#trying to trust my reader and use fewer breaks

[vagabond-umlaut]

hey, where is the pomegranate tree?

unstoppable force, aka kore, aka gojo, meets immovable object, aka hades, aka you— nothing can ever go wrong from this collision, trust me— n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; hades and persephone retelling [with a twist ;))]; 1.2k wc; stubbornly persuasive gojo; the reader is js so tired and annoyed [and tired]; enemies to lovers vibes[??]; talks of marriage and children; gojo thinks you are a fool, he is the real clown here

▸ pls don't glare at me if there is more than one inaccuracy here, haha. anyways, the header is from pinterest, the divider is by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ update: this fic is now part of a series!!! wreaths of asphodel 😊😊

"you shall spend the rest of your days in tears."

you're foolish; woefully so, gojo thinks, carefully observing you from his place on the chaise lounge, smiling while you continue seething, "and there will be no one who can save you. neither a hero nor a god. neither demeter nor zeus. no. one."

"but why do you think i will need saving, my rose?" the endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, the taste sweetening at the way your pretty lips dip into a deeper frown, "you're not a monster, are you?"

"no!" the defensive reply comes in less than a beat. though the words following it sound a tad less bold; it seems as if you're trying to make yourself believe and not scare him.

"i'm someone far fiercer— hades. the goddess of the dead. the queen of the underworld— and the cause for your misery should you choose to vex me any further."

"aw, no," gojo cries, decidedly making a show by slapping a hand over his eyes and faking a sniffle, "why must the only woman i want as my wife see me as an annoyance?"

then lets his hand drop down to the cushion, willing his eyes to well over with pitiful moisture. "as the god of life, i've only ever given and given– be it grains or fruits or vegetables or flowers– without asking anything in return— yet the first and only time i ask..."

he doesn't bother finishing his sentence, choosing to sob to add to the tragic atmosphere— though that doesn't mean he doesn't note the war of emotions on your face:

pity, confusion, anger, again confusion— you're so easy to read, to steer. very foolish, really.

"you'll not like living here," you eventually break the silence hanging within the room. your voice is much softer now; the god wonders if you sing. if you do, the muses will certainly be put to shame... "your days will be spent in utter boredom and gloom and tears–"

"– and no one can come to my aid then: yes, thank you," he interrupts you, more than a little tired, "you've driven the points too well into my head– so much so that i'm surprised there isn't a gaping hole in there, oozing blood and my brains. but why must you think i'll need rescue, huh??"

if a smidge of force escapes into his words, gojo decides not to pay it any mind— though only until he notices the small flinch you give– his insides twist and torment, quite inexplicably, thereafter.

"okay, look," he says, getting up from his slouch to move near you, but stops on catching the warning glint in your eyes.

"first of all, i'm not some damsel in distress being whisked away in a chariot here– i came here by own volition. and i'm offering my mind, body, heart, soul– the special package that i am, in fewer words– to you, by my own volition. why shall i want anyone to rescue me then?"

"besides," he proceeds to add, allowing an easy smirk to form on his face, "you're just the cute little goddess of the dead– not at all scary like your brother used to be; though i guess you try to imitate him in your glares, don't you? sukuna was quite notori—"

"don't you dare utter my brother's name, foul olympian," a quiet growl slashes gojo's comment, sending it plummetting to the ground— and making him understand why you, the inconspicuous, sheltered sister of the vicious former holder of the name 'hades', was given the crown, in the aftermath of your brother's banishment– instead of the several more well-known candidates...

"i apologise," gojo offers in the very next instant, making it as genuine as he can, "i never meant to upset or offend you. i'm sorry if i did."

you just stare at him for a beat, gojo watches, before your shoulders lift then fall in a sigh. the fire burning in your aura abates by a pinch.

sighing once more, you finally break your silence, "It's okay, and um– suppose i too should apologise. you might be an olympian but you're not as foul as them, no. please forgive me for calling you so."

"no problem, my rose," the god is quick to accept your words with a wave of his hand and a beam, further widening when he notices the sliver of smile on your countenance, "but does this mean i appeal to your tastes? i mean, you called me 'not as foul as them', didn't you?? did you just accept my hand in marriage, then???"

"no, i didn't..." your subtle smile disappears swifter than it appeared. a half of gojo's floral crown, quite inexplicably, wilts on the table before. he watches your eyes fall to it, then snap up to meet his.

"do you love me?"

not yet, but he thinks he can. you might be an idiot but you certainly aren't an unlovable idiot— and one voice in his mind murmurs, those precious, innocent looks of yours aren't even the main reasons why...

the god shoots back a languid smile. "if you want to see me in love with you, so be it."

"that's neither 'yes' nor 'no'," you point out, frowning, before vaulting your second query of the evening, "if we get married, do you want to have children?"

it won't be very unfavourable, if you both do... with the vivid colour of your eyes, or the adorable shape of your nose, or the radiance of your skin, or the— "if you want, i shall be happy to assist," he ekes out with a meaningful wink, albeit he doubts how much of it reaches you.

you're very foolish, after all... and no– it's not because of the awkward way he says it– no! not in the slightest! he wasn't fumbling at all!

you wrap the shawl tighter around your shoulders but don't move any further away, gojo notes. the same way he does the slight tint in your cheeks when you roll your eyes with a scoff.

"you're unbelievable, kore. truly, terribly unbelievable." you press the pads of your thumbs over your forehead before releasing it, gaze an unprecedented mark of sharp when it settles on his face.

"is there nothing you want from our union, eh? i refuse to believe you wish to marry me without any demands, as if on a mere whim– but if it is so, i ought to warn you, kore: my answer is and will always be one firm 'no'."

your words mustn't ignite this odd restlessness in him. they certainly mustn't— still, gojo finds his chest tight and the air heavy as he grins back and says, "i only want to be your husband, your majesty... but if that is too much for you right now–"

the stretch on his lips simmers down to something smaller. yet truer.

"i want you to call me by my name. my real name. can you do that, my rose?"

you don't say anything in response for a long while. so long, in fact, it makes the god wonder if you are ever going to reply to his request.

perhaps not, he thinks quite a bit down-spirited when you suddenly turn on your heel and with a swish of your long shawl, stride out the rooms– o-oh.

you stop just as abruptly at the threshold. a complicated grin shining on your face as you twist to look at him over your shoulder then say:

"good night, gojo satoru. pray the ghosts prowling these halls don't eat you up ere dawn."

you're gone not even few feet away from the door, before gojo falls face-first into the bed, the entire room suddenly erupting into thousands of roses in all colors ever seen. [lolol, he is such a loser for you! xD]

▸ masterlist

[jtargaryen18]

Under His Skin ~ Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

Words: 7.2k

Pairing: Jonathan Crane aka Scarecrow (Nolanverse Batman) x F Reader

Warnings: Stalking, gaslighting, coveting, drugging, voyeurism, manipulation, plans to falsely imprison, vandalism.

Your world continues to implode in the wake of Ares' breakdown. What happens with his apartment now that you were added to the lease? What of your wedding plans? And the art gallery...

Jonathan realizes that the League of Shadows gave him the key to a fully-realized fear toxin. But what will they want in return? The only leverage they have to use against him is her so he's running out of time to lock her down...

She knocked softly three times. Right on time. The clock read 12:13 exactly. 

Jonathan didn’t say anything, just opened the door with deliberate calm. 

She smiled faintly as she stepped inside, a takeout bag in hand. “Lunch, love.” Then she froze, and her eyes widened. “I... I'm so sorry. That was habit. I didn’t mean...”

Jonathan tilted his head slightly, just studying her. 

Habit.That word didn’t belong to me. But it will.

She moved past him, setting the food carefully on his desk. She was dressed like she had been in the early days when she'd arrive for Ares with a calm smile and soft conversation, confident in her skin, polished without effort. A tailored coat with a simple blouse tucked into slacks. Her jewelry was understated.

But it wasn’t what she wore that caught his attention. It was the scent of her perfume. He just realized she hadn't worn it in many days, the faint, clean smell of linen and her. 

Jonathan turned slightly as she passed, tracking the air she disturbed as he closed the door.

You’re trying. Putting yourself back together, and keeping the routine intact. Making it look whole again.

But it isn’t. Not anymore.

He looked at her more closely now. The illusion of routine was in place. But the light was gone from her eyes. The easy laughter he’d observed on her first days at Arkham? Absent. The subtle self-assurance in her posture? Faded.The confidence in her voice when she used to tease Ares or distract the staff? Muted.

There was something else now. Strain. She was tired. Not just physically, but beneath the surface. 

I’ve bent something in you. Not enough to break. Just enough to shift the balance.

It would make her easier to guide and shape. Now she'd ask fewer questions. She'd trust him faster, doubt less.

Jonathan should like that. He should want that. But something about it… unsettled him.

She was vibrant when I first saw her. Untouched by decay. Now there’s a shadow.

And I cast it. It works in my favor. But it’s mine. I’ll have to fix it. 

Not to restore her. But to own every piece of her, including her joy and warmth. Not just what was left after the storm... but what he rebuilt from the ruins.

“Well,” she said, trying to recover, “I asked a few of the nurses if they knew what you liked. A couple mentioned this place. I hope it’s okay.” She took her normal seat while he sat in the chair next to her.

Jonathan opened the bag slowly, surprised. Yes, he did like that restaurant. Lean protein, quinoa, a side of steamed vegetables. Not quite his usual order, but remarkably accurate.

You did research.To please me.

He looked up, as she pulled a wrap from her own bag. She was watching him, not expectantly, but hoping.

“Yes,” he said. “This is fine.”

This is perfect.

The meal unfolded quietly, comfortable. Until she asked. “How is Ares today?”

“Stable,” he said gently. “Still nonverbal and disconnected, unfortunately.”

Jonathan didn’t soften the truth because it served the narrative now. He watched her fingers stiffened around the tea cup.

With practiced ease, he continued. “We’ve adjusted his protocol. Low-dose antipsychotics, and a carefully managed sedative taper. I’ve removed all environmental stressors.” He glanced at her briefly. “Limited light. No auditory stimulation. Strict familiar routines. We’re treating it as an acute psychotic break with fear-induced catatonia.”

Let her hear the language. Let it sound official. Make her feel like she’s already in too deep to find clarity on her own.

You see? I’m the only one who can help him. And I’m not done trying. But if he slips too far… you’ll already be anchored somewhere else.

Her eyes dimmed slightly, and he watched it happen with controlled detachment. Jonathan saw sadness and guilt. Dependency. All of it played out across her features like the stages of a test subject adjusting to new sensory inputs.

And when the new toxin is ready, Ares will be its first vessel. If it works the way it should… he’ll never speak your name again.

She took a sip of her tea from the restaurant. Habit? But her shoulders were drawn just slightly inward, like she didn’t realize the shape of her own grief.

Jonathan set down his own water glass and leaned forward, not too far. Just enough to make the moment feel deliberate.

"How's your tea?" he asked.

She made a face, then smiled. "Not the greatest."

"I made tea for you," he said, moving to get it for her. 

She held up a hand to stop him. "I'll get it," she said. 

But he didn’t miss the subtext. She was trying to keep her balance. Trying to reclaim routine. 

Still trying to move freely in a world that belongs to me now. And I let her. Because watching her move is its own kind of control.

Jonathan stayed in his seat, enjoying the lunch she brought him. But he watched her, shoulders drawn back, the loose fall of her blouse shifting with each movement. Her fingers wrapping around the handle of the teapot with familiar confidence. The lines of her body moved like muscle memory. Not quite graceful, too tired for that. But sure and natural. 

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to conceal his body's reaction to her. Her slacks fit her like a second skin, showing off a perfect ass and those long, long legs...

I want everything. Not just her body .Not just the sound she makes when she exhales into my collar or the shape of her mouth when she says my name. I want her gaze, her choices, her routines. I want her to wake up and make my coffee without realizing it’s devotion. I want her to forget that she ever had mornings without me.

She poured the tea carefully, still unaware of how closely he watched her. Still safe in the belief that she was here by choice.

You’re building a new life. And I’m going to be every part of it. Even if I have to burn down everything you knew to make room.

She returned to her chair with the cup in hand.

"You’ve asked about Ares every day,” He said low and steady. “But you never talk about yourself.”

That line of conversation caught her off guard. Her mouth opened, then closed. “I… I’m fine,” she said quickly, but not convincingly.

He tilted his head. “Are you?”

She hesitated. And that tiny gap between instinct and truth? That was his opening.

“You witnessed a deeply traumatic event,” he said softly. “You went into shock. You were attacked when that patient was accidentally freed from his room. Today you returned to the same environment. That’s not ‘fine.’ That’s survival.”

She lowered her gaze, a faint, strained smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Guess I have a talent for being in the wrong place at the worst possible time.”

Jonathan didn’t return the smile or reward the deflection. “It’s not bad luck. It’s trauma. And it’s not something you’re meant to carry alone.”

She didn’t answer right away, just stared down at her tea, fingers wrapped too tightly around the cup. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “I think I’m just… alone.” She didn’t look up. “Ares was my rock. Even when things got hard. He could be stubborn, but he was... he was steady.” Her thumb rubbed anxiously along the porcelain. “My parents are gone, and I don't have siblings. I have an aunt in Boston, but we haven’t seen each other in years. And Lex...” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “She and I own the gallery together. Lexi has enough on her plate. I don’t want to add more.”

Jonathan listened, saying nothing yet. He’d already known all of it, including her reluctance to burdening others. It was all in her messages, her patterns and silences. It was data first.

But now, it was confirmation.

You feel you're drifting, untethered. And you’re telling me that directly. You don’t even realize what you’re giving me.

Every anchor you’ve lost becomes another reason to bind yourself to me.

He leaned forward just slightly. “You don’t have to perform for me,” he added.“Not here.”

Her shoulders loosened, she exhaled. Her fingers curled slightly around the base of the teacup. “I don’t really know how I’m doing,” she admitted finally.

Jonathan nodded, slow. “That’s common. You’re in a state of transition, there's uncertainty. It can cause disorientation, fatigue, even self-blame.”

Finishing his lunch, he asked. “Have you been sleeping?”

She nodded too quickly while he tried not to remember watching her sleep last night. Those red panties...

“Restfully?”

Her silence was the answer.

“Your mind hasn’t accepted the change yet,” he said gently. “It’s still trying to reconcile what happened to Ares with what it wants to believe about the world.” He watched her face closely. “That disconnect is painful, but manageable. With guidance.”

With my guidance.

She looked at him then, vulnerableand tired. But still trying to stand upright in her own shoes. 

He admired that, the way she still tried to hold herself together and meet his eyes without trembling. But it couldn’t last. She was already falling apart at the seams. Held together by routines and the memory of stability, or Ares. 

And now him.

“I’d like to help you with that,” he said finally. “As someone who’s… invested in your well-being.”

That was the softest he’d ever said it. Invested.

She looked at him, really looked. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. Searching his face like she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to see.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she admitted, almost a whisper. “But… thank you. That means more than I know how to say.”

She smiled, grateful. And lost.

Let the line blur, and feel like comfort, not intrusion. Let her reach for it without knowing what she’s touching.

She was quiet now, the kind of quiet that comes after surrender. It wasn't because she wanted to give in, but because she didn’t know how to keep standing on her own. She was exactly where he needed her, and where she'd be safe. 

You won’t have to worry much longer. Very soon, you’ll be somewhere warm, quiet, protected. Safe and sound. Because I’ll put you there.

And no one will ever touch you again.

She glanced at the clock then,startled by how much time had passed.

“I should probably go.” She stood slowly, not rushed, but reluctant. She gathered her things, and stood with a tired, grateful smile.

Jonathan rose with her. “Let me walk you out.”

She hesitated, but nodded. They moved down the corridor together in silence, her footsteps slow beside his.

Jonathan kept his hands folded behind his back, resisting the urge to touch the small of her back. He was so close now. Close enough that if anything happened, she’d reach for him without thinking. She already had. And she would again.

Outside, the afternoon sun filtered through a thin layer of clouds, casting everything in a grayish hue. Her car sat in the visitor lot which was emptier this time of day.

Pausing beside her, he said, “Be mindful when you’re out in Gotham. There’s been a rise in petty crime lately, muggings, break-ins. Especially downtown.”

She looked up, concerned. “Really?”

Jonathan nodded once. “It's been all over the news.”

She swallowed hard. He watched her eyes flicker with unease.

Good.

You won’t have to worry much longer. Soon, you won’t drive yourself to work. You won’t sleep alone. You won’t lie awake wondering if the city outside your window still remembers how to be cruel.

Because I’ll have you. And that will be the end of it.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, unlocking her car.

He didn’t respond, waited. He watched her slide into the driver’s seat, close the door, and glance back once before turning the key.

She didn’t know it yet, but she’d just survived her last solo trip to Arkham.

The gallery had been quiet all day. Almost too quiet. Lexi hadn’t come in, again. Another family issue with another vague apology by text.

You didn’t mind helping. You never did. You loved the gallery. Loved the way it smelled in the mornings, like fresh paint, old wood, and a thousand possibilities. You loved seeing an artist’s face light up when their work found a home. You believed in what you were building, and to you, it was a valuable contribution to the world.

But lately, it felt like the whole weight of it had been dropped into your arms. Every exhibit, email, meeting... The pedestal that cracked mid-install? Yours to fix. The broken lightbulb over the entrance? You replaced it. The delivery that showed up two days early? You made it work.

And Lexi? She was always sorry, overwhelmed, and somewhere else. You understood. She had her problems, and always had.

But Ares was in Arkham right now, fighting for his mind. And Lexi had barely asked about it. Once. Other than that, she hadn’t followed up or offered to help. Nothing.

It wasn’t fair to expect more. But wasn’t it also unfair to expect so little from someone who was supposed to be your friend?

And then there was Jonathan.

You didn’t even realize how much you’d started to depend on him until recently. The way his voice could cut through the noise in your head. Staying calm, you knew, was a big part of his job. Ares had been the same, only when everything was slipping sideways, Ares could help talk you down and couch it in humor and affection. When he decided you were okay, the matter was done. Even if it really hadn't been. Jonathan didn't do what he thought he should until you seemed stable. He saw you. Not only was he taking care of Ares, trying to bring him back to you, but he also took care of you, thought about your needs. 

Without him… I don’t think I could even walk into the gallery right now. What would you do without him? And the scariest part? You didn’t want to find out.

You locked the front door at 8:47 PM and stood in the street a little longer than usual.

Jonathan’s warning crept back into your mind. Be mindful when you’re out.

You made it home fine. You had leftovers for dinner with the tea you always made yourself. But now, it didn't seem nearly as good as what Jonathan made for you. 

Jonathan had been particularly kind today. You hated how much you clung to it. How it filled the space Ares used to take up, and on another level, that felt wrong. 

Ares is still here. Somewhere. You can’t give up on him.

You curled into bed with your phone, scrolling back through your old messages with Ares like you did every night. The casual ones.The late-night ones.The ones he sent on nights he worked late, telling you how much he couldn't wait to see you. Couldn't wait to marry you. You read them slowly, trying to remember the last one where he still sounded like himself.

You missed him. More than that, you needed him. And the ache of that need twisted something in your chest. The only person who seemed to understand that pain…Was the man who’d replaced him.

Jonathan would be Arkham’s new Chief Administrator. It wasn’t official yet, but everyone knew. And you knew what that meant. Even if Ares recovered, if some miracle reversed what had happened to him, he couldn’t go back to that role. That part of his life was over. But he’d still have you. You’d help him rebuild, and start again somewhere. You’d take care of him. You just needed him to come back.

Just come back.

And still, your mind kept drifting to someone else. To the way Jonathan had stood between you and danger. To the quiet way he said your name like he already knew your breaking points.

You trusted him, hard to believe with how he'd treated you when he arrived at Arkham. You hated that the voice that calmed you most was no longer Ares’s.

You just needed time to get through this. And when Ares comes back to you… this will all be something you survived. Together.

But the world kept moving around you. Two emails sat unread at the top of your inbox. The first was from the realtor, the final paperwork for the apartment was ready. Ares had added you to his lease. After six years of loving each other in borrowed spaces and parallel lives, you were finally going to live together. The forms were signed. You hadn't started packing because honestly, you didn't have a lof things to pack.

And now? Now you didn’t know what to do. What happens to his apartment if he doesn't come back? Do you move in without him? Do you cancel the lease? Do you wait… and for how long? And it wasn't like you could afford to keep up both places for long. You’d reached out to his brother, Colin, over the weeked. He’d been kind, but shocked like you. He asked for updates saying he and his wife were planning to come visit soon. They’d meant well.

But you weren’t ready to face anyone who’d ask all the questions. You were barely holding together yourself.

The second email was from the wedding planner. Lexi had found her for you back when things were normal. When there were color palettes and tasting appointments and venues to tour. Now the planner was asking why you hadn’t responded.

“Still waiting on final headcount and floral preferences. Please call me tomorrow!”

Tomorrow.

You closed the app. Let the phone slide onto the pillow beside you. You’d do it tomorrow. You just felt so tired. You fell asleep sometime after midnight.

Jonathan’s eyes remained fixed on the mirrored phone screen. He could picture her in bed, phone cradled in both hands, the way someone might hold a fragile memory. She was scrolling through her old text messages with Ares. She did it every night. Always in the same order, far enough to catch the softness. The in-jokes. The familiar cadence of a man who hadn’t yet come undone.

But tonight, she didn’t go as far. He watched as her scrolling slowed. Her thumb hesitated, and stopped. She had read only half as many messages as last night. And last night had been fewer than the night before.

The threads are fraying. You're unraveling the attachment by accident. Thread by thread. Memory by memory.

You weren’t forgetting Ares. But the ache was dulling.

Jonathan leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the screen. You don’t even know you’re letting go. But I do. And I’ll be there when your hands are empty.

Exhaling through his nose, he rose. He still had a couple of hours until the gallery strike began. He had plenty of time. 

Downstairs, the air in his lab was cool and sterile, just the way he preferred it. Glass glinted under the recessed lights. Notes were neatly ordered in columns on the back wall. Every variable mapped. Every failed attempt annotated.

But tonight, something was different. 

In the small glass vial on the center table, the powdered extract from the Himalayan Blue Poppy shimmered faintly in solution, an iridescent tone that hadn't existed in his earlier trials. Adjusting the syringe, he introduced the compound into the toxin’s latest base, and watched the reaction unfold under the microscope.

And there it was.

The lattice he couldn’t form before, the depth he’d been chasing. The new compound didn’t just amplify the fear response, it personalized it. Jonathan’s pulse rose slightly. Enough that he noticed it, but didn’t stop it. He adjusted the formula, refined the carrier agents, and made detailed notes on dosage calibration. 

He was already thinking ahead to first trials. Ares was the perfect subject with his personal history and emotional significance. And the public explanation? An already unraveling mind. It wouldn’t just work, it would validate everything. And if it worked there would be permanent fear, silence.

He straightened slowly, stretching his spine, the faint ache in his lower back a familiar sign of real progress.

His visitor was right. It was the missing piece. The breakthrough he’d been chasing for months, buried in the petals of a rare flower used for centuries by those who understood that fear was not a symptom but a weapon.

And the man who’d given it to him? Jonathan had since learned his name. Henri Ducard. At least, that was the name he currently used. He wasn’t in any medical or scientific registry. No academic papers or corporate affiliations. But Jonathan had found traces, buried in older intelligence archives, outdated MI6 records, a few declassified CIA fragments. 

Ducard was the kind of man who didn’t exist until it was too late. The kind of man who walked in the shadows of governments, who led the shadows. 

The League of Shadows. A myth to most, but Jonathan didn’t believe in myths. Only patterns, and Ducard had a pattern. He didn’t extend help, he extended control. And now, they had their eyes on Jonathan’s work because it was effective, and aligned with their vision. 

Order through fear. Correction through collapse. Change through control.

He didn't know the full extent of their plans. They want my fear toxin. Mass-produced, scaled, and fully weaponized.

And if I refuse, they’ll tear apart the only variable I haven’t fully locked down yet. Her.

Jonathan sealed the formula sample and entered the compound into a new encrypted file. 

But if he played this right, the League could become his resource, not his threat.

But if they touched her, if they even whispered her name again, he’d find a way to bring all of them down without hesitation.

Checking the time, Jonathan saw that he had thirty minutes until the gallery would be hit, until the silent alarm would trigger. He had scheduled it down to the minute. He had already watched the footage once, looped security camera test runs, trajectory paths, the placement of the crowbar, the sound the first frame would make when it hit the floor. He didn’t plan chaos here. He had engineered precision.

While he waited, he scrolled through the rest of her activity. There were two emails, and he read them quickly. The first was from the realtor about Ares adding her to his apartment lease. 

He meant to live with you. Even while he was drifting from you, even as his mind fractured, he was still trying to claim space beside you.

Jonathan’s thumb hovered over the message, reading the subject line again: RE: Lease Addendum—Co-Occupant Approval Finalized

It had been sent the night of Ares’s collapse.

So close. You almost had a life together. A shared bed, a shared name. Almost.

Jonathan’s gaze sharpened. Now it’s just logistics. The apartment--Ares’s apartment--would be in limbo soon. Jonathan knew how these things worked. If no family stepped in quickly, the property manager would initiate forfeiture. His belongings would be boxed up, returned to his brother or disposed of quietly.

Her name was now on the lease. A late-stage gesture from a man already unraveling, still trying to carve out permanence even as his grip on reality slipped away. She could move in, in theory.

But Jonathan had already done the math. She couldn’t afford it alone. Even if she gave up her own apartment. Not with her gallery barely sustaining itself.

The rent, the utilities—it was impossible unless she drained her savings, if she even had anything left after months of stress and stagnation.

And she wouldn’t let herself ask for help from friends or family. Not even from me…

But she would.

She’d wait until the pressure built just high enough, until it squeezed out the last bit of independence and left her standing in the doorway of that empty apartment, surrounded by boxes she couldn’t lift and a future she couldn’t carry alone.

That’s when she’ll look to me. And I’ll be there.

He wouldn’t push her. He’d just be the solution when everything else fell away.

And when she stepped over that threshold, into his house, into his design, she’d start to see what he already knew.

You don’t need a place of your own. You need a place that keeps you safe. And that place… is me.

His home was large, private, and already secured. Already adapted for the kind of control he needed to maintain equilibrium. All he had to do now was coax her out of her apartment, make it feel like her idea. 

Your world is shrinking. And I am the last structure still standing.

All he had to do was tilt the floor a little more.

It’s mine now. Not just the role he lost. Not just the institution he failed to protect. But the life he left behind. And the place you were supposed to build with him, it will be mine, too.

The second email was from the wedding planner. A brief, cheery nudge. “Still waiting on final headcount and floral preferences. Please call me tomorrow!”

Jonathan didn’t smile. But his breath shifted, steady and possessive.

There will be a wedding. Eventually. Until then, we'll burn the pieces of your old life until there’s nothing left for you to hold onto except me.

Jonathan moved through his house with purpose. The sedative was already prepped, measured precisely, and tucked into the breast pocket of his coat. He moved to the garage, remote-started the car. 

It was time. He tapped once on his phone. The signal was sent.

The hired crew, three of them, masked, gloved, and ready, would be at the gallery in five minutes. The timeline was set. Fourteen minutes inside. No more.

Enough to terrify. Not enough to be caught.

He returned to the mirror feed from her phone, watching her screen come to life.

Gallery motion alert.

Her gallery. Her sanctuary being ripped apart. He had ordered it because she needed to be shaken. Fear clears away confusion, faster than grief, sharper than guilt.

And this? This was the final nudge. The gallery was her last tie to the life before him. The space where she clung to Ares, to Lexi, to independence.The place where she smiled without him.

So I broke it. You only truly run to something when you’ve been stripped of everything else.

She was still in bed, but she'd be awake in a few seconds if she wasn't already. Her hands would shake, move too fast, fumbling with her phone. Trying to refresh the footage, trying to open the app, trying to do something.

Jonathan watched and waited. 

Here it comes. The moment fear overtakes reason. The moment you forget everything except what you’re losing.

Lexi’s texts started coming in fast. 

Lexi: Are you seeing this?

Lexi: Should one of us go down there?

Lexi: Please tell me you’re awake.

Jonathan smiled faintly. Perfect. Now Lexi looked careless. Her so-called friend looked like the kind of person who asks others to risk what she never would.

She started typing. Deleted it. Typed again. 

You don’t know what to say. The only person you want to talk to right now isn't the one texting you.

He picked up his keys. 

Tonight wasn’t just another step in the plan. It will be the moment you finally believe it’s not safe unless I’m near.

Jonathan stood in front of her door in just under ten minutes. Inside, he could hear her steps, frantic and disorganized. The unmistakable sound of keys clattering in a bowl. A coat being shrugged on. The zip of a bag.

She thought she was going to walk into the storm he started.

No. That’s not how this ends.

He knocked once, then softer. The door opened seconds later.

She stood there dressed with shoes on. Her coat was half on, her phone in her hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wild, from tears. From fear.

Jonathan looked at her, truly looked, and for just a second, the image froze in his mind like a painting. 

You’re so beautiful like this. Unguarded, spiraling. And reaching for me because there’s no one else left.

Her fear didn’t worry him. It filled him, like a current running through his blood.

It’s not fear of me. It’s fear of everything else, everything I protect you from. And that makes it mine to soothe.

“Jonathan?” The desperation in her voice made him shiver.

“I saw the alert.” He kept his voice was calm, grounding. “I came straight here.”

She just stared at him. “You saw it?”

He nodded once. “Of course.”

Her hand went to her mouth. Her voice cracked. “I was going to go down there... Lexi said someone should...” She broke off, breath hitching. “They’re destroying everything.”

Jonathan stepped forward gently and took her by the shoulders. His touch was firm, but careful. Just enough to make her still. She was trembling under his hands.

“You're not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “The police are already on-site. There’s nothing you can do there except get hurt.”

Her face crumpled. Not into sobs, but into that quiet, collapsed panic. The kind where the body hasn’t caught up to the fear yet, and the tears are already too late.

He stepped inside without asking, closing the door behind him. 

This is where you need to be. Not out there. Not with them. You freeze in place when the world unravels, and I can hold you steady.

You just need to be reminded. Who gets to decide where you go... and when.

She let him lead her back toward the couch, no resistance at all. She sat numbly on the edge, still holding her phone with shaking hands. She wasn’t texting anymore, just staring at the camera feed like maybe, somehow, if she looked hard enough, she could undo the damage.

Jonathan crouched in front of her, not too close. He kept his expression neutral, his voice gentle.

“You need to breathe,” he said quietly. “You’re safe. But I need you to sit still for just a moment.”

She didn't speak, just nodded, her eyes still locked on the screen.

He walked calmly into the kitchen, pulling one of her tall water glasses from the glass-front cabinet where she kept them. The filtered pitcher was right where it always was, cold and half-full. His hand reached for the sedative inside his coat pocket, practiced and precise. Two drops. That was all. The compound was odorless, tasteless, and fast-acting. Short duration, but enough to still the tremor in her hands. To slow her pulse, weaken resistance.

It’s not sedation. It’s protection. You won’t remember the moment you stopped panicking. You’ll just feel better… because I'm near now.

He brought the water to her, offering it without a word. She pulled her gaze from the screen and accepted it. Her fingers brushed his. She didn't drink all of it, but enough.

Jonathan sat beside her, not touching her, but close. Within minutes, her shoulders began to ease, and her breathing slowed. The screen dimmed in her hand, and the shaking stopped.

That’s it. You’re winding down, and you think it’s you. You think your mind is calming itself.

She set the glass down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch with a quiet exhale. Her eyes fluttered shut for just a second. That’s all it took.

You won’t be leaving tonight, or waking up in a panic. I'm here. And soon, you’ll want me to be. Every night.

Not sleep, not yet. But close. Jonathan shifted slightly beside her, and she leaned without realizing it, dropping her head to his shoulder. Her breath slowed. The adrenaline was gone now, flushed from her system with chemical assistance. Now she was perfectly calm, and he didn't move.

You’re still holding onto the idea that you’re okay on your own. But tonight proved otherwise.

A few minutes passed like that, with soft breathing and the occasional twitch of her fingers. She’d curled slightly toward him, instinctively.

Jonathan eased her gently down, sliding his arm away and lowering her onto the couch. She murmured something, but didn’t wake. He found a soft blanket in the hall closet and draped it over her. Her breathing had deepened now, rhythmic and even.

Jonathan moved silently to the chair next to the couch, sitting just out of her reach, where he could observe and think.

Her phone buzzed, then again. He moved instantly, catching the phone from where she’d left it on the arm of the couch. The screen lit up with her name.

Lexi

Jonathan stared at it.

You had your chance, Lexi. You sent her toward danger. I pulled her back. You don’t get to disrupt that now.

He unlocked her phone easily. There was no biometric set up on her phone. No PIN. That made him pause, just briefly.

You trust too easily.

With one smooth swipe, he declined the call. Then he toggled her phone into Do Not Disturb, silencing the noise that didn’t belong to him. He put her phone where she'd remember it last.

Returning to the chair, he watched the soft rise and fall of her chest. 

Let Lexi panic, and wonder why you’re not responding. Let her guilt swell.

Jonathan was staying right here tonight. She was too shaken to be alone. Lexi had failed her, and Ares was gone. He was the only one who clearly saw what she needed and delivered it without being asked.

You were mine to protect, even before you knew it. Tonight, I kept you here. Tomorrow, you’ll thank me for it.

And someday soon…you’ll wonder how you ever slept without me close by.

Jonathan didn’t close his eyes. He watched her sleep.

The sharp, hard knock startled you out of a dead sleep. You jolted upright on the couch, your heart hammering. The blanket slid off your shoulders, and you blinked into the gray light filtering through the blinds. It was dawn, and the next knock was even louder. 

You were already on your feet, stumbling towards the door with sleep-stiff limbs and a racing pulse. You weren't alone, which made you pause. Jonathan was there in the chair by the window, completely still. Asleep, somehow. He looked exactly the way you remembered from the previous night, calm, arms folded lightly, as if he'd kept watch until he couldn’t anymore.

But there wasn’t time to process that.

You opened the door, and there was Lexi. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looked pale and furious, with dark circles under her eyes and exhaustion hanging off her like a second coat.

“Are you serious right now?” she snapped.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“I texted you, I called you, and I went down to the goddamn gallery myself at four in the morning. Did you know that?”

You were still half-fogged, still wearing the same clothes.

“Lexi, I—”

“My son is home sick, I was running on two hours of sleep, and you—” She jabbed a finger towards your chest. “You didn’t answer anything. You didn’t go. You didn’t even let me know you were okay.”

You felt panic clawing at your insides. Your throat tightened, and shame washed over you in a single wave.

"I just..." Your voice cracked, and you glanced over your shoulder. Jonathan hadn’t moved. You didn’t even know if he was awake yet. "I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

Lexi’s jaw clenched. Her expression shifted slightly, but the lines of anger carved in her face didn’t soften.

“The gallery’s wrecked. No one got caught. They took pieces. Vandalized the whole front.” She exhaled sharply. “We’re insured, but still. We built that place.”

You looked down, your fingers curled around the edge of the door. You didn’t know what to say. But she was right. Last night you couldn’t breathe. You didn’t call Lexi, or anyone else. And Jonathan arrived...

You felt small standing there in the doorway with Lexi in front of you, furious and tired. You swallowed hard, trying to find words that would make any of this okay.

“I didn’t mean to worry you or let you down,” you said quietly.“I was watching the cameras when it happened. I panicked.” You shook your head, your eyes starting to sting. “I called the police and then..."

Lexi crossed her arms. She wasn’t yelling anymore, but the hurt was still there, flickering behind her exhaustion. “I get that you’re going through a lot,” she said, more clipped now. “But I needed you. The gallery needed you.”

“I know,” you whispered.“I just…”

You felt backed into a wall, still shaking from the night before, and the weight of guilt was already pressing hard against your ribs.

You felt him before you saw him. Behind you, Jonathan rose from the chair, his footsteps light. He moved to your side, pinning Lexi with a glare. As you watched, he pulled off his glasses. 

“Lexi, isn’t it?” Jonathan’s voice was low.

Lexi blinked. “Excuse me, who the fu—”

But Jonathan didn’t let her finish. “I’m sorry about the gallery. I truly am.” He said it like he meant it. “But tell me, what kind of friend asks someone to walk into an active break-in?”

Lexi’s mouth parted slightly. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” he continued. “You suggested she go alone to a crime in progress.”

You froze.

Lexi turned to you, flustered. “Is this guy serious?”

Jonathan didn’t let you answer. “Ares is in Arkham. His mind is—” he gave the smallest pause, “hanging by a thread.”

He looked back at you, briefly, softening just enough to make you feel seen, and then returned to Lexi.

“She’s been carrying your gallery alone while trying to survive the collapse of her personal life. Where have you been? You pushed the weight onto her and expected her to keep moving without rest or reason.”

Lexi recoiled slightly. She wasn’t used to being challenged. But she was used to being right, and Jonathan’s words hit like facts on paper. 

“I made the call last night not to let her walk into danger. You might want to consider the emotional impact before demanding more from someone who’s already depleted.”

Lexi crossed her arms, but didn’t speak.

Jonathan’s tone didn’t change. “You’ll hear from her when she’s in a better place. But that won’t be today.”

Lexi opened her mouth, then closed it.

Something about the way he stood, utterly immovable, unnerved her. Jonathan then literally shut the door in her face.

And you stood there, stunned. Your heart still pounding. 

He didn’t just protect you. He dismantled her. With words so quiet, they left an echo.

You stood there, frozen. Still holding the edge of the door like it might steady you. Your heart was still racing, but now it wasn’t just from the confrontation, it was from the way he had handled it. Handled Lexi. You'd never seen that before.

You slowly turned back toward him.

Jonathan stood a few feet away, his hands loosely at his sides, like he hadn’t just flattened one of your oldest friendships in under two minutes. And he just stood there, watching you calmly, waiting. You weren’t used to anyone stepping in like that. Not since your world cracked down the middle. Lexi had been your friend for years. She could be difficult, sure, but she’d been there when you were still finding your way in the art world. She’d come up with the idea for the gallery, and you'd done everything to help see it realized. Now the gallery was gone, and Lexi likely was too. Ares never liked her, maybe now you understood why.

Jonathan sent her off. And the terrifying part was that you couldn't bring yourself to be that angry. Relief at having her dealt with outweighed everything else right now. 

Lexi came at you with demands and judgment. Jonathan came with boundaries and protection. 

And it felt good. Especially at a time when one more thing would break me.

You didn’t know what that said about you, but you were too tired to unpack it right now. You let your back rest against the door, the tension in your shoulders slowly giving way to something else. Something heavier.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Jonathan inclined his head once, just slightly. 

You shifted your weight against the door and glanced at him. “What you said to her…” Your voice trailed off, your throat still tight. “Do you really think I’m depleted?”

Jonathan moved closer, but not in an imposing way. “I think,” he said gently, “you’ve been through more in the last week than most people survive in a year.”

You didn’t look away, but you felt the heat behind your eyes again.

He stopped just in front of you, lowering his voice. “You’re not weak. You’re exhausted... There’s a difference.”

He wasn't wrong.

Dropping your gaze, your voice was barely audible. “I didn’t know what to say to her.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said quietly.

And somehow that helped. That shouldn’t have helped, but it did. He gently gestured toward the couch.

“You don’t need to move right now. Not unless you want to.” Another pause, warmer now. “But if you do, let me take you to the gallery. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

You nodded slowly, but didn’t move. “Just a few minutes,” you murmured. “Then I’ll go.”

But it wasn’t the gallery that had you frozen in place. It was the fact that he would be the one taking you. He offered without being asked, without expectation. Like it was natural. Like it was his responsibility.

And maybe it was. You couldn’t go alone. Not after last night. The thought of walking into that ruined space made your chest feel tight. Lexi’s words still echoed somewhere behind your eyes, but Jonathan’s voice had stayed with you longer. 

I made the call last night not to let her walk into danger.

At the time, it had unsettled you how confidently he said it. But now? Now it felt like an anchor. 

He’s going to take me. He’s going to be there.

And for the first time since the texts, since the camera feed, since the break-in... that felt like enough.

He nodded. “Take your time.”

For the first time in days, you felt something close to stillness. Jonathan didn’t hover or push you. He just stepped away, quiet again, and let you feel whatever you needed to feel. Maybe that was what made it work.

She hadn’t looked at him like that before. Not even after the patient, not after Ares.

This time it was different. There had been fear, yes, but not of him. She'd given herself to dependence, but not desperation. Something shifted behind her eyes when she said thank you.

Relief. The most dangerous kind of loyalty, something given willingly. Standing by the window, he kept his hands behind his back. The early light spilled across her living room floor.

Lexi was gone, and she wouldn't be a problem now. Not after what he’d shown her. 

You don’t belong in her life anymore. And soon, she’ll realize that too.

Behind him, he heard her moving quietly. She hadn’t gone to her bedroom, or left him just yet. And that was enough. 

You needed someone to speak for you. You needed someone to protect you. Now you need someone to guide you. 

And I will.

Soon, he would get her out of this apartment. He'd get her away from all the people who kept pulling her back into a life that no longer fit. She’d outgrown it.

Or rather, he’d taken a scalpel to it until it no longer fit her anymore.

All that remained now was him.

And soon, she would see that too.

[phynali]

I struggle with this one a lot.

As someone with ADHD I write with short paragraphs and almost certainly overuse paragraph breaks. Not because I don't know where a break is more technically correct, but because it's more intuitive to me.

And as a reader I struggle with long block paragraphs quite a bit, and can end up skipping parts of them or skipping them entirely. Overly dense paragraphs can even make me drop a work because it feels like too much of a slog even if I'm enjoying the story; the longer paragraphs overtax my working memory capacity and I can't continue without a pen or highlighter.

(Oddly I find this different in full screen browsers like on AO3 vs reading in other formats? It's not near as much of a struggle when I'm reading a physical book or an e-reader, maybe because I can use my finger to keep my place? Although it's still a problem if the paragraphs are quite long or don't vary much in length. For my day job, I literally have to print and use a highlighter on the articles I need to read, and want to weep when they write with long ass paragraphs.)

That's not a grammar thing or a guide to good writing though, it's an ADHD issue. It's my problem and I don't expect writing to conform to my unique needs, but it definitely influences how I write and what I enjoy as a reader.

That being said, I don't find the example above with each sentence on its own line to necessarily be a more pleasing reading experience. An easier one, definitely, and not dissimilar to how I write sometimes. But each line here doesn't need to stand on its own. Making them each a separate paragraph implies they're separate ideas and actions and/or that each requires unique emphasis. That can be disruptive too.

To a fair extent, though, it comes down to style and preference, and down to what you want to convey with the breaks. Not to diminish that there are grammatical rules you can learn for this, but the intended audience, the genre, the medium, the writer's style and intended tone, etc, will all have their influence on paragraphs length, the same as they might influence any other aspect of the writing. Meaning it isn't and can't be one size fits all, either.

I'm possibly overly wedded to the flexibility and versatility of personal style, admittedly, and I'm sure it's an issue for some people who try to read my stuff. I break a lot of rules when I write, including with diction and spelling (made up words, shortened words or contractions and slang to create tone), with syntax or grammar (I replace a lot of adverbs with adjectives and it is grammatically incogent if intentional), with sentence structure (subject and preposition? never heard of her. also I will write a paragraph length breathless run-on and you can't stop me), and yeah, with paragraph length.

But while I think writing can be for fun and you don't need to take the rules too seriously or strictly -- especially if they're getting in the way of you writing or enjoying the process of writing -- I do think it's often worth learning the rules of your craft. Not only can it help you develop your skill, but it affords you insight into what effect it'll have when you break those rules. Getting lost or paralyzed by the rules isn't good, you should have space to experiment and have fun and not worry too much about finding the one right way to do things. But learning can help you find new ways of doing things too, which can make writing even more enjoyable if you let it.

And if and when you do want to improve, like Z said above, one of the most essential things to do is to read. Read widely. Fic, yes, but necessarily original fiction, as in published books, ones in different genres, short stories and longer novels and other things besides. No matter what level of writing you're at, you will always benefit from reading others' writing and gaining new perspectives. Even if you don't or haven't learned rules in a classroom setting and don't want to get hemmed in by rigid structures, reading allows you to see how others do things. You can learn from or be inspired (or dissatisfied) by their approach. This is especially true if you stop and consider the things you enjoy reading and examine what they do to get that reaction out of you.

Anyway, bringing this back to paragraph breaks. For me, if I'm ever unsure, step one is asking myself why I'm putting that particular break in that particular spot? What is it accomplishing?

Thinking of it as a camera angle is one approach but you don't want a jittery camera lens either, and written fiction isn't the same as film or TV, so is that what you're going for? Another thing to consider is whether you're emphasizing what you want to draw the reader's attention to. Is it buried in the middle of a paragraph or does it stand out, at the beginning or end or on its own? If every paragraph is just a sentence or two then none of them stand out. If every paragraph is long and dense then the story has an even flow but you may be missing opportunities to build tension or humour or irony.

Mostly, are you carrying the reader through the story in the manner you intend? And if not, what can change to improve that?

Whole-heartedly BEGGING writers to unlearn everything schools taught you about how long a paragraph is. If theres a new subject, INCLUDING ACTIONS, theres a new paragraph. A paragraph can be a single word too btw stop making things unreadable

[milksuu]

Second Magic

Pairing(s): Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & II / witch!fem!reader

Word count: 2.OK

Content/Warnings: soulmates, reincarnation, immortal, soft magic, slice of life, fluff, minimal use of y/n, minor angst, implied sexual themes, minor blood

Summary: Death claims everyone at some point. Unfortunately for you, your gift of magic cursed you with eternal youth and an ability that has shunned you from the village of Berk. More than one-hundred years later, memories resurface when you’re visited for a potion from Berk’s next chief.

He was the spitting image of your long-lost love—your soulmate—Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.

a/n: hello there everyone! I'm back with something new to add to the hiccupxreader tags. still on my mythical/magical kick. I do plan to have about three parts to this. so please stay tuned for updates, or let me know if you'd like to join a tag list. thank you and please enjoy.

There came a knock at the door. No one ever knocked on a witch's door by accident.

From the bedroom window, you peeked through the muslin curtain. Below the two-story cottage, grew a garden of lush greens and wild flowers. Where the weeds and dandelions led a trail to your front porch, a figure stood at your door. More pestering thuds bothered the home and the skin of your nose wrinkled. Muttering a thing or two, you ambled down the aching stairs. Before reaching the door, you rummaged through a decorative drawer, procuring a gray river rock. It was enchanted with one of your magic spells—a screeching stone, you called it.

“You can stop trying to break down my door,” you said, pressing the stone against the entryway. “Didn’t you read the sign posted on the oak tree outside? Clearly, it said no trespassing.”

“No—think I might’ve missed it,” the muffled voice of a young man answered, and it seemed honest enough. The stone hummed at the response. “Are you [Y/N], by chance?”

“There’s a chance I could be,” you said with soured lips. “Not many people come this far into the woods. And fewer people know of me, let alone my name. Which leads me to ask, who exactly sent you?”

“Gothi sent me. She mentioned you two knowing each other,” he replied in truth, and the stone continued its soft hymns. “She said if there’s anyone who could help me, it would be you.”

She’s still alive?

“That all depends. I trust Gothi, but I’ll need to trust you as well. You can start by telling me your name.”

There was a beat in the air. “It’s Hiccup.”

The ghost of your breath trapped itself inside your chest. That name—it had been buried beneath over a century ago. Yet the stone sang sweetly, and your heart squeezed in a haunting delight. A part of you wished it would scream. Wretched and revolting as it was, it would give you reason to cast the stranger away.

To your grief, he wasn’t so much a stranger as you thought.

Pocketing the stone, you opened the door with a creak. Meeting the green meadow of his eyes, your magic dug its fiery claws between your ribs. With all your power, you tried not to let his familiar freckles unsettle you. Fearing if you did, your magic would spring out of control. The windows would shatter. The roof would crumble to dust. The fireplace would spark and scorch the floors. Or something much worse. Touch him, and reveal when death would knock on his own door.

You wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. Not ever.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider. “Come in,” you said, "we can talk more inside.”

He tipped his chin and thanked you for the invitation. When he stepped through, his gaze swept about your home. Dried flowers, herbs and spices hung from every inch of ceiling by twine. Sunlight spilled from the white-painted windows, and warmed the cushions of two chairs perched near the fireplace. Bookcases stood on either side of the mantle, stretched tall enough to touch the rafters, and wide enough to cover the entire walls. At the back of the home was the kitchen and brewing space. With emerald cabinets and honied-countertops, stacked with jars and vials, scattered petals, and corked potions.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said. “I’ll prepare us something warm to drink.”

With a blink, he tore his gaze from the foliage and oddities. “Sure, I would appreciate it.”

When you left for the kitchen, he absently traced a hand against the chairs upholstery. Although it matched its counterpart, there were subtle differences; the legs were built taller, and arm rests crafted higher. When he took a seat, it felt made for someone of his stature—an odd thing to notice. His gaze raised to a row of books on one of the bookcase shelves. One particular book stood out among the jewel-toned backs of scarlet, green, and yellow. A simple spine of leather, softened over-time with use, and streaks of charcoal staining the edges.

Like a cool breeze, a sense of familiarity swept through him, touching the marrow of his bones. It begged the question.

“Have you always lived here by yourself?” Hiccup asked.

“You could say that.” 

For a moment, you lost yourself in the fragrant pools. When was the last time you served someone tea? It may have been the day before a young man's mortal fate—the same day you couldn’t convince him to stay. Leaving you to join the collection of things he left behind. Your throat tightened around what felt like a ball of hot wax. Searing as it was, you swallowed its entirety. 

Balancing the trembling porcelain, you returned to the next room and took a seat of your own. 

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I’ve…never welcomed visitors. It’s always been safer that way.” With a smile, you offered him a cup. “But between Gothi sending you and your genuine nature, I’d like to help you.”

“Thanks—and you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who decided to come here unannounced. So…” Hiccup trailed off, taking a drink. He stared at the ripples with solemnity. “My father isn’t doing so well. And you know Gothi, she’s the best Seer we have on Berk. She’s done all she can, but it’s not going to be enough. When I asked if there was anything more I could do, she recommended that I seek you out.”

“I’m sorry about your father,” you said, lowering your own cup. “If Gothi wasn’t able to help him, then he must be very sick.”

“I’m trying not to think about it too much.” He worked the tension of his lips between his teeth. Then pitched a sincere look your way, and said, “So you know, I’m not worried about you being a witch. If anything, I find myself pretty lucky to ask for your help. Even if that does mean I have to sell my soul for it.”

“I have some good news for you, then. I won’t be needing it. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t even know what to do with yours,” you said with a laugh. “But most spells and potions require something of personal value. At least, the stronger ones do.”

Setting your tea cup aside, you hopped onto your toes. Approaching one of the bookcases, you trailed a finger against the backs of countless titles. Your search came to an end when you plucked one out; dense with musky pages, a silver lock clasped at the side, and a small wooden door carved into the cover.

Peering over your shoulder, you found your nosy company arched forward in his chair. You cleared your throat, “Don’t think about peeking over here. A witch never reveals her secrets.”

He apologized under his breath, and shifted his chin away. But like a child snuffed out of his curiosity, he wore a pout of disappointment. You smiled in amusement, and brought your attention back to the book.

You knocked against the small door in a melodic tempo. The little door sprang open, revealing a tiny ear inside. You brought your mouth close, whispering the incantation with the smallest voice you could muster. Too loud, and the door would snap shut against your lips.

An unpleasant experience you remembered from childhood.

The lock clicked open, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Page after page, you mumbled and zipped through each recipe. A couple more turns, you tapped against the right one. Breezing through the ingredients, you had all but one. Oh buttercups, you blushed.

“What is it?” Hiccup furrowed his brows at your dawning expression. “Everything all right?”

“It’s a bit hard to explain. I—I don’t have one of the ingredients any longer. But maybe you still do,” you exclaimed, taming the warmth of your cheeks. “Come with me.”

With a tilt of your head, you gestured to the kitchen. Your guest rose from his seat, following your footsteps. With instructions for him not to touch anything, you scrambled to find your proper ingredients; mugwort, newt tail, bog water, and a strand of witch hair. Tossed and muddled by mortar and pestle, you poured the mixed contents into a glass jar.

“Time for the last ingredient,” you said, picking up a kitchen knife, “hold out a finger.”

Although hesitant, he lifted a hand. “Tell me you’re not going to cut it off. I’m already down a leg, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Not at all. That would be more than what I actually need,” you answered, albeit a little too plainly. With your other hand, you touched the stone tucked in your dress pocket. “You only have to be honest when I ask you this question. If you’re not, then we’ll both hear about it.”

He nodded carefully. “Go ahead.”

“Have you ever—Oh, how should I put this?” Calming the storm of embarrassment brewing in your chest, you exhaled the words in one breath. “Have you ever committed the coupling act?”

There was a gulp. Then a twitch of his lips. Followed by a blush that bloomed from nose to ear. “What? No, I—I haven’t. What kind of question is that?”

Without a word, you sliced the tip of his finger. A hiss sizzled from his mouth when you squeezed it open. Aligning the bottle underneath, you caught the blood falling in pitter-patters. Once enough dripped into the brew, a plum of red smoke burst into the air. Both of you coughed and waved your hands around the space. When the pungent cloud faded into wisps, you corked the bubbling potion.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” He wrapped his finger in a handkerchief you provided. He went on to mutter, “Not sure why you couldn’t use your own finger.” By the delivery, the last part was meant to stay in his head. 

Embarrassment washed through your veins, and painted every inch of your skin posy pink. The sight of it colored his own complexion.

“I didn’t mean to say that, honestly,” he apologized after the realization struck him. “It just sort of came out.”

“Absolutely no tact at all,” you chastised, snatching back the handkerchief. “Gods, you’re just as bad as him.”

He blinked with mystification. “Him?”

A slip of the tongue had the back hairs of your neck bristling. Magic pulsed like coils of lightning in your stomach. Crackling up through your chest, wanting to burn deeper holes in your heart. The roof groaned and creaked. Grains of wood dust fell onto your nose, dispelling the awful feeling.

“You have to go. Please, take it and leave. And don’t worry about repaying me.” Before he could argue, you forced the potion into his possession. With a clap of a hand, the wood beneath his feet shifted, motioning him out the front door.

“Wait a second.“ He wedged his prosthetic between the shutting door and frame. “Right bookcase, third shelf, leather back.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“There’s a book that belongs to my family. Ask me how I know.” The question was rhetorical, and in your bafflement, he continued. “My families crest is sealed in its spine. And the only way you could have it is if someone gave it to you. You said you never had visitors. Sorry to say, but I’m not buying it.”

“That book has nothing to do with you or your family,” you glowered, and the stone screeched and howled from your pocket. You clapped your hands against your splitting ears, with your company mimicking your movements. Over the prevailing wails, you cried, “You’re right—I lied and I’m sorry for it! It belonged to your great-grand uncle. And that’s the truth of it.”

The screeching stone fell to whispers. But the thumping of your heart continued to beat in your ears. 

“Wait. My great-grand uncle?” He caught a breath in his throat. “You don’t mean—there’s no possible way you’re talking about—”

“I am.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “My only visitor before you; Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II.”

[buckybarnesdiaries]

wakanda

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

word count: 2.4k (lol, sorry)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a cutie.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Welcome to Wakanda, agent (Y/N)”.

A second after you crossed their airspace, you were courteously greeted. The views from your ship were indescribable. Peace invaded you just at the sight of the open fields and the warm colors of autumn. You could get used to that place too. To live in calm, work hand-to-hand with Shuri, and have time to spend it with Bucky. The reason why you were flying there. Removing your right hand from the control and grabbing in a fist the dog tags hanging on your chest, you took a deep breath while closing your eyes before getting ready to land. T’Challa was waiting for you at the entry of his kingdom, accompanied by his excited little sister and some of his guards.

Pressing a sequence of buttons above your head, to pull the control back, the ship went down slowly folding its wings. As you landed and turned off the engineers, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and the huge headphones to step out. Shuri received you with a friendly hug, breaking protocol and being just Shuri. You built a strong relationship since you met a year ago, when you brought Bucky to that beautiful and magical place, to let him recover. To let him rest.

“Your highness”. You uttered to T’Challa crossing your forearms in the traditional salutation of Wakanda.

“Agent (Y/N)”. He corresponded walking closer. “The white wolf asked me to let you know he wouldn’t want to be… bothered with visits today”.

You couldn’t help but frown. The last time you saw him was around three months ago. You usually interchanged letters from week to week, being one of the fewer persons he trusted in. And it wasn’t just a question of trust. Steve told you about his feelings, his shyness, and insecurities, his fears. What Bucky didn’t know, again, it wasn’t a question of trust from you either. That’s why the Captain gave you the dog tags, after more than thirteen years under custody. You wanted to see him, to know if he was happy there as he wrote you in his letters one million times.

“He doesn’t wear his arm here”. Shuri clarified, taking a position close to his brother.

By the look on their faces, you were aware of two things. One, they noticed too that something was growing between Bucky and you, and that it wasn’t a simple friendship. Two, they weren’t going to stop you. Oh, quite the opposite. They’d bring you to him on a golden platter and a big red bow on your head. The king beckoned a hand to urge you to follow him to the inside of the building and use one of their ships to fly above the place to the white wolf’s location.

You were nervous. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours last night thinking about him and how he’d react to having back his tags since the forties. Your eyes were focused throughout the window on your left, watching different citizens taking care of animals and plantations, children running from one side to another, playing and having fun. Oblivious to the horror of New York, where you resided. One of the cities in the world with the highest rates of street violence. Serial killers or simply killers, rapists, kidnappers, drug dealers (...). It was a minefield and Wakanda seemed and felt like Heaven.

“Did you think about the offer?” Shuri nudged you to push you back to reality, turning your head towards her.

“Since you dropped it to me”.

“So?”

“I…” You needed to put away your gaze again, focusing on the blue opened sky in front of them. “I want… to consult him first if you don’t mind”.

“Of course, (Y/N)”.

“I don’t want to put his world upside down, now that he’s not the…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t pronounce that detestable nickname and the pain beneath it.

Shuri nodded in silence, not needing your explanations. She knew how you felt. She understood you. The talk didn’t continue, stretching your right hand on your lap to calm your nerves and make you comfortable with the situation. The flight didn’t last longer than five or ten minutes, losing the track of time deep in your thoughts. The pilot indicated to you through the headphones that you were about to land, glancing at a complex of small houses in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wilderness.

You were the last one jumping outside with your hand grabbing the tags on your chest, trying to find the encouragement there to follow T’Challa’s hand pointing at a man working with goats and collecting hay for them. Licking your lips and assenting with your chin, you guided your steps towards him. Slowly. As if you wanted to turn around at some point. But you knew it was too late when he was the one turning at the sound of your heavy boots cracking the grass under them.

Bucky didn’t look annoyed for your visit, nor the lack of attention to his petition. Although there was something in his pale blue orbs you weren’t able to decipher, until he bowed down his head unconsciously to his left shoulder covered by a dark fabric matching his eyes. You had to do your best to not roll yours, shortening the distance setting you apart. You had been dreaming about that encounter since the last time you were there before Shuri accessed the darkest place of his mind and cleaned it from any trail of HYDRA. Now, he was free. And he looked in good condition as the bags under his eyes had disappeared and his hair was almost tied with a bun. His cheeks seemed a little more chubby and you just wanted to pinch them. But it’d be weird and out of place. For the time being.

Bit by bit, a sweet smile widened in your lips, curving them as Bucky stared at you again when he was conscious that you didn’t care. With or without a metal arm, your feelings were exactly the same. You couldn’t admire him more than you were admiring him at this point. You couldn’t love him more than you loved him already. And God was a witness of how many times you practiced to confess to him and tell him that the only thing you wanted in life was to be by his side. Bring happiness to his days, bring him peace and harmony.

“I'm sorry…” “I brought you…”

You two spoke at the same time, breaking in a soft giggle that jumped your hearts in complete sync.

“You first”. He let you, waving his hand.

“I… brought you something”. You susurrated, loosening the grip around the metal hanging on your chest to take off the necklace.

You noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Why did you have them? Who gave them to you? Why now? Bucky gulped watching you stretching the dog tags between your fingers towards him. He didn’t know what to do, taking a second before he was able to react. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw them, and the amount of memories they gave him overwhelmed his whole brain.

In slow motion narrowing his eyes, Bucky held the chain with two fingers to hang the necklace from it. You thought he was about to wear them, but he destabilized you as he directed his hands to above your head, to place them where they were an instant before. You didn’t understand. Didn’t he want them back?

“I want you to keep it”.

“But…”

“I want you to have something mine”. Bucky recognized with a shy smile decorating his lips. “Those tags and my arm are the only things I have from my past. And… I won’t give you my arm…”

“Well, I bet it’d look good hanging from my neck”. You jocked tilting your head.

In his gift, you found the encouragement you needed to talk about T’Challa’s job offer. It wasn’t as if you were proposing to him, in the end, you were just friends even if it felt quite the opposite. You licked your upper lip, kissing your teeth after it, earning more than his attention.

“Shuri said, uh… I could come here, work with her. We’d do great things together, not only for Wakanda but for the world”.

Bucky’s gesture didn’t change a single inch, focused on the nervousness you were trying to hide from him and reading the reasons beneath.

“So T’Challa offered me to stay here”.

“Permanently?”

“Yeah… Permanently”. You assented pressing your lips, breathing through your nostrils.

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. Not until talking to you about”.

He nodded then a couple of times, turning to the goats behind him coming closer. “Got to finish some stuff… Maybe we can talk later about it unless you have to leave”.

“No, no. I, uh… asked for the day off. Banner didn’t need me at the lab today”.

“Okay, good”.

While the king was showing you the new level for research and investigations, Bucky took the advantage to go and find Shuri without your knowledge. He found her in the surroundings of the main building, working on your ship as you said it made some kind of random noise that put you out of your nerve during the flight.

“I need my arm”.

The princess squatted close to the left wing, turned at him without standing up. Pulling her sunglasses to the top of his head, she raised an eyebrow.

“For what”.

“You know for what”. He clicked his tongue, placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“No, I don’t”. She lied while cleaning the grass and oil in her expert fingers.

“I need to have two arms”.

“You’ve been working the last months with one arm only. Why do you need it now?”

“C’mon… Argh…” Bucky rubbed his face with boredom. “I want to hug her, okay? Can you just… give me back my damn arm?”

“Not enough reasons, you can hug her using your right”.

“I want to have two hands when I kiss her”. He finally confessed in a hiss, provoking a triumphant smile growing on Shuri’s lips.

“If you lie to me, if you don’t kiss her, Sergeant Barnes… I’ll code it to punch your face”.

“Wait…” Bucky wrinkled his nose drawing a horrified gesture on his face, as he turned his blue eyes towards his left shoulder. “Can you… do that?”

“Try me”.

No, of course she couldn’t, but he didn’t know. Which were a good push for him to not go against her and her petition.

“C’mon. I’ll set it up and help you to put it on”.

Your eyes were traveling from one picture to another. He put some of them around his small house and it looked better now. More like a home. A place to stay. And for a second you felt a twinge straight in your heart when you noticed one photograph of the two of you, close to his bed. It was after your first mission together. Steve insisted on taking it, after noticing the sparkles between you. But you didn’t know he brought it to Wakanda with him, as your copy is on your nightstand too. And you used to fall asleep every night looking at it.

The curtain being moved and some steps in pulled you out from your thoughts, turning to find Bucky staring in silence at you. Your orbs landed on the metal arm. It was different too since the last time you saw it, with golden strips forming between the silver ones. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“You didn’t need to…”

“Yes, I did. I did need it”. He interrupted you, breathing through his parted lips and his heart about to fly off from his chest.

“Why?”

“Because, otherwise, I couldn’t do this”.

You were about to ask what he was referring to, watching him breaking the distance between the two of you in three fast strides. You closed your eyes at the moment his hands held your neck and Bucky slammed his lips on yours. The kiss, the contrast of cold and warmth on your skin, the everlasting longing for it to happen… All of this caused you to gasp, tangling the tunic at the height of his chest in your fists, not wanting him to take a step back. Your mouths fit perfectly without looking for it, made for each other, as he secured his fingers on the back of your neck. And you felt your knees weak when he pecked your lips one more time, before caressing your nose with his, not being able to open your eyes. Neither of you.

“I don’t have the right… to ask for anything”. He babbled. His insecurities coming afloat even if you hadn’t pushed him away. “But… I want you to stay here. With me. I… I don’t have much to offer you, but I promise to make you happy”.

At this point, your eyes were filled with tears, strongly closing your eyelids to not let them fall. You swallowed a sob, moving your hands from his chest to his middle back, embracing him tighter as you could.

“You’ve been making me happy since we met, Bucky”.

He chuckled breathless, intuiting he was too at the edge of his crying because of that affirmation.

“Every Tuesday, I wait at the stairs of my apartment for the mail, for your letters. I’ve… read them so many times I can recite them… by heart. Every word you've written to me”.

“I will continue writing them for you, even if you stay with me”.

Your voices were low, barely audible out of his place. Like secrets. Bucky kissed you again, bending enough to raise you by the back of your thighs and urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The dog tags on your chest clicked against the other, as you moved your arms to his shoulders and neck, and you were unable to stop kissing him. You two could die right now and not be bothered because you were finally together, and that was all you deserved in life.

“Tell me you will stay… please”. His beg brushed your lips, still pecking them between syllable and syllable.

“I will…” You replied without hesitating as you could, eager to correspond to every gesture from him. “I will stay with you”.

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[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

[yamagucji]

some tips for writing blogs, especially those who are just starting out. these are some things that works for me and may or may not work for others.

how to add a read more link on mobile

type :readmore: on a free space, then hit the enter or return button

personally i think they’re very helpful because it lessens the space you take up in your dash, and might encourage more people to rb

+ you can also add this on a spot where it gives a sort of cliffhanger, essentially making people want to ‘read more’

headers, banners, and dividers

though not necessary, it’s good to have a title for your work. make sure it’s bold and doesn’t blend in with your notes (aka pairing, warnings, etc.). this also helps when someone wants to look up one of your works in your search bar

i don’t really make banners or covers for my works. but some good apps that i know of would be picsart and canva. if you’re looking for ideas, i definitely recommend going into canva

wondering how to make those really small, thin dividers? you can make them using picsart! to make a divider hit tools > free crop > brush > size (adjust it to your preference > then draw a line along the edge of your photo > save

using the divider you just saved, go back to picsart and edit it again > draw option > hit rainbow square at the bottom left corner > hit suction/droplet symbol right below the check mark > color in the white spots bc for some reason picsart glitches and makes dividers look white-ish

new blog? just opened an account?

this is gonna sound really frustrating. but... tumblr needs to check if you’re a bot or not. what does this mean? it’s likely that your first few posts won’t show up on the search bar. you may not even get to edit your header/pfp yet ://

this happened to me and there was no visibility on my account at ALL. what helped me get ‘verified’ is that i followed a LOT of accounts, liked a bunch of posts, made some posts here and there. now that lets tumblr know you’re not a bot

visibility

the tumblr tagging system usually only allows the first 5 tags in your post to show up. so, what can do you about this? only use FIVE or less tags in your post. wait about 15 minutes or more until you can add some more tags in your post, and they usually all show up like that

another important thing about using tags is not to generalize! especially if you’re using a popular tag. but also don’t specify it too much where barely anyone looks it up. for example, if you’re writing a gn piece about oikawa, i recommend you use the tags such as: oikawa x reader, haikyuu x reader, oikawa x gn!reader, haikyuu headcanons, etc

a good rule of thumb is to use character x reader tags first, then leave the full name or fandom tag last

FOR NSFW: tumblr doesn’t let any tags with nsfw show up. so, give your nsfw works another tag. maybe #namegetspicy idk, you figure it out

FOR WARNINGS: especially if you’re a dark content creator, i highly encourage you to add tw:xyz tags. if you already have a warning note at the top then that’s great. but even better for readers who prefer to actually block these tags that way they never get to see it

another important thing to note is that people have different timezones. it helps if you rb your work at a different time of the day, in case people missed it! (icymi) i’ve noticed that reblogging helps to make your post show up in the tags

interaction + feedback

first and foremost, you are not obligated to write for your followers, and neither are your followers obligated to interact with you. remember that everyone has their own individual lives, and they have their own things to do— so do you, too.

make friends! become mutuals with other writers, visit their ask box. i know it can be daunting having to initiate these things, but you might just turn out to have fun! you can’t expect people to interact with you if you’re not interacting (back). it’s... kind of a two way thing yk? no need to be afraid to interact with other writers. oh, and rb other writers works!

pspsps join tag games or do ask games. it’s fun and very interactive

it never hurts to ask for feedback. i usually do this in a more subtle way because i don’t really expect a full on analysis on my works. maybe a little, is this okay? or feedback appreciated. sometimes it takes a little bit of coaxing for the silent readers

formatting your posts and blog

i generally put in the title at the top in big, bold letters

then comes the header/divider. helps to make the post more... visually appealing ig?

it’s important to add warnings (if any) and the pairing. the audience is not all female, and it might be a little frustrating for male readers having to find out its an x fem reader piece like halfway through your fic

if you have multiple works posted, it’s really really helpful to have a navigation page!

you can organize the posts you make with tags! for example, if you’re shitposting, you can use a specific tag for that. if you have a nsfw related post (ESPECIALLY when your blog is open to the general audience) please make a tag for it

themes + colors

if you have a color in mind but don’t know which direction to go from there, i recommend looking up color + aesthetic

looking to use the same color? download a name color app that’ll give you a hex code for any color you want to use. then, you can type in that hex code for when you’re choosing a color for your tumblr bio

wondering how to make your header image small like mine? just choose a photo for your header and turn off the stretch image option

want to use a different text color that tumblr doesn’t offer? it’s not as complicated as you think. you’ll have to go on a desktop to do this and do some html (but trust me, it’s not very difficult). look up “HTML noob but trying my best - how to use colored text on desktop”

^^ i don’t have the link for the color text tutorial so you can try looking it up

how to make an aesthetic navi and masterlist

step 1: decide a theme! if you’re stuck, think about a character + color/season/mood or look up “[insert] aesthetic” to find some inspiration. or you can try looking at other blogs too

step 2: find a color scheme! it’s easier if you choose fewer colors. if you want to use the same color for both divider and text, download a color name app in order to get the hex code of that color.

step 3: add categories to your navi! most navigation pages include a link to masterlist, about/byi, and rules. your navi should have a title that indicates that it’s... a navigation page. you can add thin colored dividers with the same color to make it easier for followers to navigate

step 4: you can choose to create a ‘cover’ or a picture for your navigation and masterlist! again, i recommend you use the canva app as a starting point

extra: search up emoticon symbols to spice up your titles!

reminder for you as a writer

you’re not obligated to do any of these things. i’ve noticed that we tend to build pressure on ourselves when it comes to content and interaction. remember, this !! is !! for !! fun !! when you realize that it’s no longer fun, then know that it’s time to take a break. and there’s nothing wrong with a bit of self care.

^^ c/p from this post lol

at the end of the day, follower count and interaction doesn’t define you. again for the love of beings, you’re here on your own accord.

will be adding more if needed/asked.

[sapnapsimper420]

Wounds

❥︎ genre // angst, fluff

❥︎ main character(s) // c!wilbur

❥︎ warnings // slight description of wounds

❥︎ reader pronouns // they/them

"Y/N!" Wilbur's anguished voice calls, breaking through the veil of pain you feel upon George landing the final hit needed to make you respawn. You try to call back, only to be carried away by the whooshing particles that signal a respawn.

When you awaken, it's to Wilbur frantically shaking you, running a hand through your hair to smooth it out. "Thank fuck, Y/N... Your wounds haven't healed yet, my love. Let me fix them." You can do nothing but nod, feeling the effects of respawning as well as the grief Eret caused by their betrayal. Looking around, you see identical impacts shown around L'Manberg.

Tommy and Tubbo are holding one another, a rare moment of silence shared between the two best friends as they mourn the loss of someone who was always there for them, whether it be as a friend or as an older brother figure. Fundy holds himself quietly, eyes staring into somewhere far, far away from the small country you're proud to call your home.

Wilbur, however, is entirely focused on you. Although your death had been among the first, you had been closest to where everyone had spilled outlining you had the most brutal injuries. It had taken you the longest to awaken due to your body trying to heal the worst of them, but even with this prolonged period, there were wounds unable to be closed without the hand of another person.

That's where Wilbur came in, even though he admittedly was doing a rather poor job of helping you patch your wounds. "Wil, go get bandages. I'll be okay." Your attempt to reassure him nearly falls on dead ears until Fundy approaches, ears low on his head. "They'll be okay." He repeats, gently pulling Wilbur until he's standing beside your bed. "I'll be back," is the only response Wilbur gives, speeding off to hopefully find medical supplies.

"Are you okay, Fundy?" The fox only shrugs, eyes revealing the extent of his feelings. "Could be better. I trusted them. Maybe I could have stopped it from happening." "No, Funds. Eret... Eret made up their mind. They're a traitor, and they hurt all of us. You could not have stopped it from happening. Wil's coming back. Go get Tommy and Tubbo and get some rest, I'll be with you guys soon."

Fundy doesn't respond, choosing to gather Tommy and Tubbo and move to somewhere more private instead. Wilbur is also silent as he works, applying bandages soaked in healing potions to smaller cuts and working on the larger ones with a sturdy hand, making small stitches where need be to close your skin again. All the while, no words are exchanged, only small apologies when he accidentally presses a little too hard against your skin, earning a wince and a quick breath.

"Wil... You couldn't have changed their mind." You whisper when Wilbur begins packing the bandages away. "I could have! If I were a better leader, or, or I knew earlier! None of you would be down a life, my love wouldn't be needing stitches because of the enemy!" Tears are streaming down his face, words coming out wavering and frantic. You see that spark, the spark Tommy has vented to you about. Wilbur looks almost insane, delusional and afraid in his 'what if's.

"But we're alive, Wil. We all have our other lives. We are all safe. Maybe a little more traumatized, but we can use this. We know we can trust fewer people, and that's okay. They were never meant to be one of us." The man kneeling beside your bed finally evens his breaths, resting his cheek in your open palm as his tears dry. "We'll be okay. I'll make sure of it." Wilbur whispers, more of an assurance to himself than to you.

[nastybuckybarnes]

A Broken Fairytale  -  Twelve

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Reader AU 

Summary: Sold by your mother, you work as a servant for the King and Queen of Acadia. The Prince, much to his initial dismay, takes a liking to you. When a wicked woman intervenes, your life is nothing more than a prison sentence. With a war on the horizon and a betrothal to a missing Princess that he can’t escape, Bucky is forced to be the Prince -and King- that his father wants. A pawn in a bigger game than the two of you realize. 

Warnings:  Fluff, Angst, injuries, Violence, Fluff

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Voila! Sorry for not updating this in like six months but here you go! She’s a little intense so enjoy 

~*~

“I gave you one job.”

The man swallows hard, face bloody and bruised and nearly unrecognizable.

“I almost had her. But the prince-” “You said you could do it! I paid you to get rid of the girl! Not send her back to her family on a silver platter!” She grabs the collar of his shirt, pointed edge of a blade at his throat.

“I-I’ll do it! I’ll get rid of her and I’ll get rid of anyone who gets in my way! I underestimated them once, but I won’t make the same mistake again! I swear to it!” The old woman glares at him, her eyes full of hatred.

“You have one more chance. If you fail I will make you wish you were in the hands of the King, for I will not be nearly as merciful as he.” Rumlow nods, stumbling back as soon as she releases him.

“Now go. I expect to hear news of their death before their wedding. If you fail you will regret it.”

~*~

“You look gorgeous, my daughter.” You turn around, smiling from ear to ear in your white gown.

“Thank you, mother.” She tilts your head up, her eyes on the fading scar on your cheek.

“A mark to show those who test you how strong you are,” She whispers, pressing a kiss to the mark.

Butterflies swarm in your belly as you hear the music playing from the throne room.

"Your Majesty, we are ready to begin,” Pepper says, smiling gently at your mother. She nods, tears in her eyes as she cups your cheeks.

“I always knew the day I gave my daughter away would come. I never thought I would have so little time between having you and losing you.” You nod, leaning your cheek into her hands.

“My daughter and my wife on my daughter’s wedding day. A day I had not thought I would get to see.” The two of you look to the voice, smiling when your father walks in.

“They are waiting for you, my dear. And then I am to walk my daughter down the aisle so soon after getting her back. How I wish we could have more time together.” You nod, a sad smile on your face as your mother hurries out of the room and to her spot in the throne room.

“I have no plans on leaving the kingdom soon. We will have time to reacquaint. But until then, we mustn’t leave them waiting.” He nods, offering you his arm. You take it gratefully, still uneasy wearing heels.

“There has not been a gathering this large in your lifetime. People from Kingdoms across the continent have come to see the union of the two kingdoms and the return of the Princess.” Your heart jumps at that information.

“Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better.” He chuckles, helping you down the stairs slowly.

Your dress is beyond extravagant. It’s an off-white colour with a thick layered skirt and a train that drags dangerously long behind you. The entire gown is covered in pearls and jewels, advertising the wealth of the kingdom. Atop your head rests a beautiful white tiara with large crystals decorating it.

You look exactly how royalty should.

With a bouquet of white roses held tightly in your grasp, you focus on your footsteps, trying your hardest to stay steady as the doors to the throne room get pushed open.

There’s a simultaneous gasp across the room, but you keep your eyes focused on the flowers in your grasp, grateful for the veil covering your face from view.

When your father stops walking, you finally look up, eyes finding the piercing blues of Prince James through the thin material of your veil.

He looks absolutely stunning in his royal colours, the lightness of his suit contrasting beautifully with the darkness of his royal sash. At his side hangs his sword, and on his head is a beautiful gold crown with different coloured jewels.

You curtsey low, your father bowing beside you, and James bows from in front of you before extending his hand. You take it without hesitation, handing your flowers to your father before stepping up in front of the thrones with James.

“Take care of my daughter, James. I have only just gotten her back.” The prince nods, a smile on his face as he gazes at you with nothing but admiration in his eyes.

With practiced grace, James flips your veil over your hair, his eyes alight with happiness.

“Together we are gathered here to witness the union of his Royal Highness Prince James Buchanan Barnes of Acadia, and Her Royal Highness Princess (Y/n) (Y/m/n) (Y/l/n) of Corona. In front of the Gods, each other, and your Kingdoms, you will be united as husband and wife, and King and Queen. Your Kingdoms will be together as one, as you will be.”

The priest smiles warmly at the two of you.

“We have waited many years to witness this union, and now, we listen as you speak your vows.” James clears his throat, turning for a moment to grab the two goblets and handing the empty one to you.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” He lifts his hand, using his free hand to lift yours.

“Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine.” He pours a tad of wine into your goblet. The two of you each take a sip then set the goblets down. Next, you each pick up a candle, having practiced this enough to know it forward and back.

“With this candle,” he lights his candle then touches the flame to the wick of yours. “I will light your way in darkness.”

You set the candles down, heart racing as he’s handed a gorgeous diamond ring.

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” He leans forward, taking your hand gently in his.

“I am yours.” A smile breaks across his face, and right as he’s sliding the ring onto your finger a fiery pain erupts in your shoulder, the force of it sending you tumbling to the ground.

There’s a collective gasp and then screams erupt.

“(Y/n)!” “Your Highness!” You peel your eyes open in time to see guards surrounding you and James, the brunet crouched in front of you with his eyes focused on your chest. You follow his gaze and your eyes nearly fall out of your head.

There’s an arrow stuck in your left shoulder. You look frantically at James and he shushes you, grabbing it by the end and snapping it in half, making it much shorter. You cry out in pain, thrashing against him, but he only murmurs apologies.

“Your Highnesses, we must leave.” You’re ushered to your feet and you suppress a cry of pain, grabbing onto your husband’s hand as the two of you are quickly brought out of the room.

“Someone call for a healer immediately. We have no idea if this has pierced something vital,” James barks as you all hurry through the halls.

“Men, take your posts and allow no one through,” Rhodey says, waiting until the guards have dispersed before pulling on a candelabra mounted on the wall.

The wall creaks open and you look at him in shock.

“Go all the way through. Only few know of this passage. There’s a safe room at the end that will have all the required medical tools you will need, as well as food and water. Answer no one and trust even fewer. When it is safe, myself or a trusted member of the king’s guard will come to fetch you.” You nod, looking at James. He nods as well and helps you through the small opening in the wall.

His hand is on the hilt of his sword, ready to fight anyone if need be.

You’ve got one hand pressed against the spot where the arrow remains, partly sticking out of you, half-broken off. Your vision starts to blur as blood seeps out of the wound.

“We’re almost there. Just hang on tight,” he murmurs, stopping in his tracks when he reaches the large wooden door.

He shoves it open and is quick to help you into the room and sit you on the bed. While he lights the candles, you press hard against your wound, taking deep breaths to try and steady yourself.

Warm hands are suddenly pulling yours away and you gasp, opening your eyes and looking at the culprit.

He smiles apologetically then lifts his hand. There’s the sound of tearing and then your gown is sliding down your chest, leaving you in only your satin slip.

“I must admit, this is not how I envisioned our wedding night,” you murmur, voice quivering slightly with fear and pain. He chuckles once, shaking his head.

“This may sting a bit, but I must do it.” You nod, closing your eyes tightly. He takes hold of the arrow and gives you only a moment to prepare before he's tearing it out of you.

You shout out in pain, tears stinging your eyes a the intense fire in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing something hot against the wound. If you thought the ripping of the arrow was bad, this is ten times worse.

A scream tears its way out of your throat and you struggle to get away as he cauterizes the wound to the best of his abilities with you writhing in his grasp.

You’re tiptoeing on the edge of consciousness when he finally pulls it away, your shoulder aching and throbbing.

“I’m sorry, my darling.” You clench your jaw and nod, taking a few deep breaths to try and regain your composure.

“Someone means to kill me,” you whisper, the words tasting foul on your tongue.

James nods, holding your hands in between both of his.

“This union is being targeted yet again. It is no accident that so much has happened to attempt to prevent us from marrying.” His words ring with truths that you hadn’t considered, and he must see the shock on your face.

“I will discuss it with our fathers when it is safe to do so. Until then, you need your rest.” He helps you to lie down in the bed, being careful of your injured shoulder.

“You must swear to wake me as soon as there’s any news,” you demand, grabbing his hand tightly. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Of course. I swear I will.” You nod, satisfied with his answer, then allow yourself to relax into the pillows, your mind racing itself to sleep.

[dinmadness]

Prompt Request: could you maybe do a mandalorian/male reader romantic drabble?

For: @ripariansoliloquy

Paring: Din Djarin x Male Reader/You

Tags: Fluffy, blindfolds, kissing, soft Din, adorable baby Grogu.

I’m so glad you asked for this and I hope you enjoy it! I planned on like just a few hundred words but nah, there 1,020. Oh well. I hope you enjoy soft Din!

Fic under cut!

Perching cross-legged on a stump, Grogu purring contently in your lap, as you enjoy the warmth of the setting sun. Hues of orange and purple wash over the Crest as you watch with interest while Din repairs a small hole in the ships haul. You ran into a small asteroid belt on your way to Tython, one lucky chunk managed to inflict a decent size gouge. Now you are on a small rural planet for the time being.

You don’t mind hanging around on planets with minimal population, it just means you and Din get to spend more time together, just the two of you and Grogu. You’ve never actually talked to Din about what your relationship was but you didn’t think you needed to. Din was a man of few words and even fewer personal relationships. You were the opposite. Before you met the traveling duo, you were a just a guy who wasn’t tied to one person or place.

If you were being honest, your life here, with Din and Grogu, made you far happier.

Shaking from your thoughts, you lean over to rest your elbows on your thighs, touching your nose to the childs head, puffing your cheeks with air. Grogu reacts to the touch and tilts his head up to look at you. When he sees your face, he lets out a burst of giggles. You laugh as you let the air out, placing a kiss on the tiny area between his eyes. Grogu purrs again.

Your name being called breaks you from the moment, you and the Child look towards the voice. Din has finished the repair and is waving you over. Uncrossing your stiff legs, you stand and go to him, child in arms.

“Nice patch work.” You say with a sparkle of amusement in your voice. You and the whole galaxy knows Din isn’t the greatest mechanic.

The mandalorian looks back at the patch of metal haphazardly welded to the haul before he turns back, giving you side eye. “You think you can do better, tough guy?” He challenges.

You smirk and throw up your free hand in surrender. Din gives a shake of his head as steps closer to you, almost putting you chest to chest if not for Grogu. The child takes advantage of the closeness and grabs Dins chest plate to pull himself over, looking at his reflection. Din carefully slips an arm around you, his hand warm against your lower back, before he turns and leads you three into the razor crest.

Din takes Grogu and places him in his hammock, tucking him in for a nap. The child snuggles down and his eyes begin to drift shut.

Once the door is closed he grabs your hand and spins you around, pulling you flush against him. His armor feels cool through the fabric of your tunic. You sigh as he drags his hands over the flat expanse of your stomach and chest until they come to rest across your shoulders.

You never tire of hearing your name roll off his tongue, so low and soft, it makes you weak in the knees.

“I have a surprise.” He hums, removing himself from you. Your curiosity is piqued, in all the months you have been staying with the Mandalorian and child, he’s never given you a surprise before. Everything he’s ever given to you had a purpose or was a necessity.

“You’ll need to cover your eyes,” he states as he comes around to face you. You look down and he has a black swath of fabric laid across his open palm. You look up to him, eye brow quirked.

“Can I just use my hands?” You ask.

He shakes his head. “Do you trust me?”

Without a doubt, you say in your mind. More than anyone. You don’t say that out loud though, only nod. He brings the cloth up and over your eyes, careful not to tie it too tight. Once he was satisfied, you heard him step away.

“Can you see anything?” A hint of something you can’t quiet pinpoint is laced in his voice.

You give a show of looking around, “can’t see a thing.”

He doesn’t say anything back but you can hear rustling before the noise suddenly stops. You are starting to get nervous now.

After several moment, you are ready to ask if everything is OK but your words die in your throat when you feel the skin of a warm hand ghost over your cheek and into the hair at the nape of your neck. You’re heart is thrumming so loud in your chest you can feel it in your ears and fingertips. Your belly swirls with heat and butterflies.

You open your mouth to try to speak again but you are silenced by hesitant lips connecting with yours. You hear Din sigh through his nose and he pulls you closer like he fears you will disappear. Finally getting your bearings you bring your hands up to thread into Dins hair, paying no mind to the tangles, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. You lick into his warm mouth and he moans, sending a jolt through you. It takes Din a moment to get into the rythm but when he does it makes your head spin.

After a few breathless moments he pulls away, his heavy breath warming your cheek.

“I, um,” the tone is back, you now register it as nervousness. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while. I’m sorry I can’t go as fast as I’m sure you would like, but I want to try...”

“- it was perfect, Din.” You cut him off, placing your hands on his waist. “I would never want to make you uncomfortable.”

You feel him physically relax. He moves from your grip and after a moment you feel him untying the blindfold. Your eyes adjust to the light and you smile up at him, silver helmet right where it belongs. He tilts his head to the side in return. You can’t see his face, but you don’t need to.

[mayans-sauce]

The girl 🖤

Pairing: Ez Reyes x Reader

Request from @ly--canthrope​ And let’s go with a bittersweet angst TO fluff (the fluff is to soothe the hurt otherwise I’m sad all day 😂) once again with Ezekiel pretty please babe; “Loving you is hard sometimes, but it doesn’t make you hard to love.” You have creative license with this. My immediate thought is him saying it but whatever picks your fancy!

A/N: thanks for the request! When I first saw it I had a good understanding of what I wanted to write but when I actually sat down to write it my brain just went...NO.. so I really hope that I did good with this since it’s kind of all over the place and a bit long😩 but I’m posting it anyway because I really liked the ending🥺❤️

Join my group chat if you want to get notified when I post❤️

💖Masterlist💖

The last few weeks you and Ez hadn't really been talking that much. Just a few hugs and kisses here and there but they became fewer and fewer. When you were sleeping you were both on the opposite ends of the bed, no touching and no cuddling. Almost completely ignoring each other unless there was an emergency.

It had started with when you saw Ez talking to a very pretty girl at a party, they were laughing with each other and when you saw her put her hands on him you turned around and walked away. Not wanting to tell him anymore what you came over to tell.

You usually weren't so jealous and you trusted Ez but the last few days you hadn't really been feeling like yourself. You started to get more and more insecure about yourself and you couldn't seem to put your emotions in check. They were just all over the place.

Ez saw how you were acting and got concerned at first but you brushed him of and just told him it was nothing. Eventually he gave up and just thought that you needed some space for a few hours.

Well hours turned to days and days turned into weeks and you both just got more and more distant.

You would cry yourself to sleep, thinking that the relationship was over and that Ez didn't love you anymore. That he would be better off with that pretty girl from the party.

—————————

After a few weeks Ez had had enough of the silent treatment and how you were acting. He got concerned that you didn't love him anymore and that you just stayed because you didn't know how to leave. So he wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on with you two and what the future of your relationship looked like.

He walked into your bedroom where you were laying down with a book in your hand, as you had been doing for the last weeks. Leaning himself again the doorframe, he cleared his throat to get your attention. You looked up from your book and saw the look on his face. You knew it was time to face what you had been dreading for a while now.

“Hey.. I was just wondering if we could talk for a bit.. maybe go down and sit at the table?”

“Ok” was all you answered. Putting your book down and getting up so you could walk downstairs.

—————————

There was a few seconds of silence when you sat down. Both of you not knowing where to start. Ez was the one that began talking.

“What has happened these last few weeks..? Why won't you talk to me.. or even look at me.. did I.. did I do something wrong? Do you not love me anymore?”

You could feel your heart break when he asked those questions. Of course you would never think that he would cheat on you. Or do something to upset you. But with the recent life update you had gotten a few weeks ago you couldn't help it to feel insecure and lonely.

“I've just not been feeling so good lately.. it's nothing Ez.. really..”.

“Oh bullshit”. You jumped up a bit at the slight raise of tone that he used.

“We haven't almost said a single sentence to each other in forever. Whenever I come into the room you almost immediately leave. We haven't touched each other in weeks. Haven't had sex in forever and you....”

“THE GIRL EZ!!” You cut him of. Tired of hearing him rambling about when you knew what the real problem was. He looked at you confused. “The girl?”

“Yes Ez.. the girl at the party that was all over you and you didn't seem to stop her at all”. He shook his head. “Wait.. that is the reason that you are acting this way.. because of some girl”. “Well she didn't look just like some girl” you snapped at him.

“Baby.. you have it completely wrong.. I would never do something to hurt you.. I would never ever cheat on you my love.” Now it was you who looked at him confused. “I don't understand..”.

“I don't know when you left but if you had stayed a few seconds longer you would have seen me politely declined her and tell her I had a beautiful wife at home and that I had no interest in doing anything with her.”

You felt like the absolute most horrible person ever. How could you be so stupid.

“.. I feel like the most horrible person right now Ezekiel. I'm so sorry.. I'm so sorry that I doubted you.. that I've been acting this way. You must really hate me now. You must really not love me anymore”.

“Baby.. loving you is hard sometimes, but it doesn’t make you hard to love.”

“Would you love a baby Ezekiel?” You just blurred out, not being able to keep it in anymore. Ez looked at you, a small glimt in his eyes. “Are.. are you..” “Pregnant” you interrupted him. “I'm pregnant Ez”. His smile couldn't have been wider. Hope in his eyes.

“That's why I've been acting like I have.. I wasn't sure if you wanted to have a baby..”.

He got up from the chair and took your hands in his to pull you up to him. “Are you kidding me! I couldn't be happier right now my love.. we are going to have a baby”. Hugging you tight to him, the emotions of the last few weeks pouring out of you both in tears. Comforting each other and telling each other sorry again over and over.

After some time of holding onto each other he took your face in his and finally kissed you after so long. Lips moving against each other trying to make up for lost time.

“I love you with all my heart baby. Forever and always. No matter what kind of struggles we are facing, as long as I'm with you, it will all work out in the end”. He leaned is forehead against yours. “You are my heart and soul Ezekiel. You always have and always will be.. it's me, you and this little nugget together till the end of time”.

[definitelynotkatesblog]

Beg ∣ Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

A/N: Hi, friends! This is my first time writing a fanfic piece, so of course it had to be for my love, Dr. Spencer Reid! This literally started out as a blurb in the notes app in my phone of maybe.... one line of dialogue?

Also, I am ready and willing to receive feedback! Please enjoy! 

If this opening scene was in a movie, the opening lines of Me & Mr. Jones by Amy Winehouse would be playing.

Nobody stands

In between me and my man

Me and Mr. Jones

(Me and Mr. Jones)

What kind of fuckery is this?

Category: Smut (and some cuteness at the end)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Dom!Spencer, PostPrison!Spencer, bondage, unprotected penetrative sex, con/non con, safe word mention (not used, just mentioned), mention of overstimulation, orgasm denial, forced orgasms, indication of sub-drop? (then after care).

Word count: 3.0k 

Prison had changed Spencer. Obviously. Your once timid, tightly wound, germaphobe genius was now eerily patient, quicker to react, and able to eat in group settings with less hesitation. He was also more dominant with you in and out of the bedroom- just more assertive in general. Even his coworkers at the BAU mentioned his demeanor had changed when working on cases.

You had assumed it was due to him not feeling in control for those months he was property of the prison, and needing to exert his control in other aspects once he could eat and sleep on his own schedule. 

Before Spencer had gone away, your sex life was great- he was always sweet and attentive but rough when he needed to be. It was a mirror of his personality. 

Though you’d never know the extent of what happened in those concrete walls- and you’d never actually say this to Spencer- you weren’t terribly upset about the changes that resulted in the man who came out on the other end.

This man was more primally need-driven, more calloused and hungry than the Spencer you knew before. His words became fewer while his actions spoke volumes. He devoured you like you were his last meal on earth every time his hands were on you, like he was afraid this time might be the last time you two would be together. 

 His hands were more strong and confident with his touches, his mouth and movements more sure. Gone were the hesitant questions asked by fingers skimmed lightly over skin, and here to stay were imprints left from sure grips, unafraid to show signs of possession. 

His hunger and drive, these new deeper and darker urges had also allowed you to come out of your sex-shell. You weren’t afraid to ask for things that you feared my have intimidated Spencer before. There wasn’t anything you couldn’t ask for and nothing he wouldn’t do to you, for you. Did it make sense to trust him more now that he’d gone to prison?

You knew his newfound desires could be a sense of shame for him, but you wouldn’t let them be. If anything, you wanted him to be the one he explored them with more than anything. 

You rose to the challenge and arrived on the other side victorious- usually in a sweaty heap of bliss.

******

Murder in your eyes, you watched him cross the room to fasten your wrist in the restraint dangling from the bedpost. 

Once he was satisfied you wouldn’t be able to move from your slightly spread eagle position, he rounded the corner back to the foot of the bed, leaning forward to place his palms on the soft duvet, just staring. 

“Comfortable?” he asked nonchalantly, like he was asking about the fucking weather. 

You tried to lunge forward, but the restraints at your wrists quickly snapped you back, reminding you of what a not great idea that was. The fabric stuffed in your mouth as a makeshift gag caught most of the profanities you spat at him and turned them into nonsense. 

He chuckled and shook his head, “Glad to hear it.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the rise and fall of your chest quickening as you realized the gravity of the situation- you really couldn’t get out of these restraints. And you really weren’t sure if you wanted to. 

“Do you know why I like when you’re tied up?”

Attempting to keep your face as stoic as possible, you offered no reaction and turned your head away from him, opting to look at the artwork on the wall instead. 

“Because when you’re tied up, you can’t get in my way of taking what I want.” His voice was level and low, speaking matter of factly. 

At this statement, you couldn’t help but throw him an incredulous look and an over-the-top eye roll.  

“And you can’t stop me from fucking you and making you cum as many times as it takes to break you,” he continued. 

The idea of that kind of delirious pleasure instantly caused a pool of heat to flood your lower belly, spreading through your veins. 

He made his way around to the side of the bed, watching your face with a thoughtful expression. 

His hand caressed the side of your face, cupping your cheek before forming a strong grip on your jaw. You tried keeping your face turned away, but were quickly humbled by the sharp turn of his wrist. 

Your eyes searched his, trying to determine how much truth there was in his statements. 

“Do you remember your safe words?” he asked softly. 

You nod, flexing your wrists against their restraints, and mumble around the fabric in your mouth. “Yeyow ng wed” you sighed, feigning annoyance. 

“Good. And if your mouth is full?” he prompted. 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your fingers for ‘yellow’ and snapping them for ‘red’. 

He hummed and left his position at your side and returned to the foot of the bed, content with your answers.

He crawled up on the bed and pulled your legs towards opposite sides of the bed with enough room between them for him to sit on his knees. 

You watched as he brought a hitachi wand from behind his back and place it in your line of sight. Your eyes narrowed, trying to unravel his plan. 

Suddenly his words made a lot more sense- You can’t get in the way. Make you cum as many times as I want. 

His finger traced the line between your clit and quickly dampening entrance, teasing with the lightest amount of pressure.

Your hips involuntarily made almost indiscernible movements to increase the friction, but with each movement, he would stop his ministrations and scold you with a ‘tsk tsk’.

His thumb found its way to your clit, drawing slow languid circles through the thin fabric. You tried your best to appear unbothered, but the fabric in your mouth wasn’t doing enough to stifle the whimpers slipping from your throat. 

“I bet if I checked right now, you’d be a wet fucking mess. Is that right?”

Even though you’d been betrayed by your body, you opted to test your luck with shaking your head no. 

“Hmmmm, see, I don’t think that’s quite right.”

His hands found their way to the edges of your panties and dragged them down your hips, thighs, knees and eventually off your body. 

Suddenly feeling very exposed, you pressed your knees together in an attempt to salvage your remaining dignity- well, what was left, after being bound to a fucking bed. 

He shook his head and placed a hand on each knee and forced them apart, staring at the apex of your thighs. His tongue poked out and made a quick sweep of his lower lip.

You knew, you just fucking knew you were in fact a wet mess, despite your best efforts to resist being turned on by the nonchalant, condescending, cocky fucking asshole he was being. 

He half smiled and chuckled, looking back up at your face. 

“Oh baby, was I right.” With that, he took a single finger and collected evidence of your arousal and brought it up to your eye level as proof. 

Without breaking eye contact, he popped the finger into his mouth, making a show of swirling his tongue around it, hollowing his cheeks, and slowly pulling it out of his mouth with a slight moan. 

Your eyes narrowed, a mixture of humiliation and raw attraction driving a fire to ignite and course through your veins. 

“God, you taste so fucking good.” he said slowly, emphasizing each word. 

Quickly returning his hand between your thighs, he dipped inside for a moment with one finger before adding another. 

The intrusion was dreadfully delicious, your hips bucking in an attempt to ride his fingers. An involuntary moan escaped your throat, muffled by the gag. 

Spencer started lazily thrusting into you, curling his fingers to meet just the right spot every time. The slow pace was agonizing- your head falling back, begging the gods above for him to grant you some sort of mercy. 

 Your head fell forward with a drawn out groan. Every time you tried to created more speed or friction, he would slow down or stop completely. 

You let out a frustrated whine, knitting your brows together to convey your displeasure with the pace he’d chosen.

Without warning, Spencer ’s fingers started plunging into you at a brutal pace, eliciting a surprised squeak and heavy pants from your lips. 

The muscles in your core tightened, your wrists pulling against the restraints as the breathy pants became moans of anticipation. 

The slow burn in your core continued to build, rushing to beat him before he decided to stop again.Your walls began convulsing around his fingers, indicating your impending orgasm.

Then, just as quickly as his fingers were there, they weren’t. Your eyes shot open, immediately searching for his. 

“Oh, did you think I was going to let you cum that easily?”

If looks could kill, he’d be one dead motherfucker. 

“I don’t think you deserve to cum yet, baby. I don’t think you want it bad enough”

Spencer’s other hand came to rest just above your mound, applying pressure on your lower belly while his thumb started circling your clit once more.

Between the deep pressure, stimulation on your clit and his relentless fingers fucking you blind, you were about to explode. Silent sobs left your chest, no air in your lungs made for a hard time breathing.

“I want to hear you beg me to fuck you” he said, his voice low and dark.

Reaching up, he removed the fabric from your mouth, tossing it to the side. 

“Beg.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat. Knuckle deep or not, there was no way you were giving in to him.

Arching an eyebrow he shook his head, reaching to his side, pulling something white into the space between his knees.

Your eyes widened at the hitachi wand in front of him, then darted to his face in an attempt to find any indication of his intention.

He climbed off the bed to remove his pajama pants. From your compromised position you had the perfect eye line to watch his dick strain against the waistband of his pants before springing free. 

Your bottom lip found itself between your teeth as a means of controlling the drool pooling in your mouth. Spencer’s laugh drew your eyes up his body until your eyes met. 

Pumping his fist a few times over his already hard cock, he climbed back onto the bed and towards you, gathering some of your wetness with the tip of his cock before positioning himself to enter you. 

Before he moved, a wicked grin flashed across his face as he reached for the wand and turned it on to its first setting, pressing it gently to the top of the hood of your clit. The introduction of the direct stimulation on your clit made every muscle in your body tense, white hot adrenaline coursing through your veins.

His thumb guided him to realign with your entrance, and he wasted no time with teasing. He quickly sheathed himself inside of you, now pressing the wand’s vibrations head deeper into your folds. 

God you wanted to fucking scream, but all that came out was a whorish moan. Your hands instinctively made a move to remove the source of the overstimulation, but were quickly reminded that wouldn’t be possible by the strain against your wrists. 

Your walls tightened around him, encouraging him to bottom out with each thrust. His aggression and moans mixed with curses let you know he was thoroughly enjoying himself. 

“Should I let you cum too?” 

His relentless thrusts did not show signs of slowing, and his clenched jaw and flared nostrils made him look, well... criminal. 

A quick flick of his wrist caused the wand to hit a sweet spot- eliciting a squeal. He pressed the buzzing head harder against the spot, wiggling it ever so slightly. Your hands formed fists as your head thrashed to the side, craning your neck- your breath hitched and came in short, shallow breaths as your body prepared to be pushed over the edge into bliss. 

That was, until Spencer removed the wand from its promising position, tossing it onto the bed beside your leg. The sound of buzzing against the sheets was dull in the background as your head swam at the loss.

In a swift motion, his arms hooked under your knees and pulled your bottom closer to the edge of the bed as far as your wrist restraints would let you. A surprised squeak left your lips as his hands positioned your ankles by his ears. 

This new position allowed him deeper access, hitting your cervix with each thrust. This new sensation caused your head to fall back against the pillow and eyes to squeeze shut. 

Quickly grabbing the wand from beside him, he matched the movement of the wand with the patterns of his thrusts, making it difficult to tell where the pleasure started and ended.

“Please please please I want to so bad,” you begged, “Oh my god, please!”

“Hmmm, want to or need to?” he asked quickly, chasing his own orgasm.  

“FUCK, need! I need to! Please I need to cum, please Spencer!”

“Cum.” It was one word, but enough to be your undoing. 

Your walls clenched around him as your hips buckled against the head of the wand. 

Your heels dug into his shoulders beneath you, arching your back off the sheets as he buried himself deeper into you. 

Air burned your lungs as they tried to force enough oxygen in between pants, a moan ripping the rest of the air from your chest. The waves crashed into you, over and over making up for lost time. 

Fire raced through your veins, curling your toes and causing your hands to form shaking fists in their tethered positions. You cried out senselessly for him to stop. 

“Good girl,” he cooed. “One more.”

You shook your head vigorously, unable to even able to wrap your head around cumming again.

“Yes,” he said. There was no room or invitation for argument. 

Voiceless pants left your throat, your mouth dry from gasping for air.

Your eyes begged Spencer to give you just a moment to breathe, which he promptly ignored. 

Setting the wand to its next highest setting, Spencer’s thrusts found a faster pace. 

His name came out between mangled moans and broken sobs. 

“Cum for me baby, come on,” he forced out between clenched teeth. You knew he had to be close too.

Your second orgasm tacked on to the tail end of the first and possessed your body with more power than you thought possible. The vibrations racked through your body leaving flames in its wake until you couldn’t register your body as your own anymore.

The feeling of Spencer throbbing inside of you, emptying himself only added to the pleasure, your walls continuing to milk him. 

Involuntary sobs escaped your lips as you came down, Spencer’s thrusts slowing, the wand returned to its lowest setting-allowing you to ride the rest of your wave down to planet Earth. 

Watching your chest heave, gasping for more air, he removed the wand from your clit and slowly withdrew himself from you.

Sweat glistened on your forehead, your cheeks flushed and hair disheveled, now dripping a mixture of your releases.  

“God you’re so fucking beautiful” he murmured, kissing the inside of your calf before gently removing your ankles from his shoulders and placing them on the bed. 

After a few moments, an overwhelming wave of emotion crashed over your body causing tears to spring to your eyes. Your lip quivered, but you bit it between your teeth in an attempt to collect yourself. 

“Shh shh shh,” he said, quickly undoing the restraints at your wrists and pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed around you. He sat on the bed and pulled you into his chest, his legs around your body with your legs thrown over one of his, gently rocking the both of you. 

“You did so good, baby. So good,” he said kissing the top of your head. 

You didn’t have any witty or snarky remarks for him. The hot tears slid down your cheeks as you pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around your body. 

His hand rubbed big, soothing circles into your back while he tucked your head under his chin. 

You pushed the blanket off your shoulders, needing to be closer to him than you currently were. He watched you turn and straddle his waist, wrapping your legs around his torso and your arms around his neck- grabbing your opposite elbows to bury your face in his neck. 

He let you settle before wrapping his arms around your back, hugging you closer to his chest. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he said matter of factly between dropping kisses on the top of your head. 

You hummed in response, too tired for real words. 

He held you for a few more minutes, rubbing your back with small circles and offering praise. 

“Do you want to take a now bath, baby?”

You grumbled a sound of protest into his neck and felt his body shake with a laugh. 

You always wanted to take a bath, baths with Spencer were your favorite thing. But at this moment you were blissfully content and unwilling to move. 

He pulled you two apart for a moment to look at your face. Brushing a few strands of hair behind your ear, he inspected your face for any residual tears.

 Your eyes met his and found a softness in his eyes you didn’t think was possible from the man who had just teased, edged and fucked you so thoroughly. 

“Five more minutes,” he conceded, kissing your forehead. 

You nodded and nestled back into your spot, pressing your lips into the side of his neck.

———

Tell me all about it!

[mandobedu]

Cold night

Soooooo, First time I share my mind here. First, you got to know I’m French, working my ass off to learn how to write in English. So if it’s sounds weird sometimes you know why. Second, please be nice. Last, ❤️ or share they will be more.

Summary: It’s cold in the Slave I tonight and while we try to get warm, confession are made.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Warnings: a lot of kissing and sweet sex

Words: 1502 (can’t believe I did that)

Inside the slave I.

The night is icy cold. You shivering and Boba notice. He approaches you and gives you another blanket.

“Wait, this is your blanket.”

“Don’t worry about me. Use it.”

You were so cold you did not feel guilty about taking it. You put the blanket over yours and up to your nose. It smells like him. It makes you feel a little safer and your body relaxes. You look at Boba, he’s working on the machinery trying to fix the heater problem.

You wake up a couple of hours later. You see Boba sitting next to you, eyes close, arms cross on his chest. He does not have his armour, as the metal keep him cold. His head hiding in the hood of his black outfits. But still, he shivering a little. You stand up and moving close to him. Carefully, you put both blankets on you two. He wakes up and sees you so close to him. Boba’s looking at you, understanding what you are doing. He tells himself how beautiful you are and how awkward he feels being alone with you in the middle of a cold night.

You turn your head and realize he’s awake and looking at you. You smile. For a moment you just look at each other. You felt a strange energy. You don’t understand why you feel shy. Maybe you are closer to him than you usually are.

“I’m sorry,” you say quitting his gaze. “I know you’re cold too so let’s share the blankets and warm each other or we are not gonna survive this night. If’s ok with you?”

You try to read his regard. He nods.

“So don’t mind if I’m getting closer to you?” You ask, while you pressing your body next to him. you take his left arm, hold it on your chest like a pillow and you put your head on his shoulder.

Boba finally breaks his silence. “I always thought I made you uncomfortable.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I saw you watching my scares. I disgusted you.”

“You care about your appearance. Well, I’m learning something new about you every day”

Boba smirked and take back his arm from your pillow grip. Before you could say anything he pulling you completely next to him and wrap you with his strong arms. You exhale of relief, understanding he is not angry and you wrap him as well with your arms. Your head on his chest you can hear his heart beating fast. You hearth kinda start beating faster too. Maybe the intimate moment that you share. You always like Boba and he’s always been so nice and patient to you. The way he always looks right into your eyes when he is talking to you or when he is listening to you. You always feel special. And you don’t want him to think that he makes you uncomfortable.

“Your scars never bother me. You should know that. I never meant to stare I even think that it makes you look badass. And I like it.”

Boba chuckles softly.

You start to feel warm finally. Your two bodies finally produce heat.

“But I ask myself how someone could ever survive such a thing. I hope it doesn’t hurt you anymore”

“Only in my nightmare’, Boba said

That answer hurt you. Poor Boba. You could not imagine what he had to endure. How lonely he most felt all those years.

“I’m so sorry Boba. Such an unfair path you had” you said softly.

“Don’t be sorry for me. And since you’re around y/n, I had fewer of those bad dreams.”

You turn your head to face him. You are so close to his face that yours noses almost touch. His eyes again look through you. You try to understand the meaning of that last comment. You smile softly. Boba’s look was calm with a light smile but in his eyes, you detect a little panic. Very subtle but you start to know Boba, he never seems to not have control. You were both exhausted, cold and the last days were not easy. Maybe you looking too much for nothing. Indeed having someone around daily must-have changing his mind. You decide to say nothing. You put back your head on his chest. You feel him release a shaky exhale.

Now warmer, a feeling of safety going through your body. You notice that he is holding you tighter.

“Boba?”

“Y/N.” You smile. You love how he pronounces your name.

“You make me feel safe.”

“And you, y/n, you make me feel..”

You lift your head, wondering what’s the end of that sentence. You look at him.

“I mean..” he starts to say worried about your reaction to his half confession. He just wants to say to you that you make him feel alive. You lean to him and put a light kiss on his lips. You stay on his lips a second wondering if you did a mistake. Boba put his hand on the back of your neck to pull you in a more long intense kiss. His passionate kiss makes you feel a wave of warmth in your body. You kiss again and again till he stops and puts his forehead on yours, you both taking your breath back.

“I wish for that moment for a while y/n.” Saying that he started to kiss you again. While your lips and now your tongues learn to know each other you turn your all body to face him and get on him. You retreat from his kissing a small moment and you put your hand on his face. He closes his eyes. The feeling of your hands on his scars makes all the pain goes away. Boba put his hand on yours. Touching his face it's for him such a big deal. Nobody touches him since he gets out of the Sarlacc. The touch of your hand on him makes him realize how alone he's been all these years. He opens his eyes fill with water, a tear falling on one of his cheeks.

“You deserve so much Boba” you murmur at him.

“I just want you y/n,” says Boba in a little sob.

You give him a passionate kiss. Boba’s holding you so thigh, afraid that you would vanish.

“Boba I want you to. I want you so much.” While saying that your hand reaching the inside of his pant. The moment you touching his sex his heart skip a beat. He grabs your face.

-Y/N it’s been so long since I have…

You kiss him again

“So you’ll have to trust me. Do you want this Boba?”

Boba nods. You take off your pants. With his arms in your back, he lay you down while still kissing you. Over you now, he put his face in your neck breathing your smell and asking himself if he was dreaming. Your hands caress his neck and face. You realize how much you care for him. Nobody made you feel safe like he does. And nobody moved you as he does in this very moment. Boba starts to push himself in you. There are no words to explain how you both feel at this very moment. You both looking deeply into each other eyes feeling like you were just one.

Boba keeps a moderate pace as he doesn’t want to finish quickly. It’s been a while since he’s been so intimate with women. And the few last time did not involve any feelings.

Your body can’t keep from trembling as his sex keep penetrate you. It never felt so great with others. Your two bodies are made for each other. Boba feels that you are so close to coming. You have difficulty to say his name and your breath get short. You beg him not to stop. He knows he’s about to come to. His space is now more vigorous. Your legs are tight around him. He put his face back in the hollow of your neck. As you screaming your orgasm he felt an explosion in his body. Everything stopped for a moment. You both trying to take back your senses. He slowly put his head on your breast, listen to your heart racing.

Your body still trembling from that orgasm. You put your arm around Boba who rests on your chest. Your hand and fingers moving around his head and tracing some of the scars.

Boba, emotional, wondering why you let him share this moment.

“Am I dreaming?” he said turning his head toward you.

“I was asking myself the same.” you tease him.

Boba stretches his neck to reach your lips. You kiss him again like the first time. You felt him almost liquify under your kiss.

“You make me lose myself” he murmurs you.

Boba gets back next to you where he wraps you close to him with his arms while you pulling back the blanket on you both. You put back your head on him and close your eyes. You know that no dreams will be better than that moment.

[xmalereader]

Thomas Shelby X Son! Male Reader

Part One | Part Two

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|| Masterlist ||

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You children asked for a second part so here you go! I hope you enjoy it because I really tried to make it good, I guess??

Summary: Reader has been living in London for two years now, so what happens when he bumps into his father, Thomas Shelby, while he is working for one of the most dangerous men?

Warnings: Angst, slight fluff, AlfiexReader, Thomas still being an ass, gangster reader, Langauge.

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“Just do what I say and get out of my fucking sight, god you all act like children! Who can’t do a fucking thing!”

“Now, now, darling. Take it easy on the boys their still new, don’t want to frighten them in there first day.” Said Alfie who sat behind his desk, reading through some documents and wearing his glasses.

It’s been three years since y/n had moved out of the Shelby family and into London. He remembers the night he was looking for a job only to bump into Alfie Solomon’s. The only thing is that he never knew that Alfie was a gangster as well, he simply acted like a normal man and showed no signs of being dangerous.

Y/n was cautious at first, feel unsafe for awhile but once he got to know Alfie a bit more he trusted him. The two got along very well, a little too well to the point where they would end up in each other’s beds.

The two weren’t exaclty together, they only slept with each other when they were stressed out or angry about a situation that had occurred during work or when a delivery went wrong and they had lost a lot of money for it which would cause them to lose there minds.

He’s been working with Alfie for such a longtime that he’s beginning to pick up a habit. He’s been yelling a lot to his new workers who are slow learners and have a hard time trying to keep up, it only frustrated y/n but Alfie is able to keep him from lashing out.

“Alfie they’ve been here for two weeks now, they should know how we work around here.” He grumbled out in anger as he sits on the chair that was across from the desk. Burying his face in his hands as he groans deeply.

“You’ve been giving yourself trouble, mate.” Alfie removes his glasses and sets them down. “Get some rest y/n, take a day off.”

“I am not resting until I know that our delivery has arrived on schedule.” He muffles out as he removed his hands from his face. Alfie was the man of alcohol and knew his ways to sell them while y/n used his free time to get connections on people for transporting goods.

Y/n was good with words while Alfie was good with business. The two worked together very well and are able to sell enough of there own product without causing any trouble or starting any wars with anyone else they knew.

“Since you won’t be resting then I think you should help me with this next customer or ours.” Said Alfie as he tosses the letters into his drawer, removing his glasses and looking up to stare at y/n who stood apposite of him. “Who?’ He suddenly asks, raising a brow in curiosity as too wondering on who this ‘special’ customer is. “Just someone who can help us with business so you’ll be there to listen and be a witness.”

“What about Ollie? He’s your assiasnte and probably the best one, he can stay here and be a witness.”

“Ollie will be here in case anything starts up but you will be making sure that the deal goes through with no problem.” Said Alfie.

Y/n could only roll his eyes, he hates being here during Alfies business. He always has to listen to the customer complain about their shipping and about what they sell and sometimes he just wants to smash their little heads against the desk for being so annoying. “Fine, ill help but if this customer gets annoying then I won’t hesitate to smash there head against this desk.” He warns him, walking over to grab his booklet that contained every information about the customers and about their deals and contracts.

“Great! Ollie, bring him in!” Alfie waves his hand towards Ollie who simply nods and heads out the double doors to get him. Y/n looks over his shoulder and rolls his eyes, grabbing some pens and more paper as he prepares himself. Once he has everything he doubles checks to make sure that he has enough paper to write down any notes that need to be written down.

“Mr. Shelby! Good to see you again.”

Y/n’s whole body froze in place once he hears that name. No, it can’t be, please not him out of all the people! “Sit, my partner here will be sitting with us and making sure that everything we talk about is written down.” He hears Alfie say, hearing the sound of chairs being pulled out and Mr. Shelby taking a seat. Y/n lets out a deep breath, gripping the booklet close as he straightened himself out.

He slowly turns around and gives Thomas a glance, his father was sitting in the same room as him.

“Thomas this is—“

“Y/n.” Thomas breaths out, eyeing his own son as he tries to read him but of course y/n wasn’t the same y/n that Thomas once knew. He was different, he changed throughout the years. “Mr. Shelby.” Y/n’s says back with a small frown on his face as he walks around the desk and pulls out a chair for hismelf, sitting next to Alfie as he opens the book and ignores his fathers stare. “Alright then, as we can see both Mr. Shelby and Mr. Solomons are here to today to form a contract between both business. Mr Solomons here owns a factory where he brews his own alcohol which would result a large percentage of the company while Mr. Shelby does horse raising and weapons as business. In order to work together Mr. Shelby would have to give us fifty percent of the company—“

“Twenty-five.”

Y/n looks up from his writing and raised a brow. “I’m sorry?”

“Twnety-five.” Thomas repeats himself as the two make eye contact.

Y/n gives him a small glare and sighs through his nose. “Mr. Shelby, if you want our help then you’ll have to negotiate.”

The room is silent as the two stare each other down. Alfie is able to break the silence by clearing his throat, “Listen mate, we said fucking fifty and if you don’t agree then I’ll put a bullet through your fucking head.” Y/n’s lips form a small smirk as he listens to Alfie, leaning back in his seat as he crosses his arms and raises a brow, “So, what’s it going to be Mr. Shelby? The fifty percent or the bullet?” Said y/n with an amused tone in his voice.

Thomas glanced over to Y/n before turning back to look at Alfie. “I’ll give you the fifty percent—“ Y/n smiles in victory as he sits up and grabs his pen again. “But your coppers will work for me.” He stops himself from writing anything down and scoffs. “Really?! You think you can take our own little army? Please, the coppers stay because the only thing you’ll be getting is alcohol shipped around the country with our name on it while half of the pay goes to you!” He exclaims, slamming his hands on the desk.

“Y/n, calm down.” He hears Alfie tell him which only angered him even more. “Alfie I warned you, the next time someone walked through those damn doors who I find very annoying would receive a slam on the face!” He slams his book shut and leaves the room, slamming the doors behind him as he walks to the back of the bakery where he could blow off some steam.

He glared at everyone that got in his way, shouting at them to get back to work as he makes his way to the back where fewer people were working and possibly filled with people that he actually liked. “Tough day Mr. Fox?” Y/n turns to his left to see one of the younger employees giving him a small smile and holding up a cup full of whiskey for him.

Y/n’s body relaxes and takes the drink from the young boy, “Like always.” He mumbles out and takes sip of the drink. “I heard the shouting, probably the loudest one anyone has heard from you.” He teases out, causing y/n to laugh a little as he shakes his head. Y/n has always had a soft spot for the kid, he was the only young one here and was desperate for work. He had a sick mother and two sisters to take care of, at first Alfie wasn’t very kind until y/n had to step in to convince Alfie to hire the boy and that he would be an excellent worker here. So, Alfie ends up agreeing once Y/n convinces him, since that day he’s been keeping a close eye on the kid.

The damn kid worked harder than anyone else in this factory, staying up hours as he brewed and making sure that everything come out well before showing Alfie his progress.,The kid was able to impress Alfie in less than a couple of days.

“You should give yourself a break, you’ve been working none stop.” He tells him as he watches the kid mop out the mess that he had made, shaking his head he hears him chuckle. “If I give myself a break then I’m losing hours,” he says. “My mothers blood cells aren’t going to take a break from rapidly growing and my sisters won’t stop eating.” He grips the mop in his hand and looks down shyly. “I need to keep working.”

Y/n gives him a small weak smile. “I understand.” He holds the empty cup in his hand and sets it down on one of the tables. “It wouldn’t hurt to give yourself a break, kid. You’ll need one eventually.” He reminds him, patting his shoulder as the kid nods in understandment.

“Y/n.”

He flinched from the sudden voice, removing his hand from the kids shoulder he straightens up to see Thomas standing by the entrance of the back part of the factory. “Uh—“

“Go see if you can find somthing to do in the front.” He suddenly says as he watches the kid nod, leaving the area in a hurry as he passes by Thomas.

Y/n crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “What do you want?”

Thomas turns to look at his son, he can’t help but take him in. The last time he saw him was the night he was leaving to London, he still remembers that night clearly and he’ll never forget it. Thomas has actually tried to send out hsi own men to keep a close eye on y/n but once he stepped foot into London he disappeared forever. He never of him ever again and he’s tired to find ways to see him again but nothing would show up in the records.

“You’ve grown.”

“Your still old.” Y/n shot back.

Thomas chuckles to himself which surpises y/n since he’s never heard his own father laugh before. “What are you doing here?”

“I can ask you the same thing, why are you working for Solomons?”

Y/n shakes his head. “You heard what Alfie said, we’re partners we work together.”

“For how long?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Y/n.” Thomas’s voice goes stern, he wanted answers and he was going to get them wether y/n liked it or not. He watches y/n’s face shift as he glares at him. “Three years.” He whispers out.

Thomas looks away, has it really been three years? He’s been working with Solomons for three years and he never noticed, this whole time he was working for Alfie and he never knew. Maybe he was a horrible father, he never noticed y/n as a kid that he didn’t notice him working here. It wasn’t the first time that he’s stopped by too speaks to alife, maybe he was too caught up in the business talk that he never thought about Alfies people and how y/n was working amongst them.

“How much longer will you be staying in London?”

Y/n’s brows rose in surpise as he laughs. “DO you really think ill be coming back? You’re kidding right?” He continues to laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Thomas, I’m never returning to Birmingham and I will never step foot into the fucking town again.” He growls out this time in anger. Did his father really expect him to return, after everything he’s been through? He’s really trying to bring him back.

“Finn misses you.”

“You think that’ll convince me to come back?”

Thomas slowly shakes his head. “No.” He sighs deeply and reaches inside his coat pocket, taking out a cigar and placing it between his lips, lighting it up as he takes in a large inhale of the smoke. Y/n can only stare in disgust, he wasn’t one for smoking and besides it reminded him too much of his father. “The others don’t need me Thomas, I’ve been through enough hell just being under the same roof as you. So, go back to your family and tell them that Y/n Shelby died and will never be coming back.” With that he heads towards the exit, heading back to the main room.

“I’m getting married.”

Y/n froze, his back facing Thomas.

“I want you to be there, I want you to meet Grace and your brother.”

Y/n glanced over his shoulder to give Thomas a deadly look. “I have no brother and I hope your wedding goes well but my answer is no, I won’t be attending it beaucse your son is dead. I hope you can fix your mistakes and give this boy of yours a childhood that he deserves...” he sighs and turns back to look ahead. “Think about what your doing Thomas, are you really ready to become a father or are you only doing this to show your people how ‘good’ of a man you really are?” He doesn’t give Thomas a second glance as he continues forward, heading towards Alfies office to grab his things and to continue on with his own life, pretending that the Shelby family never existed to him and that he’s just a simple man who works for another powerful man that actually understands him.

[newobsessionweekly]

The pain she left behind

Title: The pain she left behind

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader, Sam x Platonic!Reader, Castiel x Platonic!Reader, Jack x Platonic!Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: language, character death, grieveing, Dean crying, angst, death, a little bit of explicit content,  violence, fluff, spoilers s14

Prompt 1: Loving me is a death sentence.

Prompt 2: We found each other. That’s all that matters.

A/N: This is my enterance for SPN Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge. I don’t usually write and all that, but I wanted to try something new and I don’t know... I tried my best, I hope you enjoyed it!

Tag: @supernatural-jackles

Something Dean has told himself and everyone around when they asked, is that he doesn’t need that in his life. He doesn’t need love, he doesn’t need to find a girl; he tried that before and it didn’t work out. But what he needs is to have his mind clear, focused on cleaning America from monsters, he needs to keep his family safe. But he failed, he met you and all his life was turned upside down. And sometimes he regrets the day they met you, because now, you are just too hard to forget.

Laying on the kitchen floor, heavily breathing from the enormous weight that’s pressing on his chest, Dean’s playing with a bottle of beer, switching it annoyingly from one hand to another over and over again, just as you’re switching in his head, from one memory to one another. He locked himself in his room for the past 3 days, binge watching some random horror movies wanting to wash away the need to cry, to scream, and beg God to bring you back to him, but it was pointless, he still cried himself to sleep. So he decided it’s time for something stronger; he needs to be back in tracks as soon as possible and be ready to fight the monster that took you away, there’s no time to grieve.

“Dean!” Sam yelled his name again while descending the stairs to the kitchen, abruptly snapping him from his memories of you.

He refuses to answer, he refuses to talk to anyone and Sam understands it, because he feels the empty space you left in their lives too, but he’s maybe more afraid than Dean to show it. Sam wants to be strong for his brother, he wants to be there for him, especially these days. Only the third time after hearing his name, Dean bothered to look up at his younger brother and allow him to see all the broken pieces of his heart spread all over the place.    

“Sammy, I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Dean’s voice is rough and shaky, tears threatening to burst in any moment and Dean’s aware that he’s going to lose it soon, but still hoping that Sam will not be around.    

“Dean, you have to – “

“I don’t have to do anything today.” He raised his index finger and stopped Sam, then he pointed to the fridge: “Now pass me another beer and leave.”

Sam did so and Dean thanked him with just a movement of his head, before turning his attention to the abandoned metallic box full of memories from his lap. A bunch of photos with Sammy, some with his mom and dad, few with his friends that soon became family, and even fewer with you. Dean doesn’t like photos that much, he’s not that kind of guy who’d let himself be photographed everywhere and every time, but now he wishes he was that kind and wishes he’d have done a lot more photos beside you. There are only six instant photos of you, with a red ribbon wrapped around them; six, one for every anniversary and one from the first proper Christmas the Winchesters ever had.

He’d have wanted to be that stupid kind of men and take photos of you everywhere: in your favourite pyjamas, curled up in a chair from the library with a leg under you, so deeply focused in research, trying so hard to fit in with his life; standing in front of a pan in the mornings when Sam would be out of town, only in your beautiful underwear, moving your hips while making breakfast for him; curled up in a soft, warm blanket on a chair, sound asleep far too many hours before Sam and Dean would come home after so many weeks of being away.

“Dean!”  

“Dean!”

You jumped from one of the chairs on the war room at the sound of the bunker’s door loudly opening. You almost caught roots on that place waiting for Dean and Sam to show up. You woke up alone this morning, no sight of any of the brothers or your angelic friend so you waited and waited before panic started to grow inside of you. You prayed to Cas and asked him if something happened, you started to pace around the war room when no answer was coming and then you sat on that chair and wondered what the hell happened with everyone. Bad scenarios running through that beautiful mind of yours and you were preparing for the worst.

But you were never prepared for what entered that door; Sam, Dean and Cas were fighting over heels to carry a giant fir tree, you could bet it is even taller than Sam. Your jaw dropped at the sight of Dean, all covered in snow and sweat beads painting his forehead, trying his best not to drop the lower part of the tree.

“What happened? Are you ok? How hard did Sam hit you in the head?” You tried to hide the fact that you were scared as hell with a sarcastic tone, and thankfully Dean bite it, but Cas not so much, because he was throwing you Cas-type of awkward glances.

Dean always rejected the idea of having a proper and normal holiday celebration so as you skipped Halloween, again, you pleaded and pleaded, every night and every day to celebrate at least Christmas, your favourite holiday. But a week or two ago, you gave up when you saw you were getting not even a negative response to your question.

Library was transformed and instead of two big and cold tables with some uncomfortable chairs around, there was a long table decorated with two beautiful candlesticks and little angels and snowflakes. The dish was prepared by Dean with a little help from you, and all around the bunker were hanged beautiful lights, some Santa figurines and angels. Christmas tree was decorated by you and Dean who got involved in this holiday celebration thing more than you even expected.

Sitting around the Christmas tree, after everybody praised the food, you were smiling proudly to have these special people around you. Jody, Donna, Claire, Alex, Patience and Kaia are your second family, and every time Sam and Dean would leave for a serious case, they’d prefer you to stay with the girls. Not because they don’t trust you, just because they’d be more peacefully than knowing you home alone so many days in the bunker. You and Alex became very good friends especially because none of you is hunting. Your boyfriend wants to keep you out of this life as much as possible and is trying to make everything as normal as he can.

Dean ripped you from your thoughts when he wrapped his hand around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder. You smiled at him excitedly and then exchanged presents with the girls. Then you gave Jack his present, a blue sweater to match yours, and he sadly looked at you. You panicked a little when you saw his face and your body strained, catching Dean’s attention.

“Why are you sad? You don’t like it?” you asked Jack.

“No,no! I love it!” he immediately said, stopping you from making films inside your head. “But I didn’t know we were buying each other gifts. I thought only Dean was supposed to buy you a present, because he’s your boyfriend.”

“Oh, so Dean bought me a present, huh?” you turned to look at your boyfriend and showed him your most beautiful and mischievous smile. “Sam, you really should tell me with what you hit him in the head because it may use me too in the future.”

Everyone laughed at your joke and Dean could swear he had never seen you so happy in his life. He knows Christmas is your favourite holiday and he and Sam were always preoccupied with hunting and saving the world to even think about these holidays, but you understood and never complained. You anyway got to celebrate it at Jody’s place, so you never said anything to Dean, mostly because it was pointless; you loved Dean so much and you accepted him as he is, you accepted his life and embraced it, though he kept you at a secure distance from his life, especially to protect you, and offered you a life as normal as possible, but it was impossible after a certain point ...

Sam watched Dean from distance as he flipped through the Polaroids, with tears cascading on his cheeks, knotting under his chin and loud sobs shaking his body in pain. It breaks Sam’s heart, but he needs it, he needs to cry, to express his feelings, to get it over his chest, even for a moment.

Jack accompanied Sam and Cas and watched over Dean, but they stopped themselves to intervene when a bottle of beer loudly crashed on the floor and wetted everything around. All three of them startled when the sound reached their ears, but they stood still.

It was odd for Dean to break like that in a place where anyone could enter any moment, but nothing was normal anymore, it wasn’t normal for him to lose like that the love of his life, so he allowed himself to do all sorts of strange things in order to calm down even for a second.

“Deano!” you giggled happily in his ear as your body embraced him from behind, your naked body combined with his, just as clothless as yours. It is barely eight and he would probably curse for the rest of the morning if your plan on waking him up will work. It is your fifth anniversary and after long and deep talks with Sam, you decided it’s time to do a little more today.

After you prepared your special breakfast while Sam was leaning on the kitchen counter giving you small advices here and there, he decided to leave you two alone, teasing you, saying you can be as noisy as you please.  

You leaned over him and pressed your lips on his back, chaotically tracing kissed all over his shoulders and going up to his neck and cheeks and then right back from the beginning. Leaving wet spots all over his body, Dean rolled on his back, making you to fall on top of him, your breasts pressing firmly on his chest.

“Well, that is a very interesting way to wake me up, sweetheart.” Dean yawned and looked at you first only with his right eye, then with his left one, finding it very hard to keep them both open.  

You are a simple couple, but more like an old married couple who just puzzle up one another like you’ve known each other for your whole lives. Dean and you as well are not the kind to celebrate and do big stuff about it, just cooking together a breakfast, finally making time for you in such a long time and mostly spending the day together, talking and fixing the problems that you encountered on the way. You are just communicating, that’s your celebration. And this is all you need. But this morning, Dean felt it’s going be a little different. He can smell the breakfast already cooked and he frowned at the smell of fresh, hot coffee.

He kissed you with love, cupping your cheek and rubbing his finger over it, as he always does when he wants to melt your heart, because he knows your weaknesses so well. You cuddle in a little more before you decided to get out of bed and eat your breakfast, stalling a bit to telling one more time – or ten more times – how much you love each other.

“I wanted to spoil you today.” You told him as you put your underwear on and wrapped the red satin robe, the one Dean loves, around your body.

“You know what –“ Dean begins, chewing loudly his bacon. “I’ve been thinking –“ he stops again, sipping his coffee, giving you appreciative sounds as in he’s enjoying very much the coffee you made.

“Oh, no! Always ends bad when you’re thinking.” You teased him and laughed so hard when he gives you the Winchester bitch face. “Ok, we are serious this morning. I’m listening.”

“I was thinking... maybe we should get married.” He says.

Your heart stops at the sound of his words and you almost choke with coffee, slightly coughing to get lost the lump that formed in your throat. You dreamed of marrying Dean from the first moments when you met him. He’s exactly what you’re looking for in a man, he is smart, funny and you can feel his love for you, though he doesn’t show it that much. You love him terribly much and never crossed your mind that this day would come, despite the fact you wanted it so bad. You understand that his life is dangerous, complicated and he doesn’t have time for this kind of things in the first place. You never thought about changing a thing about him or his life and never said anything, because nothing bothered you in the first place. Dean loves you, Dean treats you so right and protects you that you never needed anything and accepted him with his good and a little less good things without questioning, because it is a part of loving.

You adore him with every inch of your being, and the fact that he thought about marring you shocked you, that for the first time, you couldn’t get the words find your mouth. He looked at you, still chewing his food, but he had more of a worried look.

“Ar-are you sure?” you asked and he grabbed your hand over the table and caressed your soft skin.

“Yes, I am a hundred percent sure.” He frowned a little before he continued: “You?”

“Yes!” you immediately responded, leaving no place for any other thoughts. “Yes, I want to marry you, Dean Winchester.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” He chuckled and pressed his lips over yours, and then over your forehead. “I discussed with my mom about it, when she was around... She gave me her ring.”

He excitedly bit his bottom lip and then he told you to wait for him, just rising his index finger and then hurried over your bedroom. You smiled like a fool and your stomach flipped almost painfully just at the thought that he discussed this with his mother, especially knowing how important his mother was.  

He came back too soon and ripped out of your thoughts and he shyly asked for your hand. Dean placed the ring on your ring finger and you kissed him so many times, as he dragged you on his lap.

You planned your wedding to be something simple, just a dinner with some friends at the bunker, but soon enough, it turned out to be a dinner with all of your friends at the bunker. You are wearing a simple white casual dress and Dean is wearing his FBI costume, nothing fancy, because fancy was never the Winchester style.

“I am not good at words, especially not at speeches.” He paused a little and everyone laughed. “But I need to say that I love you to death, Y/n Winchester! And I am so grateful that we found each other, that’s all that matters. “

“I love you to death, Dean Winchester!”

And you indeed loved him to death.

In Dean’s head was repeating over and over again the way your body collapsed into the ground, as the last tears fell onto your cheeks when your eyes shut closed. Dean could imagine only a quarter of the pain you left the world with, but he never understood your enormous love for him, not even in your last moments when you looked at him and told him how much you love him.

As Chuck paced the grass and waited, you stand still as you had the gun He gave to you pointed at Jack. The nephilim is dangerous, he is a monster and must be stopped.

“Y/n!” Sam and Dean shouted as they came running towards you. “Y/n, no!”

“I understand...” Jack said, looking up to you from where he stayed on his knees, Sam and Dean calling your name in the background. “I know what I’ve done.”

“No, no, no, no! Y/n!” your husband came running to you, but he stopped as he heared your voice:

“Stay back, Dean!” you said, looking at Jack.

“And you were right, all along. I am a monster.” Jack said.

“Do something!” Dean told Chuck, but he frowned when He shushed him. “Are you enjoying this?”

You took the safety off as you overheard their conversation and looked at Jack one more time; he was standing in his knees in front of you, with his hands folded on his lap, looking innocently at you. He is just a kid, he’s no monster. You frowned; all of this is just Chuck’s plan. You put the safety back on and lowered the gun, throwing it away on the grass.  

“No,no! Pick it up!” Chuck said and approached the two of you and Jack looked at him with a frowning painted on his face. “Pick it up! This isn’t how the story is suppose to end!”

“The story?” Castiel asked.

“Look at the Gathering Storm, the gun... this is epic!”

“Wait what are you saying?” Dean asked Chuck, moving his sight from you to Him.

“He’s saying that he’s been playing us...” Sam responded and Chuck sighs “...this whole time.”

“Come on – “ Chuck started but he’s been interrupted by Sam:

“Our entire lives... mom, dad, everything. This is all you, because... you wrote it all, right? Because... because, what? Because we’re your favourite show? Because we’re part of your story?”

“Y/n, no offense, but your brother-in-law is stupid and crazy. This kid is still dangerous. So pick up the gun.” You looked at the gun but didn’t make any move. “Pick is up. Pull the trigger. And I’ll bring her back. I’ll bring Mary back.”

Everyone’s faces fell contemplatively, and you really thought about it as a possibility. Jack moved his looking to you and tried to understand what were you thinking.

“No!” Dean responded immediately.

“I’m not talking to you, Dean. I know how much you want this for Dean, because you love him so much and you want him to be happy and all crap. So pull the trigger and I’ll bring her back.”

“No.” You said and Chuck frowned.

“My mom was my hero, and I miss her, and I will miss her every second of my life, but she would not want this, she would not want this for Y/n. She wouldn’t want for her to have her hands stained with innocent blood and live with the thought of killing someone innocent, someone she loves so much, for the rest of her life. And it’s not like you even really care, ‘cause Sam’s right. The Apocalypse, Lucifer and Michael, you knew everything that was going on. So why the games, Chuck? Huh? Why don’t you just snap your fingers and end it?”

”Look...” Chuck started, but he was again stopped by Sam.

“And every other bad thing we’ve been killing, or dying over...” he scoffed. “Where were you? Just sitting back and watching us suffer? So we can do this over and over and over again? Fighting, losing people we love? When does it end? Tell me!”

“Y/n, don’t do this – “ Chuck said, but no one let Him finish one sentence.

“No, we’re done talking. ’Cause this... this isn’t just a story... it’s our lives! Leave my wife alone. So God or no God, go to hell!” Dean said, both of the Winchesters having their serious faces put on, while chuck smiled mischievously in the corner of the lips.

“Have it your way!” He said, then snapping his fingers.

Everybody watched as your body collapsed lifelessly into the ground, and Dean shouted your name, but the pain was too deafening. Everyone was shocked, and Sam reacted as adrenaline was pumping in his body. He picked up the gun and drunken in pain, he shot Chuck in order to kill, for you, for his best friend. Unfortunately, he shot God in shoulder, and Sam as well felt a killing pain in his shoulder.

Dean cried his pain out of his body, his soul and he tried to cry you out of his mind too, but it was too hard. He tried to erase that hurtful memory of you, but it just wouldn’t get off, it would play over and over again, just to kill him slowly and slowly every second. He broke down one more time, loudly sobbing and frantically shaking his body.

Sam ran towards him and crashed beside him, Sam as well having tears staining his cheeks at the sight of his big brother broken like this. There were too many bottles of beer drunk and Dean was not feeling alright at all. Sam’s arms moved around Dean’s body and embraced him, trying not to let him broke into pieces.  

“It’s alright, Dean! I’m here. I’m here, Dean!” Sam shushed him and tried to keep him from shaking.

“Everyone around me is getting hurt and they are dying, Sammy. Loving me is a death sentence, Sammy.”

“Dean... listen to me!” Sam cupped his cheeks and moved his head from his shoulder so that he can look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, look at me. I love you and I’m not going anywhere, alright? Y/n loves you from a better place, alright? I bet you’re gonna get into the same heaven someday, alright?” Dean slowly nodded his head and looked at Sam between the eyelashes, finally he stopped crying. “Let’s go get your strength back and we’re going to kill that son of a bitch, alright?” Dean nodded again and let Sam put him to bed, hoping maybe it will hurt less tomorrow.

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Birds of a feather, yandere together

Yandere Hizashi x Winged reader x yandere Keigo (Hawks)

I got the idea from reading the yandere purge ideas from Yanderemommabean. It really struck me with inspiration.

Finale- I am SO. GLAD. To finally have this done, and don’t think I should be as happy as I am for how it turned out. Enjoy 4,000+ words

warnings- some swearing and quick scene of death

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It’s only two days before the Purge happens again. It was a disaster for the first time last year. Many of the people couldn’t handle it and there were way too many deaths on both sides. I was hidden away in my home since there was for sure no one that would be a yandere for me. All I had to do was stay out of the other yandere’s ways and everything would be fine. Just to be more on the safe side though, I’ve been building a small treehouse in the middle of the woods without telling anyone about it. The only way to get to the entrance was by flight.

I didn’t even tell my two best friends, Hizashi and Hawks. Still don’t know his real name, but that’s fine. It’s just much easier to make fun of him by calling him different types of bird nicknames. Hizashi is a part of it, and it’s a running joke between the three of us to call each other bird names.  

With the two of them being so busy, it’s pretty easy to never get on the topic. It feels wrong to lie, but no one can be trusted in the Purge, especially if my life is on the line. The only one I could really trust was good old ‘jean boy’ as I liked to call him. He recently went missing though. Can’t decide whether to hope he died, or he’s stuck somewhere with an overbearing yandere.

I shake the thought out of my head while walking to the destination to hang out with my two friends again. My enhanced hearing was problematic with all the chatter in the cafe. Some are talking about the two heroes hanging out, some saying how they hate one for one reason or another, and some just saying they hate heroes for some personal reason. There was an interesting conversation though. Two women who seemed to be in their mid-twenties gushing about the two men secretly being in a relationship. A smirk appeared on my face at the thought. The third at the other side of the table looking at the two like they’ve lost their minds.

“I swear they’re not normal. Their vibes feel yandere to me.” The two rolled their eyes at her. “Vibe? Seriously? That could TOTALLY be wrong though. You have been wrong about someone once or twice before.”

“But I’m sure about these two! They just don’t feel right!” The shorter of the duo rolled their eyes again. “You’re just jealous since you like Hawks.” She hid her face in her hands. “No, I got rid of that months ago when I first felt his vibe was off!” Both of them were doubtful. I decided to continue on before they realized I was creepily watching and eavesdropping.

… Why do they always insist to be in the hidden back part of the cafe? It’s always quieter at least. I stopped in my tracks before turning around the corner. “We can’t just clip their wings! I’d feel too bad doing it!” shrieked the familiar voice of Hizashi. Fear trickled in my stomach until I remembered Hizashi recently bought an unruly Cockatoo. He complains it keeps getting out of the cage and nearly being eaten by one of Shouta’s cats. He must be talking about that to keep the bird safe. Funny he bought a Cockatoo when Hawks and I like to call him the same thing.

“Calm down before we’re heard. Yeah, I have to agree though. Having fewer feathers feels so light.” Came the familiar voice of Hawks. I continued walking towards them. Hizashi’s eyes shined in happiness as they locked with mine. “Yo! You’re finally here!” Hawks is unamused as he looks at the clock on the wall next to him. “Big deal. They’re rather early.” He remarked. He looks at me and pats the empty seat between the two of them.

“Hey, little Chickadee. Come on over, we kept it nice and safe for you.” Hizashi gave him a “really dude?” look.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!” Hawks just replied with a lazy shrug. Hizashi gave him a stare-down and Hawks once again just replied by lazily staring back at him. For one odd reason or another, the sight made me laugh. Probably since they leaned close “glaring” at each other. Their faces weren’t even three inches apart. They both looked back at me with cheerful smiles.

After a bit of time to collect myself, I went over to the seat and sat between the two of them. Hawks wrapped an arm around my waist while Hizashi wrapped one around my shoulders. They then pulled themselves closer to me so our thighs were touching.

Sometimes I forget just how touchy they like to be. Well, Hizashi is predictable since Shouta warned me about it when we first became friends. He’s thankful I’m able to stop Hizashi from bothering him quite as often, but he still ends up making time to bother Shouta at the school. Hawks is a bit more unpredictable with his... I’m just going to say unique personality.

Hawks leaned back in the seat without changing his grip. It then struck me with a question as to how he wasn’t squishing his wing- I look over to see most of the feathers on a pile next to him. There were holes in the booth behind him. How have I never noticed that before? Moving my wings, there were two similar holes behind me.

He noticed what I was looking at. “Heh, it was done the last time we were here and you left. It was surprisingly cheap what they wanted for it to be done,” He looked over to Hizashi with a smirk on his face. “Guess it pays to be the number 2 hero.” He rolled his eyes at Hawks.

“Listen up, what ya dig is your business. For me? Doing what I do is much more fun than what you could ever do.” He then leans over me and pokes Hawks on the nose. He replied by having one of his feathers go to Hizashi and brush against his mustache. “Eh, whatever you say Cockatoo. I get paid more than you do with your three jobs combined,”

He then pressed his feather against the side of Hizashi’s mustache. “You’d probably do better without that ridiculous thing on your face. Why don’t I help you?” It was easy to tell Hawks was teasing and wouldn’t really do it. The smirk that grew on Hizashi’s face makes it known he knows it too. “Aw! Is a certain someone jealous of my beautiful face?”

“Beautiful isn’t exactly the word I’d use for it.” Hizashi let out a huff. “Well, it’s a good thing I never cared for your opinion, little Finch!” Shock went over Hawks’ face. “Wow, you finally came up with another one? Is it to mock my height? I may be smaller, but I can bet you it’s bigger than yours where it counts.” To say I choked on air is an understatement. I’m pretty sure I nearly suffocated myself with it in surprise at his bluntness.

They both started patting my back where my wings weren’t at.. “Easy there Chickadee/Mockingbird.” They said simultaneously. I remained coughing for a second. “Great, you broke them Hawks!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have made fun of my height. I’m not even that short in the first place.”

Hizashi glared at him. “Well, I didn’t think you’d take it that way! Jeez, you’re really crampin’ the style of both of us!” Hawks blinked in confusion at him. “Sometimes I really don’t know what you’re trying to say. Right now is one of them.”

I was able to stop coughing, and just in time since the waitress came around the corner to us. She has the basic love-struck look at the two heroes. Honestly can’t blame her, they’re both incredibly attractive. Not going to lie, I did like them like two months ago, but it quickly went into the best friend feeling instead the more the three of us got to hang out.

She didn’t seem too happy to see me between the two. It’s clear she doesn’t know who I am since I prefer to stay more on the hidden side like Shouta. Only a few crazy fans have recognized me.

The guys’ grips tightened around me as she approached closer. She kept staring at Hawks in particular. She pulled out her notepad and pen. “Hello, I’ll be your waitress for today. Have you three figured out what you all want?” She asked, still not breaking eye contact with Hawks. Hizashi and I kept trying to hold in our snickers. Hawks removed his arm from around me to lightly elbow my side.

“Oh, we sure have!” We really didn’t, the three of us just always get the exact same thing we did before. I smirked at Hawks while Hizashi said what he wanted. “You’re obviously getting the chicken again, aren’t you? How in the world do you stay in such good shape?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, Chickadee. I have no idea myself, but I know I’m never giving it up.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t doubt it for a second.”

“Did I hear that right sir? You’d like the chicken special I presume?” She questioned. Okay, that’s a little unprofessional. Even Hawks, the rather unprofessional man himself, seemed surprised at her act. “Yeah, that would be correct. I’ll take water with it.” I smirked at him. “So THAT’S how you balance it out, huh?”

He smirked back at me. “Aw, hush it Chickadee.” Hizashi seemed unimpressed with Hawks not changing his nickname. “Really, Seagull? Ya can’t just stick with the same nickname so often. Ya said the same nickname the last whole meeting!.” The feathers still on his back puffed up. “I am NOT near such a low kind of bird species!” The mischievous smirk formed on Hizashi’s face made it known what he might do. “Oooh! One that yanks your feathers! I might just have to keep it!”

Just hearing the name of that annoying bird reminds me of the time one ended up flying over me and taking a dump that landed on my wings. It took way too long to get it out. “Uh... I have to agree with Hawks on this one. I’d rather never hear that type of bird again. Remember that one time?”

It took them a second, but then their faces turned into sharp frowns. “Right! Sorry, I forgot about that, Mockingbird!” I deadpanned at him. The rapidly changing nicknames were getting confusing and annoying. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard at least half of the birds in the world by now.  “Can you two please just decide on a single nickname or something already? I’m getting tired of it.”

They both chuckled. “As you command, Chickadee.” Hizashi went into thought for a second with his right hand holding his chin. “You know what? I quite dig the Mockingbird one,” He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. Mockingbird it is!”

The woman cleared her throat in clear jealousy. I brushed it off and pretended it was just because she wanted to get our orders quickly. “Right! I’ll take the dark chocolate cheesecake with coffee, no cream or sugar.” The two of them still recoil at the thought of drinking coffee with nothing in it. I personally like the balance of the two. She nodded and walked off. I stayed quiet until she rounded the corner.

I then elbowed Hawks in his side rather roughly and looked at Hizashi. “He should have flirted with her! She seemed REALLY interested, didn’t she, Cockatoo?” He smirked as a reply.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyways, what are your guys’ opinions on the Purge tomorrow night? Hopefully it won’t be as bad as last year. Picking up all those bodies was a nightmare.” I cringed at just the thought of it. Hizashi reached behind me and smacked Hawks on the back of his head.

“C’mon, now ya just ruined the mood! It shouldn’t be too much of a concern!” He then tried to comfort me by patting my back. It did little to help. “Nah, all I’m saying is I’m curious what little Chickadee is going to do.”

There was a dangerous glint he sent towards Hizashi that greatly unsettled me. Betrayal and hurt swarmed through my head for a second. Have they found darlings? Are they going to kill me to spend more time with them?  No! They must just be curious right? They wouldn’t hurt their best friend! I forced the thoughts down before they noticed my panicked state.

“Oh, just going to stay home and hide. Not like I have anyone after me, and it’s easier to stay out of other’s ways.” The two looked like they bought the lie. I felt too nervous to relax my wings. The two seemed to notice and share a look. “Why hide at your home? Since that will be going on, all heroes are off their duties. You could stay safe with us!” Hizashi joyfully implied. An edge in his tone made it not very believable though.

I pretended to bashfully rub the back of my neck. “That’s okay! I don’t want to be a bother for the both of you. Besides, it might be dangerous for me if people are after you two.” Hawks leaned back farther and looked up to the ceiling. “Wouldn’t doubt it. Wish them luck trying though.”

“Same here! Not every person can keep up with me! And they’re especially going to have a hard time if they’re,” He shivered. “A user of bugs.” I pat his shoulder reassuringly. That sounds like a nightmare. Probably is, especially for him. Hawks replied with a snicker. I glared at him and elbowed his side almost as hard as possible. That shut him up immediately, but it made Hizashi snicker instead.

“Ouch little Chickadee. You didn’t have to hit so hard.” He mocked.

“Well don’t laugh at that, or next time I’ll hit you harder!” I threatened. He rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Chickadee.”

It didn’t take long after that for our foods and drinks to arrive. We caught up on other things before leaving. I stopped at my house and made preparations for tonight and tomorrow night.  I’m going to hide a day early just in case anyone has any ideas. Pretty sure that woman is going to come after me with how she kept glaring at me when Hawks and Hizashi bantered with each other. Of course, I have the upper hand, but I’m really not for hurting people unless it’s absolutely necessary.

It didn’t take too long to fill my needed bag for hiding. Okay, just to make sure...  Snacks? Yep. Drinks? Obviously. A flashlight? Yep. And also a few things to stay entertained for the nights. Can it really be night if it’s three in the morning? Last but not least, my phone is staying here. It could pretty easily be tracked.

I kept glancing around while walking to make sure no one was watching me. There was a familiar black-clothed male running up on the rooftops. Relief flooded through me, it was just Shouta. Wait… Hizashi usually isn’t-

“Hey, Mockingbird! Surprised to see you out at this time! Couldn’t sleep, huh?” I shoved my bag out of sight behind me. “Yeah, it’s also really nice weather. Thought I’d go for a quick walk.” Shouta stopped, and it was easy to tell he was glaring at Hizashi from here. He could easily tell too. “Well, gotta go before the grump gets worse! See ya later!’ He ran off to catch up below Shouta. Shouta and I locked eyes. He… nodded at me? He must know. Can’t thank him enough.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get to the hidden place. It’s just big enough for me and a little wiggle room. Blankets are already laid on the floor for better cushioning. One thing I stupidly didn’t think about was room for my wings. They’re just going to be really stiff later on. I reached for my pocket radio just to listen to Hizashi tomorrow. He’s able to broadcast at his home.

… Wait… Where is- SHIT! How could I have forgotten the radio!? Ugh, I have to go get it. Staying in silence will drive me insane. A thorough debate went through my head if it was worth the risk. I decided to just go for it and run as fast as possible back to my home. It was a quick trip and thankfully I didn’t run into either Shouta or Hizashi on my way home or back. As the adrenaline started to fade, sadness and fear enveloped my mind. Did… Was everything between the three of us fake? Did I know anyone they may be interested in? But they seemed genuine every visit we did together. Before it got too far, I decided to plug in my headphones and just listen to the radio until tonight.

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Time flew by faster than I thought since it was already only a few hours before the Purge begins. I made sure to quickly run and use the nearest bathroom before coming back, and put new batteries in my radio. I’m really tired, but keep trying to fight it for fear of being found. Not likely, but possible. Listening to the same songs is maddening to the point I don’t know if silence would be worse or better. My wings are already getting sore, and it probably would have been better to layer the floor with one more blanket. Rather envious of Hawks with his wings right now. . . . . “Welcome dear listeners to the CRAZY time of year again!” I was jolted awake by the familiar loud voice of Hizashi through my headphones. Yikes, somehow fell asleep. “Now, there have been a few changes of rules from the disaster of last year. Nothing much! But one of the biggest changes will be the handling of your darlings! No harm can be done to them. Nor can any quirks be used for your advantage. If that is found to be broken, your darling WILL be able to be set free.

Another rule is they must be able to leave the house at least once a week. There will be occasional checks to make sure that is being followed,” My eyes widened in surprise. Man, they’re really cracking in new laws this year.

“And a final rule added, no more than two people can be killed per person. You can thank a specific person that killed fifteen people last year for that,” Well, that’s sure reassuring in a way. Looking at the clock on the radio, it was going to start in two minutes.

“I can’t deny, this is rather fun to think about finally having my darling as well! It’s so cut they think they can hide!” Heh, they sure got the right idea. I know he’d never treat them badly, on the contrary, the exact opposite. They’d be smothered. Being smothered definitely isn’t for everyone though. Thoughts swarmed in my head how it wouldn’t be that bad- no, he doesn’t see me like that.

Due to the volume not being very high, I was able to hear the sound of rustling leaves of the trees nearby. It sounded too big to be just a squirrel or raccoon, so my guard was up.

“Ready everyone!?  

In THREE. . .

TWO. . .

ONE. . .”

The sirens started blaring.

“GOOOOOO!!!” He then went quiet for a second while my anxiety started steadily rising, Him not talking for even a few seconds feels abnormally unsettling.

“See ya soon… Darling…” His voice was uncharacteristically calm and eerie. I don’t like it…

Almost instantly, there was a noise right outside the entrance. Looking over, sure enough, it was the waitress from that night. Next to her was someone else. A male with some type of clear wings.Some kind of insect. Welp, might as well know them before I fight in self defense. “I get why you’re here, but who are you?”

The man crossed his arms. “Her and I don’t like how close you’ve come with our heroes.” Fuck. Guess there really was a target on my back huh? “It sounds pretty impossible for Hizashi to like you because of your insect wings. You know how much he hates them.”

“I’ll make him love them and me! I’ll show him the beauty of bugs! But first, you have to go.” They both can’t get in here at the same time. He stood in front while the woman tried to enter to kill me. Before she can even try to enter, a giant red… Familiar… feather plunged through her chest. He must want to kill me himself huh? What a cruel world.

“Heh, he wouldn’t be too thrilled with that,” He raised a few feathers around him. “And honestly? Neither would I.” In the blink of an eye, multiple feathers went through the male.

Wait, he can’t kill me now since he already did the limit! He tossed the two dead bodies to the ground that left a sickening “thump” as they hit the hard ground below. He was still so nonchalant that it’s like he’s done it plenty of times before. He leisurely stretched. “You’re lucky Cockatoo told me to keep an eye on you this morning. Who knows what could have happened to you if I wasn’t here.”

I glared at him. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you now? Did you know that villain’s quirk was to make you unable to move? If you could take care of yourself, why did you hide?” His tone had a hint of scolding in it. I wasn’t able to speak before he started again.

“Gotta admit, you’ve got a pretty good hiding place. Would be hard to spot for most. Your wings look really cramped though, so why don’t you come out of there before I make you?”

The warning in his voice activated my fight or flight reflex. I lunged towards him and passed before he could grab me, and took off in the sky. There’s no way to beat him physically, but believe it or not, I can fly faster than him. Never have I been so thankful for that. Guess being a Hummingbird has its advantages. I’m now regretting not using it to get home and back. None of them would have been able to follow me.

Hawks let out a grunt of annoyance. “Come on Chickadee, you’re just making this longer than it has to be.” He’s close. Too close… I kept flying and went towards the buildings. Hopefully the chaos around will end up hitting Hawks.

My breath was already starting to become uneven . I may be faster, but he has a lot more stamina. “Now!” Hawks suddenly yelled.

Something- someone jumped onto my back from the roof of a building which made me fall towards the ground. My wings are smaller than Hawks, so I can’t carry anyone while flying.

Panic hit me hard as I noticed one particular thing about who it is. Black leather. I brace myself for the pain to hit the ground. It never came though. Hawks caught up and used his feathers to slow down the fall. Hizashi refused to let go, and is hugging me in an almost bone crushing way.

As soon as my feet hit the ground, Hawks caught me in a bone crushing hug in the front. I could barely breathe while trying to get better from the flight. “So this is how you guys are going to kill me?” I asked between breaths.

They both froze. “What?” They asked simultaneously. Hawks lightened his grip and wrapped his wings all the way behind Hizashi and nuzzled into the right side of my neck.

“No, no, no, dear Mockingbird! Ya got it all wrong. You ARE the one we love!”

“And now that we have you?” Hawks started, whispering lowly into my ear.

“We’re not letting you go, little Mockingbird.” Hizashi finished, kissing my lips. Hawks then kissed my neck at the same time.

I should be a lot more concerned than I am about this, but I’m not. “By the way, call me Keigo.” Hizashi smirked. “So the mystery bird does have a name!”

“Yeah, just don’t go waving it around. I’d rather keep my mystery.” He replied, slightly loosening his grip. “Your secret is safe with me! Anyways, let’s go, this is no place to cuddle!”

“Can do Cockatoo. Just hang on.” He unwrapped his wings around us and used some of his feathers to get us in the air. This probably counts as using his quirk, but they’re people I care about and trust, so I won’t tell.