#(and was still unlucky enough to have them wake up and catch him anyways)

[shaykai]

The Astarion bite scene is infinitely funnier if you’re an elf

Motherfucker chose the one person in the group who doesn’t actually sleep to try and bite and thought it would go well

[faefictions]

That Laugh | 2

Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: Hey, could I request an eddie munson x reader where she falls over and hits her head a little and he's just so sweet and protective 

1.7k Words

If you haven’t read the first part of That Laugh, you can find it in my master list, but it isn’t exactly necessary to read it before this one!

You knew what was going to happen the second you heard the sound of your head hitting the pavement. 

It hadn’t been anyone’s fault, not deliberately at least as far as you were aware. You barely knew anyone around you, but you knew what you were getting into coming to a Harrington party. Steve had fallen from grace back when Billy Hargrove had come to town, but no one around here was going to turn down a social outing with free booze. You didn’t blame them either. 

You had found out about the Upside Down before Billy had died, well before Eddie had been roped into all the bullshit. Far before the rest of the town had been shown even just a sliver of what your friends had been involved in for years, at far too young an age. 

After everything that had happened, what Vecna had put you through, put your friends through, put Eddie through, you understood that everyone had their own ways of coping. Unfortunately, yours was falling right in with the rest of the people your age; drinking until you stopped thinking about the atrocities you witnessed. Eddie, on the other hand, had volunteered to stay sober any time you needed to go out like this. He felt like he owed you a night to forget about what he had put you through. He had died, right in your arms, before you could tell him how you felt, only to come back from the dead just as you had convinced yourself you had lost your mind. 

You were still learning to accept that he was really alive, half a year after his return. You were still waking up from nightmares, holding in a scream that was inevitably let out when you felt a body next to you in bed. Six months should have been enough for you to accept that he was back, that the body in your bed was alive and not a cruel trick. But, if six months had really been enough, perhaps you wouldn’t have been so drunk tonight. 

You had been next to the pool. You told Eddie you needed a moment to yourself. Even this drunk, you could feel the panic attack creeping up on you, like Vecna’s claw had hold of your lungs, just barely digging in. 

It wasn’t unusual for you to ask Eddie to leave you alone for some time, just for you to ground yourself in reality. The unfortunate part of his death and revival, was that he had a hard time calming you. You found it hard to convince yourself anything was real when you remembered him dying in your arms, yet here he was, holding you and asking you to breathe. It was easier to have a moment to yourself. 

The only place for you to catch your breath was on a lounge chair by Steve’s pool, the only part of the property that he actively tried to keep people away from. Usually, he was hypervigilant about people going out the back door, but apparently tonight was your unlucky night. Not only were you able to make it out there, so were a crowd of rowdy teens. They were younger than you, but older than the kids that Steve usually spent his time with. You didn’t know any of them, nor did you care to. 

The second you caught your breath, you tried to stand to make your way back inside to find Eddie, but the dizziness struck you instantly. This had come with the territory lately. Not eating or sleeping enough mixed with drinking and smoking a bit too much hadn’t been what your therapist had recommended, but you had stopped seeing her when you realized you couldn’t really tell her anything anyway. 

You took a second to let your head level out, and decided it was time to let Eddie take you home. You knew he wouldn’t complain that you hadn’t been there long, he never wanted to come out in the first place. You had started to wish that you had told him where you were going before you came outside, because there was no way he was going to assume you had broken Steve’s one and only rule. But you were proven wrong when you turned to look at the sound of the back door opening again. 

Eddie was standing there with a disapproving scowl and an obviously stressed Steve standing behind him. As he took a step towards you, you decided to stand and meet him halfway. You weren’t expecting to still be so dizzy, but you had expected the boy standing behind you even less. He hadn’t been expecting you either. 

You didn’t realize how close you were to the edge of the empty pool, but you learned your proximity as you were bumped over that ledge and into the shallow end of the pool. 

You weren’t sure if it was better or worse that the pool had remained drained after Barb. You barely knew how to swim, and you wouldn’t have stood a chance with this amount of alcohol in your system. But the crack that your head reverberated when it made contact with the ground was argument enough for the opposition. Before you could open your eyes again, Eddie was kneeling next to you checking the ground for blood just in case. There was nothing, but he still wouldn’t let you move. 

You could hear Steve tearing those teens a new one, not only for knocking you over, but for being out there in the first place. You heard their cowardly apologies, their receding footsteps, and the shutting back door before you saw Steve looking down over the edge at you. 

“Is she ok?” he asked Eddie, and the fear in his voice was nearly enough to make you cry. 

Eddie didn’t reply to Steve, you weren’t sure he even heard him. Instead, he focused all of his attention on you. 

“I want to check the back of your head baby, can you turn it for me?”

“I can sit up, Eds,” you rolled your eyes, but he prevented you from moving your arms. 

“Not on my watch. Not yet. Work with me here, or I swear to god…”

You wanted to fight him, but you thought better of it. With Steve watching, you wanted to do anything you could to speed this up and get you all back inside. You cooperated and turned your head for Eddie, and he checked to make sure you didn’t split anything open. Luckily, your arm had taken the brunt of the fall and had possibly saved you from a concussion or worse. 

“See, I’m fine Eds,” you smiled up at him, and then to Steve, but Steve was the only one to return it. 

Eddie appeared to be seething with anger, and for a second you thought it was with you, until he gingerly pulled you into a tight hug. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill that asshole,” he nearly whispered in your ear. 

“What? What asshole?,” you pulled back to look at him, “You mean the kid I bumped into? This wasn’t his fault Eds. So I would appreciate it if he stayed alive.” 

“He could have killed you.”

That was when you recognized the look in Eddie’s eyes. This wasn’t just anger, it was residual fear. He had seen you go over that edge, heard a loud crack, and assumed the worst. 

You nearly giggled at the thought. He gets torn apart by bats in front of you, but he thought you were going to be taken out by a bonk to the head. 

“Eddie,” You reached out and grabbed his head in both hands and brought his forehead to yours. This was the exact position he would force you into when you would wake up screaming for the first few months. He never forced you to open your eyes, you always preferred to keep them closed when he was that close in the dark, lest your eyes play tricks on you and show you his dead eyes. 

“I am fine Eddie. I’m safe, I’m alive, and I’m right here.” you repeated the mantra he had chanted to you each of those nights. Then you took his hand, just as he had done to you, and put it right over your heart. 

You had felt his stop, so feeling it beat was the closest thing to reassurance that he could give you. You could only assume it would have the same effect on him, even without the trauma of feeling yours cease. 

After a couple deep breaths, you looked up to see Steve still standing at the edge of the pool. He was avoiding looking directly at the two of you, but you knew he wasn’t going to let either of you out of his sight out there. 

“Hey Eddie,” you whispered, and he slowly lifted his chin to look at you again, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” he smiled back at you. 

“Good, now do you think we can get out of here and get Steve back inside?” 

“Yeah, yeah of course. Sorry, I just…” he paused a second after he looked over his shoulder at Steve, but quickly turned back around and pulled you in for a desperate kiss. 

You were the one to pull away for a breath, but Eddie quickly spoke up. 

“I know I am never going to understand what you went through last spring, nor do I want to. But… you gotta promise me you’ll keep it that way. I thought I lost you there for a second, and I can’t… I don’t-”

“I promise. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, asshole.” 

You kissed him one last time before he took your hand and carefully guided you up the steps of the pool. 

“Sorry, I know you don’t like people out here,” you began to apologize to Steve as the two of you approached, but he cut you off with a big hug. You had put both of them through something terrible that night, but there was nothing you could say to apologize properly. 

“Let’s get inside,” Steve nearly choked over his words as he guided the two of you inside, making sure to take up the rear to ensure everyone made it inside safe.

Tags: @eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @justanotherpasserby @embrace-themagic @fanficparker  @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @nicotine-sunshine820 @itsjusttor @emistrash @thenoddingbunny-blog @sovereignparker @raajali3

[lacystar]

When Tommy died, it was void. It was the flaring, heated hurt all over his body and nothingness. Unable to see, unable to feel anything but pain. Screaming and getting nothing back; not even an echo. Feeling Wilbur and the cards in his hand, and the feeling of the other moving around him, and hearing him painfully close, but being unable to see him. Alone yet trapped.

When Wilbur died, he was shoved rudely off a metro and into a station. He paced it up and down for years, yet the stairs to the outside were firmly blocked off. Trains would pass, but none stopped. Only when Schlatt visited, which wasn't often, and only that time when Tommy came. And only when it came to take him back, of course. But it was close to agony to be passed by so many times. Alone. The world moving without him. His world moving without him.

Schlatt... has no idea what's going on. He's in the gym, but he's corporeal enough for Quackity to visit him. Sometimes he goes to see Wilbur, Sometimes he catches glimpses of the outside. He really, truly has no fucking idea what's up with him and why Wilbur is stuck in a whole other realm while's stuck all Ghostbusters'-future-victim. He knows it hurts though; heart palpitations, killer headaches... his voice has gone so rough on some days he sounds like a scratching record. His lungs are full of lead, and if he doesn't want Quackity to bring him back for the chance to taste power again, he at the very least wants it so he can stop feeling the burn in his throat.

When Ranboo dies...

When Ranboo dies he's dunked in water that's freezing, yet still burns his skin to the point of peeling in a terrible icy-hot hell. The ocean stretches to never-ending horizons without land in sight, and below him the ocean stretches to void, and all he sees is a thousand eyes staring up at him, almost unblinking. Expecting. Their stares burn almost more than the water, and his fear to keep his head above the waves to avoid seeing them is more compelling than the yell of his limbs to quit swimming, accept the burn, and sink. But after enough years... where is he? Why is he swimming? Why does he bother? Who is he, anyways?

When Tubbo dies, he wakes up in a yellow concrete box. It's not quite pitch black, but the walls give him no chance to move as his arms are pressed close to his sides. There isn't room enough to sit or do much more than turn around in place, and he can hear nothing but his own frantic, shallowed breaths as he gulps in air he feels as if he's constantly losing. He spends a few years wondering if this is his coffin and they didn't realize he was still alive when they buried him.

When Sam dies, he wakes up in an obsidian prison cell he's walked past one too many times. Theres a lectern, a clock, a pot of water, and occasionally potatoes drop down for him to eat. He stares at the wall of lava, praying for a visitor, and almost dares to empathize with the man he imprisoned when none arrive. He wonders for years if he regrets building the prison, and can never come up with an answer that doesn't make him feel ashamed of himself.

When Bad dies, he wakes up with his limbs wrapped in red vines, restraining him in a way he used to find comforting but now sees only as the torture it is as thorns dig into his skin. His vision is tinted blood red. Occasionally, a flash of blue teases his vision, but when he turns to call its name, it vanishes. He takes up swearing again; there's nobody there to hear, anyways.

When Eret dies, they wake up in their castle and left to wander the halls. Wander, but barely more than a few minutes at a time; the crown on their head weighs more than the world on Atlas' shoulders, so heavy that they often must return to their throne just to get the chance to rest their head back and let the weight off their shoulders. They wonder if the sacrifice was worth the weight.

When Niki dies, she wakes up in a crowd of people whose faces she can't quite make out. A sea of people, most taller than her, that stretches out for miles. Most smile and laugh, and she's relieved she's not alone. But when she taps on one of them and politely asks for directions to where she can get help, they stare through her. She isn't a ghost; they bump into her all the time as they shove her to walk past, but they don't see her. They don't hear. She screams and not a single head turns. When she collapses against an unlucky stranger to sob, they flick her off like she's a fly. There's not even an excuse she can tell herself to say she's alone.

When Quackity dies he finds himself falling. There is no ground in sight, only sky and clouds as his wings refuse to work and he plummets constantly into nothing. He reflects on the casino and L'manberg and El Rapids and wanting more. His stomach gets used to the lurching as the cold wind burns his cheeks. Maybe his ambition was a little pointless. Maybe he flew too close to the sun.

When Karl dies he awakes to colors that hurt his eyes and a million doorways, each in different shapes and angles. He spends years pacing and stepping through doors he hopes might lead home, that ultimately lead to only more doors. Some are too high up to reach and he stares at them and cries at the fact that he'll never know what's behind them (despite knowing its probably nothing). He doesn't remember everything; just enough to know that anywhere is better than being lost here.

When Phil dies it's a long time coming. Cursed with only one life, the universe goes easy on him. There's a field of rich grass and flowers and trees and skies that beg to be flown through. If only his wings worked. If only he could show Wilbur.

When Puffy dies she finds herself in an endless graveyard. She paces through it for seemingly decades, reading the engravings of her closest friends on each one and spending no less than year knelt at each in mourning, apologizing for her shortcomings. Maybe if she'd been a touch stronger, this wouldn't have happened. Worst of all is when the headstones are blank and she doesn't know who she's mourning at all, forever unsure of the poor soul she let down.

When Hannah dies she awakes to a world rotted away, the air polluted with smog and the seas full of plastic and sludge. Sometimes she sees a rosebush or sapling, tiny and thriving in the distance. Yet whenever she rushes over to coddle and nurture, it dies underneath her fingers. The ground wilts and cracks wherever she steps. She feels as if she's wilting with it.

When Sapnap dies, he wakes up in some sort of cage. A zoo. Figures come and stare at him and laugh as birds pick at his skin until he bleeds, wolves sink teeth into his calves to hit bone, and cows crush his ribs beneath powerful hooves. Each day a new round of animals come to have their way with him. And yeah, he thinks, that's probably fair.

When Dream dies, he's almost relieved to wake up in his SMP. Great, he can get back to business, he thinks. But the more he walks, the more he notices... how quiet it is. It doesn't take him long into his afterlife to realize the people have all disappeared. Vanished. Leaving him alone. No animals or Monsters even appear. Not a friend nor foe, not even a silverfish. The world is his to do anything with without repercussion, yet all he can do for years is sit at an old bench at a cliffside and play discs over and over until the melody burns into his head and makes him want to tear his hair out. All that over a stupid disc. He laughs until he cries.

When George dies... well, it might as well be like any other dream, he supposes.

[feral-ella-flynn]

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy. 

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness.  At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse. 

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent. 

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll. 

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid. 

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and  you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore. 

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible. 

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket. 

“They had no goat." He shrugs. 

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge.  Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet. 

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

 The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge. 

“Please?”

 You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles. 

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road. 

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

[bruhstories]

Home for the Holidays

summary: you come back home for the holidays and get a very warm welcome. pairing: stepbro!armin x female!reader warnings & content: stepcest, fingering, unprotected sex, dom!armin, sub!reader word Count: 2k-ish

a/n: umm, don't go around fucking your stepbros? i mean i can't stop you but sweet home alabama should play in your head if you do it. also sorry if this feels a bit rushed, i don't even have time to breathe | @mikasascabin @armins-futon

Pop!

Incessant, irritating sounds of gum popping, then smacking against your teeth, the annoying chewing that came out of your mouth, the infuriating tapping of your leg, the exasperating drumming of your fingers against the kitchen table — it's driving Armin insane. It's been driving Armin insane for years. And despite the fact that you're both adults now, you still can't get along. He's smart, quiet and a workaholic, you're a social butterfly who works smart, not hard.

"Armin, Y/N, you're not leaving this kitchen until you solve your conflict and apologise." His mom would say. It used to be your punishment when Armin and you were kids — and it's your punishment even know. You roll your eyes, gum popping all over your face and the tip of the nose. Armin snickers at the disgusted look on your face, mumbling a serves you right under his nose.

Sometimes you wondered if the tension between you and him was sexual. But... it couldn't be, could it? You were his damn stepsister, yet when you came back home for Thanksgiving, Armin was a whole different person. Fresh cut, a change of wardrobe, a better attitude — he was hot, no longer the nerd you used to tease. You study him from across the table after cleaning your face, lower lip between your teeth, head in your hands.

"You heard your mommy, Armin, apologise and let's get this over with."

"Me? You're the one who came home and ruined everything."

"Ruined what? A shitty dinner with a family who doesn't give a fuck about me? No, bro, I improved everything." You lean back in your chair and nonchalantly slam your feet on the table. "Not that you would know what it's like to be in my shoes, anyway."

"Your shoes? What about mine?" Armin slams his fists on the table. "At least no one expects anything from you."

"Wow, thanks." You get up and he realises just how nasty he sounded.

"Wait-"

"Fuck off." You dash past him with tears in your eyes. He was right, your father never expected anything from you, nor did your stepmother. Armin, on the other hand, was a genius, a straight A student and now he even received a scholarship from his university. Of course, people had high expectations from him and in a way, that made you jealous.

'Oh, Armin, we're so proud of you!'

'Armin, you did great!'

'Did you know Armin won an international maths competition?'

You shut the door to your room and crawl under your blanket. You always tried your best, but you could never compete with him. And your father, your ownfather, sometimes seemed to love Armin more than you. Minutes pass before you hear your stepmother rushing with your father to go visit some of your relatives and you hope Armin would go with them, but you're unlucky today. Once the car leaves the driveway, a soft knock makes you snap your neck up.

"Go away."

"Y/N, please, I didn't mean to say that."

"I don't care!" You throw a book at the door but Armin still won't budge.

"Open the damn door!"

"Why, so you can brag about how you're the perfect child?"

"So I can apologise, you... you bitch!"

Silence. Your ears ring with the word and Armin knows he fucked up big time. In a flash, the door is open and you're ready to kick him in the shin but for some reason, when you see his face, you stop.

"Apologise, then, and apologise for calling me a bitch, you little shit!"

"God, why do you hate me so much? You tormented me ever since you moved in with us!"

"Well, genius, has it ever occurred to you that maybe I never wanted this?"

"Of course it has! But you're always so cold and all I wanted was to talk to you. I don't even know your favourite colour and you're supposed to be my sister!" His voice is soft and sorrowful and you fold your arms across your chest.

"I don't want to be your sister."

"Then what do you want? You're always bitch but when I bring a girl over, you're suddenly overprotective."

"You do the exact same thing, dumbass! Every time! You act like a sad puppy but the moment you hear I'm going out with a guy you turn into some alpha male." You frown and grab the door handle. "This conversation is over."

"No, it's not." He puts his foot in the door and you narrow your eyes at his low voice and different demeanour.

"Yes, it is. Go do some studying for uni." You try to close the door but suddenly he's so much stronger. Has he been working out?

"You think this is all I do? Work and study? You think I'm some kind of teacher's pet who doesn't break rules?" You don't even realise when he's in your room, hands on your shoulders and his face so close to yours. "You think I'm an angel? A saint?" The words drip from his tongue with so much venom and your body softens. This is so unlike him but you can't help but be intrigued.

"Armin, please-"

"Oh, I'm Armin now? Not some shitty nickname? What’s the matter, can’t come up with a clever insult?" His thumb grazes over your cheek and you feel the hairs on your arms stand up. You like this side of Armin, and the fact that for three years you were his stepsister went down the drain. "I tried to be good, Y/N, I tried to be nice. But you don't like nice, do you?"

You shake your head with lidded eyes, drinking his touch, but a sharp pain from a slap wakes you up from your thoughts.

"Talk."

"N-no, I don't like nice!"

"It's unbelievable what a good girl you are when I press the right buttons."

You know it now, why you've always acted this way with Armin — you don't want him to see you as his stepsister, not even as his friend — you want to be his lover. In his ocean blue eyes, you can see that he wants the same thing — they are filled with lust and desire. You don't want to speak, afraid you might ruin this moment, but at the same time you have questions to ask and answers to get. Armin catches your mind drifting elsewhere and another slap across your already stinging cheek brings your full attention to him.

"I know what you like, Y/N. You fucked enough of my friends for me to know exactly what you want."

"Excuse me? You talk to your friends about how your sister fucks them?"

"Stepsister." He corrects you, his fingers tangled in your locks. "What would our parents say if they found out what a filthy slut you are?"

"I-" You want to say something, come up with a snarky remark, but the words die in your throat and your brain turns to mush. Armin leans closer, his hot breath tickling your ear.

"I bet I can fuck you better than any of them." He whispers and just then you feel your aching cunt begging to be filled with his cock.

"Armin..." You try again, but you still don't know if you want him to stop or carry on. It all feels so wrong but so right at the same time.

"Tell me what you want, Y/N." He nibbles on your earlobe, goosebumps dotting your skin.

"I don-" You choke on your words when you feel his hand slither under your shirt, fingers playing with your nipple.

"Come on, talk." Armin is now gently kissing the crook of your neck and your knees almost give in. Truthfully, no man ever made you feel so weak, so needy.

"Please, I want you!" You tried to whisper but it came out as a desperate cry.

"That's not good enough." He pinches your sensitive bud and you yelp, back hitting the door.

"I want you to f-fuck me, please, Armin! Fuck me good!"

"Much better." He presses his lips onto yours and he can taste the bubblegum you so annoyingly chewed when you let his tongue part open your mouth.

You don't have a clue when your clothes disappeared, scattered on the floor, along with your and his underwear, and frankly you don’t even care. Armin has you down on all fours on the mattress, two fingers pumping into your sweet cunt as you pathetically moan his name.

"Look at you! Such a filthy whore, all wet for your stepbro."

"Oh, God- want you inside-"

"I know, princess. Be patient." He curls his fingers in ways you didn't think were possible, but then you feel his tongue lazily dragging up and down your slit and you let yourself fall on the bed, face down, ass up. You had guys go down on you before, but the way Armin did it was incredible. He was meticulous, attentive, careful to let you know exactlywho owned your cunt. When he feels your thighs shake, he pulls away, earning a dissatisfied sigh of protest from you as you jolt back up.

"No, no. You're not coming yet." He yanks you by the hair, fingers gripping your chin and turning your head to the side. Armin presses his body against yours, and you feel his throbbing cock resting on your ass as he eagerly kisses you. "You taste good, don't you?"

You nod back, unable to form a coherent sentence, all you could do was push your ass against him, yearning to be filled.

"Armin, please, I need to feel you. Please!"

"Shit, I didn't think you'd be so fucking needy. Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes, yes! I promise I'll be good from now on! Please!"

"You better keep your promise, Y/N." He growls, pushing you back on the mattress, the glistening tip of his cock positioned at your entrance. “Otherwise, I’ll have to punish you.” Inch by inch, he bottoms out and you throw your head back, spongy walls clenching around his cock. Thick and long, Armin was by far the biggest man you've been with, and you really didn't expect this. Yet when he started pounding into your cunt, you didn't regret coming home for the holidays.

"H-harder!" You beg him and you can feel his shit-eating grin burning into your back because he is the one making you feel this way, and he knows that after tonight, you'll always come crawling to him. Armin didn't waste any time, his thrusts became harsher and deeper, cock sliding in and out of you making your head fuzzy.

"You're so tight, so wet. Bet you don't get this wet for others."

"I don't! Oh, fuuuck, right there!"

Beads of sweat form on his forehead, fingers digging into your flesh as you buck your hips against his. It's been a while since he fucked you, your whimpers echoing in the bedroom, his name rolling down your tongue perfectly. You’re made for him. But all good things come to an end, and shortly you felt the need for release, thighs quaking and pleasure flushing through your entire body. Armin is close, too, but Armin also wants to humiliate you and remind you where your place is. He pulls out, cock in one hand, locks of your hair in his other.

"Promise you'll be good?"

"Promise!" You look at him with glossy eyes.

"Close your eyes." The man demands and you obey, hot strings of his seed spilling onto your face, and you lick your lips to taste him. Sinful, yet divine. Right, yet wrong. "Get yourself cleaned up."

You sit on the couch, legs on Armin's lap when your father and stepmother come back home. You can't even focus on the movie, all you can think about is your stepbrother's cock stretching you out and filling you good.

"Huh, I've never seen you two getting along this well." Your father comments. "Look at them, finally behaving like proper siblings."

"Took you long enough!" Armin's mother smiles. "What did you do?"

"We talked." Armin replies with his usual joyful voice but you know better than that. You know exactly the kind of person he is behind closed doors.

"Well, at least now we're finally a happy family." His mother pats you on the shoulder.

"Yeah," you grin, "one biiiiig, happy family."

[thefanficmonster]

Vulnerability

Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil 8: Village) x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury, Swearing, Spoilers for RE8

Genre: Angst, Romance

Summary: With the only person he’s ever truly cared about, the only person who can calm him down and force him to take care of himself and balance his life out is taken from him, it’s safe to say the takers are bound to pay.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request and I’m so sorry for the long wait you’ve had to endure but here it finally is - I hope you still come across the fic and take the time to read it despite the long time that’s passed. If you do so, I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

“THAT BITCH DID WHAT?!“

The unlucky maid that was sent to Heisenberg’s factory as an alternate way to be killed rather than turned into wine cowers in fear as the metal-controlling man sends the majority of the objects around them flying across the room, crashing into against the walls in his state of uncontrollable anger that has the girl frightened to no end. Although, if she’s being honest, Heisenberg has every right to be furious right now. Who wouldn’t be after being told their enemy snatched their lover to use as blackmail.

And this poor maid was the messenger who had to deliver the news to Heisenberg about two days after the capturing of Y/N, Karl’s lover.

The two weren’t known to be a couple by anyone but rumors started floating around - especially among the rest of the Lords - when they kept seeing this woman around the factory and by Heisenberg’s side, sometimes even during the meetings of the Lords.

Leaving her out in the open and so vulnerable, so easy to be grabbed by the filthy, ill-meaning hands of the Dimitrescus, is a fault of his own he’ll never get over. He’ll never not regret not keeping a watchful eye on her at all times, even when she claimed she needed space after the two had an argument.

When that happens - though rarely, it still happens - Y/N tends to wander off, either in the village or in a complete separate part of the factory which is thankfully large enough for them both to enjoy their privacy without running into each other unless they want to. So, when Karl hadn’t heard from Y/N for a day and a half he didn’t think much of it, seeing as how she had a tendency of leaving him in silence for a day or two to cool her head and let him cool his and avoid further complications of their argument.

But when she didn’t show even after those regular forty eight hours of silence, Karl started worrying. And, as he’s come learn only minutes ago, he was right to do so - Alcina had snatched Y/N while the girl was walking around the outskirts, not far away from the factory itself. The girl barely had time to scream before being knocked out cold and dragged to the Dimitrescu castle.

Heisenberg should’ve known showing off his vulnerability so openly would only bring him headaches and heartaches - he knew having a vulnerability in the first place would be a huge inconvenience and a risk, especially when said vulnerability is vulnerable in and of itself.

“What does that bitch want?!“ He growls at the girl who’s gone as pale as a ghost, looking so tiny and fragile in comparison to the enraged man towering over her. He’s already taller and bigger than her, but this anger only adds to his huge presence and intimidating appearance.

“S-she told me to tell you her and M-Mother Miranda knew of...your plans. They’ll give you back the girl when you agree to lay off the plans and...“ The girl trails off, terrified of the reaction she’ll receive for the last bit of the negotiation.

“And?!“ Karl has no patience for reluctance and most certainly has no time to waste when the girl he loves is in the clutches of one of the people he’d want to drain the life out of with his own two hands. 

“And, as proof, burn the factory down...with everything in it.“ The girl finishes, grimacing and hiding her face behind her arms when she does, expecting to be hit or screamed at or even killed. This man has never been in his right mind to begin with let alone now that the most important person in his life has been taken from him and is in grave danger.

The long moment of silence she’s met with surprises her. It’s gotta be the calm before the storm, she thinks to herself, slowly lowering her arms to look around in search of the man who she thinks has already left the room. But no, Karl is standing in front of her, wearing a smile upon his face. A menacing one. One promising that it is indeed the calm before the storm.

“Alright.“ He says in a scarily light-hearted tone of voice, one that is so calm it sends chills down the maid’s spine, “Return to your Mistress and report back that I agree to her terms as long as Y/N’s delivered to me by tomorrow morning.“

The maid cannot believe her ears nor her eyes but there he is - Karl Heisenberg, the most dangerous of the Lords, agreeing to drop his reputation in the water to save the love of his life. All with an unfaltering smile across his face.

                                                               *  *  *

“Mother Miranda? I’m calling with some great news to share with you.“ Alcina Dimitrescu smiles a pleased smile as she looks at her reflection in the vanity mirror before her, “Heisenberg has chosen to stand down. Yes Mother, you heard me correctly, the stupid man-thing has chosen the pathetic woman over his own reign which I’m sure he wouldn’t have had the chance to carry out anyway thanks to your unmatched power, Mother Miranda, but now it’s official. He’s taken the ultimatum and has agreed to all the terms we laid out for him. In exchange, he hopes to get the girl back by tomorrow morning.“ A reply comes from the other side and Alcina laughs a low, mocking laugh, “Oh, he will be receiving her tomorrow morning, he needn’t worry. I’ll make sure to send him the wine bottles she’ll help us produce.“ The other woman on the line laughs as well, filling the Vampire Mistress with a sense of pride and accomplishment. “I have no doubt the gift will find him we-“ The tall woman’s word die down in her throat when a sharp pain spreads throughout her chest, leaving her breathless and disoriented. The ache spreads to her head where the screams of her daughters echo like an agonizing chant.

“Mother! Mother please help us! 

“Mother these monsters will kill us!“

“Mother, save us!“

The hurting mother drops the phone, attempting to get up to her feet, just to be knocked back down by the intense pain. The pain of a mother losing her daughters.

The daughters that were about to gruesomely murder Karl’s lover in the dungeons right below the castle. The three vampire girls were no match for Heisenberg and his army of lycans which he unleashed upon the whole castle, sending them in search of Y/N who he was quick to find in the dark torture chambers, beaten and bloodied but alive nonetheless.

“Darling, please, talk to me. Don’t do this to me, Y/N, please wake up.“ Karl ducks down in front of the seemingly lifeless body of Y/N, taking her face in his hands, gently holding her head up after he unchained her from the cuffs and contraptions meant to ensure her escape impossible. “Look at me, doll, come on. You’re safe now, you’re safe. Those bitches won’t live to see the light of day tomorrow let alone thing to bring you harm again.“

Although exhausted and weakened past the point of a lifeless doll, Y/N manages to force her eyes open and look into the concerned ones of her lover, Karl. “You came for me.”

“And what else was I gonna do, Y/N?“ He asks softly, gently smoothing back the hair stuck to her sweaty and bloodied forehead, “I would’ve come sooner had I known...“

She cuts him off, “But you didn’t, and that’s ok, you couldn’t have known. I knew you’d save me eventually. I never lost hope.” Her voice is coarse and low, each word painful to push past her sore throat. “I knew you would never let me die.”

“I could never, doll. I don’t know what I’d do without you.“ He presses his forehead against hers lovingly, allowing her a moment to catch her breath before carefully swiping her up in his arms, “Come on, angel, let’s go home.“

Y/N may be his vulnerability, but she’s also his greatest strength. Without her, he would’ve never taken revenge on the Dimitrescus and would’ve never been this determined to end Miranda’s reign and ruin her plans. Without her, he would be half the man he is now.

[hogwartsfirebolt]

Hello everyone! I’m back for my (omg time flies) third yearly drarry rec list, in which I share with you my 30 favorite drarry fics I read in the year, divided in three parts. What a year 2020 was. It was challenging, scary and confusing, and it was also an amazing reading year for me, I read so, so much more than I ever had before, and I’m really excited to share these masterpieces with you! The banner art is by @dragontamerdame who is one of my favorite artists and was kind enough to let me use this beautiful piece, which you can (and totally should) reblog right here. Now, with nothing else to add and in no particular order, here’s my

FAVORITE FICS I READ IN 2020 PART ONE

1. Who we are in the shadows - @quicksilvermaid - 100k - E - What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost. But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself. What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong?

THIS FIC!!! It was the first one I read in 2020, and it immediately became my favorite fic of the entire year, and one of my favorites of all time. I have since read it two more times, the entire 100k of it. There are absolutely no words to describe how amazing it is, how much it floored me to read their characterizations, their jobs and the roads life took them on to end up where they end up, the connection between them in a time when they don’t even know how to relate to anyone, their sorrow and struggles which, despite being so rooted in the magical world, are painfully human, just... wow. It’s a masterpiece. It changed the way I view their characters, forever, and I suspect I will read it many, many more times in the years to come. It’s that kind of story. If for whatever reason you haven’t read it, this is your sign to take that chance and embark on this amazing journey. 

2. Every Kingdom - @thistle-verse - 7k - E - Every kingdom needs a prince. Every prince needs a good and useful knight. Draco and Harry play their parts and renegotiate some borders while they’re at it.

So, so lovely. Even though I don’t read them very often, alternate universes fascinate me so much, and I am in awe of the author for being able to pack so, so much story, so neatly into 7k words. This features a princely, lonesome Draco, a charming, golden Harry, and a blossoming love that could change everything. It’s beautiful, and I recommend it deeply.

3. The Bucket List - GallaPlacidia - 32k - Draco will die in six months if he can't get Harry Potter to fall in love with him. Since that's not going to happen, he might as well spend his last days working through his Bucket List. Tap-dancing lessons? Rock climbing? Poetry-writing? Threesomes? Cocaine? Getting to know his adorable cousin, Teddy Lupin? Draco will try them all! Feat. Cheerily pessimistic Draco, devoted bitch queen Pansy Parkinson, and a Harry who can't help but notice that something seems DIFFERENT about Draco, these days.

I’m positive that many, many of us got acquainted with GallaPlacidia’s writing this year, and I, too, fell in love with it. This story aches in the most beautiful of ways, the humor happens to be somehow light in such a difficult circumstance that it ends up hurting when you laugh, it hurts when everything is right because it’s also wrong, it aches when it’s supposed to be a happy moment and feels tender and sweet when it’s not. I can’t even imagine the challenge of writing this kind of story, and they pulled it off beautifully. It’s a lovely story, one you will take with you long after you finish it, and, personally, I think it’s a great introduction to the author’s writing. 

4. halcyon days - @the-starryknight - 1.3k - T - Sleepy mornings caught while the sun rises are reserved for silly word games and soft touches and feelings.

Oh my god, the amount of tenderness in such a low wordcount made me weak in the knees. I almost couldn’t take it. Being able to convey such a deep emotional connection in a short story seems like such a daunting task, and the author makes it seem almost effortless. I guarantee that this will make you bring your hands to your chest and sigh with how lovely it is. Reading it will be the best ten minutes of your day. 

5. Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon - @drarrytrash - 37k - E - According to Harry’s personal narrative regarding the incident, he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy for purely self-destructive reasons, or out of convenience, or by some unlucky accident. Looking at him, sprawled in the moonlight, Harry is devastated to recall that he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy because he’s hot. Draco is a secret werewolf and Harry is doing his best and they've got criminals to catch, darn it.

Reading this, I found myself laughing out loud, nodding profusely with how freaking spot on the characterizations are. The dialogue is amazing, so hilarious and real and Harry’s inner monologue is so, so him. I love everything about this story. I have a soft spot for werewolf fic, and this one hit everything I love about it, the case is interesting and engaging, the incidental characters, the OCs, Ron and Hermione, everyone and everything is absolutely perfect and I had an absolute blast reading it. You HAVE to read this and see for yourself what I’m talking about. 

6. Sex Ed for Aurors - curiouslyfic - 8k - M - Some things, you need to learn on the job.

Oh my god this is so freaking good. The premise is, basically, that Harry is accidentally doused with a lust potion while in the vicinity of Draco, and suddenly wants him more than anything. I loved this take on that trope, we’re in Harry’s head, and it’s absolutely hilarious and endearing to experience the near childish glee he feels whenever Draco looks his way, when he smiles, when he feels he’s made him happy, meanwhile Draco and Ron are horrified and doing whatever they can to correct it. This is so funny and such a good time, I can’t recommend it enough! While you’re at it, you should definitely read megyal’s remix of this, which is also a blast. 

7. plasticine porters with looking-glass ties - @bonesliketambourines - 15K - E - Lately, Harry thinks things don’t seem the same between him and Draco. His head is in the clouds when he thinks about what their relationship is now, and where it might be headed—he’s happy with their friendship, but he wants something else. A potions accident over a lunchtime visit to Draco’s lab (what does he get up to in there, anyway?) changes things, though, and accelerates their relationship faster than either of them had ever expected. How are they going to get through this new development together?

Atmospheric, beautifully-written and delicious. Their relationship is tender, just on the edge of something more, when they’re forced to quarantine together and face the effects of a potion that makes them see and feel things differently, which makes for the most intense, visual, gorgeous sex scene I think I’ve ever read. It’s just absolutely phenomenal. 

8. i wake up falling - warmfoothills - 9k - M - Draco’s always leaving, one way or another. Harry’s usually 240 thousand miles too late.

In trying to come up with a way to summarize this story, I’m feeling the overwhelming urge to cry again, just like I did when I read it. It’s just so, so, beautiful, every single word of it aches in the best way, the longing feels deeply authentic and just, the setting and the jobs and everything is so unique and gorgeous. Every single work by this author is beyond beautiful, but especially this one is incredibly close to my heart and I think everyone should read it. It’s a gem. 

9. In Every Universe - @skeptiquewrites - 27k - M - They sent Professor Harry Potter to search for Unspeakable Draco Malfoy. Draco has stolen a Firebird, an experimental magical device from the Department of Mysteries that lets you enter parallel universes as yourself. As Harry traverses from universe to universe, he begins to think Draco might be the one searching for him. A story about whether knowing what's possible makes it possible.

Stories where the characters find themselves somehow hopping from one reality to another are always so, so fascinating to me, and this one is incredibly creative and well-written, so entertaining all around. The mystery of it kept me on my toes, and every single reality was a joy to read. 10/10

10. Life goes not backward - @shealwaysreads - 8k - T - Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different. A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots. Leaving one life behind isn’t always a sacrifice, and sometimes the greatest good comes from embracing the people you love.

My god, there are not enough words to describe how much this story means to me, how beautiful it is, how every single time I’ve read it, I’ve cried. Bella has undoubtedly become one of my absolute favorite writers in fandom. She has such a way with words, there is not one of her stories that hasn’t touched me, that doesn’t feel like an actual, full-length novel no matter the word count. I read so many of them this year, so many of the masterpieces she’s gifted us, but this one especially is so tender, so dear, that I ended up choosing it as my favorite of hers this year. Harry’s charactertization, the unbelievable warmth of their relationship, absolutely everything about this is gorgeous. Go read it, right now, and then binge all her other works!! You won’t regret it.

---------------------------------

Each of these fics is incredibly close to my heart and I enjoyed them immensely. In the midst of everything changing, I really found comfort and solace in the amazing works of the people of this fandom. I hope they give you the same amount of warmth and comfort they gave me, and I’m ALWAYS here to gush about any of them ❤️ Happy New Year! 

[void-adjacent-particles]

Content warnings: Death, gore, fire mentions, scars, murder, violence.

Totems of Undying are strange things. They’re warm, and will pulse in time to the heartbeat of whatever is holding them, emerald eyes glimmering even in the pure dark of the void’s absence of light. While Totems are made of gold, there is no malleability, they are as solid as bedrock. The emeralds and gold and magic have solidified into one unchangeable object until its use, and then it is gone.

They leave their mark on whatever uses them. For some this could be a prize, another thing to be proud of, because they survived the unsurvivable only through their own wits and forethought. To others it is a mark of shame, for ever having been in such a position to lose their life, even if it is only one of three.

On a specific server, there are those who have need for Totems in their long pasts, who have used them right before our eyes, and those who will surely use them in the future.

Technoblade was one such person to use one before our eyes. We saw him dragged from his home to a farce of a trial, facing justice on rigged scales for grievous cries nonetheless as he was pushed into a cage. The fall of the anvil, the crushing, crunching of a body that never seemed fragile until now when everyone witnessed its end. Then the sparkling cloud of green and yellow, bones clicking back in jigsaw puzzle pieces, the knitting of muscle and tendon and skin, and there is only a moment of paralyzing death before his heart skips a beat and he lives again. This is the prestige of his trick, no turn to raise suspense, and a pledge everyone who knew his name already was aware of, a promise and threat all in one that he always delivered on. Technoblade never dies, and he lives right now to kill again. Later he will be in his quaint cottage in the merciless tundra, and his own reflection will glitter strangely back at him, forcing him to examine himself instead of resting and trying to forget the lingering aches. He will stare as the night sky leaves the window more a mirror, lantern lights low, but the flashes catch his eyes anyway. His tusks, once white and bone, now seem to be fully made of gold. He taps one with his hoof, and feels the pressure reverberating subtly down into his jaws, as real as before. With a shrug, he moves his hoof away, only to watch as pink fur and skin split against the now razor sharp point of his tusks. Those tusks will remain as gilded as any enchanted apple, and as sharp as any netherite sword, until one day he will fail his audience, his pledge a battle cry he brings to one or more of his graves.

Quackity would covet a Totem in all of his paranoia, his fear of death and pain and losing even more than he already has. If he died, be it by pickaxe or nuke or strangling, desperate hands, the Totem would bring him back all the same. And all of his scars would ache in their newfound golden hue, shining and standing out even more as a testament to his inability to protect himself or what he loves. The scars would hurt, old and new, in warning of dangers to come. It only partly calms his paranoia, the fear ever present and simmering in the background of his mind, waiting to boil over and burn him.

When Tubbo or Tommy use their Totems of Undying they will appear unharmed. It is not until they bruise that it becomes obvious. A small bump against the corner of furniture, a tumble while out exploring the wild, a sharp elbow to the face, the blunt side of a weapon, they bruise the skin, blossoming into purples and dark indigos. They fade far too quickly, as if someone splashed healing potions on them. Yet then they stay at that disquieting green and yellow stage, where the next day it could appear as if they were never there, but they stay, shimmering slightly in the wrong lighting, still hurting as much as if they were fresh even weeks later. Only fading when forgotten about, and they have wonder if the bruise was ever there. If only they had Totems when they died before. Tubbo’s face would be a mess of bruised gold that would seep into the skin until only pink scar tissue remained, a starburst remnant of a festival’s fireworks, but he would still be alive, gasping for air and hunched over in that box, on that stage, but alive. Tommy would have handprint bruises around his neck, across the break in his nose, the imprint of a fist against his cheek that had whipped his head back too far, his neck slamming at the worst angle against the harsh obsidian walls. But he would have been alive, clawing his way back into life, latching his own hands around his killer’s throat, finishing the job, doing what should have been done instead of daring to imprison a dream.

George passes out if he uses a Totem. Instead of the rush of adrenaline, of life that floods the system of whatever uses one, it overwhelms to the point of just unconsciousness as his body repairs itself, fueled only by magic until his heart begins pumping and his lungs begin breathing again. Later when he wakes, maybe with cracked sunglasses, anyone who’s looking properly will see the dark bags under his eyes, a sheen of gold overlaying the dark purple of sleeplessness. When he sleeps it will be deeper, without dreams. Alarms and shaking won’t wake him. Nights will be sleepless as he examines the bags under his eyes, fretting over the burnt orange of the gold deepening, digging into his skin, around his eyes. He will continue to sleep, but days will pass, and when he wakes he wonders if next time he will simply be unlucky and sleep forever.

If Dream uses a Totem of Undying it will shatter him. He will feel every bone shake themselves into dust and back again, a glimpse of what everyone eventually returns to. His spine will burn with pain, arcing upwards to the base of his skull, spreading outwards like a deep set rot that always goes unnoticed until it is far too late and the structure crumbles. His mask shatters, likely from the final strike that killed him, but maybe just from his fall to the ground, a person one moment and a corpse the next, until the Totem brings him back. Gold lines every crack in the porcelain of his mask, across the monochrome of the glaze burned into it, bisecting an eye, a smile, a face. The green of him becomes so much more vibrant, deadly, similar to prey animals that evolve into their bright colors to indicate they are poisonous, saying if you kill me, I take you down with me.

If Niki ever uses a Totem, it would burn. She would feel it burning, more than the all encompassing pain of whatever killed her. Bright, sparking pain would race down her body, through every nerve, every blood vessel, until it was all she knew for that brief suspended moment on the precipice between life and death. She would grit her teeth through the pain, eyes narrowed as she reeled back from the magical force, only to march onward in doing whatever was necessary to achieve her goal. Later she would be looking at her hands, washing off blood real or metaphorical, and see that instead of chipping nail polish in whatever color of her choice, instead her nails would be intact, a brilliant gold. Nails that would make her appear vain, still absorbed with one final thing, or simply clinging to it. Nails that would sharpen into what some might call claws, digging into the fine wooden handles of her weapons, scoring lines that would never go away, even if the nails would upon her death.

If Hannah ever uses a Totem of Undying it will react strangely to her innate magic. Plants die off, withering away, leaving just the roots, the basis of their whole survival, to lie in wait underground until the rain falls again and the sun shines again. Any of her wounds will bloom with roses, the flowers ragged, shaped like bloodstains, but every leaf and petal will be edged with gold. The greenery of her roses’ vines will brighten and soak up sunshine more than ever, revitalizing her until her heart aches with it, until she finally lets fate claim the life stolen from it.

If Puffy ever uses a Totem of Undying, she wouldn’t notice side effects at first, aside from the usual anguish and pain from having died. The likely conflicts she had thrown herself into out of duty would capture her attention anyway, away from examining herself for any lingering problems. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, not until she looked in the mirror and saw that all of her greying hairs from stress became gold, her mass of curls even heavier, no lock of hair without its reminder, its own thread of gold to weave into thick hair. Later, in a moment of true rest, when someone runs their hands through her hair, braiding it or simply trying to calm her, they would find that every golden thread burns and tries to tie itself around their hands, keeping them there, keeping them at her side where they could be safe.

If Antfrost or Fundy ever use a Totem, it settles on their skin like a weighted blanket, forcing their muscles to accommodate, forcing them to make room in their lives for the extra chance they stole. Later, when they rest, so much more tired with their aching bodies, they will curl up in the sunshine wherever they feel safest. When the sunlight catches just right, beige or burnt orange fur glimmers like a pelt of gold. Any breeze would be unable to rustle fur, their bodies motionless and unmovable as any statue, their breathing far shallower and subtler than ever before. If one wasn’t watching close enough, they’d assume there was a corpse just curled in the sunlight, begging for a final bit of warmth before letting go. They will start awake from nightmares with a hiss, and stretch out in the dying light to go pretend like they don’t feel that extra life weighing on them.

Phil only has one life to lose, and so he holds Totems close to his heart, always just one movement away from being clutched as the lifelines they are. When he’s killed holding one, wings splayed, feathers falling from the force of his death, mouth open and choking on last breaths, his death will hurt.  It will always hurt, the moment stretching through his lived centuries and snapping back into the present, so much life to flash before his eyes that they are rendered sightless and glassy, death clouding them greedily. Flashes of gold and emerald green dance on the sheen of inky feathers and glossy eyes as dead as a doll’s. When he lives again, his wings will no longer be the cape of shadows, the midnight extensions of self that they once were. His secondary feathers will be golden now, shining in the sun, always growing back that same shade. Those gilded feathers will just be another thing his murder of crows hoards, another shiny object, but to Phil it will be a permanent reminder of how he has always only had one life, and how fleeting it is.

If Wilbur got his hands on a Totem, he would never let it go. To die again and again and again, to suffer through the agony of an eternal listless limbo, to suffer again as he is replaced by a mockery of himself… he could not stand for it. So he never lets go of the Totem in hand, his thumb worrying over the facets of its emerald eyes when he thinks, nails breaking against the rigid golden effigy. There are many reasons he would die, several from his own actions, as it was before. If he did die, he would wake choking on blood and tears, hacking and wheezing and lacking all the grace and charm he once had. It wouldn’t be until he coughed once again into his hands that he would see his blood, no longer a dull red, now glimmering and golden. And he laughs, as he now resembles a god in all but the immortality, his blood turned to ichor in its molten sunlight, its deep dark shades of beauty and riches, and he keeps choking on his blood as the Totem works still to restore a body dead for the fourth time.

When Ranboo uses a Totem of Undying the magic will seep into his skin, counteracting strangely with his biology, trying to strengthen him, trying to mark him however it can. So the short black velvet of fur he received from enderman genetics will spread, the skin and fur stronger, in hopes of protecting him. It seeps like ink, a slow spread that burns as if trails of water settled on his skin. It hurts, and he hides for days, coming out with his green eye just a bit brighter, black crawling up the white side of his jaw like an outstretched hand. His own hand will reach out, and under the white skin on his forearm will be golden veins, burning with life stolen from a Totem. He forgets using Totems every time he does, the experience is so jarring and intense as it changes the fiber of his being, as with every use he appears more enderman than whatever else he is. One day, far in the future when he goes by another name, he will look in the mirror and see two emerald green eyes, his entire body the black void of fur his endermen kin have. 

Foolish is a being whose entire being had always been defined by death. Once, it was the carnage, the lives lost in droves, sent into Her embrace prematurely in their violent ends. Then Foolish changed and became a Totem of Undying himself, a god now more mortal than even he knew by resisting his domain. When he died the denial was almost too much to bear, the Egg trying to worm its way into his mind when it realized this weakness, a grief for what he lost. If he dies again, he will likely have a Totem in hand, maybe even one of his children, held close as he fears an end, selfishly cannibalizing the life force of one of his own in order to extend his last two lives. There will be no markings from the Totem. He is already one of them, eyes of gemstone and skin of metal, created and made of that space between life and death, the lull after a last heartbeat when the next is expected, the resting note in the song of life that he has conducted himself, has cut short himself, destroying all in his path without a single goal in mind in his times as a Totem of Death. There is no scar or blood or feathers or bruise to mark him, because he is a Totem. A Totem given sentience and life, given free will and thought, but at the end of the day a living doll, and the now lifeless, apathetically terrified look in Foolish’s emerald eyes is enough to show just what measures he took in order to survive another death.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Unsatisfied

doing this thing | day 5 - orgasm denial

I really took liberties with this one and went very off topic (yes I realize this is my own list) bc I was not feeling it. This is actually more like one that I cut from the list (oops!)

Jaskier's still restless as he makes his way back to their room at the inn. By now, Geralt will be asleep and for once, he's glad for it. The last thing he needs is for Geralt to see him like this and ask why. The pair of them have shared much on their journeys together, but this is not something Jaskier is particularly eager to share.

He slips into the room, stepping as carefully as he can and shutting the door quietly behind him. There's a sound from across the room and he stops in his tracks, waiting to see if Gerlt will wake before continuing. He shuffles across the floor toward the only bed and frowns at Geralt's form, taking up the majority of the space. There's nothing for it; he'll simply have to sleep on the floor tonight because he certainly can't sleep with Geralt when he's in this state.

At least if he's on his own, he can deal with his little problem without too much trouble and he won't have to suffer through the night like this. He manages to cross the room in the dark without stumbling or knocking into anything and he sits at the end of the bed, laying out his bedroom. On the bed above him, Geralt shifts and Jaskier freezes again, one hand shoved deep in his pack, searching.

He hears a grunt then the bed creaks and Jaskier shuts his eyes. He knows Geralt is awake now, knows he's looking for him but it doesn't matter if he sees him or not - he'll hear him soon enough, or smell him if he's very unlucky.

"Jaskier?"

Fuck. Or that.

"Go back to sleep Geralt, I didn't mean to wake you."

"What are you doing down there, aren't you coming to bed?"

"Er, no. I don't think so."

Geralt growls at him, low, impatient. "Why not?"

"I, er- I think it would be best if I don't."

"Jaskier," Geralt hisses through the dark. "I won't put up with you bitching all day tomorrow because you didn't sleep well because you slept on the floor."

Well. That's a lot of words at once for Geralt. Jaskier wants to climb into bed with him, would willingly join him any other night but tonight- Although he also doesn't want to be left behind in the morning. He's stuck, it seems, between a rock and a hard place. There's an irony there that he doesn't appreciate.

Reluctantly, Jaskier releases the bottle in his hand and rises to his feet. He doesn't bother to remove his clothes before climbing up over the foot of the bed and pressing himself against the wall. He'll appease Geralt for the time being and tomorrow, he'll just have to find time to slip away and take care of things without Geralt finding out. It should be easy enough, he's done it dozens of times before.

But, as always, Geralt can't let anything be easy for him.

"You're not getting changed?"

"No, I don't think so."

Geralt just grunts in response and Jaskier thinks he's finally free of scrutiny. He turns toward the wall and curls around himself, forcing down the feelings still plaguing him. It's fine; Geralt keeps his distance and Jaskier doesn't have to look at him (because that certainly won't help calm him), but he still can't sleep.

He shifts, rolling onto his stomach in the hopes that it will make it easier to sleep, but it doesn't. So he rolls onto his side. Also no good. But the next time he moves, he feels a hand on his hip and rolls his head back to find Geralt much closer than he was a moment ago.

"What's wrong?" he asks and Jaskier just shrugs.

"Can't sleep."

"Cold?" he asks and when Jaskier doesn' answer, he just shifts closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. Which is... sweet, honestly. And so out of character for Geralt that Jaskier can't bring himself to tell him no. He mumbles a soft thanks and presses his shoulders back as if to prove his thankfulness.

But Geralt's hand slips under the hem of his shirt - accidentally, he's sure - and his thumb brushing lightly against his skin. It's soft, much softer than he would expect from his companion and if he didn't know better, he'd say Geralt was fucking with him. But he does know Geralt better than that and he's already been warned about their early morning, so he's sure Geralt wouldn't intentionally keep him up.

So Jaskier withstands this assault that would regularly be more than welcome. Geralt's hand moves to his thigh and Jaskier has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning. Geralt is just tired, that's all it is, because sometimes when he's tired and feels safe, he lets his defences down. That's all. And Jaskier's body is just having a very unfortunate reaction to Geralt's trust. Hot breath dusts against the back of his neck and Jaskier shudders against him, his traitorous cock twitching where it's pressed against his trousers. The only thing he has to be thankful for now is that he kept his clothes on before climbing into bed.

Geralt slides closer, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck and Jaskier can't take anymore or he's going to lose his fucking mind. He's already keyed up beyond words and of course Geralt chooses tonight to become all touchy-feely at bedtime.

He hauls himself forward, pulling from Geralt's embrace and pulls himself into an upright position. He's hunched over, trying to steady his breathing when Geralt stirs next to him.

"I'm sorry, I just can't-"

"What's wrong?" Geralt asks, his voice fuzzy with sleep.

"I just have to go and take care of something," he mumbles. He's already moving, halfway across Geralt when strong hands come up to his thighs, pulling him down so he's straddling Geralt's hips. And the position doesn't go unnoticed. Jaskier's cock twitches immediately and he's sure Geralt must be able to feel how hard he is, though he remains placid as always.

"What's going on Jaskier? Why won't you just lie down and sleep?" Jaskier shifts to pull away but Geralt holds him down. Jaskier looks up and Geralt’s eyes meet his for a moment. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I-" he starts, immediately going for the quickest and most practical lie he can think up, but he meets Geralt's eyes again and his resolve drains at the sincerity there. Of course, now is the time Geralt decides to worry about him. "I had a rather unsatisfying night," he mumbles, hoping it will be enough. Geralt just looks at him expectantly and Jaskier sighs. "Do you mind if I-" he tips his head to the side and Geralt nods, releasing him.

Jaskier slides off of him, lying back on his side and tucking his knees up to keep Geralt from seeing just how badly he's affected.

"After my performance tonight a lovely lad invited me back to his room-" Geralt lifts an eyebrow at him impatiently but Jaskier just waves him off and continues. "Have you ever been with someone who likes to push your limits?"

"Get to the point, Jaskier, I've had enough of your exploits for a lifetime."

"Well, he just- we were-" Jaskier sighs and relents. "He was bringing me to the edge over and over without-" he glances up and finds Geralt watching him expectantly which considering the topic of conversation is a little overwhelming."Anyway he got me really worked up and then his brother came home and he kicked me out! Can you believe it?"

"Why didn't you just take care of it?" Geralt mumbles and his eyes are shut again.

"It wasn't that bad when I got back here, but then you just, y'know-" he doesn't dare risk calling it cuddling lest Geralt shy away from it and never try it again, but he doesn't know what to call it.

"Hmm."

"Thank you for your sympathy," Jaskier scoffs, turning back onto his other side to scowl at the wall.

"If you need to take care of things, I'm not going to stop you."

"What, right here? With you lying next to me? I don't think so."

"I've heard you dozens of other times, I don't see why it should matter." Jaskier splutters at the confession, but Geralt remains totally calm. "Jaskier, neither of us are going to sleep until you come, so just get on with it."

There's something about Geralt telling him to come that runs right through him and his cock gives a twitch of enthusiasm. Reluctantly Jaskier undoes his trousers and slips a hand inside. Having an audience shouldn't affect him the way it does; usually, he enjoys being watched, knowing that someone else is getting off watching him but Geralt is- well it just feels wrong. It shouldn't feel like he's taking advantage, but it does. Geralt doesn't know how he feels about him, doesn't know the things he thinks about him and touching himself while Geralt is right there just feels like an intrusion or something.

Jaskier is under no delusions, he knows exactly how he feels about Geralt and he knows that he shouldn't think about him the way that he does, but sometimes it's hard not to.

"I can't," he mumbles. It feels good to have a hand wrapped around him, but it's not worth the shame that creeps into his chest. He keeps thinking about Geralt hearing him, Geralt hearing him when he was thinking about him. "I can't do it with you watching."

"Why not?"

"I just... it's not right, Geralt, listening in on someone when they don't know."

"I didn't intend to listen. I was just listening to make sure you were alright."

"Oh."

"But you're so very loud."

"So why didn't you stop?"

"You're also very... captivating."

All of a sudden the air feels very dense and Jaskier struggles to catch his breath. "Geralt," he breathes, "are you telling me you liked listening to me jerk off?"

"I didn't dislike it."

"Oh. Is that why you- tonight?"

"No," Geralt says firmly. "We have to get an early start, we both need to get some sleep."

"Ah. Right. Maybe if you... helped? If you like listening you could just... talk to me? Tell me about those times?"

Geralt hesitates for a moment and then, "what should I say?"

Ah. Okay, so they're really doing this. "Tell me about the first time." Jaskier's heart hammers against his chest and he's not even sure he's breathing.

"I was hunting a fiend and you insisted on going off," Geralt huffs what sounds like a laugh and Jaskier relaxes a little. "I knew it was close so I didn't want you out of my sight but you were insistent, so I listened after you. I didn't want you getting hurt."

"When did you realize?"

"I'd smelled it on you before you left, so it didn't take much to piece together what you were doing."

Jaskier keeps his back turned as he snakes a hand down his stomach, slipping under the waist of his trousers. He shuts his eyes, focusing on the low rumble of Geralt's voice.

"What made you realize?"

"I heard swear under your breath and I heard you groan as you touched yourself. Something had you aroused already."

"Mm," Jaskier confirms, "I remember. What did you think?"

"Nothing, at first. I know I take you away from town more often than you're used to. I knew it was just something you needed to do."

"Geralt," he groans, "could you try and be just a tiny bit sexy?"

There's a huff of a laugh and then Geralt's breath against the back of his neck. Jaskier doesn't know when he moved closer, but it's certainly a step in the right direction.

"I found myself waiting for the next time. You always stink of lust so I was never sure when it would be. Then one night we were camped by the river and you said you were going to wash your clothes. I knew you weren't."

"You listened," Jaskier guesses, shutting his eyes. His cock twitches against his palm and he squeezes a little tighter. He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Geralt breathes against him.

"I listened. I liked the way you sounded. Breathless, wanting. I tried to picture what you'd look like."

"Oh," Jaskier gasps. His hips jerk forward and he stifles a groan into his pillow. "Did you-" he huffs, "did you like it?" He knows he shouldn't be so brazen, but his cock aches for more and Jaskier is brave and stupid at the best of times.

"Yes." Fuck. Jaskier groans and throws his head back, hitting Geralt's chest with a soft thud. He hadn't realized he was that close.

"Please," he whispers and he's not sure what he's asking for but then Geralt's palm slides around his forearm, wrapping gently around him before sliding down to his wrist. He doesn't linger long, but just as Jaskier thinks he's about to pull away, he slips his fingers between Jaskier's wrapping around his cock.

"Geralt."

"I thought about this," he breathes, pressing his nose against the base of his skull, "while I listened to you. Imagined it was me touching you, pulling those sounds from you."

"Should've come," Jaskier hums. Gera;t shifts against him, lips brushing against the shell of his ear and Jaskier can feel his breath, hot and damp against his skin.

"I did."

"Fuck, Geralt. Tell me. Please."

Geralt takes his hand, moves a little quicker against him and Jaskier struggles to focus on anything but the pressure around his cock, the unfamiliar fingers coiled around him.

"It gets me hard every time. I hear every word you say, I've heard you come whispering my name and I couldn't tune it out. I didn't want to. So when you'd slip away, I'd settle in."

"Mm, Geralt, please-" Jaskier's hips jerk forward and Geralt breathes against the side of his neck, dipping in to press a kiss under his ear. "Tell me."

"I'd bring myself off to the sound of you touching yourself. Still do, sometimes."

And oh, if that isn't sexy as hell. Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, shifts back against Geralt and he can feel his cock pressing against him. Geralt is hard and huge, pressed against his ass and when he shifts his hip, Jaskier lets out a low moan.

"Did you think about touching me?" he asks, "like this?"

"And other ways."

"Fuck, Geralt, show me."

The hand around his releases and for a split second, Jaskier thinks he's pushed too far. He doesn't always think before he speaks and with Geralt's hand wrapped around his cock, he can hardly be expected to think clearly. Behind him, Geralt shuffles and Jaskier's hips twitch.

After a moment, Geralt's hands return to his body curling around the hem of his shirt and tugging it up. Jaskier assists, squirming out of it; apparently, Geralt isn't done with him, after all. His trousers come next, shoved down toward the bottom of the bed and discarded, then Jaskier finds himself rolled onto his other side and Geralt wraps an arm around him, pulling him close. And Geralt is naked too, pressed right up against him.

Jaskier stifles a groan in his neck, pressing an experimental kiss against Geralt's skin. It earns him a soft hum in response and he pushes closer, breath stuttering as Geralt's cock slides against his own.

"Is this what you thought about?" he asks, "fucking me?"

"Mm," Geralt tips his head up, pressing his lips against Jaskier's and Jaskier groans against him, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Geralt deepens the kiss, sliding a hand down his back and cupping his ass to guide the roll of his hips. He moans softly against him and Jaskier commits the sound to memory, delighting in the feeling of it against his lips. He hooks a knee over Geralt's hip, pulling himself forward and the gentle kiss quickly devolves into quick, jolting movements and panted groans. Pleasure builds inside him and Jaskier knows this can't last forever but fuck if he doesn't want it to.

"I want you," he mumbles, mouthing at Geralt's jaw, "all the time. Think about you- off in the forest, down by the river. Tonight, in another man's bed I was still thinking about you."

"Next time stay," Geralt breathes. He slips a hand around them both, stroking them both as well as he can with the uneven thrust of their hips. "I won't leave you wanting."

"Never doubted you for a second." Jaskier's breath catches as Geralt's thumb slips up over the head of his cock and he kisses him again, nipping at his bottom lip.

"Come for me, Jaskier." The words are whispered against his ear and Jaskier can feel his entire body melt into him, all resistance gone as though there was any to begin with. He lets Geralt tug him forward, not an inch of space between them and Jaskier rocks against him, hips stuttering as Geralt's hand splays over his lower back, keeping him near.

He lets out a sharp moan, jerking forward sharply and as Geralt's hand squeezes around him, he comes. Geralt catches his lips in a deep kiss, rolling him onto his back and fitting himself against him.

Jaskier is barely aware beyond the blood rushing in his ears, but he can feel Geralt moving against him, hear the soft groans against his lips and he drowns in it. His whole body is alight and when Geralt rocks against him it's almost too sensitive. He wraps his arms around him, letting his fingers explore the planes of his back now that he's not too distracted to enjoy it. Geralt shudders apart in his arms, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck as he comes and then he's still against him, but for his lips pressing against Jaskier's skin, slow and lazy.

Jaskier slumps, exhausted, but he's not quite ready to let Geralt go. He tries once, to lifts himself from Jaskier's chest, but Jaskier is feeling especially affectionate, post-orgasm and just slips one hand up into Geralt's hair, massaging his head softly.

"Don't you want to get cleaned up?"

"Mm," Jaskier hums, "I think we should sleep."

"I'll come back," Geralt promises, pressing up from the mattress again. Jaskier pouts but really he should have known Geralt would know him so well. He lets him go and Geralt offers a soft smile before slipping from the bed.

"Don't be long," Jaskier mutters, already tugging his pillow back under his head, "don’t forget, we have to leave early."

[nikkywrites]

The Superhero Next Door // Part One

Summary: Starla moves in with her sister. Things get better. Then she notices her new neighbor and not in a good way.

Based off this prompt/idea by @caffeinewitchcraft

This one has been reworked a bit. Still the same story though, just fixed how Starla notices Duke, basically. That’s the biggest change.

*****

"That would be a literal blessing," her sister says, sighing into the phone with hope that pierces through the static of low reception.

"Well," Starla sighs, hand on her hip, looking at the stacked boxes in her apartment, artfully ignoring the eviction notice laying on the kitchen counter. "I kind of don't have a place to live past Thursday, so I don't have much of a choice."

"Well, you're always welcome to come take the guest room."

Starla rubs the bridge of her nose. "I can't afford any rent, though."

"You don't need to pay rent, " Melissa insists, words garbled by the piercing sound of a crying baby. There's some rustling, sound muffled as she deals with the crying newborn. "You're my sister,” she continues, voice softer as she soothes the baby, practically cooing. "It's no problem and you'd be doing me a huge favor anyways, with the kids."

"Okay," Starla says, nodding to herself, like she has options and a choice. "Let's do it."

So she moves in.

It’s what’s best for both them, what with Starla’s apartment block being torn down to place a strip mall, and with Melissa having two new babies that she was raising solo. This was better for both of them, and it would help restore their bond that had been neglected since they had both reached adulthood and thrown themselves into work and romance.

This was good.

Starla moves in easily, happy to be closer to her sister and niece and nephew, but missing the busyness of city life.

She’s a babysitter now. Glorified, with her lack of rent, and definitely overpaid, but still a babysitter.

It’s exhausting, so maybe not so much overpaid or glorified. Maybe she had underestimated the amount of work and attention two babies took.

Watching one baby is difficult, but two? It’s the only thing that fills her day, and it does a fantastic job of doing so. It takes time, and after only a few days, she’s become adept at holding them both at once and caring for both of their needs.

She’s becoming a good aunt, she thinks. A solid second parent to the tiny babies who will never meet the man tied to them by blood. It’s hard, but she loves them and that makes it worth it.

It doesn’t take long for her to familiarize herself with the neighbors. 

Casey from down the block walks her two Shepherd mixes twice a day every day. Mat from across the street brings his sons to the park three days a week. Leslie jogs at six in the morning before work. Jake brought her a welcoming tin of muffins when he noticed that she’d moved in, a joint gift from him and his wife. Kay from the end of the road hosts a weekly hang out that she kindly sent her an invitation to alongside a welcome note.

None of them are who catches her attention, though. It’s Duke, who is her new direct neighbor who catches her eye. She’s never bumped into him or anything, but she’s acutely aware of his existence.

She’s-- she doesn’t mean to spy, but she’s sure that he’s no normal neighbor.

She’s fairly convinced that he’s a Super, actually.

No one in the neighborhood suspects, no idle gossip whispered when she questioned about the new neighbor who hasn’t bothered (or noticed) that someone new has moved into the house next door. He’s fairly secluded among everyone.

He doesn’t go to Kay’s hangouts. He’s just home to sleep, everyone says. He’s not a social guy. He does, though, travel into the city pretty often for hours at a time. Some of it is on a schedule.

Some of it is not.

Starla has... perhaps checked the news when he does, to see how often it lines up with city Super sightings, but it doesn’t enough for obvious eyebrows to be raised. But she knows that Supers don’t always go out in suits when they’re working, so it’s an iffy measurement from the start.

It doesn’t damn or clear him.

Not much would. But she’d find what she had to. If he was low-level, she’d be fine with it. It was the high tiers who couldn’t escape from their work. Who’s work followed them after they shrugged off the suit and the mask and the name.

It was fine if he wasn’t dangerous. She wasn’t planning on outing him. She just needed to know if he was safe.

After she learned that, she’d leave him be.

It’s his fault for being obvious. He comes home bruised and battered from an office job. He has odd hours. He’s left for the city at night a time or two, speeding out of his driveway in a hurry. No one has ever been in his house. No one has said anything more then hello or good morning to him. He was a ghost. A picture of what it looked like when someone was trying to be invisible.

It was suspicious. It had her gut rolling in unease.

Scones are how she decides to start. it’s polite to bake goods for neighbors and scones are bland enough he probably won’t hate them. It’ll open the door of her getting closer.

The twins are napping when she gets the chance to start throwing the batch together. She hopes they sleep for the hour or so it’ll take for her to throw it in the oven because she’s starting it from scratch. They don’t, of course, or more specifically, Cassie doesn’t.

She abandons the bowl of unmixed powders with liquid poured over the top like a faulty volcano to scoop up the crying baby.  “Hey baby,” she coos, swiping a finger over a soft, velvet cheek as she bounces softly. “Whatcha crying for, huh?”

She settles fairly quickly, her large eyes drifting down. Carefully, Starla sets her back into the rocker and returns to baking, sacrificing time for silence. 

They sleep through the rest of mixing and shaping into triangle-esque blobs. It’s after she sets the timer that they wake again, and she’s quick to go over and give them another feeding, and a diaper change for Benjamin.

Caring for them both had seemed impossible, at the beginning, but now it was as easy as breathing.

Her life is turning around, rising from the bland routine it had fallen into. A brightening comet that lights her night sky.

Things were much less stressful now. She enjoyed her day to day, which she didn’t before. She’d loved the city, but it hadn’t been kind to her and the eviction notice was just the straw that broke her. That sent her away. The suburbs were nice, too, though, and she was close enough to the city to be satisfied.

It was safer, too.

Or, it was statistically. She’d never suspected her apartment floormates or coworkers to be Supers. Now she was determined her neighbor was one. Now she was worried about it.

Back at her apartment, a ripped-up street was just another Thursday. Rubble blocking a road was normal. It hadn’t disturbed her too much. Life was boring.

It wasn’t now. And not just because of the twins. She had a mystery, too.

She likes mysteries. Puzzles and games and books. She likes to guess who the villain is, in thriller stories and in mystery books. She guesses right sometimes and she doesn’t on others, but she likes attempting. At trying to slot together all the little clues and dissecting the truth from a heap of mostly inconsequential evidence.

As a kid, she’d wanted to be a police officer. Her dad had watched a lot of crime shows and she’d liked watching them fit pieces together to bring justice. It looked fun, when it was on TV.

Then she grew up. She learned that police work was a lot more boring and restricting than the shows made it out to be. Cops were just second-rate overlooked heroes. They got all the paperwork. None of the glory. They did the stakeouts and the waiting. All of the parts that were a slog. Heroes got the benefits. Her fire had been snuffed out. but she still loved the idea of it.

She still likes solving mysteries. And even if she didn’t-- she doesn’t like the idea of someone dangerous living next to her family. 

What if a fight followed him home and a Super battle broke out? If Supers started fighting that close, there would be nothing she could do.

It was best she figured out what kind of Super her new neighbor was . If she was lucky, he was just a nonpowered, try hard vigilante. Which was kind of illegal, but not particularly dangerous. But that was if she was lucky. If she was unlucky, then they were in danger just because of their proximity to him.

Living in the city, she’d seen too many new reports of mangled office buildings, smoking apartment buildings, has seen too much of the wreckage fighting leaves behind on the streets and the buildings and the people. It had so much impact on people. It was a very destructive thing to happen.

There was a reason why most of city budget goes to upkeep and repair. Super battles break everything and because they’re doing good, they don’t face punishment.

Starla is pretty indifferent to Supers. She knows that they’re expensive and destructive. They’re good too. Now she just doesn’t want that near her sister and the babies.

She was going to figure out just how much danger they were in. Exactly how much.

She was going to figure out Duke’s secret identity.

*****

Done! This one was a struggle to do for some reason. I think it’s a tad better now, though.

[combat-wombatus]

Nightmare

Pairing: Hawks (Takami Keigo) x gn!reader

Genre: angst, fluffy ending

Warnings: choking (at the beginning), implied abuse, unintended physical assault?

WC: 1.5k

Summary: Hawks has a nightmare and you comfort him.

(A/N): not me skipping out on school homework again to write this-

anyways a lovely anon requested “reader comforting Hawks after a nightmare” and said something about Hawks’s father being a convicted villain. now, i’m not a manga reader so i don’t exactly know what’s happening at this point, so i did my own little take on it. u didn’t include the gender of the reader in ur request so i did my best to make it gender neutral! hope you enjoy, anon! have a lovely day ❤️  (and if u don’t like this take on it u can always request something else or a diff version of this!! i don’t mind at all! 😘  )

You woke up suddenly, the feeling of a hand wrapped around your throat making it impossible to breathe. Gasping for air, you struggled uselessly against the strong hand holding you captive.

“K-Keigo,” you rasped out, hands clawing desperately at the fingers constricting your airway. “L-let go, K-Keigo. I-it’s,” you coughed, spluttering. “It’s me.” You tried to keep a calm mind, but your vision was getting hazier by the moment, your thrashing slowing, running out of energy.

Finally, you stop struggling. Maybe he’d let go if he believed that you, or whichever entity you replaced in his head, was dead. He snarled once, then his grip around your neck slowly loosened. You sucked in air greedily, gulp after gulp, as if you’d never breathe again.

Once you had calmed yourself down, you slowly reached up to cup your boyfriend’s face with your hands, cradling it like he was the most delicate thing in the world.

“Baby,” you whispered, the choking having taken its toll on your voice. “Keigo, honey, wake up. You’re having another nightmare.”

Maybe calling him by his first name in a circumstance like this wasn’t the best idea. He immediately snatched both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. You winced at the sudden movement, and you could feel your muscles stretching further than they were meant to.

“Baby,” you tried again. “Hawks.”

His body went still when you called him that. His breath hitched, and his grip on your wrist loosened ever so slightly.

Slowly, you moved your wrists apart, then moved in to wrap your boyfriend in a bear hug. You rubbed his back soothingly, careful to avoid touching his wings, and murmured softly into his neck.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. You’re just having another nightmare.”

Slowly, he shifted away from you. Blinking groggily into your eyes, he tried to recollect himself. You managed a small smile of relief, which disappeared quickly as soon as you saw his eyes latch onto your bruised neck.

“Babe,” his voice was small, almost as if he was scared this was real. “Babe, did I do that to you?” His voice cracked.

Clearing your throat to try and get rid of the excess scratchiness that remained, you replied as calmly as you could. “Yeah babe, but it’s okay, you were just having another nightmare. You didn’t really hurt me, see?” You tried to take his hand and place it on your neck to prove to him that you weren’t hurt, but he flinched away at your touch. You blinked back tears, trying not to let them fall. Why was this so hard?

You pushed back the covers to your bed and padded into the kitchen. Opening the cabinets, you looked for the hot cocoa mix that was perpetually in stock at your boyfriend’s apartment. He loved hot cocoa, and although chamomile was usually the “calming” tea, you found that cocoa had a much better effect on Keigo.

Quickly brewing two cups, you added some marshmallows and carried them back into the bedroom. Sitting down on the bed next to Keigo, you nudged him lightly with your elbow.

“Drink.” You held out a cup to him.

Wordlessly, he reached out and took the cup from you. He took careful measured sips, never once looking at you. You focused your eyes on your own cup instead and winced when you took your first sip. You hadn’t expected it to be so painful to swallow. Apparently, your throat muscles were still sore. Forcing yourself to take sips of the drink normally so that he wouldn’t catch on and ask what was wrong, you sat in silence, waiting until he was ready to talk.

Keigo moved to speak, but words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He’d hurt you. Badly. If you hadn’t managed to think quickly enough to play dead, and then to realize that calling him by his hero name would be better than calling him by his given name, who knows what would’ve happened? Would he have killed you?

The sounds that came out of his mouth were more of a choked sob than anything else. Why? Why did this happen? He’d stopped having nightmares about his childhood years ago. Why now? He couldn’t understand it. Sleeping together with you in the same bed should have brought warmth and comfort. Peace. The opposite of what had transpired earlier.

He curled and unfurled his wings repeatedly, his go-to stress reliever. Taking another big gulp of his drink, he tried to clear his mind.

“Babe?” You asked quietly, not wanting to disturb him. “Babe, I’m okay. Look, I’m right here,” you tried to assure him that he didn’t really hurt you. Keigo didn’t respond. Suddenly, he stood up and marched out of the bedroom.

Keigo couldn’t think. He just couldn’t process it. He set his cup down on the kitchen counter, then quickly grabbed his pants, a shirt, and his warm flying jacket. He threw on his goggles and headphones faster than he’d ever done before, pressed a button to open the living room window, and hopped out.

You were still sitting quietly on the bed, hands wrapped around your favorite mug. Tears were trickling down your eyes, but still, you sat in silence. Why couldn’t he open up? Why couldn’t he tell you what was wrong, so you could help him? You didn’t think that you had ever felt so helpless before, the aching in your chest had never been as painful. You missed him. You wanted to hold him, tell him that everything would be okay, but he hadn’t let you.

Setting down your mug on the nightstand, you slid open the drawer. You took out a photo album Keigo had given you for your first anniversary. You flipped through it slowly, each picture reminding you of a happy memory.

The picture that your friend secretly took the first time he took you out on a date.

The two of you visiting the botanical gardens, him carrying you, flying right above the water lily pond.

A picture of him greeting a small fan of his, arms wrapped around the little boy’s body, beaming into the camera.

The time that you went to the animal shelter and adopted a pet kitty.

The picture of you lying back on a picnic blanket in a field of wildflowers, hands behind your head, gazing up at the stars.

You hugged the album close to your chest, convinced that you could help him. You weren’t willing to give up on this relationship, and you knew that he wouldn’t let it go without a fight either. Slowly, grogginess seeped in and you fell asleep, tear tracks staining your cheeks, still cradling the photo album in your arms.

That was how Keigo found you, snoring slightly into your pillow, curled up on your side. He’d flown around the prefecture, music rattling his bones, savoring the cool night air on his face. He circled the theater, the botanical gardens, and the meadows. He’d even flown up a mountain and stood on its peak. Surveying the city laid out before him, he’d realized that in this entire city of 10 million people, the only one he’d formed a true connection with, the only one he could truly call a friend, was you. He’d hurt his only friend, but selfish as it was, he wasn’t willing to let you go.

You woke up to the sound of footsteps by the bed. Blearily, you blinked your eyes, trying to rid your vision of the fuzziness that took over, and stared up at your boyfriend. He had his hands tucked in his pockets, looking wary, yet alive. Gingerly, he sat down beside you on the bed.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you responded in a sleepy tone.

His gaze shifted towards your neck, where bruises in the shape of his hand littered your skin. He lifted a hand cautiously and gently rubbed your throat with his thumb.

“Does it hurt?” He whispered, looking ashamed of himself. “Please tell me the truth.”

“Only a little,” you begrudgingly admitted, then moved to place your hand on top of his.

He swallowed, clearly upset at his actions.

“You weren’t in control of yourself, Keigo,” you said quietly. “You were having a nightmare. It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispered harshly. “I wasn’t in control of myself. I couldn’t stop myself. What if it happens again? What then, (Y/N)? What if we’re unlucky, and I don’t wake up in time?”

“It won’t happen again,” you reply sternly. “Because you’re going to talk to me about that nightmare you had and we’re going to work through it. If we can’t, then I’ll take you to see a therapist. We’re going to work this out, Keigo.”

He inhaled sharply, then took his other hand and wrapped you in a hug.

“You’re right, babe. We’re going to get through this together,” he murmured, chin resting atop of your head.

You smiled softly against his shoulder, knowing that it was the truth.

Masterlist

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Kitten

No judgement! It’s not that bad of a kink anyways? I’ve written for...many things since starting tumblr blogs, so you’re fine. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the scenario, it’s the best I could come up with, so feel free to come scream at me if you like it!

Hope you enjoy it!

🥃 AO3 🥃 || ✉️My Askbox✉️ || ����Discord💬

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

.

 Hitoshi raised an eyebrow silently as he stepped into the house that he shared with you, your delectably sweet scent invading his senses almost immediately; hitting him like a sledgehammer and alerting him to the fact that your heat had started early.

 He should have expected it in all honesty, even though he had taken an early day so that he could come home to be there for you when it started; but no, his adorable little Omega simply had to go into an early heat.

 “Kitten, I’m home” Hitoshi called out to you, scanning the house for your presence as he shut the front door, looking for any sign at all of his needy girlfriend; or even her nest. Either one would be fine, so long as he knew where you were.

 Hitoshi made his way through the house slowly, following after your scent as best he could since it was coming from everywhere; coming to a stop when he reached the doorway to your shared bedroom. He wasn’t surprised to find the literal mountain of blankets and pillows on the bed, nor was he even mildly shocked to see more than a few of his favourite clothes stuffed into your nest; anything with his scent, you seemed to have grabbed and he would be lying if he ever said that the mere sight of it didn’t have his cock throbbing in anticipation of what was soon to come. An Omega in heat; sometimes he forgot how lucky he truly was.

 .

 “Kitten, wake up.”

 .

 You whined out softly in protest at the familiar voice demanding you to be awake, instead further burying your face into the soft pillows that made up a majority of your nest; it had taken you a horrific amount of time just to fall asleep, you didn’t appreciate being dragged away from that blissful slumber.

 Especially with the dreams that you had been thoroughly enjoying; leave it to your heat to induce some of the best wet dreams that you had ever had.

 “I won’t say it again Kitten.” You groaned at the deep rumble that sounded out from behind you, a yelp spilling free from your lips when something slapped against your arse unforgivingly; forcing you into a painfully awake state, something you wouldn’t be able to get out of again without the help of your Alpha soothing your heat.

 “There…was that so hard, beautiful?” Hitoshi chuckled faintly as you made your way out of your nest, shooting him an unhappy glare while one of your hands rubbed at the still-stinging flesh of your butt; as much as you loved it when he decided to spank you, it wasn’t something you enjoyed as a wake-up call.

 “Okay, I’m sorry. Maybe it was a little hard…but I was under the impression that you liked it that way” He smiled faintly as he moved to pin you down on the bed on your stomach, making sure that you were somewhat in your nest while grinding his painful erection up against you firmly; making you gasp out in a pleasant kind of surprise. You could almost forgive him for the rude awakening at this point.

 “I…I do like it” You mumbled out softly, mewling when Hitoshi started to rut up against your dripping folds firmly, your slick spreading over the front of his pants within seconds; coating what you hoped wasn’t his hero outfit in a thick amount of your juices. If he had been silly enough to wear his pro-hero costume home, then he was going to smell like an Omega in heat for a long time to come; not the best idea when he was a pro-hero that fought against a surprising number of Alpha villains.

 “Do you also like the feel of my dick up against you? Because it certainly smells like you do Kitten…feels like it too. You’re nice and wet, ready for daddy’s cock. Aren’t you?” Hitoshi questioned as he bit along the sensitive skin of your neck, biting over your bonding mark while his hands moved along your arms slowly; pinning them down to the bed so that you couldn’t move until he wanted you to.

 “If I say yes…will you knot me?” You bit your lip as you spoke softly, turning your head as best you could to look back at the Alpha you called your own; Hitoshi didn’t seem to be teasing you like normal, he was being far more direct and it made you wonder if his rut was due soon. Either that, or your heat had induced it early, which had happened on previous occasions; so, it wasn’t an impossible theory.

 “Oh? You don’t sound very interested Kitten, maybe you don’t deserve my knot” He smiled devilishly as he spoke quietly, releasing his hold on you so that he could move away to strip himself of his civilian clothes; annoyed at how they clung to him, it was almost suffocating.

 You didn’t dare move though, well aware that he wanted you to remain as you were; the perfect position for you to be in and a favourite of his, it allowed him to lose himself to his instincts better than any other position. A fact that you weren’t going to complain about.

 “But daddy…” You trailed off, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment when Hitoshi looked at you with a carnal hunger in his eyes; a sign that his rut was most definitely in effect and that you had whined out the perfect phrase to catch his attention. Even if it was by accident.

 “Daddy, please? I’m so empty right now…I need a knot, I need your knot daddy, please? Please knot me?” You whimpered out your demand softly, wiggling your hips invitingly for the hungry Alpha as he made his way back onto the bed, settling himself behind you with the tip of his aching cock rubbing up against your folds.

 “You need a knot? My knot? Are you sure about that kitten?” He narrowed his eyes as he spoke, leaning over you to bite at the scent gland behind your ear, carefully scenting you as his Omega while grinding his erection up against you roughly; pulling soft, needy gasps from your lips. His favourite sound.

 “Because, to me, it sounds like you just want something to fill you…and that could be anyone’s knot. Isn’t that right Kitten?” He growled out the question quietly, his hands moving to your own and holding them against the mattress firmly; refusing to allow you the opportunity to move from your current position.

 “No! No daddy, that isn’t…your knot is the only one that I need!” You whined out loudly, biting your lip as you tried your best not to moan from his rough treatment; you knew that it would only anger him more if you moaned now. You needed to make sure that he was satisfied that his knot was the only one that could help you with the heat that was bothering you currently.

 “Really? Alright…but you better not be lying to me Kitten” He warned you with a low growl, biting down on your scent gland firmly while thrusting his hips forwards and burying himself deep inside of your more than welcoming body; his low groan making you mewl out in a mix of pleasure and pride, knowing that you were the reason he was groaning.

 “Really, I promise. Your knot is the only one that makes me feel this good daddy” You moaned out softly, burying your face into the mattress below while his hips began to move at a harsh pace; each thrust pushing his thick knot up against your folds teasingly. Apparently, he didn’t want to fill you up just yet, not until the very end; usually he would fuck you knot and all until he could no longer remove it from your body, but today seemed to be different.

 “I guess you’ve earnt this then Kitten” Hitoshi paused, growling out in pleasure as he continued to fuck you senseless, his grip on your hands tightening whenever your walls clenched down around his throbbing cock.

 You couldn’t believe how good it felt to have him fuck you like this, even if it had been a while since the last time you two got the chance to be so intimate with one another. Work had taken up a majority of his time, but even so, it felt different than usual; more satisfying.

 “Such a good Omega…look at how well you’re taking my cock” You mewled at his soft praise, moaning out his name and grinding your hips back against his own; though your moans soon transformed into wordless whimpers and whines, your mind losing its ability to form solid sentences, or even words due to the pleasure that was currently overwhelming you.

 .

 “That’s it, take daddy’s cock. Just like that Kitten…it’s like you were made for my dick!”

 .

 You whimpered out into the mattress with each savage thrust of Hitoshi’s hips, unable to properly describe the way he filled you up so perfectly; instead, only able to make broken sounds that would spur on his movements. You had been so unlucky today with your heat starting the moment Hitoshi had left for work, it had meant you spent the whole day trying to bear with the heat alone; but it was also because of that, that having him fuck you felt so good.

 Easily satisfying all of the cravings that had built up during the day, even the ones that had formed in your dreams.

 “You feel that Kitten?” Hitoshi’s voice cut through your thoughts as he pushed deeper inside of you, grinding up against you from behind and allowing you to feel the way his knot had begun to swell up; signalling his quickly approaching release and leaving you to whimper out at his cruel actions, teasing you with such a thick, pulsing knot.

 “That’s what you’re doing to me. I’ve barely been home ten minutes and I’m already about to knot you for the first time today, I’m aching for you Kitten and I hope you can keep up with me” He growled out in pleasure, mere moments before burying his knot into you, pushing it as deep as he possibly could; filling you with his hot, thick seed.

 The overwhelming sense of being full pushed you over the edge in an instant, ripping his name from your lips in the form of a needy scream while your own orgasm rocked through your body, making your toes curl as you trembled beneath him from the intensity of it.

 “Fuck…you took it so well Kitten, you took my knot like a good little Omega. Good girl.”

[sinkix]

Haikyuu!!│Obsessive/Yandere HC’s │

Warning - Contains dark themes, mentions of emotional and physical abuse & sexually suggestive/explicit (18+) content, reader’s discretion is advised.

Characters - Hinata, Kuroo, Daichi, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Oikawa, Bokuto, Tendou & Kageyama.

Important Note: This is in no way romanticising or normalising toxic/abusive behaviour, you should not do as such as this is incredibly dangerous and unhealthy. If you identify any of these in your own relationships please seek help from a member of authority, counsellor or someone who can remove you from and aid in your recovery from the situation. This is a great contrast from all my other work on here so please read with caution. Stay safe <3

Hinata - The Hell-bent Visionary

Danger level: 6.5/10

So you’ve caught the eye of Karasuno’s ray of sunshine?

Bask in it’s warmth while you can, for the sun sets and leaves a chilling dark in it’s wake.

When he becomes focused on something, it’s hard to break the dedication he has. It’s unyielding, firm and persistent. Once you light a fire in him, it’s near impossible to put out.

And you didn’t just spark a flame, you formed a whole inferno.

Blowing up your phone with texts, calls and the tapping of rocks against your bedroom’s glass from late night visits to your doorstep. Greeted with the sickening scent of blood-red roses filling your nose at a reminder of how firmly he has you in his hold that will never falter. The lingering scratch marks adorning the window panes that you could have sworn were not there the night before.

 He can’t get enough of you, and the more time he spends with you, the more addictive your presence becomes.

He’s hooked, reaching the point of rivalling his sporting passion.

He learns to balance the two equally, and any second that isn’t spent practising, he is by your side or doing everything in his power to be.

It’s tunnel vision. All he sees is you, and the ball, nothing else matters. Relentlessly chasing for both long after his lungs tire and legs give out.

 He is a dark, unwavering force of nature, itching to monopolise you and eradicate any threat on what belongs to him. Yet around everyone else, he's a bundle of lovable sunshine who wouldn't dare hurt a fly, and while he doesn't show an outright aggressive nature, you know there's something sinister lurking underneath that might one day snap. 

It’s his stare that haunts you the most.

That ominous, chilling stare which pierces through your heart and impales it on a stick, out on display for him to marvel at in all it’s vulnerable beauty. The level of intensity and sheer devotion glinting in his eyes is nothing short of haunting.

Luckily for you, Hinata will not cause physical harm, but it’s his presence and ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ nature which will slowly but surely chip away at you until your sanity is reduced to dust. The worst part? Since he is loved by everyone, no one sees the twisted side you do, and as a result left permanently in a state of self-doubt and second guessing. Your mind will eventually spiral into a descent to madness until your right where he wants you.

Be careful, for even the sun’s light burns out eventually. And when it does, you’ll be swallowed by the darkness.

Kuroo - The Devil’s Reciprocal

Danger level: 9/10

Ahhh, the bad boy who smells of cigarettes and sex, the one who lurks in bars long after midnight eyeing up his prey. This man gives Satan a run for his money. I hope you’re prepared. What did you do to catch his eye, anyway? 

Whatever it was, it’s doomed you to an eternity in hell on earth.

Or heaven, if you’re a glass half full kind of person.

Kuroo drew you in like a moth to a flame, you knew he had no glinting halo, but that was his appeal.

 He was the incarnation of everything your parents warned you about, and you couldn’t get enough of it. 

Hell, you still can’t. But that doesn’t minimise the damage done to you every second he turns the light on, reeling you in once again, further and further until there’s no escape, utterly blinded by his deceiving tactics.

He has many admirers, you know. So in his eyes he feels you should be privileged to be given so much of his attention, that once received would leave any sane person running.

Unfortunately, you don’t seem to be sane enough, and he recognises this. He knows he’s got you hooked on his every word, dragging out the syllables like a lullaby that leave you entranced and begging for more.

 What can I say? The man has a way with words, and you’re totally enthralled by every sentence. 

Kuroo recklessly waves his charm like a gun, never a moment of hesitation to utilise it in order to get what he wants. 

And he always gets what he wants. 

It’s so dangerous it will leave you down on your knees in an act of submission and prepared to do anything to please him. The tip of the pistol aimed at your temple as if daring your defiance.

He revels in seeing that doe-eyed expression, fully aware of how much control he holds over every cell in your body. All of them scream out for him, for Kuroo. To kiss you, touch you and whisper sweet-nothings into your ear that linger with his hot breath scathing your neck, burning his scent into your memory until it’s one you’ll never forget. 

With all that temptation comes  consequence though, because once you give in, you’ll face the sadists horns that lurk underneath. 

Intertwining your bodies and tracing a switchblade across your jugular, he’ll stretch his lips into a wide, cunning grin, slamming into you and rutting his hips until they connect with yours. Throwing your head back in ecstasy, your whine will be stifled and cut short by the piercing slit of a blade shallowly opening the skin of your throat, the sharp sting lingering as his tongue deepens the incision with delight.

He is incredibly possessive, so anyone he deems a threat will be mercilessly eradicated, soon to be forgotten though. He will never allow your thoughts to be consumed by anything but him. 

Grinding his body against yours, the husky murmuring of pillow talk he is all too skilled at will leaves your knees trembling and buckling before him, with the one question he will only ever accept one answer to.

“Tell me sweetheart, who do you belong to...?”

Shuffling the cards and dragging cigar smoke across his lips, he’ll sip that glass of gin snidely and lock you in place with his smouldering gaze. Forever a reminder there’s no escape from his enslaving curse.

Daichi - The Despotic Protector

Danger level: 6/10

Karasuno’s father figure and reliable captain rolled into one. I hope you’re prepared for a lifetime of suffocation, because he’s never letting you go.

He takes on an almost a parental role in the relationship, and a toxic one.

Controlling, overbearing and monitoring your every move. He will never allow you to do anything without his permission out of fear for your safety.

I mean, what if something happens to you while you’re not within his peripherals? 

That’s a thought he simply couldn’t bear.

He’ll lock you in the confines of his home if he has to. But don’t get mad sweetheart, it’s because he cares for you.

Soon enough Daichi will have isolated you from the world, never seeing the shining of sunlight unless your arm is looped around his in a crushing hold. 

Friends? You can forget them, he made sure to steer you far, far away from those. He just can’t risk them laying a finger on you or putting you in harms way, he would never forgive them.

Daichi desperately tries to convince you he has your best interests at heart, and unluckily for you, you fall right into his trap.

Your whole life is consumed by him, and only him. Watching the clock tick by aimlessly until you hear his footsteps up the driveway, scurrying to the door to greet him like an obedient dog upon his arrival.

Pulling you into a loving hug that threatens to squeeze the life out of you, you can’t help but let your mind roam and ponder the question lurking at the back of your thoughts.

Has he ever killed with these hands?

They seem too crushing. Like a brute, inhuman force. You can picture his fingers wrapped around someone’s throat and draining them of oxygen almost too easily.

Little did you know, your hypothesis was painfully accurate. 

An old childhood friend of yours, currently 6 feet under in the yard. Your bare feet trampling over his grave and none the wiser every time he allows you to set foot in the garden.

You’ll never know, though. It’s not like you can check your phone without his permission anyway, he’s already blocked their contact.

Days, weeks, months pass by of his constant monitoring and controlling behaviour. The CCTV’s scattered in every corner of the house, the social deprivation and loneliness that creeps in every time he’s not there as you roam the barren household, the purple finger marks roping your wrists from when he kept you in a paralysing grip,daring your disobedience.

and you can’t help but wonder,

Maybe the person you needed protecting from was him.

Tsukishima - The Mendacious Manipulator

Danger level: 8.5/10

How unlucky you are to be paired with this mentally destroying sadist. 

At first Tsukishima’s wit, sarcasm and clever quips were what allured you, never did you think they would be used against you. Wielded like a weapon with a blade sharp enough to slice you in two.

And I’m warning you, every cut hurts.

There’s no escaping from it, a string of degrading remarks whispered cruelly in your ear while holding hands in public, appearing to be a cute and affectionate couple, but a sinister secret lurks underneath that only you know of.

He’ll treat you like a dog, expecting you to be at his every beck and call, serving on your knees with a painted smile that’s woefully forced on with every ounce of strength you have left.

You are his puppet, his useless little play thing that he makes painfully aware of how disposable they truly are.

And don’t take him for a fool, he will discard you if he sees fit.

Unmerciful, cruel, snide, are the some of many words that can describe Tsukishima, and as you’ll soon find out none of them are pleasant.

He will craftily make you open up to him. Revealing your deepest insecurities,traumas and troubles then sheath it like a sword to your neck, holding you hostage to your own weaknesses in order to gain that empowering sense of control he oh-so revels in. Endlessly striving to achieve his selfish, favourable outcome. 

This Yandere is one of most intelligent of the bunch, and unfortunately for you, does not use his intelligence for charitable or good-natured purposes.

He knows exactly what to say to leave you curled up in a ball, tears streaming and wracked in emotional agony as you plead for forgiveness on something that isn’t even your fault. He knows this, but finds it comical and all too amusing to see you so broken over something when you weren’t the one to blame. He gets off to your mental anguish.

You’ll be left stumbling the streets at 2 in the morning, contemplating your life and everything as you know it, he will warp your perception of the world until he is the only one you can crawl to. After all, it’s your fault, right? He’s the only one who could tolerate you, everyone else abandoned you because you were so insufferable.

...is what he’ll have you believe. In reality, Tsukishima was pulling strings behind the scenes to ensure you would distance yourself from friends and family, resulting in them doing the same. Wrapping you around his finger and twisting your behaviour into one that’s volatile and unapproachable, until you’re left totally alone.

You’ll never know though.

That mental fortitude will soon shatter, and when it does, he’ll cackle at it’s pathetic remains.

Yamaguchi  - The Diffident Vampire

Danger level: 5/10

I’m sad to say, but your tween Twilight fantasies will be crushed when you stumble upon this mess of a monster.

I don’t mean to say he’s a literal vampire, but you’ll understand the use of this metaphor once we delve into some of his tendencies.

He is incredibly insecure, the walking embodiment of the very word.

Now that isn’t the reason you should be warded off, everyone has self-esteem issues. However, this trait of his plays a huge part in siphoning the life out of you.

He captured your heart with his soft and sympathetic nature, easily startled and somewhat skittish.

You didn’t see what was below the iceberg however, and once you did, he sank his teeth in and began to suck before you could escape, draining you dry until you have no more left to give. Nothing to spare until he is licking his lips in satisfaction, swelled with the abundance at the emotional dependency he has built up on you.

He needs reassurance like a life line, and while some might find this endearing at first, it undoubtedly becomes highly toxic and emotionally exhausting.  

Yamaguchi is incredibly volatile with his sensitivity, you have to watch your words and be sure he doesn’t misinterpret them and become dejected. He will read into everything you say and question every little detail. 

This is one of those Yandere’s that wouldn't do it intentionally I don’t think, but by the time he catches himself it’s too late, he’s in far too deep to stop and I don’t think he ever will once he realises how addicted he is to you, your words boosting his sense of worth and being the only form of confidence he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s quite sad, really. 

Don’t pity him too much, though. That’s the trap. That’s how reels you in until the teeth marks adorning your neck are a harsh reminder that you are nothing more than food for his ego.

If you ever think about leaving, he will have no qualms grovelling at your knees, razor to his wrists and begging you to stay. A cruel memoire at what keeps you tied here in the first place.

Pity.

Care.

The mutual empathy you saw in him that drew you in was now broken and one-sided, his selfishness far outweighing this trait of his and becoming your death-sentence. 

The marks will never fade. One day you’ll collapse to your knees and cave, but he won’t stop until he has bled you bare.

Oikawa - The Venusian’s Nightmare.

Danger level: 8/10

Oh charming Oikawa. The pretty boy with enough carnal seduction to rival his greek goddess counterpart. Hair smooth as silk, eyes glinting with mischief and a smirk that could bow you down on all fours. He has everything, or so it seems.

Sanity isn’t one of them.

He is VERY demanding when he craves your attention, which let’s face it is pretty often. If he doesn’t get it? Definition of a nightmarish brat.

He will whine, complain, blow up your phone. Still not available?

He’ll simply disappear.

For how long? Who really knows. He likes the thought of you on edge and anticipating his return, thoughts of him plaguing your mind to the point you question if you’re the one who’s obsessed.

Don’t worry though, when he returns he has enough sensual suave to make you forgive him ten times over.

You may think his bratty and sulking nature is the worst of it.

Oh how wrong you are.

Push him to his limits or the closest thing to it and you’ll face a cut-throat, teasing sadist who will tie you to the bed with a sickening sparkle in his eyes, marvelling at your skin jaggedly sliced open like a sheet of paper, tracing the wounds with his tongue and lapping up the blood before pulling you into a heated kiss which seems almost loving, if it weren’t for the metallic taste intertwining your tongues as a harsh reminder that you’re not here by choice.

He is definitely the type to mock you and howl with laughter as your body spams and writhes in pain, degrading you with the most vile remarks till tears spill from your eyes.

“Awh poor (Y/N)-chan, crying like a baby. Can’t handle the pain? What a pathetic little whore. Maybe if you beg enough, I’ll ease up the pressure~”

Sometimes he’ll leave you there wrist-bound to the bed post for hours, coming back in occasionally until your level of pleading satisfies him. 

His change in treatment is paradoxical in the aftermath, he will release you from your restrains and rub your skin with such tender care, it’s agonisingly deceiving.

One of the most dangerous things about him is his intuition, it’s damn near supernatural and makes for a natural born lie detector. Oikawa will sense the slightest shift in your mood, tone and body language. He knows you like the back of his hand, making it all the more unnerving to be in his presence.

This can be a positive if he is looking to fill you with ecstasy, since he knows every sweet spot, curl of his fingers and words to whisper that leave you trembling in mind-numbing pleasure.

Though you know once coming down from your high, your moments of heaven will slip through your fingers before crashing back down to reality.

He can read you like a book that he wrote with his own hands and it’s horrifying, he can predict what you’re going to say or do before you’ve even made up your mind. Which as you can guess, makes escape or wheedling out of a threatening scenario a null alternative.

If you decide to make the suicidal mistake of lying, your body will never quite function the same once he’s through. not to mention the plethora of emotional scarring that comes along with it.

After catching you in your mendacity and deeming your punishment enough, he’ll decorate your body in cuts, bruises and hickeys that throb from the abuse of his teeth. Laying you down in bed and tucking you in gently, wrapping an arm around in an act of ‘protection’ that was formerly wrapped around your throat in an act of threatening asphyxiation.

Eyes fluttering closed hours after he drifted off beside you, your heart rate quells and the tears staining your cheeks dry, preparing for the repeated cycle when the sun rises. 

How foolish to be lured in by such a facade, even the most beautiful of creatures can be hideous. 

Bokuto -  The Volcanoes Slaughter

Danger level: 9.5/10

The ticking of a time bomb, the cracking of the ground beneath your feet.

Once you are swept up in this man’s wrath you know there will never be an escape.

and he’s fucking terrifying.

His energy and vigour were what charmed you, his upbeat enthusiasm that while volatile, was very contagious and encouraging. 

If only you had known what kind of disaster was laying low under the surface.

Akaashi had tried to warn you, but you simply never listened.

He pities you now, for you’re in the same boat as him.

Eternally putting up with his violent tempers and erratic nature, which you often get the brunt of behind closed doors, left to cover the scars with a scarf and cheap pot of concealer.

His moods switch as quick as the direction of the wind, a gust too strong that leaves you flying back like a ragdoll against the wall.

Or that may just be because he actually threw you in a fit of rage, itching to see your limp body crack against the drywall to soothe his rage. Drowning the voices in his head with the sound of your soothing whimpers filled with agony.

While he may beat you black and blue whenever the overflow of emotions take over, he still does ‘care’ for you in his own sickening way, and would never have any qualms snapping a neck or two if it prevented anyone else laying a finger on you.

Though to be honest it’s the furthest thing from care, it’s downright monopolisation of something he deems his object.

How dare they hurt his personal punching bag, don’t they know you’re his and his alone to mark up in any way he pleases?

To everyone else, he seems like a very loving and protective boyfriend who has the occasional mood swing. If only they could pick up on the flinching of your body when his voice raises even a decibel, or the way you retract in fear at the swatting of a hand too close to your face. 

The anxiety felt when in his presence is indescribable, your whole body will soon become accustomed to trembling in fear, your fight or flight kicking in at the mere mention of his name. His voice sends every hair standing on end, bracing for the impact that may or may never come from his grazed fists.

Treading on eggshells and analysing every word before you speak will become second nature, even the tone of your voice or the way you arrange a question will be heavily thought over before even daring to let it escape your mouth.

You just can’t risk it, even hearing a word he doesn’t like will result in the tectonic plates shifting, getting closer to his impending eruption.

Once you hear the rumbling, you’ll know it’s far too late to run. Burned by the raging lava and consumed whole in a flood of pain and misery, it will destroy everything in it’s wake, even you.

Tendou - The Jesters Despair

Danger level: 10/10

You really opened pandora’s box with this one.

And once you so much as cracked it for a peak, just that little inkling of curiosity, the lanky arm of a redhead yanked your wrist and dragged you in with him.

Tendou’s eccentric and offbeat disposition was something you had always admired, it was what made your heart flutter.

Now? That eccentricity is put to the most horrifying of uses.

Mind games, manipulation, and unpredictability beyond your worst nightmare.

Tendou is the type to sink a blade into your skin and cackle maniacally while you cry and plead for him to stop. Edging himself and eyeing you up greedily at the painful fear in your eyes, blood trickling down your skin with each incision.

He’ll pull your hair back and slide his tongue along the cuts, his lustful gaze boring into your own as the pooling saliva leaves a chilling feeling on your skin, nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of his DNA entering your bloodstream.

He thrives on trickery and deception. He’s the type to say something incredibly warm and soft-centred, one that makes your pupils expand in newfound hope with the question of “...really?” rolling off your tongue. That inkling of hope sparking the thought that maybe, just maybe he’s changed. 

Only to burst into a fit of laughter at your naivety, teasing you relentlessly for how gullible and moronic he thinks you are. 

This yandere is incredibly incalculable. Here one minute, gone the next. Don’t even bother trying to figure out what he’s doing or where he is, you’ll never know. It keeps you on your toes in the most negative and unnerving sense of the expression, he gets a buzz off leaving you wondering, and takes great satisfaction in knowing you’re probably thinking about him.

 However, he expects you to be there whenever he needs you, regardless of circumstance. And if you’re not? You’ll have consequences to face.

I’m sorry to say, but there is no chance in hell you’re surviving this experience, there’s no doubt you’ll be murdered eventually. 

After all, he does get bored easily. Not so much as giving it a second thought on disposing of you once you are no longer a source of fresh entertainment for his sadistic desires.

With each passing day his treatment becomes increasingly brutal, searching for new ways to fulfil that empty feeling in his heart and cold, hollow look in his eyes. Don’t even bother trying to save him, not even he would know where to start.

Every night as you shut your eyes on the hardwood floor beside his bed, you can’t help but wonder if this is the last time you’ll ever close them.

And for your sake? You’d better hope it is.

Charming you with the humour of a Jester and putting on a show, he’ll make it certain every time you laugh, will be paid back with tears twofold. 

Kageyama - The Majesties Tyrant

Danger level: 7/10

Kneel before your highness or face his wrath. Kageyama Tobio is the most commanding of them all. Permanently trapped in his dictatorship with no hope of revolt. 

He doesn’t become set on things very often, but once he does it’s something he’ll never give up until he’s conquered it wholly.

Stubborn, moody, domineering and demanding. With just enough of a soft side he uses to persuade you back again. 

Fuelled by ego, pride, and a sense of superiority, he will never stop until he has your total obedience.

Being the dense man he is, this is usually achieved through simplistic means of intimidation and threats of aggression.

Kageyama will not hesitate to raise his fist and back you into a corner, cowering in recoil at his menacing aura that itches to do damage

You will do what he says, whenever he needs it, no if’s but’s or objections.

For such a hard headed ruler, he’s surprisingly childish and unsure about how to express anything other than abuse.

I think a part of him genuinely does like you, but it’s far too clouded by his toxic nature that it could never be seen as even slightly redeemable.

The most you’ll ever get out of Kageyama is the occasional hug, in which he squeezes you far to tight and resurfaces the pain of last nights bruises.

He doesn’t resort to physical violence often, as he is always reprimanded by the team to control his anger. If only they knew what he was like behind closed doors. I suppose you could credit it to Karasuno that he hasn’t accidentally killed you yet.

Yet.

When it comes to matters in the bedroom, he is focused solely on his own gratification, yours being a second thought he never so much as acknowledges.

Collared and threaded by  chain, you will crawl beside him and take it all until you’re gasping for air. The only thing he cares about is climaxing and leaving you with the cleanup.

He’s quite self conscious, so don’t expect much physical affection unless he’s chasing a particularly intense release.

Kageyama is highly jealous and frequently painted green with envy, so expect your social life to dwindle significantly once he has his hands on you, literally and metaphorically.

Thankfully, he won’t isolate you entirely, but it’s enough to leave you feeling segregated from the rest of the world. A lone member of his regime that you are forever trapped in with no chance of escape.

Bow down with a meek mutter of “Yes...master.” His crown will twinkle in the moonlight as a symbol of your everlasting enslavement.

The king of the court, and the ruler of your heart.

[stargaze-issei]

— 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤, 𝐛𝐨 !

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; catching feelings as fuck buddies with bokuto.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; suggestive themes.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; idk lol

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 1470

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; this is more a word dump and i'm not sure if it makes sense bc i wrote this in class. anyways, bokuto brainrot 😌

a glance across his bed sheets was enough to delight your sight with bokuto’s broad back, you could hear his deep breath and imagine his strong chest going up and down, just to let yourself drown in the peace of a morning after. the chances of spending a night with him were high, but mornings were a different matter. his figure always laid by your side for a few minutes, both trying to catch your breath back. such an intimate touch you shared minutes ago only for him to avoid your skin now. once koutaro rested enough, he usually got up, dressed while talking about a random topic, never addressing to your close encounters and kissed your head goodbye before leaving your house. that’s what you agreed to, although it always hurt to see how easy it was for him.

he turned around, still completely asleep, his hands searching for you in bed. you thought, he searched for you, you hoped. there’s no harm in dreaming, you would say to yourself, unless those fantasies involved a future with someone who, in reality, didn’t want you. not the way you did. 

“did i wake you?” his voice was raspier than usual, despite being almost whispering it made you jump on your place. “was i snoring?” bokuto’s arm found its way to wrap you in a hug, bringing you closer to him. your heart started to race at the sudden touch, he wasn’t entirely naked anymore, and it wasn’t the first nor the last time you touched his bare chest, but sex couldn’t compare with feeling his strong arms pulling you in, his warm chest providing you of the needed hot, feeling his breath on your neck. 

“uh, no, i woke up a while ago” you answered. although you barely got any sleep, to be near kou was enough to keep you in your tiptoes through the whole night.

“are you hungry? i think i have some leftovers from dinner” 

“we’re having breakfast? i thought—” a sleepy chuckled abandoned his throat at your comment, interrupting you. he, again, accommodated himself in bed, taking distance from you as before.

“before all this, the sex i mean, we used to hang out a lot” bokuto reminds you teasingly, rubbing his eyes in order to wake up. “let’s go, we’re eating, take one of my shirts, you know where everything is” as his usual self, a stroke of energy hit him out of nowhere, making him jump outside of bed. 

you sat, looking straight at him. the only piece of clothing he had on was his underwear, his hair was down and some scratches were left on his back. he walked towards the window to open the curtain and let the morning sun in, a wide smile planted on his face, contagiously making you smile too. what bokuto said before kept wondering in your mind, the time before your agreement, when he was just your friend, when that bubbly feeling in your stomach at the sight of him didn’t exist.

“come on, get up!” he bugged you, throwing one of his shirts to you. you smiled at his playfulness, a trait you hadn’t seen in a long time. your meetings slowly became less friendly and more focused on other subjects. before, you would know what he was stressing about and what he wanted to do for the weekend, now, instead, you knew that if you kissed the crook of his neck, a soft moan came out unpurposely of his mouth, or that his eyes rolled up and his mouth half opened when you caressed his inner thighs. 

with a sigh, you pushed yourself out of bed, putting the given shirt above your shoulders. despite the subtle smell of soap, a hint of bokuto’s characteristic mint scent was still perceptible, provoking your head to go a little dizzy. you walked outside the room, following bokuto to the kitchen, where he was already preparing the scrambled eggs.

“i thought we were having leftovers.” you joked, sitting close to him to admire his morning face. it never failed to amaze you how effortlessly beautiful koutaro could be.

“we haven’t actually spent time together in a while, our reunion deserves more than leftovers.” his words were accompanied by a wink. you knew anything he said had no secret meaning, he was just blatantly showing his character, his nice, charming character, captivating everyone around him, including you. his acts had no malice hidden in them, you were aware of that, bokuto was just one of those people.

“what do you mean? we saw each other like a week ago” you knew what he meant, you knew it better than him, but playing dumb was the only way you had to hide your true feelings.

as you ate, he told you all about his practice with the black jackals, his new teammates, how amazing they were and how excited he was to play in a professional team. he had been beyond busy, promoting the team and himself, hence to why he barely had time to reach to you or anyone outside his volleyball world. he talked about hinata, his so called apprentice, his new setter “nowhere better than akaashi'', and the second best hitter of his team, behind him. hours went by as both of you told stories and laughed over them, bonding like you did when you first met. for a moment, you thought maybe your love wasn’t as one sided as you thought, his smiles, his glowing eyes, his hugs and jokes, could easily point at that wished situation, where you could openly fall in love with him and not being just a sex compannion for the day. 

“yeah, i know, but– we didn’t exactly speak” bokuto seemed oddly comfortable in the kitchen, talking and looking for anything he needed. he kneeled in front of a cabinet, took out a wooden plank, and then placed the pan above it, in front of you. “voilá” he grinned.

the sun wasn’t up in the sky anymore, sunset lights painted the whole of bokuto’s living room, including the coach where you both sat. his arm was across your shoulders, your head rested on his chest, and his loose hand played with your head. you could've swore that was your place in the world, always beside him, the ray of hope of having a reciprocate love with bokuto koutaro made you feel like floating. his lips searched your head before taking away his hug and getting up from the couch.

“it’s getting late, i’ll drive you home.” he offered, a soft gesture forming in his face. you accepted, any excuse to be around him for a few more minutes was enough for you.

the drive to your place was quiet, he seemed focused on the roads so he didn’t notice your constant staring, or so you thought. bokuto wasn’t as clueless as everyone thought, he paid attention to details and made pretty accurate conclusions, that he decided to keep them to himself was something else. he had an idea of what was behind your staring, your longing touch, your sad glances everytime he left you in bed. he had already figured out what was going on on your mind, and he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t questioned himself in those exact situations. he felt different when he was with you, since the beginning, even before your pact, you were always special to bokuto. but he knew, in the bottom of his heart, he knew he couldn’t profess his somewhat feelings for you. first, because he had no time for anything besides his career, and he was sure you deserved someone who devoted their heart to you as much as you did for them. second, he didn’t have the heart to tell you he knew all along. you were his friend, his most precious friend, and break your heart was not a thing he could bear. 

bokuto parked outside your door, shooting a quick glance at you before unlocking the door. you looked at him, searching for a sign that gave him off. unlucky for you, bokuto was set on keeping his things to himself, convinced that he was doing the right thing to keep you unharmed. a sigh left your mouth before opening your door.

“i guess i’ll see you later, bo” a hint of sadness was in your voice, but bokuto couldn’t bring himself to do anything but say goodbye.

“sure, i’ll call you next weekend to our regular appointment” accompanied with a wink on his face.

you got off, trying to hold back the tears gathering in your eyes. if you had looked back, you would’ve seen bokuto’s heart breaking as he watched you walk away from him. 

maybe i was making it all up.

[gusu-emilu]

thermal scheming

Ship: Jiang Cheng / Nie Huaisang

Summary: When Jiang Cheng joined this camping trip, he didn’t realize it would mean sleeping in the same tent as Nie Huaisang. Now it’s nighttime, and Nie Huaisang won’t stop complaining that he’s cold. Apparently he expects Jiang Cheng to do something about it.

Modern AU, Sharing a Bed (except it’s a sleeping bag) - read on AO3

* * *

“Jiang Cheng.”

Good grief.

He ignores the voice, instead focusing on the chirping of crickets in the forest outside the tent walls.

“Jiang Cheng.”

He opens his eyes. He is lying on his back in his sleeping bag, hands folded over his chest. His fingers dig into his knuckles in irritation.

The cramped tent space was pitch black when he closed his eyes a few minutes ago, but now there’s a faint, cool light coming from the screen of a phone. He furrows his brow at this unwanted brightness.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“What?”

“I’m cold.”

It’s really too unlucky that his tentmate is Nie Huaisang, one of the chattiest people to come on this camping trip. Sure, not as bad as Wei Wuxian, but at least his brother he can hit over the head and be done with.

Yet after so many years, Jiang Cheng still hasn’t figured out how to handle this babbler that he now shares a tent with.

“Jiang Cheng, I’m cold.”

“The hell you telling me for?”

“So that you feel bad for me.”

Jiang Cheng finally looks over at the sleeping bag next to him, where Nie Huaisang is huddled in a ball. Only his eyes and forehead peek out from under the covers. Jiang Cheng ignores how endearing the sight is.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “Not gonna happen.” He turns away and closes his eyes again.

It’s a lie, though. For some reason, lately it’s been difficult to bring himself to brush off Nie Huaisang.

He hasn’t enjoyed the skittish young man latching to his side during the camping trip, coaxing him to eat sweets at breakfast and pointing him to every bird they see on the hiking trips and nervously brushing shoulders with him at the sight of just about every other wild animal. Or telling him absurd stories that force him to hide his laughter, or deliberately sabotaging him in card games and spikeball, or pushing him every time he lies on the hammock.

No, he hasn’t enjoyed the attention.

But he hasn’t made much effort to stop it.

Well, it’s only because he’s too tired. Camping wears Jiang Cheng out, especially with this crew of imbeciles. Even though he didn’t originally agree to come on the trip, now it’s him doing all the work—setting up the tents, cleaning the boats, cooking dinners. Everyone else is as lazy as Wei Wuxian.

Except for the few times that Nie Huaisang actually volunteered to help Jiang Cheng, even though he normally refuses to raise a finger in manual labor.

But that’s probably because he was scared of angering Nie Mingjue.

“Jiang Cheng? Can’t you have some pity on me? It’s freezing!”

“It’s not that cold,” Jiang Cheng snaps. It’s summer, after all. The nights are chilly, but not unbearable.

“You’re not cold?” Nie Huaisang asks.

“No.”

Why is Jiang Cheng even bothering to keep up the conversation? His entire body is heavy, longing for sleep. Today’s lengthy canoeing trip has sapped a lot of his energy.

“Er…what are you wearing?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap open. He looks over again at the mousy figure cocooned in the sleeping bag.

Nie Huaisang’s eyebrows dart up. “Well, um—it’s just, if you’re not cold, I’m wondering how—”

“I’m in sweats,” Jiang Cheng says flatly.

“Ah, hm. Well, you see, I’m only…” He lifts an index finger out from under the covers. “I’m only wearing a T-shirt and boxers.”

“Then put on more clothes and stop complaining.”

The entire sleeping bag wriggles. “That’s the problem! I left my backpack in Da-ge’s car!”

“So go get it!”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head, but half of his face is hidden by the sleeping bag, so Jiang Cheng just sees a pair of eyes floating back and forth like haunted lights. “No, no, I can’t wake up Da-ge!”

If they continue this whisper-shouting, they will wake up the entire campsite anyway.

Nie Huaisang lowers his voice to speak slowly and melodically, like he’s singing one of Wei Wuxian’s stupid campfire songs. “Jiang Cheng…do you have a sweatshirt I can borrow?”

Why didn’t he just ask this instead of dragging Jiang Cheng through an entire saga before getting to the point?

“No. I only brought two hoodies, and you can blame Lan Xichen for dropping one of them in the mud when I just asked him to hold it for five seconds. I’m wearing the other.”

“Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate.”

Finally, silence. The sound of nothing but peaceful crickets.

Nie Huaisang should be done now.

“Jiang Cheng?”

Apparently not. He sighs. “What now?”

“Can I have the hoodie you’re wearing?”

For a disturbing moment, Jiang Cheng actually wants to give it to him.

It’s precisely because of that thought that now he must refuse. “Just steal Nie Mingjue’s car keys and get your own clothes.”

Nie Huaisang groans. “But I’ll be even colder if I go outside! And I’ve spent so much time warming up my sleeping bag with the tiny bit of heat my poor body has left. By the time I get my stuff and come back, my sleeping bag will be cold again, and I’ll have to start all over!”

Jiang Cheng rubs his temples. “How long could it possibly take? Two minutes? Your sleeping bag is not going to get cold in two minutes.”

“Yes it will! And then I’ll be so sad!”

Jiang Cheng rolls on his side with his back to Nie Huaisang and pulls the covers over his ears.

Everything his tentmate is saying is completely idiotic.

Yet Jiang Cheng is feeling something…soft about it.

Disgusting. Maybe if he clenches his fists hard enough it will go away.

“Er, can you…Can you come in my sleeping bag and keep it warm while I go get my backpack?”

Jiang Cheng bolts upright. He grimaces at this horrifying request. “Absolutely not!”

Nie Huaisang finally lowers the covers to fully expose his face. As if showing his little nose and chin would make Jiang Cheng any more likely to agree.

“Please? You’re already sitting up now, you might as well do it. Please? Please?”

“No!”

The sleeping bag squirms again. “But if you don’t keep it warm, then when I come back with my sweatshirt, it won’t even matter because I’ll be even colder than I was before!”

Jiang Cheng pauses. If he gives Nie Huaisang a reason to complain for longer, even if it’s a ridiculous, obviously made-up reason, then Jiang Cheng will never get to sleep.

His lip curls with distaste at what he’s about to do—crap, is he actually about to do something this humiliating?—and a strange fuzziness fills his chest.

“Fine. Better be quick,” he says through clenched teeth. He intended to have an edge in his voice, but somehow it’s barely there.

“Thank you so much! Oh, thank you! You’re the best!” Nie Huaisang scampers out of the sleeping bag and waits in front of the door flap of the tent. He crosses his arms and shivers as he stares at Jiang Cheng expectantly.

Muttering curses to himself, Jiang Cheng crawls over to the empty sleeping back and slips inside.

He catches a grin from Nie Huaisang before turning his head away in shame. He hears the zipper of the tent open, then the sound of quick, fading footsteps.

This sleeping bag is, in fact, colder than Jiang Cheng’s. Maybe Nie Huaisang wasn’t exaggerating as much as it seemed.

An odd satisfaction swells inside Jiang Cheng at the idea of his body heat keeping Nie Huaisang warm.

He nearly chokes.

What is he thinking?!

He clenches the covers tight in his fists.

It hasn’t even been thirty seconds when Nie Huaisang scurries back into the tent. Jiang Cheng repositions to look up at him. He’s still only wearing a loose T-shirt and boxers, and in his hands there are no car keys, no backpack, and no sweatshirt.

“What are you doing back already?”

“It’s too cold outside!”

Suddenly, the covers lift, then fall, and there’s a body pressed against Jiang Cheng.

Nie Huaisang.

In the same.

Sleeping bag.

As him.

Panic.

Sheer panic courses through Jiang Cheng like a lightning strike.

“Hell no! Get out!” He shoves the body that’s squished into him, but there’s no room for either of them to move.

“It’s my sleeping bag!” Nie Huaisang says.

“Yeah, but now I’m in it!”

“So stay in it!”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Jiang Cheng tries to force his way out, but the sleeping bag only opens on one side—the side Nie Huaisang is blocking—and now their limbs are even further entangled.

He pulls his arms away and tries to slither out the top, but that only makes his hips rub into the body next to him, and that is not okay.

“Jiang Cheng, please just keep me warm,” Nie Huaisang whispers as he tucks his hands into his chest to avoid touching Jiang Cheng again.

Jiang Cheng stops squirming. Every one of his muscles becomes rigid.

He is grateful that Nie Huaisang’s slender fingers aren’t groping him anymore, but his entire person is still snuggled into the same sleeping bag.

Jiang Cheng shifts his jaw back and forth trying to squeeze words up his throat. “Take my hoodie instead,” he manages to choke out.

Nie Huaisang’s drowsy eyes drop their gaze, as if hiding. “Well. Um. Would just your hoodie be enough, though?”

“…You’re not getting my sweatpants.”

A breathy laugh tickles Jiang Cheng’s neck. “That’s not what I meant.”

Then what does he mean?

This is the most confusing situation Jiang Cheng has ever been in. How do the two of them even fit in the sleeping bag? Why is there a dizziness churning in his head? Why are his hands itching like he wants to put them somewhere—on someone?

“This is weird.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes wander up to meet Jiang Cheng’s. He looks like a puppy. “Do you want me to let you out?”

His throat closes up.

He should say yes.

Why can’t he?

Nie Huaisang leans away. “I’m, um, I’m sorry,” he says with a hint of dejection. He fiddles with the flap of the sleeping bag. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t be dumb.”

Some kind of restraint breaks inside of Jiang Cheng, as if a net around his thoughts has been cut loose.

Nie Huaisang stops dead. “Huh?”

Jiang Cheng fumbles over what to say next. Strange feelings are flooding into him, but he can’t decipher them. He decides to just block them out, as he usually prefers to do when it comes to emotions.

“If you freeze in the night, your brother will kill me,” Jiang Cheng says with as much authoritativeness as he can muster. “That’s the only reason I’m staying here. You got that?”

Nie Huaisang wriggles back onto his side to face Jiang Cheng, gaping at him in wonder. His hands are still clutched into his chest trying not to make contact, but they end up nudging against Jiang Cheng’s torso anyway.

“Yes, yes, I’ve got it, I’ve got it perfect!” Nie Huaisang’s head bobs up and down, then rests on the cushion next to Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

They remain motionless like this until Jiang Cheng is about to explode from the awkwardness.

Nie Huaisang lifts his head an inch. “Er, Jiang Cheng?”

“What?”

He rubs his chin and smiles sheepishly. “I’m still cold.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not, I swear!”

“I’m already in the same sleeping bag as you! That’s enough! What more do you expect me to do?”

“Hmm,” Nie Huaisang hums as he trails a finger along Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

Jiang Cheng’s entire body freezes at the touch.

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I really don’t know.”

The feathery touch creeps up to his collarbone. Jiang Cheng flinches, then it slinks down to his bicep, teasing him, encircling him. There is a devilish glint in Nie Huaisang’s eyes that Jiang Cheng has never seen before.

“Can you think of something, gege?”

His brain shuts down.

All he’s aware of is a fire growing in his belly.

It urges to consume. To blaze everything into in cinders.

Jiang Cheng’s breath deepens as he struggles to regain control of his mind and extinguish the fire inside him. That finger is creeping up to his neck again. He grabs Nie Huaisang’s wrist to stop the unbearable touch.

They lock gazes. The devious look on Nie Huaisang’s face disappears into nervousness, as if he realizes that he’s pushed Jiang Cheng too far.

This entire trip, Nie Huaisang has been pushing him too far.

“You’re cold?” Jiang Cheng growls.

Nie Huaisang gulps. Jiang Cheng’s eyes hungrily follow the movement of his Adam’s apple.

“J-J-Just a little bit…”

A hand slowly snakes down to Jiang Cheng’s waist.

The flames inside Jiang Cheng erupt with desire. “Turn around.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Nie Huaisang’s face. Then the corners of his mouth twitch with delight, and he shifts his position, twisting the fabric of the sleeping bag, until he is facing the other way.

Jiang Cheng wraps his arms around Nie Huaisang and hugs him close, pressing Nie Huaisang’s back tightly into his chest. Nie Huaisang intertwines his arms with Jiang Cheng’s and melts into the embrace.

“Still cold?”

“Not at all.”

Jiang Cheng leans forward to hover his lips over Nie Huaisang’s ear, fighting the urge to nip at it with his teeth.

“Then I better not hear you say it again.”

Nie Huaisang shivers.

Satisfied, Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and holds Nie Huaisang tighter.

Jiang Cheng is not sure how long they stay like this.

At first, loud thoughts batter around his mind. Anger for allowing himself to become so vulnerable. Cravings to explore Nie Huaisang’s body with his hands. Memories that suddenly have a different meaning, reaching back to the first day they met as teenagers. Anxieties about what they feel for each other now, six years later, as they cuddle in the same sleeping bag.

Jiang Cheng has not felt this many emotions at once in a long time.

How…how did this even happen?

But after a while, it becomes peaceful. Jiang Cheng’s heart stops racing, and Nie Huaisang’s breaths slow down. The steady rise and fall of Nie Huaisang’s chest is soothing, comforting.

“You know,” Nie Huaisang says. “I was never cold in the first place.”

Jiang Cheng pulls away in surprise. “What?”

“Mmhm. I was just pretending.”

Pretending?

Jiang Cheng should be furious about being tricked, but somehow he’s grinning instead. “You little gremlin.”

Nie Huaisang spins around to face him. He pokes Jiang Cheng’s cheek. “No, no. That’s not right. You think I’m this sneaky all the time? Only for you. It should be ‘my little gremlin.’ Come on. Say it.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m saying that.” He tries to scowl, but he can’t stop smiling.

My? As in ‘mine?’

Something warm fizzles inside Jiang Cheng at this thought. He hates the feeling. He hates it so much.

Nie Huaisang pokes him in the cheek several more times.

“Stop.”

Now both of his hands are drumming over Jiang Cheng’s torso.

“Stop it!” Jiang Cheng laughs as he snatches Nie Huaisang’s hands and forces them to hold still.

Nie Huaisang sighs and drops his head onto the pillow, as if admitting defeat. His eyes are round and innocent, drawing in Jiang Cheng like they have their own gravity.

Then a foot pokes Jiang Cheng in the leg.

“Hey!” Jiang Cheng shoves his own feet into Nie Huaisang. “You wanna die?!”

Nie Huaisang smirks, the devilish twinkle returning to his eyes.

“Yes please.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, you can be a supportive sibling like Jiang Yanli by liking, reblogging, and visiting me on AO3!

[wienerbarnes]

The Escape

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 2,717

Warnings: mind control ooooo, general violence, description of stealing a car that is wildly inaccurate bc ive.... never stolen a car, dues ex machina

A/N: some background about the reader! this one takes place before the last chapter of the original series, way before anything with bucky. this oneshot kinda recounts her prison escape 👀 not a lot of bucky in this one, but kind how the reader got to where she is and stufffff i love a good origin story

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

You didn’t sleep the entire night. How could you? How were you supposed to sleep when you know you’re waking up to your inevitable death?

You refused a last meal a few hours ago. What was the point? You didn’t have an appetite anyway.

All you could do was count the hours, the minutes, the seconds, until the footsteps would sound down the hall, arriving at your cell, the guards would stare at you through the bullet-proof glass wall, the only wall of four that wasn’t made of thick concrete.

They’d take you down to the observation room, they’d strap you down in the chair before asking for your final words. You’d stare out into the window of the observation room, unable to see through to the otherside, but knowing there’d be witnesses there. Maybe the families of people you killed. Maybe government officials, the ones who worked as hard as possible to get you this ending.

First, the sodium thiopental would be injected into your veins to sedate you. Then, the vecuronium bromide will be given that will send your body into paralysis. Finally, the potassium chloride will stop your heart. And your life will be over.

What a shame.

Too soon, your life was wasted. And too soon did the guards feet sound down the hall. And too soon did he arrive in front of your cell, ordering you to get up from your bed to shackle you.

He’s alone, you notice. Perhaps they don’t expect you to put up much of a fight.

Something snaps in your brain and before you realize you’re even doing it, you’re tapping into the young guard’s poor brain. He was a cop. A cop turned prison guard to spend more time at home, less time out in the world trying to catch bad guys. Never really bad guys, though, always just some unlucky soul caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Open the cell.” You tell him, finally through to his head. The keys jingle as he unlocks the three complicated locks attached to the side of the door.

You’re suddenly grateful for the hundreds of times they called you crazy, they called you a psycho, they told you you didn’t have powers, that that was your sad and sorry excuse of the reason for your crimes.

“Take off your clothes.” You order next. The young man begins to strip, taking off his clothes until he’s down to his underwear. White briefs with a blue waistband.

Once his uniform is on your body, you take everything he has, leaving his pistol with him.

“Shoot at everybody that comes in here.” You tell him, and he stares at you blankly, no longer in control of his actions as you take over.

You take a moment, closing your eyes and trying to concentrate on what the prison looks like, where the exits are, and where the guards are. You peek an eye open to glance at the man’s watch that now sits on your wrist, eight minutes until the shift changes.

Eight minutes for you to not fuck this up.

You close the cell door behind you, locking it, and making your way down the hall. You need to time this perfectly so that you’re slipping out as the other guards are leaving.

Just keep your head down, and get out as quickly as possible. Don’t talk to anyone. Just get out and start walking. You’ll get to the city eventually and you’ll hide out until you can keep making your way through New York. Maybe you’ll go to Jersey. Or up to New Hampshire.

Yeah, you’re just going to walk to New Hampshire, aren’t you?

Not a priority right now. Focus on getting out. A deep breath until you unlock the gate at the end of the hall, making your way out into another hallway. You visualize the map in your head once more and keep making your way down. You walk with confidence, head still slightly tilted down, but steps quick and light. Another guard turns the corner at the end of the hall and you make sure your steps don’t falter, and he walks right by you without a second thought.

You’re still unsure about the whole mind control thing. You don’t want to question it, because it seems to be pretty useful right now, but you don’t want to abuse it either, knowing your luck will eventually fail you.

It’s not long before you hear a gunshot ring out in the distance and you glance at a clock on the wall to see the shift change happening now.

You need to get out of here, now. Soon the guards will realize it’s you who’s missing from your cell and the search will begin. They’ll start with the entire grounds of the prison, which will hopefully buy you some time to make it to the city, if you sprint.

You finally make it to a more open area, exit signs now posted at the tops of doorways. You finally find a group of other men, some with bags or coats and you slip into the crowd, hoping that these are the guys leaving from their shift.

“Hey, have a good one, man. Tell the family I said hello.” A rough hand pats your shoulder before brushing past you.

Your stomach drops at the fact that these men are so unaware. So unaware that their real friend is in your cell, probably having a shootout with the new guards who just began their shift. The fact that these guards showed up to work today and the first thing they encounter is another guard in his underwear shooting at them.

Push it back. Push it back. Push it back.

As you’re huddled in between bodies, a bright light suddenly washes over your face. Sunlight. Your eyes burn at the feeling, a feeling so foreign having not felt it in months. You force them open though. You need to separate quickly, because not only do you not know where the parking lot is, you don't know which car is yours, you don’t have keys, and even if you did, you don’t know how to fucking drive.

Why did you never learn this! You never thought you’d need to since you decided you were going to join the military at sixteen, but you still should’ve fucking looked into it!

You don’t think you’ll make it walking. It’ll draw too much attention. The prison is in the middle of fucking nowhere and you’re just going to walk home? What would be worse is if someone offers you a ride.

New plan: find your car and hope it’s unlocked so you can sit inside until everyone leaves.

You know Hydra made you break into things before; houses, cars, etc. But you’ve tried to repress so much of that time that you can’t remember if you ever hot wired a car before.

You hope your luck doesn’t run out anytime soon.

Men arrive at their cars and the options quickly narrow down between an orange SUV and a black, fancy-looking car. You take your chances on the SUV.

It’s unlocked. It’s fucking unlocked. You shut the door and heave, feeling so hard to breath in the small space, but feeling relieved at the chance to finally make some noise and express your stress outside of that group of people you were stuck around.

“C’mon. C’mon! Fight or flight, c’mon, just make me know how to hot wire this.” You close your eyes, as though that will suddenly make the knowledge appear in your head. It doesn’t, surprisingly.

Until you look in the cupholder to see a dozen bobby pins. He probably has a daughter. “It’s going to have to do.” You mumble to yourself.

You quickly straighten them out and shove them into the small spot where the key goes. You twist and turn, holding a bunch of pins together to simulate an odd shape of the key, until finally you hear a click.

That’s gotta be good! Right? You go with it, continuing to twist until you hear a sputtering and crunchy sound of the engine starting.

This guy drives a piece of shit car. But it’s fucking on! You waste no time in putting the car into the drive before pulling out the lot. You make yourself extremely nauseous at your own driving, or rather, attempt at driving. You see in the rearview mirror the lights on the prison flashing, the bright red signaling that they’ve realized you escaped. You give yourself twenty minutes before they ditch the search of the prison grounds and look for you in the city.

Down the road you alternate between driving fifteen miles an hour to sixty, finding it so difficult to get a steady control of the car. But you’re doing it! You only need to make it to the city. That’s it.

“How the fuck do they make sixteen-year-olds do this shit?”

Eventually you get the hang of it. Still a terrible driver, but you at least don’t feel as scared driving among other cars. 

The longer you drive, the more it catches up to you what you’ve done. Soon enough, the tears come and so do the sobs. Until you stop a red light and let out a yell of agony, the stress and sadness washing through your body.

It’s hard, wanting to break down completely but having to keep your eyes open for the light to change, and having to pay attention to your surroundings. You find a small alleyway to pull into and you put the car in park before ditching it.

No time to cry, you can cry later. You peek around at the name of restaurants and stores around you, not recognizing any of them. You look at the street signs not recognizing those, either. You haven’t been around society in almost ten years, and you feel hopelessly and utterly lost.

You look around the alleyway and see a big dumpster. Just for a little while, you think. You lift the lid and climb inside, shutting the lid above you.

It’s dark, greasy, and the worst thing you’ve ever smelled, but it’s somehow better than where you were. You don’t know how much time has passed, but the noise outside the dumpster grows, and you make a guess that it’s around six or seven in the morning.

If you want to blend in with the crowd, you need to change your clothes. A prison guard outfit will most definitely make you stand out to people, especially when news breaks that there's a prison escapee on the loose.

When you finally lift the lid to stand up, you look to your left to see a teenager, probably not older than seventeen, staring at you, frozen, key in hand, seemingly to open up some store that you’re in back of.

He’s tall and lanky, and what makes him stand out to you the most is the spiky black hair he sports on his head and the thick black eyeliner around the rims of his eyes.

“You… okay?” He asks, clearly confused as to why a random woman in a prison guard outfit is hanging out in the dumpster behind her place of work. But you’re frozen. You don’t know what to say. You can’t imagine the last twelve hours I’ve been through, it won’t make much sense.

“Are you… hungry?” He asks when you don’t answer. “I’m, uh, opening now, but no one will be here for another hour or two when we actually open. I can make you something if you like?” He offers.

He thinks you’re homeless. Which, you are, technically. But he doesn’t recognize you. Perhaps you haven’t made the news yet, but it’ll only be a matter of time.

You finally nod, climbing out of the dumpster bin and walking over to where he holds the door open for you.

You devour the sandwich he makes you, a simple ham and cheese on white bread, but it’s the best thing you’ve eaten in, well, a decade.

“How long have you been homeless for?”

“Are you from New York?”

“What’s your zodiac sign?”

“What’s your favorite band?”

So many questions come from the curious kid, kindness radiating from him. Casual conversation ensues, and you’re careful not to give too much away.

“Can I ask you something?” You ask, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you swallow the last bit of sandwich.

“How do I get to Brooklyn from here?”

“You’re in Brooklyn, silly.” He responds and your eyes widen a bit, not thinking you’d get this lucky.

“Sorry, that came out kinda insensitive,” He apologizes, picking up your plate, “It’s not like you have a GPS or anything. Anywhere you’re trying to go in particular?”

You have a flash of a vision, Bucky sleeping soundly in his apartment, as the sun shines through in orange cracks in his blinds. Your mind envisions the building, where it is, what it looks like, and how you can get there. Why is your mind and body wanting to lead you to where Bucky is? If you’re trying to lay low, why does your vision want you to go to what’s the third most recognizable government figure in the country, after the President and Captain America?

“Uhm… to see a friend. I guess I wasn’t trying to go, but I have a lot of… free time now, so. Just don’t know what I’d say to him.” You tell the boy, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion. You’re not looking forward to the rest of the day, or week, or month, or life.

“Why don’t you write a note? That’s what I do; when I don’t think I can say the right thing, I write it instead. I can give you some paper and an envelope.” He offers.

This kid has got to be my guardian angel personified, you think. What are the fucking odds?

“You should take it with you, though. I gotta open up soon, and I’m sure you don’t want to experience the morning rush of this place.” You read my mind.

“I’ll give you a change of clothes, too. Where’d you get that, anyway? Do you hang around dumpsters often? Is that one from a Halloween store?”

“Okay, that’s too much. You’ve already been so kind.” You refuse, ignoring the curious questions that shoot out of his mouth.

“Then don’t take it as me being kind, take it as me being mean. You smell like shit from that dumpster.”

You can’t help but laugh, and oh how good it feels. You never thought you’d laugh again, and here you are, giggling at being told you smell bad by some goth teenager.

Soon enough, you’re walking through the backways of buildings, in a crisp white t-shirt that smells of the cologne of a teenage boy, and note and envelope in hand. It takes you about forty five minutes to make it to Bucky’s apartment building, and it was only slightly less stressful that your walk out of that prison.

Through the glass door, you don’t see anyone at the front desk, so you open the door and step inside.

To your left you see a wall of mailboxes, and one large one at the bottom overflowing with letters and gifts. You take a wild guess and say that that one belongs to Bucky. You’ve heard he’s a pretty popular guy, along with the company he keeps.

You take the stairs to the eighth floor and the fourteenth room, hoping the 814 on that mailbox wasn’t random. You scribble out on your piece of paper, tearing it off and keeping the rest in case you need for another note in the future, or a snack. You bite at the blue bracelet on your wrist before it breaks and stick it in the envelope, tucking in the flap to close it.

You place it on the ground and silently press your ear to the door. You don’t hear him, but you hear the sound of the television, announcing your missing presence and the manhunt around the city. You take that as a cue to leave quickly.

Why you feel such a draw towards Bucky, you’re not sure, but for some reason, you have a feeling that leaving him this gift of sorts won’t come back to haunt you.

Perhaps it’ll even lead to the opposite.