#now without the outline notes i accidentally left in >_>

[laelior]

The Normandy SR-2 is a trap.

That much is obvious to Shepard from the beginning. For all Lawson and Taylor talk up saving human colonies, it’s a hostage situation that she has little choice but to play her part in. The ship, the crew–Joker and Chakwas and Garrus and Tali–they’re the obvious carrot to keep her cooperative like the good warhorse she is. An organization capable of feeding fifty-one unsuspecting marines to a Thresher Maw doesn’t simply do nice things out of the goodness of its heart, after all.

The stick is far more subtle.

The picture on the desk is the first one. It’s meant to be seen, with the way it lights up whenever she draws near. The message behind it is equally easy to read. That there’s a picture of Kaidan on her desk, a picture that clearly hadn’t come from his service record or a public source, speaks volumes about Cerberus’ capacity for kompromat. 

It takes her longer to notice the medals in the display case just next to the picture. Each one awarded after a particularly heroic moment in her career that was one more reason to lie awake at night and recount the names of those who only got those shiny pieces of ribbon and metal in a shadow box delivered to their next of kin. Her eyes are so used to skipping over them that she doesn’t notice the extra medal at first.

All the medals in the case are new, just printed copies of the ones that had long since burned up over Alchera. Except the one that isn’t. It’s old, the stained blue ribbon beginning to fade and fray while the silver veneer flakes off of the cheaper dull gray metal underneath. But the name stamped across the bottom under the embossed cross-hair shape is still perfectly legible.

M. Shepard.

She knows that medal like the back of her own hand, the places where the finish is worn off from her rubbing her thumb over it and the feel of those embossed letters under her finger. Knows the way it felt every time she’d tucked it into her armor for over a decade. Knows it like the memory of her own mother’s face on the day she’d given it to her on her sixteenth birthday.

It was Nana Peggy’s good luck charm. She won it in a longshot competition back in ‘35.  She gave it to me, and now it’s your turn to have it.

Good luck charm, her ass.

It would be nice to think they’d tucked this memento into her cabin as a personal touch. It could even be Lawson’s official story, if she bothered to ask her.

But only an idiot believes the official story.

And Helen Shepard didn’t raise an idiot.

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Out in the Open

Law x reader (she/her) ft. Heart Pirates

Part of the Polar Tang Chronicles but can be read as a standalone! (They're all just various one-shots featuring the Reader, Law, and the Heart Pirates)

Summary: Your crew discovered that you and Law are closer than you seemed when the two of you stumbled out disheveled of his quarters one morning due to the ship’s alarm. After the battle, Law left, leaving you to endure the crew’s relentless teasing—which eventually escalated a bit too far.

Tags: suggestive, obvious mentions of sex (but no smut), nudity, hickies mentioned, swearing, teasing, kinda crack, a bit angsty

Words: 6k

Notes: I had a lot of fun writing that one! I considered using it for a longer fanfic, but the one I’m currently working on (which will take a while to complete) doesn’t quite match this vibe. Still, I’m thinking about doing more one-shots with this kind of atmosphere—just some daily life moments with Reader, Law, and the Heart Pirates. I already have outlines for two: one where Penguin and Shachi accidentally walk in on Reader and Law, and another where Reader gets tipsy with Ikakku (I'm more than open to your suggestions)

English is not my first language

Masterlist

You woke up, nestled under the covers and enjoying a morning of quiet bliss. You snuggled closer to the warm body next to you. Law. 

“Morning,” he rasped, kissing your collarbone tenderly.

You hummed happily in response, exposing your neck to him, and he quickly took advantage and started putting his lips all over it. His hands moved to explore your naked skin slowly. You tilted your head to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. You both made out lazily, taking your time to relish one another. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of quiet moans and sighs, passion building with every touch. Lost in the sensations, you were completely oblivious to the world outside your small haven. 

Then, the sudden blaring of the alarm shattered the peaceful atmosphere. You both jolted upright, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a bucket of cold water. The moment of intimacy was gone, replaced by an urgent need to spring into action.

You and Law hurried out of the captain's lodgings, your attires randomly assembled of whatever clothes had been within reach. You couldn't take the time to look presentable; the ship's alarm was a call to action, and you had to respond quickly. 

As you stepped into the hallway, Law's expression was grim; his mind already focused on the impending danger. You took your gaze from him, and you regretted it immediately as you found yourself face to face with a few of the crew members. Their eyes darted between Law and you, taking in your disheveled state, and a murmur of surprise and recognition rippled through the group. 

Law clenched his jaw, cursing silently as he realized your secret was out. With a stern glare, he stepped forward, taking charge of the situation.

“Alright, listen up! We don't have time to waste ogling. We've got a dangerous situation on our hands, and we need to spring into action now.” 

Law's voice cut through the commotion, commanding and resolute, as he issued orders to prepare for battle. The air was charged with tension as the submarine broke the surface, and without hesitation, you leapt onto the deck alongside your crewmates.

As the ships closed in, the sounds of battle began to swell. The creak of wood, the sharp clang of blades, and the guttural cries of the enemy pirates filled the air. They swarmed over the rails, swords, and other weapons gleaming as they poured onto the deck.

Law stood at the helm, calm and focused, his sharp gaze tracking every movement below. You stood beside him, gripping your weapon tightly, a determined edge in your eyes. For a brief moment, his eyes met yours.

“Be careful.”

“You too.”

With that, you plunged into the chaos.

The Heart Pirates fought with fierce determination, refusing to give an inch to the invaders. Swords clashed, bodies collided, and the deck became a storm of violence. Law, as always, took the lead, enforcing his Devil Fruit power and cutting through the most dangerous foes with a precision that left no room for error.

By the time the battle ended, the enemy was in full retreat, their ship disappearing over the horizon. Slowly, the commotion on the deck eased, and cheers broke out. The crew’s voices rose together, celebrating their victory as they let the weight of the battle fall away.

“You okay?” Law asked, standing next to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, a weary smile curving on your lips. “You?”

“I'm…  fine,” He reached out a hand, gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “You fought well,” he murmured quietly, his eyes searching yours. 

A sudden change in the air made him stiffen. He became acutely aware of the crew’s eyes on you both—the knowing smirks, the exchanged glances, the not-so-subtle winks. He shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing. 

Clearing his throat, he straightened, his usual composure snapping back into place. “Alright, everyone. You did well,” Law said, his voice firm and commanding once more. “Let's get this mess cleaned up, and everyone back to their duties.” And just like that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

You were used to the attention and the rumors that swirled about Law and you. Over time, you had learned to ignore them, to let the speculation roll off your back. But after being caught in a compromising position earlier, you felt awkward and exposed. A pang of irritation flared as Law disappeared below deck, leaving you to the inevitable onslaught of teasing remarks from the crew. You understood his need for privacy, but it still stung a little that he had left you there to deal with the crew's prodding alone.

“So… how do you feel about the captain?” Sachi asked with a smirk. 

“That he is being an ass,” you muttered angrily, starting to clean up, hoping it would allow you to leave soon.

The crewmates snickered at your insult.

“Damn,” Penguin remarked with a grin. “It's the first time I've heard someone call the captain an ass and live to tell the tale.”

“I guess being the captain’s lover has its perks. You can get away with more than most.”

You bristled at that comment. Law was a strict captain, and you knew that others respected him. Being able to call him an 'ass' and getting away with it did feel satisfying, but you certainly didn’t appreciate the implication that whatever you had with Law granted you special privileges.

You felt exhausted, and you didn't have the energy to argue with them. Instead, you let out a weary sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly as you snapped back at the crew member who had spoken. “Can you just shut up and do your job?” You felt hot and embarrassed as you unzipped your hoodie a bit, looking around to busy yourself with something. 

The crew members laughed at your response, clearly enjoying the chance to tease even more. 

“Oh, is that something you told the captain this morning, too?” someone immediately jibed.

Your frustration boiled to the surface. “You guys suck.”

But as soon as the words left your mouth, Penguin quipped back, “Not as good as the captain on your neck this morning.”

You froze, your eyes widening in shock, and your hand instinctively reached up to touch your neck, where Law had indeed spent a lot of time just this morning. You hadn't even had a chance to look in the mirror yet, and now you realized that unzipping your hoodie, or actually Law hoodie, which you noted with a mental curse now, was a wrong move.

Ikkaku cast you a sympathetic glance. “Yeah, we can see those hickies,” she noted with a wry smile.

“We would have to be damn blind not to notice them.” Shachi instantly added.

Penguin grinned cheekily and chimed in. “Who knew Captain was such a sucker.” 

The crew members continued their teasing, their jokes, and comments, escalating with every word. You felt as if you were drowning in a sea of ribbing, and you just couldn't take it any longer. You spun around and stalked away, leaving the laughing crew behind.

As you stormed off, you overheard a puzzled Bepo comment, “I don't know why everyone is making a big deal out of this. She's been staying with the captain for months now.”

“What?!”

“You didn't know that?” 

“None of us did!”

You sought sanctuary in your and Ikkaku's room, isolating yourself from the rest of the crew for the remainder of the day. Various crew members came by, attempting to apologize through the door, but you refused to speak to anyone but Ikkaku.

You heard their voices through the door, their tones ranging from apologetic to pleading. 

“Oh, come on, we were just teasing.” 

“We're happy for you, really.” 

“Come out, will you?” 

“We're sorry, okay?”

You were not the only one avoiding everyone. Law was also absent, and nobody managed to catch a glimpse of him. The crew was left wondering how to mend the situation, and after a while, they came to a consensus. Someone needed to speak to Law and try to smooth things over.

And that's how Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin, Law's longest serving crewmates, and closest friends, found themselves standing outside his room. Summoning his courage, Bepo finally raised a trembling paw and struck the door with a soft, tentative knock.

There was a pause before Law's voice echoed through, a grumpy and dismissive, “I'm busy.”

The trio exchanged nervous glances, their resolve faltering for only a moment before Bepo mustered his courage once more. “We need to talk to you, captain. It's important.”

Another moment of silence followed, and then they heard Law's resigned grunt. “Fine. Come in.”

They pushed open the door cautiously, their gazes darting nervously around the room. Law leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in mild irritation. “Everything alright?”

Penguin spoke up hesitantly. “No, not really,” he began. “I mean, the ship is fine, and we're not being attacked, but there's something else…”

“What? Just say it.”

Shachi rolled his eyes. “Come on, Captain, we need to talk about what happened this morning.”

Law immediately rejected the notion. “No, we don't,” he said, his shoulders tensing, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Yes, we do, and you're gonna listen to us.” Undeterred by Law's expression, he continued, “You shouldn't have just left her alone with us after a fight.”

Law remained impassive, his voice cool and matter-of-fact. “I had to take care of something, and I didn't think I was needed there,” he reiterated. “You guys were supposed to clean, and I had other matters to attend to.”

Penguin chimed in, his expression slightly sheepish. “Yeah, you were… You left after we all knew what happened in the morning, so of course we turned to  We teased her, and I guess we took it a bit too far.”

Law clenched his jaw. He didn't need a lecture on how to handle his life, and he definitely didn't appreciate his crew sticking their noses in his business.

But the trio wasn't finished yet. Bepo's worried gaze met Law's, his tone earnest as he added, “She didn't take it well, Captain. She locked herself in her room.”

Law's voice remained steady, feigning indifference as he asked, “So you want me to punish her for skipping out on her chores?”

Gasps of disbelief erupted from the trio.

“What, no!” Shachi barked. “Are you insane?”

“Yeah! What is wrong with you?” Penguin added, his tone incredulous.

Bepo took a deep breath, trying to reason. “You need to talk to her, Captain. And to us—your crew.”

Law's reply was curt and final. “It’s a private matter.”

Penguin wasn’t having it. “No, it’s not. Not anymore. But the crew’s okay with that—we’ve talked about it.”

Shachi nodded, his tone firm. “More than fine with it. We know you’ve been worried about what we’d think. But here’s the thing: we’re happy.”

“Yeah,” Penguin pitched in. “You’ve been dancing around each other for too long.”

“And honestly? It was getting annoying,” Shachi added.

Bepo’s voice softened, but his words carried weight. “We want you to know we support you, Captain.”

Law blinked, their bluntness catching him off guard. Despite their sincerity, he still hesitated. “Is that so?”

The trio nodded in unison, their expressions hopeful.

Shachi stepped forward, crossing his arms as he locked eyes with Law. “Well, it needed to be said,” he stated firmly. “We know how you are, Captain. You could sit here for weeks if we let you. But we can’t let her suffer any longer.”

Law repeated, almost incredulously, “Suffer?”

Shachi shrugged apologetically. “We couldn’t speak to her personally,” he admitted, glancing toward the others. “But Ikkaku told us she’s obviously humiliated—not just by us, but by you, too.”

“You just left her there,” Penguin added, his tone stained with guilt as he stepped closer. “And you haven’t spoken to her since. She thinks you’re ashamed of—”

“Of course I’m ashamed,” Law interrupted sharply, sitting forward as his jaw tightened even more. “That should have never happened. You shouldn’t have seen us like that.” 

Penguin picked up his sentence. “No, she thinks you are ashamed of her,” he clarified, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

Shachi frowned, his usually lighthearted expression turning uncharacteristically serious. “Ikkaku said she thinks she was forcing herself on you. That you only gave in because you were lonely,” he explained, his voice lowering. “And now everyone knows, and she feels embarrassed and pitiful.”

Law’s chair scraped slightly as he pushed back, his voice rising in outrage. “What? That’s absurd!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. His clenched fists rested on the armrests, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain his mounting exasperation.  The thought of you feeling that way—that you thought he was ashamed of you—sent a sharp pang through his chest.

“Yeah, we figured as much,” Penguin said, cutting through the tension. “But she doesn’t know that, Captain. You need to remind her she’s more than that.”

Shachi leaned forward, his tone pressing yet sincere. “She is more, right, Captain?”

Bepo’s warm, worried voice followed, his eyes searching Law’s face. “You did tell her, didn’t you? That she’s more?”

The room fell deathly quiet, the three of them staring at Law, waiting for a response. He sat frozen, his mind racing with thoughts and emotions he couldn’t quite organize. A subtle tremor ran through his hand as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

Shachi's voice cut through the silence. “You're awful,” he said bluntly. “You need to tell her.” 

“I can't,” Law said, looking away.

“Why not?”

Law’s lips parted, and for a moment, he hesitated. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but raw, laced with an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Because… I can’t lose her.”

The words lingered in the air, a heavy confession that seemed to sap the strength from him. His crewmates stood still, the weight of the admission sinking in. They had known Law for years, long enough to understand the fear buried beneath his stoic exterior. This wasn’t just about pride or embarrassment. This was about the scars of loss he carried, the pain he feared reliving.

After a brief pause, Penguin spoke up. “Well, we can't promise you that,” he stated, his words heavy with the acknowledgment of the uncertainty of the future.

Shachi nodded, his expression softening. “But she doesn’t want to leave you, Captain. That much we’re sure of.”

Bepo added, his voice solemn yet earnest, “And besides, she always says that life is a 'f*cking nightmare,' full of pain, and that you never know when you're going to die, so you should cling to every single small moment of happiness.”

Shachi and Penguin turned to Bepo, their mouths falling open in shock. Penguin gawked at him. “Wow, Bepo,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I’ve known you forever, but I’ve never heard you swear.”

Bepo’s face flushed under the sudden attention. “I was quoting!” he stammered, his ears flicking nervously. “The point is, if you won’t listen to us, maybe you should listen to her. You deserve some happiness too, Captain,” he finished, his eyes locking with Law’s.

Law's expression eased as he heard Bepo's words. The crew's support, combined with the reminder that your wisdom echoed their sentiment, struck a chord within him. He couldn't deny the truth in their words, even if fear still held him back.

The silence stretched once more, thick with emotion. Finally, Penguin broke it hesitantly. “Um, Captain?”

Law straightened, his usual composure returning. “There will be an obligatory meeting in two hours,” he said, his voice firm and commanding once more.

Bepo tilted his head. “Everyone?” he asked tentatively, unsure if Law meant to include you.

Law’s reply was curt and resolute. “Yes. Everyone. Now go.”

The crew spread the word about the meeting, making their way to the girls' dormitory. Shachi rapped on the door, and moments later, Ikkaku appeared, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“The Captain called for an obligatory meeting,” Shachi informed her. “Everyone needs to attend.” He craned his neck slightly, calling out into the room, “That means you too.”

From within, your voice drifted toward them, muffled by the pillow. “Yeah, yeah, I figured.”

Ikkaku gave a short nod and closed the door with a click. Turning toward you, she crossed her arms and regarded you thoughtfully. “You should shower first,” she suggested gently.

Sprawled across your bed, you rolled your eyes, a wry smirk tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Ikka,” you quipped with playful sarcasm. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Despite the joke, you couldn’t hide the flicker of vulnerability. It was brief, but enough to betray the pressure, you were feeling about the upcoming meeting—and the emotional mess still simmering just below the surface, threatening to spill over.

Taking Ikkaku’s advice, you trudged to the bathroom and showered, the hot water doing little to wash away your apprehension. When you returned to the room, your skin still damp and your hair wet, you began to change.

You couldn't help but notice Ikkaku’s gaze lingering on you. Sharing a room—and a shower room—meant you were no stranger to Ikkaku’s teasing observations, but this time, her stare felt particularly pointed.

You raised an eyebrow, turning to face her. “Okay, I know you’ve said my boobs are awesome, but the staring’s a bit much, don’t you think?” you remarked, your voice dripping with sass as you shot her a look.

Unfazed, Ikkaku smirked, leaning back against the wall with casual ease. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding even a little apologetic. “I was just curious to see how far those hickeys go.”

You froze, the memories of your night—and morning—with Law surfaced unbidden, leaving you momentarily speechless.

“Don’t you have something better to do than ogling me?”

Ikkaku’s grin widened as she shrugged nonchalantly. “Not really,” she admitted. “Besides, your face right now? Totally worth it.”

Feeling a mixture of resignation and embarrassment, you let out a grunt. There was no escaping it now.  Slowly, with reluctant resolve, you pulled away the towel, letting it fall to the side. The marks Law had left on your skin—bold, unmistakable—were now fully exposed. 

Ikkaku’s grin widened, her eyes shamelessly scanning the array of hickeys decorating your breasts and stomach.  She didn’t bother hiding her amusement

“Wow,” she remarked. “Someone likes to sign their work.”

Despite the wave of mortification, a small smirk crept to your lips. There was something strangely endearing about her playful commentary, even if it only added to your flustered state. Her carefree attitude was a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions you were still sorting through. 

But as your mind wandered, it inevitably turned back to Law. The marks on your skin were his. Each one a bold reminder of the moments you’d shared. He had never been one for public displays or openness, and the way he had left you to handle the aftermath of the crew’s discovery. Well, it stung.

You turned away and began dressing, methodically slipping on your bra before pulling a tank top over your head and following it with your uniform. Your movements were controlled, almost mechanical, as though each action was part of a ritual to compose yourself. Hands trembling slightly, you reached for the zipper of your uniform and drew it up all the way to your neck—a rare act of modesty for you.

With the uniform now in place, you grabbed a bottle of concealer from the desk and leaned toward the small mirror affixed to the wall. Your eyes narrowed in concentration as you dabbed and blended the makeup over the hickeys that still were visible on your neck, working meticulously to erase any evidence of your time with Law. 

Behind you, Ikkaku’s grin remained fixed on you.

“So, is he good?” she asked bluntly.

The question caught you off guard. Your eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, you found yourself staring at her through the mirror, unsure how to respond.

“Oh, come on,”  she added before you could gather your thoughts, rolling her eyes dramatically. “We’ve been pretending I didn’t know for months. At least give me something.”

A groan escaped you as you turned to face her. Yet, under her persistent gaze, you relented. “Fine, he’s… amazing,” you admitted. The words slipped out more easily than you expected, “I know, I know—you’ll say I’m biased, but he really is. Or it really is,” you added, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips as the memory resurfaced. “I never knew sex could be that good.”

Your cheeks flushed anew as the words left your lips, the vivid recollection making it impossible to hide your emotions. Ikkaku raised a brow, her interest clearly piqued by your admission.

“You’ve had sex with other people before, though,” she pointed out.

You nodded, your expression growing more contemplative as you thought back on those past experiences. “Yeah, and it was nothing compared to that.”

The teasing edge in her voice had faded, replaced by genuine curiosity.  “It was good, or good because it was him?” 

Your breath hitched slightly at her question, the double meaning not lost on you. The intensity of your feelings threatened to bubble to the surface, but you kept your composure. She wasn’t just asking about the physical act; she was probing deeper, into the raw feelings you had for him. 

After a brief pause, you answered. “Both,” you confessed, the honesty in your words both exhilarating and terrifying. “It was good, and it was good because it was him.”

“Well, I’m glad for you.”

You sighed, shaking your head slightly, your smile fading. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t matter now.”

“Why not?” she asked, leaning forward slightly.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, the familiar weight of resignation settling over you. “Because, obviously, it won’t be happening anymore,” you replied flatly.

“You can’t know that.”

You scoffed, shooting her a skeptical look. “Oh, I think I know,” you muttered. He left. He must be ashamed, and therefore it definitely won’t be happening again.

“No,” she said again. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

A lump formed in your throat as her words lingered in the air. You tried to brush them off, letting out a heavy sigh. “I… Let’s just get to this meeting,” you murmured, the finality in your tone signaling an end to the conversation. You didn’t want to think about it anymore, didn’t want to admit that, despite your words, you couldn’t stop the hope that maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t truly over.

Law arrived, his commanding presence as steady as ever, and began by addressing the crew in his usual manner. He outlined the agenda for their imminent arrival on the island, detailing their expected conduct and assigning responsibilities with precise efficiency.

You sat among the crew, listening with a stoic expression, but your mind reeled with the weight of recent events. The words spoken seem distant, their meanings muted by the emotional turmoil swirling within you. Law’s voice remained firm and unyielding, yet there was a subtle trace of concern in his eyes each time his gaze landed on you.

After finishing the official agenda, Law cleared his throat, his posture shifting slightly. “There’s another matter we need to discuss,” he stated.

Your body tensed as the weight of his announcement settled over the room. The earlier incident—he’s going to talk about it. Your pulse quickened, the anticipation prickling your skin as you wondered what he'd say and how it would alter the fragile balance you felt.

As the eyes of your crewmates gravitated toward you, the sensation of being exposed made you want to disappear. Their curiosity, though unspoken, was palpable. Yet, amidst it all, there was one pair of eyes you could count on not to meet yours. Law. You couldn't help but wonder if his avoidance was deliberate.

Finally, he spoke, “I was informed by Shachi, Bepo, and Penguin that there are no objections to this… relationship.” His pause was short but meaningful—an awkward silence that made you feel every beat of your heart in your chest. The word relationship hanging in the air. For just a split second, his eyes locked with yours in a way that felt both like a test and a question. “Is that correct?”

The crew’s response was instantaneous and resounding.

“Not at all!”

“We’re all happy for you!”

“It should have happened sooner!”

“We’re more than fine with it!”

You leaned closer to Ikkaku and whispered. “Did he just say relationship, or am I delusional?”

Ikkaku chuckled. “You heard him right,” she confirmed.

The reality of the moment began to sink in, the word relationship replaying in your mind. It felt surreal to hear Law speak of your connection so openly. Your heart fluttered, caught between happiness and nervousness as you processed this unexpected declaration.

Relationship. Did he just make it official—without asking you first? You’d expect irritation, but instead, you felt a surprising sense of ease. There was comfort in knowing where you stood, even if it wasn’t in the way you imagined it.

Then, his gaze met yours once more. His expression remained guarded, but there was vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for your reaction. Without thinking, you offered him a soft, reassuring smile and a nod, a silent gesture of understanding that passed between you. 

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, and for a tiny moment, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a smile so subtle it might have been missed by anyone else. But to you, it was enough to make your heart skip a beat. Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, addressing the crew once again. “Don’t go overboard with it. If any concerns arise, come to me directly.”

He paused for a moment before adding. “This is a private matter, and it will remain that way. Don’t get too curious, and no discussions about it outside this ship. Understood?”

There was a collective murmur of agreement from the crew. You found yourself nodding along with them, a wave of relief washing over you at the boundaries he had so clearly set.

Then, just as the mood began to shift back toward normalcy, Law added with a small, wry smile, “I’d also like to forbid all talks on the ship, but I don’t believe in miracles.”

A ripple of light laughter spread through the crew, the tension dissipating as the humor in his words broke the ice. Even you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, the absurdity of the situation settling in. 

“Now, I’ve heard that instead of focusing on cleaning as I directed, some of you were too busy gossiping and fooling around. As punishment, everyone will be cleaning the storage room.”

A collective groan rose from the crew, though none dared protest. Law had chosen this task with deliberate precision, fully aware that it was necessary, yet highly unpleasant—and that no one would volunteer for it willingly. By dividing the work into smaller groups, he ensured not only efficiency but also a shared misery, a kind of collective suffering that made the burden just a little easier to bear.

Once the commotion died down, Law turned to you. His tone remained firm and impartial. “Besides you. But for missing work earlier, you’ll take an extra shift cleaning the kitchen.”

Cleaning the kitchen was your least favorite task, and everyone on the ship knew it. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to feel resentment. Law was fair; everyone else faced consequences for missed duties, and he was showing you no favoritism. The consistency in his decisions left you feeling unexpectedly grateful.

With the meeting concluded, Law’s voice rang out one final directive. “That’s all. Everyone, return to your tasks.”

Usually, he would walk away immediately, but this time, he lingered. His gaze scanned the room, ensuring no one had the chance to approach you as the crew dispersed.

As you turned to leave, you felt the light pressure of a hand on your shoulder. Startled, you glanced back to find Law standing close. His voice dropped to a quiet murmur, so only you would hear him. “Come to me when you’re done. We need to talk.”

You arrived at Law's door later, your heart beating slightly faster in anticipation of the conversation ahead. Knocking gently, you heard his voice inviting you in. Moving with practiced ease, you crossed the room and settled into your usual seat across from him, as you took a moment to compose yourself.

“I can’t believe you did that,” you said, referring to Law’s earlier declaration at the meeting.

Law smiled tenderly, a rare expression reserved just for you. “I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner,” he murmured, the apology carrying a depth of sincerity that made your heart flutter. He paused, his eyes searching yours as he asked, “Are you okay with it?”

It was more than just a simple question. Taking a deep breath, you gathered your thoughts and responded, “I’m… surprised.” You paused for a moment, mustering the courage to voice your true feelings. “But… yes, I’m okay with it. More than okay.”

Law’s eyes locked onto yours, and you caught the relief and joy in his gaze. Your words—more than okay—settled the doubts that had crept into his mind. He let out a small sigh, the tension leaving his body.

For a moment, the room hung in silence, but then you couldn’t help yourself. A playful pout formed on your lips as you shifted in your seat, adding with feigned annoyance, “I’m still a little mad, you know. For leaving me there like that.”

Law’s response was matter-of-fact, his voice composed. “I know. I didn’t do it intentionally. I just didn’t see the point of sticking around.” There was a hint of nonchalance as he added, “I got injured a bit during the battle—didn’t want anyone making a fuss over me.”

That…. Your eyes widened in disbelief, anger, and concern flooding you. “Law!”

He chuckled lightly, his tone soothing as he hastened to reassure you. “I’m fine, I am. I swear.”

Crossing your arms, you murmured, “You better be.” Then, exasperated, you added, “You should’ve told me.”

“You weren’t visiting me…”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to…”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Law studied your face, the truth behind your statement hitting him. He realized how his actions might have led you to that conclusion, and guilt welled up inside him. His voice was quiet as he replied, “You were wrong.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

Law let out a long, deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve been clearer,” his voice carrying a note of regret. “I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.” He paused, considering his next words. “I didn’t want anyone fussing over me, especially not you. I didn’t want you to worry—” 

“You can’t just avoid everyone when you’re injured. Especially not me. I… I care about you, you know that.”

“I know, I know,” he conceded, “I just… I didn’t want to be a burden. And it wasn’t anything serious.”

“You’re not a burden. You could never be a burden to me.” Leaning forward, you held his gaze. “Even if it wasn’t serious, you should’ve told me.”

“I probably would’ve told you if you’d visited me. You know, I usually tell you everything. If you’d come to check on me, I would’ve spoken up eventually.”

“You’re impossible sometimes, you know that?” you said, though there was no real anger in your voice. “You shouldn’t have left me there with the crew after they found out about us. I… I thought you were ashamed of me, that I was just some dirty little secret…”

“No. I’m not ashamed of you, not at all.” His voice was steady, but there was something raw beneath the surface he was desperately trying to hide. “You’re more than that. You’re…” He faltered, struggling with the words he wasn’t used to saying.

You could see the effort it took for him to be this open, to lay bare even a fraction of what he felt. Not wanting to see him wrestle with himself, you offered a soft smile, your voice gentle. “You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

Still, the air between you felt different now. You let out a small, nervous laugh, shifting slightly. “So… I guess that means we’re official now, huh?” A shy smile played on your lips.

“I suppose we are,” he replied, his voice carrying an unmistakable tenderness. Then, after a brief pause, his expression turned slightly hesitant. “I hope you’re still comfortable with that.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Of course I am. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Good,” he said simply, a rare smile appearing on his lips. “Because I have too.” 

But just as quickly as it appeared, his expression shifted to more somber one. “It’s… it’s not going to be easy,” he admitted quietly. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, your expression serious as well. You understood the challenges that came with a relationship, especially in your unconventional circumstances. “I know,”

“I'm not… going to be easy.”

Reaching out, you placed your hand over his where it rested on the desk, your fingers tracing gentle patterns against his skin. “I know that too.” You laced your fingers with his, stroking his thumb lovingly. “Law, I'm not going into this blindly. I… I'm just as scared as you are.”

As Law started to object, you stopped him with a determined look. “No, don't give me that look. You're emotionally challenged, and we live in a shitty world. Of course, you're scared. So am I.”

Law blinked at your bluntness, then let out a breath—half amused, half exasperated. He fell silent for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours as he absorbed your words. He hadn't expected you to acknowledge his fears so bluntly—most people just assumed he didn't have any. Yet here you were. “You're incredible, you know that?” he murmured.

Your lips curled slightly, but you didn’t let the flattery distract you from the doubt still lurking in his gaze.   “I have my moments,” you replied lightly. “But I mean what I said. I know this won't be easy, and I'm scared too. But… I want this. With you.”

“I am a broken man,”  he confessed, his voice stained with regret, with something that almost resembled shame.

Your gaze didn't waver.  “And I won't fix you,” you said quietly. “And I am a broken woman, and you won't fix me either. But… maybe,” your voice mellowed out. “Maybe… the broken pieces… just fit together, you know?”

Law's breath hitched in his throat at your words. He felt the truth of your statement deep within, a part of him yearning to believe it. But his logical mind reminded him of the harsh realities of your lives. Yet, something about your words, your touch, made him want to believe it all the same.

“Broken pieces…” he mused.

“Yes, broken pieces,” you reiterate gently. “Sometimes, the unique things are created from broken pieces that just… fit.”

Law’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands. He took a slow, deep breath, your words sinking into his heart, chipping away at his usual skepticism.

“Maybe you're right,” he murmured. There was something fragile in his voice, something like hope. “Maybe… maybe the broken pieces do fit together in ways that make something… significant.”

[leithillustration]

Snow On Ice

Rating: M

Wordcount: 3881

Chapter: 1 of 12ish?

Summary:

This is it, I think to myself. This is the fresh start I wanted. I’ve left all the stress of Agatha and the press and stupid Baz back in the UK. I can really build something here and enjoy the next few months without any drama.

Pairs ice skating champion Simon Snow is looking for a fresh start. After skating with (now ex) girlfriend Agatha for almost 10 years, Snow has no idea who he is alone or what he wants to do with his life. So he’s going to America to star in a tv show about ice skating, leaving all the drama behind.

The last thing he’s prepared for is to spend the next four months sharing a rink, a hotel and a tv studio with rival skating champion Baz Pitch.

Welcome to the second fic I’ve written for @carryon-reverse-bang this year. Snow On Ice is inspired by this enthralling artwork from @iamamythologicalcreature ♥️ I loved the dynamic captured in this image, of Baz being so confident and teasing while Simon tries to keep up with him. It has accidentally sparked a multi-chapter fic which keeps growing every time I work on the outline!!

Massive thanks to @iamamythologicalcreature for not only inspiring this, but being there for spitballing ideas, sending ice skating videos and offering some great editing notes. I can’t wait to see what other artwork she’s plotting for this! Also shout out to my beta @you-remind-me-of-the-babe thank you for all the encouragement and feedback ♥️

Apparently I am incapable of writing a short fic, so this one is multi chapter. The second chapter is already way longer than the first, and I’m only part way through my plan for it 😅 So far I’ve got the outline for the first 9 chapters and I’m going to do my best to get on a semi-regular posting schedule of at least a chapter a month.

Hope you all enjoy reading! If you have any fun ice skating facts you’d be cool with me using, please let me know!! I’m learning so much writing this and I can’t wait to share it all with you XD

[wolveria]

Strange Love - Ch 4 (Final)

Pairing: Cad Bane x f!Reader

Series Warnings: Smut, mistaken identity, accidental mating bonds

Summary: “I can help you. Let me."

Note: Please imagine Bane wearing this for the best user experience.

AO3

Everything was not fine, at least, whatever was happening on the other side of the closed door. You quickly opened it, step through, and shut it behind you, pressing the button to engage the lock.

The room lay in darkness, the overhead lights off and no viewport to the outside. You didn’t need your eyesight to see, but neither would he. You sensed his attention in the dark, your body heat giving a clear view for the infrared part of his vision. You knew you would only have a few seconds before your scent reached him. A few seconds before the olfactory glands in the slits under his cheekbones would be flooded with the smell of you, and any chance of reaching him would be lost, buried under chemicals and instinct.

You moved from the door and carefully placed your back to the wall, raising your hands to show you were unarmed.

“Bane. It’s me.”

You kept your voice low and steady, the tone more important than what you actually said. There was no guarantee he could even understand you at this point.

“Todo came to find me. He said I could possibly… help with your dilemma.”

Nothing. He stayed silent, hunched across the room, glaring at you from the space he’d made for himself under the workbench. You seemed to be in a workroom of some kind, tools and spare parts lining the shelves. Not an ideal place for a fight without injury.

“Bane?” you tried again, quiet but clear. “Do you understand me? I’m here to—”

You sensed the moment he caught your scent. He launched himself across the room, faster than you expected, and you barely moved out of the way in time. He collided with the hard surface, unable to stop himself, but he carried that momentum to pivot, push himself from the wall, and slammed directly into you.

You both hit the floor, Bane pinning you to the ground, and you could have thrown him off. It would be easy to strike now with his mind and senses so overloaded, but you didn’t. You remained completely still, staring up at him in the dark.

Your eyes adjusted enough to see his dim features and the outline of his hat. Even now the damn thing stayed atop his head.

But his clothing had changed. Instead of the vest, he wore a dark long-sleeved shirt, hanging loose where it was halfway buttoned. His pants were also of a softer fabric, only one layer without the chaps he usually wore. But the largest difference was the absence of the coat and the lack of a full body glove, which meant the oxygen tubes were gone as well.

Technically, he was still fully clothed, and yet it felt almost naked compared to his usual attire.

His crimson eyes flared, his lips pulling back across his teeth in a low growl. Territorial, a warning sound, announcing that you’d overstepped.

Carefully, slowly, you reached toward his face. You wouldn’t have time to snatch it away if he chose to bite. But he ignored it, his attention riveted on your face, his sharp teeth bared inches from your skin as you moved closer.

Finally, you crossed the distance and cupped his face. His bare skin was warm, rough and wrinkled in some places, surprisingly soft and smooth in others. He let out a hiss, a noise somehow even more primal than the growl, but he still didn’t bite.

“I can help you,” you whispered. “Let me.”

He darted forward and you braced for the teeth at your throat, eager to rip you open. But his teeth rested on your neck, light enough to not break the skin, but hard enough to warn you not to move.

It was working. As terrifying as it should have been for Bane to hold you in his teeth like a predator with its prey, it meant the mating instincts were activating, rather than the lethal territorial ones.

You had researched Duros mating rituals while trying to understand the bite, and you had a fairly good idea of what happened next. You’d left the bottom half of your body glove and your boots outside the door for a reason. It still didn’t prepare you when he reached under your knees, lifted your legs apart, and slid into you.

You let out a muffled cry and he growled a warning. Only the head of his phallus had made it past your entrance before he was forced to stop, your body too tight.

“B… Bane,” you panted. “Go sl-slow. It’s too much—”

He growled again, wrapped his fingers in your hair and yanked back, exposing your throat, and bit down over the twin scars on your shoulder.

You cried out again. His teeth pricked at your skin but not enough to hurt, not even to bleed you, but something electric and hot went down your chest and across your stomach.

And then Bane thrust the head of his cock another inch, barely inside you, when cool liquid burst from the tip, coating your cunt in the thick liquid.

You panted even though it had happened quickly, relieved that it had. Surely, it was enough for Bane to come to his senses now that he’d orgasmed.

He let go of your neck, slid down your body, and braced himself between your legs.

“Bane, what—”

His mouth was on you, devouring you without warning. His tongue lapped at your entrance as if to clean you, but then he licked his way up to your clit and sucked.

You were sure you yelled, but it was hard to tell with your mind exploding like a meteor shower, one hand fisted into your robes as the other gripped the crown of his hat. He forced your legs wide open, his long fingers spread across your thighs, and he slid two fingers inside you, stroking your walls.

Impatience and need radiated from his mind, potent enough that it washed over you, and when his lips closed over your clit and he curled his fingers, you were undone. Pleasure ripped through your body in a shockwave, fluid gushing over his fingers and mouth as he made a further mess of you.

You barely recovered your breath before he flipped you onto your stomach, your robes tangled around your waist as he slid further up your body. He pressed against your back, and he growled words into your hair.

“Shouldn’t have come here.”

You scrambled to sort your thoughts enough to answer, but then his hands gripped your hips and tilted them upward, your only warning before he notched his cock at your entrance and pushed back inside.

You cried into your arm to muffle the sound, though it wasn’t from the pain you expected. The mixture of fluids and slick made the glide much easier this time, and he was careful, more controlled.

He was still too big for someone who’d had sex only once before, and you panted into the sleeve of your robes, shivering as he pushed as deep as he could go.

“Shouldn’t have come here,” Bane repeated in a frustrated growl, pulling out an inch and thrusting into you. The movement jostled you and sent a fresh wave of need through your sensitive flesh.

“Why.” Another thrust of his hips, another small cry leaving your mouth.

“H-had to—”

You barely got the words out before another slap of his hips hit yours.

“No.” Thrust. “Ye didn’t.”

Your hands clenched tight around your mussed robes, needing something to hold on to as his thrusts, though slow, hit hard enough to make your eyes water and your breath shake.

You swallowed, gasped, and then let out a pleading moan. It was becoming too hard to think.

“You n-needed help. I had to—”

Another thrust that made your toes curl and your back arch.

“Try. Again.”

You shook your head, too overwhelmed to think, and he stopped. Bane stayed perfectly still, his hands hard on your hips and his cock buried up to the hilt.

You whined and nudged your hips against his, but he pressed you flat to the floor so you couldn’t move. And then in a move that was the cruelest by far, he slid his hand under your stomach, found your neglected clit, and pressed his finger tight against it.

You cried out and tried to buck him off, the pressure too much and horrifyingly not enough, but he had you effectively trapped.

“Why are you here,” Bane snarled, and you wailed:

“For you!”

He snarled again, and you sensed it wasn’t the answer he was searching for, but you weren’t done yet, your words coming out as a jumbled mess.

“I tried to forget what happened, forget about you, did everything I was supposed to. I tried. I did the right thing.”

Bane’s words tickled your ear.

“And yet, here you are, under me. Makin’ a mess.”

You buried your face in your arms, shame warring with pleasure and making both worse in a feedback loop. You trembled so hard your teeth chattered.

“I’m s-sorry. I know this isn’t what you w-want. I’m n-not who you want.”

But Bane shushed you, surprisingly gentle. His finger eased up and began to rub you in circles, his words dropping into a purr.

“Ye don’t know what I want.”

You shuddered, a little more sympathetic to his need to bite when you bit down on a piece of your cloak. You spasmed around his cock, nearing the edge but not quite able to tip over.

“And what do you want?” he asked, his movements languid and lazy on your clit, refusing to push you over the edge. Tears squeezed through your eyelids as he slowly unraveled your composure with a single finger.

You groaned something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

When you didn’t respond, he took your clit between two fingers and pinched, not hard enough to hurt but enough to force your pleasure to plateau. You nearly screamed in frustration, ripping the cloak from your mouth.

“You!”

He finally found the answer he was looking for, or maybe Bane decided to stop tormenting you. He released your clit and then rubbed it hard, making up for his teasing by planning to throw you right over the edge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice dragging over your nerves and coaxing down your spine. “Let go.”

And you did, clenching around him with a broken sob. You still throbbed as he started to move again, the sense of need and urgency in him too great to remain still, and he fucked you until the wet noise of your soaking cunt filled the room.

You simply went limp, letting him use you how he wanted, your mind choked and your body loose with pleasure, at least until the pressure built again. Something else was changing; his movements slowed as it grew harder for him to move freely inside you. You remembered that increasing fullness from the first time, and how he quickly pulled out after it began.

He didn’t now, though you sensed he tried, but his instincts overrode his decision, and he buried himself as far as he would go before he burst inside you.

You were just on the edge, and he drove you over with a caress of his finger, and it was too much. His cock had grown in width, and you were pulled open so far it was almost impossible to clench around him. You wailed into your robes, helpless to stem the tide of pleasure as your body twitched and writhed.

He was still spilling inside you, filling you until the pressure pushed against your pelvis, and you groaned.

“W… what is… that?”

He rested his face against the crook of your neck, catching his breath.

“Latches.”

You made a questioning noise, and he sighed.

“They’re kinda like… rough patches of skin. Flat most times, but after certain… kinds of fuckin’, they can rise up and latch on. Can’t pull out ‘til they smooth out again.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to pull your mind from the hazy, post-orgasm mire.

“I remember. From my research.”

“Yer research?”

“About Duros mating habits.”

Bane let out a dubious noise and lifted off your back. The sudden tug against your insides made you cry out and try to pull away, which would have made it even worse and possibly dangerous. But Bane wrapped his arms around your waist and rolled you onto your side, your back pressed firm against his chest.

“And why were you lookin’ at those?”

Your cunt throbbed, oversensitive and sore, and you took a deep breath to focus. Ultimately a mistake when the room smelled like musk and sex.

“I was trying to understand you.”

“How’d that go?”

“Not great.”

“Better luck next time.”

You let out a small noise, then winced as the almost-laugh made you jostle around his cock.

“I’m here, so I must have gotten something right.”

“Yer a warm body. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Right.”

You said the word quietly, and after a moment of silence, he sighed.

“Didn’t mean it.”

“Are you sure?”

The question wasn’t sarcastic or aggressive. You genuinely wanted to know.

His arms tightened around you, the flat of his face half-pressed into your hair. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he had a fascination with touching it.

“That malfunctioning droid shouldn’t have gotten ya involved, but… ye still showed up. Took a risk for me. Won’t be somethin’ I’m inclined to forget.”

You frowned.

“I didn’t do it so you’d owe me a favor.”

“Then what do ye want?”

“I told you.”

He snorted.

“I don’t hold folks to what they scream mid-fuck.”

“I didn’t scream.”

“Ye were singin’ yer lungs out.”

You dropped the subject, sensing you weren’t going to win that argument, and thought for a long moment, then you asked, “How long is this… latching supposed to take?”

“Donno.” You felt the movement of his shoulders shrugging. “It’s… been a while.”

And then as if he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving something vulnerable said, he poked your side and sneered, “Thought you were the expert on Duros dick.”

You coughed out a laugh and then winced. He wasn’t just latched, he was still hard inside you.

“I think I’ll need a lot more experience until I’m considered an expert.”

“Is that a request?”

Your lips pressed tight together. Flirtatious Bane was almost as lethal as… Bane the rest of the time.

“If… this mating cycle is going to be a recurring thing…”

“It’s not.”

You didn’t know if that meant there would never be another cycle, or if he simply wouldn’t ask for your help, but you pressed on.

“Well, if it was, or if… I wouldn’t mind… I suppose… if the sex happened again—”

“Ye suppose. Ye wouldn’t mind. Calm down, Master Jedi, yer excitement is overwhelming.”

You laughed aloud this time, and Bane groaned.

“Don’t… do that ‘til I’m out.”

“Then don’t be funny.”

“Been accused of a lot, but that’s a new charge.”

You smiled but said nothing, staring out into the dark and simply absorbing the moment. Your head rested on your discarded cloak, your robes fallen open but still somehow on, and the bounty hunter warm against your back, arms tucked around you.

“Sex without attachment isn’t against our creed, but it is unusual,” you said without prompting, figuring he was owed an explanation at this point. “And you’re right, I was curious. I hired the companion for discretion and didn’t plan to ever do it again. I simply… wanted to expand my experience and knowledge. That’s all it was supposed to be.”

Bane grunted in response, and you nearly startled when his finger brushed against your stomach, but you relaxed as he traced a pattern across your bare skin, as if not paying attention to what he was doing.

“And what’s yer assessment?”

As if he didn’t have the answer leaking all over his cock.

“I enjoyed it.”

There was more to it than that, so much more, but you didn’t know how to put it into words, and he didn’t pursue that line of thought further.

“So, will you be goin’ back for more helpings? Or was it a one-and-done deal.”

You didn’t bother pointing out this was technically a twice-done deal.

“I’m done with brothels and companions.”

“Ain’t what I’m askin’.”

He was dancing around the issue worse than a nuna on a stretch of hot sand, but when it came to navigating this unfamiliar emotional terrain, you weren’t much better. You were alike in that way. Maybe you understood him better than you thought.

You turned your head, angled his chin in your hand, and pressed your lips to his. He stiffened, his hands frozen around your waist, and you licked the inside of his mouth, feeling the shape of his teeth before breaking the kiss.

“Does that answer your question, or do I need to sing it again?”

He growled and slid out of you without warning. Thankfully, the movement came easy, and copious amounts of fluid gushed out of you.

And then he rolled you to face him, hooked your leg over his hip, and thrust into you. Bane swallowed your cry with his mouth, hungry and tasting your flavor, and as he buried his cock deep, Todo’s words echoed faintly in your thoughts.

…Mating cycles don’t end for the equivalent of a standard week.

Your heartbeat pulsed in time to the twin scars on your shoulder, a reminder of your collective missteps. But you both could keep secrets, and non-attachment was a bounty hunter’s closest companion.

I won’t grow attached, you thought, and then you couldn’t think at all, his hands and lips everywhere, your body open and willing. And the lie you told yourself tasted almost as sweet as him.

[kattartsblog]

Rated: M for Mature

Warnings: light neck biting, oc x canon, make out, crack fic

Author's Note: Back when I was first writing Makina, I wanted her to end up with Murderface. This did not pan out when I began outlining “Medusa Ex Makina” in detail. However, I thought it would be funny for April Fools to let this crack ship sail for today.

Another tour, another set of groupies, and Murderface was left out of the fun. A gaggle of hot ladies had followed the rest of Dethklok to their respective rooms for their ‘VIP time’. The bassist knew the drill by now, he was to either be in his room beating his meat to the sounds of his fellow band mates having the time of their lives or watch TV in the living room alone and lay on the couch wallowing in his own self hatred. Murderface had nothing to lose and waltzed over to the living room. However, he wasn't entirely alone. There on the couch was Nathan’s protégé, Makina. She was eased back into the sofa. “Hey, mind if I join you?” Murderface asked. Makina’s ears perked up as she noticed his iconic lateral lisp. “Yeah, sure. Fuck if I care.” the Raven haired rookie replied as she patted the cushion next to her. 

“What’cha watching?” he asked while taking his seat. “It's that one movie with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds.” Makina replied. “It's a stupid movie, I mean she's only falling for him because she actually feels something for him at the end. It's unrealistic as hell!”

“Sounds like you've seen this movie before.” Murderface snickered. “I did, but there's nothing good on so who gives a shit.” Makina pouted, as she crossed her arms dramatically. “Do you want to change the channel to check?” the bassist asked. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Murderface questioned. Makina didn't answer, her focus was back on the TV. He sighed as he put his arm on the top of the sofa. What was just a few minutes felt like hours had gone by. His attention went to Makina, her eyes fluttered a bit as she accidentally leaned onto her side getting closer to the bassist. Makina lifted her feet onto the couch and laid her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat a bit faster.

Murderface took this as an opportunity to scoop the singer up in his arms, placing one arm under her breast. Makina placed her hands on his forearm, bringing it closer to her. He took notice and rested his cheek on top of the singer’s head, he hummed as he snuggled up with her. Murderface cracked a smile, as Makina’s slow breathing was matching his. 

The two were usually at each other’s throats, squabbling about trivial matters or getting into violent fights. But for once in their putrid lives, there was a sense of calm between them. “Hey Makina. Wanna do something really dumb?” he asked. Makina turned her head just a tad, humming in response. The bassist rarely called her by her first name unless he was going to say something serious. “What if we made out?” suggested Murderface. Makina's eyes shot open, “What?”

“I mean… in this moment. You actually look really pretty right now. And kissable too.”

“Where the hell is all this coming from, hmm?” she asked with what was supposed to be an annoyed tone, but sounded a bit playful underneath. “I don't fucking know, but Makina I-” 

Before Murderface could answer, the Raven haired woman shifted her body to where she could face him. Her chest was now laying on his stomach, while his arm was still holding her in place. Their eyes met, his warm spring green eyes stared back at her amber browns. The air became tense, Murderface's heart began to race faster as Makina slowly blinked back at him. Murderface loosened his grip, shifted his body onto the couch, and brought both of his hands to reach for Makina's sides. The vocalist sat up in response as she began repositioning herself to lay on top of him, her hands placed firmly on his chest. Makina's legs straddled him as the two felt a sudden heat. 

Without even a second thought, Murderface gingerly rubbed her back with one hand and brought the other to her face. She promptly pushed her cheek into his dry blistered palms. “Promise me you won't brag about this to the guys, ok William?” Makina whispered, the bassist’s heart pinged at his first name being used. “I promise.” Murderface softly replied. Makina leaned in, closing her eyes. The film in the background still played as the main character made it back to see his lover. It was perfect timing as Makina and Murderface mirrored the pair on screen, locking lips and kissing tenderly. At first it was just small pecks, which then evolved into longer and more drawn out. Eventually, this led Murderface to let his tongue inside her mouth. He brought her head closer to him as she wiggled her arms around his neck to get into a more comfortable position. Makina’s tongue wrapped around his till Murderface pulled away. 

“I forgot you have that long tongue of yours.” He commented as the long appendage hung from her mouth. Makina realized her tongue was practically deep throating the bassist, she sheepishly looked to the side while sliding her tongue back into her mouth. “Why did you stop?” he asked. “This is the part where people usually get turned off and leave.” she said disappointingly. Murderface had always made fun of the way her tongue was abnormally long like a giraffe, or how gross it always looked. But tonight was different, he needed to have her close to him at this moment. He inhaled sharply and pulled her towards him, frenching the vocalist once more. Makina squeaked in surprise and soon they were back into the rhythm they had previously. The bassist stroked her back with each deepening kiss, reassuring her that he wasn't going anywhere. Makina moaned a bit into his mouth, savoring the flavor of his tongue onto hers as she began to peel away her hoodie revealing her strapless black tube top. 

The movie’s credits began to roll and the next film started to play. Makina pulled away and looked up to see the opening credits of ‘10 things I hate about you.’ “Oh great, an even worse rom com.” Makina stated, rolling her eyes. Murderface gingerly pushed Makina’s cheek, “Forget about that shit, pay attention to me.” He whispered as he caressed the vocalist, she pressed her forehead to his, tightening the gap between them. Murderface glided his thumb from the corner of her mouth to the top of her cheekbone. Makina smirked at the gentleness she was receiving as stands of her hair landed on the bassist's face. She lowered her head on to the crook of Murderface's neck and gently began to kiss it. “What do you think you're doing there?” He cooed, Makina didn't answer. Murderface then felt small little nibbles along his neck and hissed, as she continued to suck on his flesh. 

Makina then lifted her head and saw the black stained kisses outlining the mark she inflicted upon him. She then took a look at the rest of his face. His lips were stained black as if he ate a slice of black frosted cake. “Oops, guess they're gonna know anyway.” Makina shrugged playfully. “Cause of the hickey?”

“No dumbass, your lips.” Murderface paused and licked his lips, he could taste the flavor of the lipstick on his tongue. “So, wanna keep going baby?”

“Oh, don't start calling me baby, dickhead.” Makina replied sharply. Murderface quickly kissed her cheek, “But seriously, I do wanna keep doing this for shits and giggles. Wanna take it to your room?” Makina asked. Murderface smirked and nodded, jackpot. 

Makina got off of Murderface and grabbed the remote from the coffee table to turn off the TV. Murderface stood holding out his hand, the singer quickly tied her hoodie around her waist and grabbed it. He began leading her down the hallway towards his bedroom, “Don't think this’ll be an all the time thing, tomorrow it's back to our violent routine.” Makina stated as she leaned into his arm lovingly. “I know, but tonight you're mine.” the bassist murmured, Makina scoffed sarcastically at the lame attempt at a flirtatious remark. Murderface was glad that he didn't watch TV alone.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

I don’t know how to start messages (except like this), but hope you get the writing juice back soon! At your own pace of course.

Hope this isn’t somehow annoying (I overthink a lot and over-explain/apologize as a result, sorry), and that you take care of yourself, stay hydrated, and all that jazz! Also that you have a happy new year when it passes by :)

Also, bit unrelated, but seriously, how the fuck do you write so well? It’s like magic/witchcraft, and I mean that in a very complimentary way (hope it’s not strange, but same anon who left the long compliment message. Just for context, hope that’s not annoying). Feel free to ignore this bottom part but do you have any tips/advice for writing? Always wanted to but never knew how to start.

Again, and I’m not saying this to somehow be guilt-trippy (I SWEAR I’m not, just want to make sure my writing tone is clarified, I’m not good at telling it) feel free to not answer, but your writing is genuinely some of the best I’ve ever read, top 10 for sure!

ANYWAYS, hope you have a great rest of your day/night (even though I just said that at the beginning lol) and that I didn’t somehow accidentally mess my writing up and come off as offensive or strange or weird somehow (my overthinking is strong, I apologize in advance.) :)

-idk

Hi!! Happy new year!

I apologize for not being very quick at answering, I'm very lazy and not always online. But I have seen and read all your asks from the first one and appreciate them so much. <3 If you want, you can give yourself an anon nickname - for example, someone sends me the occasional anonymous ask with a strawberry emoji at the end, so I know it's the same person!

And oh gosh...I'm so flattered that you like my writing?? I don't consider myself particularly good but I enjoy it a lot and am at least happy enough with things to share them. One cool thing about this community is how responsive people are to the work they enjoy, for any writer or artist or creator that is such a gift!

So, it's worth mentioning that I minored in writing in college. I mention that because it contributed to my personal experience with writing but in no way do I think someone needs to formally study to become a good writer, nor does formal study guarantee being one.

Also, I didn't go into any jobs that involve writing, it has remained just a hobby, and I'm fine with that. I strongly believe that creating and enjoying art is for everyone regardless of skill level and without being expected to monetize it or gain popularity. We are so lucky to be able to read, write, draw, paint, etc, when through much of human history, and still in parts of the world, those things were only available to a privileged few. Now I can write and doodle in a cheap shitty Dollar Tree notebook if I want to and no one can stop me.

I don't feel qualified to give too much advice, but I can at least share some things that have worked for me. And I encourage other writers who see this to do the same!

Read. The more you read, and the more variety especially, the more you will pick up. The idea of course isn't to copy other people's work but to get a feel for different styles, learn new words and phrases, be inspired. My love of writing started with reading.

Practice. This is the most boring answer but also unfortunately the most important. Sometimes you just gotta do the thing to get better at the thing.

Daydream. This isn't for everyone, but I have always had an active imagination. As long as I can remember I would imagine little scenarios in my head, sometimes over and over to try out different versions of them or add details. Writing can just be having little stories in your head that you feel compelled to put down, and doing so can be really rewarding whether you share them or not.

Outline. This is pretty basic, I just love to outline. It doesn't have to be a fancy formatted one, just jot down the key points of the thing you want to write, in order. Then fill it out with notes, phrases, any other ideas you have. None of this has to be fleshed out, it's just to organize your thoughts.

Drafts are good, actually. Have a first draft and a second and a third if you need to. Move things around, delete, rewrite, reword, whatever. Nothing has to be perfect the first time through, sometimes it's nice to just let the words flow and figure out the details later.

Learn the rules so you can break them. Even if you don't take writing in school, there are lots of ways to study basic grammar, punctuation, writing tools like metaphors and similes and all that. The point isn't to write like a robot, it is to have a solid foundation on which to build your creativity. Lots of pretty words are pointless if the reader can't understand what you're trying to communicate. And once you know the 'rules', you can intentionally bend and break them to create a desired effect and develop a personal style.

And finally,

WRITE WHAT YOU WANT.

It's a phrase that gets thrown around a lot, and I'm glad because it's true but saying it and getting it are two different things. If you're writing as a hobby, it's meant to be enjoyed. Write things you would want to read. Write the things that feel right to you. Write things that help you express something. Write things that challenge you in a positive way, or write things that are comforting and simple, as long as it's coming from within you.

And if you aren't feeling it, it's ok to just...stop. Or at least pause. I am still learning that I don't have to force myself to write just because I think someone is expecting it, I don't have to fill a prompt that doesn't interest me just because I feel bad if I don't. I have piles of unfinished word docs and google docs and tumblr drafts that will never get finished and that is OK. Give yourself permission for that to be OK. When you let go of the projects that feel like a slog you give more space for the projects that spark joy!

Anyway, I hope any of this is helpful. However you do it, I hope you will create something!

[weakkness]

(paper) jammed from sohee, to @versionloop

it's rare for sohee to step out of her comfort zone and actually do something around campus instead of holing up in her dorm. sure, she's always busy, but it's always something she can do without leaving her own living room. it only took a few doomscrolls and some painfully targeted (thank you algorithm) tiktoks about the loneliness epidemic for her to try out one of their tips: do something that you'd usually do at home, outside. sounds simple enough, no? plus, the professor insists on all papers being printed and filed properly, and she hasn't been able to use her printer since she tried to replace the ink cartridges and accidentally created a never seen before pollock on her thrifted tablecloth.

four time winner of the "this is the fastest campus leaver i know" yearly awards, sohee can't say she's familiar with sejeong library. after spending one semester living on campus as a first year, she begged her parents to let her stay home during the school year and left campus the second she no longer had to stay there. there's something about a building so big that makes sohee feel even smaller, air getting thicker as she starts to grow aware more aware of her surroundings than the task at hand. it takes some getting used to, but eventually she's able to get comfortable enough to turn her rough outline and scribbled notes into a paper she can submit without feeling shame. now the only thing left for her to do is print it. easy, simple, non-threatening.

it's a truth universally acknowledged that printers can smell fear, and then act accordingly. although usually sohee would not turn down the spotlight, the last thing she wants is everyone's eyes on her as she curses that evil machine out. keeping her head high, she walks towards the printing area with extreme serenity, carefully placing her laptop on an available space and barely clicking the buttons as if it could feel the strength. the first roar of the machine catches her off guard, but she collects herself as she remembers that's usually how these things start. then, the almost soothing uniform beat begins, luring her into a sense of security that is halted half as quickly. the beat is syncopated, some random light starts flickering, the cancel button doesn't seem to do anything. she's fucked.

"please..." she pleads to the ruthless machine, her tone desperate as it takes everything in her not to smack and shake it.

[inkshine]

(reblogging from my main account due to technical issues)

Thank you for the tag! Sorry for the late response, I didn't see the notification for this for some reason?? Well, now that that's been remedied, let's jump in!

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I made my first Writeblr sometime around 2022-ish, but I hardly ever posted anything there. Then one night, after really getting my stride on Writeblr for the first time, there was a Tumblr glitch and the blog was accidentally deleted in 2023. I remade it that same night. So 2023, but 2022 if you want to be specific about details.

What led you to create it?

I had just self-published my first book and was trying to promote it on social media more. I was super shy at first and hardly posted anything, but now that I've relaxed and figured out how this site works, I love it!

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

How many new people I've met and how many people's writing I've gotten the chance to read. I never would have made these connections without Writeblr, and I'm forever grateful.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

If I'm being brutally honest, I still have some shyness I'm working through. For years before I published, and even for some time after getting published for the first time, I didn't really tell anyone about my writing unless they were close friends or family. I had never even posted any long-form writing online before self-publishing. I went straight for the big guns lol. But a side effect of this is that sometimes I still feel awkward talking about my writing sometimes, so if you've ever talked to me about an oc and my response seemed cryptic or weird, I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me. This doesn't mean I don't want people to talk to me about my writing (please do!) it just means I want you to know I can be awkward sometimes.

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

I usually just default to "YA fantasy" lol.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created.  Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Ursa, Isabella, Peter, Gemm, Claudia, Kahzeh, Su, Kazik, Kainma, Iwa, Nai, Leeva, Yufei, Hayde, Agath, Troopi, Tamsen.

Who’s the most unhinged?

Oh, that's a tough one. I'm going to go with Kazik, the main antagonist of Splintertown. He committed a crime far beyond the pale and spent three years running from it, twisted up inside by his own guilt and instability. While his villainy isn't on as "grand" of a scale as some other antagonists who want to take over the world and stuff, he's just sunk to such deep lows that he feels he has nothing left to hold him back. There's nothing hinging him, so he's well, unhinged.

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

To be honest? I don't know.

Do you ever cringe at them?

Oh yeah. Some of them are pathetic, but what can I say? They're my pathetic losers.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters?  AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

I feel like I create an outline for the plot of my story, and then my characters create their own path through it. (I guess that's a fancy way of saying I figure more of the minute details and exact order of events by experiencing it through them). Things have definitely gotten pretty unexpected, I would say all of them take things into their own hands at some point.

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

I *love* asks, replies, all of it!

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Not really, I'm pretty satisfied with how it is right now. Keep being awesome, guys!

What makes you decide against following?

If a person expresses bigoted beliefs, or a lot of other common DNI criteria. Although I'm gonna be honest, I just straight up don't follow that many people. I just don't get the urge to follow someone very frequently, even if I genuinely like them. I should probably change that. But just if you're seeing this and I don't follow you, don't worry, it's not you, it's me.

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

I am *deep* into working on a third novel, which I'm not going to talk about here because 1. I have so much to say about it I would probably end up derailing this entire post and 2. I dislike talking about my WIPs before they're finished. I feel like giving people too many details or expectations would make me feel pressured to stay within the pre-existing idea I gave people, possibly hindering my own writing process. (I will answer the next WIP related questions, just avoiding details.)

How long have you been working on them?

Shadow's Hidden Blade took about 2 years. I started in 2020, and it was finished in 2022. The earliest concept I had for something that would become Splintertown was all the way back in 2018-2019, and I kept that vague concept on the backburner until about 2021, when I started working on it in earnest. It was finished in 2024. As for my secret work in progress, I got inspired to create in 2020, and it's still being worked on, potential completion date unknown.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

Shadow's Hidden Blade and Splintertown were both inspired by music! In 2020 I heard the song "Something Wicked" by Vernian Process, which is about a creepy circus. I started toying with my own ideas for a magic circus in my head, and something very large and strange began to grow from that initial very small idea. The earliest drafts of that story are nothing like the final product, and for that I'm honestly glad, because now it's the Shadow's Hidden Blade we all know and love.

In 2018-2019 I heard the song "Nightmare Parade" by FAKE TYPE, which is about the Japanese myth of the baku. I was hynotized by the music and the concept, and wanted to create my own creature in my head that ate dreams. Splintertown grew from there over the years. (Disclaimer: I am not Japanese. The dream-eating creatures in Splintertown are not baku, they are my own creation with a similar ability. I am not claiming to have any right or ownership over the Japanese myth in any way.)

Secret Work in Progress was also initially influenced by a song and some music, and also a dream I had. It's now totally different than all of the things that initially inspired it, though!

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

...a lot.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

A lot!

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

I really enjoyed The Tengu and The Angel by @alinacapellabooks and I thought about Kunio a lot when I first read the book. I loved The Silver Birds by @apolline-lucy , it's a treasure!

Tagging @thebearthatreads

✨Writer Questionnaire Tag ✨

Thank you for the tags @wyked-ao3 here, and @thatuselesshuman here ! Y’all are great! 💛✨

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

I’ve had this blog since….end of April? Early May?

What led you to create it?

When I set up all my socials, I wanted to use this as a way to build a writing community, share my stories, and exploring and sharing the ideas of other likeminded individuals.

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

How kind and welcoming writeblr is. The community is supportive of everyone’s stories and OCs, and everyone has some wonderfully unique and fascinating characters.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

You are always. Always. ALWAYS welcome to tag me, message me, send asks, interact with me. I absolutely endorse the engagement and excitement in this community, and even though I may miss a few tags, just know that seeing you tag me to see your stories brings the biggest, goofiest smile on my face. Thank you for being you and sharing your creative minds with us 💛✨

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

Kindness, support, and creative stories. Keep writing, keep inspiring, keep on keeping on.

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Your Wish Is My Command is my current WIP at about 75% complete. I have a little bit to share from Tenshito as well, but the latter will have to get majorly cut down and restructured before it’s ready ✨

How long have you been working on them?

Planning and ideas began a couple of years ago. Writing them down? For YWIMC since early May, and Tenshito since 2020 (took a hiatus to focus on work and big life stuff, like moving twice and getting married)

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

My love of storytelling, video games, and Disney. I wrote and published Peter Hart based off of a few of my favorite video games 🏴‍☠️💛✨

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

All the time. At least once a day, if not more. My stories help me get to sleep…when I eventually GET to sleep 😴💤

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

BL romantasy novels. It encompasses every person asking, and umbrellas many subgenres.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created.  Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

Oof that’s a big list. Let me just do major protagonists/antagonists from stories: Peter, Benjamin, Davey, Ali, Noah, Tenshi, Itazura, Yoji, Tyr, Gustav, Jak, Johnny, Nathan, X, Ollie, and Callum

Who’s the most unhinged?

Peter 🏴‍☠️💛✨

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

Peter 🏴‍☠️💛✨

Do you ever cringe at them?

Sometimes….depends on what they do. I never cringe at my stories, but sometimes my characters make choices that personally make me go “😬”

How much control do you feel you have over your characters?  AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

(Slowly looks over at Peter)

Peter: …..What?

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

Oh always!! ALWAYS!! Any method is absolutely fine and encouraged by me, but I ALWAYS love when people leave AO3 comments on my stories 💖💫✨

On writeblr engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I scope out the content before I follow for sure. Because I write adult fiction, I look through posts to make sure that our interests would align, and that the blog mentions an age that is 18+. If I am ever uncertain or have a suspicion beyond a reasonable doubt that the blog is run by a minor, I won’t follow them (and unfollow if I get suspicious of their posts)

What makes you decide against following?

I use discretion on age, politics, and religion before following. Any homophobic, transphobic, or otherwise hateful conduct gets automatically blocked. The world needs more kindness and uplifting of one another. We need to bring each other up, not tear each other down.

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

I try to! Usually in the form of reblogs and ask games. My pile for work and tumblr keeps stacking though, so I find myself getting very busy very often (and that’s a good thing! ✨)

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

All the time, every time. To name a few mutuals: G.J, Jamie, Gioia, Casper, Tobin, Jay, Wyked, Gina, and Jev have characters that are my current hyperfixations. But there are SO, SO many that are so interesting that I want to learn more!! ✨

Thank you so much for tagging me, you two!! Going to alert the tag list on this one 💛✨

✨Tag list for writing snippets below. DM me if you’d like to be added 👇✨

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)

@jev-urisk , @sunglasses-in-the-bentley , @wyked-ao3 , @glasshouses-and-stones , @alinacapellabooks , @gioiaalbanoart , @fortunatetragedy , @deanwax , @dyrewrites , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @lychhiker-writes , @thatuselesshuman , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @zackprincebooks , @fantasy-things-and-such , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @houseplantblank , @far-cry-from-finality , @froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @thecoolerlucky , @willtheweaver , @rivenantiqnerd @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @leahnardo-da-veggie , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives , @theink-stainedfolk , @ominous-feychild , @saturnine-saturneight , @words-after-midnight , @sableglass , @cowboybrunch , @moltenwrites , @pixies-love-envy , @davycoquette , @writeahurricane , @nczaversnick , @greenfinchwriter , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @lavender-gloom , @smellyrottentrees , @aintgonnatakethis , @thecomfywriter

[theonewiththefanfics]

Home (one-shot)

Synopsis: for a while Y/N Stark has been together with Shang-Chi. They bask in one another’s love, and couldn’t imagine a life without them. But when Y/N is called on a mission, some feelings are rethought, and could change the course of their relationship forever.

Pairing: Shang-Chi x f!Avenger!Reader

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: Set after the events of the movie so BEWARE OF SPOILERS, blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of death, the usual you’ve come to expect from me. If there is anything else, please do let me know :)

Word count: 5150

I am nothing but a simp for this man. If you haven’t seen Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, do it! It’s so good! 100% in the top 5 favourite Marvel movies of all time! Simu Liu is a god!!!

Life had a funny way of turning itself upside down. The first time it’d happened for Y/N was when her mom had put her in a car at the age of six telling her they’d be going on a road trip, but instead, she’d left her at the doors of a mansion in California.           Turned out it was the house of the one and only Tony Stark. Her mom had left a note in the pocket of her coat, claiming she was the product of their one-night stand. Now, Y/N knew it was a lie, but Tony had taken her in. He’d raised her and treated her as if she was his own, so when he’d gotten taken by the Ten Rings, it had shattered her world. That was the first time, she became aware of her powers, as an earthquake rippled all across the continent. She wished she could say the Ten Rings were the end of it, the betrayal of Obadiah a conclusion, but no. There came more and more villains, in a never ending stream, not only from Earth, but from outer space, beings claiming to be gods, wanting to put their rule on others or wipe half the universe out. But funnily enough, how she ended up in the arms of the man who was the son of the creator of the same terrorist organization who’d kidnapped her dad, who’d started it all, was beyond Y/N, but she wasn’t complaining. At that point, after everything she’d been through, Shang-Chi was the only thing that made sense.

          Sun was streaming in through the small first-floor window, golden rays cascading over their bodies. Shang-Chi’s soft snores invaded her ears, and his strong heartbeat echoed her own. A pleasant soreness had spread throughout her body, a little reminded of their escapades during the night. A small smile erupted on her face as she recalled his head between her legs and many more positions they’d been in.           “Don’t,” Shang-Chi groaned, tightening his hold on her before mumbling something in Y/N’s Y/H/C hair she couldn’t quite discern.           Gently she laid her palm on his chest, tracing invisible love confessions on his skin. “Come again?”           This time it was him who grinned. “I did,” he said, and received a smack on his peck, but he just chuckled. “I meant don’t wake up. It’s too early. And it’s a Saturday. Let’s sleep in, let’s cuddle the whole day away.”           Y/N sighed, relaxing her body against his, and closed her eyes. “Wish I could. But the world won’t save itself. Besides, don’t you have the evening shift with Katy?” Despite him having become a literal Avenger alongside her, he still retained his day job, and Y/N’s day job hadn’t changed since she’d snuck into the tower while Loki was trying to take over New York and flung him out of the window with her powers, a green cape the only thing left on the floor where she’d accidentally stepped on it.           Shang-Chi sighed and moved them in a position he could better look at Y/N, better appreciate the girl in his arms. “But can’t you like, let this one get handled by Spider-man or the Hulk? We could go to karaoke or something.” He gently traced the outline of her lips with his thumb. “We haven’t had a date night in ages.”           “I know,” Y/N said, and pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb. “But I promised to take part in this one. Sam and Buck are counting on me.”           Her boyfriend nodded, but his eyebrows were furrowed. She and Bucky had… history. He knew only bits and pieces, and honestly, Shang-Chi wasn’t sure he’d stay level-headed enough while hearing the whole truth, so he was content knowing just the bits Y/N had deigned important enough to share. “Hey, look at me.” Her fingers gently gripped his chin, and Shang-Chi’s eyes finally met hers. “You’re the only one I’ve ever let in the kitchen with me while I’ve been making food. That means we’re practically married.” It was like she could read his mind, easing his anxieties just when he needed.           A brilliant smile erupted on his face. “Does it?”           “Yeah.” She smiled, cupping his cheek. “In my book, if I’m not throwing you out of the room while cooking, it means that’s it. You’re done. I have laid my claim, and you have no chance of escaping. ”           Shang-Chi hummed, leaning into Y/N’s touch. “Honestly – never been happier to be a hostage.”           “A hostage?” Y/N quirked a brow. “It seems to me in this relationship, I’ve been the only one that’s gotten tied up.”           “Hey!” His fingers dug into her sides, making her shriek and cackle. “You know I’m more than happy to try out whatever the hell you want. But I do draw a line at fire.”           “Damn.” She dropped her head to his chest as if in defeat. “And here goes my plans of lighting your hair on fire.”           “You wouldn’t dare harm these luscious locks!”           And that’s how the rest of their morning went. Bantering and kissing, groaning as the other got out of the bed and tried to pull them with, Y/N becoming a koala bear hanging onto his back as Shang-Chi made them quick breakfast, and sitting in his lap, as they enjoyed it while in bed. After that, they got ready in comfortable silence, Y/N packing Shang-Chi’s duffle bag, which he always allowed her to use, as most of her stuff was in the New York Avenger’s tower, and she left a copy of her suit at this place just in case. Katy had texted him a bit earlier to ask if he wanted to get lunch together, but before that he’d decided to run a few errands.           “Suit, gloves, shoes,” Y/N was muttering underneath her breath as she listed off the things she’d need for the mission.           “Don’t forget the first aid kit,” Shang-Chi shouted from the small bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth. Even though he couldn’t see it, she gave him a thumbs-up, and placed a comm inside her ear, just so she wouldn’t forget it. One time she had while on a mission in the Amazonian jungle, and none of her teammates could contact her after getting separated. It took Steve and Wanda three days before they located her passed out from under some bushes and covered in mud.           “I left it in the bag,” she’d mumbled as Steve had carried her back to the jet, her body dehydrated and tired with a deep gash along her thigh. “`S not my fault that thing’s so tiny I wouldn’t feel it even if I put it up my ass.”           Patting herself down one last time to make sure she had her phone and keys, Y/N slung the bag across her shoulder. “We’re thinking it’ll take about a week tops, but I’ll let you know through F.R.I.D.A.Y if anything changes.” She’d wrapped her around Shang-Chi’s neck, who’d watched with a kicked-puppy look the last of Y/N’s packing. “And please don’t worry about me. I’ve done this like a bajillion times.”           “I always worry.” He pouted even harder. “Kind of in the job description of being a husband.”           Y/N’s fingers trailed up the line of buttons, and she had to suppress a grin when a shudder went down his whole body. “And I kind of like the sound of that.”           “Of what? Me actually worrying about you?”           “No.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Of you calling yourself my husband. I like it a lot actually.”           That made a certain silence settle between them, as both of them mulled over the words said. Neither could say they hadn’t thought of where their future would take, but with Shang-Chi learning how to be an Avenger, and Y/N not ready to give it up as her full-time work, it left certain things unsaid, especially if they got married.           “What if – what if when you get back, we actually do it?”           Y/N looked up so fast her head almost knocked against Shang-Chi’s nose and that would definitely have been a disaster. She’d broken Clint’s nose once while both of them were doing the ‘Bend and Snap’, and she didn’t want to repeat history. Noses could bleed so much. “What do you mean?”           Shang-Chi let out a breath and took her smaller hands in his. He loved just how perfectly they fit together. “When you come back from the mission, let’s get married.”           “Are –,” Y/N was absolutely speechless, mind going a mile a minute. “Are you proposing?”           “Very badly, but, yes.” He let out a deep breath before pressing his forehead to hers. “Marry me. Give me the honour of being your husband. I’ve been looking at this one ring, and I’ve been saving up for it. I almost have enough to -,” but he didn’t get a chance to finish when Y/N’s lips on his stopped his ramblings.           “Is…” Shang-Chi was breathless, but not willing to open his eyes, hoping that what the kiss meant wouldn’t evaporate if he did. “Is that a yes?”           “It’s an `I don’t need a ring, to want to spend the rest of my life with you`. It’s a `yes` a million times over.”           He could cry. He was pretty sure he was crying, as Y/N’s hands cupped his cheeks and her calloused thumbs wiped under his eyes. Instinctively he kissed the tops of her hands.           “I’ll get that ring while you’re on the mission.” He finally opened his eyes to see Y/N’s so full of love, he almost choked.           “Shang-Chi…”           “No.” He shook his head. “I’ll get that ring, and when you come back, I’ll make us dinner, I’ll romance the shit out of you, and then I’ll – I’ll do it properly.”           “I can’t talk you into just making me some Pho and giving me a massage can I?”           “Absolutely not,” he chuckled, pressing his forehead to hers, and then lowering his voice. “I’ll propose how I should’ve. The way you deserve to be proposed to.”           Y/N sighed, relishing in the moment. “Well, then I guess, I’ll have to kick some Hydra ass as quick as possible.”           “Yes. You. Will.” Each word was accentuated by a kiss.           Y/N let out a content sigh as she relished in the kisses given to her. Shang-Chi definitely knew how to make it impossible for her to leave, but gave more reasons for her to return. She had to physically push him away and create an arm’s length distance between them, otherwise, she would’ve ripped off his clothes just like the previous evening.           “World… ending,” she panted, pointing at the door behind her, but shamelessly raking her gaze over his kiss-swollen lips and the shirt buttons she’d unconsciously opened. “I – go.”           “Yeah, yeah.” He raked a hand through his hair, nodding and biting his lower lip. “Yeah, you do that. Go – umm – save it and stuff.”           “Okay. Cool. I’ll see you in – in a week.”           Shang-Chi hummed. “See you in a week. I – uh – I love you.”           Y/N’s heart slowed into a steady thrum. When she’d been with Bucky, whenever he’d said that, it’d made her heart race, her body alight with desire, but when she was with Shang-Chi, whenever he muttered those words she couldn’t get enough, was when she realized what truly was like to be in love. It was serenity. The assuredness of the feelings and of your own. Security of having a home to come to. A slow, steady beat you knew wouldn’t falter.           “I love you too.”           His smile was the last thing she saw before the door closed, and she had to focus on saving the world once again, but god, could she care less about it when she had Shang-Chi to get back to.

***

          Shang-Chi was a light sleeper, but even a lighter one when Y/N was away. Despite her being one of the heirs to the Stark empire, and a literal billionaire, she’d always smile as if entering paradise when coming back to his dingy refurbished garage apartment. The first time he’d invited her over, he’d apologized a million times, feeling as though the date had been not up to her standards at all, as all he could afford was to take her out bowling, and she deserved fancier, so his apartment being the size of a shoebox, made him want to crawl in a hole, but Y/N had just shaken her head and pulled his mouth down to hers. He’d practically melted against hers.           “I wouldn’t care if you lived in the basement of Katy’s parent’s apartment. It’s not what makes a home.” She hadn’t elaborated on that, and he couldn’t ask more as her lips moved against his and all rational thought slipped away, nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt.           Now he understood though – Y/N was his home, so when the safety and warmth were taken away by her literally putting her life on the line, it was hard to feel content, especially when it’d been close to three weeks now since she’d been gone, with a single check-in from F.R.I.D.A.Y announcing they had to go `under the grid`, he could barely get any sleep. It’s why he was up at three AM by the small stove, cooking himself some dim-sum and then some to freeze for a later time, fingers expertly pleating each little dumping closed with the gentleness of a butterfly’s wings flap.           He was just about to start placing them in the steamer, when hushed voices just outside the flat, took his attention. Shang-Chi could discern there were two of them, two men from the low baritone tones, but there were more than two pairs of feet, as something in between the steps was dragging along the ground, but would take a step from time to time. Then what only could be a person thudded against his door, before keys jingled and it was unlocked.           Shang-Chi’s body was overcome with relief as they opened, immediately recognizing his love’s stealth suit, but it was short-lived when Y/N stumbled in, half dragged by the one and only Captain America and Bucky Barnes, the left side of her suit ripped to shreds and bleeding profusely.           For just a second, he was too stunned to move, to breathe or even think, but as Y/N got caught behind the leg of a chair, Shang-Chi was brought back to the horrible reality and sprang into action. Arms went under her own, and Y/N pretty much sagged against his chest, a pained whimper escaping her lips.           “We were going to the tower when she literally rewrote F.R.I.D.A.Y.`s code to bring her here.” Bucky sighed as Sam rushed into the flat without so much so as a `hello` and went to the faucet filling up a kettle and putting it to boil, before rushing to the bathroom and coming back with towels. “Yes,” Sam said through gritted teeth as he helped Shang-Chi adjust Y/N on the bed. “And then she promptly passed out. I don’t have clearance yet to override a Stark’s command. Asshole.” He threw Y/N a pissed off look, who just groaned as Shang-Chi was trying to unzip her clothes. You couldn’t just cut through them, but at the same time, the zipper was so caked with mud, debris and blood, it’d gotten stuck.           “Off,” she mumbled, hitting Sam’s arm.           “He’s trying, Y/N/N. It’s just stuck.”           “No,” she shook her head. “Shoes. Off. Can’t come inside the house with shoes. ‘S rude.”  The last bit was slurred and almost incomprehensible.           “Love, I really don’t care about that right now,” Shang-Chi said, voice trembling a bit, as finally, he got the suit open, but he wished he could close it back up. Broken ribs were sticking out through the skin, black blotches of clear internal bleeding so big they covered half of her chest and then some, but what was worse was the blood. So much blood, he was shocked she was still conscious. He was terrified to know how much she’d already lost.           Y/N furrowed her brows, and made a little flick of her hand, throwing Sam on his ass, and he scoffed, while she grumbled. “Shoes – off!”           Sam was furious by that point, as he pretty much ripped off his combat boots. “What the hell is wrong with you, Starks! You’re literally dying right now, and your concern is shoes?”           “Shoes!” she grumbled, not backing down, despite Bucky by her side with a bowl of steaming hot water and dipping the towels into it.           “This is going to hurt a lot, so you’ll have to hold her down,” Bucky instructed, and Shang-Chi nodded, as he and Sam both got ready to keep Y/N on the bed, the latter of the men, sitting down atop her thighs, while he himself wrapped a strong arm around her collarbone.           The second the towel touched Y/N’s skin, her back arched up as a scream ripped out from her throat and things went flying in the apartment as her powers flared up in protest, trying to protect her body from the pain. Shang-Chi’s heart broke at the sound. He’d never heard her like that, not even when his father had obscured her powers with the Ten Rings and had let Death Dealer torture her to get information as to what Shang-Chi or Xialing had told her, nor when she faced off with the Dweller in Darkness, one of it’s massive claws ripping through her shoulder.           “It’s alright,” he whispered in Y/N’s ear, as Bucky removed pieces of stone, and glass, and broken off bone that couldn’t remain in her body. “I’ve got you, love. I’ll always have you.”           A sob escaped Y/N’s mouth, her whole body shuddering in pain, but it seemed like his words were all she needed; his presence enough to calm her, as things around them slowly dropped to the floor, and her frame relaxed as much as it could to let Bucky finish off the job, with minimal movement from her part.           By the time Bucky had managed to stitch up the last of the wounds, it was already close to five AM, and Y/N had promptly passed out the second the last wrapping was wrapped around her torso. Like covering a sleeping princess, Shang-Chi had laid their blanket over her, tucking it in.           “What happened?” His voice was hoarse with unshed tears. He hated the pallor that’d come over her skin from the blood loss. It reminded him too much of what his mother and father looked like after they’d died. Shang-Chi closed his hand around her wrist and pressed a finger to the inside of it. Slow, steady thuds responded, so he focused on that.           Sam had grabbed a glass of water and had leaned against the kitchen counter. “She got caught in a trap. Was in a room that was lined with explosives. She tried to go through the window, but shrapnel caught her side and not only that, but she took a nasty fall on some rubble, ripping everything open.”           Bile rose in Shang-Chi’s throat, but he pressed it down.           “By the time we got to her, she was up and at it,” Sam continued. “Girl tried to hide a hole in her stomach like we wouldn’t notice. Had to fight her to let me see what was wrong in the first place.”           Shang-Chi shook his head. That sounded concerningly like Y/N, but he couldn’t say much. He was just thankful she was back with him, as he settled down on the edge of the bed and took one of her hands in his palm, rubbing his thumb over her bruised knuckles.           “Is there a shower or a bath we could use?” Sam asked, after picking up the bloodied rags and taking the red-stained bowl of water.           “Uh, yeah.” Shang-Chi nodded and gestured to the single other door in the flat. “There should be enough water for both of you. Please. Use anything you’d like.”           Sam nodded. “Thanks, man. I’ll be quick.”           When the bathroom door locked, it left him and Bucky all alone, an uncomfortable silence settling over the two.           “Coffee? Tea?” Shang-Chi offered, trying to break the tension in the room. “I have some dim-sum on – oh, shit!” Shang-Chi jumped up from the side of the bed. “The dim-sum!”           “Don’t worry.” Bucky waved a hand and then dragged it across his face, exhaustion clearly evident on his features. “Turned the stove off when I went to pour the water.”           “Oh. Thank you.”           Bucky just hummed and nodded, not letting his gaze off Y/N. Shang-Chi wanted to tell him to stop, to not look at her the way he looked at her. But he couldn’t because Shang-Chi more than most understood what it was to love her and how big of a privilege it was to be loved by her.           “Don’t waste it,” Bucky mumbled           Shang-Chi’s eyes flitting back from Y/N’s sleeping form to be met with an ice-blue gaze. “What?”           “The chance you’ve got with her.” Bucky swallowed looking at the unconscious girl lying in the bed. “`Cause I did, and I’ve never regretted something more in my life. And I’ve done a lot of regrettable things. So,” he cleared his throat and stood up, brushing off some dirt and going to the bathroom right as Sam came out of it, steam rising behind. “Don’t waste it.”           The Captain’s gaze went back and forth between Shang-Chi and the door Bucky had disappeared behind, before settling on Y/N. He didn’t say anything. He understood, and he understood it needed to stay between them.           “Thank you.” Sam lifted his jacket from the floor and threw it over his arm. Despite it being October and quite chilly, it was too filthy to put on. “If she gets any worse, do take her to a hospital no matter what she says, but F.R.I.D.A.Y’s pretty sure, Y/N will do all the healing on her own, so just – rest. A lot of it.”           Shang-Chi nodded and sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll tie her to the bed if I have to.”           Sam snorted at that and nodded. “That girl wouldn’t know any good if it kicked her in the face, but…” He bit his lip and looked at the other man. “But I think this time, she did. And I’m glad she grabbed you by the hand and didn’t let go. Someone who clearly loves her as much as you is the least she deserves.”           Shang-Chi’s throat closed up, and all he could do was give an appreciative nod. “It’s uh, it’s the least I can give.”           Sam patted him on the shoulder, before leaning down and giving Y/N a kiss on the forehead. “Take care of her.”           “I will.” That was a promise Shang-Chi had no plans on ever breaking.           Quietly Sam picked up his stuff and exited from the flat, but it seemed that even the gentle closing of the door was enough to awaken Y/N, Y/E/C eyes blearily blinking, trying to adjust to the light of the room.           “Hey,” Shang-Chi cooed, pushing away some strands of hair that’d gotten stuck to her face from all the sweat and blood. He’d cleaned her up as best as he could while Bucky had finished patching up the last of her wounds, and no longer needed to have her be held down, but still, she’d need a really long shower once she got back on her feet. “How do you feel?”           Y/N let out a deep breath and leaned her head towards where Shang-Chi’s fingers caressed her cheek. “Like the good old times when Katy almost ran me over with that bus.”           Shang-Chi took hold of Y/N’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, as he chuckled. “They told me you overrode the system to take you here, not to the tower. And I appreciate that. A lot. But why in the world would you do such a stupid thing?”           “Because I thought I was going to die,” she answered him honestly, and Shang-Chi swore his heart stopped. He couldn’t ever imagine a world without her anymore, and that kind of possibility didn’t exist. Not to him.           He gulped, pressing his forehead against their entwined hands. “Then I understand it even less.”           Y/N let out a small sigh before lifting her free hand to cup his face. “Because the only thing I could think about while bleeding out, was `I want to go home`. So, even if I was gonna die there, on the floor of the jet, I’d die knowing I did everything I could to get there. To get to you.”           Slowly he lifted his head to look at her and rested his chin on their hands before a smile broke out on his face, a tear rolling down his cheek. “I hate how much I love you.”           A mirrored smile came onto Y/N’s own lips. “No, you don’t.”           “No, I don’t,” he let out a broken sob, shaking his head. “Could never hate you.”           She hummed, closing her eyes, and Shang-Chi watched her chest rise and fall in a rhythm that somewhat calmed him. Her pulse had gotten stronger, and her breathing wasn’t as laboured. He still thought he should get her to a hospital, but he knew, with her powers being connected to nature, she’d pull from it and knit herself back together quicker than a spider makes a web. He just felt useless not being able to do it for her.           “Something smells good,” she mumbled, glancing towards the stove. “Midnight snacking?”           “Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged.           She quirked a brow. “So you decided to turn our kitchen into a food stall? I can see the spring roll wrappers hiding on the counter.”           “Hey, I’m a growing Avenger, I need to eat!”           That made Y/N chuckle, but she instantly winced, as the motion pulled at her stitches and her beaten-up side, Shang-Chi’s hand gently laying over the bandages and soothingly rubbing the place, but not adding any pressure. “Don’t hurt yourself even more.” He cleared his throat, as Y/N laid back against the pillows. “You need to take it easy for the next few weeks. I can’t have you get stressed about the wedding while you’re still healing.”           Her eyes widened at his words. “You still wanna marry me? Even after all of… this?” She gestured with a hand to herself.           Shang-Chi shrugged. “You said yes even after the whole Dweller in Darkness thing. Why wouldn’t I? I know what I signed up for.” His gaze was so sure, it made a breath get stuck in Y/N’s throat. “You’re my home too, and I’ll fight for it with every heartbeat.”           “Romantic bastard,” Y/N choked out, wiping away the tears rolling down her cheeks, and Shang-Chi let out a breathless laugh, as he leaned over to the small bedside table and opened a drawer, taking out a small red box. She knew what was inside, but swore her heart stopped still.           “I – uh – I promised I’d do it properly, so…” Shang-Chi took in a deep breath and slid down from the bed to rest on both his knees, opening the ring box to reveal a gorgeous rose gold circlet with a single smoky diamond cut in a teardrop shape sitting on a small velvet cushion.           “Y/N Stark,” he started. “You’re an absolute hurricane, and if I die, it’s probably because you gave me a heart attack. You’ve jumped off of buildings and fought soul-sucking demons, and fought interstellar gods. You are way out of my league, but somehow you’ve chosen me of all people to share your love with. And if you give me the chance, I’ll try my best to make however long we have together, the best of our lives. And uh,” Shang-Chi choked on his words. “I wish I could’ve met your father, I wish I could’ve promised him all that I’m promising you now, and I can only hope he’d think I’m good enough for you, but will you do me the honour of marrying me?”           “Yes.” She didn’t even wait a blink before she responded, and Shang-Chi took the ring out, slipping it gently onto her bruised finger to rest there for the rest of their lives. “And just so you know, my dad would’ve loved you.” She got the words out through a suppressed sob, mainly because she knew if she started crying, she wouldn’t stop. “I love you, so that’s all that’d matter to him.”           Gently, so that he wouldn’t hurt her, he leaned over and kissed Y/N on her lips. They were chapped and split in places, but Shang-Chi’s heart soared, knowing he’d get to kiss them for forever.           “It’s beautiful,” she whispered marvelling how it glinted, as he pulled back and pressed his forehead to her temple. “Absolutely gorgeous.”           “And you said you didn’t need a ring.”           “Well it was mostly the thought of tying you up, that fueled my want to get back here, but honestly.” She lifted her hand in the air, letting the dim lights catch the smoky diamond in the centre of the band. “Can’t say I don’t like how it looks on my finger.” And the most brilliant smile lit up the room. Bucky had to turn away from the crack in the door when he saw it. Because there had been a time that smile was lighting up his world, yet he’d thrown it away because of his insecurities.           The reason Y/N had a gaping hole in the side was because she’d thrown him out of the way of the trap. He’d been cornered, just about to be pushed where that god-awful chair that’d scrambled his brain for decades resided, yet without even thinking of herself, Y/N had come in between him and it. Between all the Hydra soldiers coming for them. After that, it was a blur. She’d thrown him away with a blast of wind, but a blitz attack from the side had thrown her into a seemingly innocent-looking office. And then the door had closed. That’s all he knew up until a blast shook the whole building.           Finding Y/N holding her side while limping up a hill to where they’d stashed the Quin-jet, had been a shower of relief, up until she crashed on the floor, gasping for air and groaning in pain.           It took Y/N breaking up with him to understand she was the best he’d ever had. It took her literally dragging her mangled body across the jet to override Sam’s command, to understand that he’d lost a love no one could ever match. And it took Bucky hearing her say those words to know he’d never be able to get her back. But at least she’d be happy, and no matter how bitter he might feel towards Shang-Chi, he knew the man would take care of Y/N.           After all, he was her home.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife​ @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​ @strangersstranger​

Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @happyseagrill @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf​ @wishingforahome @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae

A/N: so... it’s been a while. There’s a few reasons I haven’t been posting any writing, for one I have a new job! Yay!! I’ve been at it for four months now, and honestly, I’m so happy with it! I now work in the publishing industry, and it feels so great to be doing something that concerns my education. It’s a 9-5, so I get home tired, and there’s little motivation to write, but honestly, I’m just a lot happier with life.

Also, I’ve been writing my original pieces a lot, so, that’s taken up a lot of time, but I think I might be coming back to fanfics as well, so if you’re interested, let me know if you’d like to see more :)

P.S. what did you think?

P.S.S. please don’t repost my work on other platforms or translate it without my permission.

P.S.S. if you wanna be tagged let me know :) my tags are always open.

[ageless-aislynn]

Some important news here, frens. I’ve gone back to playing Mass Effect Andromeda and, safe to say it...

Wow, do I suck, lol! The Nomad controls aren’t at all like a Halo Warthog’s and I’m finding it REALLY hard to drive. You know how people mock Kat’s driving in Halo: Reach? Well, let me tell you, Kat has NOTHING on me trying to drive a Nomad. Just today I’ve:

Got my front wheels stuck on the roof of a small building and thus me and the team were all shot to death and the Nomad blown up by those Sentinel-ish robot dudes

Fell off the side of a bluff instead of just driving down the slope area

Got upset because all of the sudden my controls were reversed: accelerate and reverse were opposite trigger buttons, going left made me go right, etc. I struggled along for a good couple of minutes before I realized, um, I was driving backwards. 😐😂

Could not turn around in a small, rocky area and caused us all to die from radiation poisoning

And the most Kat thing of all? Accidentally backed off a cliff and we all died

But I’m determined to have fun with this, even if I accidentally flew back to the ship without meaning to, oops. 😕 But hey, I finally figured out how to get back to the planet, so yay for me, right? Me and Cora and Vetra are getting things done. Very slowly. When I’m not driving us off a cliff or causing us to all burn up from radiation.

Also, I wanted to foster friendships whenever I can but I forgot what the symbol was for that and I, um, totally hit on Cora and so she had to tell me she wasn’t interested in me that way. But I hope we’re still friends? 🤞😣🤞 (Note to self: friendship is the outline of a heart, not the full heart.)

I just leveled up, though, and I made sure to level up Cora and Vetra because I have a bad habit of running away during a fight and letting them handle things. That’s probably going to not work out well one of these times but dang it, for some reason I CANNOT seem to shoot straight. My aim swings really wildly all over the place. I turned down the mouse sensitivity, hoping that would help but so far, not so much so. I’ll have to tinker some more with the controls because this is really interfering with things. 😬 Except for my hitting on Cora skillz, they were ON POINT. *facepalm*

Oh and have I ever shown you my Sara? This is from back when I started the game in Sept so I’m level 4 now and I can’t remember why Liam isn’t on my team anymore... Maybe it changed when we got to the Tempest and into space? I honestly can’t remember.

Either way, Vetra’s been awesome so I’m happy to have her on the team!

I’m not worrying about side missions and all of the things you’re supposed to buy and craft and all of that. It’s a little overwhelming, honestly, so I’m just focusing on trying to figuring out the main objectives. If I can make it through the entire game, then one day I’ll play it again and try to figure the rest of it out. Anyway, wish me luck! 💖

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 48: Retrouvailles

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 7 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, nothing else really ❧ Word Count: 5.6k

❧ In This Chapter: You begin planning your rescue mission, though you don't get too far when Daryl unexpectedly returns home. Reunions continue as everyone gets together at the Hilltop to discuss the next course of action with the Saviors, and a new potential ally comes to the surface.

❧ A/N: First chapter of 2022, and Daryl comes home! Of course, Reader is beyond overjoyed, and now that he's back it's time to kick some Savior ass. I loved writing their little reunion, and any chance I can incorporate Reader using a book as a weapon I will take it (even if it's her accidentally hitting Daryl with said book).

The dark blanket of night draped over Alexandria heavily after the Saviors spilled blood in the streets.

When you left Aaron so he could get some rest, you immediately went home and rummaged through your study.

Luckily, it was the room the Saviors had touched the least when they raided your house, so you still had your desk and notebook.

Scribbling down ideas, you brainstormed your rescue of Daryl.

Carl secretly gave you a hand-drawn map not long after the incident that afternoon. It mapped out every nook and cranny of the Sanctuary as far as Carl knew, and he made special indications of the armory and the cells where Daryl was being kept.

You moved your eyes frantically between the map and your notebook, on which you were outlining the process like it was a master’s thesis.

You circled every potential weak spot and used a bright red marker to trace a path that would intersect the armory and lead you to the cells.

Soon, you had the plan pretty much laid out, you just needed to find guns.

Initially, you figured you could take out a few Saviors on guard duty and take their weapons, but that was risky. Instead, you planned to go out tomorrow and look for weapons.

You went over the plan repeatedly in your head as you imagined the Sanctuary in your head. Maybe if you were lucky, you could kill Negan.

“This could work,” you said to yourself.

You didn’t want to take out every Savior—that would be impossible. You wanted to get in there as quietly as possible and rescue Daryl, that was your priority. If you happened to kill Negan in the process, without making too much noise, it would be a miracle.

“It won’t work,” Daryl’s voice came to you.

You rolled your eyes and looked up at the figure of Daryl, still looking like he just rescued you from that walker in the woods by the quarry.

“What do you know?” you asked, knowing full well this image of Daryl was more you than it was him. “I can do it… possibly.”

Daryl pushed aside your notes and sat himself down on your desk, swinging his legs up and criss-crossing them as he faced you.

“You don’t even have a knife, (Y/N).”

“I’m going out to get guns tomorrow,” you replied. “I’m really not in the mood for this, so if you could beam yourself back into my subconscious, that’d be wonderful.”

Daryl smirked. “Can’t do that,” he said. “Not until I know you ain’t really gonna do this.”

You sighed. “I can’t let him live like that anymore.” You were trying not to address the hallucination as Daryl, though it was tempting. “It’s bad enough that I let it happen in the first place.”

Daryl raised his eyebrow. “You let it happen?”

“I should’ve tried harder,” you said. “I should’ve done something more to make him stay, not… yell at him like I did.”

Daryl shook his head. “What are you always tellin’ me, huh? That I can’t look back on that shit and think of the things I coulda done or shoulda done. It happened, and there’s nothin’ you can do to change that, angel.”

“But I can make it right,” you replied. “I can… help him. I have to try. I know it’s a long shot, but I can’t live another day knowing that they’re hurting him.”

He lifted himself up from your desk and knelt down in front of you, looking up at you with loving eyes. “Told ya, (Y/N), I’m comin’ back for ya. You just stay put, ‘cause I’m on my way.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. “There’s no way you could know that. You’re not Daryl, you’re a… projection of Daryl.”

He shook his head and smiled at you, that same smile he could only ever give to you. “Maybe you made me,” he said. “But that don’t change the fact that I love you, and that I’m always with you. Stop fighting what you know is true—I’m here.”

The image faded abruptly when you heard the distant sound of a motorcycle engine revving.

It seemed to be coming from beyond the walls, and it initially terrified you as you thought it was the first in a caravan of Saviors coming to torment your community again, but when a few minutes passed and the lone sound of the engine was the only one for miles and miles, you knew it wasn’t them.

It was a familiar sound—unique in that it was a hodgepodge of dissonant whines and whirs and growls that seemed to be coming from multiple different breeds of engines, but was decidedly coming from just one mechanical contraption.

There was only one bike in the world that sounded like that.

You nearly began to shiver in your seat as you sat there listening to the steadily approaching sound, ever becoming louder and louder, its one-of-a-kind quality becoming even more prominent.

I’m hallucinating again, you told yourself. That’s not real, he’s not here. If it is real, it’s that son of a bitch… Dwight. He took his bike. Daryl’s not here.

The lungs in your chest ceased to fill with air when you heard the front door open gently. Your eyes widened, and you were both afraid and skeptical, yet somehow intrigued.

If this was your mind playing tricks on you again, you were more creative than you ever thought.

Lifting yourself up weakly, you grabbed a nearby encyclopedia to use as a weapon, as you were wont to do.

Slowly pulling the door open, you made your way onto the second floor landing and began stepping down the staircase, your vision impaired from the opaque blackness all around you.

You swallowed hard, holding your book up and ready to throw it or slam it down on the intruder’s head if you needed to.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, there was no one around. The living room was empty, but you still needed to check the kitchen.

Turning around slowly, you began to step forward until a dark figure before you suddenly appeared and blocked your way.

You yelped in surprise and didn’t hesitate before weakly hitting the intruder on the head with the thick book.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled.

The book fell to the floor with a thud, and the broad figure began scratching his head where you hit him.

You reached behind you and switched on the light.

You were sure the figure spoke in Daryl’s voice, but you were also sure you had been hallucinating a lot lately, so you didn’t fully believe it was Daryl when the light illuminated him.

He blocked his eyes with his hand as he adjusted to the harsh light, then blinked several times before immediately picking you up and holding you tightly in his arms.

You felt him nuzzle his head into your shoulder, and the fabric of your blouse became soaked in tears not longer after.

He whimpered and groaned into your neck. “(Y/N),” he sobbed, lacing his fingers through your hair.

You tentatively wrapped your arms around his back, gently rubbing your fingers on the fabric of the unfamiliar flannel he was wearing. Your eyes were wide and you rested your chin on his shoulder, still completely unsure if he was real.

It didn’t matter, though, because you couldn’t help but burst into tears, too, and squeeze him against you so tightly you thought you heard one of his ribs pop.

“Daryl,” you sobbed, clinging to him for dear life until the two of you seemed to somehow lose feeling in your legs and you were both holding each other on the floor, two blubbering messes rocking back and forth as one.

The two of you were like that for a while. You weren’t sure how long, but it felt like it could have been centuries, until Daryl lifted his head and loosened his grip on you just a bit to face you.

“What the hell did you hit me with?” he asked.

You sniffled and looked at him dumbfounded until you remembered that you did, in fact, hit him in the head with an encyclopedia.

“Oh, God,” you practically whimpered. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you.”

Daryl turned around for a moment, his arms still around you as he looked at the large book now on the floor.

“You hit me with a book?”

You nodded, still crying and wiping away your tears. “I’m so sorry,” you repeated, holding his face in your hands and looking at it closely.

There was no doubt in your mind now that he was real. He was too detailed, and he didn’t have the blurry edges like the hallucinations did. His voice was much clearer, too, and he looked just like he did when you last saw him, aside from how filthy and bruised he was.

“Oh, Daryl, I’m so sorry,” you said again. “I’m sorry for hitting you, and I’m sorry for calling you an asshole, and for letting you go that day, and for being a bad wife, and for not rescuing you, and—”

“Hey,” he said, his comforting gravelly voice sending its usual vibrations through your body, “you got nothin’ to be sorry about. This all happened ‘cause of me. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

You pushed the stray strands of his hair back behind his ears, and you watched as a few small tears trailed down his face, and his gestures began to distort from crying.

“Shoulda listened to ya,” he began to sob. “Never shoulda left you. I’m sorry.”

You cried and pressed your forehead to his. “Stop,” you said. “You’re alive, and you’re home.”

Daryl nodded, and sniffled before speaking. “You ain’t a bad wife,” he said. “You did everything you could. I'm a bad husband.”

You shook your head vehemently. “No, you were just not thinking straight. I understand. We’re good.”

Daryl pressed his lips to yours gently, and you returned his kiss gladly, moving your lips slowly against his.

You hadn’t even fathomed how much you missed his kisses. It was so sweet and full of passion, you could hardly keep yourself from opening your lips and tonguing at him until he opened his mouth and allowed his tongue to meet yours.

The two of you melted into each other, and your hands were pawing at each other desperately. Any ounce of energy you had left, you poured into that embrace. When you separated from each other, you didn’t have any more energy to speak of.

Daryl took a good look at your face, and his lips turned into a worried frown. “Have you slept at all?” he asked.

I must look like shit.

You sighed. “No, not really.”

The understatement of the century. You hadn’t slept since he was taken, so about five days without sleep. You weren’t about to tell him that, though. He hated when you didn’t get enough sleep.

“Kind of hard when they took our bed,” you added.

Daryl looked around at the house, and noticed that most of your things were gone. “Bastards,” he growled. “Didn’t think they’d take this much.”

“They took more from our house than the others,” you said. “Even my clothes.”

Daryl pulled you into his arms again, forcing you to snuggle your head into his chest. “I’m gonna kill ‘em,” he said. “This ain’t no way to live.”

You nodded in agreement, then stood up with him as he lifted you both off the floor. He stepped away from you and held you by your arms. “You’re gonna sleep tonight,” he said matter-of-factly.

Sure, you didn’t have a bed, but you had a couch still, so that’s where the two of you slept. It was a tight squeeze, but it was nice to be so close to Daryl again.

He was still filthy and covered in sweat and grime, and you wanted nothing more than to scrub him with a wire brush, but he was exhausted, and so were you.

With Daryl spooning you in nothing but his boxers, and a warm plush blanket covering you both, you weren’t far from dozing off, until you remembered something you needed to ask him.

“Daryl?” you said quietly, in case he was already asleep.

He wasn’t.

“Yeah?”

You turned around in his arms to face him, and frowned at the purple and red bruises all over his face. “What did they do to you?”

Daryl swallowed hard and looked at you for a moment, gauging what you needed to know, if anything at all. He didn’t want you worrying about what happened to him, or getting upset. He could tell you were more sensitive than usual that night.

“Just… locked me in a room.”

He was quiet again for a while.

“Did they hurt you?”

He shook his head. “No,” he lied. The evidence was on his face, he knew that, but he refused to admit they hurt him. “Wanted me to be like them, work for Negan. Couldn’t do it.”

You nodded. “I know,” you said. “You’re too honorable.”

Daryl closed his eyes and scoffed. “You mean stubborn.”

You smiled. “No, I mean honorable… and good.”

Daryl was quiet again, and pulled you into his chest, almost squeezing all the air out of your lungs. You liked it, though. There was no better feeling in the world than being held tightly in his arms.

“I saw bad things,” he said. “Negan… burned a guy’s face with a hot iron… walked around makin’ people kneel for him like he was God. He makes these girls sleep with him jus’ so their guys don’t get the iron.”

“He… he killed Spencer today,” you said. “Sliced him in the middle, and let his… guts fall out onto the street. In front of everyone.”

Daryl gulped, and rubbed your back comfortingly.

“Then he had one of the Saviors kill Olivia, because Rosita shot at him. Aaron was beaten, too. I had to watch…” You trailed off at the thought, and felt a familiar lump in your throat. You began to cry quietly into Daryl’s chest. “Why are there people like Negan?”

Daryl pulled you even closer and kissed your hairline, then buried his hand in the soft tresses of your hair as he rocked you back and forth. “‘Cause the world was made for ‘em… they go around, killin’ people, takin’ what don’t belong to ‘em, then don’t feel a thing. It’s easy, like… like they can get away with it ‘cause everyone else’s afraid. Then they keep on doin’ it, ‘cause no one fights back.”

“Like a bully,” you said.

Daryl nodded. “Yeah, exactly.”

Daryl knew all about bullies, he was bullied practically from the moment he was born, whether it was his father, his brother, or the kids at school, he was always made to believe he was worthless, or that he couldn’t fight back.

“We’re going to stand up to them, right?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “We gotta.”

“I don’t think Rick wants to,” you said. “He—he wants to just keep giving them stuff and hope they leave us alone. But I don’t want to live in fear.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Rick’s gonna have to wake up. Don’t matter how much we give ‘em, they ain’t ever gonna leave us alone, not after what we did at the outpost.”

You sighed. “I just don’t want anyone else to die.”

“People are gonna die, (Y/N). But it ain’t gonna be us. It’ll be them. We’re goin’ to war.”

That night you were sure you slept more soundly than you ever had. Maybe it was because you spent so long lying awake at night, thinking about Daryl, but you thought it was the best sleep you ever had nonetheless.

When you woke up, Daryl was still holding you, in such a deep sleep that the rumble of his chest as he lightly snored sent gentle vibrations through your back.

You slowly removed his arm from around you and placed it softly by his side, all the while sitting yourself up and tucking him in before giving him a light kiss on the forehead.

He mumbled a little, something unintelligible, and stirred in his sleep with a concerned look on his face. He even looked serious when he was sleeping. It was so cute.

Though there wasn’t much food in Alexandria now, you were determined to make a real breakfast for Daryl. Well, reheat it, anyway. You still had leftovers from Bev’s casserole, so you stuck it in the oven for a while to warm it.

Once it was done, you let it sit in the oven to retain its warmth until Daryl awoke. Heading upstairs, you stripped and prepared to take a shower, holding your hand under the stream to test the temperature.

Before you could step in, you felt Daryl’s hands on your waist. It didn’t startle you, though, you were too happy for it to.

You turned around and smiled softly at his still sleepy face. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

He grumbled at the nickname and let you take his face in your hands and give him an Eskimo kiss. “How’d you sleep, honey?” you asked him sweetly.

Daryl stretched his arms over his head and blinked his tired eyes. He must’ve woken up just seconds ago. “Better than I have in a while,” he mumbled. “That couch is more comfortable than I thought.”

You ran your hands through his hair, pushing it back so you could see all of his face. You relished in every nook and cranny, every crevice and blemish, every worry line that settled in his perpetually tanned skin. If you looked past the now slightly more faded bruises, you could see the very same Daryl you first met back at the quarry, the one you saw in your sleep-deprived hallucinations.

“Are you going to take a shower with me?” you asked with a raised brow, noticing he was completely naked now.

He shrugged and rubbed his face, still trying to wake up from his deep slumber. “Yeah,” he said. “Probably stink, huh?”

You giggled and shook your head. “No,” you said honestly. He didn’t really stink, he was just a bit mustier than usual. “But you’re dirty… and your hair’s greasy…”

Once Daryl was in the shower with you, you didn’t hesitate to begin lathering his hair with shampoo, furrowing your brow and absent-mindedly biting your lip a little as you focused on the surprisingly difficult task.

“God, it’s all tangled,” you said. “And you’ve got split ends… you need a trim.”

“Thought you liked it long,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Well, I do, but it needs a little trim to keep it healthy.”

After you let the conditioner set, you moved on to scrubbing him with a washcloth and a heavy glob of homemade vanilla sugar scrub. Though you tried not to look at the profusion of bruises and lacerations on his body, and the bullet wound that was still healing on his shoulder, you couldn’t help but produce a worried frown with each pass of the cloth by the wounds.

“I’m going to kill them for hurting you,” you blurted out, taking Daryl’s arm and scrubbing it gently to wash away the built up grime. “You didn’t deserve this.”

You were so incensed from looking at Daryl’s injuries that you didn’t even notice he’d started to rub shampoo into your hair. “Don’t matter what I do or don’t deserve,” he said. “Sometimes thought I did deserve it.”

You looked at him sternly. “Don’t you ever say that. You don’t deserve anything bad. You’re a good person.”

Daryl stopped massaging your scalp and looked down at his feet. “I got Glenn killed,” he said, his voice starting to break. “I—I attacked Negan… and that pissed him off, made him take out Glenn… when he shoulda just taken me out.”

You grabbed his chin and made him look at you. Your heart broke from the sight of him sobbing and whimpering. Even under the stream of water from the shower, you could tell his face was soaked in his own tears.

“No,” you said. “It wasn’t your fault. There was no way you would have known he was going to react like that. What happened happened because Negan is a psychopath. It’s not a reflection of you.”

Daryl shook his head, and you pulled him into you, hugging him tightly against your body. He rested his hands on your back and cried into your shoulder. “I gotta kill him,” he said. “For Glenn… and Maggie… and their baby.”

You nodded, and tears of your own began to form. “I know, honey,” you said calmly. “You will… you’re strong, and you came back all on your own. You can do anything.”

Daryl scoffed. “Not anythin’,” he said. “But I’ll try… for you, and everyone else.”

When both of you were clean and returned back downstairs to have breakfast, Daryl still wrapped up in a plush bathrobe you made him wear, a knock came at the door.

You urged him to stay seated as he shoveled casserole into his mouth, and you opened the door to find Rick. He had a determined look on his face, and if you read it correctly, you knew he had a plan.

After an emotional reunion with Daryl (and a snarky comment about the very feminine bathrobe he was wearing), Rick informed both of you that he wanted you to join him and the others on a trip to the Hilltop to discuss a campaign against the Saviors.

It was exciting news. You had previously thought Rick was not interested in fighting the Saviors, but something seemed to change his mind.

As soon as he left, you laid out Daryl’s clothes, a long-sleeved black button-up shirt, that he probably would have cut the sleeves off of if he had the time, and a pair of jeans.

Knowing that you needed to look somewhat “tough” to engage in war negotiations, you wore khaki utility cargo pants and a white button-up blouse. The outfit made you look more like an archaeologist than a warrior, but it was better than a skirt, you surmised.

As soon as you both stepped out of the house, Daryl was bombarded with hugs and greetings from Carl, Michonne, Rosita, and Tara. You didn’t want to tease him, but you were sure you saw a slight blush on his face from all the attention he was getting. Even several Alexandrians, including Bev, gathered around to welcome Daryl. You knew then that he was, in fact, a beloved member of the community, whether he liked it or not.

Joining Jesus, who helped Daryl escape from the Sanctuary the day before, at the gate, everyone piled into a large cargo van, and you joined Daryl on the back of his bike. If you were going to fight the Saviors, you were going to need help from the Hilltop.

It was another joyous reunion when you reached the Hilltop’s gates. Maggie welcomed you all with open arms. It seemed she had become a valued member of the Hilltop’s community, along with Sasha and Enid, who also greeted you.

You practically sobbed when you met Maggie’s bear hug, rocking each other back and forth and smiling like old best friends. You asked how the baby was, and to your relief the baby was just fine.

Sasha also greeted you with a long hug, and everyone seemed much happier than they’d been in a long time. It was a beautiful moment, at the foot of the Barrington House, amongst old friends who were more like found family.

Things got a bit grim, however, when you all found yourselves in Gregory’s office attempting to convince him to let the Hilltop join the fight against Negan and the Saviors. Perhaps unsurprisingly considering how spineless you knew the man to be, he was not on board.

“No! No way in Hell,” Gregory exclaimed. “That was not the deal. You people swore you could take the Saviors out and you failed. So, any arrangement we had is now done—null and void. We aren’t trade partners, we aren’t friends, and we never met. We don’t know each other. I owe you nothing. In fact, you owe me for taking in the refugees at great personal risk.”

“Oh, you were very brave staying in here while Maggie and Sasha saved this place,” Jesus said sarcastically. “Your courage was inspiring.”

“Hey, don’t you work for me, aren’t we friends?” Gregory asked him.

“Gregory,” Rick said, “we already started this.”

“You started it.”

“We did,” Rick retorted. “And we’re gonna win.”

“These are killers!” Gregory exclaimed.

“Is this how you wanna live? Under their thumb, killing your people?” Rick asked.

“Sometimes we don’t get to choose what our life looks like,” Gregory responded. “Sometimes, Ricky, you have to count the blessings you have.”

“How many people can we spare?” Maggie asked. “How many people here can fight?”

“We?” Gregory asked. “I don’t even know how many people we have, Margaret. And does it even matter? I mean, what are you gonna do? Start a platoon of sorghum farmers? ‘Cause that’s what we got. They grow things. They’re not gonna wanna fight.”

The conversation went on like that for a while, with several of your group barking back at Gregory, trying to get him to understand that this needed to be done.

Despite Gregory’s refusal to participate, several of the citizens of Hilltop did agree to fight for the cause. Well, to be trained up to fight for the cause, first.

It was a small start, but a start nonetheless.

“It’s a start,” Michonne said, echoing your own thoughts as the eight of you made your way back to the gates.

“We’ll get more,” Sasha said. “It still won’t be enough.”

“No, it won’t,” agreed Rosita.

“Well,” Daryl said, “we find the right stuf, then maybe we don’t need the numbers. Blow ‘em up, burn ‘em to the ground.”

“You said there weren’t just soldiers with the Saviors,” Tara argued. “That there were workers there. People who didn’t have a choice.”

“We gotta win,” Daryl replied.

“We need more hands,” Rick said. “Another group. Negan has outposts. The geography, the distance works against us. We gotta get back. If they come looking for Daryl, we need to be there.”

That was something you hadn’t even thought about—the Saviors looking for Daryl. Yet another thing to be terrified of; the idea that Daryl could be taken back there, and tortured once again.

“You don’t have to get back,” Jesus said. “Not yet.” He held up a walkie talkie. “It’s one of theirs. Long-range. We can listen in, keep track of ‘em.”

“So, if we’re not going back, what are we doing then?” asked Michonne.

“I think it’s time we introduced you to Ezekiel—King Ezekiel,” Jesus said with a smile.

You all looked at him incredulously.

“King?” Rick asked.

As usual, Daryl was hesitant to bring you to see this “king.” It didn’t take him much convincing, though, since you broke out your doe eyes and reminded him that you had been separated for almost a week, and that you weren’t going anywhere without him.

That was how you all got to the Kingdom.

It was a large place, not unlike Alexandria. It was well-developed, too. There were dozens of crops, and even more people. If your group could get them to join in the fight against the Saviors, it would be a tremendous boon to the cause. They seemed like a strong settlement, and all that was left was to meet the king.

After a surprise meeting with Morgan, who must’ve somehow ended up at the Kingdom after the first encounter with the Saviors, you were taken to have an “audience” with King Ezekiel.

You nearly had a heart attack when you saw the giant tiger the king had sitting next to him.

“Holy shit,” you muttered under your breath as you entered the theater they were using as a “throne room” of sorts. You felt Daryl push you back a little, as if he was afraid the chained up cat was going to pounce at you. “Is that a tiger or am I hallucinating?” you whispered to him.

Daryl grunted, his eyebrows furrowed as he observed the strange scene. “Nah, that’s a goddamn tiger.”

“Jesus!” Ezekiel exclaimed. “It pleases me to see you, old friend.”

“It pleases him, indeed!” another man sitting next to the king bellowed joyfully.

“Jerry,” Ezekiel chided the man.

“Tell me,” he continued, “what news do you bring good King Ezekiel?”

You have got to be shitting me.

“Are these new allies you brought me?” Ezekiel asked.

“Indeed, they are, Your Majesty,” Jesus responded.

The older you got, the more you felt like you were living in a fantasy world. Everything just kept getting weirder, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. At least there was never a boring day.

“This is—” Jesus turned to gesture to your group, but then realized that all of you looked absolutely bewildered. “Oh, right. I forgot to mention—”

“Yeah, a tiger,” Rick said.

Jesus began to lead your group forward. “This is Rick Grimes, the leader of Alexandria, and these are some of his people.”

“I welcome you all to the Kingdom, good travelers,” Ezekiel said. “Now, what brings you to our fair land? Why do you seek an audience with the King?”

Obviously, this man was not a king.

He called himself one, and maybe that was a red flag, considering your previous encounters with a man who called himself the Governor, but at least he acted the part.

He had a distinct noble lilt to his voice, and a full head of glorious dreadlocks reaching his chest, as well as a stately full beard lining his chin. You supposed if anyone was going to walk around claiming to be a king, it would be someone who looked like him.

“Ezekiel,” Rick started, “King Ezekiel… Alexandria, the Hilltop, and the Kingdom—all three of our communities have something in common: we all serve the Saviors. Alexandria already fought them once and we won. We thought we took out the threat, but we didn’t know then what we know now. We only beat one outpost. We’ve been told you have a deal with them, that you know them, that you know they rule through violence and fear.”

At first, the king seemed angered that Jesus had informed your group of their deal with the Saviors. Apparently, no one knew about that deal except for the King. The citizens of the Kingdom were unaware of it.

“We brought you into our confidence,” Ezekiel said to Jesus. “Why did you break it?

“Because I want you to hear Rick’s plans.”

“And what plans have you, Rick Grimes of Alexandria?”

“We came to ask the Kingdom, to ask you, to join us in fighting the Saviors. Fighting for freedom, for all of us,” Rick said.

“What you are asking,” Ezekiel began, “is very serious.”

“Several of our people,” Michonne said, “good people, were killed by the Saviors. Brutally.”

“Who?” Morgan asked.

“Abraham,” Rosita said. “Glenn. Spencer, Olivia. Eugene was taken. They took Daryl. He escaped. Every second he’s out here, he’s a target. You gonna say you were right?”

Morgan never wanted to fight the Saviors. He protested vehemently against it. You could tell from Rosita’s vitriolic tone that she was pissed at him, and you weren’t so much pissed as you were terrified of Rosita’s words: “target.”

“No,” Morgan replied. “I’m… I’m just real sorry they’re gone.”

“Negan murdered Glenn and Abraham,” Rick reiterated. “Beat ‘em to death.”

“Terrorized the Hilltop,” Sasha said. “Set loose walkers just to make a point.”

“I used to think the deal was something we could live with,” Jesus said. “A lot of us did. But that’s changing. So, let’s change the world, Your Majesty.”

“I want to be honest about what we’re asking,” Rick said. “My people are strong, but there’s not enough of us. We don’t have guns—not enough, at least. Not a lot of weapons, period.”

“We have people,” Richard, one of the king’s guards, said. “And weapons. If we strike first, together we can beat them. Your Majesty, no more waiting for things to get worse beyond what we can handle. We set things right. The time is now.”

“Morgan,” Ezekiel said, “what say you?”

“Me?”

“Speak,” Ezekiel insisted.

“People will die,” Morgan said. “A lot of people, not just the Saviors. If we can find another way, we have to. Maybe it’s just about Negan—just capturing him, holding him, maybe—I…”

You were frustrated, and hoped that Morgan didn’t have too much sway over Ezekiel. You, yourself, hated violence. You always did. You liked to believe that things could be solved some other way, but with these people, it couldn’t. What you’d seen them do, the way they viewed the world… it was evil. Just looking at Daryl’s face, still healing from his beatings, reminded you of the evil that lurked within that Sanctuary, that flooded into Alexandria and spilled blood on your streets. There was on peaceful way of getting out of this.

“The hour grows late,” Ezekiel said, rising from his throne. “Rick Grimes of Alexandria, you have given the king much to ponder. I shall deliver my decree in the morn’.”

~

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[transmasc-wizard]

an opinion on scrivener (by a normally very picky individual)

I've seen a lot of people talk about scrivener, mostly in a mix of positive and negative; it's too expensive! It's great for organizing! It's too complicated! It's XYZ!

It's only natural for I, someone who has had scrivener for about a year now, to want to add my opinion, so... here I am! This is somewhere between a review and a basic how-to? Idk. When have I ever made sense.

Note: this is not in any way sponsored. Literature & Latte/Scrivener does not even know I exist.

Another note: I believe the iOS/Mac version of scrivener is, in fact, more complicated than this, but the same stuff probably applies. I wouldn't know, because I'll burn in hell before I have an Apple product.

Onwards!

So, once you open a scrivener document (specifically the "novel with parts" template, but they're all very very similar), this is what you see. The corkboard-looking thing is, in fact, called the corkboard. The teal band off to the side (which iirc I changed the colour of, I think it defaults to grey) is the binder. If you look above the corkboard, you'll notice there are three little icons; the middle one is selected (and yellow), and sets it to the corkboard. On the right is the editor (actual page with words) and on the left is the outliner (more on that in a second).

You can write in the little notecards; this creates a synopsis that can be viewed in the inspector (more on that in a second, again), in the outliner, and in the corkboard, like this. There's also labels and statuses and stuff, but that's more than just The Basic Basics, so... moving on.

Now I've both gone over to the outliner, which lets me see the synopsis, label, status, word count, target, progress, and target type of each document, and have also opened the inspector (that column on the right) by clicking the blue i in the top right corner.

All these features are fine and dandy, but this is the love of my life:

The binder, my beloved. It lets you have individual documents for ANYTHING you want, plus folders to keep them separated & grouped. I have not had to worry about keeping track of 48763847 word docs for one story since getting scrivener; it's all!! right there!! In little folders!! I like organizing things, ok? This is my happy place.

So, above we have the actual scrivener editor! It's pretty similar to word's page, all things considered, with the exception that there's no page breaks. If you go up to "project" in the top of the screen and click "project statistics" you can see page count, but scrivener focuses on word count. WC is more accurate toward story length, anyway, as page count can vary vastly depending on font, font size, and spacing. (Also, I have the page colour changed to a light pink, but it defaults to white.)

Those are all the main screens you'd use if you had scrivener; there's also focus mode/full screen, but that doesn't usually get as much use.

The actual review-ish part of this post:

Scrivener, if you couldn't tell, is my favourite program I've ever used. (I've used word and google docs, btw). It has the most functions, is AMAZING for organization (which is great as a fantasy writer with a lot of Stuff), is great for progress tracking and project goals (something I didn't really touch upon hear; short version, each individual document can have a goal, plus each chapter/part/etc, plus the manuscript as a whole), and is much easier to use than it's reputation says it is.

I didn't even go into detail on keywords, labels, custom icons, the auto-save and auto-backup (every two seconds without writing), document notes, snapshots, custom meta-data you can track, the name generator, the trash function (you cannot accidentally delete a doc), or the thesaurus!

Overall, if you're interested in scrivener, I strongly suggest trying out the trial. It's 30 free days of use. To be clear, that means if you don't open it that day, it doesn't count as a day in your trial. You only write 2 days a week? You'll have that scrivener trial for 15 weeks.

Scrivener doesn't work for everybody! I most strongly suggest it for my fellow organization lovers, but really, if you're interested, I encourage you to give it a try.

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime — Fourteen // Wanda Maximoff

chapter thirteen | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | epilogue

author’s note: the last chapter is finally here! i hope you like it 😊

There were many times when I'd get distracted by thoughts of Wanda.

I could be going for a walk and remember that time she tripped over the flat pavement, almost bringing me down with her. I could be shopping for stationary and remember that time she almost bought the whole shop in one visit. I could be sitting by the water fountain and remember that time she tried to make a wish, only to drop her whole purse in it.

This time, I'd just woken up to the sun streaming through my curtains. I rolled over to an empty bed, hand brushing against the cold sheets as they expected more. For some reason, my subconscious decided to taunt me with a memory taking place just after we'd first made love in her room...

"I love you so much," Wanda told me with an enchanting smile.

I turned to face her, one arm comfortable under the pillow as the other rested outside the duvet, covering my bare chest. She raised her hand, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear before resting her hand there. I smiled at the contact and felt a warmth spreading all over me at the affectionate gaze she sent my way.

"I know, love, you only said it several times," I teased lightly, making her chuckle. "I love you, too, though, in case you didn't know."

She sighed contently, eyes closing. I admired how beautiful she looked with her hair sprawled over her bare shoulders, smile on her lips and freckles dusting her skin. Her touch still ghosted my body, taste still embedded between my lips, scent still wavering in my nose. She was permanent and I was certain she'd never leave.

"We should probably get up in case somebody comes to check on us," she said, interrupting my moment of admiration.

Her eyes flickered open slowly, blue with golden flecks glistening right back at me. Suddenly, anything that happened after this didn't matter to me. For once, I appreciated where we were, what we had and nothing more or less. No wedding, no future... just now.

"We should," I agreed regretfully, though her leg moved closer to mine and made me wish we could stay here longer. "I wish we didn't have to."

She smiled halfheartedly, hand moving down my cheek, caressing the skin, before they rested at my chin. She outlined my lips with her thumb before leaning forward and stealing a kiss.

"Can't we have a few more minutes?" she asked, lips brushing mine as she spoke.

She was making it very hard to deny her and judging from the playful smirk on her lips, she knew that.

"I guess we can," I agreed quietly, making her smile with satisfaction.

She rolled on top of me, capturing my lips in a kiss as her bare chest pressed to mine and my hand found her waist for support. As usual, the effect she had on me was indescribable and I couldn't imagine us ever leaving the bed. I knew for sure that I'd never been happier than I was in that moment.

It was such a perfect moment, but it haunted me. Nothing felt right without her. She'd overwhelmed all of my senses and remained, even when I didn't have her by me in person. The wedding was literally in a few weeks, but I hadn't managed to get over her.

How could I be her maid of honour when I could barely speak to her? Not without wanting to curl in a ball and cry afterwards. Every thing I did seemed to be filled with memories of her. She was inescapable.

A groan left my lips as I dragged my hand down my face with frustration. I couldn't let her get to me yet again. I had an interview with the local paper today. The last thing I needed was Wanda as a distraction.

So, with that lovely thought lingering in my mind, I dragged myself out of bed to get ready for the day ahead.

—

Press interviews weren't something I was used to.

Whenever Y/B/N had them with journalists for his books, I wasn't present. The only thing I heard was when he came back and told me how it went, then I proceeded to read about it in the paper the next day.

I was sat in Steve's office at Maximoff Publishing with Steve sat by my side, sending me a supportive smile. A journalist from the local paper sat before us, notebook and pen in hand as he watched on with curious eyes.

"So, Y/N," he began. "I'll start with the obvious, if you don't mind."

I glanced at Steve who nodded encouragingly. Clearing my throat, I looked to the journalist. "Sure thing."

He smiled and glanced at his notebook before asking, "How does it feel to be published? You're Pietro Maximoff's first female author."

"An author who happens to be female," I corrected, hoping I didn't come off as rude. "And that isn't something that should be new, in my opinion. It should be normalised."

He nodded, noting it down in his notebook. "Controversy... I like it."

Swallowing hard, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"I think the readers would like to know how you managed to score a publisher," he began his next question. "How exactly did you get noticed amongst the many authors that look to be published?"

Okay, not so difficult, I could answer that.

"Well, it was actually my–" I paused, Wanda's face flashing to mind. Okay, maybe a little difficult.

"Your...?" the journalist prompted.

I blinked, attempting to find my words.

"Wanda," Steve answered, starting me off.

I looked to him with grateful eyes before looking back to the journalist. "Right. Yes. Wanda."

"Your brother's fiancé, right?" the journalist asked for clarification.

"Yes," I answered, with an accidental clipped tone. "She... she was the one who gave my work to her brother. Asked him to look at it. And the rest is history."

The journalist was making notes as I spoke, nodding and humming in response, before looking to me with raised brows.

"So, the wedding," he said, making me wince subtly. "Are you excited?"

Forcing a smile, I said, "Ecstatic."

"How does it feel to have your two families uniting?" he asked, and I chewed on my lips, unsure how to respond.

"I– er–"

"Are you afraid that Y/B/N marrying Wanda may put him in Pietro's good graces?" he interrupted eagerly, leaning forward in his seat.

I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn't know what to say that wouldn't land me in hot water or make me look like a jealous sibling. Glancing to Steve questioningly, he thankfully noticed my speechlessness and gave the journalist a warning stare.

"Can you stay on topic, please?" he asked the keen journalist. "Y/N is here to talk about her book and nothing more."

"Okay, okay," the journalist gave in, making me exhale slowly. "What's next in store for your readers, Y/N? A sequel, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure," I answered truthfully. "I'm still in awe at the reception from the first one."

He nodded, note taking as he listened. "How many books do you think you'll get out of your career before getting married like your brother?"

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. But I didn't get to answer as he was already moving onto his next question.

"Are you not worried about getting married? You know, men don't like smart women."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I clenched my fists by my side and was very close to strangling him before we were interrupted. A servant whom I recognised from home knocked on the door and earned everyone's attention.

"Oh, tell him to go away," the journalist said dismissively, waving his hand.

Steve looked to me and I plastered a bitter smile on my lips as I glanced at the journalist.

"I'd let him in if I were you," I told Steve, and he seemed to understand that I was about to pummel the journalist if I wasn't distracted, because he nodded and motioned for the servant to enter.

The journalist sighed rudely and I clenched my jaw before looking to the servant with a quirked brow. He looked out of breath, panting for air and face flushed red.

"Did you run here?" I realised, cocking my head to the side with confusion.

He nodded, straightening up and attempting to catch his breath. "Yes, Miss Y/L/N. Very sorry to interrupt, but your mother insisted I hurry."

My eyes widened. "Oh, God, what happened? Is she okay?"

"Kind of," he answered, before clarifying, "The wedding between your brother and Miss Maximoff has been cancelled."

"What?!" everyone in the room asked at the same time.

What did he mean the wedding had been cancelled?! Wanda and Y/B/N weren't going to get married?

"I don't know the details," the servant got out quickly. "I just know that your mother sent me to fetch you as soon as possible. She's distraught and requires you home immediately."

I nodded instantly, already making a move to stand up, then I remembered where I was.

"You mustn't publish anything you just heard," I told the journalist with a stern finger, but he seemed over the moon at the news.

"Go, Y/N, your mother needs you," Steve said, resting a hand on my shoulder as he, too, stood up. He side-eyed the journalist as he added, "I'll take care of this tool."

At that, the journalist's eyes widened with fear and judging from the smirk on Steve's lips, I knew things would be okay.

"Thank you," I told him, hugging him quickly, before looking to the servant. "I'll go now. Thank you."

After giving the servant some money to grab a treat and calm him from his breathless state, I got a carriage home with my mind racing a million thoughts a minute.

Why was the wedding off? My mum was distraught, according to the servant, so that could only mean it hadn't been her choice. Was it Y/B/N? Had he broken it off? Or maybe it was Wanda? But no. She'd never do that. She wouldn't hurt her family like that.

I wasn't sure what it was, but I definitely didn't know how to feel. This could either be heavily in my favour or go against me in the worst way possible...

When I arrived home, I found my family in the dining room. My mum was sat down, upset and shaking her head in her hands, tear marks on her face. My dad was sat beside her, rubbing her back soothingly and whispering calming things to her as my brother stood to the side, looking apologetic and uncomfortable.

"It's okay, mum, it'll be okay," he was saying to her from across the table. "It's not a big deal. I can find somebody–"

"Hello...," I began awkwardly, standing in the doorway and hesitant to move forward. "I just got the news from our servant. What happened?"

"Oh, Y/N, you shouldn't have–" my father began regretfully, before my mum slammed her hand on the table and glared at my brother.

"Y/B/N broke off the engagement!" she shouted with frustration.

"There you go...," my dad mumbled before returning his attention to his wife.

"Mum, I–"

"You did what?!" I cut Y/B/N off with raised brows. "You broke off the engagement? You dumped Wanda?"

He looked to me with sad eyes. "Y/N–"

"You idiot!" I shouted, feeling angry as I imagined the effect this must have had on the Maximoff family. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you–?!"

He grabbed my waving arm and dragged me out of the dining room, making me shove him off when we reached the hall.

"Why the hell did you break it off?!" I yelled at him with a glare. "Why would you–"

"I didn't!" he whisper-shouted back, looking down at me with a downcast expression. "She did!"

My anger faded as I realised he was telling the truth. He looked genuinely hurt, eyes glassy and a frown on his lips. Wanda was the one to break it off? What?

"She broke it off with me," he elaborated quietly, so our parents couldn't hear. "She told me this morning. She said she didn't love me and that she couldn't marry me."

I swallowed hard, looking away from him momentarily. "Why did you tell mum and dad that it was you who broke up with her?"

He pinched his forehead with agitation. "Because it looks a lot less foolish if I say it was me rather than her. She doesn't love me, Y/N. She never did."

I risked looking at him, seeing his disheartened expression. Part of me felt guilty because I knew it was my fault this had happened, but I couldn't exactly say that to him, so I stayed quiet. He shook his head once more before walking away, leaving me standing there with shock.

"Er, Miss Y/L/N?"

I spun around when one of our servants approached me.

"I know now isn't the best time," she began, "but a letter came for you earlier. I left it on your desk as you were at work."

Nodding, I offered the servant a halfhearted smile before watching her leave. There was so much to unpack right now...

I headed upstairs and to my room to see what letter was here for me. But I was finding it hard to focus since all that was on my mind was the broken engagement and Y/B/N and Wanda... I needed to see her. What the hell was I doing here?

Planning on going to see Wanda as soon as possible, I grabbed the letter from my desk with the intention of reading it on the way out, but then I recognised the handwriting on the front and paused at my desk.

It was Wanda's handwriting.

I hurried to tear open the envelope, wondering what she had to say. It was no doubt related to the broken engagement.

Dearest Y/N,

I hope that you manage to read this letter before you hear the news, but knowing our families, you'll read it afterwards. In which case, you will know that I have broken off the engagement with Y/B/N.

It was the right thing to do. I chose to do it and I'm sorry if it's caused tension between your brother and your family, but I knew that I couldn't go forward with it when I'm in love with you. I'm not expecting you to come back to me and run away together all dramatically – this isn't about that.

I did this for myself. I'm not in love with your brother and I never was. He should have known that. He had to. Because if not, I'm afraid I broke his heart. And that's the last thing I wanted.

I also did this for you. I need you to know that I'm not heartless or horrible and I didn't expect you to sacrifice anything for me. Cheating on your brother with you... I never meant for this to happen, nor did I mean to get in the way of you both. Falling in love with you was completely accidental, but I don't regret it.

I don't want to go on too much, but I just needed you to know the truth, from me, that I am truly sorry for causing you such pain. I'm still in love with you and I'll never forget what we had. In another lifetime, maybe we could have worked. I'm certain that you were always perfect for me, as was what we had. You are magic, Y/N. I just wasn't powerful enough to keep you.

When I finished reading, I flipped the page over, expecting to find more, but it was blank. She'd ended it there and I didn't know what to think. My heart was racing, mind adjusting too slowly for my liking. She'd broke it off with him for me. I knew she loved me, but I guess I'd never realised just how much.

After recovering from my shock, I put the letter away and left for Wanda's, not bothering to tell my family where I was going. My dad was attempting to console my disappointed mother as Y/B/N moped around somewhere else, so I took that as my chance to nip out without them noticing.

I was trying to plan what to say to her – I didn't even know what I wanted to say to her. She said she didn't expect me to get back with her, and even without Y/B/N and their engagement in the way, we still couldn't be together. Not like how we wanted to be. But I wanted to. I wanted her. All this time without her had been heartbreaking – I didn't want to leave her again. I didn't know the specifics of how we would work, but we could work. We had to.

When I reached her house, it was her mother who opened the door. And that's when I realised that I wasn't sure if she blamed Y/B/N or her daughter for the engagement breaking apart.

"Iryna, hi," I greeted with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time–"

"Y/N, I'm glad you're here," she cut me off, immediately pulling me in for a hug. "Thank you for coming."

I nodded with mild confusion, returning the hug, before pulling away.

"I'm so sorry for the pain Wanda has caused to your family," she said regretfully. "I hope that your parents aren't as distraught as we are."

I eyed her strangely, still not sure what Wanda had told her. Either way, I didn't bother questioning it as my urgency to see Wanda was overpowering my curiosity.

"It's okay, Iryna, there's no need to apologise," I reassured her. "My family will be okay... I just thought I'd come and check in on Wanda. It's a lot, what happened."

She nodded sympathetically. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're such a good friend to her." She stood to the side to let me in. "Go on up. She's in her room. Hasn't come out since this morning."

I offered a small, awkward smile Iryna's way before letting myself in and going upstairs to Wanda's room. My palms were sweaty and my mouth was dry – stupidly juxtaposed – when I stopped before Wanda's door. On the way over here, I still hadn't decided what to say. I figured it would just come to me when I saw her. One could hope.

Knocking on the door, I heard her sweet, accented voice give me permission to enter. My stomach flipped at the sound and I did as she said. Closing the door behind me, I turned and saw Wanda sat at a stool before a canvas.

Noticing I didn't say anything, she glanced over her shoulder casually, probably expecting a family member. She widened her eyes when she realised it was me and immediately stood up, smoothing out her paint-covered smock in an attempt to look neater. The simple action warmed my heart – she was adorable and I couldn't help but smile.

"Hi," I said quietly.

She cleared her throat, eyes darting around nervously. "Hey. I didn't– what are– hi."

I let my eyes wander, admiring her messy ponytail and the strokes of paint on her face that she definitely wasn't aware of. She was stunning, even with her confused eyes and pursed lips. Better yet, her hand was ring-free and I was reminded of the fact that she wasn't engaged anymore.

"I assume you're here because you read the letter," she began apologetically, but I didn't let her finish because the longer I was in her presence, the more I realised I wanted to kiss her.

Approaching her, I found her eyes before pressing my lips to hers. My hands cupped her cheeks as I held her close, revelling in her taste and scent and touch. She was quick to react, her fingers curling around my waist and tugging me towards her, squeezing our bodies together. Breathing became a problem and we regretfully had to pull away, but remained close enough to exchange breaths and swim in each other's eyes. I'd never been more relieved to see the colour green.

"You're not mad," she realised, looking between my eyes as if trying to search for some anger.

"How can I be mad that you broke off your engagement for me, knowing we can never be together in the way that you deserve?" I asked with disbelief.

She smiled beautifully, making my heart flutter in my chest. "You still love me."

I stole another kiss from her lips. "I never stopped, Wanda. Of course I still love you."

She rested her forehead to mine and closed her eyes peacefully. "Thank you for coming back."

I laughed, feeling tears brim my eyes. "I'm not leaving again, love. We'll find a way to make this work. I promise you that."

Wanda Maximoff deserved the world. And I was going to give it to her in this lifetime and beyond.

[kessielrg]

[Zelda] Please, Protect the Arts: Part 1

Notes: I have an outline for this story, but I don’t know how I’ll pace out when I write the chapters proper. I won’t be uploading this to AO3 until it’s finished either way (I think), so please enjoy it now. There is not a particular version of Link and Zelda in mind, I just want to play with the characters a bit. Link is partially mute.

Rating: K

Word Count: 1,593 words

Next | AO3

- - -

There were two things that Zelda disliked: people who used their strength to hurt others, and when her father listened to lobbyists with money instead of the people any new law actually effected. That being said, Zelda kept a close eye on the politics her father was involved with. He would sometimes joke that she was the only campaign manager he’d ever listen to. 

And, like most politicians, he was lying. 

Zelda’s father only listened when she was truly annoyed by a certain law, and he only truly followed her advice when he got enough citizen approval to follow through. By then it was too late to change the other politician’s minds as well, leaving the bill to usually go in favor of the wrong party. It was frustrating. It made Zelda wish she never went into politics herself.

She would though.

She was too furious with the world not to.

The notes from the last state-wide conference sat on her father’s office desk. Zelda hadn’t meant to spy on them. She had actually come into his office to get a spare pencil. Her father kept a lot of spare pencils in his desk drawer- enough so that it was the only thing allowed in that particular drawer. The Manila folder with the conference notes didn’t seem important at first, and Zelda had almost dismissed it. It wasn’t until her eyes caught the word ‘education’ that Zelda took a double take.

Curiosity soon became her enemy.

“You can’t let this arts grant -or lack thereof- go through!” Zelda demanded as she stormed to her father.

The poor old man, who sometimes wished he had his daughter earlier to better keep up with her energy, turned his gaze away from the chessboard to Zelda instead. He gave her a tired smile to counter her unbridled anger.

“I’m afraid that decision is not entirely my own,” he reminded her. “If anything, it’s out of my hands. That decision mostly rests with the board of ed.”

Zelda slammed her hand down on the chessboard as she looked her father dead in the eye. “You know that’s a lie.” she seethed. “Especially when you know as well as I do that the wording points toward one particular school.”

Her father gave a heavy sigh, and left that at his only answer. Zelda followed his gaze to where she had accidentally knocked over a knight. Peering over it was the queen, just two moves away from creating a checkmate.

. . .

When Zelda was mad, she went to the library. It had been a way her mother taught her to manage her anger. A place where silence had to be maintained. A place where you could transfer that anger to a protagonist that kept making terrible decisions in the first act of a fantasy trilogy. A place where things could be alright in the end, as long as you had the patience to see it through.

If only real life could work like that.

Zelda and her father had come to an ultimatum; if she was able to convince the board of education that the art program should resume its regular funding (or receive more), then he promised he’d make sure the budget cut wouldn’t go through. Zelda had accepted the challenge without thought. It wasn’t until she got to the library that she realized she had essentially signed the budget cut bill herself. The young woman let out a whining sigh to herself as she thumbed the spines of the books she passed. She didn’t know how important the arts were to properly support them. She herself had only taken music lessons for the school credit and not from genuine interest. Even then, she had no idea on how it applied to her life after- other than a feeling of fleeting satisfaction as her fingers fluttered over a well cared for harp.

Thinking of music and budget doom almost made her tune out the sounds of a wind instrument being played. When it did register, it took Zelda a few moments more to realize she wasn’t simply thinking the tune. No, no, no. Someone was actually playing music in the library. Partially furious at the breech of silence she had been told was mandatory, Zelda went after the sound.

Her search brought her to the very back of the library. Residing there were study rooms. Sitting in one of them was a boy not much older than she was, and he was gently playing a tune on a small, handmade, wooden ocarina as he looked over the thin book he was reading. The sight immediately made Zelda recoil. How on earth did he sneak a music instrument in, however small it was, and how had no one told him to stop yet?

“He’s pretty good, isn’t he?” a voice asked from behind her, making Zelda jump. Her fingers accidentally knocked against the study room door as she whipped her whole body around. It was just a librarian. Zelda offered up a rather guilty smile in return.

“It’s a bit disheartening to see him practice here.” she admitted. “Is there no room for him at the music center?”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” the librarian mused, “But he’s welcome here regardless.”

Zelda nodded in understanding. But something egged at the back of her mind. She realized what it was soon enough.

“You don’t know his name?”

For this, the librarian gave a rather sheepish shake of their head.

“It’s never come up.” they admitted.

“Never?”

“Never.”

Zelda now gave the librarian a funny look. How was it possible to never know a patron’s name? At the very least it would have been on the library card…

The librarian caught on to her expression pretty quickly.

“He doesn’t talk.” the librarian went on to amend. “At least,  not very often. He just comes in every Friday, sits right there in that room (it’s got better sound protection from what I’ve heard- gets booked for meetings often because of it), and just plays away from whatever sheet music he’s brought in.”

“Really?” Zelda questioned. She turned to look back at the boy- her blood ran cold in seeing that he was staring right back at her. Apparently, the sound proofing wasn’t that good either way.

The two kept eye contact for what seemed like forever. The boy’s dark blue eyes held a sort of hidden wisdom; as if he saw a lot of things but were never part of them. Zelda wondered what stories he could tell. She wondered what kind of gossip he knew.

“It looks like he’s taking a break now.” the librarian then noted from over Zelda’s shoulder. “You might be able to go in and talk to him if you want.”

“I think I might.” Zelda nodded, not once turning her gaze away from the boy.

Her body moved on its own. One moment Zelda was aware that she was outside the study, and the next she was sitting down opposite of the boy. In his hands was the ocarina still. And surely enough in between them on the table was sheet music. In trying to figure out which piece it was, Zelda noticed a familiar logo. It was the same as the school that the budget cut bill would affect. A part of Zelda’s chest tightened.

“You go to the Hylian School of Arts?”

The boy looked at her, blinked, then casually looked down at his sheet music. He looked back up at her again with a nod.

“You must come from a pretty affluent household.” Zelda mused. She was prodding, she knew it, but she had to see what this boy knew. “HSOA is very thorough with its application process.”

To her surprise, the boy shook his head.

“A scholarship then?”

For this, he nodded, and part of Zelda already understood why.

“If you don’t mind,” Zelda went on, “Can I have your name? There is a rather broad budget cut planned for your school, and I promised my father (a local representative of the state) that I would create an argument against the board of education to keep that funding. If I knew your name, we could work together to build a case. What do you think?”

The boy thought about it longer than Zelda was anticipating. Eventually, she started to ruffle through this sheet music for a blank page. Unceremoniously ripping off a generous piece from the corner, the boy withdrew a pencil that had been inside a backpack hidden under the table and wrote something down. Zelda wasn’t able to see it until he handed it to her.

‘Wednesday, 1:00pm. Room 115.’

“This isn’t your name.” came Zelda’s first, very confused, remark.

The boy smiled at it- it carried notes of mischievousness and a special kind of cockiness. He got up from his spot, gently placing the ocarina down in doing so, and gestured for Zelda to follow him. Zelda raised an eyebrow, but did so anyway. Together he led them out of the study room and back through the library. The boy’s path seemed certain as they reached the kids’ section, but faltered as he searched the rows for something in particular.

A small noise resembling an ‘ah-ha!’ escaped his lips before he pulled a book out. He gave it to Zelda with a careful look of contemplation. He studied her reaction as she looked over the title: Rumpelstiltskin.

“Oh, so you think you’re funny, do you?” Zelda soon snarked at him. 

His only response was a wide, boyish grin.

[unbridledbrainrots]

A day in their class...

Rating: PG-15  Length: ~600 words Genre: Slice of (school) life, modern!AU? probably Pairing: Sebastian Moran (from Moriarty The Patriot)  x  OC (named Marjorie Reiss) though I prefer this one is Marjorie-centric story featuring Sebastian at the end lol Notes: Highkey dry humour or absurd... huhh you name it, may contain inaccuracies, quick proofread so sorry for some errors! Oh, they’re still friends in this timeline

Attending math class after lunch break was one of several phases that Marjorie wouldn’t recommend to everyone. Especially when the nippy breeze struck her face like it was trying to hypnotise her into its abyss of unconsciousness. In addition, sitting further back in the class worsened the situation. To conclude, it was a perfect orchestra for her lullaby. 

And that’s… that’s what currently happened. 

Her right arm tried its best to bear her head that had been nodding for umpteen times. Her mind was on a brink of combustion whether to instruct her eyes kept wide open and her ears pricked up for the teacher’s explanation, or her entire system shut down for a nice power nap. Her glasses were taken off from her face eversince she was seduced by the zephyr. Her lips had been curled inward, merely avoiding any drool leaked from her mouth. Normally, she would slam the table by reflex every time a drop of saliva fell down and then miraculously regained her consciousness. 

Ahh, too bad it was math class! Marjorie could sneak some snacks to keep her alert, but Mr. Gregson had eagle eyes. He rarely allowed his students to eat during his class unless it was an emergency. Whenever he caught his students dozing off, he only asked them to wash their faces in the loo. Yet he calculated the time they spent in his head! That’s why no one dared to stop by the cafeteria or drag their feet back to the class. His class was indeed one of the strictests here. Never did she survive his class without accidentally sleeping. To the point that she thought he had tagged her as an easy target to answer the question on the chalkboard just by how often she got called out. 

She was one step closer to REM…

“Miss Reiss,” that hoarse voice awakened her, but her souls were still scattered around. In a full bafflement, she looked at Mr. Gregson who had been standing next to her. Silence, it was all blank stare. Everyone in the class knew she hadn’t woken up completely. 

That stern teacher handed over a stick of white chalk to her and chillingly half-whispered, “it’s time for you to say goodbye to your world.”

She slightly nodded, yet still puzzled. 

“Leave everything behind- no, you can bring your notes, and do number 2 there,” his hand aimed at the board that had already been divided into three sections. One was already filled by him as an example.

“N-now?”

“Yes, Miss Reiss.”

“But I haven’t done anything good in this world.”

“You’ve finished that number and I’ve checked it.”

“The grim reaper will grant you leniency if you finish it correctly,” he continued.

The living corpse ascended from her chair then dawdled her way to the blackboard.

“Number 3,” Mr. Gregson passed another chalk to Sebastian, in which it also snapped him back to reality. 

Shrk… shrk… the dusty white chalk slowly rubbed the slate. Marjorie kept shifting her glance between her notes and the board. But she barely understood her notes. It was too cryptic for someone who was half-asleep. Yet she was too indulged in writing the answer until her right hand crashed into someone’s left arm, making that person accidentally streaked a small part of his answer.

On an impulse, she stared at that person next to her. Unfortunately, her glasses were left on her table, so she could only see the outline of the person. Tousled, black… is this Sebby-chan? She pondered while squinting. 

Perhaps she snorted chalk dust too much as she abruptly handed her notes to him.

“Exchange.”

Instead of telling her to open her eyes, Sebastian gave her his notes without any hesitation. Hadn’t he already woken up? Or had he inhaled the dust as well? 

As though they shared one last braincell, Marjorie and Sebastian switched their spots. She did his, and he did hers. They continued solving the questions respectively, although he struggled deciphering her disastrous writing.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 2

Shigaraki Birthday Celebration! 18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, brief male masturbation, tags will be added for smut in the next two parts

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which studying is done, unwilling connections are made, and Tomura thinks about the way you smell a totally normal amount. 

AO3 mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg​ (just shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged!

Tomura hadn’t stopped staring at his phone since he left the apartment. It was second nature by now—head down at a nearly ninety degree angle, hoodie pulled up to hide hair he hadn’t bothered to comb in weeks, and phone out, held just far enough away that he could see the pavement behind the screen. 

He’d found that people tended to naturally avoid him this way and he didn’t have to risk accidentally making eye contact. It was still a bit nerve wracking to venture into buildings he didn’t expressly have to for classes, so he was still hesitant to make the voyage from his apartment to the library.  But he’d made the mistake of mentioning plans to his roommate and the bastard wouldn’t leave him alone about it afterwards until he was practically shoved out with the door locked behind him. 

He was half tempted to make up some excuse last minute and go hide out at the only cafe on campus he could tolerate, but Tomura knew he was just delaying the inevitable. Biting the bullet now would help to not prolong his suffering. 

Your text thread glared up at him in stark white on blue as he pushed past a crowd of students by the library entrance and flashed his ID to the attendant. 

Group Project Bitch:

— hey I got us a room on the third floor, all the way in the back

—text me when you’re here I’ll wave you in, it’s kinda hard to find T-T

                                                                                                     sounds good— 

He shot off a quick text to you that he was hoping on the elevator. The other two guys in the lift may have given him a dirty look for only going up to the third floor, but Tomura sure as hell wasn’t going to risk the physical exertion of stares when just the thought being stuck in a small room alone with you for god knows how long already had him sweating. 

When he stepped out, you were leaned against one of the 90s-green shelves, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He panicked momentarily, thinking he’d have to get your attention cause just walking up without saying anything would be weird right? 

He wasn’t sure. 

He didn’t do shit like this. 

Thankfully, you looked up at the chime of the lift and waved him over. His red sneakers squeaked as they scuffed the linoleum floors and he already regretted choosing his tighter fitting pair of sweats. The tapered legs that hugged his ankles and thin calves rubbed against his skin and stung the raw patches. 

“Hey, thanks for coming,” you said softly and he nodded, following as you began to weave through the stacks. “Sorry it was short notice, graduation’s coming up so I'm swamped with meetings.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t have anything going on.” 

He cringed internally at the way his voice cracked, trying to keep the usual rasp to a minimum. His roommate said it was from the innumerable hours he spent shouting at his monitor or on discord, which was probably true but to you he was sure he just sounded like a fucking teenager. 

“Cool, I’ve been set up for awhile so feel free to move some stuff,” you talked a bit louder now that you’d both stepped into the study room and shut the door. 

Tomura looked around. You’d snagged one of the nicer ones at least, with the big monitors he could cast his screen onto and those comfy chairs he liked but could never beat anyone too on the lower floors. 

You were right, there was shit all over the big table at the center of the room. Notes and printed out readings with highlights galore and sticky notes littering the pages were scattered all over. What a show off. You probably tossed all this stuff out so he’d think you were actually intelligent or some shit. 

Kicking a pile off of the nearest plush armchair, Tomura took a seat and pulled his laptop out. There was a jack in the middle of the table and you plugged yours in to cast onto the big monitor. 

You made a fucking power point for him. 

This couldn’t be real. 

“So I know I ran some stuff by you in class but essentially I was thinking we make like a simple Twine type thing using the rhetorical argument Swift is making…” 

You started rambling again and Tomura almost immediately tuned you out. His eyes drifted between the rough outline you were flicking through on the board and the laptop you had your nose buried in. 

It was covered in stickers, pretty obviously stereotypical for someone as obsessed with being ‘cool’ as you clearly were. But as he scanned through the various old meme phrases and aesthetic shit, he caught a couple of game references he recognized and a panel cutout from one of his favorite manga. 

He almost fell into your trap for a moment, feeling a rush at the prospect of someone—much less a chick—being into his main hyperfixations. 

But it was quickly crushed under everything his years trolling subreddits had taught him. People like you didn’t actually have interests beyond the attention and dick it got them. Plus that manga was pretty popular anyway, you probably didn’t even read it, just thought the line was funny or made you sound quirky. That had to be why you felt the need to drop it in your first texts. 

“What do you think?” you asked, making good on your new habit of startling the hell out of him. 

Tomura blinked, gaze instinctively turning to you but the blatant way you stared made his mouth turn to sand paper, so he looked resolutely back at the color-coded bullet points on the screen. 

“Look’s fine,” he mumbled. 

The more he glanced over it, the more it actually did look fine. A bit more than fine, really, which pissed him off even more. The little choose-your-own debate style story was not a terrible way to make fucking Whatever Swift interesting and it kinda looked like you’d bothered to google some simple coding which gave him a better idea of what you were looking for. 

It was...good. 

And that so fucking annoying. 

Well, he wasn’t sure if annoying was the right word for it, but the proposal coupled with your apparent lack of disgust at working with him made his face hot and that only ever happened otherwise when his roommate left the dishes out for weeks or when some newb on his server fucked up their raids. 

Then, you had the audacity to plop down in the chair next to him and— 

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” you began, shuffling in the chair to cross your legs on the cushion, “but I was hoping you’d be willing to show me how you do some of the coding stuff? I tried on my own, but I have literally no clue what I’m doing.” 

He could smell you again, like the whole fucking health and beauty aisle at the grocery store. When he turned his head a bit to look at you around the curtain of his hair, you were crooked—back against the armrest and facing him. 

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, sounding a bit less rude than he would have liked to. 

You just fucking stared right at him though, didn’t wrinkle your nose at how greasy his roots were or how he was wearing the same hoodies as yesterday. 

“I’ve always been interested in it, but my program is kinda stressful and I don’t have much free time so I never learned,” you offered and for once Tomura found he didn’t feel his skin crawl under your unwavering gaze. 

The dry, cracked area around his eyes burned though as sweat beaded on his forehead and he quickly wiped at his face with a loose sweatshirt sleeve. The garment hung off his shoulders, bought a size too big that he never ended up growing into. 

“What’s your major?” 

He found the words slipped easily from him. It was the quintessential question you asked of anyone in college when you met, but he’d never been interested in the answer before. 

You babbled a bit about your specific area of study and your voice was surprisingly not as infuriating as he remembered it being before. It was softer, he thought, than when you were soapboxing in class about the sexist implications of old as fuck poetry—it had a less grating quality and was almost pleasing to the ear. 

Or Tomura would have said that if he thought you deserved the compliment. 

But, obviously you didn’t. 

So he didn’t. 

He just pretended to care about what you were saying and didn’t hang onto every word at all. Actually he was more enraptured in the way your lips moved when you talked. You used your hands a lot too, but his eyes were ensnared on the way your mouth quirked and dipped, at the occasional flash of your tongue between strong teeth. When he leaned in a bit, he could smell your breath too: fruity gum and the remnants of whatever you were always drinking in that loud as fuck cup. He wondered now what exactly it was, so he could buy it and get a better idea of what you mouth might taste—

Nope. 

No, see this was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. How were you doing this to him? What a fucking slut. 

Tomura steeled his nerves as you started explaining the extracurriculars you did on the side. 

“My roommate freshman year actually started a gaming club and so I’ve gotten more into that over the years,” you explained, pointing at the stickers on your laptop case. 

“Are you talking about The League?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t know if you’d heard of it,” you shrugged.  

He knew of the gaming club on campus. He’d thought about joining when he enrolled but the allure of anonymity online gaming provided was too strong. Plus his discord server didn’t have annoying weekly meetings. 

The thought of you, up late and illuminated by the blue light of a tv screen, tucked away in one of the basement rooms in the media building was...strange. It also prompted an array of new images—you in those fucking cat ear headsets, seated in his lap as he trashed you in Mario Kart which was even stranger. 

Tomura had to physically shake his head to dislodge the thought. 

“Uh, we should probably work on this right?” he cringed at the way his voice cracked compared to your own, smooth tone. 

You should narrate those fucking sleepy time mediation things. His roommate used to hide wireless speakers in his room and blast those when Tomura stayed up too late. It was annoying as shit then, but if it was you talking, he probably wouldn’t have minded so much. 

Or no, no he would definitely mind. 

Yes. It would have been worse if anything. 

“Oh shit, you right. It’s been like two hours.” 

He glanced down at his laptop and saw that it had, indeed, been two hours since he got there. He’d willingly spoken to you for two goddamn hours. It felt like no time had passed at all, but the sun was definitely setting, the overhead fluorescent bulbs taking over as the main light source in the room. 

Weird. 

So you settled back in your chair, typing away like you always did, but the sound wasn’t nearly as frustrating as before. Occasionally, you’d glance over his shoulder and ask questions about what he was working on, but mostly the two of you settled into a comfortable silence. 

This pattern continued for the next few weeks. As the weather warmed, you began to show a bit more skin. He never worked up the nerve to comment on the thick expanse of bare thigh that tapered off nicely into your calf, or the curve of your arms not hidden behind knit sweaters—hell even your fucking shoulders were hard not to look at. 

Maybe all those high school dress codes weren’t actually so full of shit after all. Cause he was definitely distracted by the way your neck swooped into the exposed skin of your shoulder and down your back on more than one occasion.

Did all girls know that? Was it some kind of massive conspiracy to crumble the patriarchy or some crap to go flashing bare shoulders everywhere? 

Regardless if you really were trying to hypnotize him into liking you, Tomura stayed resolutely in his monochrome, long sleeved attire, and if you noticed the behavior you never said a word. 

Never said a word about his allergy ridden skin, peeling lips or scarred throat. Never commented on his terrible posture or said his eyes were creepy. Even when he’d occasionally toss a negative remark your way, you never retaliated maliciously. Just brushed him off with a jovial ‘don’t be a dick’ and a playful, but hard slap to his chest or the back of his head. 

The two of you always met in the same, secluded room on the third floor. You’d talk with him in class sometimes or shoot him texts about random bits of inspiration or a late night game memes, but for the most part, your conversations were confined to that room. He found he preferred the study room ‘you’ best. You weren’t as stiff. There was more of a solidity to you, like he’d seen when you told off that Kai bastard. 

It...grew on him. 

He was irrationally anxious that there would be a time when you couldn’t secure this particular room—with it’s big monitor and comfy chairs and less annoying ‘you’—but he’d been reassured after your third work session. 

Someone had knocked softly at the thick, wooden door and a head of wild, bright pink hair peaked around the crack. 

“Sup bro,” the intruder quipped, as they stepped fully into the room. 

“Hey, Spinner,” you mumbled back, looking up momentarily from the essay portion of your presentation before going back to typing. 

Spinner had seemed to notice him at that point and offered a small wave in his direction. “Oh hey, sorry, thought you were alone,” he said quickly. 

“Nah, this is Tomura,” you said, glancing up again and jerking your thumb in his direction. 

Tomura nodded and tugged at his hoodie strings to stop from scratching under the newcomer’s gaze. He’d gotten used to you, but other people still made him a bit nervous. 

“Nice to meet you,” Spinner had a nice smile, bright and flashy when he spoke. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, looking around the room. “You got the nice one, huh. How’d you manage that?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” you half closed your laptop and stretched a bit. “Jin was working the front desk, so I’ve just been bribing him with vending machine snacks.” 

“He hasn’t gotten himself fired yet?” Spinner laughed incredulously, but not unkindly. 

“Surprisingly not, but he’s completely corrupt now,” you were picking at the cuticle of your thumb and Tomura fixated on the way the skin split off at the nail. Just like his. “A couple packs of chips and a Monster and I get the most bitchin study room whenever I want.” 

“Damn,” Spinner chuckled again and Tomura really wished that he’d leave already. He was beginning to feel himself fading into the upholstery as the conversation left him in the dust. The divergence of your attention away from him or the project was even more annoying that you were. “Well, are you coming to The League meeting tonight? We’re busting out a Smash tournament.” 

“That’s tonight?” you asked, eyes perking up but sliding subtly in Tomura’s direction. “Sorry, I think Tomura and I are gonna be working on this project for a while longer and I’m kinda burnt out. But next time, yeah?”

Spinner rolled his eyes but nodded and kicked off the wall. “That’s not very sexy of you,” he chided and waved a hand in parting. “Gonna work yourself directly into the fucking grave.” 

“Jokes on you, I welcome death.” 

You buried yourself in the screen again and Tomura actually felt a bit grateful for you ending the conversation before he got too painfully awkward. 

But Spinner stopped before he left, looking Tomura up and down from the frayed strings of his black hoodie to the tips of his worn red sneakers. 

“Nice to meet you, man,” he said with a wide grin. “Feel free to tag along next time if you want, we always need more players.” 

The door clicked softly shut behind him and Tomura relaxed back into the silence.

He did end up tagging along—though he spent most of the time hanging off your heels like a lost puppy—to the next meeting of your gaming club and the one after that. Frustratingly enough, he learned that your interests did also extend into skills as you almost bested him in a few rounds Smash. Your profile, lit only by the flashing screen lights, was even more striking outside of his imagined imitations. 

So much so that it found its way into his head late at night when he was too tired to log onto his server. So much so that it had his cock growing firm and tenting his grey sweats without even the visual aid of his go to porn clips. So much so that sometimes, he felt inclined to do something about the throbbing between his legs. So much so that he thought about the way you picked the skin by your fingers. How it looked like his. How your hand might feel like his but softer. Smoother around the edges. With your sweet voice whispering in his ear, making him whine and pant and spill white ropes of release onto his stomach. 

But it was only because you were hot. 

And you were practically begging for him to jack off to the thought of you with those outfits and liking all the shit he liked and noticing when he shrunk away from conversations or including him in them when he started to feel that awful sense of fading into the background. 

Yeah. 

Everybody jerks it sometimes to their group project partners if their ass is nice enough. 

Right?