oxygen they pumped through the compound. 

Sometimes, Amoretta was moved to different facilities. They were always underground, always just as gray and dingy as all the others. The guards always tranquilized her in order to transport her, and she would wake up in a similar, yet different cell from the last, groggy and even more nauseous than usual. She figured they were moving both her and the soldier around, depending on where they wanted to send him off on missions. She just wished that she could go outside once in a while, too. 

One night, she got her chance. 

She woke up early, her body fighting off the tranquilizer she had been given. She could tell that she was in a cramped, dark transport crate, moonlight filtering in through the air holes on the top of it. Fresh air was coming in, too, the scent of grass and pine filling her nose. It smelled so delicious that she was gulping in lungfulls, immediately shifting to press her face up against one of the holes. 

It was small, barely large enough for her to see out of it, but she could spot a few twinkling stars up above her. 

She wanted more. 

The crate was heavy, reinforced with metal bars meant to keep her in and the soldier out, but she was determined. She hadn’t seen the outdoors in...shit, decades? 

A few good kicks was all it took before she was scrambling out, bare toes digging into the dirt as she stood and looked around. She was in the middle of nowhere, it seemed, a few trucks idling nearby as HYDRA workers moved supplies into the compound. 

As soon as they noticed her, she ran, sprinting off into the trees. She could hear shouting behind her, but she didn’t stop, too excited by the feeling of the wind against her bare skin. The night air was cool and refreshing, and as she skidded to a stop at the edge of a field, she could hardly believe she was really outside.

Turning her eyes up to the sky, she let out a happy gasp. The moon was full and bright, an entire galaxy of stars twinkling in the inky blackness of space. Amoretta hadn’t realized how much she missed it. 

Heavy footsteps drew her attention away from the stars, but she didn’t turn to look. She could smell her alpha approaching, his scent seeming more curious than angry now that he had found her. He was alone, free of the entourage of guards she had expected to come after her. 

“Omega,” he growled, his low voice rumbling. 

“Look at them,” she sighed.

He stepped up next to her, his side brushing hers. “At what?” His blue eyes were scanning the treeline, searching for anything that could be threatening his omega. When he found nothing, he tilted his head to look down at her curiously. “What is it?”

“The stars,” she sighed again.

Stars? 

He watched her face for a moment, surprised to find her smiling up at the sky. When he finally followed her gaze, he paused to admire the stars. He never really did that, did he? Whenever HYDRA let him out, he was sent with strict orders. There was never any time for stargazing. Though...it was nice, and the look on his omega’s face was even nicer. 

“That’s Ursa Major,” she said, pointing up to a collection of stars. “See? It’s a bear.”

The soldier snorted. “I don’t see a bear.”

“Then look harder.”

She glanced over to see him actually squinting, the lower half of his face obscured by the black mask he wore on missions. The sight made her laugh, quiet giggles quickly turning into full, hearty laughter that had her gripping her sides. There he was, a huge, terrifying super soldier, the most dangerous assassin in the world, and he was trying to figure out constellations. 

“What?” his head whipped around to look down at her.

“N-nothing,” she giggled. 

He gave her an exasperated look. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I might be.” she nudged his side with her shoulder. “You’re just...cute. That’s all.”

She could see him raise an eyebrow. “Cute?”

“Mhm. You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of a rut.” she leaned against him, looking up with big doe eyes. “I like it.”

His chest puffed up a little as he looked down at her. “You do?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” his throat rumbled with a low purr. “I have to take you back now.”

She deflated with a sigh. “Already?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Not safe out here.”

“There’s nothing out here scarier than you, Alpha.”

His purr grew louder, a little more smug. “You’re right. But I have orders.”

“Can we stay for just another minute?” she pleaded. “Then you can drag me back.”

The soldier considered her offer. He really did enjoy watching her gaze up at the stars, and he had no idea when he would get this chance again. “...Fine.”

Amoretta smiled. “Thank you, Alpha.”

His arm found its way around her waist, pulling her up against him. “You like stars, omega?”

“I used to sit outside and look at them every night back home,” she said. “Well, when it was clear.”

“Back home?”

She nodded. “I grew up in this quaint little village, tucked away in the mountains...at the foot of the alps.”

He cocked his head. Something about the alps...it felt like there was a memory nudging at the back of his mind, but he didn’t know why. Maybe he had gone there on a mission? HYDRA was good at always wiping his memory between outings. It was hard to tell where he had been. 

“Let’s go.” he said, suddenly uncomfortable. 

Amoretta didn’t resist as he scooped her up, instead resting her cheek against his chest and trying to surround herself with his scent while he walked. She could tell that something was bothering him, but with no idea what, and with him nearing the HYDRA base, there was little she could do to try and pry it out of him. 

She would just have to wait and try again during his next rut.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Bent, not broken 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; injury; blood; fingering, mean Steve, watching, manipulation, poly dynamic-ish

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

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

Note: Tomorrow we’ll have an Andy one shot (we’ll see if it stays that way ahah) but first enjoy this depraved pair.

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

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

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

The soldier pushed you ahead of him. You limped as you hugged your sore ribs, his steps echoing around you ominously. He directed you around endless corners and stopped you at a door. 

He reached around you to push it open and pointed you inside. As he came close, you once more caught a stench of the blood and dirt in his hair. You entered and he followed, the door clanging loudly. 

The bedroom was spacious and lived-in, unlike much of the immense hideaway. There was another set of tall windows looking out into the mountain passes and a large bed against the other wall. You rubbed your upper arms as you looked around and in the milieu of the room, you saw the existence of these two men, if they were still that.

You felt a tug on the back of your dress and as you glanced back at Bucky, he pulled your skirt up roughly and snapped his fingers. You stared at him as he unbuckled the holster around his shoulders and retreated. 

You watched him cross to a metal cabinet with the same censor lock as your door. He opened it and carefully placed each weapon strapped to his body inside. He closed the door harshly and glared at you as he unzipped the slanted zipper of his jacket. He shrugged out of it and tossed it over one of the ample armchairs. 

He pulled off his long-sleeved shirt and set it pointedly atop the disposed jacket. He tilted his head and neared you, curling his fingers under the straps of your dress and lifted them.

You lowered your chin and raised your arms slowly. He stripped you in a single swoop and you shivered as you stood naked before him. His breath grew gristled and deliberate as his fingertips traced the line of your collar bone then the curve of your chest and waist. He lingered on your rib cage and pressed more firmly. You flinched and he dropped his hands.

He shook his head and turned away, pointing to a door just opposite him. You followed the gesture and carefully crossed the room, peeking back at him nervously. You pushed through the door and entered the equally astounding bathroom. 

The round chamber was walled completely in glass and the plunge below made your stomach sink. A vast, round, stone tub stood central to the room, a large showerhead hung above, the floor built in a precise mosaic as an arced counter lined the left wall. It was unlike anything you’d seen before and belonged on one of those ridiculous lifestyle shows that featured houses you could never afford.

You heard a step behind you and looked over your shoulder. Bucky had removed his stained ribbed tank and his boots, his hands loosing the belt at his waist. He nodded to the tall taps and you went over to twist each and tested the temperature from the faucet as it spouted to life.

You heard the rustle of fabric and the clink of his buckle. His bare feet slapped on the floor as he neared and he nudged your hip as he stepped over the side of the tub pulled down the stopper. The stone basin began to fill as you climbed over the high wall and lowered yourself opposite him, just beside the faucet as you folded your legs.

You felt his eyes on you as he let his legs sprawl out, the tub big enough to do so. He sat forward as the water crested his thighs and grabbed your arm. He drew you over to him and you let him guide your body around and against his. He nestled you between his legs and drew your back against his hard front. He took a deep breath and bent his knees to cradle you as he reclined.

You shivered as the water grew higher and watched the foam as the falling stream met the surface. As it reached just an inch below the rim, he pointed over your shoulder and you slid forward to turn off the flow. You sat back and he slung his arms around your middle. You felt his heart beating, quickly at first, and then it slowed as the hot water lulled you.

You sat like that for a while before he gently moved you away from him. He took a cloth folded over the rack and a bottle from the shelf below. He moved toward you through the water and urged you up onto your knees. He began with a drop of the soap on the cloth and washed your neck and chest softly. He kept on, lifting you to your feet until he got every inch of you, then handed over the cloth.

You took it and unfolded it then folded it outside in. You lathered it with fresh soap and looked at his muscled chest. There were some shallow cuts along his flesh and down his arm. As you got the scars that lined the conjunction of flesh and metal, he stopped you and led your hand back to his stomach. He pushed his metal arm back as he watched you scrub away the grime on his body.

You shied away around his intimate parts but he pulled your hand back. You washed him as quickly as you could and when you were done, he took the cloth and tossed it in a wad beside the bottle of soap. He sat you back down and had you clean his sweaty hair with aromatic shampoo, little groans slipping out each time you touched his scalp.

The water was cold when at last he pulled the stopper and stood. He helped you up with a mechanical yank on your arm and guided you out of the tub. He gave you a towel and took one for himself. He pointed you back into the bedroom with two fingers and you obeyed.

He followed and went to the closet. He pulled out a navy blue tee and crossed to you. He pushed it into your hand and parted again. He dried himself and slipped into a pair of flannel pajama pants. He went to the bed and flopped onto his back with a pitiful sigh.

You glanced over as he looked at you. You patted your skin with the towel and pulled on the large tee. You left your towel with his and went to him as he sidled over on the mattress. He drew you down to lay against him and dropped his arm over your middle. You felt him inhale your scent and his hot breath grazed your scalp.

You still felt him between your legs, his rough fingers against your walls, the noise of his ravenous grunts as he tortured you. You held in a quiver and closed your eyes. For now, he was docile and that was the most you could hope for.

★

You were half-asleep when you heard the door. Bucky was snoring into your hair and didn’t rouse as you turned under his arm and peeked past him. Steve shut the door, certain to snap it into the frame so that the man beside you snorted and woke. The soldier sat up and rubbed his eyes, his hand on your leg, and he squeezed as he looked at the other man.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed as he paced along the bottom of the bed, “you smell better at least.”

He came around your side and you leaned away from him as he reached to tug at the neck of the tee. He let it go sharply and dropped his hand to his hip.

“If you wanna sleep,” he snarled over your head, “you can go right ahead but I haven’t even got a taste.”

You were jarred as Steve grabbed the back of your neck and forced you onto your knees. He pushed you down onto your face as your legs were caught beneath you. He slapped your ass hard and you cried out. The bed jostled and you glanced back as far as you could as Bucky clung to Steve’s wrist and kept him from doing it again.

“What did you think would happen when you took her, soldat?” Steve hissed dryly, “hmm? You think I wouldn’t figure it out? That I wouldn’t want to share?”

Steve kept you pinned as he remained in a deadlock with the metal arm. You whimpered as he squeezed and sent a pang down your spine. You reached back to grasp his wrist and kicked your feet.

“Fine, you want her, you get her,” Steve retracted his hand and yanked away from Bucky, “go ahead and fuck her already.” You shakily lifted yourself on your arms as you sensed the intense gaze above you. Steve pushed you back down and barked, “no, just like that.” He rapped his knuckles on your skull before he stepped back, “get behind her and let her feel who you really are.”

“Please,” you begged, “I… he doesn’t want to.”

You looked at Bucky, his jaw ticked as his eyes sparked. He swallowed through his tight throat and you turned back to Steve as he cracked his knuckles and drew a chair up and sat. He put his feet up on the end of the bed and crossed one leg over the other.

“Is that what you think? You think he cares about you?” Steve leaned his head against his fingers, “he’s just a machine. A tool. He doesn’t think, he only wants and takes.” He pushed his head back and let his arm straighten, “I almost think it wasn’t an accident, just an excuse.”

You tried to push yourself up again and Bucky shoved your shoulder back down. He grabbed one wrist and then the other and pulled them behind your back. He locked them in one hand and his other rippled the fabric of the tee shirt.

“I’m right, huh?” Steve taunted, “this is what you wanted all along. Her tight little cunt.”

“Please,” you whispered as struggled, “please, you can stop him--”

“Who said I wanted to?” Steve snarled, “he’s right, this thing between us has gotten a bit dull so why not try something new?”

You sniffed as tears pricked and you pushed your head up as far as you could. You looked over your shoulder and wriggled as you tried to free your wrists.

“Please, Bucky, please, I know that there’s someone still in there,” you begged, “I know it. You saved me. Maybe you hurt me but you helped me too. If you’d left me, I would’ve died--”

“Yes, you would’ve,” Steve snickered, “and you should be wishing you had. Soldat, I wanna hear her scream.”

You gasped in fear as the captain’s icy eyes bore into yours. There was not a mortal in there, only some unloving monster. Bucky tore your shirt up and it split along the middle to the neck. You reached to the end of the mattress and tried to drag yourself away. Steve hit your hands with his heels so that you retracted them with a whimper.

“Please, no,” you sobbed as Bucky gripped your hips and hauled you back against him, “don’t… this isn’t you, I know it, I know it. You don’t want to hurt me, I saw it--”

Your voice turned to a wisp as he shoved two metal fingers deep in your cunt. You whined and quivered around him as he curled them against the rough patch along the front of your walls. He wiggled his hand until the pressure swelled at his fingertips and you muffled your pathetic mewls in the blankets.

“Y- y- you…” you looked up at Steve and wiped your face as Bucky tore his fingers out of you, “you’re evil.”

“Yeah,” he smirked and ran his fingers along his lips, “I think that’s obvious.”

You turned your face down and bent your arms around your head. You felt Bucky shift behind you and the fabric brush against your thighs as he pushed his pants down. He leaned against you and led his tip between your cheeks. You sucked in air and braced yourself as he lined himself up with your entrance.

He slid his tip into you and you exhaled. You clawed the blanket as he slowly impaled you, your lungs empty and painful as he came to his limit. Your walls stretched around him in agony and you bit down on a wrinkle in the duvet and groaned.

“Oh, aren’t you being so sweet, Buck?” Steve sneered, “hmmm, she’s drooling, huh?”

You lifted your head and blinked at him with a scowl. You flicked your lashes through your tears and your nostrils flared in disgust.

“She’s so quiet,” Steve held your glare and cupped his ear, “I’m waiting.”

Bucky pulled back and snapped his hips against your ass. You hissed through your teeth as a wave of pain rolled up your back and scoured your hips. You lifted yourself on your arms as your eyes clung to the captain’s and you clenched your jaw as the soldier thrust again. You huffed through your nose as your arms quaked with each cruel tilt.

“Harder,” Steve ordered as his grin fell.

Bucky obeyed and slammed into you so hard, your legs tingled and your pelvis felt as if it would crack. You moaned and gritted your teeth. He held you steady as he pounded into you, flesh clapping loudly as stifled grunts escaped him. You grimaced as your eyes wetted and the tears trickled down your nose.

“More,” Steve stood and walked along the bottom of the bed as he looked you over, “faster.

Again, his demand was met fervently. You keened and grasped the blankets as the whole bed shook with the frantic fucking. You hung your head as your voice droned from you in a barely muffled whine. You shook your head as you were blinded by your tears and you sniffed as the pain overflowed and drowned out any hint of pleasure.

You gulped as Bucky bent over you, his sweaty torso to your back and snaked his arm around you. He pulled you with him as he sat back on his heels and moved you in his lap, lifting you only to crash your body back down so that your ribs throbbed with each descent. You latched onto his wrist and touched his stomach as you tried to slow him.

“Let it out,” Steve said as he put a knee on the bed, “almost there… this can be over, all you have to do is scream. I know you want to.”

“Why?” you rasped thinly as your nails dug into Bucky’s arm.

“Ask him, I’m sure you’ll get an answer,” Steve got closer and framed your hips with his hand, pushing you down hard with his hands around Bucky’s, “that’s it.”

You exclaimed as the sheer agony rippled through you and you flung a hand out to slap Steve. You missed and hit his shoulder instead. He grabbed your wrists and pulled them above you, holding your arms up as his eyes trailed down and he watched Bucky guide your motion.

“Not inside her,” Steve warned as the grunts grew louder, “we don’t need that shit.”

Steve yanked you up and dropped you onto the mattress. You folded and wrapped an arm around your leg as you daintily touched your tortured cunt. Steve pushed on Bucky’s shoulder until he fell onto his back and leaned in to kiss him as he grabbed his dick. He stroked him firmly until the muscle flexed beneath his skin.

Bucky tossed his head back and came as the captain led him through his climax. Steve didn’t stop until the soldier winced and stopped him with a gasp. He drew his hand away as the other man reclined and turned to you. He grabbed the back of your head and made you sit up as he faced you.

Steve held up his slimy hand and pressed a finger to your lips and poked inside, “you can clean it up…” he growled, “like his good little pet.”

[ijustwant2write]

Fight or Flight-Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

(GIF credit to @ladycolinbridgerton​)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hiii,Love your writings! Could you do something Bridgerton, Anthony x reader where the reader tries to stop the duel and gets hurt? Angst/fluff?!’

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader, Daphne Bridgerton x Reader (sister-in-law), Collin Bridgerton x Reader (brother-in-law)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Duel (guns, mention of death), injuries, angst, fluff

                                    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Collin and I laughed as we both carried Violet through the foyer of the home, clearly someone had too much to drink. My mother-in-law continued to deny this through her giggling.

“Of course not, you are completely sober.” Collin joked as we made it to the stairs.

“And I’m sober enough to know when you’re being impertinent.” Violet said to her son, still holding my hand.“Good night dears.”

“Good night mother.”

“Good night.”

Collin and I shared a look as she went upstairs, failing to hold in our laughter. We both doubled over as we laughed, until we heard someone call us. Turning to our left, we saw Anthony and Benedict in the doorway.

“Come here.” Anthony hissed.

“Good God. Did someone die?” Collin whined.

“What? What’s happened?” I asked, suddenly panicking. 

“Collin, get here, now.” Anthony instructed, his younger brother complying. 

I followed.“Anthony, what’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Are you in trouble?” I didn’t mean for all the questions but I loved him too much for something to happen to him.

He shoved Collin inside, stepping out and shutting the door behind him.“It doesn’t concern you darling. Just go up to bed.”

“Wait,” I grabbed onto his arm before he could get away,“Anthony, please don’t shut me out.”

“This isn’t for women’s ears. Please, do as I say.”

Anthony kissed my forehead tenderly, before he quickly ripped his arm away, looking sympathetic as he did so. The door shut, and although I was tempted to burst in there, I knew this was something out of my league. Sighing, I reluctantly walked away, slipping off my heels before slowly making my way upstairs. 

As I prepared for bed, my mind was distant. I couldn’t stop wondering what their meeting was about. Anthony looked stressed (even more than usual), and the fact that the eldest brothers were together meant this business was serious. Once my maids were finished and gone, I sat up in bed, having left some candles lit. At first I thought reading might take my mind off things, but the romantic novel only made me think of my husband more. I was tired from the ball, feet throbbing from dancing, which made me believe I could fall asleep. I wasn’t able to fool myself, unfortunately stuck awake again. Groaning in frustration, I stood, making my way to the door. I hesitated, wondering if I should really go storming downstairs when Anthony told me otherwise. No, I had to check on my love.

Opening the door, I heard someone else do the same. Poking my head out, I looked down the hall, seeing Daphne also awake. She rushed towards me, grabbing my hand without a word and dragging me out of my room.

“Woah, Daphne, woah, slow down!” I exclaimed quietly, stopping her at the top of the stairs.“Why are you rushing downstairs? What’s wrong?”

“My brother is doing something terribly stupid, and I cannot stand by doing nothing.” She said, tugging on my arm as she continued her route.

That made my heart beat even greater, terrified for what my husband could be a part of. I kept up with her, still tightly holding her hand until we burst into the room the men had their meeting in. Collin was the only one in there, looking alarmed when he saw us.

“Where have they gone?” Daphne demanded to know.

Collin sighed.“Daph-”

“Tell me where this duel takes place.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Duel?! Anthony has gone to a duel?! With who?!” I exclaimed. 

“So that I may prevent it from happening.” Daphne continued.

“Hastings has done you a grave dishonour.”

“Can someone please explain what is happening?” I stood beside them, though neither took any notice.“What does the Duke of Hastings have to do with any of this?”

“Surely you wish to see him pay?”

“Not with his life.” Daphne snapped back.

“Anthony is dueling with Hastings?! What if they kill each other?”

“It will not come to that.” Collin finally addressed me.“The Duke will remember his honour once he finds himself on the deadly end of a pistol.”

“And if he does not?” Daphne said.

“They will both do the gentlemanly thing and fire their pistols wide. Now allow them to bring this ugly business to a conclusion themselves.”

Daphne groaned as I began pacing around the room.“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that said? Myself and (Y/N)? That we should leave the men to their business and to not concern ourselves with such weighty affairs? Whose affairs, right now, are my future, my family.”

“This isn’t going to end well, you know it Collin.” I stopped walking around, crossing my arms over my chest in frustration.

“(Y/N) is right. Anthony is too angry to fire wide and Simon is too stubborn to yield. You did not see them in that garden.”

“No, I did not, and neither did anyone else. You should be happy that no one saw anything.” Collin pointed out.

So something dishonourable happened in the gardens of the party. Something that has cause my husband to want to duel an old friend. Part of me felt slightly angered towards Daphne, she had been playing with fire around the Duke, it’s all Anthony went on about for the last few weeks.

“Only someone did see.” Daphne realised.

Collin and I stared at her wide eyed.

“Cressida Cowper. Collin, you must tell me where they’ve gone.”

“I’m coming with you.” I declared. 

“Neither of you are going, Anthony will have my head-”

“Collin.” I stood in front of him, putting on the angriest face I could.“My husband may be about to lose his life and I knew nothing about it. Believe me, he will be reprimanded for that, but if you do not tell us where these stupid men are right now, it will be me having your head, not Anthony!”

After pressuring Collin to reveal where the men were, we raced to the stables, both Daphne and I still in our nightgowns, with only a cloak to cover us from the wind whipping against us as we rode. Our poor horses were not expecting this early call, using what energy they had to gallop as fast as possible. My throat was dry, heart racing and mind drowning with thoughts about what could be happening right now. Had they even started? Were the shots fired? 

We rode out of the country and into large fields. It seemed that we would never reach them in time. I kept my eye out for any signs of people or horses, praying that my husband wouldn’t be bleeding out on the ground. Why hadn’t he told me? He hadn’t even said goodbye. All I got was a simple kiss on the forehead, nothing other than that. Even if he did survive, he would have to leave this place, but was he going to leave without me?

“There they are!” Daphne shouted to us, speeding her horse ahead.

“Daphne! Wait!” I yelled after her, but she was too far away.

There were multiple bodies up ahead, and it looked like the duel had only just started, they were taking their steps already. I urged my horse to go faster, screaming Anthony’s name, but he couldn’t hear me. The men turned, ready to aim and fire. Tears started falling down my cheeks, quickly drying from the wind hitting my face. I was getting so close, but it still wasn’t enough. Daphne had somehow made it to them, but as the gunshots echoed out, she was caught in the middle of it, her horse rearing up and throwing her off.

As she landed on the ground, my horse also got spooked, rearing up as hers did, though I managed to stay on. However, it went hurtling forwards, and I couldn’t regain any control. I screamed as I tried to grab the rein again, feeling my balance slip away. One minute I was managing to stay upright on the horse, the next I had fallen off to my left, with my foot still hooked onto the stirrup. My head hit the ground harshly, and I was dragged through the dirt and grass as my horse continued to gallop. I couldn’t make out where I was, or what was right or left. Suddenly, the horse started slowing down, the dragging finally stopping. As I figured out where I was, my head still spinning, I felt someone lift my leg out of the stirrup and slowly onto the floor. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N) can you hear me?” Anthony gently held my face in his hands, kneeling beside me.

“My head...” I moaned.

“It’s alright, my dear.” an older man appeared, and I only just realised he was also kneeling beside me.“You’ve hit your head quite hard, you’ll likely have bruises along your back, and your leg will ache. But it’s nothing rest won’t fix. If you have severe headaches, you should call upon me again to give you something for it. For now, I shall forget I ever saw any of this, just as we agreed.”

“Thank you doctor.” Anthony breathed out, helping me sit up as the doctor walked away. 

I clung onto his arm, using my other hand to pull his face closer to mine. I kissed him hard, relieved that he was still alive and unharmed. He seemed to be feeling the same way as me, until I pulled away and slapped him round the face. His mouth was open in shock.

“That’s for going to a duel without telling me.” 

“(Y/N), I...what?”

“I can’t believe you thought you could just go and get shot, or shoot someone and leave me behind! What would happen to me? I couldn’t bear it if you died, or left, either way, I am furious with you!”

“Darling, I had to do it. He dishonoured Daphne, therefore, dishonouring our name.” 

I tried to stand by myself, though felt dizzy, annoyed that I had to have Anthony to help me. He kept his arms around me, and although I loved the feeling, knowing he was safe, I had a hatred for him in that moment.

“But why wouldn’t you tell me?” I looked up at him, ignoring the throbbing in my head.

“We would have to leave society, make a life as...I don’t know what but we wouldn’t be allowed here anymore.”

“So? Do you really think I regard myself so highly that I would diminish my love for you to remain in society?”

“What?”

“Anthony, I would rather leave all of this behind, and be with you wherever you go in the world. That fact that you think I would prefer to live without you hurts me.”

“(Y/N), I didn’t mean-”

I slipped out of his hold, hopefully stable now.“I don’t want to speak of this right now. I’m finished with this topic of conversation.”

Anthony knew there was no point trying to reason with me in that moment. It was also no time to argue when there were more pressing matters at hand. He huffed, only walking away from me once Collin approached, letting me loop my arm through his for support. I watched as he glared at Simon, who was in a deep discussion with Daphne. 

“We must resume before someone should find us.” he said to Simon before taking a pistol from Benedict again.

“There will be no need to resume.” Daphne spoke up. We all looked at her, wondering how she was going to stop the duel.“The Duke and I are to be married.”

                                     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We had all ensured we were home before any of the staff could see us, slipping out of our dirty clothes and stuffing them under the bed. I had struggled, feeling nauseous as I rushed. But as I lay down in bed, my headache suddenly returning and my back aching, I heard the door lock. Anthony threw the key onto his desk in the room, hands on his hips as he paced. 

“Anthony.” I tried to stop him.“Anthony, please don’t do that.”

“I’m thinking (Y/N).” he mumbled.

“Then why don’t you think in your office? You’re making me dizzy. And nervous.”

“Do not speak to me like that. You do realise how this might tarnish our name?”

“They’re getting married, it will be fine Anthony.”

“It does not matter, he still dishonoured her, I saw it myself.”

“And you have not done that yourself in the past?”

That made him stop in his tracks. His head turned to me so quickly I though his neck would snap off.“They were not eligible ladies.”

“And that makes a difference? Anthony, I need to rest, please leave me.” I turned onto my side, pulling the covers higher so they almost covered my face.

He groaned, and I instantly regretted what I had said. His footsteps were loud as he made his way to the door, but I never heard it being unlocked. He sounded like he was now approaching the bed, and I found out I was right when the bed dipped in front of me me. I opened my eyes to see Anthony shuffling around, and I heard two light thumps on the floor from taking off his boots, before he lifted and covers; he shuffled in towards me, gently putting his arm under my pillow, moving as close as he could to me.

“You are right.” his voice was quieter now.“I, along with many men, have...done things in the past. Those women are, were meant for those things, but as soon as I saw you in the room, I knew I had to approach you. I remember that beautiful blue dress you were wearing, and how well you held yourself. But you were still so enticing, I found you to be so interesting, yet you only spoke with me for five minutes. You danced so elegantly, yet I still thought I could keep up with you.”

“If you are trying to make me swoon so I forget all about earlier, it isn’t working. You use the same story every time.” I said.

“Because it’s one of the best ones. I could retale about the time I saw you first promenading, the balls and social events we coincidentally went to, how I called upon your house-”

“Anthony, you may stop.” I tried not to giggle, but my smile was evident.“I am still angry at you for putting yourself in such an idiotic and dangerous situation. However, I deeply admire your love for your family, I know you would do anything for them. Just...if you ever do anything like that again, you are to inform me of your plans. I go wherever you go.”

“I promise. I was stupid to think I could do that to you. I just wanted to make sure you would still have a good life.”

“The only way I would have a good life is by being with you.”

Anthony smiled, tenderly kissing me.“You should rest darling. You’re hurt.”

“As long as you stay here with me.”

“I promise.”

[hobidreams]

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

[too-gay-for-marvel]

just this once pt.3

a/n: i know im technically a day late, but we stopped very late. but its here! and its gonna be a decent amount of parts, so be prepared, besties

Word Count: 2,439

Warnings: smut implications

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6.1 pt.6.2 pt.6.3 pt.7 pt.8)

Natasha had to admit, she hated how understanding Maria was. She had gone home and told Maria what you had said, expecting to become single almost as soon as she had finished talking. But no, Natasha had finished her rant, and Maria had taken a deep breath before saying “I’m sorry,” and dragging her into a hug.

She would’ve handled a “we’re over” much better.

But it helped ease some of the guilt that she was carrying around with her. It lifted some of the weight that had been keeping her head down and feet dragging. And with Maria being the most understanding person in the world, now she could live her life. Did she forgive herself? Fuck no, but at least she could move on with Maria.

It helped that you kept to what she had told you.

In the months after learning the truth, she never saw you. Her feet never took her to your suite, her thoughts never trailed to that night. Well. Not during the day. She… didn’t want to talk about the dreams.

Natasha was able to go a solid month without seeing you, and even though the back of her mind kept telling her to talk to you, she had stayed away. She had kept to her “honey do” list, went on her missions, and just lived her life.

Until Fury stuck his nose where it didn’t belong.

“You two have a mission.”

Natasha looked over to where you were standing, over in the corner as far away from her as you could be. Your eyes were down, only occasionally darting up to look at Fury when he was talking. She could see the fins on your arm flare out a bit before relaxing again, along with the slight twitch of your gills.

“Can this mission not be done with one person?” Natasha asked, her eyes still locked on you; you shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“It requires stealth and…” Fury looked over at you and sighed. “Gills.”

“And here I thought you kept me around for my good looks,” you teased with an upturn of the corner of your mouth.

“When do you need us?” Natasha asked, and your half smile fell as quickly as it had appeared.

“You leave bright and early, 0400.”

With that, Fury left the room, leaving you and her alone. She took note of your fins staying flared, and took that as her sign to leave. Your feet shuffled, and she moved slower just in case, but you never reached out to her. That was all Natasha needed to head back to her room to prepare for tomorrow.

Tomorrow came far too soon, and it felt like only moments later that Natasha was standing in the hangar, watching you prep your gear.

Incorrectly.

“Your holster’s backwards,” Natasha pointed out.

“It is not, I’m testing something out,” you shot back without looking up.

“Whatever you put in there is going to fall out,” she continued.

You ignored her, but tried to turn it around without her noticing. She did. A silence fell over the both of you as you continued to get ready. Natasha had already gotten all of her stuff, but you continued to move around. You grabbed your belt and a harpoon, all of them quickly attached at your hips.

You maintained your relentless pace, her face pressed against the wall as you held your hand to the back of her neck. She felt you thrusting into her, most likely leaving a bruise on her ass and hips, but all she knew was that it felt so good she could only think of one thing-

Natasha turned her head away, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say. She refused to look at you until you stood up straight, geared up and ready to go. Your suit told her that there was going to be some sort of underwater aspect, and that gave her a bit of insight as to what was expected of the both of you.

The quinjet ride was awkward, to say the least. You stayed in the back while Natasha flew. She was thankful that you were keeping your distance. If you had been close, it was very possible that Natasha would have lost her damn mind.

Your suit always did do something to her.

You hadn't even bothered to take your pants off; just pulled them down far enough for you to get your strap out. Her fingers scrambled to grab purchase of something, anything, but your suit was still wet from the mission. Almost as wet as she was.

Natasha shook her head, trying to physically remove the memories. She was going to kill Nick when she got back.

She needed to focus on the mission. There was no need for it to be anything other than a mission. Get in, map out the building, get out. You would cover the lower levels, she would cover the upper, it shouldn't take more than an hour.

It was a slow descent to the checkpoint, but easy enough. You spent the last few minutes braiding your hair, keeping it out of the way and showing off the shaved part of your head. Natasha remembered teaching you how to tie those braids.

Once the quinjet was landed and you were both on solid ground, it was straight to business.

"Once you get back to solid ground, your pants and gear should be in a backpack marked on your locator," Natasha said.

"We'll meet up in the eastern stairwell," you continued, not even skipping a beat. It was like nothing had ever happened.

"Comms on?"

"Gonna miss me?" You asked, cocky as ever, but you turned the comm on anyway.

"Just get moving," Natasha huffed with a roll of her eyes. "The sooner we get in, the sooner we're done."

"See you in a minute," you winked and mock-saluted before jumping down into the hole that would be your entrance.

It's what she hated about you; how you could so easily act like nothing had ever happened.

Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Just one. Then it was time to get moving. She finished pulling her cap down, mostly covering the top half of her face before finishing the walk to the guarded entrance

She flashed a badge and they let her in without a word. One of her easier infiltrations, if she were being honest. Just went to prove that as long as she acted like she belonged, no one would question her. It was easier to blend in if you acted like there was no need for it.

Starting from the top, Natasha made her way down the building, mapping corridors, potential hidden rooms, rooms of interest. By the time she made it to your meeting point, she had marked more than enough information to assist in future missions.

All she needed was your half and she could go home.

The door to the stairwell was thrown open, slamming against the wall and causing Natasha to flinch ever so slightly. You were still soaking wet, trailing water behind you, and you didn't have your gear.  In fact, you didn't have anything.

"What happened?" Natasha asked. But the sound of an alarm being set off was answer enough.

"It wasn't me," you stated simply.

Yelling echoed in the corridor behind you, and you gave Natasha A Look. That was all she needed before you both took off running down the stairs, skipping three or four at a time. She heard a *squeak* and turned around just in time to see you fall flat on your ass with a loud grunt.

“Get up,” Natasha groaned.

She didn’t wait for you to get up on your own, instead decided to grab your arm and yank you up. Except for the fact that she had forgotten how wet you were, and how slippery your skin could get, and you ended up falling back onto your ass a second time.

“Some help you are,” you growled as you managed to push yourself back up onto your feet.

“If you weren’t such a freak, this wouldn’t even be a problem,” Natasha shot back.

You both continued running, finally reaching the bottom floor just in time to hear echoed footsteps a few floors above you. Natasha opened the door and pushed you in, quick to follow after. She shut the door and grabbed the extra harpoon bolt from your hip, shoving it between the door and the wall while you protested.

“Get going,” she said as she continued to push you forward, looking for a way out.

“We could always go through the sewers,” you suggested with a shrug when you both came to a halt in an intersection that you swore you hadn’t seen yet.

“I’m not escaping in a fucking sewer,”Natasha shot at you. “You were supposed to find us a way out.”

“It’s not my fault someone ratted us out! I don’t like being stuck with you either!” You shouted back.

“Oh sure, after all of that bullshit a few months ago, now you don’t want to get stuck with me?”

“Listen, I said I was-”

“They’re around the corner!” A voice shouted. You and Natasha shared a look, and Natasha managed to pull you into a closet just in time for footsteps to be heard coming in your direction.

“We should’ve taken the sewer,” you whisper-yelled as Natasha tried to ignore how close to you she was.

If you two had been any closer, you would’ve been inside each other, and not in the enjoyable way. Natasha’s arms were pinned in between the both of you, and she could feel your ribs under her fingers. Her ear was pressed to your body; she could hear your irregular, three-pump heartbeat loud and clear. There used to be a time she would have enjoyed being so close.

You were both silent as you waited for the footsteps and yelling to die down. Even when they had faded, you stayed still, hoping that they wouldn’t open the closet as a last resort. Your body heat was comforting, and Natasha almost found herself forgetting the danger that was just around the corner. But then you gave an awkward cough and shifted, and Natasha was brought back to the fact that this wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable.

“I think we’re safe,” Natasha mumbled.

“Let’s get out of here,” you agreed as you cleared your throat again, still incredibly uncomfortable.

You reached around her and opened the door, the both of you practically falling out of the closet. When Natasha stood up straight again, she brushed the nonexistent dirt from her suit and avoided your gaze at all costs. Only when she had regained her composure did she turn to you again.

“You mentioned a sewer?” Natasha asked, completely defeated.

You nodded and started running in the opposite direction of the yelling, leading her down corridors until you both reached a manhole cover. Natasha could smell the sewage without opening it, and she could only imagine how terrible it would be once she jumped in. But there didn’t really seem to be any other option, and you were already prying it open just enough for them to slip in.

“Ladies first,” you gestured.

“Gee, thanks,” Natasha groaned as she took her last breath of semi-pure air and jumped in.

The stench was worse than anything Natasha had ever smelled before. All the death and ruin she had witnessed, and she still believed that this was worse. She couldn’t even attempt to guess at what was causing the smell, but she didn’t think she wanted to know. Maybe it would be a little more tolerable if she just pretended it was nothing.

You jumped in after her and pulled the manhole back into place, and just like that, it was like neither of you had ever been there. You didn’t wait for her as you started making your way out of the building, and Natasha quickly followed suit. She didn’t understand how you could breathe the air like it was nothing, but maybe it was part of your physiology. Maybe you were just lucky.

It felt like an eternity before you both ran into a ladder that would take you out of the sewer. You yanked the manhole cover aside and Natasha went up first, gasping when she smelled the fresh air. It was like being reborn, she thought. Her cells felt rejuvenated and her skin felt cleaner.

As soon as you pulled the cover back on, you both ran back to the quinjet as fast as you could. The stench of sewage followed you, stuck to your clothes; they would probably be incinerated when you got back to the tower. But you were out, and you could head back with enough confidence to tell Nick that you had at least gotten half of the building mapped out.

“You fly, I think I’m drying out,” you groaned. Natasha didn’t argue.

She sat in the pilot’s seat and set a course for the tower, wanting nothing more than a hot shower and a good sleep. But she looked back in time to see you stripping your suit off, groaning as it literally peeled off. Inch by inch, she saw your shoulders, your spines, your back, those abs.

You were never one to let anyone see you undressed, but Natasha loved that she was allowed. The way you shifted and twitched when her fingers ran over your skin, when you whined if she kissed that spot on your back. Loved the feel of your abs flexing as you thrusted into her at an inhuman pace that had her moaning and cumming for hours and-

“Nat, pull up!”

Natasha felt your hands covering hers, yanking up, and the real world unfolded before her eyes. The ground was quickly approaching, and the sound of the air rushing past the quinjet was enough to make Natasha’s hands shake. Only when the jet was back up and on course did she start to settle.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” You shouted, but Natasha just turned back to the front, trying her hardest to ignore the stinging in her eyes.

You grumbled and walked off, and Natasha could feel the frustration radiating off of you. But she didn’t really care anymore. She had nearly gotten you both killed because she had been too busy remembering you railing her. Natasha couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t be around you anymore.

Not if she wanted to stay alive.

[raggaraddy]

I'd Die Fighting

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Thank you for your request! I really like the concept, and kind of got carried away with the stories and now they're too long. So I'll release them as individuals as I finish them. I hope you like them! ^-^

If anyone else wants to request you can here.

Mafia Bangtan Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Taehyung

Jungkook

Summary: Pinned down by the cops, you know you're the only one who can stop Jimin from getting himself killed.

Trigger Warnings: Police shooting, gun usage, blood, violence, death, ambiguous ending.

Jimin

Mafia! Jimin

You were in the middle of a scheduled pick up, collecting the gang's share of the profits for the month. There had already been 3 today and all had gone as routine as the times before. You're in a residential building site, parked in one of the driveways, and on a Sunday too, so it's nice and quiet and empty. There was no reason to think that this stop would be any different than the last.

That was until the lights and sounds of police sirens filled the street.

You could only watch on in dread as 4 cop cars sped into the driveway trapping you and the two men into a box. With a 10-foot foundation wall behind you and building walls on either side, you were now realizing that this location wasn't so much secure, as it was an obvious dead end.

Looking back in the side-view mirror, you can see Jimin with the dealer. The guy panics instantly, pulling out his gun without a chance to even aim it before he is blown away. There are dozens of deafening shots all at once and the guy, no older than you, drops down dead.

Barely able to contain your terror, you are not able to do anything but to watch helplessly as Jimin dives behind the rear of the car to avoid the stray bullets.

Slowly, the officers start down the concrete path, closing in tighter, all of them with their guns drawn, all of them looking alarmed and ready to fire. With this many cops, you know neither of you stands a chance. There is no escape here, not without a miracle. But you know Jimin. You know he isn't going to just give in. He's said it before, he's said it often. He might die, but he'll die fighting before he dies in a cage.

The officer coming closest to the car bangs on the hood to draw your attention making you jump. "Stay in the car," He mouths the words.

You can't abide. If you don't do something Jimin is going to get himself killed. He may be willing to die, but you're not willing to lose him. You shake your head hard, swinging the car door open, stepping out tensely with your hands upright. Your arms and legs are shaking with pure adrenaline, relying on nothing but a prayer that they don't shoot you right now.

"Get back in the car." "Stay in the car." "Miss, get back in the car." A sea of loud, demanding voices shout at you all at once. While your survival instinct is telling you to obey the angry people with guns, you ignore them all. Your instinct-your love for Jimin is greater than your fear.

Walking paced steps backwards, you're watchfully eyeing them. They're still pressing forwards, but they have slowed substantially. Half of the group aiming more aggressively, and the other half pointing their guns at you more hesitantly. Calls of stay in the car turn into orders to get on the ground. But you can't, you won't.

Coming in line with the back of the car, Jimin is knelt behind it his gun in hand. "Y/n! What the fuck are doing?!" he snaps, eyes full of worry.

He may bluster to everyone else, but you know the full expression. In private he'd whisper the ending to you and only you. 'I'd die fighting before I ever die in a cage. And I'll spend my life locked up before I ever see you hurt.'

"Get back in the car!" He growls.

"No," you whisper.

"Get back in the car!"

"No."

"Oh for fucks sake, will you just listen to me for once!" He growls, running his hand back through his hair, about to lose any composer he has remaining.

"No!" You shout, your eyes darting from the cops to Jimin and back.

He roars, grabbing your shirt, yanking you down the ground beside him. The commands of the police heighten and start coming more frequently as they steadily begin to entrap the two of you again.

"I'm gonna beat the hell outta you after this." He shouts, reaching over the top of the car to fire a slew of shots, not aiming to hit anyone but just trying to keep the cops away.

"Fine. Do it. But just let there be an after." You plead, eyes filling with tears. "Put the gun down. Please!"

"What?! No!"

"Come out with your hands up or we open fire." A far off voice, coming through a speaker, gives a sickening order.

Jimin's harsh defiant look turns to one of pure fright and frenzy. He knows if they're shooting at him, they're shooting at you.

His hand scrunches in the scruff of your shirt, dragging you flat to the ground further out of harms-way, using the same momentum to launch himself into the open, weapon ready. He gets only 2 shot off before they retaliate with more than half a dozen. Not all connect, one catching his leg, another his shoulder. The hits double him over, making him drop the gun.

It all happens before you are able to even turn back over. The sight of him struck has you screaming, acting rashly and impulsively. You wail his name clambering to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lifting him upright, you're covering him with your body as much as you possibly can. You don't pause think what might happen right now if the officers began to fire again. You only know you need to save him from them. Save him from himself. Pushing him with your chest, you force him back more and more until his body hits the foundation wall. You turn yourself around towards the encroaching men and women, shoving your weight roughly against him. To shield him, and trying your best to keep him pinned to the bricks so he is unable to act suddenly or foolishly.

Thankfully the cops still seem hesitant to shoot at you. Although you don't trust it for it to last much longer.

Your stomach drops, feeling a warm wetness dripping over the exposed skin on your upper back. Jimin's shoulder is bleeding heavily down you.

This is so fucking bad.

"Stop, please stop, Baby!" You whisper to Jimin, nearly unable to form the words due to the shake in your voice. It's just the two of you opposing 7 armed police officer. You know he hates the thought of defeat, he may even hate you for this, but neither of you has any way of winning this standoff.

His forehead presses to the back of your head, his hot breath fanning down your neck. In the smallest motions, you feel him nod against you.

Raising them in surrender, his arms come out from behind you. There's a sharp pain in your side with a sudden booming sound. It knocks your breath away. You whine, your hand squeezing tighter against his legs, into the fabric of his jeans.

"Y/n?" Jimin knows what's happening before you do.

One of the officers mistook Jimins actions as hostile and got twitchy with his gun.

You gasp slumping back into him, your legs weakening. He catches you, lowering with you as you fall to the floor. "Baby!"

Jimin looks up to the cop who fired. He's memorizing every detail of their face. Already having resigned to hunt them down and make them suffer.

Finally able to inhale, you cry out a low scream, pain spreading from your stomach up. "Jimin," you cry clawing his arm, fingers wrapped in his sleeve.

The swarm of police starts to move more frantically. A knee flies at Jimin sending him into the wall, separating him from you. Without him, you fall flat into the dirt. To your right one of the men is forcing Jimin to the ground with a knee trying to flatten him. But he isn't giving in, fighting and struggling against the weight, desperately trying to get back to you.

Even as there are three of them versus only Jimin, he is still putting up enough resistance that they are unable to fully hold him.

"Y/n!" He yells, as one of his arms is pinned behind his back, driving him heavily into the dirt. "Get the fuck off!" he snarls.

Your throat feels full. You're starting to choke, spluttering blood out and down your cheeks. Your hands clutching your stomach are wet and slippery from blood. The heavy amounts of it pouring from you making you weaker with each passing second.

"Alright!" There's a heavy thump as Jimin stops resisting and is plunged aggressively into the floor. "Just help her! Help her!" With all of the pain and fear you're feeling, it's the pure panic in Jimin's voice that finally brings you to tears.

Rolling your head towards him, his chin is dug into the concrete floor, his skin and clothes red with blood, his face pale and flush, his eyes red and teary with emotion. With him no longer fighting they are able to cuff his hands. They haul him to his feet, carrying his weight. He yells in pain, his cries turning into pleas for you, calling again and again for someone, anyone to help you.

One of the officers comes to your side pressing firmly on your wound making you shriek, spitting out even more blood. They speak into their walkie-talkie describing your state and injuries calling for an ambulance. Explaining that a male will be coming to the hospital by a police cruiser.

In front of you, the others are dragging a limping Jimin away. Being pulled from you he begins his fight again, battling to not leave you. But he's too injured and restricted to combat them much more. Only able to call out to you over and over.

Even as the car doors close on him, you can still hear him shouting your name. Even as you lose consciousness you can still hear the echo of his voice.

[yandere-daydreams]

Twelve Days of Christmas - Day Twelve

Prompt: Christmas Day.

Pairing: Yandere!Dorm Leaders/Reader (Twisted Wonderland).

TW: Implied Non-Con, Manipulation, Coercion, Slight Verbal Degradation, Mentions of Injury, Mentions of Choking, and Premeditated Assault.

It was supposed to be a tradition, among the Dorm Leaders.

That was what Leona said, at least, nudging you in the side as that predatory grin played at the corners of his lips. The prefects never went home for the winter holidays, sticking around to organize the dorms and met with the headmaster, so it was only natural that they’d celebrate together, sneaking off campus for the night for a bonfire and a few drinks Sam only sold to his favorite students. You’d tried to brush him off, but Azul’d vouched for him, and when prompted, Riddle’d flushed and admitted that there wasn’t technically a rule against anything they did. Somehow, neither managed to inspire much faith in their ringleader’s story, but they did their best. You’d give them credit for trying.

Kalim was the one who convinced you to go, in the end. You’d never been able to turn him away, and tonight wasn’t an exception, not when he’d been kind enough to turn up on Ramshackle’s doorstep with an extra coat, a spare thermos, and a smile that could’ve rivalled the sun. He was always sweet, like that. He always made it so hard to refuse, like that, even if you’d still groaned as he led you into woods surrounding Night Raven. He always made it hard to say no.

And now, he was making it impossible.

He was making it impossible to say much of anything, honestly.

You could feel his fingers hitting the back of your throat, prying your lips apart and forcing you to gag, your entire body jolting with the sudden force. Something sharp dug into your exposed back, the jagged edge of a stone cutting at the meat of your calf, but a strong hand was quick to clamp down around your shoulder, shoving you back to the ground. Its twin wrapped around Kalim’s wrist, dragging him away and letting your head fall to the side as you sputtered, struggling to breath. If Riddle noticed, he didn’t seem to think of you comfort as a priority. His grip only tightened around your forearm, a growl lacing the edges of his voice as he spoke. “Don’t be so careless,” He spat, all self-righteous frustration and poorly veiled aggression. “They could’ve passed out! The last thing we need is less time than we already have.”

Your vision was blurry, by now, your sense separated from reality by a thick layer of fog, but you could’ve sworn Kalim pouted, straightening his back and digging his knee into your bicep, the pressure numb and bruising, at the same time. “I’m just trying to have a little fun,” He sighed, his tone somewhere between a whine and a mumble. “It‘s not my fault Leona called the first turn. The rest of us still have to find something to do, ‘til he’s done.”

Until he’s done. It was more daunting than it should’ve been, until he’s done. You could feel Leona now, even if you refused to look at him, your legs wrapped around his waist, your thighs in his hands, sharpened nails tearing through thin clothes with a pace so idle, it almost felt patronizing. It would’ve been worse if he rushed, you knew that, it would’ve been so much worse, but part of you still wished he’d just… get it over with. Or, that he’d pretend he was trying to, at least. “I don’t take scraps,” Leona scoffed. You tried to buck your hips, making a half-hearted effort to put any amount of distance between you and him, but he only bared his teeth, sending you a soft glare as he splayed his hand over your waist, pinning you down before you could do so much as writhe. “I offered to let Schoenheit go, but apparently, his majesty got cold feet. And he was so pushy about this, too.” There was a tap to your side, a breath of a chuckle from Leona. “I’d be insulted if I were you, sweetheart. It’s not very considerate of him to leave you high and dry, is it?”

“Some of us have self-respect,” Vil retorted, from the edge of the clearing. You knew he’d be watching, that he’d be looming over you, but you still cringed at the reminder, at the judgement in his voice. “I would’ve offered Pomefiore as a venue, if I knew you’d be rolling around in the dirt like a herd of wild animals. I’ll clean up (Y/n) and take what I deserve when the rest of you are finished.”

At his side, Azul hummed in agreement. He’d chosen to play the role of innocent bystander, his judgement softened into a guiltless, shameless curiosity. In a way, he was better than Vil, he hadn’t helped to restrain you when you tried to run, nor did he seem to take any more malicious glee in this than he did anything else. But, what little appreciation you had for him died the moment he continued to do nothing, staring on with that small, knowing smirk. As if he wanted you to understand that he wasn’t on your side, even if he wasn’t really on theirs, either. “Someone has to make sure Idia gets his recording, too. And, with that in mind, it’d only be fair if he got to see some of the aftermath.”

“Greedy bastard,” Vil muttered, but he didn’t try to object further. “Fine, but don’t expect me to share.”

There was a beat of silence, and Leona took the opportunity to push your ripped shirt up to your collar, dragging his talons over your hips and aiming to start in earnest, but he stilled quickly, rounded ears flicking slightly as his expression dropped. You heard the reason why a second later - footsteps, hurried and careful, dredging through the forest and only getting closer. Your heart skipped a beat, the shocked hazed over your mind finally beginning to thin. Still, you didn’t have to think, you didn’t even try to. You were already thrashing, kicking at Leona, pulling against Kalim and Riddle. You were already screaming, the sound only partially muffled by Riddle’s attempts to keep you quiet. “Help!” It was a desperate cry, all shrill necessity, all primal instinct. “Help, I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t-- They’re going to ra--”

Riddle covered your mouth, but it was too late, you could already see him - Malleus. Wonderful, powerful Malleus, his eyes wide and his expression confused as he stepped into the small clearing. For a moment, he scanned over the arrangement, Leona between your legs, Vil watching on with crossed arms and a scowl, Azul, phone in hand and his posture still relaxed. Worrying relaxed, honestly.

Then, you heard Malleus’ laugh, and your heart cracked open in your chest.

“You gave me the wrong time,” He chided, but he didn’t seem angry. His pace was calmer than it had been as he approached, his touch nothing but gentle as his hand came to rest on Leona’s shoulder, who offered a shake of his head by way of apology. Malleus’ attention shifted towards you, but he didn’t seem affected. If anything, he only seemed more content than he had been, as he met your eyes. “Don’t stop on my account. I’ve been waiting as long as the rest of you.”

That made sense. You hated it, it was disgusting, but it made sense.

Leona did say all the prefects were looking forward to this, after all.

[delimeful]

you cant go back (2)

warnings: fear, miscommunication, guilt, mentions of theoretical gore/injury, dehumanization, referring to a person as 'it', general angst

-

For the fourth day in a row, Lady Macbeth had spurned him.

Roman frowned, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head and tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair.

Lady was old, smug, and occasionally very cranky, but she wasn’t deaf like Ophelia-- she always came prancing over once she heard his keys rattling in the lock, delighted at the opportunity to smear cat hair all over his pants and get her claws stuck in his shoelaces.

Yet here he stood, catless.

For the past few days, too, she hadn’t been in the house at all when he got home. He’d been downright worried that first day, uneasy until she strolled back in at dusk.

They had an expansive backyard that their younger cats took delight in frolicking in, but their second-oldest cat was a rare visitor to the outdoors. Lady was first and foremost a homebody, and she preferred a warm body to sit on. Their squishy heat-generating human bodies were the only reason she hadn’t assassinated them all in their sleep by now, according to--

Roman cut the thought off sharply, feeling familiar grief pit up in his throat. He shook his head, the motion harsh enough to make his neck twinge. There was no time for standing about and pondering! He had a cat to locate!

A determined jut to his chin, he grabbed what supplies he would need for this perilous journey-- cat treats, a catnip toy, even a tempting cardboard box-- and strode confidently out the backdoor.

For the next half-hour, he wandered around the acres of their property, greeting each of the goats and chickens by name as he checked all the most common cat hidey-holes.

He’d almost given up by the time he stumbled across the old barn, pant legs covered in burrs and the beginnings of a sunburn across the back of his neck. Whatever delightful cat secrets Lady was so busy with, surely he could discover them when it wasn’t the middle of summer.

Just before he could turn around, though, he noticed that one of the doors was just slightly ajar.

Roman felt his brow gradually scrunch up the longer he stared at it. It had been locked up after the last of the old supplies had been moved from it, hadn’t it? The last big storm had proved it wasn’t weather-worthy, his dad had plans to take it apart for timber, ones that had seemingly been forgotten after… afterwards.

Petty inconveniences of getting there forgotten, Roman crept closer on light feet, grip tight on the catnip mouse in his hand. The wind died down at an eerily perfect moment, and he strained to hear beyond those old wooden walls.

Not everything is a grand conspiracy, a voice in his head reminded him, sounding suspiciously similar to Specs, it could simply be someone without housing that took the opportunity for shelter provided by the abandoned barn.

Roman sidled halfway through the ajar door, and froze at the sight of an upright humanoid figure only a few meters away. Something about it wasn't right, instantly putting him on edge. He kept staring, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

(“I’m telling you, these lights were strange even by my standards! Almost… alien.” An unsettling grin that was a beat late.)

The figure’s head was dropped forward, but he could tell even from this distance that it wasn’t human, with shiny purple-grey segmented skin and legs with knees facing the wrong way. It had spiky shoulder joints, but its arms seemed to be tucked behind it.

(Roman had shoved him off the couch, sour about being taken in by one of his tales, and he hadn’t brought it up again.)

Most alarming of all, there were four long, spindly limbs stretched out into the air behind it, seemingly spawning from its back. The legs were spider-like in nature, but shiny instead of hairy, and each one ended in a sharp point. As he watched, he could see the limbs shifting slowly, pairs of them lifting and falling in odd synchrony with the creature’s slow breathing.

(Roman had been freaked out, and his brother had dropped the subject. He should’ve asked, he should have known something was wrong--)

“Miaow.” A plaintive voice called, nearly startling Roman out of his skin.

He tore his gaze away from the (alien) mystery intruder, and felt his jaw drop as he took in Lady Macbeth’s current position. Loafing on the feet of an insidious intruder?!

For shame, he mouthed silently at her.

Lady blinked slowly and continued to purr, unbothered by his accusatory stare. One of those spider limbs shifted again, making Roman swallow nervously. He really didn’t want to see what sort of automatic reaction an extraterrestrial’s stabby-arms would have to finding a cat in its space.

He waved the catnip mouse enticingly. Lady gave him the bland look of a cat who had preferred those expensive feather toys for as long as he had known her. Roman resisted the urge to facepalm.

The insanely dangerous method it was, then.

Putting all his sneaking skills to use, he sidled further into the barn, dropping into a crouch and beginning to creep across the dirt floor as slowly as possible. Each step was carefully placed, almost entirely silent, and whenever those freaky appendages twitched, he froze in place for a full thirty seconds.

The alien’s head remained lax (asleep?) as he drew closer, but Lady refused to entertain his desperate motions for her to leave her ill-chosen bed. At this rate, he’d have to pick her up off of it, and hope that she didn’t complain too much on the way out.

He shifted his weight forwards, and suddenly all four of the arms were still, almost taut in the air. Only a couple feet away, the alien’s head bobbed slightly. His time was up.

Clenching his teeth, Roman made a gamble.

He tossed the little mouse toy directly at the space above the alien’s head and dove for Lady.

There was a whistle, like a whip or an arrow sliding through the air, and Roman made the mistake of glancing up as soon as he had his hands securely around Lady’s body.

All four of the spider limbs had jabbed into the same point, skewering the toy from several different angles. The alien was certainly awake now, and it had four times as many eyes as any one person could reasonably need. Between one heartbeat and the next, those huge dark irises went from staring at the poor mutilated toy to staring at Roman.

Terror shot through him and he gave up on subtlety, throwing himself back as hard as he could and hoping that he made it out of range.

He landed on his back with a whomp that knocked the wind out of him, and flinched as that terrifying whistling sound split the air again, ending in a muted thump. He was so wired with adrenaline that he couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or not. Locked in his arms, Lady writhed and complained loudly.

“Not going anywhere,” Roman wheezed, “you little fiend, con-- consorting with the enemy.”

There were several more whistle-thumps, which was either very good or very bad for him. He rolled to his side, pushing himself up on an elbow and taking stock of himself, braced for the worst.

The alien was still standing there against the central support beam of the barn. Half a foot from Roman’s leg, it's very sharp extra arms had left holes pierced in the hard-packed dirt of the barn’s floor.

“But no holes in me,” Roman cheered weakly, and then shifted Lady to the crook of one arm and flipped the alien off. “Nice try, Space Invader.”

The alien made a deep clicking rumble, but stopped trying to impale him. Instead, it moved to hold all those limbs high up in the air menacingly, ready to stab down at any point. The remains of the toy mouse sat near its feet, cotton innards spilling everywhere like a grim warning.

Roman got to his own feet, wincing at the feeling of Lady’s claws poking into his ribs as she attempted to kick her way to freedom. He took a moment to stare once he was back upright.

The alien’s skin plates had gone completely pitch-black, only the slightest hints of purple between the plates to prove that there’d ever been any color to it at all. Roman was abruptly glad that he hadn’t encountered it in the dark of night.

Its eyes were just as dark, with only the slightest difference in shades of black to indicate the difference between iris and sclera. Despite his artistic eye for color differences, even Roman couldn’t tell where its pupils were. If it even had pupils.

It also was still stuck in one place, despite its legs seeming totally operational. Roman slowly shuffled to the side of it, making sure to keep a few good steps clear of stabbing range, and found that it did in fact have normal arms and hands.

Well. Mostly normal. There were five fingers, but they were all way too long and ended in thick, claw-like points. He thought they also maybe had one or two too many joints.

More to the point, the alien couldn’t do anything with these arms because they were bound together at the wrists and tied tightly to the central support beam of the barn. It was stuck there, and going by the aggressive rumbling it was doing, it knew it.

Roman pulled out his phone and managed to take a shaky video of the alien, circling around it to both get a better angle and prompt it to threateningly twitch those back limbs some more. He knew his sci fi tropes, including the one where the alien mysteriously disappears the moment the plucky protagonist tries to tell anyone about the danger. He wasn’t going to be called crazy again.

Once he was content with the amount of evidence he had, he made the trek back to the house at a near-sprint, the cat in his arms protesting all the way. He burst through the back door, letting the screen fall shut behind him, and finally allowed Lady to walk on the power of her own four paws. She beelined for the screen door, stood up on her hind legs, and rattled it expectantly.

“Absolutely not,” Roman told her firmly, nudging her away. “I don’t know what it is with you and courting death via Xenomorph, but you are henceforth banned from the outdoors.”

If angry little kitty looks could kill, Roman would be as dead as King Duncan.

Shaking his head, he went over to the ancient landline phone in their kitchen, lifted the phone from its cradle, and paused.

Who was he going to call?

He’d had some half-conceived notion of calling his parents, or that infuriating police officer, or even just 911. What would he even say? ‘Hello operator, my emergency is that I have an alien in my barn, I promise this isn’t a prank’? Even the dial tone wouldn’t believe that.

And what if they did get someone out here to verify that there was a real alien? There was little doubt in his mind that law enforcement and then the government would quickly step in, whisking the evil version of E.T. away into some distant Area 51 lab. Roman would never see it-- or get any answers from it-- ever again.

He hung the phone up with a solid click, and turned to face the kitchen.

If he was going to interrogate a hostile alien, he needed to arm himself.

---

Shockingly, when he returned to the barn, the alien was still there.

He had crept up quietly again, hoping to catch it unawares, but this time it had been staring unerringly at him from the moment he peeked through the door, those smaller, rounder eyes wide open under its main ones.

He pushed the door open further with a dramatic flourish, pretending like he hadn’t been sneaking at all.

“Alien scourge,” Roman greeted, wincing at the crack in his voice. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way the alien’s dark gaze sent chills down his spine. “I don’t know how you ended up here, but I do know that you’re going to give me the information that I need.”

He pointed the end of his weapon of choice for emphasis, and the alien recoiled with a hiss, quickly jabbing out at it with those back arms.

Just as he’d hoped, however, putting vegetable oil on the already-slick plastic handle of the kitchen broom had made it basically impossible for those single-pronged limbs to stab or grab it. He grinned triumphantly, poking the alien with the end of it. The playing field had officially been evened.

“Now, unless you want me to introduce you to the Earth concept of piñatas, you better tell me what you’re here for.”

The alien was entirely silent, watching him with those shiny, pitch-black eyes. Behind it, its spider arms were vibrating with tension, probably in preparation to stab out the moment he slipped up.

“I’m serious,” Roman warned, poking it a little harder and getting exactly nothing for his efforts, not even a glare. “I know what I saw that night, and there’s no way it’s a coincidence that now you’re here. It was an abduction."

He paused for effect, and the alien let out a series of clicks and low, warped sounds that sounded like meaningless nonsense.

"I don't speak alien." Roman frowned. "Tell me what happened. Why were you-- or, your-- your brethren or your shipmates or whatever, why were they taking people? Where did they take them?”

The alien made what sounded like the same exact series of noises. Roman groaned in frustration.

“In-- In English! You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? If aliens are real and have the technology to infiltrate Earth without being detected, they have to have some way of communicating! An insta-translator or telepathy or math nonsense or something!” He threw his arms out in frustration, making the alien twitch.

He paced back and forth for a moment, before coming to a stop in front of the alien again and leveling it with an accusatory stare. “You’re faking it. I don’t believe that you can’t understand me.”

The alien just kept staring at him, flat plates where its mouth should have been, not a single expression visible on its face. It was about as convinced by Roman’s argument as everyone else in his life, which was to say, not at all. He felt a surge of white-hot anger, and levered the broom at its neck threateningly.

“Tell me, right now!” he demanded, stinging tears building up at the corner of his eyes. “Tell me where my brother is!”

He shoved the broom further forwards, and the alien snapped its limbs forwards and knocked it away, startling him into stumbling back. It hissed at him again, stabbing at the ground like a warning. He scowled, swiping at his face with a sleeve, and swung the broom handle at it sharply.

The swing went wide, more than a foot from touching any of it, but the alien showed the closest thing to emotion he’d seen so far, half of its eyes flinching closed in anticipation. Roman felt a sickening twist in his gut, some odd mix of guilt, anger, and vindication, and he turned away sharply.

Not for the first time, he wished he’d been the one that had been taken.

Remus wouldn’t care if the stupid cops didn’t listen to him, if their parents didn’t believe him, if the whole town thought he was insane. He would know how to convince an alien to talk, would threaten to-- to crush its extra eyes or cut off limbs or do something Roman was too squeamish to even think up.

If it was Remus, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t know what to do. He’d at least do something.

He wouldn’t be going through the motions of life like everything was the same.

Pretending had always been Roman’s specialty, after all.

Roman cast a furious glare over his shoulder at the alien, resentful that it was still staring at him even as he was in the middle of a breakdown, and tossed the broom into the corner.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, swallowing back the thickness in his voice, “and every day after that until you tell me.”

Threat delivered, he stormed out of the barn and slammed the doors shut behind him.

[shorkbrian]

Jerk

Oh Jesus y’all I can’t handle these thirsts they’re making em flustered as heck oh no.

oh frick but really doe Bakugou is soooo mean and he’s probably the type that’s into degrading and humiliating his partner, totally has dacryphilia and can’t get off unless you’re crying big, fat, salty tears. He honestly likes you, likes having you around and enjoys your additions in class discussion. But you’re just so easy to bully, he can’t help himself. He tells you it’s your fault, if you put up more of a fight he’d back off. If you didn’t just take his insults and jabs at your character lying down, he’d leave you alone. But he never would. nasty dude.

(College au lol)

TW - noncon, NSFW, handjob, crying, Bakugou is not nice but what's new.

Sometimes he’ll corner you on campus, knows you have evening classes and waits to haul you behind the building as soon as your class ends. Talking to you in a quiet, dangerous voice as he forces you back there, his hot hands gripping your arm (far too tightly), his erection brushing against your ass with each agonizing step.

“Hey (Y/N), you little bitch, did’ya miss me? No? Too bad.”

“You better shut your whore mouth, don’t want the entire campus knowing how much of slut you are. Saying “stop” isn’t going to make me do anything but fuck you harder, stupid bitch.”

“What’re you gonna do, tell someone? Who’s gonna believe a pathetic little extra like you, hmm? I’m their quarterback baby, they can’t afford to lose me. No, you’ll fucking do whatever I say.”

Once behind the building, pressed against the wall, he’ll slap your face, once, twice. Red paints your cheeks, and you’re already crying at the sting. Bakugou just grins, enjoying every second as he squishes your face in his hand, bringing his face close to yours. So close, you can feel each hot puff of air on his every exhale. So close, you can see the beauty of his ruby red eyes, darker maroon flecking the bright iris. Pity Bakugou was so mean.

A beat passed, the two of you just looking at each other, breathing each other’s air. Then he kissed you, mashing your lips together, squeezing your jaw until you opened your mouth, let him inside like you always did.

When he pulled away, you were gasping for air, hand coming up to wipe at the tears streaming down your face. Bakugou huffed, before planting both hands on your chest and pushing. You let out a distressed cry as you were shoved backwards, loosing your balance and falling down into the dirt. You’d probably have bruises later. Who were you kidding, you were with Bakugou. Of course you’d have bruises later.

The blonde crouched down, cocking his head to the side as he watched you, eery smile on his face. You didn’t like that look. You scrambled backwards, pushing at the dirt and scuffing your hands until your back hit a wall. Bakugou stayed where he was.

“You’re so fucking stupid, only thing you’re good at is being a shitty little toy for others to push around. You realize that? That’s all you are. Nothing. Worthless little pussy on legs.”

His words stung, and you had to scrub at your eyes again, wiping away the fresh wave of tears. In doing so, you didn’t notice him stand up, stalk closer, until he was towering over your sitting form. When he “tch’ed” you jumped, looking up.

“Get the fuck up.”

You hesitated.

A hand grabbed your hair, Bakugou’s face twisting into a snarl.

“Now.”

You rose as quickly as possible, finding yourself face-to-face with your aggressor once again. Well, face-to-chest. Then you were flipped around, shoved against the wall of the building as hands began kneading at your chest.

“Mmm, shit baby, you’re always so damn soft.”

A gasp escaped you when he started pinching, grasp becoming firmer and more demanding until it hurt, the man pulling at your chest now. The hard, considerable bulge of his erection was humping against your ass slowly, as if Bakugou was savoring each little thrust of his hips.

“So easy. Bet you would bend over for anyone who asked, wouldn’t you? Slut. You’re just a little cockwhore, ain’t that right?”

He took a few steps back, pulling you with him until he could bend you at the waist, still grinding against you. But in this position, his cock was pressed against your clothed cunt, delivering delicious friction to your clit. You resisted the urge to wriggle your hips in order to chase that feeling. “Hey - “  A slap landed across your ass, and even through your jeans, you could feel it burn. “I asked you a question bitch. Answer me.”

You whimpered.

“Y-y-yes Bakugou..... I am.”

“You’re what? I didn’t quite hear that last part. ”

You could hear the sneer in his voice, wincing at the pressure as Bakugou groped at your chest.

“A-a cockwhore.”

“Fuck yeah you are, I can feel you getting wet down here.” He pulled away from your body, lending you relief for a half a second before he smacked your cunt, hard. “You’re so desperate!”

He was gleeful as he turned you around again, pushing you into the wall. He was always pushing. Pushing over your books the first time he met you, pushing your boundaries, pushing for you to come up to his dorm while his roommates are out, pushing your sanity.

You shuddered as the blond unzipped his jeans, groaning as the zipper pressed against his dick as he pulled it down.

Closing your eyes, you swallowed. You didn’t know what he was going to do next, didn’t want to see the manic look on his face as he decided which part of your body to get off on today.

You weren’t surprised when you felt his hands grab yours. He pushed himself flush against you, and you knew without looking that his cock was standing up proudly, bobbing against his stomach. If you breathed in too far, expanded your lungs, your could feel it twitch against your abdomen. You tried to take short breaths.

His hands guided yours to wrap around his dick, and the second you felt the hot flesh touch your hand, that’s when the waterworks really started. You were crying uncontrollably as Bakugou forced your hands around him, thrusting upwards shallowly, head dropping to your shoulder with a choked-off groan. He wasn’t squeezing your hands too tight, enjoying the soft, loose grip for now.

When the man grew impatient of this, he let go of one of your hands, reaching up at swipe at your face. He was trying to wet his hand with your tears.

‘C’mon (Y/N), keep crying.”

You were bawling, tears dripping off your chin, snot beginning to flow from your nose. Just like Bakugou liked it. He kept on wiping at your face, collecting the tears and snot and drool, before rubbing his hand on his cock. Then he’d make you jerk him, testing to see if it was wet enough for his comfort. The more time passed, the more tears fell.

It took a bit, but finally Bakugou was satisfied with the amount of wetness coating his cock. Grabbing your free hand again, he guided it back to his cock. When you struggled to rip our hands away, his grip just tightened, crushing your digits between his hands and his cock.

There was no preamble, no gentle beginning. Bakugou was thrusting like a mad-man, head once again on your shoulder. You could hear him moaning softly, above the slick sounds of the messy handjob. It was sickening. 

When his hips kicked up another notch, plump balls smacking into your wrists with each thrust, you knew he was close. It took just a few more frantic pumps of his hips before Bakugou was spilling over, hot cum dripping out, leaking onto your hands and dripping down to your shoes.

You tried to pull away again, letting out a desperate sob as Bakugou kept your hands anchored, his hips still moving, almost grinding himself up into your hands. His breath was stuttered, heavy and panting in your ear.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck, oh that felt damn good.”

Finally he released your hands. 

Reigning back in your sobs, you looked at them, fingers dripping and palm wet and sticky with the mans cum. You hated him so much.

The sound of pants being zippered drew your attention, head snapping up to look at Bakugou. He was watching you intently, wiping his own hands against his jeans. A sigh of relief. Usually he tried to fuck you, or get you off. It looked like tonight he would be satisfied with just a handjob. You were going to go shower until your skin peeled off, then sleep for a day or two, classes be damned.

“Wipe it onto your slutty little cunt.”

...

“What?? B-b-bakugou you-”

“Wipe it onto your. cunt.”

He leveled you with a glare, hands crossing over his chest. You were frozen.

“Geez bitch, do I need to do it for you? Just fuckin’ wipe that shit onto your pussy, it’s not that hard.”

Trembling, you obeyed, wincing was you stuffed your hands past your jeans, past your underwear. You cringed when you felt how wet your slit was, how inflamed and puffy you felt down there from Bakugou’s teasing rutting earlier. Bakugou watched with a smirk as you pressed your hands against yourself, doing your best to wipe off his cum. 

When you finished, the man looped an arm around your waist, causing you to squeak in alarm. You recoiled from his touch, breathing hard, but he wouldn’t let go.

“What, you thought you were done? Thought a fuckin’ lame excuse for a handjob would satisfy me? God - “ He snickered loudly, beginning to pull you along, forced to walk beside him “ - You really are a stupid slut.”

You bit your lip, tears still wetting your lashes. It was uncomfortable to walk with the amount of wet in your underwear, the thought of Bakugou’s cum just sitting there making your stomach roll, tensing.

“Can’t wait ‘till we get back to my place; shitty roommates are gone for a few days, thank fuck. Can finally try edging you all night, use your body like a toy and shit like that. Fuck, I’m excited.”

You were going to throw up. 

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."