#clean your own damn communities before attacking others

[theamazingannie]

I’m sick of Zionists (plus transphobes and racists who do this too) pretending to care about women to suit their agenda. If you REALLY care about women being raped, where are you when 1 in 6 women are estimated to experience sexual assault at least once in their lifetime? Where are you when most rapes aren’t even reported because no one believes women? Where are you when most reported rapes are dismissed because of a “lack of evidence”? Where are you when most rape cases that go to trial fail to get a conviction? Where are you when the ones that DO get a conviction only lead to a jail time of a few months? Where are you when the cis white men in your own country rape women and make jokes about raping women and beating women and treating women like shit? Imagine if all the people who use the rape of women to suit their agendas used that energy to care about ALL rapes. Imagine how quickly rape culture would end. But you don’t actually care about women. You just know that the people who side against you care about women, so you use that to appeal to them. PROVE you care about women other than when it’s useful to you. Attack the rapists in your own communities instead of ignoring those ones and only attacking rapists outside your communities

[sunflowergirl522]

Great Friends

Pairing: Hobie Brown x spiderperson!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie meet

Word Count: 1415

One use of Y/N I barely write in his accent again. Let me know if you want more Hobie and Honeybee

Hobie Masterlist

“The portal should drop you off in the sewer systems. Your teammate for this one will meet you there.” Jess explains through Hobie’s watch as she sends the coordinates through.

“Why am I goin’ in the damn sewers?” 

“Because that’s where the anomaly is. Miguel and I would take care of it if it weren’t for one of the Kravens somehow getting out here. Just go and take care of it, Hobie.” She hangs up then leaving his watch to blink with the awaiting coordinates.

“Why did I agree to this stupid club?” Hobie mutters to himself before opening up the portal and stepping through it. He immediately plugs his nose at the strong smell of his new surroundings not even wanting to think of the residue from the walls he’ll have to clean off his boots. “Bloody hell, what kind of villain wants to have his lair ‘ere?” He’s heard stories of course from other spider people of chasing a Lizard variant into a sewer but never thought he’d be getting thrown straight into one.

He follows the animal-like noises and rats through the tunnels to find an open area with a giant rat man monster in the middle of it. The rats surround him and follow his movements like a commune.

“The hell am I looking at mate?” Hobie’s question gets the creature's attention and it turns its whole body to look at him.

“Who…are you?” It grumbles out. “Where am…I?” He glitches after speaking.

“Not your universe, you make this easy and we’ll both be back home ‘fore you know it.” He takes a step toward the creature who lets out a growl feeling threatened and before Hobie knows it rats are swarming him. He cusses under his breath as he jumps to stand on the ceiling and shoot a web at the monster wondering where the hell his partner is.

“Sorry I’m late to the party!” Your voice rings out and echoes off the walls a bit as you make your appearance. “Hey there Vermin, you’re a long way from home aren’t you?”

“Honeybee.” Vermin growls before lunging for you.

“Ah ah, that’s no way to treat the person trying to get you home is it?” You playfully scold him as you dodge, your wings fluttering behind you keeping you in the air. Hobie chuckles at your words while staying crouched there watching you fly about dodging Vermin's attacks. Hobie’s eyes are transfixed on the wings jutting out from your back wondering if they’re real or part of your suit. He hasn’t seen a Spiderperson with wings before.

Your costume fits the name Vermin had called you, the body of your suit is black with your sleeves being yellow with the exception of the palms of your hands and your legs are adorned with black and yellow stripes until the solid black from your knee down as if you had boots on. Your black mask doesn’t cover your whole face, leaving your mouth to show.

“C’mon Verm, don’t make this hard. I was in the middle of baking when I got the call to come get you.” You land on solid ground and when he goes to throw a punch you let the stinger in your right arm free, slicing through his arm as you dodge. “You gonna help at all Spider, or are you gonna make me do all the work?” 

“On it.” Hobie swings over, landing a blow to Vermin's head with his guitar. “You supposed to be some sort of pixie or somethin?” He asks as he lands next to you and takes in the very real wings sticking out of your back.

“Cute, but no.” The two of you dodge another blow leaving Vermin’s fist to go straight into the wall. “Excuse me Verm, we’re trying to have a conversation.” You shoot what looks like honey onto his face causing him to stumble back trying to get it off. You’re back in the air behind him in no time. “You like my new trick, Vermin? Got the idea from my fellow spiders. Now let’s get you home yeah?” You toss the electric cage device underneath him as he starts to glitch again. “You’ll be back in your own sewer soon enough.” Hobie opens a portal back to headquarters while you flit around Vermin in his part time prison making sure he’s secure.

“Hobie Brown, Earth-138.” He holds his hand out as you land next to him again.

“Y/n Y/l/n, Earth-1203.” You shake his hand and smile, keeping your voice low enough that Vermin can’t hear. And Hobie notices the small fangs between your teeth. “You wanna swing him through with your webs or should we push?”

“So, you a spider person? Because you don’t look like one.” Hobie asks after the two of you follow the anomaly through the portal.

“Yes and no.” You wait for Margo to give you a thumbs up that Vermin is all situated before turning and start to leave the ‘cargo area’ as you liked to call it and motion with your head for Hobie to follow. “I’m the spider person of my universe but I’m not a Spider Woman variant or anything, I’m just me.”

“What’s your story?”

“It’s similar to almost everyone else's here. I was interning at Alchemax helping bioengineer plants that grew at an extremely rapid rate when I was stung by one of the bees they were trying to modify to help with the pollination. Next thing I know I’m waking up in the morning with wings, fangs and these cool ass retractable stingers.” As you mention them you let them out of your forearms to show them off. “They’re super similar to Kaine’s, if you know him. Anyway, I’ve been the one and only Honeybee in my universe for the last almost three years. What’s yours?”

“Homeless teen turned Spiderman from a spider bite.” Hobie shoves his hands into his vest pockets and sniffs. “Not much else to it.”

“Well I like your costume, it’s pretty cool.”

“Are the two of you done chatting?” Miguel asks as the two of you approach him. “You have a mission to debrief.”

“What’s there to debrief? We got him and I brought him here instead of home like I could’ve.” You cross your arms across your chest in an annoyed stance as you speak. When you found out you were going after your Vermin you had argued with Miguel over even bringing him back to headquarters when you could easily shove him in a portal back to your own universe. It’s why you were late.

“Fine, just get out of here. I don’t want to deal with either of you.”

“Wanna get food at the cafeteria?” You ask Hobie as you turn to leave.

“What’s the deal with the tension between you and boss man?” Hobie asks as he spreads out in the plastic cafeteria chair across from where you set your side of fries down.

“Well for one I refuse to just take his shit like everyone else seems to. And for two,” you hold up two fingers with one hand while the other peels off your mask revealing two big space buns along with the rest of your face, “he doesn’t believe me to be a ‘spiderman variant’ even though I have similar canon events and there’s no such thing as spiderman in my universe. Jess was the one who recruited me and all Miguel wanted to do when he first met me was send me home. Which as you can see didn’t work out.” Hobie follows your lead and takes his own mask off before leaning forward and stealing a fry. “What about you?”

“I don’t care what he thinks and he hates it.” 

“It’s so nice to meet someone around here who also won’t let Miguel walk all over them. I like all your piercings by the way. I always wanted to get my septum pierced but, well, I’m not sure why I never did.”

“You like to talk, don’t ya?” You shrug.

“I don’t get out a lot back at home so when I find someone here who’s willing to let me I talk their ear off. You don’t seem to talk much.”

“I do ‘ere and there. I like listening when the person's worth listening to.” 

“Am I?” He nods, you definitely are, he finds your voice very soothing to listen to. “Then I think we’ll be great friends, Hobie.”

Hobie Taglist: @notbeforelong

Marvel Taglist: @lieswithoutfairytales @sugarbutterbailey @1-800-ch3rry @neenieweenie @fluffy-bnny @bunnyweasley23 @chaoticevilbakugo @trikigirl271 @chxosunbound @bigpoppajes @alienoutlet @mazerunnerrose @20fandomfangirl @goldylions @literally-a-ferret @angelgirl45367 @supraveng

Everything Taglist: @matchamunson​ @bubsonnobx​ @practicalghost​ @katsukis1wife @crustyowos @yourfavdummy @protecteddiemunson4vr @kennedy-brooke @m00nkn1ghts

Join a Taglist

[0alix0]

Aivela's curse (1/?)

link to AO3

parings: Arcann/Outlander (Female Jedi Consular)

warnings: Hanahaki AU (and every gruesome detalization that comes with it), enemies to friends to lovers (?)

It all started when she had escaped.

When the murderer of their former "immortal" emperor, the so-called outlander, is brazenly dragged out of the carbonite cell hidden in the bowels of the Spire. And then again right under his nose.

Chasing the stricken ship, he, together with Vaylin, ends up in the eternal swamps. Exactly where the Outlander fled off Zakuul. Even before completely landing on the surface, he is engulfed with uneasy feeling of déjà vu, and a terrifyingly familiar echo of the Force that beats in his head. It feels like a stain in the middle of the universe, like a black hole, pulling all living things into itself, and twisting them. An all too familiar feeling. And it is as if it's still here, just reach out.

The shuttle doors open and Arcann finally sees the ruined battlefield for himself. If it can still be called one. Crushed ground, with trees broken as if from a hurricane, and dozens of his skytroopers and knights trampled under layers of debris. Wrinkles appeared on his forehead, he clenched his metal hand till a creak came out of it. All, all because one single wave of jedi's hand.

It couldn't have been her power.

He touched his forehead as he reminisced about that day in the throne room. About the strange data from the crashed Sith ship, about the dispute between that jedi Outlander and his father, as if they knew each other, and about how the energy, torn from Valkorion after the fatal blow, rushed to the unconscious jedi like to a beacon enveloping her with it. He almost pitied her. Almost.

He did not waste the time of father's absence in vain. A crowd of outraged citizens, knights, even some scions, all wanted justice for the murder of their beloved emperor. Some wanted revenge. And Arcann wanted an explanations.

And already in a few days, the knights were already storming some of the distant bases of the Sith Empire. Cut their communicators, destroyed any holorecords of their presence, so that no one even knew who attacked them... they also collected data. About imperial hierarchicy, ancient Sith worlds, Dromund Cass, the destruction of Ziost. And about their missing sith emperor.

One of today's intruders can be almost certainly identified as a Sith, and it couldn't be just another coincidence. If this was truly someone who had come back here to set free the "reborn Emperor", if Valkorion had planned it... and Arcann knew he did, his father had always planned something he never spoke of to anyone... that Jedi is nothing but a meat puppet now, she's not a random soldier brought here by circumstance, it became obvious as soon as father suggested her place at his side, she's not a victim. She is a threat, just like Valkorion. To Zakuul. To him, to the only remnant of his family.

For your own damn good jedi, just sit in your fucking fridge.

"Your Highness," the senior lieutenant distracted him. "Permission to begin search..."

"Immediately!"

The squad of knights who arrived with him immediately began to clean off the debris, search for any remains or clues that could help them to define the intruders. Meanwhile the medical team resuscitates found knights who were injured by that force wave.

All around was gray and cold, completely opposite to how Arcann remembered. A zap of pain passes through the left arm, forcing him to grab onto the elbow, as if there was something to grab onto. Whether because of a sudden change in atmospheric pressure or a flash of memory, he could not tell. The rain drenches them all from head to toe, but, what is more important, the traces will soon be completely washed off the ground

"Izax damn them all." he grumbled to himself, clearing his throat. He wanted to leave... for practicality of course. He's hardly useful sick, and yet... something prevented him from leaving. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, the only thought that literally haunted him to leave spire, uncertainty or denial, something ghostly, maybe even sentimental... He didn't know how exactly he would know that Senya was truly there. Whether he simply overthought her presence on Gravestone then, in the throne room or... Not. Perhaps he hoped these feelings and her presence would waver away from his mind as soon as he'd arrived here. It didn't happen. Thoughts were fighting with one another and bright him no relief. It wasn't her. Yet someone had to tell the sith about the prison. It couldn't be her, she knew better than following the old bastard... But could it be that she follows the jedi?

Something in his chest feels squeezed  and for some reason it becomes difficult for him to take a breath. He feels a stinging bitterness on tongue. If it was her. And if she really is here... There! Side by side with some... outlander she never even met?

A dry and almost silent cough escaped his throat. No, that's enough of this nonsense.

He turned to Vaylin, she was standing a dozen steps away from him. Motionless, like a statue, she looked somewhere far away. He slightly touched her shoulder.

"There is no point in standing here for hours. You will only catch cold. Even if they left something here, it will most likely not..."

She. Was. Here. She helped that jedi escape. She helped him escape. Arcann tries to make a deep breath to calm himself but gets interrupted by another bout of quiet coughing.

Vaylin turns to him, eyes down, lips pressed, and reaches up her hand. A tiny block of wood rests on a thin palm. It's shaped like little Mawvorr's head... and looks exactly like the one some of them actually made for Senya decades ago.

He takes a carved figurine. Metal fingers brush over age-damaged surface, and anger starts to flare in his chest.  

"She lost it when we were little. Let's go home." his voice seems even more mechanical, hoarse, even considering the mask. Arcann returned her the figurine, pulled the cloak from his shoulders and silently threw it over Vaylin. She stood without movement, looking into small carved dots-eyes. Mawvorr slowly levitated from her palms and hanged in the air for a brief moment. A quick spark. Lightning discharges from both of her hands. The figurine burns within a few seconds, but it feels as if the deformation of small pointy face and the sizzle of the cracking wood and vaporized rain drops lasted just long enough to stuck in his head for next few days. Perhaps it's easier for her this was. Perhaps for him as well. Arcann claps her on the shoulder "Come on."

He takes his sister away from the swamps, from the thoughts that maybe their father is still alive, and even more so, that he is capable to return, that their mother didn't even thought twice before helping him... her.

In the recesses of his mind, he hopes that even if Valkorion's favorite was just unfortunately got caught in a crossfire of their mutual despise, it would be better if she just died without ever coming back.

When they return to the shuttle, his clothes are already sticking to his skin with the disgusting cold, and something begins to painfully itch somewhere in the depths of his throat. He mindlessly brushes it off as a hypothermia.

And only before bed he notices a tiny red stain in a corner of his lips and a metallic taste in mouth.

Petunia. Resentment and anger.

[the-last-human-war]

GodofWar Punisher WarMachine FutureWinterSoldier MolagBal Sauron

THEM. HOWEVER, Yet another Supreme Route, The Juggernaut Strategem, to (George) SEAR straight to the Heart of their Nation as One Mighty Scarab Force, wasting no time, Smiting All their Formidable Resistance and Crushing all their Strength and Fortitude and Provisions. Perhaps the Motherland of the Enemy Demons has Many Hearts, then Send Several Juggernaut Armadas to END THEM SWIFTLY. LOL it's a Race... We shall see who Strikes the Heart of the Enemy first. Glory to The Banished. 8. .... This is ATRIOX... When you have completely encircled the Enemy like a Perfect Glazed Donut, LET'S SQUASH THEM INTO JELLY. You can Starve them out, all sorts of varieties at Krispy Kremes. Hey, a Brute gotta eat right? Remember the Core pieces to a Man, it is the same when Attacking a Rival Clan, or Country: Eyes, Lungs, Legs, Heart, Mind... Their Temple Sacked!! PERFECTION, if you can Conquer the Enemy's Hearts and Minds before deploying your First Fleet of Ships. Your Reach around them is already a Jelly Donut don't mind me these are so good. Hey!! Get out of my personal stash!! The Temple of Powdered Sugars, Rainbow Sprinkles, and DAMN THESE FUCKING GRUNTS Confetti,,, has already Fallen... I"/_&;^"^&||£♡♤《¤○○|NTO M¡♡♡♡♤》》♤♡■Y MMMMMMM▪︎○□♤》》》<<^::$$&>&:OUTHHHHHHHHHH:***###^&**;"":**$~○¤》♡♡♤○○《. It's a process to go through the entire Gauntlet of Conquering your Enemy. However, BIG BOSS is manufacturing the Perfect Attacking Force. Even starting not having thrown a single stone at your Enemies Surveillance or Communications, this Perfect Armada of METAL GEARS Leading the Charge mm-hmmmm, you may start the Conquest superficially from the mothafuckin Ocean... Then make a clean Sweep and END the Entire Continent in a matter of Hours or Days. TRUE BLITZKRIEG. ALL GREAT KHANS would look down from the Stars in PRIDE. BASK IN THE GLORY OF THE BANISHED. 9. .... Darth Plagueis the Wise... Their is One other Cause for War that is actually most Nations reason for slicing each other. They are the Returning Beasts to your Village. You coexist with the Beast, because it is the Natural Order of things. And this is why Wars wage on and on, because Life is a Great Hunt, and Nations of People are Different Species. The Enemy is not completely a Devil or Demon. It can be a Monster, but with the Right Cunning, Determination, and Leverage, it is Rodent Vermin... Waiting to be Snared and Snatched for Defiling My Garden. If you don't believe in such Ancient Dogma, then perhaps you side with the God of War. And His Aim is... A WAR TO END ALL WARS!!! .... Deadpool... And AMBUSH BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGG... All Warfare is meant to be Fast, according to the Confusing Analects, and Sages smoked Opium on Tuesdays. I wonder what my brain would taste like with a lil dash of Sage. So take this Planet here for example... We're going to run this harmless simulation on Earth 52 of DC Comics, or is this 75? Heh, it's not like a few Incursions are gonna happen if I fold this Universe into a Burrito. That's what the folding foil is for. This my Chipotle get ur own!! Yeah... Galactus don't know bout that magic burrito. He just scoops bunch of Fejitas. I mean seriously wtf is a Fejita??!! It's just random Anything right?... Just like this Earth 8? I mean speaking of 8s... Why is the House of El not represented by the Letter L?

[hiphop-rap-and-basketball]

rookie year | chapter 12

a lamelo ball fic by hiphop-rap-and-basketball

Word Count: 5,201

Warnings: All characters in this fic are 18+, Minors DNI, swearing, drug use, NSFW content, all that shit.

A/N: bitchhh this shit was long. enjoy. I think waiting a week or so to upload definitely helps build anticipation and gives me time to get it right. I want to get this done before our lil internet party tomorrow I’ll discuss more about it in a bit :). I also have to give a huge should out to my homegirl @lilah1903 who helped me come up with the ideas for this chapter. Literally so kind of her. I am so grateful for this community ya’ll. ENJOYYYYYY and lmk how you like it. I have been finalizing it for the last couple hours and watching the Hornets v. Heat game at the same time in OT rn lmao 

November 24th, 2019

You stretched and rolled out of bed, you got up to feed Lucky and took your phone off the charger.

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: Tonight at like 7, be ready.

You: oh shit, how ready?

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: new fit type ready.

Apple Pay $500

You: Oh 😦😦 Word.

You stared at the money on your phone at this point not even surprised he sent it but still feeling grateful. As you began preparing breakfast as silent as you could, Jordyn was sound asleep on your bed still, face buried in the pillows.

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: what are you doing today?

You: I guess now I’m going to the mall to get a new outfit 🤣

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: that’s what I like to hear. Send me pictures 😊

As you waited for the eggs to finish heating up to scramble them, you popped some bread in the toaster.

You: okay 😊 what are you up to today?

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: practice for most of the morning, then I’m getting food with some of the boys.

You: okayy, have fun 🤗

“Ughhh,” You heard Jordyn groan without saying any other words.

“Awww, look who’s finally up,” you chirped, scooping eggs from out of the pan and onto the plate.

“Oh I feel amazing,” she moaned sarcastically.

You walked over to her and handed her a water bottle with her plate of scrambled eggs and toast. She thanked you and attempted to take small bites.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” You chuckled.

“I wasn’t that bad,” she mumbled and you glared at her. “I remember… moments.”

“Yeah? Like what?” You asked her, anticipating her response.

“Talking to Miles, meeting some of the team, being on the table…”

“Almost throwing up in Melo’s car and nearly giving him a heart attack?” You chuckled.

“Damn… sorry about that,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay… you held it in… then proceeded to throw up in the elevator on the way up,” you confirmed and she threw her hands in her face out of embarrassment.

“Aw shit y/n I’m so so sorry,” she muttered.

“Don’t be sorry at me be sorry at the janitors who probably came into work and were shook as hell,” you exclaimed. “It was too late for us too tell anyone about it and we were not about to clean it ourselves.”

Completely disregarding your words, a devious grin slowly grew on her face.

“Sooo did you and Melo finally kiss?”

“No,” you giggled looking down. “That was interrupted by your gagging.”

“Aww man y/n c’mon. I’m annoying when I’m drunk, I’m so sorry.”

“You are,” you laughed. “I forgive you. He asked me to get ready for tonight at 7. I don’t know what he has planned but he sent money for me to buy a new outfit soooo we have to go to the mall,” you murmured, taking a bite out of your own toast.

“Sent you money?” She exclaimed.

“I knew that would be the only thing you heard out of that sentence,” you laughed. “Yes, he did. Doesn’t happen often so I’m kind of anticipating he wants me to dress up.”

She propped herself up.

“How much money are we talking though?”

“$500.”

“Oh hell nah bitch there’s no time for me to be hungover we gotta go-“ she said as she rushed to stand up and was quickly humbled by a pounding feeling in her temple.

“After some coffee,” she laughs, sitting down.

•••

You both got up and ready to go shopping. Jordyn drove, and you picked up some coffee first before anything. When you made it to the mall, it took a while to decide what stores you wanted to shop in. You decided on one that fit your style the most.

Jordyn mainly helped you pick something out but wanted to do some shopping of her own while you tried things on.

After piling up a bunch of different pieces you wanted to try on, you scavenged around in the dressing room trying everything on and taking a picture of each outfit and sending them each to Melo.

After sending them all you awaited his responses and he took the time to reply to each one until he acknowledged his favorite and the one he wanted you to buy.

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: hell nah not this

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: girl why you pick this out

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: hmmm I like this you should buy it still but it don’t fit the vibe

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: buy thisss but not for tonight 😏

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: this the oneeeee oh you look🤤🤤

You giggled at his response of approval. You started gathering everything together of what he liked and what he did not. You hung up the ones you were going to leave and put the ones you were going to buy on the bench.

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯: Hmm what’s that lil red peaking through the back in this?

You looked down at the red bra that you had on that was covered in rhinestones.

You: my bra?

Melo 🛸🕺🏾💯: Hmm

You: what?

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯 Bet

You: ??

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯 Apple Pay $200

buy something new for me to see, and only me.

You looked at your phone with your eyes widened.

“You almost done?” You heard Jordyn’s voice ask from the other side of the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say while quickly fumbling to get your own clothes up off the floor as they had fallen. A scandalous idea pops into your head.

You decided to take a picture of your body in nothing but your bra and panties, taking advantage of the mirror in front of you and using your phone to cover your face before snapping a few pictures and picking out the one you liked most and sending it to him.

You: same color?? Different set?? Lmk 😌

You slipped your phone in your purse and quickly threw your clothes back on.

Meanwhile, Melo was at practice stressing on the bench.

“Whatchu all unfocused for,” Miles asked him, smacking him on the back. “C’mon. You took a longer break than me. That never happens,” he laughed.

“My fault, let’s get into it,” Melo huffed. His eyes scanned the photo you sent him one more time before clicking his phone off.

They were finishing up dribbling around after it had been a couple of hours, they were the only two left in the gym at this point. Everyone else went to lunch. Melo finally opened up to Miles about what was going on.

“She said she likes me, I asked her out tonight and I ain’t even get to kiss her yet, I really don’t know how I’ve waited this long,” Melo huffed rubbing his hands on his shorts.

“You all worked up about it, you clearly willing to wait for it,” Miles replied, smirk on his face before shooting the ball from the free throw line.

“It’s getting hard,” Melo admitted to him, taking a step closer to him and whispering now. “She just sent me a body pic now that shit is engrained in my brain, how am I suppose to think about basketball right now?” He asked him and Miles started chuckling.

“Hahaha you down bad,” he said while he shook Melo’s shoulders. “We can call it a day and you can go home and beat your meat to that picture.”

“Shut up dawg, forreal,” Melo laughed. “She’s so beautiful I know she’s worth the wait its just hard,” he sighed. “She knows what she just did by sending me that.”

“It’ll happen in time,” Miles encouraged him. “But don’t let that fact become a distraction.”

“I know, I know. I’m not distracted. Let’s go a couple more times,” he told Miles and he nodded in agreement, bounce-passing the ball to him.

•••

After you and Jordyn paid for your new clothes in the store, you decided to go into Victoria’s Secret to make a purchase per Melo’s request.

You felt Jordyn’s eyes almost burning a little hole on the side of your head.

“I just wanna look…” you trailed off.

“Mhmm…” Jordyn smirked. “Now you know you don’t have to lie to me, Y/N.”

“Okay fine shhhh,” you hushed her as you scanned through the selection. “I may or may not have just sent him a body pic when I was trying clothes on.”

She gasped. “Like naked?”

“No, No. Not yet,” you laughed. “Just in my bra… he wants me to pick something out just for him after he saw my other outfits I sent him pictures of.”

“You’re getting bold y/n, I like it. Did he reply to the picture though?”

“I’m too scared to look,” you laughed.

“Well, look!!!” She nudged you and you pulled out your phone. You looked at your phone together.

Melo🛸🕺🏾💯:

Y/N

God damn.

Red.

Black.

Shit every color.

Apple Pay $500

Every set.

Please.

She looked at you and smirked.

“Look at you, you made him speechless,” she laughs. “And he started begging? And sent you more money? You need to fuck him tonight.”

“Aw shit… now I’m panicking girl help me pick something out!!” You exclaimed to her and she took your hands and looked into your eyes.

“Girl you just sent a body pic to Melo Ball, who’s clearly into you and wants to see you naked, whatever the hell you end up picking, he will still want to fuck you,” you stated.

You felt the heat run to your cheeks in response to her comment.

“Let’s get this shit then,” you replied, picking out 3 different sets you had your eyes on already.

•••

You took your time getting ready and as you did, you really thought how you were done comparing aspects of your relationship with Melo to your old relationship. You were over Tristan for good.

It’s been a while since you got really dressed up as much as you have lately. Even when you photograph weddings you tend to keep your outfit neutral and as comfortable as possible when you’re doing a bunch of bending and stretching around to get the best images of couples.

So today you were dressing up and you felt the most beautiful and confident that you have in a while and because of that you were so ready for Melo to see you. Your mind rushed with a million thoughts wondering how the night would go.

You heard a knock at the door and let out a small gasp.

You looked at Lucky who was on your bed chilling.

You ran up to open the door in your heels and there he stood.

So tall and sooo fine, there was no one else that made you this happy to open your front door. His eyes scanned your body as he smiled.

“You look beautiful,” he stated.

Thank you,” you grinned. “Come in real quick there’s someone I want you to meet.” You tell him.

“Oh yeah, lemme see her,” he said. “She’s a her right?”

“Yeah, you giggled, “her name is Lucky.”

“I ain’t no cat person.. but..” he said while walking to the bed. He sat next to her and started petting her. Lucky’s eyes closed while he scratched the back of her head.

“She’s so cute,” he smiled. “You like having her?”

“Yeah, she keeps me company.” You say while crossing your arms.

You watch as Melo attempts to pull her into his arms and she snuggled up into his embrace.

“This is way to cute to not take a picture of, I have to,” you say while grabbing your phone, Melo smiled for the picture. You admired it for a moment while he placed her back on the bed.

“Aw, you got some fur on your shirt,” you laughed.

“Aww shit,” he laughs trying to rub it off but nothing moved.

“Here, I got it,” you say reaching for your lint roller. Something you already had because you brought it with you on shoots. You didn’t realize it would be very handy now that you have a cat.

You began using the lint roller on his shirt and he watched you in awe as you took matters into your own hands. Happy with the results, you toss the lint roller on your bed and attempt to walk away but Melo catches your hand.

“Mmmm, come here,” he hummed while using your hand to spin you around to get a full view of your outfit for the night.

“You look good,” he emphasized.

“Thank you,” you blushed, smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to feel sore. “Where we going?”

“You’ll seee,” he chuckles, “I promise.”

“Okay, I trust you,” you smiled.

“Good, now c’mon,” he motions.

The two of you get going, when you locked the door behind you, Melo reached out for your hand. You looked at it, then looked up at him.

His love language most definitely had to be touch.

You grabbed it, and he interlocked your fingers with his.

You laughed at him when you got to the elevator and it was packed, reminiscing on the first time you were in it together and it was full.

This time, Melo pulled you up against the his body. Hands still interlocked with yours as the rested on your hips. Your heart fluttered feeling his body against yours in this way.

There’s no way at least one person in here couldn’t recognize Melo, you thought.

He continued to hold your hand even up until you got to his car, he opened your door for you.

“What a gentleman,” you you grinned playfully.

You took over his Bluetooth right away and started playing some of your favorite songs as you drove.

“One day you gon let me drive this,” you nudged him and he shot you a look right away.

“Hmmm, I don’t know about all that,” he laughed.

“Why not?”

“Hmmm imma need to see how you drive your own car first,” he replied.

“I only hit a curb now and then, nothing crazy.”

“Nah nah you not about to crack my rims,” he laughed.

“I wouldn’t, pleaseee,” you pleaded.

“Hmm, we’ll see,” he smirked.

When you got to the spot, it was a pretty lowkey, cute little restaurant. It was giving very much 5 star rating vibes with its dim lights, fancy tables and chairs. He reserved the spot for the two of you.

You sat down, studying the menu for a moment. He looked up at you and grinned, admiring your gorgeous look for the night. After deciding on what you wanted, the waiter came back and took your order.

“Sooo.. how’d shopping go?” He asked.

“Good, Jordyn came with me,” you mumbled, crossing your legs under the table and straightening your posture.

“Oh yeah? What else you buy?”

“Couple outfits, some things…”

“Like??”

“I guess you’ll have to see later,” you shrugged.

“Anything related to this?” He chuckled, showing you his Lock Screen on his phone was in fact the picture you sent to him earlier.

“Melo,” you blushed, grabbing his phone out of his hand and putting it face down. He picked it right back up again to stare at it.

“You look…” he trailed off, in a daze as he did not remove his eyes from the picture. “…really fucking good,” he nodded, bringing his lips into his mouth before releasing them.

“Your lock screen though?” You glared at him and he shrugged.

“You messed with me at practice sending me that, so I think I deserve to fuck with you for that,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“That’s the game we’re playing?” You asked.

“Mhmm,” he smirked.

“Bet.”

“I ain’t scared of what’s going on in that head of yours, camera girl,” he chuckled.

“I never said you should be,” you giggled. All I said was “bet.”

“Mhmm,” he sassed. You roll your eyes at him.

The waiter brought your food out now.

You both ate your food throwing the occasional glimpses at each other, your mind still on the previous topic but you wanted to get him talking about other things.

“Sooo, LaMelo Ball… What’s it like being in the spotlight?” You asked and he sighed and thought for a moment before he spoke.

“I really don’t know what life is any other way,” he shrugged. “What’s it like to not be?”

“Seems, normal. Seems like I could go without feeling like eyes are on me 24/7,” you smiled.

“Being around with me could change that…” he stated and you looked into his eyes for a moment.

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged.

“I’m worried that might change,” he mumbled.

“How come?” You asked, looking into his eyes now.

“When all eyes are on you, everything is different. Every move and mistake you make can make a headline. It’s a lot of pressure,” he stated.

“Pressure makes diamonds,” you shrugged in a pish-posh matter.

He sits up in his chair and crossed his arms, leaning towards to you now.

“So you think you can handle it?” He asked with a smirk.

Your throat instantly grows dry in response to his demeanor and how he questioned you.

“Uh- maybe, probably I guess it depends,” you muttered, adjusting yourself in your seat.

“Nah, not maybe. I want to hear you say you can,” he replied, very much aware of what his tone was doing to you now.

He was so enticing when he got in touch with his persuasive energy. It made you forget to take a breath thinking about letting him do anything and everything possible to you on this table right now.

You cleared your throat, bringing yourself back to your reality.

“I can…” you trailed off. “I can take- handle it.”

He chuckled, grinning at you as his eyes grew dark.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he replied, focusing on his plate again before taking a bite.

The tension obvious between the two of you now, your stomach was in knots and you had a hard time finishing the rest of your meal without imagining dozens of scenarios going down between you and Melo. You set your fork down, unsure if you should be the one to break the silence.

“How’d you like your food?” He asked finally. Causing you to ease up a bit and smile, releasing a long and slow sigh.

“It was amazing, thank you LaMelo,” you replied.

“Of course camera girl,” he grinned.

You sat up in your seat with your legs crossed, hands on your lap. You watched him as he took the bill from the waiter and gave him his card.

Your eyes scanned his hands and how large they were. Thinking about how those were the same hands that were so good at holding a basketball so effortlessly. Then thinking about how good they would feel wrapped around your neck.

You grew impatient now, not because you wanted the night to end but because you wanted ever single part of him right now. You tried to hold it together.

“Melo?” You asked.

“Hmm?” He hummed, lip pulled between his teeth.

“Where to next?”

“You got somewhere to be?” He teased.

On your dick, you thought.

“No, no I didn’t mean- I mean I’m just looking forward to what you got in mind,” you stuttered.

“There’s a place I want you to see, I think you’d love it, you ready?” He asked.

“Always am,” you smiled.

He got up first, reaching his hand out for you to grab to help bring you out of your seat. As you walked out, some eyes were on you. You grew shy and looked up at Melo. He grinned down at you and you remembered the conversation topic you were just talking about and he knew exactly what was going through your head as he then noticed the eyes on the two of you as well.

“How do you handle it?” You asked.

“I’m open to the constructive criticism but I never let the hate get to me,” he shrugged. “Eyes will be on me for the rest of my life. I just try to remember I’m doing what I love and I’m not mad about that.”

You had some ways to go to have a mentality like Melo.

When you got to his car, you sat in silence as he drove. He kept his hand on your thigh and you were burning up at this point. When you finally got to the spot he was talking about, you smiled at him. He knew you so well and within a couple minutes, you were up on the top floor of the building, admiring the beautiful view of the city of Charlotte from up above.

He looked at you and smiled. He had not said much at this point and you felt like you had not either. You finally broke the silence, nervously looking down at your feet before looking back up at him.

“I like you Melo, I really do. Not because you’re LaMelo Ball but because you’re Melo… I guess that doesn’t make sense because-“

He cut you off by pressing his lips on yours.

Finally.

This was the moment you needed for the longest time. You melted into his embrace as his hands were holding onto your face. Grateful you were in heals, you linked your arms around his neck attempting to bring him as close as possible, intoxicated by his affection.

“Shit,” he whispered into the kiss before latching his lips onto yours again. Your heart was filled with so much joy for the first time in a long time. The two of you not wanting to stop or let go of each other’s embrace.

When you let go for a moment to catch your breath, you looked at him feeling completely speechless. Your mind replaying the moment and now you were unable to not think about anything else other than the feeling of his lips on yours. Your eyes scanned his with a small grin growing on your face now.

“I know pretty girl, I like you too, now please don’t ever stop kissing me,” he chuckled softly into your lips before kissing you again. You giggled into the kiss almost feeling happy tears come on. Enjoying this new level of appreciation you could finally show each other now.

••

When you got back to his car, he turned around and faced you.

“Don’t let me regret this but… wanna drive?” He asked and your eyes grew in excitement.

“Seriously?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he shrugged.

You grabbed the keys out of his hand and quickly made your way to the front seat. He went to the passenger seat side. It was a funny sight seeing the two of you have to adjust your seats in the opposite direction. He brought his all the way back and you brought yours more than inches away from the steering wheel.

You looked at him after putting the keys in the ignition and he watched you, amused by the sight.

“Awwww shit,” you turned up the radio and leaned back in your seat. You pulled out the lot and did not realize how much of a confidence boost you would be given driving a $200,000 car.

You shot the occasional glance at him as he had the biggest smile on his face completely enjoying everything about this.

When you hopped on the freeway you pushed 80 almost 90. His face grew concerned with the possibility of you getting pulled over in his car.

“Hey,” he laughed while putting his hand on your arm. “Slow your ass down.”

“Sorry,” you laughed, bringing down your speed now. You drove around the city, admiring it from the window.

“Oh shit…” you stated, slowing down and turning the radio down as well. “I need my car for tomorrow.”

“Where is it?” He asked you.

“Left it at my parents house on my birthday,” you replied.

“Perfecttt, I can’t wait to meet them, let’s go,” he laughed, you glared at him.

“You better act right,” you giggled.

“Who said I wouldn’t?” He grinned proudly, adjusting his shirt.

•••

You made it to your moms and unlocked the front door slowly. Your parents were in the living room watching a movie and were more than happy to see you two.

“Well you two look really nice,” your mom grinned, putting her glasses on and standing up from the couch.

“Mom and dad this is Melo, Melo this is my mom and dad,” you chuckled.

“Nice to meet y’all,” Melo grinned, he shook your dads hand and gave your mom a side hug. “We we’re on a date, I took her out for dinner, I hope that’s okay,” Melo smiled.

“Of course,” your mom smiled and winked at you as he spoke with your dad.

“It’s nice to meet you son,” your dad smiled at him. They chatted for a moment and you told your mom you were just stopping by to say hi and pick up your car. You watched as they asked him some questions. Your dad knew exactly who he was so of course he got to talking.

He was the sweetest to your mom, the biggest gentleman and was very kind to your father. You admired how he held the conversation with them so well. The moment was short and sweet, but you were ready to get going.

Out of habit, Melo made the mistake of pulling out his phone as he stood right next to your mom. Remembering the Lock Screen photo, you were too far to snatch his phone out of his hand, but by the look on his face when he saw it, he definitely realized and slipped it right back into his pocket.

“Uh- but we’re-we’re going to go,” you blurted. “I love you guys, always good to see you, we’ll stop by again soon.”

“You too,” your replied with a smile on her face you wondered he she noticed or if he put it away in time. The two of you rushed out of the house and back to his car.

•••

“You’re slick as fuck for that,” is the first thing you said to him when the two of walked into his apartment. You were hoping to God your mom did not see the photo on his phone and you were nervous about it the entire way home.

“For what,” he asked, grinning ever so innocently, using all of his teeth to smile.

“You know what you did,” you mumbled.

“What’d I do?” He asked, bringing you in by the waist to meet his face.

“Change your Lock Screen,” you mumbled.

“Why? What if I want to show off what’s mine,” he replied, rubbing his thumb on your back as he spoke.

“What’s yours?” You repeated, slightly heated at his stubbornness now. “Am I yours?”

“You tell me?”

“You ask me,” you shot back, not making sense of what you were trying to say but rather feeling heavily sexually frustrated now.

“You gon regret having that attitude with me pretty girl,” he replied, eagerly bringing his lips to yours now. He picked you up without breaking the kiss, walking you over to his bed now.

Slipping you out of your outfit, he undressed you tortuously slow. You laid down on the bed in nothing but the shiny new underwear you bought today for the occasion. His eyes scanned your body in all of its bare beauty for a couple of moments before going back to kissing you again.

You focused on the way his lips felt pressed against your skin. The way he softly kissed your jawline down to your neck, a small moan escaped your lips. He looked up at you and acknowledged your approval of his actions.

“You are mine,” he mumbled in between planting kisses on your inner thighs. “All mine.”

“Really?” You asked, trying to keep the sarcastic act up but miserably failing as he slowly slipped your panties off.

“So you went ahead and sent that picture and then get mad that I liked the picture?” He whispered while slowly beginning to rub your clit now.

“I wasn’t mad that you- oh my god” your words were cut short as he slowly slid a finger inside of you.

“And still getting smart about it after I told you to watch your mouth?” He chuckled. His voice low now as he knew his tone was increasingly taunting to you.

“I- Melo,” you gasped, feeling ecstatic about the increasing pleasure not only because it felt good but because it was Melo. And you wanted it to be him doing this to you right now. For the longest time.

“You know how long I been wanting to know how you taste?” he mumbled, eyes hooded now has he was so focused on pleasuring you in this moment. He had yet to bring his mouth to your pussy and was only pleasuring you with his hands but you were putty in his grasp unable to control yourself at this point.

“You so beautiful, I don’t think you truly understand that…” he mumbled, increasing the pace of his fingers now. Your heart swelled with happiness at his sweet words.

“But that smart mouth is going to get you in trouble,” he finished.

“Melo shut up and eat me out already,” you gasped and he was taken aback by your demands. He stopped.

“Aht- what’d I just say?” He asked, his tone sounded playfully angry but nonetheless his aggression was turning you on.

You playfully glared at him, rolled your eyes then fell into character. If he wanted the praise as much as you did, then you would give it to him to get what you wanted. As you expected the result of two zodiac fire signs fighting for dominance.

“Please Melo, I want you to make me feel good, Melo,” you beamed at him, pleading now, even though you were not lying. It was easy to tell that as confident as he was, he still enjoyed having his ego stroked.

It did not take him long to give in this time, as his lips found your clit, he took his time to make sure you felt good. His hands simultaneously caressing your breasts and bringing his hands all the way down to your hips as if you did not think he could get any closer to your pussy, his face was drowning in it at this point as you were moaning in response to him getting you closer and closer to your climax.

He did not stop, in fact, he kept going even after you came. Clearly overstimulated, you were gasping for air at this point admiring how dedicated he was to eating you until you cried.

“I stop eating you out when I’m finished,” he stated, bringing his lips back up to the lips on your face now. (Lmaoo) “you need anything ma?”

To get a fucking grip after that shit, you thought.

“Surprise me,” you whispered breathlessly, wrapping yourself in his blanket.

You had zero words as he got up and casually made his way to the fridge, grabbing the two of you something to drink. He brought it back to you and sat next to you now, still admiring everything about you.

“You so pretty,” he beamed at you. “stay with me tonight?”

_____

Omfg!!!! I’m shook bitch.

Taglist: let me know if you wanna be added :)

@ykiminlove @baddessbubble @lilah1903 @neighboorhoodwhore

[crackedoutwalnut]

Will you consider writing Diana Prince x Fem!Reader who has anxiety, and she frets endlessly over Diana when she’s away on missions? Diana constantly assures her she’s fine and even jokes it off to seem like missions are no big deal, let alone a threat, to her. But, then, there finally comes an instance where the news or something announces no one/or very few of JL survived some unbelievably dangerous, world saving mission. Reader, of course, believes it and her anxiety takes over from thinking Diana is gone. Basically, I’m asking for angst that ends in a whole lot of comforting fluff! Sorry this if this is long and too much detail!

A/N: Heyyyyy,,,, sorry this took so long. Writer's block is a b*tch to deal with ;/. Hope you still enjoy though!

Word Count: 2k

--

When you first started dating Diana, she quickly grew fond of calling you her "little worrier." You were always flitting and hovering around her before and after a mission. Even after she insisted she felt completely fine, you would drag her into bed and make her rest after a battle. Amazonian or no, your girlfriend still had her limits. You were both yet to see a said limit; however, you were not keen on finding out what it looked like.

Currently, you were pacing a hole in the living room of your shared apartment. Your hands were clenched into fists at your side as you frantically looked between your girlfriend and the window.

"What could Bruce possibly want you for that requires you to be gone for a week?" You asked, running a hand through your hair.

Diana gave you a sympathetic, if a touch amused, look before making her way over to you. She cut your frantic path short by wrapping her arms around your waist. Her nose burrowed into your hair as she squeezed you closer. "My love, I'm not made of porcelain. If I was concerned about my safety, I would make sure to bring extra backup. I promise you this mission will be no different than the rest of them."

You groaned and hid your face in the crook of her neck. "But what if it isn't?" You melded your body impossibly closer to her own as countless gruesome scenarios rattled around your head.

You felt two large calloused hands cup the sides of your face as Diana tilted your face up. Begrudgingly, you complied and met her soft gaze. "My little worrier, I promise I will not take any unnecessary risks. I will be back home before you know it. Okay?"

You sighed and fell into her once more. Your cheek rested against her collarbone, and she traced circles up and down your spine. "Just come back to me in one piece, okay? I like your scars but not enough to add to the collection."

Diana grinned and planted a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. "I promise, my little worrier." The two of you clung to one another for a moment longer before the demigoddess finally pulled away. "I have to leave now, but I will be back before you know it. I promise, my darling."

You huffed and pressed a kiss to her jaw, "You better. After having sex with an Amazonian for two years, it would be nearly impossible to replace you with anyone else."

Diana chuckled and lifted you into your arms. You yelped in surprise and wrapped your legs around her waist as she pulled you into her. Your lips met in a slow, melting kiss. "I will see you soon, darling." With one last lingering look, she left.

--

You were certain they had added new days to the week. It had been three days since Diana had left for her mission with the Justice League, and you felt as if you were about to explode. The confidentiality of the threats that the League faces meant you were left entirely in the dark. No status updates, no calls, not even a damned text was allowed. Time had a funny way of making the complete severing of communication even more painful.

The four days remaining felt like an entire century as you spent most of your time flipping between news stations just in case one of them had something- anything - of use. Sighing, you scrubbed your hands over your face and shut off the TV. It was around three in the morning, and even though you had work in four hours, sleep evaded you. Rest was not an easy thing to come by when Diana was away. The combination of a cold bed and the unknown danger she faced was enough to keep your eyes stapled open.

Still, that didn't mean you couldn't give it a shot. After taking well above the recommended dose of Melatonin, you opted to wear one of Diana's hoodies to bed. The sweatshirt fell down to your lower thigh and wrapped you entirely in the familiar scent of her perfume. A soft smile settled on your face as you buried your face in the collar of her hoodie.

Ironically, Diana had bought the hoodie more for your benefit than anything else. After you complained that all of her clothing was too fancy to steal, the demigoddess went out and bought one. After it started to smell like her, you snatched it from her closet as often as possible. The comfort provided by the well-worn cotton was what finally managed to lull you to sleep nearly an hour later.

--

Hours later, your fitful sleep was abruptly cut off by the feeling of your phone violently vibrating beside you. Groaning, you cracked your eyes open and peered over at the alarm clock. Who the hell was calling at 5:30 in the morning? Cursing, you fumbled for your phone and peered up at the caller ID. Your heart dropped when you saw who it was: Diana.

Your girlfriend only risked calling you while on a mission for one reason; something horrible had happened. Quickly, you slammed your thumb against the accept call button and lifted it to your ear.

"Diana? What's wrong? Did something happen?" You sputtered, sitting up.

"Y/n I don't have much time. I just wanted to let you know that this job might take a bit longer than I originally thought," your girlfriend sounded uncharacteristically rushed. In the background, you heard the sounds of panicked shouting and something gut-wrenchingly similar to gunshots. "Everything will be fine; just stay safe for me. Okay?"

"Diana, what's going on? Is everyone alright? Are you alright?" Your fist clenched the sheets as you kicked the comforter off.

"I don't have time to explain. Just stay safe. I love you." You opened your mouth to protest. However, the call ended before you had a chance. Cursing, you threw your phone to the side and rushed to the living room. Scrambling around in the dark, you finally grasped the TV remote and flicked it on. On the news was a concerned-looking reporter standing behind a battle-torn field. Bodies, both alien and human, were strewn across the ground lying in charred craters with billowing smoke.

"Just hours earlier, a rogue alien fleet attacked a small village just on the coast of western Italy. The Justice League confronted them in a gory battle. Unfortunately, two members, the Flash and Batman, were gravely injured during the fight." You gasped as a video of a bloodied Barry Allen in his now tattered suit was rushed away on a stretcher. Your chest clenched painfully as you paced in front of the television screen. "The location of the rest of the Justice League is unknown at this time."

You blindly slammed your finger against the power button on the remote and chucked it against the couch. Diana was okay. She had to be. How else would she call you if she wasn't? These thoughts did little to soothe your fears as your legs gave out from under you. Your knees collided with the solid wood floorboards as you tried desperately to keep your sobs at bay.

For the first time in your relationship, you had no clue where Diana Prince was. Was she still in Italy? Were the others with her? Had she been kidnapped? Was she okay? The thought had you heaving out wheezy breaths. You had to calm down; you refused to have a panic attack at 5 in the morning. Squeezing your eyes shut, you roughly dragged yourself onto the couch. A clenched fist was pried open as you rested it over your stomach. Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

After the oxygen returned to your lungs and your vision was no longer blurred with tears, you shakily stood from the couch. Diana would be okay. She had to be. If Diana was okay, you were okay.

--

Nothing was okay. It has been a month since your girlfriend's ominous phone call, and there was neither hint nor mention of her anywhere. It was hell. The whole world mourned the death of the Justice League while you clung desperately to a glimmer of hope that grew dimmer every day. As the idea of Wonder Woman being alive started to diminish, so did you. You had lost quite a bit of weight over the month. Your clothing was smelled of weeks worth of unwashed grime.

Since your work allowed you to work from home while you got your life back together, there was no point in leaving your apartment. For the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to be completely consumed by grief. What else was there to do when the love of your life was either never coming back or lying face up in a ditch somewhere? The process of living was more of a day-to-day chore that you forcibly dragged yourself alongside. Not quite alive, but not nearly dead enough for it to be a relief. You were simply there.

This was still the case when your friends decided to drag you to the mall. After not hearing from you for nearly three weeks straight, they had decided that it was about time to get you out of the apartment. You hardly gave a shit either way. Currently, you were scrubbing dry shampoo into your long-abused scalp. You rubbed your nearly used up deodorant on and decided on which almost clean outfit to wear.

After settling on one of Diana's old hoodies, you threw on some sweatpants. The clothing you stole from your girlfriend had long stopped smelling like her perfume so, you reapplied it yourself. Your phone buzzed with a message from your friend's group chat, letting you know they were outside. With a resigned sigh, you forced yourself out the door.

Nearly three hours later, you finally pried yourself away from your friends. You refused to let them give you a ride home as you opted to take the bus instead. The mall had been agonizing. Every high-end clothing store was like a painful reminder of who you had lost. She seemed to be everywhere these days in billboards, mall food courts, and in crowds. Her memory seemed to follow you like a phantom limb. After nearly falling asleep on the bus, you stumbled up the stairs and into your apartment.

You were nearly halfway to the couch when you heard an odd noise coming from your bedroom. It sounded like... shuffling? Furrowing your brows in confusion, you grabbed the pepper spray Diana had insisted you buy from your bag. Carefully, you crept down the hall. Your heartbeat hammered in your chest as you slowly opened the door.

Time stood still. There, sitting on the bed so casually you could have believed she had been there all along, was Diana Prince. The pepper spray in your hand hit the carpet with a soft thud as you gaped at your girlfriend. She looked up at the sound and nearly leaped to her feet at the sight of you. "Y/n, you're here!" She cleared the space between you in two long strides. Her hands were cupping your cheeks with a familiar sense of love. "When I got home, I saw that you were not here, and I feared that something had happened," Diana explained as she cocooned you in her arms.

At the familiar sensation of her strong arms wrapped around your abdomen, you finally broke. You crumbled into her chest as sobs wracked your body. Your hands grasped at the back of her shirt as your tried desperately to get closer to her. Diana tutted quietly and cradled the back of your head. "You- you were dead," you heaved hysterically. "Ever-Everyone thought you were dea-dead."

Your girlfriend carefully guided the two of you onto the bed. She lounged on her back, allowing you to lie entirely on top of her. Frantic hands clung to her. If you didn't hold on tight enough, she would crumble to sand and dust, like a castle on a beach. Diana ran her hands up and down your back, quietly shushing you whenever you gasped or cried. "Shhh, you're alright, everyone's okay, my love. I'm here now." You felt a gentle kiss being placed onto the crown of your head.

A long beat of silence stretched between you two as your cries died down. "Where were you."

"I will explain everything later. For now, all you need to know is that I'm here. I'm here, and I'm never leaving you again."

[redrobin-detective]

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death. 

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave. 

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air. 

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough. 

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die. 

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town. 

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper. 

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light. 

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally. 

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

 Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock. 

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

[hwascripts]

What Izuku would be like in a relationship: The positive traits, the toxic traits, his love language, my own personal headcanons and an overall conclusion

WC: unknown

TW// POTENTIAL SPOILERS, No smut but Izuku is aged up, Toxic traits aren’t necessarily toxic...more so just bad traits, Teeny tiny little bit of angst, I think that’s it!

Masterlist

Disclaimer: I am in no way claiming the following headcanons are true. You are 100% free to disagree with me but please DO NOT send me hateful comments or asks. I am simply writing what I think Deku would be like in a relationship

a/n: Just to let you know, your nickname for him is Zuku just so you don’t think I kept spelling his name wrong.

-Deku is literally the kindest soul ever and it makes me want to cry. He’d give you his umbrella if you ever forgot yours, he’d literally carry you to first aid if you ever injure yourself- this man will legitimately do everything for you

-He’s incredibly observant. If he catches you looking at a pretty ring then he’ll literally show up at your door days later with that very same ring in his hands

“I saw you looking at it a few days ago and I wanted to surprise you!”

“Zuku baby oh my god how much did you spend?!”

“You don’t need to worry about it sunshine”

I wholeheartedly believe Izuku would call you his sunshine or something along those lines

-I have this one headcanon of him drawing you all the time as an excuse to “observe you and your quirk” but it’s really just because he wants to admire the way you shine underneath the sun- and that’s how he came up with the name Sunshine for you

-Deku has a heart of gold oh my god, this guy cares so much about you it’s unreal. Imagine trying to hide the fact that you’ve been crying while on a phone call- mission failed because he heard your shaky voice and now he’s on your doorstep with your favourite hoodie of his and your favourite snacks

-His memory is insanely good, like it’s freaky how good it is. Like you mentioned to him ONCE that you liked a certain drink and now he pulls up to your dates with that drink all the time (not like I’d complain if Deku brought me my favourite drink)

-Just like Bakugou, Deku is incredibly smart and he literally always comes up with a solution. You could literally vent to him about a problem you’re having at work and he’s come up with at least 73 solutions within 6 hours

-He’s determined and hardworking. Again, he’s just like Bakugou in the sense that he’ll put his blood, sweat and tears into whatever he’s doing- no matter if it’s a serious high stake mission or something like planning your weekly date. The second he puts his mind to something, he makes sure to give it his all.

-Izuku is your own personal cheerleader, this dude will hype you up no matter what. Training after work? he’s cheering for you. You completed a really difficult task? you better believe he’s gonna pat you on the back for it.

-He’s very protective of you. Remember when the LOV attacked the training camp and he rushed to find Kota? yeah he’s 10x more protective of you.

-And it’s not because he thinks you’re weak and can’t defend yourself, it’s because he genuinely worries about you all the time and just wants to make sure your always safe

-He’s an inspirational person, he makes you hella motivated to do even the most boring chores around the house

-Deku isn’t afraid to show his emotions. Unlike Bakugou, he’s often seen showing his emotions. Deku said “toxic masculinity who?”. He definitely gives 0 fucks if someone sees him crying/upset because I feel like Pro-Hero Deku would stop the stupid mindset of “Hero’s can’t show their genuine emotions”

-Izuku is the type of person to analyze all his losses, figure out what he did wrong and then learn from it to make sure he doesn’t make the same mistake again. He’s the complete opposite of Bakugou who gets bitter over his losses due to his superiority complex.

-He’s so good at comforting you that it’s unbelievable. Deku gives the warmest hugs that make you feel so safe- you literally cannot change my mind about this

-You know those hugs where the other person lightly rubs your back and lightly sways side to side with you? Yeah those are the hugs that Deku gives (he’d definitely give you a sweet little kiss on the forehead/cheek)

“Sunshine come here, let me hold you while you let out all your frustrations. I’ve got you, nothing can hurt you while you’re here with me”

-Can you tell I want some comforting Izuku hugs? He wouldn’t let go of you until he put a smile back on your face and GAHH oh my god I need Izuku hugs

-As much as I hate to do this, it needs to be done 😔✊🏻

-Izuku is such an over thinker, this guy worries about EVERYTHING under the sun. Your eyes didnt crinkle when you smiled? he’ll think you’re upset with him. You gave him a side hug rather than a normal hug? he’ll think he did something wrong.

-He’s self aware that he overthinks things but he just can’t seem to stop his thoughts. No matter how many times you reassure him that you aren’t upset with him, he’s subconsciously thinking about how to make it up to you

-He constantly pushes himself past his limits. You guys saw how many times he’s broken his bones. Deku may be intelligent but when it comes to his own self he can be completely hopeless

-The amount of times you’ve scolded him while you clean up his scrapes and cuts is insane. He just sits on the toilet lid and bites his lip nervously while you wave your finger angrily at him

“Sunshine please, I said I was sorry and that it won’t happen again!”

“Zuku you and I both know that’s a damn lie, I’ve had to patch you up 3 times this week! When are you going to start being more considerate of your limits?”

-I’m sorry but I picture him being so nervous to initiate anything with you. This guy would be so fidgety just by THINKING about holding your hand

-And deep down he knows he’s being ridiculous because come on, you’re his S/O and he’s been dating you for years now- why does he still get shaken up just by holding your hand?

-At first you think it’s cute, he’s just being respectful of your boundaries- but as time goes on you kind of get a little annoyed because he always asks you a bunch of times if you’re okay with him being affectionate.

“Zuku...sweetheart you know you don’t need to ask me a million times if I want to cuddle, right? I love cuddling with you!”

*cue sweating* “I’ll keep that in mind, Sunshine”

-He eventually gets a lot more comfortable with affection...more often than not you wake up with him nuzzled into your side like a cat

(Side note PLEASE wake him up with a bunch of kisses, he’ll literally melt)

-He’s very insecure about his scars because they make him feel like he’s “ugly” and sometimes he doesn’t even want you to look at them

-Do me a favour and please kiss along his scars/ trace them with your fingers while you compliment him- he’ll start crying because the scars he thought made him ugly are now starting to look beautiful to him

-This isn’t necessarily a toxic trait, more like a bad habit. Whenever Izuku gets stressed he’ll train himself to the brink of exhaustion just so he can try to focus on something other than how stressed he is

-Again, not a toxic trait but a bad one...Deku puts everyone else before himself. Which isn’t a bad thing if it’s done in a healthy amount, but Izuku goes to the extreme. I feel like he’d neglect his own needs just to satisfy everyone else and you’d have to intervene before it gets worse

“Sunshine I said I was fine, you don’t need to worry about me! Your Zuku is perfectly energized and ready to go”

“Zuku don’t lie to me, you know I can read you like a book. You’re coming with me and I’m putting you to bed”

-I hate to say it but this guy hates confrontation so much that sometimes he’ll suffer in silence for MONTHS before he even hints at being upset with something

-I honestly think your biggest argument with him would be about his lack of communication in terms of him not being completely honest about how he feels and he just breaks down-

-Like he has a really bad breakdown because he’s been bottling everything up for so long because he hates the idea of fighting with you.

-And now he’s sobbing because he’s so frustrated that he doesn’t know what else to do

-Anyways, the two of you just silently comfort each other until you’ve both calmed down enough to talk properly. This is the night Izuku finally starts opening up to you rather than bottling up every negative emotion he feels

-I honestly think his love language is a mixture of giving you gifts and words of praise

-He’s a little shy when it comes to showing you how he feels through affection, so giving you gifts and his praise get his point across

-He’s totally the type to send you cute messages throughout the day, send cute selfies when he misses you, or he just sends you a random bouquet of flowers because he saw them and thought of you

-Also the type of guy to have photos of the two of you displayed around his office. His most prized one being the photo of your first mission together

-Just warning you now that if you ever mention that your suit ripped or a certain item isn’t functioning properly then he’ll literally buy 10 replacements- each one better than the last

“Zuku I said that the sole of my BOOT ripped off, not my entire suit!”

“Well now you have 10 new upgraded suits to make sure it won’t happen again! Isn’t it great, Sunshine?”

(Someone take his credit card away from him)

I definitely think Izuku would be an amazing S/O! He’s caring, kind and comforting- and he does his very best to try and work on the bad habits he has.

Overall, I would say Izuku definitely would win a “S/O of the year award” (sorry Bakugou)

[lilac-and-lemon-whumps]

The Eleventh Hour

Previous

Backstory time! Takes place about one month before Micah meets Miss Silva

@themerrywhumpofmay Day 8: “Does that hurt?”

Broken Glass | Alleyway | Begging 

Cw’s: vampire-led world, minor gore, background character deaths, allusions to dehumanizing treatment, blood and half-assed medical skills, background character has death ideation.

As hard as he tried, Micah couldn’t hold back the grunt of pain upon waking.

“Oh good, you’re up. Flex your leg for me.” Shilo was kneeled next to Micah, a cleaning rag in one hand. He prodded at Micah’s thigh with the other, inspecting the open gash through the torn pant fabric for any more damage.

“Well hello to you too, sunshine,” Micah greeted flatly. He tried blinking away the last of his fatigue and obeyed the younger rebel, though he couldn’t hide another wince at the strain on his injury. 

“Does that hurt?” Based on his tone, Shilo wasn’t impressed and knew damn well how much it pained, but Micah only closed his eyes and allowed the kid to work. The bandage he’d wrapped around it earlier was practically soaked through, hence Shilo’s ministrations. Any longer without changing it was risking infection. 

“How bad is it?” Micah managed once he stopped seeing stars in his vision.

Shilo shrugged. “Well, until we get ahold of any lidocaine or, hell, fucking whiskey at this rate, there’s no helping the pain. Bastard got you good. I haven’t found any bone fragments though.”

“But it’ll heal,” Micah tried not to sound so uncertain.

“It better. You don’t have any other choice.” 

Micah closed his eyes. Asshole.

“We need to get this closed. It won’t ever heal without stitches.” Micah ignored Shilo’s protests and began to sit up. They were in the office of the abandoned deli, the chosen makeshift shelter of the day. They tended to move every couple of days or so, never wanting to risk leaving their scent too long in one area so close to Vamp territory. But with Micah’s injury from the sudden ambush last week, they’d been slower at moving. The need to restock on ammunition and food didn’t help their safety efforts either. “Can you get Daria? She has the bag on her.”

Shilo let out a low whistle. “They’re not back yet. Dealer was behind schedule.” He gestured to the radio on the table, their only form of communication with each other without being tracked. He rubbed his face with the other hand. The toll the last year had taken on them all showed clearest in the hardened eyes that met Micah’s, grey steel forged from pain and loss as much as growing up too fast had. “She radioed in last hour." Micah frowned. “What? What time is it?” “Eleven.”

“A-M?” How long had he been out?

“P-M.” Shilo tried to look nonchalant but he wouldn’t meet Micah’s eyes as he picked at the toe of his boot. “It’s eleven p-m,” he repeated quietly. 

Micah didn’t understand what he was hearing. “That’s…that can’t be right. They have to be back.” “They’re not, Sherlock.”

“It’s night.” Micah gestured in disbelief. “Are Daria and Nate insane? That goes against all protocol—”

“Mic, stop trying to stand. You need to heal. There’s nothing we can do until—“ “Fuck sitting still. No one stays out past sunset. Why are they not back?”

“You’re—Christ, man, do you never listen?” Shilo muttered more curses under his breath and got up to retrieve another rag and set of gauze. He pitched his voice in a mocking attempt at a news reporter. “This just in: Local valley teen survives Westwood Vamp attack, succumbs to own stupidity.” He cast a look at where Micah had dragged himself up using the edge of a counter and had settled his weight on his good foot. “Sit the fuck down. You’re dripping blood everywhere.”

“You’re ignoring my question. What did Daria say? It’s been dark for hours.”

Shilo approached with the new rag and bandage. “She said the dealer was behind schedule, but they were loading up the Rover and would be back within the next few hours. We planned to receive the new load of silver, so even if she does run into trouble, she and Nate will be fine. They have their ID’s.”

“ID’s won’t do anything past curfew, much less once the Vamps realize they’re fake.”

“Micah, calm down and wrap your damn leg. Worrying isn’t going to get them here faster.” Micah didn’t want to admit that Shilo was right. Sometimes he hated how mature the seventeen year old could be compared to Micah’s nineteen. When Daria had lost her sister to the Lottery last year, Shilo had organized the colony’s protest against underage blood sourcing. 

When they’d lost Marcus and the two prisoners they’d rescued to the fight last month, Shilo had been the one to communicate back to their base and decide a retreat strategy that would allow them to restock their supplies and not put them in more danger. When Nate broke down after Marcus’ death and tried to end it all in the rapids of the Delta River before the Vamps took him too, it was Shilo who tackled Nate to the ground and pulled a forty-eight hour shift lest Nate prove Shilo’s efforts meaningless.

Shilo served six months in confinement for the protest, and was a month shy of Micah’s seven with the rebels. But he had come out more resolved than most to the fight, and had tallied a higher Vamp kill count than rebels with a three times the experience than he. 

What had Micah done? He wanted to feel a part of something important, something that would protect his family from the Vamps that controlled his city, who forcefully drew blood from he and his parents every two weeks in the banks and only to give them a fucking lollipop for their time. But now, after seeing more than his fair share of friends killed before his eyes along the border and barely able to walk, much less run, Micah had to quell the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. 

Shilo was right. Worrying wouldn’t do any good. 

But staring at the mess of his leg, blood and mauled skin rendering him immobile until the Rover returned with their surviving comrades, Micah didn’t know what else to do. 

“Do you hear that?”

Micah looked up to see Shilo moving a hand to his holstered gun. The latter moved toward the door that overlooked the main room where the bare aisles and long abandoned register remained. This town had been bare for years, ever since the Vamp border moved farther east.

“I think it’s the Rover,” Shilo continued but he didn’t take a hand off the gun’s handle. 

“Radio in,” Micah suggested. They knew the rules. Never approach an unidentified target. Never open the door for an unidentified target.

Never, never engage with the unknown. 

A few moments passed until Micah heard what Shilo was hearing. It indeed sounded like the engine of the Rover as it parked in the alleyway between the deli and the next abandoned building. 

“It’s them,” Shilo confirmed. 

“Are you sure?” “Daria just parked.”

Micah couldn’t see around the door’s corner where a window lay, but he breathed out a sigh of relief and let go of the silver dagger he’d instinctively pulled from his belt. An attack in his current condition would undoubtedly end tragic for him, but god knew Micah wouldn’t go down without a fight of his own if it came to that. 

“Help me up.” Micah started to grab for the counter again. “I can bring in whatever bags—“

Micah never finished his sentence. 

He didn’t know it then, as no one knows until it is over just exactly what it all meant, but he would come to relive this moment a million times for the rest of his life, the memory creeping up like a sore throat in his dreams when Miss Silva’s whips rendered consciousness impossible, or when Mr. Diego carried him inside his house for the first time those first few days after the accident and he knew the end was near.

He’d remember, in vicious detail, how he’d stumbled back at that first splintering explosion, the old linoleum floor barely catching his fall. Realizing only seconds later, though it felt like hours, that it was glass, panels upon panels of glass breaking at once, that had sent he and Shilo tumbling to the ground.

He’d remember how one moment, he’d stared frozen at the open door, reeling from the echo in his ears and too slow to fully understand the image of Shilo unholstering his gun at the same moment an unfamiliar man walked into view. 

Realizing in the next:

Not a man. Not a human. Not Daria nor Nate.

Above all, Micah would never forget the vampire’s face, the calmest expression of boredom, when it took one look at Shilo’s gun and lashed its claws at Shilo’s throat.

Shilo never got a chance to scream.

.

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @deluxewhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @pumpkin-spice-whump @cicatrix-energy @nicolepascaline @whumpy-writings

[tomurasprincess]

Corruption Zone (Dabi x Reader)

Summary: You and your little group of surviving heroes are trying to make the best out of survival in a decaying city, torn apart by Shigaraki and his League of Villains. You’ve weathered many storms and many hero hunting villains, but as it turns out, the worst is still to come.

Pairing: Dabi x Reader Rating: E+ Warnings: Apocalypse AU. Dubcon, coercion, blackmail, mind break, major character deaths (I mean, hello apocalypse AU), yandere. Word Count: 8k+ Note: My entry for the BNHarem Discord collab! The theme this time around was apocalypse AU, and I had a lot of fun world building. I feel like I pushed myself out of my comfort zone with this one, so I hope you all enjoy it! The full masterlist can be found here, so make sure you check out the fics from all of the talented writers!

You sigh heavily as you glance around an old abandoned warehouse where you and your party are hiding out like rats in filth. You've been working on making the place habitable for you and your group, cleaning out some of the trash, unpacking what little supplies you have, and shoring up the place's defenses. It's not particularly hard work, but it's time-consuming and has left you exhausted.

But when you hear one of the doors open, all your exhaustion leaves you as you turn quickly on your heel to see who the intruder is. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see Shouto enter, fresh off a supply run. Your relief quickly turns to concern as you see that he's bleeding, and you rush over to check on him.

The fact that both Shouto and Katsuki were injured on a supply run is terrifying to you. They are your two most skilled fighters, and the ones doing the heavy lifting when it comes to protection. You merely help out as you can, acting as leader and support of your little band of fugitives. 

"What happened," you ask as you begin to check out the wounds. You realize you graze a particularly sensitive spot as Shouto hisses out a curse under his breath.

"There were no supplies or food at our usual spots. Bakugou decided to go deeper into villain territory to try to find something."

"And you just decided to go along with it," your voice comes out sharper than you mean, your concern for both of them showing through your anger. "We've discussed this, villain territory is too dangerous to just waltz right into."

"You know how he gets," Shouto gives a deep sigh. "And he hates the fact the group is so hungry."

"I know it's been a while since we've had real food, but it's not going to do us any good if you get yourselves killed. "Unfortunately, this is a massive understatement. The fact of the matter is your group is starving, and if something were to happen to Shouto or Katsuki, your group was done for.

"You try telling him that. He thinks we should be taking the offensive against the villains instead of hiding, anyway." Shouto sounds worn down, exasperated by his fellow pro-hero's attitude.

You know how right Shouto is. Bakugou believes that your group will be wiped out, one person at a time, if you continue on your current course. If you don't stop trying to simply survive.

Secretly, in the deepest darkest part of your heart, you agree. You have been losing members of your party slowly but steadily, and every loss seems to ripple through the group like an open wound. Worse than the starvation, worse than the hiding, was the heartbreak of all the friends and family your group has lost. 

You hear the door slam open, and then closed as the explosive male himself storms into the room. He's also injured, but looks far better than Shouto does. "You're damned right, Icy-Hot. I'm sick of this hiding shit, we're not getting anywhere with it. We need to take the fight to them." 

"And how are we supposed to do that, Bakugou? We don't know enough about what happened that day to keep blindly running into villain territory. For all we know, Shigaraki could still be alive."

You know Bakugou has been railing against stealth, against the hiding ever since hero society broke down. But Shouto has a point, as much as it terrifies you to admit it. The notorious League of Villains leader is MIA as far as you're all concerned, and you have no idea if he still lives or was killed in the spread of decay that happened on that horrible day several months ago.

"Tch, he could also be dead," Bakugou scoffs. "With all communications gone, the only way to find out for sure is to go into the Corruption Zone."

The Corruption Zone was the epicenter of it all, the place where this whole thing was believed to have started. The only reliable information anyone could get was that a catastrophic event spread across the city center like a creeping rot. There was no telling how many innocent people were caught in the crossfire, no reliable death toll. 

"Yeah? You know that we have no information to go by. We'd be rushing in blindly." Shouto snapped back. You place your hand on your forehead, feeling a headache coming on with the argument you know is about to happen.

"We have reports from heroes coming out of that area," Bakugou pointed out. 

"The reports are unreliable and conflicting. Until we know more, we should be cautious." 

"The fuck is the use in being cautious? If we don't have good information, then we should get it on our own!" Bakugou storms towards Todoroki, and you begin to make a move to step in between them. But you're saved from having to break up a fight when Bakugou abruptly turns and storms to the door leading outside the building.

"I'm doing a perimeter search. There might be villains around."Todoroki glances at you before falling into step with him as he moves to follow. Despite their differences, the two work well together, and you have been with them for several months now. You had met up with them as you were fleeing the destruction on the west side of the city, being one of the few heroes to make it out. Some might call you lucky for surviving and meeting up with them. You call yourself cursed. 

You make a move to go with them before Bakugou gives you a death glare over his shoulder. "I sure as hell don't need you to come with me, so stay here," the words coming out in a growl. His words sound gruff, but they come from a place of fear. Fear that something will happen to you and the rest of the group. "Icy-Hot, let's go." 

"We'll be right back, I promise," Shouto reassures you with a small smile after he sees your look of worry, and you nod your head at both of them. You trust both of these men with your lives. If they say they're coming back, then they will be.

While they're busy outside, you're about to do your own quick search of the warehouse when you hear a voice rise up from behind you. "Well well well, what do we have here, fellas?" You turn around to see three men blocking your exit. They were all dressed in black, with black combat boots and so many weapons strapped to their bodies that you could barely count them all. "Such a pretty little whore, running around all by herself." He glances at the other two men before smirking. "You a hero, little thing? You don't look like one."

Ah, low-level villains, obviously. Annoying, but not truly a threat to you. Your quirk isn't exactly the best for combat, being a supportive and not an offensive quirk, but you have a group backing you up and you're no pushover. You simply need to stall for a bit of time before the rest meet up with you.

"Would be a shame to leave her on the streets like this, don't you agree," the shorter of the men chuckles. "I don't think this one looks cut out to be a hero, do you?" The third simply nods his head at the question directed at him, his expression barely changing. He appears to be the follower of the group, content to simply await his next command.

Encounters like these aren't so uncommon. Some villains have moved on, content to rule their little territories in whatever way they liked. But others still have a grudge against heroes, choosing to continue to satiate their bloodlust by hunting them down and making examples of them. 

These were obviously the second type, and that usually meant they had more rage than common sense. The type to hunt down heroes were never usually the brightest of the bunch, and were equally as prone to dying by the hands of other villains than they were of actually killing anyone. They have no ideology, nothing keeping them going but their pure rage. 

What seems to be the leader of this ragtag group makes his first move, lunging out at you with surprising quickness for a man as large as he is. But you're quicker, and you launch yourself easily out of the way and use his momentum to throw him off balance and down to the ground. The shorter one lets out a disgruntled noise before making a go at you himself. This one is quite a bit faster, and you're not able to dodge in time before he's on you. You do a sharp twist before bringing your heavy steel-toed boots down towards his ankle. You connect and hear a cracking noise as he begins to howl and attempts to limp away from you.

You glance over at the remaining one, confident that he won't make a move on you after his partners humiliated themselves so badly. And you're proven to be right as he gives you a quick, respectful nod before turning and fleeing. He barely makes it two steps before ice covers his feet and crawls slowly up his legs. You grin as you see Todoroki, but your grin falls as you see his look of cold fury at anybody daring to attack you.You're pulled away from Todoroki by the sound of cursing and explosions as a loud, angry male comes flying down from a nearby ceiling. You can't help but roll your eyes at his sense of overdramatics before you notice the leader of the group out of the corner of your eye. You're going to be too late to dodge, you think with quiet fear, as you see him running towards you with a knife in hand. But Bakugou has already noticed, activating a burst of explosion from his hands to launch himself at the villain and throwing his arm out to block.

You see the skin on his arm split as blood gushes from the wound, but it doesn't even phase him as he throws a hard punch to the leader's head. There is a sickening crack as he connects, and the villain falls to the group unconscious. 

You give the man an unimpressed stare. "Do you always have to be so damned loud, Bakugou?""Tch, fine then, don't thank me for saving your ass." He scoffs at you with no real venom in his voice. "And next time, I won't."

"You shouldn't have done that, you know," you give a long-suffering sigh as you grab what little medical supplies remain. You take out the gauze, disinfecting the wound before starting to wrap it up in bandages. "I had that covered just fine without you." 

He gives you a snarl before pulling his arm roughly away from you. He's anything but dumb, and he knows how much of a lie your comment is. He knows how much of a skill gap you have between the two of you, even without taking his arrogance into consideration. "Yeah? Should I have let you die?"

"No, that's not what I -"

"Because that's what would have happened," he glares at you. "You're support, not offense. You need people to shield you, and he was closing in. Bastard had you, and we both know it. And I can't - we can't afford to lose any more people."

"I know that you feel responsible, that you weren't strong enough, but none of the losses were your fault -"

"Tch, whatever, I have shit to do," he scoffs as he quickly stands up to walk away. To avoid the conversation that he didn't want to hear. "I wish that he wouldn't blame himself so much." You glance over at Shouto, standing there with a stoic look on his face. "He has done everything in his power to protect this little family of ours, same as you. Beaten himself up over every loss we've had."

"You know how he is. Thinks if he were better, stronger, than we wouldn't have lost anybody at all." 

Tears sting your eyes at the thought of everything and everyone that you've lost up until this point, all the friends you've watched die. But you are still carrying on, still surviving. Your group has united together, your places and your roles all sorted and running smoothly. 

But things have changed recently, a strange atmosphere seeming to fill the air. Nothing that could be described precisely, but something the entire group felt. As if the world was holding its breath, waiting for some event that would yet again change the course of this world. Something was coming, something big. And you have no idea what it was or what to expect. 

But you are all still heroes even in these circumstances, and you have long ago learned to trust your instincts. So you began to move more frequently, find better hiding places. You don't stay in any one place for long, because staying still means villains being able to hunt you down. Staying still meant death.

You're pulled from your thoughts by the sound of someone rustling through their bag. As you glance up, you see one of your group pulling out a rope to tie up the villains. She notices you looking and smiles. "I don't think these two will be any sort of threat anymore." You mentally curse yourself for getting distracted enough to forget you still had villains in the area, even if they are unconscious. 

You glance at Shouto, the more level headed of your group, and he gives a quick nod. "I agree, I think they are too much of a coward to come after us again." You give a nod as you quickly move to help the woman tie them up, trusting his expertise on these things. 

You all know that this could either be a cruel or a merciful action. If other villains, even a few other heroes find these men, they could be killed outright. But if they can escape, then they earn their freedom, provided they don't come back after your group to take revenge. Villain or not, you feel the weight of this, having to make these decisions to protect your group.

Shouto sees the look on your face, and knowing your thoughts, walks over to put a hand gently on your shoulder. "It's getting dark soon, and we need to bunker down. We all know how dangerous it gets when it's dark." He gives you a meaningful look, but doesn't point out the painful truth. Doesn't mention the night a month ago when your group lost several members due to being caught after dark. That incident is what led to a group decision never to let that happen again. It was simply not worth the risk, even with your group at full power. And lately, none of you can claim full power. 

"Everything is clear, right?" You ask both men. At their nod, you move to leave the area. 

"Where the fuck are you going?" Bakugou snarls at you as he makes his way to stop you.

"There are a few people still outside," you explain as patiently as you can. "I'm just going to grab them really quickly. It will be fine." You wait to see if Shouto will agree, being the more relaxed of the two. He's not any less protective than Bakugou, but he is usually the more reasonable of the two.

He gives a quick nod at you. "Just make it quick. We'll go the other direction and grab the rest. I'm not sure what's taking them so long."

You turn on your heel quickly as you make your way out of the building, hurrying before either one of them can change their mind. You know they're concerned about you, but you've taken on the role as leader within your group. It's your responsibility just as much as theirs to keep everyone safe.

But as you make your way to the area where everyone was gathered earlier, you hear nothing. No chatting and laughing as they keep themselves entertained like they were earlier. Pure ice seeps through your veins as you run the rest of the distance. But you stop cold at what you see there. 

Blood. Blood on the ground, blood on the chairs, blood splattered everywhere. There are no bodies anywhere that you see, only the blood. "No no no," you whisper to yourself in horror. "Please, this can't be happening. Please don't let us lose anyone else."

But before you can decide what to do, you hear the sounds of battle and the crackling of distant fire. Shouto and Bakugou, you think with alarm, they must have gotten into some danger back at the warehouse. But as you run in that direction, you see something alarming.

The crackling you heard are flames, bright, dazzling blue flames. The scent of smoke is heavy in the air, fog covering everything as you stop to stare at the devastation. The warehouse that was to be your hideout has gone up like kindling, fully engulfed by the strange blue flames. A distant memory hits you, something you read during a news article about a villain with a flame quirk that was described similarly. But those thoughts all fly from your head as you see something that makes you stop in your tracks.

A still smoldering dead body was lying on its side away from you. Please please please, you send up a silent prayer, please don't be any of my group. But your hopes are dashed as you run over. The outfit looks familiar, jeans and a pink shirt with sneakers and a backpack lying behind her. You know this woman, have known her since the beginning. She was kind, gentle, and like you, she was not a front line fighter. For her to be dead, the enemies had to have cut a swathe through your defenses. Had to have gotten through Bakugou and Shouto.

You stand up quickly as you scan the area looking for enemies. As much as you'd like to cover her up, mourn her, you know that this is not the time for that. You have to protect the rest of the group from meeting the same fate. After their safety is secured, you can either count your losses and grieve, or you will no longer be around to care.

You creep slowly into the warehouse, trying not to jump at every shadow you see. You see no villains, but you do see more bodies—all from your group, all smoldering with that same blue flame. The smoke begins to fill the room, causing your eyes to burn and a coughing fit to start. 

Before you can try to leave to get some fresh air, you hear dark laughter from behind you, and a wave of heat rush towards you. You throw your body to the side as you roll to prevent any injury from slamming into the concrete ground. As you whirl around to face your attacker, you are shocked by what you see.

It's a tall, lanky man dressed in black leather pants, a white shirt stretched tight against his chest and a black leather jacket over the shirt. Most distinctive, however, were the noticeable burn scars covering most of the exposed skin you see. His face, arms, and hands are all littered with them, with staples buried in the skin as if to hold it in place. You unintentionally meet his eyes, and you see they are the same shocking blue of his flames, staring directly into you as if trying to analyze and exploit every weakness you have. And his cocky smirk says he has the confidence to do just that. 

This isn't one of those aimless villains you've encountered before. No, this is a hero hunter with a purpose. With an ideal. One that genuinely believes in the deaths of all heroes, who will stop at nothing to end his target. You instantly know that this one would fight to the death for his ideals, and in this tragic landscape of a former city, that was exactly what had to happen to make him stop. You are hopelessly outmatched. He knows it too, by the way he carries himself so casually, by the way he looks at you like you are nothing but an obstacle in his way.

"I don't know what you want, but you need to leave." You back slowly away with your hands up as you try to convince him you're not a threat. "The rest of my group will be here any minute now." It's a bluff, a large one at that. You don't know how many of your group are left alive or where Katsuki and Shouto are. But it's the only option you have. There is no way you can fight a villain of this caliber on your own, not with your pure support quirk.

"Aww, princess, you're a terrible liar." He tsks at you as he begins to saunter towards you. You back away a few more steps as you make your way to a back exit. You remember where it is even without having to look, having memorized the warehouse hours before you even decided to stay here.

The villain's smirk widens when he sees your body tense, and flames rise to his palm as he lifts his arm. This is it, you're dead, he's far too close for you to dodge the flames that are about to come for you.

But instead, he sends the fire towards something behind you and your blood freezes in your veins as you hear a blood-curdling scream behind you. You whirl around and see another member of your party on fire, but before you can run to him a wall of fire surrounds you, trapping you in with the villain. 

You turn to stare at him in horror, unable to comprehend what is happening. Unable to understand that you just watched someone else you care for die a brutal death.

"Speechless, sweetheart? I know I have that effect on people." 

There is no way out, flames surrounding you on all sides except for where the villain is standing. As you study him one more time, you realize you've heard of someone matching his description before. You sort through all the information you have of known hero hunters, trying to match his flashy appearance with a name. But when your shocked brain supplies it, you almost wish you didn't know.

"I know who you are," you try to sound confident, but your voice lacks power and comes out timid. "You're the League of Villains member, Dabi. The one who attacked the training camp at UA. Known for arsons and murders across the city even before this began." 

This man is one of the League's most elite members, and happily took to the task of hunting down remaining heroes after the catastrophe began. He is well out of your skill range, and even with Katsuki and Shouto, this would be a difficult battle. With you alone, you stand no chance.

"Oh? So nice to be recognized," he grins at you. "I keep killing the stupid ones who don't know me. A little disheartening, I must admit." 

"Where is the rest of my group? Are they - "You can't bring yourself to finish your sentence, to ask the burning question of how many of your friends are still alive.

"Hmm, and what would you say if I told you they're not all dead?" He cocks his head to the side as he stares at you.

"I'd say you're probably lying, or they'll all be dead soon." "

Wrong on the first count, right on the second. Unless…" he drags out the last word, watching your expression as it turns to cautious hope. 

"Unless what?" The words stumble out too quickly, making you seem too eager, and his expression sharpens with amusement to see it.

"Unless you do a little favor for me, doll." A sense of dread crawls up your spine at the thought of doing a favor for the villain standing in front of you, but you feel like you have no other option but to hear him out. At worst, it's something you won't do and you'll die here and there with the rest of your group. At best, it's something you can tolerate and you all live to see another day.

“What's the favor? I'm not saying I'll do it, but I'll hear you out."

"Don't really have much of a choice there, do you?" He rolls his eyes as he waves his hands around to indicate the fire spreading across everything. 

"Just get the fuck on with it," you hiss at him, not wanting to play this little game with him anymore. "Tell me what you want."

His smirk turns dark as he gives you a long, lingering glance up your body. "What I want is you, doll."

Your eyes widen at his words, and you try to think of something, anything else that he could possibly mean by such a statement. But you know deep down exactly what this man wants from you. "I - I don't, I mean…"

"You're acting like a blushing virgin, doll." But he looks surprised when you do blush, eyes shifting away to look at anything but the man standing before you.

He throws his head back and lets out a deep laugh. "You really are a virgin. Fuck, I lucked out finding you, didn't I?"

You want to back away, run, and get out of this situation, but the fire behind you prevents you. So you're forced to simply watch as he begins to approach you, coming to stand far too close for your comfort. He reaches out a burnt hand to cup your chin as he forces you to look up into his eyes. They are even more of a brilliant blue this close, and you can't stop yourself from staring into them.

"What will you do if I say no," your fear preventing you from raising your voice above a whisper. "Then your group dies, simple as that." A casual statement, as if it means nothing for him to wipe out an entire group of innocent people. You begin to tremble at what you know you're about to do. You don't want this, not at all. But you want your group to die even less. What is a little indignity if it secures their safety?

You give a quick nod, not wanting to say the words that mean you agree to this.

His hand goes to your neck as he squeezes, putting enough pressure into the movement that your breath is forced out of you. "Use your words, doll."

Not surprising that he'll be cruel about this, making you utter the words that agree to this proposition despite the fact that you have no real choice in the matter. "I agree."

His grip tightens on your neck again, even harder this time as he doesn't immediately let go. He waits until you reach a hand out to grab his arm, trying to pull it off you before he finally lets go. 

You take a quick gulp of air before talking. "Fine, I'm yours, is that what you want to hear?" You snap the words out at him, fear making you bolder than you should be.

Your question is answered as his hand comes to tangle into your hair, lips crashing into yours as he pulls you roughly into him. He forces his tongue into your mouth as he dominates the kiss, teeth nibbling at your lip as he massages your tongue with his own. It's a sloppy, heated kiss that has drool dripping down your chin when he pulls away, lips already looking red and swollen from his biting.

"God, I am going to enjoy ruining you, doll," he growls into your ear. 

He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer into his body, hand going under your shirt to rub up your back. His hand is almost hot enough to burn, and you try to wiggle away only for him to clamp down harder. He drags you over to a clean area of ground as he shoves you down onto the hard cement, settling in between your thighs.

"You - you want to do this here?" You manage to choke out in shock.

He grinds himself against your core as he laughs. "And why not? Good a place as any." He runs his hands along your sides as he pushes your shirt up, leaning down to kiss the skin around your stomach.

"But - the fire, and what if any of my group comes in -"

His hand glows blue for a split second as he grabs your shirt, burning it off of you and throwing it to the side. "Then I guess they get to see you fucked like the whore you are." He pulls you up enough to place heated kisses along the column of your neck, sucking dark marks into the skin as he continues to grind against your core. 

You pant a bit, feeling like you're burning up yourself as sweat rolls down your body from the heat of the fire and the heat of him. He traces a finger along your bra, a plain white number that you found when you were desperate for new clothes. "Nice bra," he snickers as he unhooks it with one hand, throwing it aside just as casually before taking a breast into his hand. "I should find you something prettier than that." 

He kneads the soft flesh of your breast and tweaks the nipple with his other hand, taking it into his mouth. He sucks just the side of too hard, and you squirm at the slight stab of pain as he grazes it deliberately with his teeth.

"Would you just get on with it already," you snapped, wanting this experience to be over with as quickly as possible so you can move on.

"You agreed, doll," he smirks, "and that means I'm going to take my time with you."

He reaches down to unzip your pants, tugging on them as he looks at you. "Unless you want me to burn these off of you, I'd suggest taking them off."

You quickly raise your hips and wiggle them down a bit, not wanting him to use his fire so close to your skin. It's a bit hard to pull them off, the heat of the room causing you to sweat. Eventually, Dabi gets impatient at your progress and rips them off with one quick movement.

He spreads your legs quickly with one hand as he runs a finger up your clothed sex. You quickly look away from what he's doing, only to feel his palm on your legs get hotter. You snap your eyes back at him as he stares at you with a menacing look.

"Don't you dare look away, doll," he growls, "I want you to watch as I eat this pretty pussy." 

His vulgar words cause a jolt of arousal within you, and you timidly look into his eyes as he pulls your panties to the side. He rubs two fingers up your folds, causing you to let out a small gasp.

"Mmm, doll, you're already so fucking wet for me." Dabi groans as he licks his fingers. "You DO want this, you little hero slut."

"N-n-no, I don't, I really -" But the rest of your sentence is cut off as he dives down in between your legs, licking along your folds as his nose prods against your clit. 

"Oh shit, please stop," you moan as you throw your head backward, trying to ignore how good it feels. But the feeling only gets more intense as he spreads you apart enough to take your throbbing clit into his mouth. You let out a surprised shout, the pleasure of it taking you by surprise as you feel yourself getting wet.

Dabi doesn't mind as he licks up your juices before lashing his tongue against your pearl, slipping a finger into your tight heat at the same time.

"Oh fuck doll, god you're so tight." He works his finger inside of you as he tries to loosen you up, sucking at your clit the entire time and making you feel dizzy with pleasure. You can't stop your panting, hips bucking almost against your will as you try to seek the feeling you sense building up inside you.

"I bet you've never had someone do this to you, huh?" He slips another finger inside of you, this one going in easily because of how wet you're becoming. You whine at the feeling of his fingers scissoring inside you, opening you up so that he can slip a third finger inside. This time, the feeling stings as he forces his finger past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance. You can't stop yourself from clamping down on his fingers, trying to push them out.

He pumps three fingers inside of you as he takes your clit back into his mouth, curling his fingers inside of you until he finds that sensitive spot that has you writhing against him. He slams into that spot over and over again as you feel waves of pleasure building. You don't want to cum, you really don't. Not for this man who is forcing you into this. But you don't seem to have a choice in the matter.

"Fuck, I know you're close doll," he lifts up just enough to whisper, the vibration of his words only causing more pleasure against your throbbing clit. "Don't fight it, just cum for me." His fingers increase their pace even more, pounding his fingers inside of you against that spot that has you seeing stars. "I want you to cum all over my tongue."

Your legs are shaking from trying to hold off against the pleasure, but as he grazes his teeth lightly across your throbbing clit, you squeal as you finally reach your end. Your walls flutter around him as you feel liquid gush out of your cunt. Dabi happily laps it all up like a starved man as he lengthens your orgasm, refusing to stop his fingers from moving inside of you. 

When he pulls away, you feel ashamed to see that his mouth is coated with your juices. "Taste yourself, doll, don't you taste delicious?" He chuckles as you try to get away, simply forcing his tongue into your mouth. 

He lifts up to undress himself, pulling his jacket and shirt off and revealing a scarred but toned chest. His pants are next to go as he unzips and pulls them off quickly, revealing his lack of underwear when his cock is pulled free from his pants. He is an average length, but girthy with a bead of precum already leaking from the tip. Even more concerning for you are the metal studs that run down his length and a Prince Albert piercing at the head of his cock.

You shiver in fear at the thought of those piercings rubbing against your insides, but it also sends a bolt of arousal straight to your pussy. You quickly glance away, not wanting to look any longer. But Dabi doesn't appreciate you looking away from him. He reaches out to grab your chin, digging his fingers in as he turns your face to his. "You like what you see doll," he whispers, reaching down to pump his cock a few times with a closed fist. "Because this is about to be inside that wet cunt of yours."

You blush furiously at the vulgarity of his words, but you don't dare to look away from him. "You can stop here," you plead in a quiet voice, "you don't have to continue." 

"Mmmm, but I want to continue." He grabs your legs as he drags you closer to him, pulling a gasp from your throat as your back is scraped across the cement. He settles himself firmly in between your legs as you feel something prodding at your entrance. "You have no idea how much I want this, doll. Ruining a little hero like you is a chance I can't pass up." He drags his length down your folds as he gathers up your juices to lubricate himself, and the feeling of one of his piercings rubbing against your sensitive clit has you letting out a small moan.

"See, doll?" He grins darkly as he spreads you open with one hand and begins to push in slowly. "Don't try to deny it, you want this. Ahh fuck," he hisses at the feeling of his cockhead breaching your entrance, "god, you're so damned tight."

You let out a whine as you feel him slide in, little by little, into your throbbing cunt. It hurts a bit more than you expected, and you throw your hands up to his chest to try and slow him down. But he simply laughs as he makes a small but hard movement to thrust himself even further into you. You let out a little whimper, head lolling to the side as you try to ignore the pain.

He finally bottoms out inside you before stilling for a second, his legs shaking with the need to be moving inside of you already. You're surprised that he paused at all to let you get used to his size. But your gratefulness vanishes quickly as you feel him grab your hips, shifting into a position that allows him to enter you even deeper. You squirm in pain as you feel him press right against your cervix.

"Am I too rough, little hero?" He mocks as he begins to thrust into you, tearing a small scream from you at the pace that is too quick to be entirely comfortable. "I want this tight little cunt of yours to be sore for days once I'm done with you." His hand runs up and down your body as he fucks you, feeling so hot that you feel like you're on fire. Your skin is drenched with sweat at the heat of his body and the fire still blazing around you. Even the cock pounding away at your throbbing cunt feels too hot. But the piercings dragging against your inner walls are cold, and the contrast in temperature has you moaning unintentionally, feeling pleasure despite yourself.

"That's a good little hero, moan for me." He reaches down to tweak your aching clit between his fingers as he pulls you up just enough to plant open mouthed kisses down your neck and chest. "I want you to cum around my cock, doll, think you can do that for me?" 

"N-n-no," you choke back another moan, "I'm not gonna cum for you, you bastard." But you feel the telltale tightening of your lower abdomen, feel the throbbing of your clit like a heartbeat at the need for orgasm. 

"Is that so?" His smirk turns vicious. "Guess I'll just have to try harder then, won't I?" You scream as his hand between your bodies gets hotter, two fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit. He begins to change the angle that he's thrusting, watching your reaction closely as he seeks that sensitive spot inside you. He chuckles darkly when he finds it, pulling a loud squeal from your throat as he begins to aim for it mercilessly.

The slap of skin against skin becomes louder, balls smacking against your ass as his fingers rub against your clit even faster. Your cunt clenches down around his cock, and you let out a choked sob as his piercings grind even harder against your inner walls, catching on that sensitive patch inside you. 

"Please, fuck," you plead with the villain, not knowing if you're begging him to stop or never to stop. "Please, I need -"

"I know what you need, doll," he hisses out a curse as your pussy contracts around his cock again, lewd wet noises filling the room. "You need to cum, don't you, babygirl?"

When you don't respond, his fingers lashing against your clit suddenly come to a complete stop. "Tell me, is that what you want," he snarls into your ear before trailing lower to sink teeth into your neck.

“God, please yes, I need to cum" you sob out, wrapping your arms around the villain pounding you into submission as you trail your nails down his back. "Dabi, please -'

His fingers instantly go back to your clit, grinding hard against the sensitive bead as he continues to suck bruises into your neck. "Then cum for me, doll, cum all over this cock."

As if on command, you're thrown over the edge, screaming out your orgasm as your cunt flutters around his cock. He doesn't slow down, continuing to move his hips as he fucks you through your orgasm. Tears are running down your face from the overstimulation, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. 

"Too much," you gasp out as you try to catch your breath, "it's too much."

"Aww, doll, would you be that cruel," he tries to taunt you before cutting his sentence off with a choked curse. Fuck, your cunt is squeezing me so hard, fucking shit."

He no longer cares about your pleasure, wrapping your legs around his waist, thrusts going erratic as he seeks his end. You're so oversensitive that you feel another orgasm building up directly after your last one, and you wail as you feel liquid splash out of you and onto Dabi's chest.

"Fuck yes, good girl," he grunts, "squirt all over my cock as I fill you up."Your eyes widen in shock and alarm as you furiously shake your head. "No, shit Dabi please not inside, I'm not - "

But it's too late, the look on Dabi's face turning into an evil smirk as he locks his hips in place. He lets out a deep groan as you feel thick ropes of cum coat your inner walls, almost burning you with how hot it is. It seems to take forever until he stops cumming inside of you, and tears run down your face as what just happened comes crashing over you.

He pulls out of you with a sigh, sitting up as he looks down at you. "You make such a pretty sight, all fucked out and dripping my cum like a little slut."

You shiver at his words, looking away so he doesn't see how his words send a thrill through your still tired body. You sit up slowly, wincing as you feel how sore you are between your legs. "That's it then, I'm free to go and my group is safe, right?"

He doesn't answer immediately, choosing to dress as slowly as possible with a look on his face that says he's considering the question. "Hmm, I don't recall saying you're free to go."

Your veins turn to ice as you stare at him in confusion, desperately hoping you're misunderstanding. But a deep, dark part of you tells you this is no joke, no misunderstanding. Tells you that you were stupid to trust a villain. "But that was the deal, that my group would be safe and we'd all be free to go."

"Ehh, I changed my mind." You're rendered speechless at the casual tone to his voice, as if he were telling you what the weather was.

"You - what the fuck do you mean, you changed your mind?" Your rage is blinding, leaving your vision to turn red and fury to boil the blood in your veins. You leap up, ignoring all the aches and pains of your body as you rush at Dabi. "Do you mean you're going to kill them?"

He seems unphased by your outburst, merely choosing to laugh at you. "I mean, dear old Shouto is probably already dead."

Your hand flies up to your mouth to stop the scream bubbling up in your throat. "You're lying," your voice comes out barely above a whisper. You shake your head repeatedly, backing up away from Dabi as if to ward off his next words.

"Go see for yourself then." He barely finishes pointing towards one of the exits to the warehouse before you're off, door slamming behind you as you hope and pray that he's lying, that it isn't true. 

But it is now fully dark outside, and you're unable to see where you're going. You're in too much of a blind panic to care though, continuing in the direction you think you may find something and not caring about the dangers. You come to an abrupt halt as one foot slips out from under you, causing you to land roughly on your butt. 

Your hand lands in something sticky, and you raise it to your face as you try to determine what it is. It's so dark in this area with the power cut off that you can't make out anything besides a mysterious substance. But then a blue flame catches a nearby trash pile on fire, and the blazing light from the flames illuminates the area.

As you slowly look at your hand again, you don't want to acknowledge what's there. Your brain tries to stop you from processing the truth, but it happens anyway. With sharp clarity, you recognize that your hands are covered with blood. That's when the smell comes in, the entire area reeking of iron and smoke. 

But the thing that catches your mind the most, that makes you want to scream and never stop screaming, is the body that you see at your feet. Shouto Todoroki, the man you saw just hours earlier, full of life and willing to risk everything to protect you and your group. The man who now lays lifeless at your feet, sightless eyes staring into the sky at nothing. His complexion already looks ashen, and you reach out gingerly to touch him only to realize that he's still warm. This must have been recent, you think.

"Wondering how long he's been dead, doll?" You were so absorbed in staring at Shouto that you didn't even hear Dabi approach. 

You slowly nod your head, not able to trust your voice.

"Oh, he was hanging on to life when I found you earlier, doll," Dabi's smile widens into a truly devastating smirk."No no no no no, that can't be the case, it's not true, you're lying, you have to be -" You can't stop the words from tumbling one after the over. You want this all to be a horrific nightmare, but you know this is reality. And you know deep down that Dabi isn't lying this time.

You glance down at the body - no, Shouto, not the body, never the body - and you notice there is wetness on his face. You wonder when it started raining, until you see another droplet hit Shouto's face. You reach your hand numbly up to your face to realize that you're crying, not even realizing when you started. 

You feel nausea churning up in your stomach, and you barely stop yourself from throwing up. Hot shame courses through your veins at the thought that while he was dying, hoping for help, you were in there - 

Dabi appears in your field of vision as he kneels beside you to peer at your face. "Ohh, that look on your face. Guess you realized the truth, huh? That you were getting off around my cock while my poor, sad little brother was out here dying."

"Brother?!" You're surprised you're able to say anything at all, but the word spills out before you can even stop it."Yeah, brother," he scoffs with disdain. "I was the black sheep of the Todoroki family, the one that got discarded. Always said I'd get my revenge, but I never thought it would be so satisfying."

You know some of the missing persons cases, having researched some of them yourself while you were a student. So you're able to supply the true name of the man in front of you with relative ease. "Touya, you're Touya Todoroki, aren't you?"

"I'm not that man anymore." The villain looks surprised at you knowing that name, although you can't tell if he's impressed or angry. "Just call me Dabi, dollface."

"If all you wanted was revenge, then why your brother? He suffered too," you fail to choke back a sob. The pain of knowing that someone went through so much only to end up like this pushes you into more despair than you thought possible.

Dabi simply shrugs his shoulders. "I already killed dear old dad when this began. It wasn't enough."

This is news to you. Although you never personally cared for Endeavor, the fact of the matter is that he was the number two, and then the number one hero. His loss would be a massive blow to whatever surviving hero community was left. "What about the others then? The other heroes, what happened to them?"

"Your little group really was ignorant, weren't you? Don't you know the truth? You have to suspect it, at least."

You lose your patience and snap at him. "How the fuck would I know what happened to the hero community? I wasn't there!"

"Well then, I'll let you in on a little secret, doll." He leans in towards you as if whispering a juicy secret. "There IS no hero community left. That damned hand freak won."

Pure chaos swirls through your brain. All along, your little group hoped to one day reclaim the city. Reclaim hero society, build it back up to be even better. But maybe it still wasn't all for nothing, perhaps if a hero had taken Shigaraki out, things could still be okay. 

You stare closely at his face as you ask the next question. "And Shigaraki?" 

"If you're asking how he's doing, then I can tell you he's doing just fine. Alive and well in his little den of filth within the city." He cracks up, laughing at the look on your face. 

Everything was hopeless. Everything and everyone you loved, dead and gone. The villains won, Shigarkai was alive, and Shouto was lying dead at your feet. Bakugou was probably dead as well, and you can't muster up the courage to ask the truth. 

You cover your ears with your hands as you rock back and forth, trying to ward off all of the information coming at you. But Dabi takes your hands into his as he pulls you into his lap. "Shh, shhh," he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "You still have me, now don't you doll?"

You whimper as you curl your face into his chest, trembling with unshed tears that no longer want to come. "Yes, I do." As sick and fucked up as it is, it's not a lie. He truly is all you have left.

"And you want to stay with me, don't you?" He whispers his poisonous words directly into your ear, all the while rubbing comforting circles along your back as he holds you like a child.

"I do want to stay with you, Dabi." Another horrifying truth. 

"Such a good girl." He kisses along your face and forehead, cooing at you in such a mocking way that it makes you feel sick to your stomach. "My good little girl, aren't you?"

You give an empty nod at his words. This is fine, you think. You'll be fine. It's better than wandering the wastelands alone, better to have someone to talk to. No matter what he wants you to do, no matter what you end up becoming at his side. It's still better than being alone. And as one last tear falls down your face, you cuddle up into his arms, close your eyes and pretend you believe it.

~~~~

Tags: @trafalgar-temptress​, @thewheezingwyvern, @animewh0re, @dee-madwriter, @lildreamer93, @tamakisprincess, @yaoyorozuwrites, @redbeanteax, @kittygonyan, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @daedaep69, @heyybrittannia, @groovydreamertrash, @hisoknen, @chou-maitresse, @shoutogepi, @k-atsukidayo, @gallickingun, @togasknifes, @kingtamakimurder, @1-800-callmekatsuki

[jolynej]

I’m Not in Love

Summary: You and Prosciutto, both determined to keep things casual, are sent out on a mission to eliminate a target, but something goes wrong and you end up hurt, forcing Prosciutto to come to terms with his feelings

A/N: I started this weeks ago, but have been so busy that I haven’t had time to properly finish it until now! I’m a very slow writer, and I struggle with creating longer fics that exceed 1k words, so this was a huge labor of love! I hope that y’all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: heavily implied nsft, violence, guns, minor character death, blood, Prosciutto being a bit of an asshole, fainting

You both told each other when you made this arrangement that it was strictly physical and that you were only doing this out of convenience and carnal desire. Sure, he’s very attractive, and you’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about lingering in bed and pretending that you’re still asleep if only to savor his body heat and the weight of his arm across your torso for a few more minutes. But you couldn’t possibly cross that line.

The lives that both you led didn’t allow for the luxury of developing and maintaining romantic — or any, really — relationships that were outside of your work. You’d lost friends and family members to the steady passage of time and lack of communication. It came with the territory of the job, and though you’d tried to justify your drifting relationships by assuring yourself that it was done to protect those you used to hold close, you knew that was just an excuse you told yourself so that you could sleep at night.

The initial adjustment to your new job was tough in that aspect, but Prosciutto, aside from being your mentor, slowly became a comfort and a confidant for your bouts of anxiety and late night regrets of leaving your old life behind. You’d joined him outside at night on the balcony of the hideout plenty of times. He would self-soothe with cigarettes, exhaling out his demons in the shape of a puff of smoke whilst he listened to you reminisce on your happier, less bloody days.

“It’s a damn shame you’re so good at you job,” he’d told you one particular night, when the orange and white city lights below cast a bright glow over his sharp features; yet simultaneously, it accentuated the dark circles under his eyes, and the shadows beneath those jagged angles of his cheekbones and jawline made him look far older than he was. Prosciutto looked beautiful as he did horrible.

You just shook your head and smirked, inquiring, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Kid, there were many different paths that you could’ve picked from,” He stops briefly to take a drag of his cigarette. “But this is what you opted for.” The blond flicked his cigarette and snuffed it with the toe of his oxfords, answering with, “All I’m saying is that you had your whole life ahead of you, and instead of getting a normal, decent job, you decided that this was worth the Louboutins and those diamond earrings of yours.”

“It’s good that it ended up working out for you.”

His compliments were usually pretty backhanded, but you could tell that this wasn’t just because of his usual condescending behavior. He seemed almost... sad and guilty, but then again, it could just be from the shadows on his face exaggerating his features.

“I’m glad you’re damn good at your job, too,” you remarked, leaning against the railing, savoring in the feeling of the warm, summer night wind caressing your face.

Soon, you found the touch against your cheeks was replaced by his calloused fingers and then his lips, giving birth to a routine that would continue every-so-often: you’d join him outside at night and would wake up in bed next to him in a tangle of limbs and satin sheets.

Maybe it was only natural that you and him would end up growing closer and more intimate.

—

This little arrangement between the two of you continues, and with each time you bare yourself to him, you struggle with your developing feelings. After you had slept together that first night — before you had a real chance to give yourself a proper chance to evaluate your own feelings — he assured you that the prior night’s events had meant nothing to him, that it was a mistake. He apologized, confessing that the rendezvous had stemmed from a place of pent up arousal and convenience and that it wouldn’t happen again.

That’s what he’d said the second, and third, time too. But by the fourth time, you’d both decided to become ‘coworkers with benefits’ as you’d so eloquently put it. It’s purely out of physical need and mutual trust and nothing else. There’s no time for romance.

—

The following spring, you were sent out together to a job on the coast, and were given a shared room at a hotel near the warehouse where your target was supposedly going to be tonight. The assignment had worked in your favor, you’d both arrive mid-morning, have time to scout out the location, go back to the room for a quick fuck, then proceed to the location, clean up, and spend the night between the sheets until you both passed out from sheer exhaustion.

“The target should be on location this evening,” he informs you casually as he’s sliding on his trousers, as if he hadn’t just fucked you into the mattress. He gives his watch a quick glance before speaking again. “Which gives us approximately an hour before we need to head out.”

You nod, reaching for your clothes — his hand stops you, grasping your wrist. “Let me clean you up first,” he says, briefly locking eyes with you, before averting his gaze just as quickly. “If you’re going out you should at least be comfortable.”

While Prosciutto walks off to the bathroom to retrieve a glass of water and a washcloth, you look down at your naked body. Your combined releases dribble down your thighs, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the sticky, wet sensation on your lower body.

He’s back approximately a minute later, the glass is set upon the nightstand, and he’s kneeling, still shirtless, at your feet with the wet washcloth in hand. He cleans you up in relative silence, and the intimacy and vulnerability in this situation is not lost on either of you. It hangs around like a heavy fog that both of you desperately try to ignore, hoping that it’ll dissipate.

Under different circumstances, you’d love to be able to cradle his chin in your hand and confess every single romantic thought that you’d ever held for him, and in turn, he’d press tender kisses up your thighs, and trade the rag for his tongue, cleaning you up with a few slow licks. Instead, you give him a curt, ‘thank you’ and get dressed.

Your little trysts were littered with subtle, more domestic moments like this one where you wanted to push the boundary between what is and isn’t appropriate when you’re in a friends-with-benefits situation with your coworker. Even without the romance that you so desperately craved, there was still a strong sense of intimacy and familiarity with each ‘Was I too rough?’ or ‘You can sleep in here tonight’ that could only stem from a certain level of trust and comfort.

The rest of the time leading up to your assignment was spent going over your plan of attack and working out any loose ends or confusion on either side, and as he spoke, you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to travel down to his plush lips and the exposed patch of skin from his half-buttoned blouse that, when he shifted at a certain angle, allowed for you to catch a glimpse of a dark red bruise where your lips had been.

You were passing the threshold, the imaginary line. You’d stepped on it, gotten it stuck to your feet, and try as you may to deny its presence and scrub it clean from your skin — you could scrub it raw, until you bled — it wasn’t something you could erase.

As he’s stepping out of the hotel room, you glance back to ask him if he’s ready, but you’re caught off guard by the buttons of his shirt. They’re all closed completely save for a lone button rendering the bruise no longer visible. Inquisitively, the blond quirks up an eyebrow, silently asking if there’s a problem.

“I’m just ready to get this over with,” you sigh, matching your stride with his as you both exit the hotel and journey to the warehouse.

The target doesn’t show as planned, much to your and Prosciutto's dismay and annoyance. You had both searched the large building and its surroundings as thoroughly as possible but still the target hasn’t made an appearance. There aren’t even any hidden clues as to where he’s run off to. As pissed as you both felt in that moment — you were cursing to yourself and your partner was leaning against a metal structure with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth — Risotto was going to be absolutely furious.

Unlike most contracts where you were paid after the deed or half before and half after, the client had paid a hefty sum up front and with a dark leer he was insistent that the job be completed as soon as possible. Something deep within you knew that he would not be the type of man whose bad side you’d like to be on.

Defeated and angry, you both decided to bite the bullet and head back to the hotel to inform your superior of the unfortunate situation. Just outside of the hotel, Prosciutto glances over at a payphone on the street corner.

“Go on inside and shower and eat, kid, I’ll talk to Risotto.”

“Are you sure? We can speak to him together, or I can just sp—“ He cut you off with a hand patting your cheek, gently thumbing your skin. He was stressed and so were you.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” he manages a tiny half-smile. “I’ve got it.”

Yeah, you are stressed as all hell, but at least you didn’t have to be at the receiving end of Risotto’s wrath — for tonight anyway. Thinking about Prosciutto opting to do so in your stead and acting out of concern for you sends a cacophony of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. He has always looked out for you ever since you’d joined, but this was something more than just him looking out for a junior member of his team. There was no way that he’d touch Formaggio or even Pesci like that, with such a pure tenderness that leaves your skin tingling from where his fingers were.

Making your way up the stairs to your shared room, the sensation of butterflies immediately flees from your stomach and instead, an eerie, insidious feeling begins to tiptoe up your spine, and you get the sense that something is very, very wrong.

One of the hall lights has gone out, and the other is flickering in random spasms as it emits a faint buzz. With each step towards your door, the broken light fixture seems to dim and buzz louder until it makes one final loud screech and dies completely the moment that you touch the door handle, and as soon as your fingers gripped the metal handle, an overpowering jolt of electricity fizzles throughout your entire body, sending you doubling over in pain, desperately croaking out for your stand as you fall to the dingy carpet.

The world around you seemed to morph into blackness and little snippets of sounds — you weren’t sure if you were still awake or if you’d lost consciousness — but you clung onto what you could decipher to the best of your ability. Static, the plodding footfall of someone running on carpet with urgency, the unmistakable click of a gun, a heavy thud, then silence.

You crane your head and espy a familiar pair of oxfords, and with a sigh of relief you feel your eyes grow heavy.

—

You come-to in the backseat of a car, and if it weren’t for the intensity of the events before you passed out, you would’ve happily shut your eyes to the steady thrum of the car speeding down the road. A bubble of panic rises up your throat, throwing your senses in overdrive as you carefully assess your surroundings. You find that a suit jacket has been draped over you like a makeshift blanket, and the familiar scent of cologne, tobacco, and cigarette-smoke is an instant relief.

Looking up, you find Prosciutto is in the driver’s seat of the car with a plain, white tank top in the place of his button-up. The bones of his knuckles are prominent due to the strain and force of his grip on the steering wheel, and they’re dotted with specks of red that extend up to his forearms.

There’s an evident scowl on his lips, which are scabbed and bloody from worrying teeth marks and not from — what you can safely assume given the sound you’d heard earlier — a gunshot to the man that had been in your hotel room.

“The target was dealt with,” he says upon seeing you awake, and he disguises it with a cough, but his entire face softens with a relieved sigh. The visible tension in his bulging veins on his forearms eases along with the death-grip that he has on the steering wheel; Prosciutto settles one hand on his thigh, splaying his fingers out on the fabric of his trousers, feeling for something in his pocket — cigarettes most likely. He’s still antsy and tense, alternating between his hands on the wheel to search his other pocket.

You have a myriad of questions wreaking havoc on your brain, which is still a bit fuzzy from the electricity and has brought on a dull headache. With the blazer clenched tightly to your chest, you fiddle around until you find a pack of his smokes and pull them out, holding them in the air with a dopey, lopsided grin that says ‘lookee here!’. It earns a playful eye roll and a smirk from Prosciutto who brings his hand back to take them from you.

When you offer the box up, your fingers brush, and you swear that he leaves his hand extended towards you a moment longer than necessary. The sensation sends a full-body chill through your veins.

“Put the coat on, kid, I don’t want you freezing up and getting sick in the car.” He’s staring straight out at the road, but you know the sentiment is there, beneath the layer of sweat and blood there’s worry. “Go back to sleep,” he orders in that gravelly, stern but caring tone of his that he uses on you when he gives you orders, and only you. In a way, it’s not that much different from how he talks in bed, and the familiarity has you warm all over. God, you’re in love with this man.

“I’ll wake you up in about an or two, capisce?”

—

You’re awoken by Prosciutto opening the door of the backseat and calling your name. You can barely see him, he’s almost a dark, looming figure in the night. The sky in the countryside is worlds away from the city skyline that you’re accustomed to. Behind him, there’s a sea of twinkling stars, and the bright crescent moon hangs proudly behind his head like a half-halo, and he appears to you like a fallen angel, still clinging on desperately to something good and holy that someone like him does not deserve. In his right hand, he holds a shovel, and his arms and face and tank top are caked in the weight of his sins, blood and dirt and sweat; you surmise that the closer you get to him, the less the moon resembles a halo and moreso a pair of horns. Again, the night is playing tricks on you.

“I’ve buried the remains,” he explains. “I decided it would be easiest to just take care of it myself until we can get you checked out. We don’t know the full extent of the damage that you’ve received or what effects that my stand could have on you in this state.” It’s a poor excuse, and you both know it, but it’s easier for him to lie to you when his facial expressions are harder to see.

Still, you don’t know if it’s from the adrenaline in your blood, your feelings for him, or some leftover electricity that’s done something to your brain, but you decide to call him out.

Sitting upright, you say, “I still could’ve helped, Prosci, otherwise there would be no point for me to come on this mission with you. You’ve done more than enough to help me, and I… I really appreciate everything that you’ve done to help me, but I have to work to earn my share of the payment!

“I can’t just lie back and let you treat me like some doll or damsel in distress!” You spout, wadding up his blazer and tossing it at him. He catches it with a growl, and the shovel clatters to the ground with a resounding clang.

He’s crawling across the backseat, hovering over you like a mangy beast; truthfully, you don’t think that you’ve ever seen him look so unhinged and disheveled. His scent bears no resemblance to the comforting aroma of his suit-jacket, and instead, he emits a pungent odor of grime and sweat, evident by the damp, dirty stray pieces of hair that encircle his face and the thin layer of earth that stains his skin with splotches of gray and brown. He looks like he can hurt you, and for a second you make the mistake of thinking that he will.

“Kid, you need to listen to me! I—“ he huffs, but upon seeing your face up close, all scared and doe-like, he kisses you. It’s emotional and hurried and needy and far unlike any previous kiss that you’d shared. It’s not spurred on by wanting or lust but by love and a great fear of loss.

“I love you,” he whispers like a gasp when he pulls apart from you. “I love you,” he says once more, softer, sweeter. “I love you.”

In his eyes, you can see every word that he leaves unsaid, his confession of how afraid he was that he’d never see you again, how he panicked and saw red and shot the man on sight, how he carried you to the car with a metaphorical knife stabbing at his heart, and how he almost cried from relief when he saw you open your eyes.

“I love you, too,” you say back, smiling, kissing him again with that same passion as before.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 55

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 2,953

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

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Testing Boundaries

When you arrived at the kitchen a few hours later for dinner prep, you were surprised to find Ben conspicuously absent. At first you worried that he was afraid to show his face after being caught with Simon last night, but the staff member named Andrew informed you that he had temporarily stepped out when one of Negan’s men came in and said he needed Ben’s assistance with something. When Andrew verified the man’s identity as “the big smiley one with the mustache”, you had a feeling you knew just what kind of “assistance” had been needed. You weren’t even upset about it, because truth be told, Ben deserved some breaks from the kitchen. And you had a feeling that Simon possessed just enough carefree attitude and allure to make sure Ben got them. 

With the rest of the staff busy at their various tasks, and without Ben there as a distraction, you quickly became consumed with thoughts of your earlier conversation with Maria. She had made it seem as though Amber had been subdued, at least temporarily, and the rest of the wives weren’t in an uproar over the lack of attention from Negan, but the fact that a conversation about you had occurred at all put you a bit on edge. It was now obvious to the wives that you were the reason for Negan’s change in behavior, and you wondered how long it would take for that to leak to the rest of the community. And when that happened, people were sure to wonder and speculate, right? Hell, you had a bunch of questions still, and you were the one personally involved in the situation! 

By the time the first round of food was exiting the kitchen and being served to hungry patrons, your brain was starting to ache from how much that padlocked box of unanswered questions was jumping around, screaming to be opened and explored. You knew it couldn’t be ignored for much longer, but were terrified of what you might find if you let it loose. You already knew you were developing an emotional attachment to Negan, but if you opened that padlock and really took a look at the items inside, you might realize just how strong the emotions waiting to be uncovered really were. Hell, you had almost stupidly blurted some of what you were feeling out in the woods yesterday, and had barely caught yourself in time. 

Besides, the scariest part of opening that box wasn’t just looking at your own emotions and asking the tough questions, it was then also having to see what his responses would be.

Well the unknown is almost worse, so it’s time to suck it up and have a serious conversation with him about where all of this is going. Ask him about if he’s keeping his wives, admit you know he hasn’t been sleeping with them, and see what he says. Worst case scenario he laughs in your face, sends you away, and never speaks to you again. Easy peasy. 

Just as you were about to work up to a full internal panic attack at the thought of discussing it with him, the doors to the kitchen swung open, and Ben appeared. To anyone else he’d probably look the same as usual, but as he headed in your direction you could see a slight flush to his cheeks and a couple pieces of hair that were suspiciously more disheveled than usual. 

“I’m so sorry for missing prep,” he said by way of greeting, looking a bit tense, as if unsure how you’d treat him after the previous evening.

“Don’t apologize for things if you don’t actually regret them,” you teased with a smirk and playful shake of your head, voice low enough so that only he could hear. 

He choked on a laugh, shoulders visibly relaxing when he realized that nothing had changed between the two of you, and there was zero need for formality or awkwardness. 

Nudging you with his shoulder, he said, “Thanks.” It was one simple word, but the slightly shaky and whispered tone let you know how much emotion was behind it. 

A surge of protectiveness surged in you. If it hadn’t been apparent before how willing you were to Ricardo death-stab anyone who tried to make fun of or harm Ben, it definitely was now. He was one of the sweetest humans you had ever met, and Simon better treat him right or else he’d be dealing with you and your pointy sidekick.

“So, uh, what kind of ‘assistance’ did he need your help with?” You tried for cool and casual, but couldn’t totally hide a teasing grin.

“Oh, nothing much. He just needed a bit of a hand with something, if you know what I mean.” 

At the look of surprise on your face, he started laughing loud enough to draw a few curious gazes from the others. “Besides that, he was letting me know he wouldn’t be around for a day or two.”

Brows furrowing, you asked, “Is Negan sending him back to an outpost?”

“No, he’s joining the supply run tomorrow.” 

At this, you jolted with a different kind of surprise. “They’re going on a run tomorrow?”

“Yea, but I think it was a spur of the moment decision. He didn’t give me any details, but I got the sense that it hadn’t been planned in advance.” 

You nodded, “That makes sense.” If Negan had planned this run before today, he’d have most likely told you...right? 

“I’m sure he’d have told you if he knew,” Ben said, as if he were reading your thoughts. 

“Yea, you’re probably right,” you said, deciding to make that the one thing you didn’t need to overanalyze to death. Instead, you felt a pang in knowing that he wouldn’t be here for a couple of days. You had really been enjoying all this one-on-one time with him, even though it was unrealistic to expect it to last forever. 

You wanted to ask Ben more questions about Simon, but didn’t want to risk any other staff overhearing. Vowing to sit him down outside the kitchen and get all the details in the near future, you refocused on serving dinner. Both brain and body were kept busy for the next few hours with making sure everyone got a serving of food, including the staff and yourself, and then helping with the clean-up. 

It wasn’t until you were back upstairs, lounging in your own bed, that you returned to the dilemma of what to do next. Originally, you had planned to start a conversation with Negan about the wife situation, but now you didn’t think the timing was right. If he was going on a run tomorrow then he needed a clear head and to focus on staying safe, not be preoccupied with your concerns and questions. Especially since you didn’t know if asking about the wives would lead to an argument, and you definitely didn’t want to be on bad terms when he left.

Seeing him tonight and trying to act like your brain hadn’t been a whirlwind of confusing thoughts all day sounded exhausting as hell. But not seeing him and then something potentially happening to him on the run…

You had stood from the bed and headed towards the door before the thought could even finish itself. Nope, there was no way you weren’t gonna go see him, even if it was just for a little bit before returning to your own room for the night. Your watch said it was almost 8:30, so you had a little time before he’d probably be winding down for the night, since chances were good they’d leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow. 

No community members paid you much attention when you headed to the stairwell, but when you got to the top and entered the hall leading to Negan’s room, your stomach dropped at the sight of a small group of Saviors walking down the hall in your direction.

You guessed that they were the group going on the run tomorrow, and had just come from a meeting in one of the unoccupied rooms on this floor. While you were unsure whether to turn around and hightail it back downstairs, your subconscious kept marching forward, no fucks to give that you could be accused of trespassing on a level where community members weren’t supposed to wander. 

When they got closer, you saw a couple of the Saviors give furrowed looks, and one even opened his mouth as if to reprimand you.

“Hey, you can’t just be-“

He was interrupted when another man clapped a large hand on his shoulder, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. Relief flooded through you at the sight of Simon.

“Now now, Ryan. Don’t you know that this little lady here gets a free pass? Negan’s orders, so don't forget.”

Face instantly becoming less hostile, the man gave a nod of understanding and a quick, “Apologies, Miss,” as they passed. Simon gave a signature wink and grin, and you forced a smile in return, brain still preoccupied with his words.

Had Negan really told them that you were to be allowed up here? If so, did that mean he didn’t care if they knew you and him were...whatever you were? Your subconscious was now skipping with glee rather than marching, and your brain gave an exasperated sigh and glared at you while tossing yet another question into the padlocked box.

Arriving at Negan’s door, you gave a soft knock and then opened it at his muffled, “Come in.” He was sitting at his desk with those nerdy, yet also sexy as hell, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he shuffled through a stack of papers.

He looked up, and your heart rate accelerated when he smiled in welcome and said, “Hey, doll.”

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, smiling back. 

He pulled off the glasses (lord, why was that move so damn attractive?!) before rubbing at his tired eyes. Pushing the chair back a bit, he gave you a slow once over before clapping a hand to his knee expectantly.

Unlike when he had last made the gesture, the evening you ate lasagna together, this time you didn’t hesitate. Rounding the desk, you settled onto his warm lap and tilted your head back with a satisfied hum when he placed a possessive kiss on your lips. 

Glancing at the papers strewn across the polished wooden surface, you saw that they were full of lists and numbers, most likely of supplies. He nuzzled at the side of your neck, the friction from his beard causing a little shudder to go down your spine. Your brain rattled the padlocked box in annoyance, narrowly avoiding the tomato thrown at it by your subconscious. 

The reminder helped you refocus on how you had earlier decided not to have sex with him tonight. Not with all the questions and uncertainty floating around your head, and especially not when he needed to be well-rested and undistracted, in preparation for the run. But then the self-doubt creeped in and whispered, What if he decides to go find comfort elsewhere, if you won’t give it to him? He’s already had you and the chase is over, so what makes you think he’ll stay if you backtrack into more platonic interactions?

Your brain picked up the tomato and chucked it at the self-doubt, while the subconscious screamed in excitement at the prospect of a food fight. You tried to ignore all of them and refocus on Negan. Besides, while a risky move, you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would be when denied sex, something you bet he never had worried about with his wives.

“I heard you’re going on a run tomorrow,” you stated, trying not to let all of the conflicting emotions racing through you bleed into your tone.

Giving a sigh, he lifted his mouth from your neck, and you instantly wanted to take back your words at the loss. “Yea, gonna leave at 5 in the fucking morning to make a surprise trip to fucking Hilltop and see what’s up with that motherfucker, Gregory.”

Hearing the irritation in his voice, you asked “Has he been giving you problems?” 

“You could fucking say that. Didn’t fully meet his quota the last two times, so this is his third time’s the fucking charm chance to make up for it.”

Worry shot through you at this, remembering in the past when Negan had said Simon got a weird feeling about Gregory. You weren’t sure if the man was conniving or just plain dumb to be fucking with Negan’s supply rules like this, but it put you on edge. 

“Well, just be careful,” you couldn’t help but say, looking up into his handsome-as-hell face. 

He chuckled and bent down to kiss you again, murmuring, “Don’t fucking worry, doll. Nothing could keep me from coming back now.” 

You wanted so badly to give in, to respond to the kiss in full and let it escalate. His words warmed your chest at the thought of being his main reason for returning safely. You wanted to be his main everything, the way he was quickly becoming yours. You were falling for this man, but were scared to completely let go until a serious discussion was had...after he returned from the run. 

With one last lingering peck, you pulled back and reluctantly stood off his lap. “Well, it’s getting late so I should probably get back to my room.”

“What?” he asked, voice instantly stern and brows lowered in confusion. 

“You need sleep before the run, and I’ll just be a distraction. I could set an alarm and come see you off in the morning, if you want.” 

The hope that he’d be placated by what you thought was a logical argument was quickly dashed when he replied, “I think fucking not.”

“Negan, you need-”

He abruptly stood, and before you could even process what he was about to do, you were hoisted up and over his shoulder, head hanging down his back and ass in the air as he strode across the office and into his dark bedroom.

“What the hell!” you shrieked, lightly smacking his back with the palm of your hand. 

Kicking the bedroom door shut behind him, he took a few steps into the room before putting you down. The room was only lit by a few stray moonbeams, but you swore there was mirth dancing in the shadows of his amber gaze, which only made you more flustered. 

“I cannot believe you just did that!” you exclaimed, readjusting the bottom of your shirt where it had ridden up. 

“Well, maybe now you’ll fucking learn not to try and tell me what I need, doll.”

“Everyone needs sleep,” you fired back with a glare. You were just miffed enough at being manhandled to act petulant, even if the move had also been kinda hot, in a primitive sort of way. 

“What I need, is for you to get in the fucking bed,” he growled. 

A wave of heat poured over you at the words, and your brain stopped working in full sentences due to the amount of blood flow that had rapidly traveled south. 

“But...sleep,” you tried one more time, frantically trying remind your body of the ‘no sex tonight’ rule. 

Giving a ‘holy mother of god woman why are you like this’ level of sigh, he said, “Yes, doll, I’ll fucking sleep. But I can still do that with you here. So get in. The. Fucking. Bed.”

Realizing resistance was futile, you threw your hands in the air and muttered ‘fine’ before stripping off your shoes and jeans, and crawling between the covers. You pointedly left on your underwear and shirt, a nonverbal reminder that sleep was on the menu, and no more...no matter how much your body was screaming that it hated you for denying it. 

In unspoken agreement, Negan stripped down to just his boxer briefs, rather than his usual bed attire of naked, and crawled under the covers. Pulling you into his body, back to his chest, his head rested a few inches behind yours. He leaned in and kissed the back of your neck, and biting your lip was all that held back a whimper. 

“You better fully wake me up in the morning, so I can say goodbye,” you mumbled, the decadently soft mattress and pillow quickly putting you into a drowsy haze.

The hand he had rested lightly on your hip gave an affectionate squeeze, and he whispered, “I will. Now stop talking, doll. I need sleep, remember.”

Ignoring the sarcasm in his tone, you snuggled back tighter against him, and sighed in contentment. “Good night.”

His voice lost all teasing and became lower and softer when he replied, “Night, doll.” 

Smiling, your muscles relaxed into the mattress. It wasn’t until you were cocooned back in this glorious bed with him that it became apparent just how exhausted you were. The mental gymnastics your brain had gone through today had thoroughly worn you out. However, a part of that persistent self-doubt had now broken off and shriveled up to dust when it saw that Negan was perfectly willing to have you in his bed like this, with no sexual expectations. If you could stay awake long enough to fully think it through, you’d be shocked as hell that he hadn’t pushed. The fact that he hadn’t even brought up sex, that he still wanted you here with him, even just to do this…

Your last coherent thought was maybe he’s falling for you too, and then sleep took over.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[guardianofrivendell]

The Way to a Hobbit’s Heart

Thorin Oakenshield x Bilbo Baggins (Bagginshield)

Requested: Yes and no! This piece is part of “The Hobbit Discord Server’s Holiday Gift Exchange 2020″ and is my gift to @misfit-with-a-pen​ 💖

Warnings: oh my goodness, all the fluff! I can’t! Also Sassy Bilbo because it’s still me who wrote this :) 

Summary: When Bilbo enjoys a nice afternoon walk in the Shire, he notices a smell... A rather foul smell, if he was honest. When he comes closer to his home, the smell seems to intensify. It couldn't come from his house now, could it? Because Thorin was home.... Alone. Oh dear!

A/N: This story couldn’t exist without the help of @xxbyimm​! She is such an amazing and fantastic person and always ready to listen to me rant about ideas, complaining about everything and gave me TONS of advice on top of that. How wonderful is that?

Bilbo always favored late afternoon walks over morning strolls.

Though he knew most of his neighbors wouldn’t agree with him and probably would think of him as even more peculiar than they already did if they knew, he just couldn’t help himself. 

You see, it was the way the sun hung low in the sky, giving everything it shone upon a warm golden glow. Furthermore, as most of the hobbit community was too occupied prepping the most important meals of the day, the town was practically deserted.

This meant Bilbo could enjoy the beautiful sceneries in peace without having to get involved in friendly banter and polite greetings. And finally - the temperature was nor too warm or too cold, which was just perfect. 

But there was nothing better than an afternoon walk in early spring. Birds were building their nest, flying past his head with twigs in their little beaks. 

It reminded him of that one time a thrush had landed on Lobelia’s straw hat and had absolutely wrecked the damn thing. It took her a while to notice and Bilbo had had the greatest difficulty in keeping a straight face. She went running through the Shire afterwards, screaming about a vicious bird attack. Since that day he couldn’t help but snicker every time he saw a thrush.

Yes, Bilbo loved his walks indeed. But he loved his home just as much.

It wouldn’t be long before any respectable Hobbit started working in their garden again after the winter break and every yard and patio would get overflowed with a soft and subtly sweet flowery scent. It wasn’t any different in his garden. 

The flower buds of the early bloomers were starting to show, some of them already in their lovely, bright colours. Just a few more days and he could bury his nose in the daffodils, tulips or primroses, taking in their flowery scent.  It was a moment Bilbo looked forward to every single year, but now he could finally share it with his husband Thorin. 

To everyone’s surprise, this grumpy dwarf had warmed up to the art of gardening. Under Bilbo’s patient supervision, they were able to turn their neglected patch of land into the beautiful garden it was today.  

Bilbo smiled to himself at the thought of his husband. He came a long way to get here... Both of them did. Literally and figuratively. 

Thorin had been under a lot of stress for a long time without barely any chance to breathe: the rebuilding of Erebor, restoring trade agreements, bringing his people back to the mountain, … It never stopped and he was close to getting a burn-out.

Bilbo had seen it coming from miles away and had raised the alarm on Thorin’s health. Bilbo’s home in the Shire proved to be the perfect place to get a much needed break from ruling a Kingdom.  

The mountain was in good hands with Fíli and Kíli as his advisor - Balin was still there to keep an eye on them - and the peace and quiet of the Shire was wearing off on Thorin. He was finally able to relax and enjoy the time with Bilbo.Even so, they couldn’t stay away forever and they’d made plans to return to the mountain before the annual Durin’s Day celebration.  

That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy the time that was still left.

Bilbo continued his way on the path that would eventually lead him back to his home, he stopped when he smelled something odd. He sniffed a few times, tilting his head sideways. What in the…?  

Bilbo couldn’t tell what the smell reminded him of, and yet it somehow seemed familiar. Was Lobelia trying to burn down her house again with another attempt at copying his famous rabbit stew? 

The closer he got to his home, the stronger the scent became. It couldn’t come from his house now, could it? Thorin was home so nothing serious could have happened.

Bilbo’s eyes widened.  

Thorin was home… alone.  

“Oh dear,” he murmured.

Thorin was not yet entirely used to living like a hobbit, still adjusting to life in the Shire. The more delicate, joie-de-vivre way of life that suited the hobbits didn’t always go well with the sturdy, rather head-on approach and maybe a tad brute way of the Dwarrows. He definitely wasn’t the domestic type. Yet.

Bilbo hurried up the lane to his front yard, struggled to open the gate in his haste and made his way inside. When the door closed behind him, it felt like someone had slapped him in the face.

Oh yeah, the smell definitely came out of his house. He coughed a few times, and his eyes started to water. He completely missed the leftover trails of smoke near the ceiling, and that was maybe for the better. 

“Thorin?” he squeaked between coughs. “Love?”

No answer. Was he even here? And what was that pungent smell? It almost smelled like an onion died a painful death and was left to rot! But with added spices. Now he almost wished it was Lobelia’s cooking instead... 

He left the entrance hall and stepped further into their home, making his way to the study. If Thorin was home, he would probably be there. Bilbo hoped to find his other half hunched over a book, or too focused on writing a letter to his nephews to hear his calls. Not that he didn’t trust Thorin to find his way back home on his own… okay fine, maybe he didn’t.  

Before he reached the study, his eye fell on the pantry. A rare curse escaped his mouth.

Empty jars, most of them tipped over, crumbs and pieces of vegetables on the ground together with a puddle of liquid that Bilbo wasn’t too keen on investigating further. 

He stood frozen in the round doorway. What had happened? 

Flashbacks of that one fateful night when the company had barged in - uninvited might he add - and raided his kitchen and pantry flooded his mind.

Could they...?

No, he shook his head. It was too quiet for the company to be here. Plus Thorin would have mentioned it. There were no secrets between them. Not anymore.  

He crossed the hallway and entered his kitchen. Or rather, what was left of it.

If he thought his pantry was raided, it was nothing in comparison to his kitchen. There were dirty pots and pans all over the place, as if the dishes hadn’t been done in weeks. Most of the cabinets were opened, the contents of the shelves in disarray or scattered over the counter. A lot of food made it to the floor as well, and it seemed like someone had tried to clean it up by shoving it to one side of the kitchen.  

It looked like Thorin had tried to make something for dinner. Or a snack maybe? At least, he hoped it was Thorin who wrecked the kitchen. Because there wasn’t a single hair on his feet that would even consider cleaning this up himself! 

“Thorin, I really do love you but you got to learn to clean up after yourself,” Bilbo muttered in frustration when he picked up a dirty kitchen rag from the floor. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” a low voice sounded behind him.  

Bilbo swirled around and he forgot to breathe for a second.

There, in the doorway of the dining room, stood Thorin in just his dark blue tunic and black breeches, barefoot and an apron tied around his hips. A towel carelessly thrown over his shoulder and a casserole in his hands made it look like he belonged in a kitchen. But Bilbo knew better. 

The dwarf himself looked like a complete snack. If it wasn’t for the state of the kitchen and the foul smell still filling his nostrils, he would’ve jumped him without a second thought.

No, scratch the snack! His husband was a full five course meal. Bilbo took a deep breath. And by Durin’s beard, was he hungry... 

Thorin lifted the pot a little. Bilbo stepped out of the way so he could pass.

“It just needs a little more time on the fire.”

It didn’t. It really, really didn’t. 

That became abundantly clear when Thorin lifted the lid so he could stir in what looked like stew, and Bilbo had to grab the counter to steady himself.

Oh, well, at least now I know where that smell comes from, he thought. Breathe through your mouth, that’s the key! 

“You know, if you didn’t like my cooking, you could’ve just told me,” Bilbo joked while he took the pot off the fire again in an effort to save what could be saved, but not before he put the lid back on. “I think this is done, love.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin chuckled. The sound reverberated in his chest and it made Bilbo’s stomach flip. It was one of his favourite sounds and it still did something to him every time he heard it. 

“I wanted to repay you for taking such good care of me,” he said. “So I made us dinner.”

“You did?” Bilbo asked, endeared by the gesture but honestly, also a little afraid for his life by now. “Marvellous!”

“Go and take a seat at the table, I’ll be right there,” Thorin hummed and he gestured towards the dining room.  

Thorin came out of the kitchen and placed the pot in the middle of the table and wiped his hands on the apron. His eyes fell on Bilbo who still stood a bit to the side.  

When he entered the dining room Bilbo froze, stunned by what he saw. 

Thorin had set the table beautifully and had paid extra attention to details, the way Bilbo liked. Freshly picked flowers from their garden stood proudly in a white porcelain vase, napkins neatly folded on the right side of the plate and he had used Bilbo’s mother’s pottery. He really went out of his way for this. 

“Is it not to your liking?” Thorin asked, a slight tremble in his voice. “If it’s about the mess in the kitchen, I promise I’ll clean it up later.”

He was nervous, Bilbo realised when he looked at Thorin. The King under the Mountain who could face multiple armies with only twelve companions without a second thought or hint of fear was almost shaking with nerves because he had made dinner for his lover. It was adorable.  

“It’s lovely, Thorin. Really, it is,” he assured him, while Thorin pulled a chair from under the table so Bilbo could sit down. “I didn’t expect it, that’s all.” 

Thorin quickly made his way to the other side of the table and filled the mugs with ale and the glasses with wine. Bilbo however, eyed the food on the table cautiously. 

To be fair, from a distance it looked decent. There were carrots, mashed potatoes, other vegetables that he couldn’t quite name at first sight but seemed okay, bread,… And the pot of stew. On the corner of the table stood a bowl of what he suspected was some kind of gravy, but the chunks in it made him doubtful. 

He took some of everything on his plate and tried to keep it together when the aroma of the stew filled his nostrils once more.

Thorin looked at him expectantly. 

The things one does for the one they love, Bilbo thought while he took a deep breath and tried the stew. Oh dear, it tasted exactly like it smelled!

He tried to swallow it as fast as he could without a lot of chewing. His hand flew to his glass of wine and with a large gulp of the red substance his food finally went down.  

“Is there something wrong?”

“No! No, it’s… well, it’s a little hot,” he explained. That wasn’t exactly a lie. 

He tried to find the correct words to let him know cooking maybe wasn’t his strong point, but decided to change the subject instead. “Have you heard from Fíli yet?”

Thorin shook his head.  “I did not. It hasn’t been that long since I sent my last letter. Give him some time.”

He took a sip from his glass of wine. “But tell me about your afternoon, did you enjoy your walk?” 

Bilbo was relieved he could talk for a while - and avoid taking another bite - and told Thorin about his walk and how he was planning on asking old master Worrywort what he did to his wood poppies to get them so big and bright.

While he was listening intently, Thorin took a first bite of his homemade stew.

The minute he closed his mouth, his eyes widened and he almost choked on the meat. He let his fork drop on the plate with a loud clatter, a fist against his lips while he tried really hard to swallow the food.

Bilbo didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He decided on a neutral expression, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a person to choke on a spoonful of stew.  

Thorin brought the napkin to his mouth and wiped the tears out of his eyes, still panting from the effort.

“Mahal, why didn’t you say anything?” he groaned.

Bilbo eyed him carefully, not wanting to hurt Thorin’s feelings. He worked so hard to prepare all this, well, you couldn’t exactly call it food…

“About what?” he tried, gathering his courage and taking another spoonful. 

“The food! I saw you eat it!” Thorin murmured, his face distorting in absolute horror as he watched his husband trying his best to process another bite.

“Please don’t. I can’t believe you want to take another bite!” 

“You made this for me, of course I’m going to eat it,” Bilbo said, smiling at him. Please don’t make me eat it again, Bilbo pleaded internally. 

“To be honest, I don’t even think Bombur would touch this,” Bilbo added.

“That bad, huh?” he laughed. “Who am I kidding, of course it is, I tasted it. I still taste it!”

He took his mug of ale and chugged it down in one go. When he placed it on the table again with a thud, his expression had changed into defeat.

“I know you love your meals and this isn’t…” he rose from his chair. “This is not a meal worthy of any hobbit, let alone Bilbo Baggins.”

With the majesty only a true dwarven king can muster, Thorin strode from the dining room towards the kitchen. Bilbo shuffled in his seat, pondering what had happened before hurrying behind his One.

The sight that greeted him made his heart clench. Thorin had started cleaning up the mess, his back to the door, head low and shoulders slumped. Bilbo could see he was distraught and clearly wounded in his pride. 

In a few strides Bilbo stood behind his husband and threw his arms around him, giving a little squeeze.

”Don’t you ever think what you do isn’t enough. The fact that you went through all this trouble for me, means more to me than you’ll ever know,” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s neck before he placed a featherlight kiss there, which elicited a groan out of the King’s chest.

Thorin turned around and wanted to return the favor, but Bilbo stopped him. 

“No, no, no, Thorin. First we need to clean up this mess. I’ll help you.”

After an hour of cleaning, they sat on a spotless kitchen floor, looking over their work proudly.

“We make a great team, you and me,” Thorin said.

Bilbo rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder and sighed contentedly.

“Can you promise me one thing though?”

“What’s that?” Thorin wondered.

“Please leave the cooking to me?”

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​ @kumqu4t​ @myrin1234​ @dark-angel-is-back​ @the-fandoms-georgie​ @lathalea​ @xxbyimm​ @sokkasdarling​ @katethewriter​

[swan-of-sunrise]

The Winter Soldier (Chapter Eight)

Summary: The gang plans to take down both Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. and (Y/N) begins to feel nervous about their impending mission, not only for herself but for the super-soldier she’d grown a soft spot for.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief mention of a panic attack

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Eight (Previous Chapter)

After cutting through the floor of the S.T.R.I.K.E. van with what (Y/N) excitedly thought was some sort of mini lightsaber, hurrying into a windowless van at the next stoplight and speeding along for what felt like an eternity, they stopped and the door finally opened to reveal a large stone structure similar to a water facility or dam. This certainly looks like a top secret hideout, (Y/N) thought as she watched Steve jump out of the van and turn to help Natasha out next, like something straight out of my novel.

Once they all clambered out of the van, the woman who’d introduced herself as Maria Hill led them into the stone building, where they were immediately met by a short man with curly-grey hair. “GSW, she’s lost at least a pint.”

“Maybe two!” Sam added, helping Steve support the weakening spy.

The man hurried up to them. “Let me take her.”

“She’ll want to see him first.” Maria led them down a darkened hallway to a lit room and pulled back a hanging plastic sheet to reveal a man with an eyepatch lying in a hospital bed. (Y/N) exchanged a confused look with Sam while Steve and Natasha gasped in recognition.

The man in the hospital bed smiled tiredly. “About damn time.”

“Nick?” Natasha breathed, her eyes struggling to remain open.

“Doc, you should take care of Romanoff. And Captain,” The man’s eye moved from Natasha and the doctor to (Y/N) and Sam, causing (Y/N) to feel slightly unnerved under his critical gaze. “Care to introduce me to your new friends?”

After their brief introductions, Director Fury had suggested that she and Sam go clean themselves up but (Y/N) sensed that the two of them didn’t have much of an option; they’re probably discussing whether or not to trust us, she thought as she washed her grimy face clean in a small bathroom, not that I blame them for being skeptical. It seemed that there were very few people that they could trust at the moment, so she wasn’t offended that they were possibly a little wary of her and Sam.

“How’re you holding up?”

(Y/N) turned to see Sam standing in the doorway of the bathroom, with his arms crossed over his chest and a concerned look on his face. “I’m doing okay. I think I pulled a muscle kicking that one Hydra thug, though, and my other leg hurts from when that other Hydra asshat kicked me, but-”

“That’s not what I meant.” She glanced away from him but he continued anyway. “(Y/N), you had a panic attack back there when you found out you’re an Insight target. There’s no way you’re just doing ‘okay’ after that.”

Turning back to him, she met his worried expression and gave him a smile. “I’m fine now, Sam, I promise. I’m still a little shaken up about all this, of course, but I’m okay. Steve and I had a good conversation on the roof earlier, and I-” She stopped talking and raised her brow when she caught sight of Sam’s signature smirk. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just nice to see you getting along so well with the guy. So, you two had a, ah, conversation, huh?” Sam hid his grin behind his hand before continuing with a muffled voice. “And it was a good one, you said?”

(Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the dirtiest look she could muster as she tried and failed to cool her blushing cheeks. “Samuel Thomas Wilson, you’re damn lucky we’re in the middle of stopping a seventy-five-year-old terrorist organization from taking over the world or else I’d ram my foot right up your-”

“Hey, guys.” They turned around to see Steve standing in the doorway, a bemused smile playing on his lips while he glanced between the pair of them. “Nat’s shoulder’s patched up and Fury’s ready for us all to regroup now.”

“I’m guessing that’s really code for, ‘Congratulations, Fury decided that he could trust you.’” Sam quipped and gave (Y/N)’s shoulder a pat as he headed out of the room. “C’mon, Booksmart, no lagging behind for another ‘good conversation.’”

Steve walked alongside her as they followed Sam through the halls. “You sure you two weren’t separated at birth?”

“You know what’s funny? My actual brother and I get along perfectly fine, we always have. It’s almost like the universe is punishing me for growing up with a nice sibling by giving me Birdbrain over there. But Que Sera, Sera, whatever will be will be and all that.” Steve gave her a confused look. “Sorry, I forgot; that’s a Doris Day song from the ’50’s, and it was even in an Alfred Hitchcock film.” They walked in silence for a few moments before she summoned the courage to ask, “Are you okay, Steve?”

“I will be once we stop that launch.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him give her a fleeting glance. “What about you?

“Um, ditto.” Swallowing nervously, she opened her mouth to ask about the Winter Soldier but lost her nerve at the last second, so they walked together in silence until they came to a meeting room.

Director Fury sat beside Maria Hill, his arm in a sling and his gaze focused on the open file before him. Maria was resting her arm on a large black case and across from her sat Natasha, her shoulder freshly bandaged and her face stony. Once in the room, (Y/N) opted to stand beside Sam and watched with observant eyes as the director picked up a picture of a younger-looking Alexander Pierce from the file.

“This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said, ‘Peace wasn’t an achievement, it was a responsibility.’” He tossed the photograph back down into the table with more force than necessary. “See, it’s stuff like this that gives me trust issues.”

Natasha spoke up, her face looking grim. “We have to stop the launch.”

At her words, the director shook his head. “I don’t think the Council’s accepting my calls anymore.” He pulled the black case closer to him and opened the lid, revealing three electronic chips.

“What’s that?”

Maria’s eyes glanced around the group as she explained, “Once the helicarriers reach three thousand feet, they’ll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized.”

“We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own.”

“One or two won’t cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work, because if even one of those ships remains operational…a whole lot of people are gonna die.”

Director Fury nodded. “We have to assume everyone aboard those carriers is Hydra. We need to get past them, insert the server blades and maybe, just maybe, we can salvage what’s left-”

“We’re not salvaging anything.” (Y/N) looked over at Steve, who had the determined look of a soldier on his face. In that moment, (Y/N) saw the skinny young man from Brooklyn within his burning gaze as he addressed the director. “We’re not just taking down the carriers, Nick, we’re taking down S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing to do with it.”

Steve clenched his jaw as he spoke, “You gave me this mission, this is how it ends. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been compromised, you said so yourself. Hydra grew right under your nose and nobody noticed.”

The director frowned. “Why do you think we’re meeting in this cave? I noticed.”

“And how many paid the price before you did?”

Signing wearily, Director Fury leaned back in his chair. “Look, I didn’t know about Barnes…”

“Even if you had, would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that too? S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra…? It all goes.”

Maria looked at Director Fury and nodded. “He’s right.”

The director turned to Natasha, who only nodded in agreement, then he focused his gaze on (Y/N). Feeling the eyes of everyone around the table on her, she stood straight and met the director’s questioning gaze. “I know that I’m new to all this stuff, but…” She looked beside her at Steve. “I’m with Cap on this one.” The corner of Steve’s mouth twitched upwards.

“Don’t look at me.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest as he glanced over at (Y/N) and Steve. “I do what he does, just slower.”

Director Fury’s expression was hesitant, but he gave a nod to the super-soldier and heaved a sigh. “Well…looks like you’re giving the orders now, Captain.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After going over their plan to stop Pierce and the helicarriers, Steve left to retrieve his old uniform from the Smithsonian and Natasha made her way to Reagen National Airport to intercept Councilwoman Hawley’s transport to the Triskellion, while everyone else was busy gearing up at Fury’s secret base of operations. Before hurrying off to prepare their communication devices for the mission, Maria had pulled (Y/N) aside and pressed a hastily-wrapped bundle into her hands.

“If you’re gonna go on this mission with us, (Y/L/N), then you’d better look the part.” She’d given her a curt nod before walking away.

Now, (Y/N) stood in the women’s bathroom and looked at her reflection in the smudged mirror. She was dressed in a dark blue form-fitting uniform similar to Maria’s, with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo embossed on the shoulder and sturdy combat boots laced tight.

“Never thought I’d be a part of something this crazy,” She smoothed out the wrinkles on the fabric and gave her reflection a tiny reassuring smile. On the inside, though, she was frightened of failure and what that failure would mean for the rest of the world. “But it’ll be interesting while it lasts…”

On her way to their rendezvous point outside the base, (Y/N) spotted Steve, dressed in his classic World War II Captain America uniform and with his shield strapped to his back. She debated with herself for a moment before jogging to catch up with the super-soldier, calling out, “Hey, wait up!”

Steve stopped and turned, waiting patiently with his hands resting in his belt buckle as she made her way over to him; he gave her an approving nod when she finally reached him, his azure eyes taking in her new outfit before meeting her gaze. “Nice uniform, it suits you.”

“And you pull off the vintage look very well…listen, Steve, um, about Bucky…” He opened his mouth to protest but she quickly cut him off. “I think you’re right to try and save him from Hydra. That’s why you stole your old uniform to wear on this mission, isn’t it? To try and jog his memory of you, of his old life.” He slowly nodded and she looked down, her eyes level with the star on his chest, before continuing. “If Hydra had taken Sam and done the same things to him, I don’t think I’d be able to stop myself from trying everything I could to save him. Just…” Her eyes flicked back up to meet his. “I saw what he did on that causeway, what he’s fully capable of. Promise you’ll be careful?”

Steve nodded again, and she could see the concerned look he was giving her under his helmet. “You be careful, too, (Y/N). Sam and I can take care of the Insight crew, but you’re our eyes and ears. Stick with Hill, remember the plan and with a whole lot of luck, we just might be able to pull this off.”

(Y/N) gave him a small salute and joking grin. “Sir, yes, sir. Now, in the immortal and iconic words of Freddie Mercury, ‘On with the show’!”

“...Who’s Freddie Mercury?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy! 

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BenknAqQQnOWY8NmSa23V

Tagging: @mrs-obrien​ @lahoete​ @awkward117​ @cminr​ @momc95​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @khuang3​ @supersouthy​ @benakenalove​ @brooke0297​ @hufflepeople​ @becausewelie​​ @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum​

Chapter Nine

“The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

[neonponders]

*sigh* catch me projecting on a Saturday.

I read this post ( @lazybakerart you wizard - ALSO IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?????? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹) and am now thinking about a sugardaddy!Billy with an ace!Steve. (*emphasis on grey ace*)

* Please nobody attack me for writing about leather fashion. I’m vegetarian and it’s fiction. Live a little. *

Read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Steve just kind of stared at the box on the restaurant table. It wasn’t a ring box, but it was velvet. Goodness knew how many of these he’d seen in his life.

Steve knew wealth. He knew money, and all of the material variations therein.

He’d gotten pedicures with his mother before his father declared such a thing unfit for a boy coming into puberty. If you look like a man, act like a man. As if men didn’t have feet, or something.

Then he went to the salon. That wasn’t so easy to take away. Ventures with her son seemed to be the only things keeping Mrs. Harrington from being connected to her husband’s hip, so Mr. Harrington let them both have this one. Steve, fresh out of graduation, being given a hairdresser’s chair to accomplish summer-fresh highlights.

Mrs. Harrington was also the type of woman to enjoy shoes. Everyone has a thing. For some, they had bags. Others, jewelry. Vintage furniture. Designer wallpaper. Mrs. Harrington enjoyed shoes. It was where Steve learned to carry a woman’s bags, but he didn’t stay outside of the store. He learned how to clean suede, the difference between a 130 So Kate and an ordinary heel. What fetish meant in terms of fashion. He can convert heels sizes in millimeters to inches faster than a cashier calculating change.

Tommy and Carol had joked about Steve’s father having a different kind of fetish. Nothing to do with fashion, and everything to do with sex. Steve had foolishly let them into his mother’s bedroom and they were having a field day with a shoe closet that cost more than both of their houses combined. Still smelling of Nancy and pool chlorine, Steve as good as ended that friendship right there.

Because they didn’t get it.

Mr. Harrington certainly didn’t get it. Could never have such a sexual inclination because he didn’t understand pampering or indulgent interests.

He understood favors. Material apologies.

Mrs. Harrington had a collection of pearls and diamonds that she never wore.

Steve knew she liked opals and pink, pink rubies, because Steve liked opals too. Because he used his father’s money to buy ruby studs his mother actually wore. Because he gets her oldest, broken bracelet with green amber fixed, and she wears it until it breaks again. And then she presented Steve with a thin, gold chain to go around his ankle. With a gleaming, green amber stone flanked by two opals.

The green goes with our eyes, she said. Someone special will see the green in all that brown. It’s why we look good in reds.

Steve was still looking at the box on the table.

“It’s not going to catch fire, the longer you glare at it.”

His dark hazel, creek water eyes slanted up to the man sitting opposite him.

Billy Hargrove.

Stubborn to a fault. Gorgeous as Lucifer with wings freshly burnt off. And just as dangerous.

“I thought I said no more gifts.”

“And I ignored you. Open it.”

Steve went about it like ripping off a bandaid. He sighed at the window beside their booth, wrenching the thing open to see -

Diamonds.

He shut it with a loud clap and set it on Billy’s placemat. “No, thanks.”

The man’s features froze in tolerant stoicism, but he eased the box inside his suit jacket pocket. “You’re a hard one to shop for.”

Steve’s eyes widened dramatically over his wine glass of water. Not because he was sober - he’d willingly pay for an overpriced red, himself, if the handsome asshole weren’t trying to wave his wallet everywhere. “You can stop trying to buy your way into my pants any time you want.”

“If that’s all I wanted, I would’ve stopped three months ago.”

Three months ago,

When Billy breezed into Steve’s life as easily as he had senior year of high school. The two of them certainly deserved some kind of award for having a bizarre history.

Within a handful of months, Billy had arrived upon a turbulent time in Steve’s life, and then left nearly as quickly. Billy witnessed Steve and Nancy’s break-up, Steve’s fall from Hawkins High grace, and even beat his face a little bit. Because that’s what teenage men with bad emotional processing and even worse communication skills do.

Now, almost ten years later, Billy had some kind of empire behind him and Steve, well, didn’t. He had no idea what Billy’s job consisted of, but he got little hints. Mostly the negative space from Billy’s lack of discussing his job told Steve a whole lot.

Steve, who worked two jobs and occasional gigs wherever he was needed. During one such time, while Steve managed the cables and sound boards for Robin’s band, Billy Hargrove sauntered up to him with just as much charm mixed with hauteur as he’d ever displayed.

It wasn’t like meeting an old friend, because they had never been more than acquaintances, and roughly ten years was enough time for a personality to evolve ten different ways.

Steve couldn’t say how much he and Billy had evolved, really, but there was a point in there somewhere.

Maybe it lived in the, “I never expected to see you in a dyke club, pretty boy,” since it was all the coming out either of them needed.

Or the wanton kisses and fervent hands underneath the neon rainbow on the venue’s wall.

Maybe the point sat in the things Billy wanted, and what Steve was reticent to provide. Because Billy was a king who knew what he liked, and seemed particularly talented at walking into Steve’s personal crises like an anniversary.

Steve craved.

But he didn’t know what he craved. What he yearned for. He knew Billy’s kisses made his brain go molten and fuzzy. He knew Billy’s smell brought him just as much comfort, excitement, and anxiety. He knew finally being outside of sex-crazed high school had deflated something in him. The expectations to perform. He knew losing Robin’s stupid game of You Rule / You Suck gave him a secret gift of relief.

But he still craved. He wanted touch but he wanted to be alone. He wanted companionship but he didn’t want sex. But he did enjoy sex, except he didn’t want the expectation of it.

Well.

That was it, wasn’t it?

Billy Hargrove, who could have anyone he wanted plastered to his stupid, unbuttoned chest, had sought out Steve. Steve, king of mixed signals, Harrington. It was only a matter of time before he got his face beaten again. For wasting Billy’s time. For refusing Billy’s advances even though Steve clearly enjoyed Billy’s lips on his neck, and Billy’s hand on his inner thigh. For wanting Billy’s company and flirtation without the rules that finished in the bedroom.

So Steve refused the gifts. The material favors he could’ve sold for a better apartment. Fucked his way to owning a house that his mom would feel comfortable visiting. Be an unfeeling toy who could pay for his mother’s shoes and his own pedicures.

“Steve?”

He turned away from the window and the city’s electric constellations. “Hm?”

“Where’d you go?”

The back of Steve’s throat ached. He looked down at their appetizer plates and decided, “I think I’m going home.” After a second of them both hearing it out loud, Steve said with more conviction, “I need to be home right now. I’m sorry. Thanks for dinner.”

He almost reached for his wallet to pay for his half of the artichoke dip, but reconsidered. He took his old prom tuxedo jacket off on the way to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close before he pressed his face into the old fibers.

It would be easier if Steve didn’t know money. If wealth were a foreign pillow he had never slept on; could be spoiled into never giving it up again.

Like a true mother with a sixth sense, Steve withdrew a package from his mailbox when he returned to his apartment building. Mrs. Harrington’s versions of care packages were fashion magazines, a subscription to The New Yorker, polaroids of her latest closet pieces, and Steve’s favorite candy.

He loved it all. He didn’t need laminated recipes, bags of rice, or resupplied hair products. He went up to his bedroom, stripped down to nothing, and fell into bed with the hefty parcel. Fruity hard candies fell out like confetti, and he stuck a green apple square inside his cheek while he looked through her baggie of polaroids.

Peach suede 130s. Steve felt a warm tickle in his belly at that. She only wore 130s if she was pissed at his father. A woman in 130s walked with the force of a storm, mostly because the damn things were nearly intolerable to wear without a platform.

Another pair of diamond earrings. One of these days, people were going to realize how boring clear rocks were.

Dark, amethyst Miu Mius with the heel and toe encrusted with pearls. Steve’s dad must’ve really pissed her off to warrant that apology.

The magazine subscription had piled up, so he had three New Yorkers to read, but he opened the tome of Vogue first. His mother dog-earred her favorite articles, scent samples, and spreads. She often favored the androgynous and male fragrances. Steve liked that a whole lot. He wasn’t sure if she did that for him because he liked them, or if he liked them because she did that.

He held the magazine to his face as he went to the kitchen, smelling the first fragrance sample while he reached for his cache of boxed cake mix. It was a funfetti kind of night. He rattled the package of sprinkles in his hand while reading about some summer collection where the runway happened in a Greek ampitheatre. Sounded fun. Sounded like a great vacation. Beach, wine, and then modern art fusing with ancient architecture.

Steve didn’t excel in chemistry, but he knew a different kind of magic.

Which didn���t actually include baking. The cake emerged a little dark, but he cut off the burnt top, iced it to glorious, sugar perfection, and took a slice to bed with him. He turned the parcel upside-down for the last of the candy to come out so he could throw the envelope away -

Two bottles of nail polish landed heavily on the bed. Steve lifted the darker bottle to see a purple so ebony he thought it was black until he opened it to see the paint up close.

Purple and peach. To match his mother’s shoes.

Not many people understood his parents’ methods of producing or avoiding affection. But Steve did. He shook up the poison violet and painted his toenails in between forkfuls of cake.

He didn’t hear from Billy the next day.

Or the next.

As bad as Steve felt, he couldn’t say he minded. Nor would he be surprised if Billy never called him again. The idea brought a lonely peace during the commute to work, reading his magazines on the train before keeping them safe in a folder that he stuffed inside his backpack. Even if Steve’s chest felt like a cold balloon, with its latex worn thin and tired, he had his little things to keep him warm.

Then a knock on his apartment door.

Steve answered it with a cheek full of cake, interrupted from making his grocery list of actual nutritional value - 

Billy had never visited before. Steve stared at him long enough for him to ask, “Are you going to let me in?”

Steve glanced at the box under his arm and turned into his apartment with a sigh. Billy closed the door behind him as he remarked, “You don’t know what’s in it yet.”

There wasn’t exactly anywhere for Steve to theatrically storm off to. His kitchen was also his living room, and a half-wall partitioned the bedroom off to the side. His apartment was one long rectangle, and Steve remained stuck in the middle of it.

“Billy, I don’t know what you want from me that you think you can get from expensive things.”

“I don’t recall asking for anything in return,” he drawled while removing his coat.

“Don’t take that off,” Steve retorted.

“I’m taking it off.”

“This isn’t going to be a long visit.”

“Would you at least open the damn thing first?” Billy presented the box on the flat of his hand like a waiter’s tray.

Steve knew a shoe box when he saw one. He swatted the lid off the box before he even meant to. He was so tired of this game. Of these rules. He doesn’t want to see some snotty designer sneaker that isn’t to his taste. Some item the rules would dictate he accept without complaint. Or some chunky, foamy plastic, glorified tennis shoe that is over hyped . . .

He sees the red first.

It’s not a sneaker.

Hot Chick heels. 100mm. Black suede on top, red bottom. The leather around the heel scallop-cut like minimalist flower petals.

Steve’s breath has stopped in his chest. The pad of his thumb moved across the soft, matte leather before he stops himself. He tries to look stern when he dares to peek up at Billy, but those water-turquoise eyes are steady on him, absorbing his every reaction.

“These don’t exist in suede.”

Because they didn’t. Hot Chicks came in patent leather only.

“They do now.”

“Louboutin sizes down.”

“Then we’ll have them stretched.”

Steve is losing. Billy knows he’s losing. Billy - he -

“How - ?” Steve begins but stops. He closed his eyes and swallowed, only to flinch a little when Billy grasped his chin, holding him in place as he leaned in to lick the corner of his mouth free of icing.

“Will you try them on for me?”

Steve feels a mixture of defeat mixed in with petulance and vulnerable glee as he warily takes the box to his humble couch. Billy looked at his bed, and then to the kitchen on the other side of the apartment. He strolled into it and lifted the knife for a slice.

Steve, meanwhile, took his time. He opened the paper from where it had floated back over the shoes. He lifted the box to inhale the leather. He took one shoe out just to...see it. Look at it. Read the number stamped on the red arch.

Steve had to remove his socks, revealing his lacquered toes as Billy sat next to him with a plate. He eased the coffee table out of the way, giving Steve room to wiggle his foot into the severe 100mm heel.

They were hardly glamorous under his old, cut-off sweats.

But.

He’d never actually seen his feet in heels before. Never bothered to try to find his size.

Billy handed him the other shoe, and stood up with a ready hand. Steve wiggled into it and accepted his hold as he stood up.

How do you walk in those? he’d once asked his mother.

Trust the heel, my love, she’d answered, strolling around her bedroom in her 130s. If you’ve paid enough for it, it better hold up your entire form, and your dating baggage.

Steve had laughed, but listened to her every word. Move like a wheel barrow. You pivot on your toes, like the wheel, and rest on the heels.

“I’ve got you,” Billy purred when Steve teetered. Just a little.

“Why did you get me these?” Steve had to ask while he began to ease his arm off of Billy’s shoulders.

“Might’ve had a look inside your mail,” he admitted shamelessly. “I thought you might’ve ordered something and I could finally see what you liked. Instead, it’s the one thing I’ve seen you accept.”

“You’re a creep,” Steve declared, but he couldn’t look away from his feet as he strolled around the coffee table.

Billy laughed and sat down to his cake. “This is good.”

“It’s from a box.”

“It’s still good.”

Things . . . changed, after that. Billy came over just to come over. And he pestered Steve with endless questions.

“Do you like these?” he asked with his nose against the magazine pages.

Steve towered over him in his heels, but he’d wash dishes in whatever he wanted, thanks very much. And leather needed to be worn, as his mother taught him. Plastic is trash. If it comes from a living creature, it lives on a creature.

Steve snorted beside him. “My mom crimps those pages.”

“But do you like them?”

“They’re fun in magazines, but perfumes were never really my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Right now? You, elbows deep in here.”

Billy perked right out of the magazine only to lock onto the sink. “Because you’re having trouble reaching it now?”

Steve meant to have a witty come-back, but he got caught up in his own giggles. “Yeah.”

Then,

“Can I stay the night?”

Something must have flashed across his face, because Billy added, “Not for sex. I’ve taken the hint, all right?”

Steve slowly unfolded his socks where he sat on the foot of the bed. “Why do you want to?”

Billy wiped his hands on the dish towel and padded across the room to sit beside him. “Because I want to taste you before I sleep. And I wanna taste you when I wake up. I want your snark in my ears all the time - ”

“All the time?” Steve repeated, deadpan.

“Yeah, all the time. I can’t believe it either.”

Billy’s features were warm, unbelievably warm as he watched Steve laugh. “Of course I want to have sex with you. But I miss you when... I miss you all the time. It’s embarrassing.”

Steve rolled his eyes onto him, to which Billy defended, “I have things to do.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re the big man in town,” Steve babied, pushing his chest so he toppled backward.

“I am, actually,” he crooned, his hands finding Steve’s legs easily when he straddled him. “I’d work better with you on my desk.”

“My hairy legs and scraped up heels?” Steve threatened breathily, holding Billy’s cheek and jaw in one hand while he leaned over him so all Billy could see was Steve.

“All of it,” he exhaled, and pulled Steve’s head the last inch for a kiss.

Billy’s next gift was a pair of slippers. Plush, soft, and perfect after an afternoon in 100s.

Then he gave Steve a massage. Steve could accept those with ease. The balls of his feet hurt and even blushed a faint indigo from being so unused to heels. The warm attention of Billy’s hands on the arches of his feet, heels, and ankles; as well as the cold tennis balls he stored in Steve’s freezer to roll along his feet.

By then, he’d seen Steve’s anklet. So the next shoe box Steve opened were dark green suede, as poisonously dark as his mother’s violet heels. The toe was bare, but the heel was encrusted with opals. The milky stones flashed green and orange as Steve walked in the 120mm heel.

“How do they feel?”

Steve, with far more mastery over heels now, pivoted on his toes and planted one on the couch in between Billy’s thighs. His warm hand cradled Steve’s ankle immediately.

“What if I shaved for these?”

“Then I’d never take my hands off you.”

“So nothing would change,” Steve giggled, teasing gone as he landed on Billy’s lap. The man underneath him hummed his mirth into Steve’s mouth, his other hand burying in Steve’s hair while he let Steve control the kiss, explore his mouth.

“I thought they’d go with your eyes,” he said when the kiss petered off and Steve kissed his nose. Billy touched the pad of his thumb high on Steve’s cheek. “There’s a little bit of green there.”

Steve let Billy fuck him in those shoes.

Because he finally craved all the way, beyond fear of rules. Beyond the existence of toys. He craved Billy deeper than skin, and Billy gave it to him.

And when Billy got him a pair of 130s . . . blood red and spiked with tiny, crimson points, he let Steve fuck him.

[candycityy]

based on @pufferssss' discord headcanon of levi taking care of petra while she's on her period. just fluff, because my babies deserve it, sue me.

(You can also read this on AO3!)

==

She's off her game today.

He'd noticed it earlier that morning, during PT. He'd assigned them to complete a circuit, and most of the squad had groaned and complied, but she'd remained silent, just turned a shade paler.

"Something wrong, Ral?" he'd asked, when her face twisted into a pained expression. For a second, she'd looked at him entreatingly, like she was trying to communicate something with her gaze.

When he just stared blankly back, she'd sighed and shook her head. "Nothing, sir," she'd grumbled, before turning around and going off on the ten-kilometre jog.

But now – something's definitely wrong, he's sure of it. She looks distracted and self-conscious, her eyes flickering between the guys and him, and she keeps adjusting her uniform even though as far as Levi can see, every strap is perfectly in place. She's pale, too, looking far too drained for one measley circuit –for all her flaws, Petra's never been one to back down from a challenge, let alone show a sign of weakness.

He watches as she maneuvers robotically towards the end-point, slicing at the rubber-foam targets in an almost absent-minded way, wearing that pained, distracted expression. When an Abnormal emerges suddenly from the side, plywood arm raised for attack, he waits for her to snap to attention and dodge.

Instead, she turns, much too slowly and goes, as if in a daze, "Huh?" The arm slams down on her wires, and she lets out a shriek as she struggles to recalibrate her position while dangling mid-air. His irritation mounting, he swiftly swings over and plucks her out of the air, ignoring her protests, and dumps her unceremoniously on the ground. Following his lead, Eld, Gunther, and Auruo alight on the ground, expressions tight and wary.

"What the hell was that?" he demands. But instead of looking sheepish like she usually would, she shoots him a venomous glare. Like it's his fault she failed to dodge a damn piece of plywood.

"Sorry," she mutters, sounding not the least bit apologetic. Levi stares at her in disbelief. They've been together for a while, sure, but she's never been insubordinate like this, let alone in front of their squadmates, in the middle of drills.

"Ral." His tone is frigid. "I'll say it once more. What the hell was that? You're being out of line, and your drills were atrocious." His tone is harsh, and her gaze snaps to his, bright with fury.

"I said," she hisses, "I was sorry."

He's angry, now. "Well, you sure have a fucking funny way of showing it."

"Oh, fuck you, Levi," she spits, and there's a sharp intake of breath all around – Petra never curses, and she never calls him by name during training.

"Petra!" Eld exclaims. "Sir, as second-in-command, I'll take care of this – you can continue with the drills –"

"Fuck you too, Eld." She gets to her feet, dusting herself off, and glares around at her squadmates.

He's had enough. "Ral, I don't know why you think it's okay to speak to us this way, but –"

"I'm on my period," she finally bites out. She spins around, eyes flashing, and everyone but him takes an involuntary step back. "And I don't know what I did wrong but this time it feels like I'm being stabbed in the abdomen by a thousand daggers and I'm pretty sure I've bled through these stupid fucking white pants and God help me I'm so done with all of you insensitive fuckers."

There's a beat. He finally finds his voice, and says, lamely, "You should have spoken up earlier. You could've gone to the sick bay if it was that bad."

At that, she honest-to-goodness snarls at him, baring her teeth and curling her lip like a cornered animal. "Then. I'll. Go." The words come out in a low growl, and it's all he can do to keep his expression flat and unreadable.

"Go, then." For a second, her mask of fury cracks, and her eyes fill with tears.

But then she turns on her heel and stalks off, her boots crunching in the dust. He notices, belatedly, that there's a smudge of red on the back of her pants.

His squad stands there, shocked into silence. "You go tell her, Auruo," Eld says finally.

"What? No way, you do it, you're second-in-command –"

As the guys argue between themselves, Levi presses his head into his hands and wonders briefly why the universe seems to hate him.

==

Later, when he knocks on the door, he's not surprised when he doesn't get a reply.

Steeling himself for the worst, he pushes the door open a crack. She's not on the bed. Maybe I'll just go in and wait for her, then, he thinks, before a soft moan makes his gaze snap to the ground.

It's Petra, curled up into a fetal position on the ground. She's sweating despite the mild temperature, and her skin has taken on a deathly pallour.

She groans again, and the sound startles him out of his reverie. He opens the door and steps in. "What the hell, Petra?" he mutters under his breath, kneeling on the ground next to her. Her eyes are closed, and he thinks he hears a muffled fuck off before she sighs, turning onto her other side and pulling her knees even more tightly to her chest.

Despite her mumbled protests, he lifts her carefully back onto the bed and pours her a glass of water. "Open," he orders, gently lifting her head and thumbing her lip. She bites his thumb halfheartedly, and he lets out an irritated grunt.

"Dammit, Petra, it's just medicine for the pain. Quit being a stubborn brat and open up already." She mumbles something unintelligible, maybe another curse, but obediently opens her mouth and swallows the small white pill dry, ignoring the glass of water and grimacing as she does it.

Her eyelids flutter weakly, and she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Go away, you ass. Don't wanna talk to you. Ugh, it hurts." She lets out a high-pitched whine, the sound somehow both irritated and agonised at the same time, and he snorts – it's just so Petra for her to be frustrated at her own pain.

"Lie down," he orders, pulling a hot water bottle out his bag and tucking it roughly into her arms. She presses it to her abdomen and curls into the warmth, making a small, pleased sound, and even though her hair clings to her damp forehead and her clothes are a rumpled mess, it's still inexplicably, ridiculously cute.

"Better?" he asks. She nods sleepily – and then, a few moments, just as she seems on the verge of dozing off, she sits up abruptly, almost shoving him off the bed in the process.

She looks at him with wide, panicked eyes. "You – oh, no," she groans. "You can't be here. My room is a mess, I'm a mess, there's a pile of bloody laundry in the corner..." Levi inwardly recoils at that, but manages to keep his face carefully composed, "...and – ugh – just, get out get out get out." She collapses back into bed, throws a pillow at his general direction (he dodges), and lets out a cry that's somewhere between exasperation and embarrassment.

"You're welcome," he deadpans, and she drapes an arm over her flushed face, covering her eyes. "I'll leave soon. Just as soon as you tell me you're okay."

"I'm okay, now get out." Her words are muffled from underneath her arm. With an irritated sigh, he gets up, pausing only when she peeks out from under her arm (again with the ridiculous cute) and asks, "where'd you get the hot water bottle from?"

"Nifa." He frowns, recalling the thinly veiled disapproval on the girl's face when he'd confided in her the morning's events.

"Oh." Her voice is small. "Um. Captain – Levi," she amends, and hesitates.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You know. For everything. And, uh, sorry for freaking out earlier." Her arm goes back over her face.

"It's fine." Levi lets out a short exhale, and against his better judgment, leans back over her slight figure to gently brush the tangled hair out of her face. Her face is still fever-hot, and she sighs at the coolness of his touch.

"Feel better, Petra," he says, quietly. As he gets up to leave, his eyes flicker to the pile of laundry at the corner at the corner of the room.

Every cell in his cleanliness-obsessed body screams in protest.

Oh, what the hell. Without making a sound, he lifts the bundle into his arms – keeping it as far away from his face as possible – and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Levi Ackerman, he thinks grimly to himself, as he makes his way towards the laundry room, you are such a fucking loser.

==

The next morning, Petra wakes up to a pile of clean, perfectly pressed laundry outside her door.

There's a note. Ral, it says, in a familiar, elegant script, you owe me a new bottle of bleach. Let me know when you're better, because I'm still giving your insubordinate ass a week of latrine duty. C.L.

Carefully, she folds the piece of paper and closes the door behind her. She flops onto her bed, feeling an irrepressible smile spread over her face – and somehow, all of a sudden – the ache in her abdomen doesn't feel quite so bad.