#people deserve to write at their own pace and reply to whatever they like whenever they want

[lil-kissy]

You know what I kinda wanna expand on that thought from my previous post about waiting.

Specifically how while I do fully agree with all posts I've seen that talk about being patient, Rping is a hobby and all that others stuff. 100%, support and agree everyone is more then allowed to take whatever time they need to respond.

Rp or otherwise I bet nearly every can understand how things like motivation can wax and wane, and even if you are interested in multiple things sometimes one thing grabs you more then others. Time not allowing you to do everything you want so you gotta sometimes pick and choose.

Basically a more extensive way of being told 'Be Patient'

I completely understand all of it and just about everyone else I've met and know in rpc are pretty well understanding and accepting of it all too.

However there is a flip side that personally I don't think I've seen addressed enough, and even I've kinda touched on it but also tip toed a bit never quite sure how to properly express the feelings without giving the wrong impression or coming off rude.

Which is how hard it can feel being the one stuck waiting, and that honestly as long as you aren't a dick and don't start harassing people/your partners about it, demanding replies that kinda thing, it's okay to feel frustrated or upset.

Because honestly over all the years I've rp'd on here(and off), I get it. Even now I still find myself feeling a little down, even frustrated during a long wait, because let's be real especially if its for something you're excited for waiting can really suck.

True it's also exciting, the anticipation of what's to come but come on no matter how excited you are I'm sure a lot of people would still get bored waiting their turn in a long line for a ride at an amusement park ride.

Or the long wait for a package you ordered to arrived, sure they have the perk of an expected arrival date but its still not set in stone some times it can arrive sooner or later then expected. But who hasn't had moments where they'd wish their package could just arrive immediately despite knowing full while why it's taking the time that it is to arrive.

In someways I'd argue that's kinda similar to at least for me how it can feel. I know what I signed up for and I can promise I'm never mad at nor blame any of my partners for the wait no matter how long, even I've had moments of being the one to (unintentionally) make my partner wait and am always super grateful for their patience.

And just like I know I can't speed up a packages arrival, nor would I dare act like some asshole because a line up is moving slowly, I'd never demand or expect my partner to be faster or other wise act like I'm some how owed a quick response. (Hell no)

However I do believe that there's nothing wrong with acknowledging the struggles that can come along with being on the receiving/waiting end of things. Even if the wait is worth it- which honestly if you're with the right person/people it always will be no matter how long,

If anything at least for me I'd say some if not all the frustration of waiting comes from well the excitement of wanting to continue wanting to keep going but well until that response hits you can't.

Don't know if this is a hot take or not but I think you can be both patient, respectful about waiting for rp replies and understand all the reasons for why but also you don't have to like it and it's okay to acknowledge and admit,

Waiting Sucks.

But feeling frustrated or upset wishing that you didn't have to wait to continue that thread(s) or whatever you're feeling because of it doesn't automatically make you a bad person. It doesn't mean someone doesn't care about their partner(s) and their feelings.

Just don't be a dick about it.

Again this is something I've frequently thought about talking about/ express my thoughts and feelings on but I also really didn't want to wind up giving the wrong impression and come off sounding like some selfish, entitled asshole.

-----

As I hope I've made clear it isn't a bad thing to take whatever time you need and any reasonable rp partner(s) will understand this.

But just as nobody owes anyone a reply and are allowed to respond at whatever speed fits you, and is completely valid to want to be respected for that, the reverse is also true no one owes you their time and yet I know there are a lot of people (me included) who are willing to give the time and wait for our partners but that doesn't always make it easy and just I think that's just as valid a feeling.

If you can respect the time people take to write up a response so to should the time those waited be respected you know.

Not enjoying waiting doesn't make you a bad person / RP partner- being a dick about it does.

[parkersroses]

it’s golden. | harry styles.

summary: Harry brings you to the Grammy’s and it all ends in a wonderful night. 

pairing: harry styles x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k words

warning(s): all fluff, small mentions of sensual stuff

a/n: (disclaimer: gif belongs to @hers <3) hello! been a while! i’ve been wanting to write something since harry won a grammy award, which i’m unbelievably proud of him. so enjoy this cloud of unedited fluff. reblog and comment if you liked this. buy me a coffee if you’d like to support me further <3

The Grammy Awards had been an anticipating event you both waited for. In your honest opinion, you thought Harry deserved a nomination way back during the success of his first album or even his later One Direction days. 

Nevertheless, you couldn’t be more proud of your lover, having not been nominated once, but thrice. He himself couldn’t believe how Fine Line, a labour of his love and hardwork, was recognized on this scale. Luckily, you were both safely together in the comfort of your own home when the nominations were announced. That day was later filled with a lot of love and celebration for him, with you congratulating him as many times as you could, in many ways you could. 

The buzz about Harry being a Grammy-nominated artist instantly filled the set of ‘Don’t Worry, Darling’, nearly everyone congratulating the supporting lead actor of their film. Although Harry gets very shy whenever someone compliments his success, he still took pride in how his effort and resilience got him to where he was.

The following weeks were filled with preparation and planning, with Harry being announced that he would be opening the event. It was only fitting that he would perform Watermelon Sugar, considering it is now a Grammy nominated single. He had some doubts with the choice of song though. He knew it was a big and popular summer song and it had been playing everywhere since he released the song. Harry knew there would be some people that are just bored and tired of the song already and opted to change it.

However, you managed to talk some sense in him, knowing how award seasons like this can be nerve wracking.

“I’m just saying, it’s been playing around for more than a year. People are probably bored of it,” Harry said as he laid on your shared bed, staring at the ceiling like it was the most fascinating thing ever. 

Finishing up your skincare routine, you looked back at him. “And? If you want to perform it, it shouldn’t really matter if people got tired of it. I still love the song,” you reassured him. 

He lifted his head slightly off his pillow to look at you. “Yeah, but still. Maybe if I performed other songs from the album, people might enjoy the performance more.” He sighed as he plopped his head back on the pillow.

You quickly climbed in the bed, plopping right next to him. Harry grunted as you put your head on his chest and intertwine your legs, instantly wrapping his arms around you. He turned his head to press small kisses on the crown of your head. “Don’t know why I’m worried about it. I’m sorry if I’m being over dramatic about it.” He apologised to you. 

“You know I love your over-dramaticness nonetheless, bubs.” You comforted him, kissing above his heart as you looked up at him. “But you shouldn’t worry so much. If Watermelon Sugar is what you wanna perform, then you should go for it. It’s a Grammy-nominated song anyways. But just remember to have fun. It’s only your first time being nominated and performing there.” 

Harry hummed in reply as he stared into your eyes. Often times, he still finds himself mesmerized by your eyes despite the long years of you being together. “Besides, I’ll be there, in the front row, where you can look at me when you’re nervous.” You smiled at him and he smiled back at the thought of you cheering on him in possibly one of the most important nights of his life. 

Harry leaned up and pressed a kiss on your lips, sighing at mere taste and softness of it. “I’d really love that. Thank you, lovie.” He mumbled into the kiss, breaking away as he smiled gleefully at you. He truly did adore you and the little things you would do for him. You pressed another kiss on his lips, Harry was quick enough to return the action. “Anytime, bubs.” You said.

The week of the Grammys came by quickly, which meant Harry’s nerves only escalated from the day he found out he was performing. He had some costume fittings for the event to do and planning for how the set is going to look. He kept some secrets from you about what he was going to wear for his performance and you were initially upset about it because you enjoy getting a sneak peek into his fashion sense for these types of situations. But Harry constantly assured you that you’ll love it when you see it, although you always love whatever he decides to wear.

For all you know, he’d be wearing a trash bag and you’ll still think he is the sexiest man you ever laid eyes on. 

Eventually, the day of the Grammys finally came. Harry was almost certain that he was going to throw up in his room. He paces back and forth, trying to ease down his nerves. You told him you’d be running a bit late but promised him that you’ll be there before he could sing the first word of the song. Soon enough, it was time to go. He meets up with his band and they all huddle together to say some words of encouragement. It was a big night for all of them. 

About five minutes before he’s supposed to go on stage, he hears a familiar voice calling out to him. He turns around and sees his love running up to him, apologising profusely to those she bumped into. He grins widely and opens his arms wide for you to run into them. He hugs you tight, swaying you both from side to side as his hands feel the satin pink dress you wore. 

You both pull away with wide grins on your faces and you let your hands rest on his bare chest. “Bold choice of the outfit, Mr. Styles,” you tease him. Harry chuckles at you as he presses his forehead against yours. “Told ye you’ll love it, didn’t I?” he says and you hummed in reply. 

“I do. I really love it. Y’look like a rockstar,” you admit as you fix the leather jacket. Someone calls for Harry and it’s time for his time to shine. You pull his face down to your level and give a couple of good luck kisses, not that he needed any luck because he’ll do great no matter what. 

“I love you,” you said lovingly. Harry steals another kiss from you before he parts away. “I love you, too,” He says and winks at you, making your cheeks turn red as you put on your mask.

Just as you said before, you stay through the whole performance, your eyes always focused on him with the energy and charm he always brings into every show. You have to admit that his outfit was really doing things to you. You love how fitting the pants were on Harry’s legs, not to mention how great his ass looks as he danced around on stage. You did not miss the times where his jacket opened slightly and exposed more of his bare chest. Your eyes linger on the chest littered with tattoos you love to trace and give kisses and hickies on it. 

Similarly, Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. The way the pink satin dress you wore hugged every inch of your body. Even behind the mask you were wearing, he knew you were smiling underneath it as you watched him sing. Admittedly, he wasn’t even looking at you because he was nervous; he simply was just admiring how absolutely ravishing you were looking. But that’s a thought he’ll get back to when the night is done. 

As the performance ended, the people around the set applauded. Harry bows down, humbly thanking them and a big smile breaks on his face when he hears your cheers. And it was moments like this where he loves the fact that you are his biggest fan. 

The both of you meet back in his designated room where he is supposed to change his outfit for the main event. He pushes your body gently against the wall as he desperately kisses you. Your arms are around his shoulder as you weave your fingers through his hair. He’s definitely going to get in trouble for that mess soon. His hands travel slowly down your body and stops on your behind, cheekily grabbing a handful. You moan into the kiss and Harry lets his tongue into your mouth. 

“Baby,” you say in between the kisses. “Gotta get you changed,” you giggle as he kisses you; he swears his heart flutters whenever you laugh. “Yeah? Did ya like my performance out there, lovie?” he asks as he lips travel to your cheek and down your neck. 

Harry feels you shiver and you could feel his smirk against your skin. You pull his face away from you and he pouts. “I love it. But you have to change for the main event,” you say and smile at his childish pout. You kiss the tip of his nose which makes him scrunch his face up. “Promise we’ll do this again later,” 

And his eyes widen at the suggestion and he steals a peck from you. “I’m looking forward to that, lovie,” he smirks. 

━

The event was definitely something you didn’t think you’d get to experience. You honestly had to pinch yourself, hoping that was actually Dua Lipa and Taylor Swift that were sitting a few tables away from you. With every category leading up to the ones Harry was nominated, you could feel his hands sweating as they’re intertwined with yours. Harry didn’t mind if he didn’t win, but the thought of actually winning was definitely there in his mind. 

You lift your hands, pull down your mask and press small kisses on the back of his hand, reassuring him always. And he smiles in gratitude at you. 

As they are announcing the nominees for Best Pop Solo Performance, Harry’s hand grips yours tighter and you rub his arm in hopes to ease his nerves. The moment you hear the words ‘Watermelon Sugar’, you jump up from your chair and scream through your mask just as everyone else in the room stands and applaud him. Harry, for one, is in complete utter disbelief that he is the winner. 

He stands from his chair, removing his mask, and gives you the biggest smile and tightest hug. “You did it, baby,” he hears you say in his ear amidst the applause, cheers and his song playing in the background. After giving Jeff a hug, he makes his way towards the stage. He picks up the shiny golden gramophone for a moment and sets it down before giving his speech. As he expresses his thanks and gratitude, you sit there looking up at him with the proudest face. Your heart feels warm knowing how this dream of his was finally a reality. 

His speech nears its end when he makes one last thank you. “And to my love, for always believing in me and always telling me to strive for greatness. You were the first person I shared this album in its entirety and you’ve given me the love and support that is beyond what I deserve. I love you endlessly and this wouldn’t have been possible without you. I feel very honoured to be standing here with all of you so thank you so much,” He thanks the audience again before leaving the stage so he could sit next to you again, completely forgetting about his award on stage which made you giggle. 

The night goes on and the both of you continue to soak in the magical night. At one point, you manage to have a conversation with Taylor Swift and you are surprised that you didn’t pass out. While Harry didn’t win in the other categories he was in, he was still grateful for the achievement and recognition he got. It was a marvelous night, he admits.

It was very late when you got home. You chuck your shoes away as you enter and quickly make your way to the couch where you could rest for a bit. Harry chuckles at you as he closes the door. He leans over you, smiling at your tired state and admiring your figure as your dress rises to your mid-thighs when you lie down. 

“Scoot over, bubs,” he says as he takes off his orange blazer and black boa. He squeezes in beside you, resting his face on your chest while holding you close so you don’t fall off the edge of the couch. He hums as he feels your fingers running through his hair, pressing soft kisses on his head. 

For a moment, he slowly feels himself falling asleep before he hears you gasp from above. “I forgot something!” you exclaim as you pull yourself off from under and rush to the kitchen. You hear Harry whine in protest as you leave him on the couch. “Bubs, I wanna cuddle,” he whines, his face smushed up against the couch as he misses your warmth. 

“One second, H!” you say back to him. He hears you rummaging through something and for a second, he is intrigued by what you have up your sleeve. Harry hears your footsteps coming back and hears you setting down something as it clinks on the coffee table. 

“Bubs, open your eyes!” 

Harry is tempted to just fall asleep right then and there, but he hears the excitement in your voice and sighs against the couch as he opens his eyes. There you are, with the sweetest smile on your face next to a small round chocolate cake on a cake stand. Next to it are some plates, forks and a knife. Harry gets up and sits down next to you. “W-What? Where did you get this?” he says as he smiles at you. 

“I made it for you. Today right before I went to see you. It’s why I was running late before your performance,” you beam at him and Harry looks at you in pure adoration. “I would’ve written something, like ‘Grammy Winner’ or something but that would be mocking you, you know, in case you didn’t win. But now you won and I kinda feel bad tha-” 

Your words are cut off as Harry smashes his lips against yours. You hum in delight as your lips move against each other. Harry breaks away and cups your face in his large hands. They may be rough due to the guitar scars he gets, but they’re where yours belong. 

“I love it, baby. Thank you,” he says sincerely and both of you smile, your eyes and heart holding all the love you had for each other. “I love you too. Anything for my Grammy-winner love,” you say softly as you peck his lips again. “Shall we?” you motion your head towards the cake. Harry agrees as he watches you cutting the cake for the both of you, his smile filled with love and adoration for you. 

And he admits that you are simply the most amazing person he has ever loved. He had the most marvelous and golden night with you. 

[astranva]

Locked Out

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning: Few swear words.

Category: Angst to fluff.

Prompt: “Stop running from me.” 

Summary: Communication is key, but you locked Harry out.

let me know what you think, anon! hope you like this🤍

// masterlist // 

..

When you ask couples of their best period, they would tell you that it’s the “honeymoon phase” of their relationships.

They’d swear up and down on the cute gestures their partner did, giving you a list of all the fuzzy emotions they felt during that very time, how everything left a lingering sweet taste that they longed for.

Some would say that their honeymoon phase wasn’t just that, a phase, but it was a belief that both partners could practice so it would linger and embed itself into their relationship with no signs of decay from the passing years.

These are the same people who would go on and on about how it was communication that kept all these “sparks alive” and how important confrontation was; how being with someone meant that you unravel yourself to them.

Harry knew that seeking perfection was pointless because nobody would ever reach that, not him, not his closest friend, and not you.

It was why he accepted how you were a closed-off person when you began seeing each other; you weren’t one to open up and spill out your emotions and deepest thoughts that were anything but the happy aura you had around you at all times.

He accepted you.

It was acceptance that built the 10-month relationship.

You were there for Harry whenever he needed you, during the bad and good; the stress of writing a new record, the stress of how the world saw him, the stress of wanting to reach a perfection he knew didn’t exist.

You held him at night as he was naked in more ways than lack of clothing would be. It was when he was vulnerable and felt small that your heart clenched, feeling helpless even though you were the first person he sought after good news or an uneasy day.

It was you who held him as he cried. It was you who assured him when the industry made him feel like he wasn’t good enough. It was you who cursed at the world when it gave him shit for his self-exploration and self-love that you praised him for.

It was you.

But it was never him.

It wasn’t because Harry didn’t care nor didn’t put effort at helping you feel at ease; it was because you had denied him of that privilege.

You fought your demons on your own to a point where you tried convincing everyone around you that you didn’t have any before shifting the conversation so that their needs and state were put before your own.

Besides crying that one time as the both of you watched Marley & Me, Harry had never seen you cry, although he heard you a few times.

It happened one time, 3 months into your relationship. He was surprising you at your office with lunch, smiling and greeting your colleagues whom he had seen a few times before he reached your office, putting a finger to his lips as to hush your assistant with a smile before he quietly opened the door to your office.

Your chair was turned towards the window, and if Harry was any louder, he could’ve missed the quiet sound of your sobs.

“Lovie?”

And he heard you gasp and saw your arms moving furiously before you turned, avoiding eye contact as you took a gulp of the glass of water on your desk.

“What’s wrong?”

He was gentle, he knew he was. So why did you tell him that you were “just a little tired”?

And then it happened again at a party Jeff was hosting.

He noticed that one minute you were beside him as he talked to his friends, the next you weren’t.

The music wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet enough to make you hear your phone. He had searched for you everywhere before finally trying to check if you were at the restroom.

He knocked, “Y/N?”

His ear was pressed against the door and it was why he heard the sniffle before he heard your voice, “I’ll be out in a minute!” Your voice broke at the end.

“Are you okay, Lovie? Do you want me to come in there?”

“No, H. I’m fine.”

I’m fine.

Two words Harry never believed.

And although he tried to get you to talk that night, assuring you that he would listen to whatever that was on your mind, he reached the same dead-end street – you were “fine.”

The both of you were shopping when it happened.

Holding two bags in one hand, Harry held your hand in his free one as you walked outside the Gucci store he wanted to visit.

You were midway through a laugh at Harry’s reminder of how you looked in one fiery red and brown sweater that you tried and he had taken a picture of when suddenly a shout directed to you sounded from across the street.

“You don’t fucking deserve him, you fucking gold-digger!”

Harry was a royalty when it came to not giving haters the reaction they wanted, but to hear something directed to you so directly and vulgarly, he was seething.

His head instantly snapped towards the source, looking at the girl who insulted you, standing among other fans and paps.

It was you tugging on his hand that had him drift his attention, “Let it go.”

“Let it go?” He questioned, face hard as you somewhat dragged him towards your car, “No, this wasn’t-”

“Harry, please.”

“She just insulted you.”

“Just get in the car, alright?” Your defeated look almost made him soften – keyword: almost.

Harry got inside with a slam of the door and a scowl on his face, running the car before driving.

Once he got out of the street, Harry glanced at you, “Are you not angry?”

“No.”

You couldn’t be real.

“But you know it’s not true, don’t you?” He asked with concern, glancing from you to the road.

With every passing second that you remained quiet in, Harry’s heart seemed to break.

“Don’t you, Y/N?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You said quietly, moving your legs so that they didn’t face him before you looked out of the window.

“Of course you don’t,” he found himself saying, “You never do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You frowned, turning back to look at him.

“It means you don’t talk to me, Y/N. Ever.”

“I do talk to you.”

“I mean opening up, Y/N,” he clarified, “I’m always bitching about my problems, crying to you and ranting about everything, but I just don’t get why you don’t do the same. Not even the slightest. And don’t give me the because there’s nothing wrong bullshit, please, because we both know that’s not true.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Your voice was raised a little.

“I just want you to trust that I won’t judge you, that I’ll listen to you,” he frowned, “That you don’t have to do and feel everything on your own.”

You remained quiet for the rest of the ride and Harry hated it.

Reaching your apartment, he followed you up and into it, cautiously watching your every move and how you seemed to keep distance from between the both of you.

“What do you want for dinner?” You asked him, your tone almost fooling him and driving him into denial of how nothing wrong had happened only some minutes ago.

Softly, Harry sighed as he watched you begin to take out a few ingredients from your cupboards, “Are we not going to talk about what happened? You want us to just sleep on it?”

“What’s there to talk about?”

Your reply angered him, his jaw clenching for a second before he squinted his eyes at you, “Will you ever stop doing that?”

Sighing, you turned to face him, “Doing what?”

“This,” he gestured towards you, “Denying any discomfort or feeling just because you want to convince everyone that everything is fine when something isn’t, Y/N.”

“You know that I’m not one to open up. You knew that before we got together.”

“I do and I accept that, but can’t you see that it’s unfair, too? I had to find about Jim stealing your designs from your assistant, Y/N. I had no idea that you were terrified of cats until Sarah told me, yet you let me place Evie on your fucking lap and didn’t utter a word! I can go on for days, Y/N,” Harry said, the frown not leaving his face before his face softened, “It’s like every time I finally catch up with you, you run away.”

“It has always been like that for me, don’t you understand that?!” You shouted, mentally cursing at yourself at how your eyes grew tearful.

“I do understand and I understand that it’s something we can work on together! As a couple, a team,” he gestured at the distance between the both of you, “I just need you to help me out, Y/N!”

“What the fuck do you want me to do?” You threw your arms in the air.

With a soft expression and a pained look, Harry’s shoulders slumped down. “Stop running from me.”

Sensing your uneasiness, Harry approached you, engulfing you in a hug as he tightly wrapped his arms around you, feeling you clutch to his sweatshirt.

And then he heard it.

You let out a sob, crying into his chest as you shook against him.

He said nothing, but Harry held you.

“I’ll try,” you had managed to let out and although it was muffled, he heard it, “I’ll try, I promise.”

Harry moved his head to press a kiss to the top of your head, pulling away slightly to cup your face and have you look up at him, “At your own pace, Lovie. No rush.”

You only nodded, face looking innocent as Harry left a kiss on your nose.

“No rush.” He promised.

[tenthgrove]

Hiii I have some request if you like it : what about a s/o member of la squadra who thinks that they don't deserve love in general as a result of the abandonment and indifference from their peers throughout their whole life? Thank you so much, if you don't want to write this request it's no problem! Take care ❤️❤️

Everything To Me

La Squadra x Reader (GN), Romantic, SFW

Formaggio- Although he's the teasing type of lover, it's in the best way possible. Formaggio is always drowning you in pet names and compliments, adoring the way you shyly blush whenever he does so. To learn of your insecurities is a surprise to him, but to hear in particular that you feel unworthy of the praise he showers you with is a point of sadness. Formaggio holds you to his gaze and asks how you could really feel such things. He listens to what you have to say, before replying that you should be all the more proud of where you are now because of it. He gives you a tight hug, followed by a wet kiss on the cheek, and reminds you how much he loves you.

Illuso- Particularly if you haven't been together long, it may feel daunting to approach Illuso about your anxieties. This is especially true since he may not always pick up on them himself unless the signs are particularly obvious. However, when you finally admit the truth Illuso is much more sympathetic you expected. Secretly, he fears that his own behavior might have brought this on since after all, Illuso's own confidence is a mask for hidden insecurity. He tells you to always come to him in the future when you are having such thoughts of worthlessness. He's going to do whatever he can to lessen them.

Prosciutto- At very least, you've come to the right person for a pep talk. While Prosciutto may not be the best at recognizing insecurity he certainly knows how to address it when it's presented to him openly. Prosciutto reminds you of all your achievements and strengths, pressing them whenever you try to deny their existence. He tells you he knows strength when he sees it, and it's what draws him to you. After your talk, Prosciutto will want to treat you to a date, since he knows that actions speak louder than words. He won't let the day end without you realizing just how unconditional his love is for you.

Pesci- The second you confess your worries to him he immediately lets out a startled 'What?! But none of that is true!" You can plainly hear the sincerity in his voice and it makes you already doubt the truth of what you've just said to him. He immediately lists off all your wonderful qualities and how much better you make his life. It's honestly the purest thing you've ever heard, and ends with you cuddling in the middle of the hallway. Pesci begs you not to think such horrible things about yourself anymore, and makes a point of calling out your strengths more often in the future.

Melone- At the first sign of you insecurity Melone moves over to you and takes your head in his hands. He gives you a little peck on the tip of your nose, before beginning to his explain his reasons for why you shouldn't think like that. Rejection sucks, and he knows it, but as he explains to you, you have no need for people like that in your life. If it helps, think about how bitter those people would be to know everything you've achieved since they shunned you. Melone is proud of you, at least. And if he's all you've got, well, he better make sure you know his love has no limits.

Ghiaccio- The first issue Ghiaccio takes with your assertions is the idea that anyone can be unworthy of love. Love is a human need, it would be just plain ridiculous to try and live without it. Second of all, do you know how many missions the two of you have been on together? You've been keeping pace with White Album, that's hardly anything to scoff at. Ghiaccio wants to make sure you understand unreservedly the falseness of your statements. When Ghiaccio is certain of something, he's certain. And he has never been so sure of anything in his life as the fact he loves you.

Risotto- With his level of observance it's likely Risotto will come to you first about your insecurities rather than the other way round. Risotto sits you down somewhere private and asks you earnestly how you've been feeling lately. He will listen to you concerns without judgement, making no mention of the fact that, secretly, he feels unworthy of your love as well a lot of the time. Risotto gestures for you to let him hold you. Rocking you gently, he pets his hair and swears that he will always love you, and you will always be worthy of that love. Most in Risotto's circle these days come from difficult backgrounds, him included. And yet, here you all are, the most formidable squad in Passione. He only wishes you could see yourself the way he sees you.

Sorbet and Gelato- Entering an established relationship that has remained exclusive for years is daunting no matter the circumstances, all the more so when it's with people and intimidating as Sorbet and his husband. Because of this, Sorbet and Gelato were expecting some level of self-doubt from you, and from there it doesn't take them long to uncover your much deeper, older scars. Sorbet and Gelato were treated like shit all their lives, until they met each other. Those early years were full of nagging thoughts that the other would be better off if they just hadn't gotten involved. They don't want you to feel that way as well. Soon after your admittance, you are treated to a surprise date night in the comfort of their home, and it's all about you. They spoil and treat you all night long, making damn well sure you know just how worthy you are.

[cassianandor]

For the chayenco fic rec, can you please do one about their confession or kiss..Will it be a fiery passionate sparks of the roof kinda one or a angsty soft teary kind of one!? Thankyouuu again!! You really are an angel for writing for the fandom!!!

I tried my best to convey what you wanted me to tell, I hope you like it!

READ IT ON AO3 TOO

Tell me how much you want me

Pairing: Hong Cha Young x Vincenzo Cassano

Word count: 956

Warnings: corny

This was for her father.

The words of comfort Cha Young didn’t get to say to him while he was alive were translated, hopefully, in her actions in the past months.

She fought hard beside Vincenzo. Cha Young saw people she cared dearly dying, almost died herself and was in the face of danger more times than she expected, but she didn’t regret it. It was all worth it now that it was over — Jang Jun Woo was dead, Jang Han Seo, Choi Myung Hee and Han Seung Hyeok were arrested after Vincenzo and her proved all their crimes in court.

Cha Young couldn’t help but to wonder if her father was finally proud of who she had become, wherever he was. Apparently, she was diving into her reveries way too much.

“Hong Cha Young-ssi,” Vincenzo called out for her, in a drunkenly voice. They were at an almost empty restaurant, celebrating their victory. Cha Young wouldn’t admit, but she was already a little drunk too. “What is it? I can hear you thinking from here.”

Cha Young huffed, hastily putting an elbow over the table and almost dropping a bottle. “I’m thinking about my dad. Do you think he’s happy?”

Vincenzo crossed his arms over his chest. “I think so. At best, yes. But he’s dead.”

Getting up abruptly, Cha Young startled Vincenzo with her loud tone. “God, couldn’t you just say ‘yes’? I know he’s dead.”

She wasn’t that upset. Cha Young was fed up, physically tired and a little bit drunker than she should be, so she let her emotions get the best of her. Leaving a mouth agape Vincenzo behind, she grabbed her coat and purse and dashed out of the restaurant.

A cold breeze hit Cha Young squarely in the face and she puffed, putting on her coat as she walked down the sidewalk. The world seemed to spin a little until Cha Young felt a hand grabbing her arm.

“Ms. Hong,” Vincenzo, panting a bit, let go of her arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so used to being pragmatic that I forget that people have feelings too.”

Cha Young stared at him for a couple of seconds before responding. Her heart was pounding in her chest way too fast. “Mr. Cassano, aren’t you going to leave Korea? I thought that there was nothing keeping you here.”

Vincenzo blinked twice before replying. “There isn’t.”

Liar.

“Then why are you here?” She questioned, trying to read something in his eyes. It was a losing game.

Vincenzo didn’t respond, so Cha Young felt entitled to scoff and leave him behind for a second time that night. After she took a couple of steps, Cha Young heard Vincenzo’s voice again. “What do you want from me?”

Cha Young came to a halt, still with his back turned to him. “The truth,” She said.

“What?” Vincenzo asked. “I said I’m sorry…”

God, that man was dense.

Cha Young turned around annoyed, feeling completely sobered up. “Not about that, oh my God! Can you just say what—do I have to say that—just… don’t you have anything to say to me after all these months?”

Maybe it was all in her head. They were partners — not friends, never friends — that were damn good at what they did, and all those days and nights spent together naturally made them grow closer. Unconsciously, Cha Young’s heart learned a new language to speak whenever Vincenzo was around. There was no tragedy in it. It was enough.

Or so she thought, now face to face with Vincenzo wearing her heart on her sleeve. “Ms. Hong…”

Cha Young let out a dry chuckle, tightening her hold on her purse. She was a professional of making a fool out of herself. “I get it, I’m an idiot. Forget it. I was—”

“It’s not that,” He began, taking a step forward. “I told you. Villains don’t deserve love.”

Cha Young frowned. The line between good and evil was not always clear. A God to many was a Devil to opposite worshippers. “That’s bullshit,” She argued. “You’re running away. It’s what you do when you pretend to not know what you want.”

Vincenzo sighed, darting his eyes to the floor then back to her. Cha Young could feel the weight of his gaze over her as he repeated his question. “What do you want from me?”

Cha Young pursed her lips, heart racing at a stupidly swift pace. “I want your everything. I want the messy Vincenzo Cassano the way he is. I want all your failures and all your triumphs, I want the Mafia law—”

While she was talking, Vincenzo suddenly took a couple of steps forward and slid his hand around Cha Young’s neck, pulling her close as he pressed his lips into hers.

Cha Young’s eyelids fell closed slowly. Her mind shut down of anything that wasn’t the feeling of whatever was growing hot in her stomach, so Cha Young used her free hand to cling to Vincenzo’s coat and push into the kiss. He tasted like soju and Cha Young wanted to drink him down, to taste him and dive into his soul as if it was her own.

Cha Young parted her lips, breathing out into Vincenzo’s mouth. He angled his head and drew Cha Young even closer, brushing his thumb softly against her jawline. Her grip on his coat got tighter, but Vincenzo was the first to break the kiss.

Still close to Cha Young, he looked at her with a pleased gaze. “You will never stop talking about the Mafia, will you?”

Gently, she dragged her hand from his coat to place upon his cheek and smiled. “Never.”

[neon-junkie]

Duality - Chpts 1,2&3

Summary: There's a handful of things you hate, like the men who continue to pester you at the Saloon after you've told them no, or the way strangers look at you when you decide to wear pants. But the one thing you hate that most is Micah Bell. But if you hate him so much, then why are you allowing him to wrap his hand around your neck as he grinds his crotch down against yours? Is he using you? or are you using him?

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 8837 (ongoing work) 

Rating: NSFW Warnings: Depictions of Violence (Reader is fine)

Tags: Dead Dove: Do not eat, Fights/Arguments, Slow burn, Hate sex, Enemies with benefits, Enemies to lovers, Pity sex, Vaginal sex, Outdoor sex, Creampies, Blood kink, Knives, Choking, Breath play, Rough/Manhandling, Heists & Robberies, Nipple sucking/licking, Making out, Sloppy kisses, Dirty talking, Grinding.

Notes: This fic was inspired by the gang of children that recently decided to start hurdling abuse at me simply because I enjoy Micah character. If he bad then why he make my pussy go brr?? I ain't ever gonna stop writing for him, somebody's gotta love the ratman so I guess I'll volunteer as tribute. This piece is inspired by @deputytrash​ and their work called ‘Micah Bell is a Rat Bastard,’ that I can’t actually link here because Tumblr hates links:))) so please go stalk them for the original fic. shoutout to all the other Micah fuckers out there; we're kinda fucked up but hey, we ain't hurting anybody<3

[Chapter 4]

Some men are born with the purest of hearts; they're full of good intentions, kindness, willingness to help others. They want to see the world go round, they enjoy watching the days go by with their loved ones around them. They want nothing more than love and equality, happiness for everyone, and they strive to achieve that. Those men, such as Arthur, are ones that you obviously enjoy for such reasons, and you enjoy watching them on the sideline, smiling at the way they make everyone happy. You've tried dating those men before and something felt... off about them, almost fake; you wish to enjoy such relationships with the purest of men, but you've never been able to sit in that saddle comfortably. The leather smells off and something constantly jabs at your tailbone. It's fine, honestly, to not sit comfortably in that saddle. Others can enjoy those men, ones who deserve them, ones who are just as pure and wholesome as those men they seek out. You're happy for them, you enjoy seeing them enjoy each others company, they really do deserve it. Only that leaves you with the problem of 'who the hell am I meant to fall for?' There are others who are sometimes split down the middle, with good and bad intentions, men such as Dutch who eventually crack under so much pressure, as expected. But these men have never really taken your fancy either. You curse the Gods for creating you with no intentions to seek out those pure of heart, or even slightly pure of heart. Why can't you be considered normal? You're a good person, yet you don't long for someone as good as you. 

Instead, those who have only ever walked the darker path take your fancy. Those men who have no good intentions in them, who only look out for themselves and sometimes (but rarely) the few people closest to them, if you're stupid enough to get close to them, to begin with. You enjoy the challenge, you enjoy taming the beast, being the one person that someone so wild can trust. It's a generic trope that you've read in romance novels where the princess falls for the villain, but they always seem to have the happiest of endings? and the stories themselves are so juicy, so rich and full of layers. The generic happy couple trope gets so boring, nothing to read into. But if you're given a story about a well-layered villain who softens out within time then you'll eat said story off the dirt if you have to, it's always so rich and fulfilling, though you never expected to end up in one. "Which book are you reading today?" Mary-Beth asks you as she joins you on the beach, leaning back against the log you're leaning against. You do miss sitting on the cliff at Horseshoe Overlook, peering up at the landscape whenever your eyes need a break from being so engulfed in whatever book you were reading. But there's something just as good as looking out at the water, hearing the waves lapping against the shore as you read, enjoying the river breeze on a hot Lemoyne day. "The same as last time, that one centered around the villain," you tell her, your eyes momentarily peeking up to watch as she sits down beside you. "Still? Oh, you and your dark fiction," Mary-Beth replies with a laugh. She'd given your book that nickname after you explained the plot to her. Mary-Beth, as wholesome and pure as she is, couldn't quite understand why you'd get so engulfed in a book where the princess falls for the villain, completely ignoring the stud hero and running off with the bad guy instead. After explaining how layered the villain was, and how his actions were the result of past trauma, she somewhat understood but decided that she's happy with her sappy romance novels. That's understandable, your taste isn't for everyone, and you'd both agreed on that. "Like I said, I just find it more interesting," you reply, your eyes trailing over to the landscape. "Which book have you got?" you ask. "Oh, the same still. I've almost finished it! The poor man in it has finally been turned away from that woman, though they're both in love," she replies. "But from what you've told me, she's not exactly... the best person in the world?" you ask. "I guess not. Maybe I am into a little bit of dark fiction then, hm?" Mary-Beth questions with a soft laugh, finally opening her book to pick up from where she left off. "Maybe-" you begin to speak, but the sound of shouting draws your attention back to camp. You and Mary-Beth peer over your shoulders to watch the commotion in the distance. Ugh. It's Micah again, screaming at Bill for being so kind to the poor dog Jack had found, Cain. He's hollering away, something about not being soft on strays, that they'll only follow you around for food, whatever. You try to hold in your laughter when Micah does the last thing you'd expect, literally barking at Bill before storming off. "That man sure is evil," Mary-Beth comments. "I still ain't sure why Dutch allows him to follow us around, a bit like Cain really," she frowns, turning her gaze away. "He is, funny that he can't see just how much of a dog he is," you laugh along, returning your focus back to your book. "Has he bothered you again recently?" she questions, knowing that your last run-in with him was only a few days ago. "No, he ain't spoke to me, he ain't even looked at me." "Good, probably because he's still got that black eye you gave him," Mary-Beth replies, trying to hold back on her laughter. "Well, he did deserve it." Micah had pestered you a few days ago, stirring up some shit simply because he was bored. You were sat by yourself in camp, playing a solo game of solitaire whilst the wind was quiet, your cards not blowing away for once. He waltzed over, as always, looking like he owned the place; he only acts that way because he sucks up to Dutch, a bit of a teachers' pet, though he's definitely never stepped foot in a school. "Hey," Micah says to you. Well, you were unsure if he was speaking to you as your head was down, focused on the cards, so Micah quickly snapped when you didn't reply. "I said hey. You deaf?" he asks, lightly tapping the back of your shoulder. You let out a long sigh as you roll your eyes and look up. "I didn't know you were speaking to me, Micah," you reply. "Well, who else would I be speaking to, doll? There ain't anyone else around here," Micah says with a laugh, waving his hands about to gesture that nobody was nearby. "I can see that now," you sigh. You begin to put your cards away, knowing that if Micah's here then there's no way you'll be able to play this game in peace. Whatever, you were stumped anyway, considering calling this game quits, and Micahs appearance had encouraged you to do so. "What're you doing?" Micah questions. "I was playing solitaire," you reply, shuffling the cards back together and returning them to their container, an old mints tin that you found fits the cards much better than their old paper box. "And why have you packed up, hm? Is it 'cause I'm here?" Micah asks, knowing the answer. "It is," you say as you stand and put the tin in your pocket, beginning to walk off. The last person you ever want to talk to is Micah, but it seems he really wants to talk to you as he begins to follow you. "Where're you going? I ain't that bad. I know we don't exactly get along but you can't fault me for trying to right these wrongs with you," Micah begins, playing the white knight card as always, batting his lashes as if he hasn't made a handful of remarks towards you in the past, ensuring there's a thick barrier between the two of you. "I ain't interested in making friends with you, Micah. Now leave me be," you snap back, picking up the pace as you storm past Dutch's tent, hoping he'd pick up on the small commotion but his head is buried deep in his current Evelyn Miller book. "Such mean words coming from such a pretty face," Micah pouts, still on your trail, letting out his generic laugh. "Wouldn't you rather have friends than enemies?" "I'd rather have nothing to do with you, Micah," you tell him as you come to a halt, stopping in the dead center of camp. If Micah won't leave you alone then hopefully someone will step in, as their eyes had begun to peer over to the commotion; even Dutch has put his book down. "Easy there, sweetheart," Micah coos with his generic laugh. He goes to speak again but you're quick to cut him off. "I ain't your sweetheart, Micah. Quit calling me those names," you huff. "Of course, you ain't. I like a bit of fire in my women but you're just a bit too reckless for my taste," Micah tells you, his tone slowly turning to frustrated. He's quit the innocent act, lowering his hands as he had them raised as he followed you throughout the camp. If he can't win you over then he'll ensure you never even slightly consider him a friend, beginning to insult you to burn whatever was left of that bridge. "Good, I'd hate to be your taste. What an unlucky woman she must be for the likes of you to have eyes on her." Micah lets out another laugh as he takes a step closer to you, a little too close, and you're quick to cut him off before he can open his mouth. "Back off, Micah. Don't you try and get close to me," you order him. "Why not, hm? You scared someone is finally gonna put a woman like you back in her-" That's enough. Without hesitation, you clench your fist and swing for that vermin of a man, if you can even be kind enough to call him a man to begin with. You were aiming for his nose but hit his cheekbone instead, which is just as good as his eye had swollen up from the impact. Micah stumbled back and hit the ground with the most satisfying thud you'd ever heard, the sound still making you smile whenever you think about it. You didn't stick around much after that, burning the image of Micah lying on the floor clutching his eye into your memory before turning heel and marching off, wandering off into the trees so you could cool yourself off and devilishly admire your bruised knuckles. You refused to bandage them up, even after Charles had practically begged you, but you were eager to show off your trophy, even flaunting it at Micah from a distance whenever he came into your line of sight. His eyes hadn't met yours since, but you could feel his burning glare on you whenever you two were within ten feet of each other. You'd even overheard him attempting to bitch about you to Kieran, who simply nodded along to prevent himself from getting pulled into this mess. Needless to say, you and Micah do not get along. There's a handful of camp members that don't get along, but your burning hatred for each other seems to stand out the most. You're always eager to step in whenever Micahs attempting to chew someone's ear off, and he always gives you that same laugh as he attempts to mock you, but he often turns heel and storms away, calling you a bitch or whatever petty insult he has on his mind. But since that interaction, Micah has stayed well clear of you. Dutch probably told him to stop pestering you after you'd almost knocked his lights out, though you doubt that as Dutch ended up doing something that only seemed to make your 'friendship' worse. ----------- Another day, another dollar, or whatever the civilized phrase is. It's a quote you've heard within towns and cities, something bosses drill into the minds of their workers to stop them from realizing that they're being used as workhorses for less than pennies. At least out here you can work on your own terms, your only boss is Dutch and he always ensures that everybody gets a fair cut. Why slave away in a factory when you can rob some folk that needs robbing and make a few hundred off them? Dutch has a heist planned for you today, one that he says needs a woman touch. Karen is the only other gunwoman in the camp but Dutch has told you that she's a little too reckless for the job. Dutch knows that Sadie is also a gunwoman but she's still in mourning, arguing with Pearson every so often, but she isn't ready to step up to that rank yet.  "And that's why I need you for this job. It's genric and old fashioned of us, but there's a payroll heading up into Rhodes and I was thinking you could play the damsel in distress, hunched over at the roadside, pouting sweetly as you ask them for a ride into town," Dutch tells you outside his tent, a week or so after your last run-in with Micah.  "And if they don't stop?" you question.  "Why would they not stop? A pretty lady such as yourself asking for a ride? When they're already heading that way? They must be some cold-hearted folk in order to turn down such a simple request," Dutch explains.  "What will you and the others be doing?"  "We'll be hiding nearby, waiting for that opportunity to rob them. Once you're on board then they should hand over the cash, I don't see why they'd want a poor innocent woman to be hurt. Hosea will be waiting in Rhodes to bring you back to camp, and you won't need your guns for the job. A kind, working woman such as yourself wouldn't carry them anyway," Dutch replies with a grin, stubbing out his cigar with the toe of his shoes.  The plan seems simple enough, and what have you got to lose? So, you agree to the heist, heading into your tent so you can change your appearance to look like the average working woman. You dress in a simple skirt and shirt, your hair neat and your makeup simple, just how the women in Rhodes dress.  Arthur gives you a ride to the location, your horse staying back at camp, as well as your guns. You feel a little uneasy heading out of camp without them, but the boys are hiding behind what's left of a wall nearby. You overheard Arthur protesting with Dutch, saying they shouldn't be robbing folk so close to camp, but Dutch assured them that this would be fine.  Dutch has brought along Arthur and Lenny, and unfortunately, Micah, who still hasn't spoken a word to you, but his eye is now unfortunately better. Dutch didn't even mention to you that Micah would be coming along, seeing as your paths weren't meant to cross. This was meant to be a simple holdup job after all, only this gang seems to be cursed as things always go wrong.  You're walking along the road, acting as if you're exhausted. The sound of a wagon approaching can be heard, and you peer over your shoulder to see it coming into view. You begin to wave your arms, signaling for them to stop, and thankfully, they do.  "Are you alright, Miss?" one of the men questions, the one driving the wagon. There are two more men on horseback behind them, not many guns for a wagon that's carrying payroll.  "I do apologize to ask such a request but my horse bucked me a while back, I'm only trying to head into town. Are you heading that way? Would you be able to give me a ride?" you question. You play out the usual body language, slouched shoulders, batting your lashes, and pouting your bottom lip. This is a mans world, after all, but you know exactly how to play the game. The driver and the shotgun speak to themselves quietly, clearly bickering about the fact that they're carrying payroll, but they eventually come to an agreement.  "You're welcome to climb on the back of one of the horses, though we can't let you on the wagon, Miss," he replies. Well, that's good enough, at least you're still somewhat of a hostage. "Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!" you smile sweetly, heading over to the nearest hired gunmen and climbing on the back, loosely holding onto his shirt as you get comfortable on the horse's rear.  They return to their journey, barely making it a few meters down the road when one of those slimy Lemoyne Raiders appears from behind a boulder and attempts to hold them at gunpoint. Your eyes peer over to where the gang is hiding and thankfully, Dutch steps in, one gun pointed at the driver and the other at the rival gang member. You're still unsure on what Lemoyne Raiders are. Inbred? Wannabe military? Either way, they're stupid enough to fire without warning, and completely miss Dutch, though Dutch doesn't miss him. The plan goes to shit and you're caught in the middle of the gang war, your gang and the Lemoyne Raiders fighting each other, as well as the wagon.  The gunman that you were holding onto slouches over his saddle, a bullet ripping through his side, thankfully missing you. You think Arthur had shot him, but either way, you're pushing his body off and stealing his horse, riding out from the commotion. What help are you now without your guns? It's best that you run away and fast. As you near the camp, you notice a small group of white hats approaching round the bend - lawmen, so you decide to keep riding forward towards Braithwait Manor, dipping off into the trees before they can notice you. You'll find somewhere to hide out until nightfall, riding through the thick forest until you find a shack down south, close to Shady Belle, but far enough from the commotion so the law shouldn't tread down here.  The stolen horse is hitched by a tree and you're about to head inside, but the sound of hooves approaching startles you. You hide behind the tree, not providing much cover, but hopefully enough so you can decide how to approach the incoming stranger. If it's a lawman then you can simply burst into tears whilst saying that the horse bolted and you couldn't steer it up into Rhodes, and if it's a fellow gang member then you'll be fine. Well, it is a gang member, just you were hoping for anybody but Micah. He slows Baylock to a halt as you come into his line of sight, stepping out from behind the tree looking like an angry kitten.  "You alright?" Micah asks, swinging his leg over the saddle and hopping off his mount.  "Go away, go find somewhere else to hide. Shoo," you wave your hands at him, only making Micah laugh instead. "What's a matter? Can't I hide here with you?" he questions as he approaches you.  "No, you can't. Go bother someone else, you're the last person I'd ever want to hide from the law with," you huff. Micah isn't budging, he continues to approach you until he's stood in front of you, grinning from ear to ear as he lets out that awful chuckle of his.  "You don't mean that. Besides, how're you gonna defend yourself without your guns, huh?" Micah questions, resting his hands on his gunbelt. "Well, you know that I can swing a punch, can't you, Micah?" you tease, giving him a smug smile which wipes the grin off his face, turning into a frown.  "And here I was just tryna look out for you. Nasty thing, aren't you?" Micah spits.  "I am, and I ain't welcoming to you, Micah," you huff again, resting your hands on your hips.  "Now, I'm gettin' real sick of the way you talk to me, girl. I ain't been nothin' but nice to you," Micah tuts, taking another step towards you. He's pressed up far too close to your chest, puffing his own out as his icy blue eyes scowl into yours. "You may be a big girl in the eyes of Dutch, but you ain't to me."  "I don't care, Micah. I don't need your approval, nor your company, so scram!"  This time, Micah goes for you, reaching out to grip ahold of your arm. He takes a firm grasp of you but before you can find out what he was planning on doing, you're pushing him away, shoving him back by the chest. He stumbles backwards but doesn't slump to the ground, catching his own fall as he glares at you. His death glare makes your face turn sour and you begin to foresee that one of you isn't going to make it back to camp. Micah lunges for you again, grabbing onto your shoulders as he begins to try and tackle you to the ground. You manage to shove him off and land a punch to the same cheekbone, only it's not enough to stop him. He continues to fight you, eventually managing to shove you to the floor. He tries to climb onto you, attempting to pin you to the ground but you land a swift kick to his baby balls. He lets out a choke as his body goes limp and you jump at the opportunity to shove him onto his back, pinning him down instead.  Micah attempts to grab onto you but you're quick, taking his own knife from its holster and pinning it beneath Micahs chin. He stops, freezing up and removing his hands from you, lying in the dirt with his swollen eye locked onto yours. There's silence, no words spoken from either of you, just heavy panting and the sound of the trees rustling. Micah licks his lips, tasting the blood that has trailed down from his nose, and eventually speaks.  "Go on, girl. Do it," he tells you, his Adam's apple bouncing against the blade as he speaks. You don't reply, so Micah jumps down your throat again. "I said do it! Show me what a big girl you are," he says with a laugh. "If I am to kill you then I'd rather do it with my bare hands," you spit at him, pressing the knife sharply on his neck. From the way Micah attempts to flinch back, you're certain you've managed to cut him. Good, he deserves it.  "Do it then. Go on, get rid of me already. Just do everyone a favour," Micah replies, his hands raising yet again, doing that generic innocent pose even as he has a knife held to his throat. As much as you'd love to, you know the consequences for killing other camp members. You could say he died in combat but Dutch knows that Micah can take on a bunch of Lemoyne Raiders with his eyes closed. Plus, it's far too suspicious for you to be the one breaking the 'bad' news. But you might as well scare some sense into Micah, maybe choke him unconscious then bail back to camp before he can wake. Hopefully, he'll finally get it into his thick skull to stay away from you, though you doubt it, but at least you'll have fun.  You remove Micahs own knife from his neck, stabbing it into the earth beside his head. He watches you with wide eyes, attempting to look at his knife but you grip onto his throat. You know how to choke someone to death, and you know how to choke someone unconscious, so you go for the second option and tighten your grip under his jawline, avoiding his windpipe so that he doesn't stop breathing.  He lets out a choked exhale as you begin jabbing your fingers into his throat, pushing more than hard enough to eventually knock his lights out. You know you look a mess, covered in dirt with scruffed up hair, a glare on your face that could easily kill a man; Micah looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, keeping his gaze locked onto yours as he attempts to breathe. You can hear the pressure on his throat with every breath, his lips remaining parted, blood still trickling from his nose, and his eye swelling up more by the second. His clothes are just as dirty as yours, his hat has fallen off his head a long time ago, his white pants are almost brown from rolling in the dirt, and his red shirt is missing a few buttons from where you've grabbed him.  Micahs parted lips quickly turn into a grin as his eyes begin to fall shut. You've never seen him pull a face like this, but he looks... pleasurable. He somehow has enough energy to reach up and grip onto the waistband of your skirt, trailing his fingertips along the band before settling each hand firmly on your hips. He's... enjoying this, isn't he? Your thoughts are confirmed when Micah opens his eyes again; his pupils are blown, wide and full of lust, gazing up at you like a piece of meat, ready to pounce on you (if he could.) You want to feel sick. Why don't you feel sick? Why isn't your stomach turning at the sight of Micah taking pleasure in your attempt to kill him? You push down harder on his neck, wishing you were gripping onto his windpipe instead. His smile eventually fades away, his eyes rolling shut as he lets out slower muffled breaths. His grip on your hips falls limp and you know he's finally unconscious.  This was meant to be the part where you run, heading back to camp before he can wake, praying he never even looks at you ever again. But you remove your hand from his throat, noticing how his body twitches as he begins to breaths properly again, and using the same hand that you just choked him with, you land a harsh slap right across his face. It's loud and sharp enough that it echoes throughout the forest, startling the horses and scaring a few birds away. You instantly regret your decision, your hand throbbing from how hard you slapped him, but the way Micah jolts awake gives you a sickly satisfaction.  He begins coughing, propping himself up on his elbows as he attempts to catch his breath. You don't move off him, sitting back on your knees, his legs beneath yours, watching in delight as he returns to the conscious word. Micah lies back down, his deep breaths eventually turning into a chuckle as his eyes meet yours.  "I knew you were just like me," Micah says with a sniff, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His nose is still bleeding, turning his moustache red, and now his cheek as he's smeared his own blood across his face. "I knew you were sick..." he laughs.  "I ain't sick, Micah," you frown.  "If you ain't then you won't enjoy this-"  Micah somehow has enough energy to flip your bodies over, pinning you down to the ground, narrowly missing his knife that is still jabbed into the dirt. You attempt to push him off, trying to kick him in the balls again but he's pinned you down as well as you had pinned him down. He does exactly what you feared he'd do, wrapping his own rough hand around your neck, pressing on those spots under your jawline that you unfortunately enjoy.  You try and fight it, attempting to gulp down air, attempting to push him off. But the more you fight him, the more he holds you down, and the more you find yourself enjoying it.  "Give in to it, sweetheart. Just let it happen," he tells you, the words that you didn't want to hear, but only because they're sickly yet tempting.  Micah adjusts his grip and finally hits the nail in the coffin, your mind turning cloudy, the blood pulsating through your brain. That feeling in your stomach begins to burn, trailing down your body and making your pussy clench. You hate this man so much, yet you're allowing him to do this to you. "Atta girl," Micah praises you as you stop fighting him, letting your eyes shut and your mouth part.  You're weak enough for Micah to shift his weight, parting your thighs with his knees and sitting between them after he bunches your skirt up. One hand remains on your neck whilst the under sneaks underneath your waist, pulling your hips up onto his knees. His crotch pushes against yours, his hand trailing over your clothed thigh, moving up to your knee as he adjusts your legs so they're wrapped around his waist. For some reason, you cross your ankles, only encouraging him to grind his crotch against yours, rutting his hard-on against your pussy.  The mewl that escapes your lips is definitely accidental, but Micah tilts his head up to let out a hum of approval as he watches the colour continue to drain from your face. "Such a pretty sound coming from that pretty face of yours. You're goin' pale tho, darlin'. Least you ain't still spittin' venom at me," Micah smirks. The blood from his nose drips down onto your own face, painting your cheek, and the sight of his blood on you makes his pupils turn wide again, licking his lips as he finally removes his hand from your throat.  You gasp, gulping down air, letting out a few coughs as you manage to fill your lungs back up. Micah barely gives you enough time to come back to reality before he's crashing his lips against yours, pinning your hands on either side of your head, grinding his crotch down hard against yours. You let out a whimper as he manages to brush his crotch perfectly against your clit, making him chuckle against your lips as he kisses you. Are you kissing him back? Unfortunately so, but only because the taste of his blood on his lips is making your arousal grow, and he's grinding against you far too perfectly to ignore.  You eventually lap away at his blood, his nosebleed finally coming to a halt, and the feeling of his prickly moustache becomes more and more prominent. It's far too annoying for you to make out with him and ignore it, and it eventually irritates you to a point that you break the kiss.  "What'cha stopping for?" Micah pouts, halting his grinding for the moment. "Your 'stache is too long, it's itchy," you tell him.  "Well, I'll make sure it's trimmed for next time," Micah replies as he rolls his eyes. "There ain't gonna be a next time, Micah," you scowl back.  "Oh, that so?" Micah chuckles, doubting your claim. "Well, I'll just have to make this worthwhile," he informs you.  Micah moves his hands off your wrists, sitting up on his knees and pulling his knife out of the ground. He wipes the dirt off on his jeans then grips onto your undergarments, pulling the fabric away from your skin so he can slice down the crotch, ripping apart the garment and leaving a large hole right in the middle of them. "Micah!" you snap as you sit up on your elbows. "I'll buy you a new pair," Micah monotonously replies, a large lack of sympathy in his voice. You could have sworn he rolled his eyes as well. He holsters his knife and rips apart the hole even more, almost ripping the garment in two, exposing your pussy for his pleasure. Micah hums in appreciation as he gazes at the sight, pushing your thighs apart as he dips his head down and spits onto your folds. You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it, and Micah picks up on the glisten in your eyes as he straightens his back up and begins to unfasten his pants, leaving his gunbelt on the ground beside you.  Micah pulls out his cock, an average looking one, rock hard and flushed pink at the tip. You're surprised that his pubes are neatly trimmed, just as dirty blonde as his hair, but he keeps his pubes neater for whatever reason. He ruts his cock over your folds, slicking himself up with his spit and your juices; to say you aren't wet is also a lie, you've been soaking the second he put his hand around your throat.  Micah finally pushes into you, slow and steady, letting out an "ooh" once he's fully sheathed inside of you. "It's always tighter if I don't finger you," he comments, licking his lips as he moves his hands underneath each knee, spreading your legs apart as far as he wants. Why are you allowing this man to fuck you? You're not sure, though you don't regret it, especially when he begins to thrust into you, surprising you with the way he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that spot inside of you with every thrust. If someone had told you this morning that you'd end up spending the evening with Micah Bell thrusting inside of you, after the two of you had had a fight and ended up aroused by it, then you probably would have punched them too after informing them that they're drunk. But here you are, allowing Micah to fuck you senseless, pounding you into the dirt as he lets out surprisingly pleasant sounds. "Shit!" you gasp as Micah shifts his weight, moving his hands off your knees to wrap around your waist. He pulls you up into his lap, lifting your ass off the floor and angling your body perfectly so he's directly hitting your g-spot with every roll of his hips. Micah's fucking you like a rabbit, fast and unforgiving, eager to make your walls tighten around him so he can fill you up with his cum.  Micah begins to bare his teeth, hissing through them as he pounds you. You're a moaning mess beneath him, not holding back on the volume of your moans as nobody is nearby, and your volume level is filling Micahs ego more and more by the second. "That's a good girl," he tells you, his hazy eyes meeting yours. "I always knew you'd be a good fuck, the feisty ones always are," he chuckles.  You roll your eyes at his comment, making him laugh instead. Ugh. That stupid laugh of his, the one he always drags out only because he knows it gets on everyone's nerves. You think fast, moving one hand back onto his throat to cut that dreadful sound out. His lips remain parted, slightly smiling as he continues to fuck you, enjoying that irritated glisten to your eyes. You tighten your grip on his throat, forcing a choked moan from Micahs lips. Micah's already hunched over you but you pull him down to your level, speaking right against his lips as you order him to "fuck me harder." "With pleasure," Micah manages to reply, gasping and straightening his back the second you let go of his throat. Micah keeps one arm underneath your waist, holding you firmly on his lap, whilst the other moves between your legs. His hand rests on your stomach, his thumb moving down to begin massaging your clit, flicking the bud in circles, his cock throbbing every time your muscles begin to shake. He's returned to letting out moans, followed by the occasional grunt through gritted teeth. You've seen Micah come undone before, you've seen that feral look in his eyes as he loses his cool and guns down an army of people. But this? This was a different look, just as feral but fueled by a mixture of lust and spite. Is he just using you for a fuck? Yes, but you're doing the same with him. And do you think you'll end up fucking him again? Possibly, but only if you can watch the life drain from his face again. It's sickeningly arousing, but Micah seems to enjoy it too. "You're gonna make me cum," you sigh, your thigh muscles beginning to shake, your eyes scrunching shut as your head rolls back in the dirt. "I know," Micah confidently replies, rubbing his thumb even firmer against your clit. What a cocky piece of shit, though you admire the confidence. You can't believe you're moaning his name as you orgasm, panting and shaking, wrapping your legs even tighter around Micahs waist as he pushes his cock deep inside of you and earns his own release. His hands grip onto your hips, his forehead eventually slumping on your chest as he pants and groans, filling you up with god knows how many months worth of cum, maybe longer, depending on whoever else has been stupid enough to sleep with him.  Micah eventually straightens his back and pulls out of you, letting your legs slip from around his waist as you untangle your body from his. He looks debauched, his hair and clothes scruffy and dirty, not to mention the dried blood smeared across his face and moustache. You're certain you look just as bad, spending your evening rolling about in the dirt with the man you hate the most. Hate? Or hated? as you somewhat like the sight of Micah like this. Maybe you could tolerate him under these terms, and only under these terms. You attempt to sort your appearance out as you stand up, stretching your legs, hearing your knees click after being bent for so long. Micah does the same as he pulls himself up, tucking his cock away then picking his hat up. He whistles for Baylock who had wandered off into the forest, probably not wanting to be around... that. The horse you'd stolen has managed to unhitch itself and disappear, and you honestly don't blame them, but that means the only way back is hitching a ride off Micah or walking for an hour.  "Looks like you're riding with me," Micah tells you. "I don't want to be seen trailing into camp with you, not when we both look like this," you tell him as he mounts Baylock.  "How's about I drop you off on the edge of camp then spend a few hours away? Would that make you happy?" Micah offers, holding out his hand at the same time.  "It would," you tell him, swatting his hand away and climbing up onto Baylock on your own terms. "So, you'll let me fuck you but won't even take my hand?" Micah chuckles as he clicks his tongue, letting Baylock go at a soft pace as you ride side-saddle.  "Yep, and don't forget that you owe me new underwear," you remind him.  "Oh, I won't forget to buy you some new panties, Miss. I'll buy you a whole set of lingerie if it means I get to cut it off your body," Micah teases but you know he's serious.  "If that's what you want," you reply with a shrug.  "You'd let me?" he questions, peering over his shoulder at you.  "I would," you reply. For some reason, you lick your thumb and attempt to wipe some of the dried blood from his cheek. Maybe the sight bothers you, but Micah doesn't seem to mind as he lets you clean him up, his eyes occasionally flicking onto the road.  "You wanna give me a kiss when you're done with cleaning me up?" Micah asks with a smirk.  "No," you frown, pushing his face away from yours. He laughs as he looks forward, returning his focus back to driving.  You and Micah don't speak another word on the short journey back, apart from a "thanks," from you as you slide off Baylock. He drops you on the edge of the forest, letting you walk down the path back into Clemens Point. You manage to sneak back into the camp; the only person who saw you in your state was Charles who simply said "I won't ask," when you gave him a look that said 'please don't.'  You feel much better once you've cleaned yourself up and got cozy in bed, though your body aches from fucking in the dirt, and you're almost certain you're going to have bruises around your neck by the time morning is here. But the fresh memory of having hate sex with Micah only seems to arouse you again; just like Micah said, you are sick, just as sick as him. But if this unspoken arrangement is a good way of letting out anger then why not continue it?  --------------- It's been a week since your accidental encounter with Micah. He's still not replaced your underwear, nor has he spoken a word to you, but you've picked up on those disgustingly arousing glances he sends you from across the camp. You've been tempted to chew his ear out about not paying you back yet, but he's not been in camp often, and when he has been in camp, it's been during the day and around others. The bastard knows what he's doing, and he definitely knows that you're still angry that he hasn't repaid you yet. You've been assigned guard duty tonight, doing lap after lap around the outskirts of the camp until 3am, which is when you can tap Bill awake and send him on his way to take over. Well, 3am is here and that's exactly what you're doing, prodding Bill awake and handing him the shotgun.  You somehow didn't notice that Baylock had appeared amongst the horses, but you do notice that distinct white hat on the edge of camp. Micahs stood on the beach, looking out at the water with his arms crossed, a cigarette between his fingers. Finally, the opportunity to chew his ear off. You stroll over, ensuring nobody else is awake, not wanting to question why you're eagerly approaching the man you despise.  "Micah," you greet as you stand next to him.  "There she is, just the girl I was looking for," Micah greets you as he exhales his cigarette smoke.  "You ain't looking for me, Micah. You're stood here having a smoke," you roll your eyes.  "I was hoping I would have fucked that attitude out of you. Seems I ain't fucked you hard enough," he says with a laugh. You peer over your shoulder, reminding yourself that nobody is awake, nor nearby, but you don't want to risk your chances. "We don't talk about that in camp, alright?" you threaten. "Fine, whatever you want," Micah shakes his head as he finishes off his cigarette, flicking it onto the floor and stomping it out. You're about to begin questioning him on your missing underwear but he begins to walk off, heading further along the beach.  "Where are you going?" you scowl as you follow him.  "Over here so I can sit down. Was gonna ask if you're joining me but it seems you are," he says with a laugh, leaning back against a large boulder. You frown at him but settle beside him, turning your attention to him again.  "I only came over here to ask you-"  "-s'on your bedroll," Micah tells you.  "What?" you question.  "That new underwear I promised, I've just placed it on your bedroll whilst you were on guard duty. Plus a little something extra to make up for how long you've waited for it," Micah answers, his eyes fixated on the water.  "Hmm..." you ponder, unsure if you believe him.  "What? Don't you trust me?" Micah questions as he finally looks over at you.  "Not at all," you scowl again.  "Well, you'll see that I'm telling the truth sooner or later. Go check now if you want, I don't care," he shrugs.  You stare at him again, trying to look for any signs of lying, but he gives you none; his nose doesn't twitch, his eyes stay glued to yours, he doesn't rub the back of his neck. Micah is probably telling the truth, knowing that you'll whack him over the head with a bottle next time you see him if he lies to you.  "See, told you I ain't lying," Micah snickers as he looks back out over the water. You don't reply, you just lean back against the rock and turn your attention to the landscape. Your brows remain furrowed, arms loosely crossed, enjoying the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the moonlight only just providing enough light as you're far enough from camp.  A few minutes pass and Micah turns his attention back to you. "Why're you still here?" he bluntly asks.  "I ain't sure, I'm going to bed," you shrug. You begin to stand, barely getting off your ass when Micah reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you back down onto his lap with a slight thud. "What do you want?" you snap, picking his hands off your waist in disgust, making him laugh at the sight.  "Just wanted to spend some quality time with my favourite camp member," he replies, though you're unsure if he's being sarcastic. "Well, you ain't my favourite," you huff.  "Always so feisty towards me, ain'tcha? What's wrong? You still hate me even after you let me fuck you?" Micah questions with a throaty laugh, grinning from ear to ear.  "I hate you even more now," you tell him, shuffling about on his lap until you're straddling him, one leg on either side of his hips, your chests almost touching.  "That'd explain why you've just got comfortable on my lap rather than walking away," Micah chuckles again, knowing he's damn well in the right. He slips his hat off his head, placing it on the ground beside him, not wanting it to get in the way. You let out a sigh as you roll your eyes. "Ain't I allowed to just take some attention from you, Micah?" you question, batting your lashes and removing the frown from your face.  "You're allowed to take whatever you want from me, s'long as I get something in return," Micah tells you as he wraps his arms loosely around your waist. "So it's agreed? That we'll just... enjoy this pity sex? But only because it lets off some steam," you place the offer down, finally trying to decide on this agreement.  "It is agreed, sweetheart. You can call it pity sex or whatever else you want, but maybe I'll just fuck you so good that you'll end up likin' me?" Micah chuckles, pulling you onto his lap more as he speaks to you in a husk tone. "I ain't your sweetheart and I ain't ever gonna like you, Micah Bell," you spit. "Sure you ain't," he grins. So, this is what it's come to. You're sleeping with the enemy, pity fucking the man you hate the most, allowing him to pry into your private life and between your legs just for a little bit of satisfaction. Do you care? No. Should you care? Probably. But you're getting pleasure, finally, after waiting for so long. The gang is always on the move, running from the law and whoever else is chasing you, depending on where you are and who you've pissed off. You've flirted with other gang members before but it's never escalated anywhere, so if sleeping with Micah means you'll finally stop humping your pillow every night then why not?  And maybe you can fuck some sense into him, maybe a bit of kindness of basic respect? You doubt it, but it'd be nice. A life where Micah isn't chaotic would be perfect, or one where he entirely didn't exist. But this is the way the world currently is, so you'll just have to make do with what you've got.  You're still going to bark back at him whenever he kicks up a fuss in camp. If anything, you're eager to put him in his place. Maybe you can punish him every time he steps out of line? Maybe this... enemies with benefits, or whatever you want to call it, could whip Micah into shape and prevent him from being such an annoyance towards everyone. Probably not, but you can still hope.  Micah tightens his grip around your waist as he lets out a pleasing hum, tugging you down to his level so he can kiss you. You're reluctant as his moustache was so irritating last time, but to your surprise, Micah has trimmed it to prevent the irritation, his 'stache brushing against your upper lip rather than prickling it. Micahs kisses are a lot more tender this time, not covered in blood and heavy breathing, not battling for dominance whilst both your minds are hazy from all that choking. Micah moves one hand up to entangle his fingers in your hair, cupping the back of your head.  Your lips soon slide open, your tongue greeting Micahs. He bites your bottom lip softly, letting the skin slowly slip from his grasp before kissing you again, earning himself a soft moan as you shuffle onto his lap more. Things are slowly turning heated, Micahs kisses getting sloppier yet firmer by the second, drawing more moans and whimpers from your lips as he continues to make out with you.  You pray that nobody has woken up, not wanting them to see... this. How would you attempt to explain this? Could you say you tripped and fell into Micah after not seeing him sat there, and you'd just accidentally kissed him on the way down? Could you say this way a new way of fighting, to show him what he's missing out on if he'd just be a good boy? Yeah, those excuses are rubbish. But you're sure you'd hear anyone approaching, not unless they're stealthy.  Micah moves his hands to your chest, unbuttoning your shirt, stopping at your lower ribs. He breaks the kiss so he can pull your shirt open, cupping each of your breasts and leaning his head into them. His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking at it surprisingly gently, flicking his tongue over the nub, tenderly kissing it. His hand massages them, kneading them softly. Micah moves onto your other nipple, repeating the process, sucking on your tits as he lets out a satisfying hum.  "I ain't sure what my favourite part of you is, these things, or that nasty bite of yours," Micah says with a soft laugh between kisses. "Oh, you have such a way with words," you roll your eyes. "You know, I think we'd get along much better if you'd just tease me with these things in camp," Micah replies, returning his focus to your breasts. "I'll remember that in the future," you say, making a mental note. Maybe you could find a way to manipulate him? Using your womanly charm to tame this beast? It's a push but it's worth a try. He continues to suck at them, making your arousal grow, and you know he's getting aroused as you can feel it pressed against your thigh. Micah moves off your breasts and gently pulls your head down, enjoying another kiss, still tender, not the style you expected a man such as Micah to have.  Micah breaks the kiss, urging you off him. "Now, come on. Before I start thinkin' with my dick and fuck you right in the middle of camp. But you'd like that, wouldn't you, you whore?" he questions, buttoning up your shirt for you.  "You admit to thinking with your dick, yet I'm the whore?" you smirk, pointing out the flaw to his logic.  "Real smart, ain'tcha girl?" Micah mocks, shooing you off his lap once your shirt is fastened. Micah stands first, pulling you up afterward. His hand lingers for a little too long in yours, though you don't move your hand away either. He begins walking with you back to camp, readjusting his hat as he walks. Micah dips before you approach camp, not wanting to risk anybody latching onto your agreement. Thankfully, nobody is awake, but you head straight to your tent anyway. You fasten the tent flaps behind you, lighting your lantern, and begin getting ready for bed. You notice the tailor box on your cot and open it up, revealing the replacement underwear, as well as the 'little something extra' that Micah had promised you. It's a full set of lingerie, an expensive-looking set too, a frilly white chemise, corset, and stockings. The chemise is definitely that short for a reason; you wonder what Micah's planning, though he did say that he wanted to cut it off you. You hope to at least get some use out of it before he does that.

[elduwrites]

Reminders That I Love You - Chapter 3

“Don’t be a brat.” Cas tugged his hair again. It was harder this time and lasted until a small moan escaped Dean’s lips. Then the contact was gone. Damn. He usually had more control than that. But they had been very busy, and angry with each other, lately. This was a welcome change of pace.

“Anyway, I believe in you.” Cas grinned. “Now be quiet, I need to concentrate on my work.”    

Also available on AO3

Word count: 4916 (story total: 7603)

Chapter 3/3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 

When Cas returned, Dean laid naked in the middle of the bed, legs spread and hands beneath his head. He grinned up at his boyfriend who stopped in the doorway for a while, just starring at him.

“See something you like?” Dean asked, letting his tongue dart over his bottom lip for good measure.

“Yes, you’re very beautiful Dean,” Cas replied matter-of-factly. Then he walked closer, keeping his eyes plastered to the man on the bed the entire time. “And you’re being very good for me.”    

“Not like you asked me to do anything complicated.” Dean looked away, lightly biting his lip. He wanted to be good, especially after the evening they had, but he had to earn it.

“The complexity of the task does not dictate how pleased I am when you succeed,” Cas said sternly as he sat down on the bed, leaning over the other man. “Some days I want you to prove just how good you can be for me. Today is not about that. For now, I want to remind you how wonderful you always are to me Dean. Even when you don’t see your own worth.”  

“What if I want, or need, to prove that I can be good for you?” His voice was small even to his own ears, but it needed to be said.

“Then that’s for another day.”

“But-”

“No,” Cas said firmly. “On Saturday I will have you collared on your knees with my cock in your mouth while I research my next paper, but I have a different plan for tonight. Are you going to be a brat and question my decisions, or will you be still and obedient like my good boy ought to?”

Dean swallowed hard, but kept his lips closed. Saturday could not come soon enough. But Cas knew what he needed, and what he could take. If he said that this wasn’t the day for proper play, then he was right. Of course he was. Dean looked up, meeting the others gaze and held it until his boyfriend smiled.

“Good,” Cas said. He ran one hand through Dean’s hair, tugging slightly before letting go. Dean leaned into the touch, whimpering slightly as it disappeared. “Remember these?” Cas pulled a bunch of pens out of his pocket. Except, these weren’t normal pens. They were the temporary tattoo markers they had bought for when Claire was desperate to draw on them. Cas had insisted that they were better for their skin than regular pens, and their niece was overjoyed with the vibrant colors that were much easier to cover their arms with.

“I remember,” Dean replied. How could he not? The guys at work always commented on his wonderful new tattoos whenever Claire had spent an artistic weekend at their place. They were rather hard to wash off too. Not that he really minded that part, it was usually a nice reminder of a good family weekend.

“I presumed you would. Now you’re going to lay back, relax, and stay as still as possible, while I cover your skin in all the reasons I love you.”

“Kinda hard both to relax and stay still,” Dean said. Mostly just to say something back to that declaration.

“Don’t be a brat.” Cas tugged his hair again. It was harder this time and lasted until a small moan escaped Dean’s lips. Then the contact was gone. Damn. He usually had more control than that. But they had been very busy, and angry with each other, lately. This was a welcome change of pace.

“Anyway, I believe in you.” Cas grinned. “Now be quiet, I need to concentrate on my work.”    

Dean took a few deep breaths, relaxing into the mattress as well as he could. Meanwhile, his boyfriend’s big hands ran down his chest, barely grazing his nipples, down his stomach and up his sides. He whimpered again, pushing up into the touch. Why had he denied himself this closeness for so long? Those hands on him were better than almost any sensations. Perhaps except for those fingers in him.

“So beautiful,” Cas said, leaving a small kiss slightly under his left nipple. It was followed by the familiar sensation of the marker on Dean’s skin. Familiar, but still different than when their niece was ‘making him pretty’ as she liked to call it. Cas’ hand seemed surer and less hesitant than Claire often was. And the skin of his sides and stomach was more sensitive than his arms and calves, which were usually the body parts decorated. As the pen stopped its motion, Dean looked down his body. Sure enough, the word beautiful was written in red over one of his ribs.

“Incredibly kind.” Cas left a kiss under the first word, then wrote with a new pen over that same spot. Soon the word kind shone out in orange letters.

“You’re so good with Claire, Madison and little Bobby. The best uncle and godfather anyone could wish for.” Another scribble over his skin. Dean focused on keeping his breathing even so as not to disrupt the others work. When he looked down again, amazing uncle, was written in bright yellow.

Another kiss, halfway down his side, then. “You’re so open and accepting of everyone who need it. I’ve never seen you judge anyone for anything other than being hateful assholes. And those people always deserve it.” The pen moved over his skin once more. As it stopped, Cas moved his hand to squeeze his hip lightly. Dean squinted at the newest word. It looked like it said accepting in deep green letters.

“Dude, are you making my stomach into a fucking rainbow?” Dean asked incredulously, while his boyfriend put down the green marker in favor of a blue one.

“Why are you surprised by this? I make everything into rainbows.” That much was true. After years of hiding his sexuality from overly religious parents, Cas had put all that repressed energy into buying and creating rainbow colored-everything. There were at least seven different flags, and far too many t-shirts. They had rainbow-colored throw pillows in many different designs, and a shower curtain decorated with a tree with rainbow leaves. There were rainbow coasters, cups, water bottles, and at least fifty different buttons and stickers. Everything Cas painted these days were either rainbow inspired, bees, flowers, or, somehow, all of the above. Dean had barely kept him from hanging up rainbow curtains in their living room. That shit was just tacky, and therefore banished to Cas’ office. The office that contained a stuffed rainbow unicorn next to the stuffed bee on top of the bookshelf. Not to mention the queer section of that bookshelf that had the books sorted by rainbow colors. So okay, this was not actually surprising. Still though…

“Don’t mean you have to make me into one.”

“Why does it bother you more that I’m writing in color that that I’m doing it in the first place? You seem to have your priorities mixed up sweetheart.”

“I dunno… It’s just real obvious is all.” That was a bad excuse. He was aware of that. It just felt different in all these colors than it would have otherwise. Even so, his boyfriend was right. It didn’t actually matter. So why’d it feel like a big deal?

“It’s not like anyone else is going to see you this way. Right Dean?”

“Of course not.” It was far too cold for him to go shirtless anywhere other than inside their house. And even during summer, he preferred to wear at least a t-shirt. Only Cas got to see him shirtless for long periods of time.

“Then why does it matter? I like you like this.”

“I dunno.” Dean looked away, biting lightly at his lip. It was hard to argue his point when he didn’t actually have any reasoning, and Cas was all cold logic. The rainbow thing wasn’t a problem either. Not really. He was just caught off guard was all. But there was no way he could admit that now.

“Do you know what I think?” Cas moved so his knees where on the other side of the other’s hips, rested his hands next to Dean’s head, and leant down so their faces were mere inches apart. “I think you’re trying to rile me up. I think you’re being difficult on purpose. This,” he ran his right hand down Dean’s side, stroking over the words, “doesn’t actually bother you. You’re just clinging to the only argument you could find because affectionate words make you uncomfortable. Perhaps you’re even angling for a punishment?”

Dean whimpered lightly at that. Trust his boyfriend to psychoanalyze him in a situation like this. As if they didn’t have better things to do than trying to get to the bottom of his issues. His fear of intimacy as both Cas and Charlie was so fond of calling it. This was not the time.

“Is that it Dean? Are you trying to make me be rough with you because that’s easier to deal with? Would you rather have me spank you till you’re a writhing mess or perhaps slap you hard enough that you’ll feel it for days?”

“Please.” He wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but his boyfriend seemed to have enough ideas of his own. As long as Cas gave him something.

“Too bad really, that I already told you we’re not doing that tonight.”

“Cas. Please.”

“I’m not changing my plans just because you’re being a brat,” Cas almost growled. “However, I can’t let that kind of behavior go completely unchecked either.”

“Please.” Dean repeated. By now it could be called pleading, almost begging. His boyfriend usually liked that, was more likely to fulfill his wishes when he asked nicely. But it didn’t seem like he was budging this time. His expression was blank, not betraying any of his thoughts. Would whatever he was planning be good or bad? Well, it was always good with Cas, but sometimes that also meant torturous. Then again, that was often the best of all.  

Cas suddenly sat up until he was kneeling over him. Then he ran his hands slowly down the other’s shoulders and chest, stopping to pay extra attention to his nipples. Dean swallowed the groan that wanted to erupt as both his nipples were pinched hard.

“Don’t be quiet on my account,” Cas said, pinching even harder. Then he let go off the left one, only to bend down and bite it. Dean moaned, arching his back into the pleasure-pain sensation.

“There you go. Keep making those pretty sounds for me,” Cas grinned down at him before leaning in to capture his lips in a rough kiss. Dean quickly opened up for him, allowing his boyfriend to dominate his mouth completely. As the kiss broke off, Cas moved so sit next to him on the bed again, one hand resting comfortingly on his stomach. Dean put weight on his elbows, wanting to follow, but one sharp look from the other man made him rest back onto the bed. That earned him a soft smile and a gentle hand playing with his hair.

“Touch yourself for me,” Cas said, giving a significant gaze down to the others cock, then back up to his eyes. Dean starred at him for a moment before he followed the order, slowly jacking himself off. This seemed too simple. Was this evening really all about pleasure? And affection or whatever?

“Faster. Put some effort into it.”

Dean fastened his grip and speed his movement to a pace that would have him desperate in no time.

“Good boy,” Cas murmured into his ear. “Tell me when you’re close.”

Oh. Of course. Dean closed his eyes, jerking himself in all the ways he enjoyed the most. Firm grip. Fast movements. A twist of his wrist on every third or fourth upstroke. Pausing for a moment to run his thumb over the slit, coaxing more pre-cum to ease his movements. He was hurdling steadily towards an orgasm, feeling his boyfriend’s heavy gaze on him the entire time.

“’M close,” he moaned out.

“Stop. Hands on the bed.”

Dean quickly followed the order, breathing hard as he tried to calm down. He whimpered sightly at the receding orgasm. It was so close, but far out of his grasp.

“So good for me,” Cas murmured, then leaned down to kiss his stomach. “I love seeing you like this. So desperate to please.”

Dean smiled, relaxing further into the bed. He was still on edge, desperate for release, but it seemed somehow less important. He was pleasing Cas, and his boyfriend would surely take care of him.

A sudden feeling of a marker over his skin almost made him flinch, but he managed to stay still as not to mess up the other man’s work. Peering down, he saw his boyfriend with a blue marker in hand, obviously continuing where he had left off earlier.

“Cas? What?”

“You didn’t think I was done, did you? I already told you I wasn’t changing my plans. I don’t like leaving my projects half-finished.”

“I guess not.” It certainly had seemed like he’d changed his plans. Dean really should have known better. When Cas first made up his mind, he stuck to it. He peered down at his stomach, seeing desperate to please written under the green accepting.

“Dean. Look at me.” Cas laid a hand on his cheek and starred intently at him as their eyes met. “Indulge me in this. Let me show you affection. You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean tried to look away, but the other’s eyes were captivating, holding his gaze steady. “Indulge yourself or whatever.”

“Imprudent boy,” Cas smacked his hip lightly. “I want to worship you, just let yourself enjoy it.” With that he picked up a purple marker, putting the tip of it against the skin right above Dean’s hipbone.

“You deserve to be loved,” Cas repeated while writing what was probably the same words into the other’s skin. Dean barely suppressed a shiver as those words finally washed over him. How many times had Cas told him that by now? And how many more times had he found himself doubting it?

“Now continue touching yourself.”

Dean’s hand moved almost on autopilot, wrapping around his cock and jacking it with sure movements. He kept his eyes open this time, taking in all the emotion in his boyfriend’s eyes. No one could convey emotion through a look quite like Cas. And he was using that ability now to express all the love he insisted that Dean deserved. It was enough to make a guy believe him.

Pleasure built up within him even faster this time around. He jerked off until he was moments away from orgasm before he moaned out that he was close.

“Stop.”

His movement stilled immediately, but he clutched the base of his cock for a few deep breaths before he was calm enough to place his hand back on the bed. Perhaps even closer than Cas would have taken him if the former had been doing the touching.    

“You’re doing remarkably well.” Cas left a kiss to each of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Dean whimpered in return, struggling to keep himself from pleading for release. He really needed to come. Preferable five minutes ago. Instead, his boyfriend took up the red marker again, and started writing on the right side of his stomach. Dean couldn’t find the energy to read the words anymore, but it was impossible to ignore the several times Cas murmured “good boy” into his skin while he kissed around the new words. In return, Dean let out an undignified sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan. He was being good.

“Yes. Good boy with his pleasing sounds.” Cas smiled down at him, while stroking over his stomach in small circles. “And you are so good to everyone Dean. You care so much. I’m in awe of the love you show to all the people around you. Such a wonderful, caring man.” There were more pen scratches and kisses against Dean’s stomach. This time he simply breathed through it, letting the words and affectionate touches wash over him.

“Not to mention the love you put into your food. Before you, I mostly ate just to sustain myself. Now I do it for pleasure as well. You taught me that through your food, you’re such an amazing cook Dean.” More writing on his skin. More fingers tracing patterns on his stomach. More kisses to his side and chest, followed by a sharp bite to one nipple. He arched into it, chasing the mouth as it moved away. His boyfriend chuckled and pushed him back down with a flat hand on the middle of his stomach.

“Touch yourself again.”

He did. With fast strokes, spurred on by the hands exploring his body. Every time Cas pinched his skin or twisted a nipple, he moaned loudly. All the touches went straight to his dick, and within a couple of minutes he was writhing on the bed, barely able to contain the orgasm.

“’M so close. Please Cas.”

“Stop. Now.”

His movements stopped, but he looked pleadingly up at the other man. “Please Cas. I can’t… I need to come.”

“Patience sweetheart. You can wait. And you will.”

Dean whimpered again, but kept his mouth shut. There was no use arguing with Cas’ decisions. He had made that mistake in a similar position once before. That night he was not allowed to come at all. Taking several deep breaths calmed him enough to remove his hand, and finally look up at his boyfriend once more.

“Good boy. Now, where were we?” Cas looked down at his writing, tracing the words with a gentle finger. At that point, even the small gesture was enough to push Dean towards the edge. He shook with self-restraint, clutching the sheets hard and focusing on his breathing.

“Oh yes,” Cas continued in an even voice. “You, Dean Winchester, is one of the most selfless people I have ever met. You give so much of yourself to others. You say yes to helping out whenever the chance occurs, with no regard for how it will affect you. Every fiber of your being seems determined to change the world for the better. Your selflessness was one of the first things I noticed about you.”

“You’re way too articulate,” Dean half-moaned, earning him another chuckle. Then the pen was back, tracing over his skin. Followed by warm lips, copying the pattern of the letters. Every point of contact sent tingles through his already over-sensitive body, forcing small sounds of out him.

“You keep me grounded and sane. I’ve spent so much of my life with my head in the clouds, not really wanting to partake in the world around me. You changed that by showing me how good reality can be. I want to experience real life with you Dean.”

The statement was followed by more pen scratches, then kisses to his stomach, up his chest, and then peppering his face. Dean whimpered, lifting one hand to clutch at the others arm. A tear found his its way down his cheek, but was soon kissed away. It was all too much.

“Shhhh, just one more thing now,” Cas murmured into his skin. “You are doing so well for me.” Their lips met in a long, soft kiss that swallowed all the sounds coming out of Dean’s throat. Then Cas moved to write a last word on his stomach with slow, steady movement. As the pen disappeared, one hand traced all the words on his torso while his boyfriend left three small kisses to his stomach, chest, and forehead.

“Do you want to know what it says?” Cas asked, his lips curling into a smirk. Dean inclined his head in a way that was meant to be a nod. Apparently it was enough, as his boyfriend continued. “It says excellent cocksucker. The things you do with your mouth are downright sinful.” Dean almost chocked on air at those words, and his lips fell open of their own accord. Cas took the opportunity to push two long fingers into his mouth.

“Suck.” That was a command he didn’t really need. Closing his lips around anything Cas put between them was second nature by now. His boyfriend had a borderline obsession with that part of his body. Not that Dean would ever complain. It fit perfectly with his own love of having his mouth filled. Oral fixation Cas sometimes called it, his voice always filled with awe or deep pleasure. “Now touch yourself.”

He was slower to follow the command this time, more focused on the fingers pushing slowly in and out of his mouth. Even so, his entire body lit up with pleasure as his hand wrapped around his dick. It only took a few pumps before he was back on edge again. Cas was tugging at his hair and moving his fingers steadily faster and harder into his mouth. Dean almost gagged a few times, but forced himself to relax. The pleased expression on his boyfriend’s face was more than worth it. Pleasure built with every jerk of his hand, and every movement of Cas’ fingers. He was hurdling towards an orgasm, and this time it didn’t feel like he could stop. Moaning around the fingers, he tried to say that he was close, but it came out as a garbled mess. Fuck. He was so close, but he didn’t have permission to come. And he didn’t have permission to stop jerking off. Starring up, he tried to convey his desperation, tried to plead with his eyes. It was hard to focus on anything else than delaying his orgasm, the world seeming hazy around him. As such, he didn’t notice Cas’ face coming closer until a dark voice whispered into his ear.

“Come for me Dean.”

Two more jerks of his hand and he did just that. The orgasm tore through him, almost making him black out. His whole body convulsed in pleasure as cum coated his stomach. It was so good. Cas always made it better than he managed by himself. Even when he technically was doing all the work himself. He kept jerking in slow movements, drawing out the orgasm while he slowly came back to himself. Soon he grew oversensitive, but kept up the movement until strong fingers wrapped around his own and dragged his hand away. He sighed in relief and pure exhaustion, blinking up at the man above him.

“Hello Dean,” Cas murmured with a pleased smile. “You did perfectly for me.” Dean blushed at that, looking away. That only earned him slightly annoyed sound from the man above him before his face was peppered with kisses. “One day you will believe my praise.”

“One day yeah. Maybe.”

“You will. I intend to remind you of it as often as necessary until you do.” The statement was followed up with more soft kisses to Dean’s face, and a hand carting through his hair. Sighing contently, he leaned into that touch. This was, possibly, his favorite part. Cas was always so affectionate after sex. All soft touches and endless skin-to-skin contact. And like this, during the afterglow, Dean allowed himself to drown in it. Except, they weren’t both basking in the afterglow. With more effort than he was ready to admit, he lifted a hand up to Cas’ hip, squeezing lightly.

“Want me to get you off too?” He asked with a grin, eyes slowly drifting down the others body.

“Not tonight. I already got all I wanted.” He did this every once in a while. Actually, he did it rather often. As if he got more pleasure from getting Dean off than actually having an orgasm of his own. It wasn’t anything Dean could pretend like he understood, but Cas surely knew his own wants best. He was certainly direct enough about shoving his cock down the others throat when he felt like it.

“You’re sure?” Dean met the other’s gaze again, searching for any shred of indecision there.

“Yes Dean. I just wanted to watch you come apart. I might, however, fuck you in the morning.”

“Yeah. Okay. Awesome.” He grinned again, probably looking dopey as hell, as he relaxed back into the bed again. This time determined to stay put. Everything was right with the world again. Well, except for the rapidly drying pool of cum on his stomach, but that was a problem for future-Dean. That guy had energy for all sorts of things.

“I’ll get a washcloth,” Cas said as he stood up from the bed. Because he was freaking perfect. Dean told him as much, causing a fond smile to appear on his boyfriend’s face. Cas’ hand found his, giving one last squeeze as he started to turn away. Pain flared from Dean’s knuckles at the contact, making him flinch. His boyfriend froze at that, starring down at him.

“Dean? What?” Cas dragged his hand close, inspecting the tender area closely. His face turned from confused to worried, eyes scrunching up in familiar fashion. Dean looked at the hand as well. Now that they gave it attention, it was obvious that it was red and slightly swollen. A miracle that it hadn’t been noticed before. “Dean what happened?”

“Umm… I got into a fight with the shower wall.” The last thing he needed was for his boyfriend to blame this on himself. Sure, it happened because Dean was angry about their fight, but that was on him. Neither of them needed Cas to deal with any misplaced guilt over that.

“You got into a fight with the shower wall,” Cas repeated slowly.

“Not my finest moment.”

“Dean,” Cas sighed. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I know.”

“You can’t hurt yourself just because we fight.”

“I know.”

“Next time you decided to fight an inanimate object, please make it a verbal match. That one you at least have a chance to win.”

“That’s uncalled for.” Dean tried to scold his face into annoyed, but couldn’t keep a smile from breaking out. Apparently Cas was not in a lecturing, or self-hating, mood. This was going much better than expected.

“You know I’m right.” Cas smiled lightly, then looked more serious again. “Does it hurt?”

“Nothing I can’t handle man.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah. A bit.”

“Okay.” Cas nodded solemnly, then put his hand down and turned towards the door. “Wait here.” With that, he left the room, leaving Dean to study his knuckles. They didn’t look that bad really. He’d damaged them much worse on several occasions, but he’d mostly outgrown that part of his life. That was a teenage and early-to-mid-twenties thing. Which was probably why they looked more painful than they really should, they were no longer hardened by abuse. Or maybe he’d just hit that wall harder than intended. He shook his head lightly and laid the hands back on the bed. It didn’t matter now anyway. With a yawn, he closed his eyes, making himself more comfortable.

He was almost asleep when Cas returned, so he just grunted noncommittedly as a greeting. Sleep seemed more important than anything. Until a bag of freaking ice was dropped on his knuckle. His eyes flew open, and he starred down at the offending item. His boyfriend gave him an amused glance as he placed an ice bag on his other knuckle as well. Okay, they weren’t actually ice bags. When Dean looked closer, he saw they it was frozen peas partly packed into a dish towel. That didn’t change the fact that they felt like big bags of ice.

“Why?” He grunted, giving the pea bags a dirty look.

“Because you refuse to take care of yourself, so someone has to.” He couldn’t exactly argue with that. Instead he sighed, watching as Cas took a warm washcloth to his stomach, wiping off all the dried cum.

“You’re really confusing my senses here.”

“Sorry sweetheart.” Cas gave him a quick kiss to his forehead, before throwing the washcloth towards a corner, turning off the light, and getting into bed. Moving around with the freaking pea bags was complicated, but his boyfriend was efficient as always when cuddling was involved. Soon their legs were tangled, a comforter pulled over them, and Cas had an arm around his waist and head resting between his chest and shoulder.

“I’m glad you came back,” Dean murmured into the darkness, half-hoping the other wouldn’t hear him. Of course, he had no such luck.

“Me too. And Dean?”

He hummed lightly in response.

“I promise to be better at reminding you how much I love you. Maybe even stop walking out every time our fights get too intense. But you have to stop pushing me away.”

“Yeah I…. Fuck, I’m sorry Cas. I’ll do my best.” He took a deep breath, starring into the darkness of the room. “And I love you too. You know that, right?”

“I do. Most of the time.”

“Well I love you all the time,” Dean insisted, then gave his boyfriend an awkwardly placed kiss on his forehead. It seemed like he had to get better at those reminders too. He looked into nothing for several long minutes while Cas’ breathing turned heavy, soon making way for soft snores. Shaking off one of the pea bags, Dean circled an arm around his boyfriend, holding him close as sleep finally took him as well.

[writingandengineering]

uninterested

hi this was requested! 

request:  Hi, I'm not sure how to make requests but could you write a fic where the reader is not so secretly in love with Poe but he doesn't seem to be interested at all? I don't care if the ending is sad or happy. Love your writing.

(this became way longer than i intended and i don’t know of the plot really flows the way i wanted to but i’m still proud of this one; i wrote an actual kissing scene that i think turned out okay. this kinda fills the request. also i nicknamed the reader Officer to avoid using a name or “y/n”)

warnings: i don’t think there’s any! just slight angst and a little kissing!

word count: 2831

Working in the comms center in the Resistance meant that you had regular contact with one flyboy, Poe Dameron. He looked just like the recruitment photos that were plastered around on your home planet; the beautiful sun-kissed skin, the brown eyes that just radiated warmth, and the luscious black curls for hair that would make anyone jealous. Just by his looks, he had you absolutely swooning anytime he came around. To you, it wasn’t all about his looks, you loved his dedication and attitude; it was the bravery, it was the compassion, it was his ability to understand people. Most of all, it was how he treated you; he treated you like the intelligent person you are, like someone who could contribute to changing the tide of the war, like you were actually important. Maker, when you were assigned to be his comm officer, you just about died and became one with the Force. 

Now, it wasn’t exactly a secret that you were in love with Poe, anyone could tell with the way you started to fumble your words or fidget with your hands whenever you talked to him. That being said, it took a lot of willpower to stay even the slightest bit composed when you talked to him outside of the comm center (you are a professional which means you don’t get flustered during your job). You couldn’t help it, you were enamored by the man.

“Hey Officer! You ready for the mission in a couple days?” You instantly froze, mid-bite of whatever they were serving for lunch. Oh no, there was no way you could deal with Poe right now; not while eating where you run the risk of choking and making a fool of yourself. Quickly swallowing your food and cleaning your face off with a napkin, you take a breath to compose yourself and turn to him.

“Yeah Poe,” you start smiling, but then see that new comm officer (you know, the one that isn’t you) under his arm. You immediately deflate and look towards the ground, the pang in your chest strong.  “Yeah, it’ll be a good one.” You mutter and turn around, going back to your food. 

Well, there goes your confidence for the rest of the day. You hear Poe joke with the new comm officer, she giggles while they walk away. The sound makes a crack in your heart. You always knew somewhere in the back of your mind that you would never stand a chance, but it hurt to be reminded of it.

_______

There was a lot riding on this mission; the establishment of a new source of supplies was incredibly important to the survival of the Resistance. Sure, that new source was from a shady outer rim planet, but they were supporting the Resistance and hadn’t fallen victim to the First Order; that was all the Resistance could hope for. The mission would be led by Poe and his squadron, with you at the head of the comms team for the mission.

At least that was the plan, until you received a message on your data pad that you would no longer be in charge of the comms for the mission. Actually, you weren’t on the mission at all anymore. 

When did that happen?

After your many attempts to gather your thoughts, you go to the one person who should know everything about this mission, Poe.

“Uh, hey Poe? Could I have a word?” you ask, walking up to him in the hangar. Kriff, he looked really good today. That orange flight suit shouldn’t work for anyone but yet Poe made it work. 

He turned from his ship smiling, “Sure Officer, what did you need?” Poe stepped away from his ship, towards you. Your heartbeat started to speed up at the simple actions.

“Um, well, I saw that I was taken off of the mission, and I just wanted to know if you knew anything about that?” You say, unsure and look up to him in the eyes. It doesn’t even take him a second to reply.

“Oh that? Yeah, I requested you off of the mission. I wanted to try a mission out with that new comm officer, see how she held up so I don’t always have to rely on you.” Poe said it like it was an obvious reason. The sound of your heart breaking had to be audible with how hard it just cracked.

You furrow your brows and look down at your feet, “Why was I not informed this was happening?” You look back up, brows still furrowed, mouth drawn into a frown. Poe begins to shift in the spot he’s standing in, clearly uncomfortable.

“We just wanted to try it out, you kn-”

You quickly cut him off, “No,” anger starts to seep into tone. “Why would you do that? You know she’s new to the comms center, like, she’s barely been here for two weeks and that qualifies her to run this high stakes mission? I’m sorry Poe, that just doesn’t make sense. There is no “trying things out” with a mission like this, you know that.” So much for Poe treating you like you were good at your job.

“Look, it's nothing against you Off-” he starts before you cut him off again.

“Sure it isn’t Poe, I’ve been your assigned comm officer since you became a commander; why change now to someone else who is new and clearly inexperienced to such an important mission? I just,” you stop, taking a deep breath and shaking your head. Scoffing, you make eye contact with Poe, still shaking your head. Shrugging, you add on, “I just can’t believe you would do that.” 

“I know you have feelings for me but this isn’t about that!” He tries to reason.

“What? You think I’m doing this because of my feelings? Unbelievable. I would never put a mission at risk because of my feelings, no matter how strong. This isn’t about me being jealous, this is me being concerned because I care.” You don’t even give Poe the chance to reply before storming out of the hangar and towards your quarters. 

Great. You’re off the mission, Poe knows about your feelings, and your heart is broken. What a great day, you think as you plop into your bed. Your thoughts begin to dwell over the encounter and tears start to well up in your eyes. 

You just couldn’t believe that Poe would throw you away like that; your feelings for him aside, but as his comm officer? It just added salt into the wound. He wanted her over you? In your area of expertise? 

Ugh. Wiping your tears away, you mentally smack yourself for your thoughts; Poe’s allowed to not like you, and who were you to let your life be controlled by a man? In that instant, you decided that you would no longer harbor feelings for Poe (good luck), you would only be professional and you wouldn’t let this get the best of you.

Tomorrow, the Resistance would get a whole new you, a new Officer.

_______

You woke up later than usual the next morning; you could now that you didn’t have a mission to work on. Today, everything would be at your own pace, and no one could stop you.

Except for the general.

You groan as you enter the comm center, the one place you wanted to avoid today. Looking around the comm center, things were not going well, and that was very bad. The general stood in the center, looking frustrated, and oh. Would you look at that? Poe’s new officer was nowhere to be found. 

“Officer! Thank goodness you’re here, I need you to fix this mission right now. You need to be on the comms for the rest of the mission, the Resistance can’t afford any more mishaps this mission.” Leia says as she grabs your shoulder.

“Of course General,” and with that you get right to work, ordering and guiding Poe’s squadron. You work at a pace you’ve never done before, but surely, you begin to get the mission on track.

“Officer, it’s good to hear from you! I’m so gl-”

“Save it Dameron.” you grumble and continue to work. From that point on, you only spoke to Poe when you needed to, which was difficult because he was leading the mission. Nonetheless, you got the job done; just in time too. Right as a First Order patrol ship showed up, the last Resistance ship had entered hyperspace. You sigh heavily, the mission was saved, but you were not. Now you just had to avoid Poe when he got back. 

There was no way you could face him now, your feelings shattered and you having the “I told you so” advantage over him. Sure you were mad at him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be rash towards him, you just couldn’t. You walked out of the comm center and towards the mess hall, maybe some caff would clear things up. 

So, issue number one was that you had to walk by the hangar to get to the mess hall. Issue number two was that you wanted to avoid Poe, and issue number three was that there was a great chance that you would run into him at some point today; if Poe had enough brain cells, he would seek you out and apologize for putting the mission at risk. You couldn’t let yourself linger on such thoughts, so you started walking faster to the mess hall. 

Getting yourself a nice cup of caff that you so clearly deserved, you went to sit down right as someone calls your name.

“Hey, the General wants you down at the debrief!”

You sigh, looking down at your caff, “I’ll be right there.” So much for your cup of caff, no rest in the Resistance you suppose. There was certainly no avoiding Poe now, you would have to see him at the debrief; your avoidance of him didn’t last very long. You dread the walk back to the command center as you start to chug your caff and prepare yourself for the debrief, going over the events in your head. 

The air in the command center is thick when you enter; it looks just as tense too. In the center of the room is General Organa and Poe, the rest of his squadron on one side, and the comms team (that new officer included) on the other side. 

“Come in Officer, we were waiting on you.” The General says, looking at you expectantly. You choke a little on the caff that you have left in your mouth, but nod anyways, taking a seat near the comms team. “No Officer, I want you up here so you can explain how you fixed the mission.” You start screaming internally as you get up and stand next to Poe.

The debrief starts with the General explaining the goal of the mission and what the plan was supposed to be and what happened. She turned to Poe and asked for his account of what happened and where the mission went wrong. 

“Things started going bad when the comms officer couldn’t keep up, uh,” he turns to you, “not you, um, the new officer that I asked to be on this mission.” Poe looked extremely uncomfortable as he continued to explain that the new comm officer that he specifically requested (the one that replaced you), couldn’t keep up with the demands of the mission and wasn’t able to watch out for the entire squadron during it.” You make a face as you listen to Poe describe the mission with every mistake the other comm officer made, you felt kinda bad for her.

“After she ran off, we were able to get the Officer onto the comms and handle the mission; Officer was able to correct the mistakes and get us back on track. The mission was a success thanks to the Officer.” Poe finishes, looking at you. You want to look back at him, but you’re still mad at him and if you look at him, you’ll forgive him immediately. You look at the back wall of the room instead. 

General Organa continues, “Officer, without you this would’ve been a failed mission, so thank you.” She turns to you again, “You’re one our lead comm officers for a reason, thank you for returning to the mission.” You nod at her in appreciation, eyes skimming over Poe, who looked at you with some sort of emotion in his eyes. Your heart panged but you ignored it in favor of starting at the back wall again. 

The rest of the debrief was a blur; input from other officers and pilots taking up the rest of the time. As soon as the debrief was dismissed, you bolted to the door, not wanting to even chance talking to Poe. 

“Officer! Wait!”

Apparently, you have awful luck. You slow down to a stop in the hallway, waiting for Poe to catch up. Taking a couple deep breathes, you turn to face the man you couldn’t help but love. Looking into his deep brown eyes, they’re full of the same emotion from the debrief. What was it? Regret?

“Look, Officer, I just… I just wanted to say that I was sorry,” Poe starts. He makes strong eye contact with you, as if he was trying to make his words more sincere. “I know I said some really shitty things to you and I should have never brought your feelings into it like that, but I really am sorry. I care about you too, you know? I thought I could get your attention this way and be, uh… inconspicuous about it.” 

You inhale sharply and furrow your brows, “Then why would you do that? You put yourself and everyone else at risk for what? Making me jealous? What about that new officer's feelings?” Anger starts to bubble up in you at Poe’s idiocy. 

“No, it isn’t like that!” Poe drags one of his hands down his face, “I planned things out and that officer was nice enough to help out, but nothing went right. I was supposed to come back from the mission successful and ask you out for drinks after. I wanted to prove that I didn’t have to rely on you, and that you could also rely on me. I just did everything wrong and it just looks so fucked up.” It was in that moment you could actually see the sincerity in his face, in his eyes. Poe reaches out to take both of your hands into his before starting again, “I really like you and I messed up really bad. You don’t have to forgive me, I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry and that I’m an idiot.”

You go slack jawed at Poe’s words. He likes you back? Your feelings for him weren’t one-sided despite his apparent lack of interest? After staring at him in shock for a few seconds, you conclude that he is in fact, an idiot, like he said. The feelings for him that you were trying to poorly repress for him came rushing back. You look down to where he’s holding your hands and squeeze them.

“You did all of that because you liked me back? You made this elaborate plan instead of telling me? Holy kriff, you are so… extra. I forgive you, I don’t think I can stay mad at you.” You say, breaking into a smile. You see the emotions in his eyes change to something more familiar, something happier. He squeezes your hands back and then smiles so warmly at you that you melt in his grip.

“So, can I ask out for a drink then?” Poe asks, pulling you closer to him. You wrap your arms around his neck while he places his arms around your middle. Poe’s face is within centimeter of yours and you can see him glancing down at your lips in a silent question. Your smile widens.

 You close the remaining gap between your lips and his; you weren’t sure what to expect kissing Poe Dameron, but this was more than you could’ve hoped for. His lips were soft and worked against yours like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy. The kiss takes your breath away as it begins to deepen even more, lips parting and Poe’s tongue invading your mouth. Your hands creep up from his neck towards the bottom of his hair and begin to pull, Poe groans deeply into your mouth before starting to run his hands along you back. The two of you go back and forth before breaking apart and remembering that the both of you were still in the hallway. You look at Poe and laugh a little at his disheveled state; Poe looks absolutely love-struck by you. 

You remember his unanswered question, “I would love to get a drink with you.”

[kn1feinthec0ffee]

only angel - roman godfrey

roman godfrey x reader

title from the harry styles song of the same name

disclaimer: i’m not trying to distract from what’s going on by posting my work. that would never be my intent. times are trying, and i’m simply trying to provide some sort of entertainment or something to do with your time. i’m not fishing for any praise of any kind, i’m just putting my work out like i usually do. i love you all and please stay safe.

notes: in other news, if you haven’t noticed, i have a posting schedule now. it used to be every friday somewhere around midday, but that wasn’t really doing much with the algorithm, so i changed it to midday thursday. and i’ll be taking a week off next week bc i’m getting my wisdom teeth removed then. (which i’m incredibly anxious about) so if i go awol for a little while, that’s why. 

also, i have almost no knowledge of alcohol! and i don’t drink! so if i don’t have some commonly known drink or bartender knowledge, please forgive me.

***********

“i’ll take an old fashioned, please.” a woman asked politely, flashing her pearly whites.

“one apple martini with no olive,” a man requested.

“can i get a scotch on the rocks?” a man with a gruff voice asked. 

you were new to this job, but you had a bit of experience, both on the bartender end and the bar attender end. you quite liked this job; the customers were fairly friendly, and you were in a much less seedy part of town than the last dive bar you worked at. you didn’t mind it, though, it gave you your thick skin, something you need in a profession like this. 

you also liked this job better because you weren’t alone. this joint in particular had more bar space than seating space, so they commissioned two bartenders to work instead of just the one. the first few days you were a little rusty, not having worked in a while, but the two of you quickly got into the swing of things. 

his name was roman godfrey, heir to the godfrey fortune, who had a much different story on how he became a bartender. coming from such a wealthy family, he of course inherited the highest position at godfrey tower, which he quickly realized was way too much work for him to handle. roman had transformed from a spoiled rich brat to someone who had more respect for people who actually had to work to keep themselves afloat, and you’d say it changed him for the better. 

somewhere along the line he’d developed a respect for women, too, probably coming from some prior bartending experience. you admired him for that, mostly because you’d hate to work with the man he used to be. 

another reason you enjoyed working with him so much was the fact that his name was so well known across the entire state of pennsylvania that nobody really liked to fuck with him. they’d much rather stay on his peaceful side, because some, more than others, had seen his aggravated side before and were not too terribly inclined to see it again. this came in handy for you when a situation similar to tonight’s had arose.

it was a stormy night, much like many spring evenings. the bar was packed tighter than usual since it was raining much too hard for anyone to leave. it was nearing last call, and you and roman were trying to close up, much to the dismay of the customers. as you were starting to stack some glasses, a greasy older man sauntered up to the bar, plopping right down on the barstool you’d just cleaned.

“i’ll take a gin and tonic, and make it snappy, i’ve gotta get home,” the man demanded, tone devoid of any politeness. “and it’d do you some good to button that up a few more times.” he gestured to your uniform that had the first couple buttons undone to show some cleavage.

“excuse me?” you stammered, flabbergasted at his frankness. you paused what you were doing, frozen in shock.

“you heard me. now make me that drink, bitch, or i’ll climb over this fucking bar and make it myself.” the man insisted.

“you have no right to say that to me.” you defended. “this is my uniform, and if it makes me more comfortable to unbutton it, then i will. i don’t need input from people like you, and you certainly don’t deserve a drink for acting like that. we’re closing anyway, it’s too late.”

you’d handled customers like this before, but they tended to be much less blatant about their sexism and disrespect than this man was. you had started drying the glasses and putting them away at a much faster pace just to get this insistent man off your ass.

“come on, no ones over here, what’s it gotta take for a guy to get a drink?” the man’s inebriation became much more obvious now as he grabbed your forearm as you reached for another glass.

“let go of me!” you shrieked, much louder than you intended. this caught the attention of quite a few other customers and, of course, roman, who quickly made his way over to you.

“exactly what the fuck do you think you’re doing here, huh?” he growled, setting his piercing gaze on the man, who quickly unhanded you.

“i asked her very kindly if she would please make me a drink, and she said no.” he swallowed nervously, the mere presence and power seeping off of roman intimidating him.

“it didn’t sound very kind to me, man. i didn’t hear any fucking ‘please and thank you’s over here.” roman replied, trying to keep his calm with the man that he wanted to hypnotize into slamming his head on the bar.

the man stayed silent, his cocky asshole persona fading into fear at the hands of mr godfrey. roman nodded at his compliance and subtly placed a hand on top of yours on the glass you were holding.

“alright sir, if you would please kindly,” he put a strong emphasis on the word. “stop bothering my friend, get the fuck out of our bar, and head the fuck home, it would be much appreciated.”

as if entranced, the man pulled his jacket back up on his shoulders, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking straight into the rainstorm.

roman looked down at you and smiled his signature grin. usually that’d have your heart melting like a popsicle on a hot summer day, but you weren’t in the mood for it. the scowl on your face told him everything he needed to know.

“why the face? what did i do?” he asked genuinely. he had learned not to skip straight to defending his actions, finding that asking what his mistake was and how to fix it was a method much more popular with the ladies.

“you should’ve let me handle that myself.” you frowned, unhappy with the situation at hand.

“what? why would i do that?” he asked incredulously. “i’m not just gonna stand by and watch that cretin of a man treat you like that!”

“i know, and i thank you for that. your heart was in the right place, but you shouldn’t have stepped in.” you began. “for the longest time, almost every profession has been male-dominated, so us women get the short end of the stick when it comes to how we’re treated in the workplace.

“men have some sort of hero complex, thinking they can insert themselves into a situation they had nothing to do with and earn praise and thanks for their help that wasn’t asked for. men think that they can start confrontations with us and expect us to be silent and complient, to just sit there and take it because we’re not going to stand up for ourselves.” you watched the expression on his face morph to one of interest. “it was my situation, my job to deal with it, and my job to handle the repercussions, should there be any.

“men are accustomed to getting whatever they want, whenever they want it, and that’s got to change, and it starts with small things. small things like me, reprimanding that man for his actions and the way he spoke to me.” you took a breath. “i’m glad you recognized something was happening, but you should’ve only stepped in had things gotten more violent.”

roman looked stunned, almost like he’d gotten a slap across the face. you shouldn’t be surprised, this was usually the reaction you got from men when you tried to educate them on the trials and tribulations of women, but something was different. rather than shocked and confused as to why you would think that, he seemed more understanding of your struggles. sympathetic, even.

he stood still for a moment, as if he was a sponge absorbing all the information you’d dumped on him. “wow, i had no idea there was so much behind that. thank you for letting me know.”

“can i..?” his question trailed off as he leaned down towards you, lips meeting yours. you melted into his embrace, the weeks of yearning for this exact moment finally catching up to you. he started to pull away, but you stood on your tiptoes and chased his lips. you both pulled away breathlessly, lips wet and pink.

“wow, that was,” the rest of your thoughts fell short, but as you looked at roman it was apparent he had the same idea, whatever that may be.

“can i walk you home?” he asked, gathering his things. you nodded up to him, smiling sheepishly as he gently placed your jacket on your shoulders.

the two of you managed to close the bar for the night and fortunately, the rain had died down enough for you to head home. roman held his umbrella above both of you as you curled into his side to escape the cold chill of the rain.

he dropped you off at your place, turning to leave before you spun him around. you hopped up the first two steps and leaned down to kiss him again, easier this time since you were at his level. he smiled against you and kissed back fervently, placing a hand on the area between your neck and shoulder for some leverage.

you said your goodbyes, heading into your house, still feeling the tingling sensation where his hand was as you smiled giddily.

**********

ignore the ending i cant write endings it’s a problem

the feminist jumped out a bit sorry not sorry

i wrote almost all of this last night bc inspiration suddenly struck and i had to take advantage of it and this turned out waayyy longer than intended oopsie

tags: @emmyrosee @jadelynlace @copper-boom @babyboy-cody @goblincxnt @hecohansen31 @skrsgardspam @bill-skarsgard-owns-my-ass @little-grunge-flowerz @manicpixiedreamguurl

[advernia]

of cats, jade, honey, nightingales, and spilled ink — — a compiled assortment of ikerev drabbles i’ve managed to spit out last week during break hours - they're spoiler free + scenes with vague contexts because that's all i can manage to write recently lmao _(:3 」∠)_

stray cat conjuration theory || loki & alice prompt: rain, rain, rain // shady stuff under an open umbrella

her umbrella is a shade of red.

it's shade because you see, it’s hard to be too sure considering the conditions: the umbrella’s cloth is soaked through and through due to its heroic sacrifice of shielding two people from a sudden torrential rain, the sky above them is covered by a thick spread of dark grays and obscure blacks so there’s little to no lighting that equals to harder visibility, then there’s the overgrown trees with their -

- ki, are you listening?

… hmm?

he turns his head - it’s a slow twist of his neck from up, down, then a tilt to his left with a little push forwards; perhaps painfully deliberate - and voila, there she is in all her glory; a face he was getting fond of filling his vision: wide eyes framed by dainty eyelashes, a small nose resembling what a fine-made porcelain doll might have, round lips without a single trace of rogue yet have the natural color of an enticing peach, and… oh -

alice, he says almost in sing-song, your cheeks are red. like apples! are you okay?

the umbrella skews a bit to the right as she shrinks back, grip on the handle tightening - a bit of his arm is left exposed and attacked mercilessly by the rain, dry turning damp in seconds: it’s cold and frankly annoying against his skin, but there’s a quick solution to that, and that is -

w…w-wha… hey, loki?

yes, alice?

uh… do you mind moving back? a little bit? please?

aww, but my shoulder’s gonna get wet!

oh… i wouldn’t want that either, but… don’t you think you’re standing a bit too -

- a bit too what?

a step closer has their shoulders brushing up against each other and his face just a handspan away from hers, and he takes this opportunity to peer much closer at her eyes, and he sees that her irises are a brilliant shade of -

i… i-if you move any closer, i’ll leave you here to get drenched!

a pause. brisk raindrops hitting the umbrella fill it in, dull sounds of tap tap tap tap tap, then -

he breaks into light laughter, a foot moving backwards and upper body retreating, a safe breathing space in between them now visible again.

sorry, alice! I was just kidding… did I take it too far?

really, loki… is this how you treat people who share their umbrellas with you?

nope! it’s not everyday that someone offers to share their umbrella with me… even if their umbrella’s too small to begin with.

… does that mean you want to get drenched after all?

no way!

please speak well of me || ray & alice prompt: in memor(iam)y // a fragment of me on your skin

"now that i think of it, why did you call this necklace a 'collar'?"

the king of spades raises his head briefly, eyes shifting from the wordy official document in his hands to the woman standing in his office. she's by the bookshelves, small hands, lithe fingers intent on relocating the books from their former places to wherever she saw fit. pull out, set aside, dust away, evaluate possible positions, then insert back to the shelf. rinse and repeat, like dance steps: one, two three, four, and five.

around her neck, chain hidden by the collar of her blouse and ribbon, a sparkle of green shone. it showed itself occasionally, peeking out of the ribbon when she would begin to chase the dust away from the books and shelves with a feather duster. it doesn't mix, he muses, that red ribbon against that bright green. to begin with, why was her dress blue and her ribbon red? do they mix? then again, did he really need to know?

she was wearing it, anyway - that's all.

"... i don't get you," he replies, tossing the now-signed document onto one of the many stacks piled on his desk. he gets another document from another stack and tries not to groan when he's greeted by multiple lines of ink, beautifully dull and almost consuming the paper itself. "does it matter?"

"of course it does," she replies, tone and pitch of voice a little bit higher than usual. he can't see her facial expression, but he envisions a frown - or maybe a scowl crossing her features. either way, she's not happy. "a collar is something you would use for pets. or domesticated animals."

"i know."

"so do you see me - or think of me as one?"

his lips quirk upwards, a snort escapes him. "is that your question for the day?"

she stops to glare at him, a thick tome in her hands. "that's just cheating."

"it isn't," his reply comes off as casual.

she doesn't buy it.

"i can see you grinning, ray blackwell."

he laughs when his full name rolls sharply off her tongue.

"are you actually angry, or are you trying to act like my mother?" 

♠ ♠ ♠

the king of spades learns that morning that alice the second can wield a five hundred twenty-three-page book with a thick hardbound leather cover like a training sword of the wooden variety, something that one could find in the black army's barracks.

sturdy and definitely not lethal.

he fails to account lethality for multiple hits straight to the head, though.

to his credit, she does apologize after she'd whacked him thrice. the book goes back to the shelf (without bloodstains), he mournfully clutches his head, she looks at him with worry.

"it's just that a necklace this nice," she says, fingers reaching up to her neck to clasp the jade in her palm, "doesn't deserve to be called a collar. it’s a gift from you, and i intend to treasure it when i get back to london.”

he’s not sure where’s the dull throbbing coming from now: it’s either from the back of his head, his ears, or his chest.

who cares, it hurts.

lather that honey on your tongue || blanc & alice prompt: ye olde pickup lines // romance in the eyes of the full moon

when he finds her, he sees her standing a few paces away from his house's backdoor, her hands set behind her back. her head is tilted upwards and her eyes reflect the moon over their heads: it's a large silver coin shining bright against a blackened sky scattered with stars.

he calls her name once - she turns her head, smiles and waves. moonlight casts a dainty glow on her facial features, making her skin seem softer and the blue of her eyes more vivid. he pauses for a moment before he walks to stand beside her.

"oliver told me you would be here," he says. "it seemed like you two had a pleasant chat before i arrived."

her brows furrow, lips purse themselves together. "i think oliver enjoyed it more than i did."

"oh? i would certainly enjoy myself as well, if i were in the company of such a beautiful lady such as yourself."

a pleasant smile lights up his features. one could not say the same for hers, however - her mouth has gone slightly slack, but she shook her head immediately and turns her head up back to the moon.

"i say, the moon is beautiful tonight," he says as he points to the sky with a gloved finger.

"but not as beautiful as i am, maybe?" she says, a lilt in her voice.

she laughs for a bit until she realizes that his eyes are on her: his eyes are wide open, his mouth slightly agape. heat flushes and colors her cheeks slightly.

"okay, i'm sorry," she splutters, angling her face away from him, "it's just that i mentioned to oliver that i get so flustered when you compliment me, and he said something along the lines of 'then why don't you beat the rabbit in his own game', and - "

" - and you decided to compliment yourself before i would?"

"yes, well - gosh, that sounded really awkward, didn't it? please forget i said anything."

he fixes her with a blank stare for a few seconds before chuckling.

"on the contrary, i can't deny your words."

her breath catches in her throat for a moment before she replies. "which ones?"

"you being far more beautiful than the moon will ever be, of course."

"now you're just exaggerating - i didn't even say half of that!"

"you didn't, which is why i took the honor of doing so."

he leans forward to take a lock of her hair in his fingers, pressing it to his lips with a smile.

sing sweet nightingale || sirius & alice prompt: i’m drowning in siren calls // my own two feet as a compass

that deep tone has engraved itself so distinctively well into her ears and mind that each time she would hear it, even if it was of the softest of murmurs, she would find herself looking for its source. it's almost unbelievable how it's become something like a reflex in such a short amount of time, making her feel quite sheepish. she was no dog, nor did she wish to give off the impression that she was a clingy lover constantly observing her beloved's actions... but time and time again, her body would fail her and she would always end up in another search for him.

whenever she would successfully find him, he'd pause whatever he was doing for a moment to greet her with a smile and a voice that soothes her sudden wanderlust. the sound is oh-so kind and noticeably happy so she smiles back, but somehow there's a lingering feeling of disappointment for herself.

so one day she tries to stop turning his way when she hears him from afar: whether she was at the kitchen and him just outside by the training grounds, she by the flowerbeds and he near the headquarters' entrance, or her in the saloon and him issuing orders by the hallways; she stifles the urge of her feet to drop everything and go to where he was. it's far from easy since she wants to hear more, but she tries her best and it actually works for a while - perhaps three days. it makes her feel a bit better about herself, but -

- it's all for naught when he literally corners her in her own room, back and wrists pinned against the wall. she breathes an inhale of surprise at the sudden action, turning sharp when he lowers his face so it's just inches away from her own. his breathing sounded strained, how strange, like he was in pain - oh dear, did something happen? could she be of help?

worry begins to flood her thoughts, but it's washed out without a care just as quick when his breath tickles her ear and he speaks to her with an urgency, demanding and agitated and frustrated but still so beautiful to hear -

why have you been avoiding me?

oh no, she muses but doesn't say - her body had involuntarily trembled out of sheer delight at the sound of his voice so close, heart singing loud and knees growing weak.

words don't dare crawl out of her parched throat.

trails of sea-foam ink || dean & alice prompt: that i hold dear // the chase for a permanent you

today before he leaves his home he walks over to that one drawer and collects every single letter she sent, keeps all those tiny envelopes complete with their barely torn seals inside a folder that fits snugly into his bag, then goes on his merry way.

when they meet for tea, he shoves the folder - and all those one hundred fifty-seven letters of four seasons - into her hands.

“you should do something about your penmanship,” he says like the professor he really was, and that just makes her frown. what - was her alphabet too round, the edges too curved? were the words, sentences, and paragraph alignments all wrong on each and every line, like how music notes would dance on staves?  

“i’m sorry,” she says, but she’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for. maybe it was better to ask. “... is my writing too small for you to read?”

“i would’ve told you immediately if that were the case, rather than subjecting myself to eye strain.”

“is it too large?”

he holds himself from clicking his tongue. “it’s not an issue about size.”

“oh. then is it about how i write everything in a slanting manner?”

“no - you aren’t the first and perhaps the last person i would see whose penmanship presents itself in such a script-like fashion and objectively speaking, you are one of the agreeable examples of those writing in such a style.”

“uh-huh,” her head tilts to the side, she frowns. “then can i ask you what... well, you don’t like about my handwriting?”

he raises the teacup up to his lips. what i don’t like, he muses, is how light you write. what i don’t like is how the ink you used to write all those letters is dark enough to leave its mark on the paper but light enough for me to think that its fading, like touches of moonlight on a cloudy night. it reminds me of you and how you came to be in this world in the first place, and how easy it is for you to go back if you firmly decided on it. but what i dislike the most is the fact that i still have lingering thoughts of the possibility of you leaving when every single letter you have sent me has told me otherwise, all because your penmanship is as light and dainty as yourself.

“dean?” she calls out, voice something small.

unease unable to quell itself, he allows an amount of pure black tea to hold his tongue.

[writer-and-artist27]

How to Write Tomoko (Kinda)

Inspired by this one ask that Lang got a while back. I can’t remember how long ago it was, but @owlsofstarlight commented one time to me how they wrote Tomo based on how I reacted to a lot of things. So, this really is for their reference when writing any Silent Feathers stuff as well as for me to look back on how much Tomo is not just a “Mary Sue,” contrary to what some haters would like to throw at her.

Some important core traits and the like.

Tomoko is selfless. Once she gets to know you as a friend and/or a precious person of her circle, then she’s pulling out all the stops to make sure you’re happy. Even if you are a stranger, if it looks like you’re struggling, she’s offering her hand to bring you to your feet. It’s no question about it — she wants to see you be better, even if it means she gets the short end of the stick, and she’d be happy with the short end of the stick. 

The consequences of her selflessness hit only after she does something in the form of exhaustion and at times barely being able to talk depending on the person (example being that one oneshot where she cleaned all of Obito’s apartment [aside from his room because that’s personal space] and made dinner once he came home, therefore rendering her rambly and barely coherent for a bit once she finally sat down). So she can’t pull out all stops, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try unless you stop her. 

Tomo is also compassionate. Without fail, if someone asks her for a listening ear, she’s already raising her hand to volunteer to do it, all because being Emotional Support is ingrained into her very soul. She is also the first one to ask, “Are you okay?” whenever there’s something wrong, which is why her parents latched onto her so much because she never truly asks for anything for herself. Which leads into the next thing.

As helpful as she is, Tomo can be cruel to herself. From the machinations of Ty, her past death, previous trauma relating to sexual assault as Vy, and her foreknowledge of the Narutoverse, she easily goes to herself, albeit unconsciously, “if the ninja can go out and train to the death, then I can work to the death without complaints.” Similar thoughts such as “sitting around gets nothing done,” “I can’t say no, I’ll feel bad when they have it worse than me,” “I don’t deserve to sit down when people die everyday outside Konoha’s walls,” and “I can’t rest, someone’s crying right now,” roll around constantly in her head. Hence why she rarely gives herself any breathing room. It takes outside stimuli and/or people nagging her for her to properly do self-care.

Someone could easily take advantage of this if they wanted to because it is just hard for her to say “no” to helping someone. The only reason why it hasn’t gotten her into more trouble is because her family and friends help with support and protection from the real big baddies of the Narutoverse. Not to mention the one thought that crossed over from Vy’s reincarnation: “If I messed up/died here, Josh and Leo would be sad. I have to keep going to let them know I’m okay.” 

This also makes it hard for her to go to friends and family for help on her own problems, because in her head, “they’re going through enough shit in their lives, I don’t want to add to it.” She tries to work through it herself and/or bottle it up. This doesn’t always work.

It’s because of this trait that she can’t be the Naruto-figure of her generation, in spite of being so close, because she still needs to learn how to stop for her own sake.

Tomo can also be easily invested in the lives of other people. When she’s dedicated to helping someone, she does whatever she can, putting herself as far out there as she can, even if she doesn’t have much to offer, and that can lead into pitfalls that could sink her mood for weeks or more depending on how much she grows to care.

If someone ever knew the full knowledge of her reincarnation and thus asked her why she decided to help the ninja the way she does, she would reply, “They made a lonely school girl feel loved and cared for again when no one else noticed. The least she could do is return the favor and give them better lives.” So she’s pretty driven for her ninja friends already.

Tomo can be stubborn. Not as much as, say Naruto-levels of recklessness, but when she’s on a task of her own making, she’s driven and focused on it to the point of tunnel vision. Until the thing is done, she’s sticking there, barely moving unless it’s for sleep or food — basically the bare minimum of keeping things up.

Her reflections/self-analysis is borderline self-harm when it comes down to it. By focusing far too much on her flaws and not that of her positives, she forces herself to keep trying to improve/work, even if her body is not up for keeping the reckless standard. I’d like to think it took both Obito and Kei in S&S to convince her not to go all Gai-route in self-defense training, because as much as Gai is productive, his methods would only contribute to Tomo’s fallings in the future with her civilian physique. 

It’s because of this constant self-deprecation that Tomoko is oblivious to any love that’s outside her usual familial and platonic realms of territory. She could suspect that someone is into her, but immediately brushes it off with thoughts of, “There’s no way someone would like me, there’s better girls out there.” So anyone trying to win her heart would be having a hard time just trying to flirt if they’re not saying it directly.

Tomo is also indecisive, lacking any initiative to do something unless it’s to help someone. Once she has a break in her hands, she would stare at it and be like, “What am I supposed to do with this?” She’s just so used to working all the time that when she rests, she either sleeps exhaustion away or goes along with other people’s paces. It’s kinda why she helps out in the hospital with Rin and/or does moral support for Team Minato outside of the café because otherwise, she has no clue what to do.

Tomo struggles with talking to people outside of her precious friend circle. From social anxiety and just plain embarrassment at the possibility of messing up and making a bad impression, Tomo isolates herself a lot if she’s not searching out for specific people. If she’s at work, she can pull out scripted words to get along with the day, but that’s not going to stop her internal monologues of “Holy shit, what do I do, this person wants this” — therefore causing the occasional trip in her voice. It’s easy to fake being outgoing, but otherwise, if she could get time to sleep, she’d take it. Even if she blanks at the idea of “free time.” 

Tomo is also far too easy to read. From her mannerisms to her piano playing (ninshu, people) to how she reacts to nearly everything honestly, it leaves her open to, at best, lots of teasing and, at worst, emotional manipulation at the hands of others not so kind. It makes it hard for her to even try lying, so when it comes to her foreknowledge, she takes after Kei’s example in not saying much when it’s not needed. That doesn’t make her face any less easy to search for when it comes to key signs of turmoil. It can be cute in her everyday life, but if she were ever a ninja, it would be the first thing to get her killed. 

It’s just funny to look back on all this considering in any other setting, Tomoko would be the ideal Shojo protagonist. But, unfortunately, this is the Narutoverse. All of these things leave her solely as Moral Support and nothing more because everyone can tell she wouldn’t be able to handle anything else. 

At this point? Anything can happen and at best, she’s done well to survive so far. If she didn’t make friends with the right people, I wouldn’t be surprised if those behind Sakumo’s original Canon suicide did off with her too. But then we wouldn’t have a story. So there’s that.

Tomo has a long way to go in maturing.

[joesbbqandfootmassage]

We need to talk about Jane and Carlos…

So if someone had to ask me what one of the most underrated things in the world was, I would definitely say dcoms. (Disney Channel Original Movies)

They’re cheesy and dumb and not a single one lacks their flaws.

But they are still just so fun to watch and you just get a whole new experience from watching dcoms than you do any other movie.

Now among all those dcoms is a sub genre of musicals, being made popular by the one and only High School Musical trilogy. But we also have the Cheetah Girls, Teen Beach Movie, ZOMBIES, and the Descendants.

Now while all of those movie series are amazing in their own right, I’m gonna zero in on Descendants.

Kenny Ortega’s big return to Disney Channel and oh my gosh was it hyped up.

You couldn’t go two minutes watching Suite Life on Deck reruns without having this shoved in your face.

And you’d be dang right if you thought I was excited to see it. The children of iconic Disney characters all in one shared universe? Sign me the heck up!

Of course we got rid of cable before it came out and it would be maybe two years later until i finally considered watching it with my sister.

Needless to say our reaction could be boiled down to, “Oh. Oh no.”

Love it or hate it, as a movie lover I can say that D1 is a fundamentally broken movie on every level.

Nothing is developed enough and it relies way too heavily on you loving Mal as a character. Spoiler alert, I don’t.

But regardless of that, D1 also introduced me to a guy named Carlos De Vil.

Now i will never be able to comprehend WHY on Earth, puppy-skinning, vampire bat, inhumane beast, Cruella De Vil would EVER do the do with anyone and then still keep the baby after not killing it during pregnancy.

But she did and there he was.

Canonically physically and mentally abused by his mother to such a degree that he wakes up at night screaming.

Something Disney had never really had the guts to do before.

And immediately he charmed the heck out of me because regardless of how awful he had it on the Isle, it didn’t take a genius to see that he was a genuinely a good person at heart.

He was so clearly different and that was shown through maybe a culmination of like five minutes of screen time and Cameron’s incredible acting abilities.

And he deserved so much more in those movies than what was given to him but I won’t complain.

Because we still need to talk about another sweetheart.

Jane gets even less development than Carlos which is to be expected since she isn’t a main character, but you can still figure out and understand her if you read between the lines.

In D1 you not only get the fact that she likes to hide in her own little bubble, but she’s also incredibly insecure. So much so that Mal is quickly able to see it and take advantage of it.

Spending her whole life having to repeat that it’s not the outside that matters, it’s the inside, even though she doesn’t completely believe.

And then someone comes forward and basically validates her in her belief that she isn’t pretty, but she could be if she stopped focusing on the inside.

That’s what leads to her downward spiral throughout the movie as she lets her newfound “beauty” (seriously bobbed hair is cute and Disney needs to calm down) go to her head and she turns on Mal and the rest of the VKs.

Now while I find Mal to be completely irrational, her reversing Jane’s spell makes sense.

It’s Jane’s actions that follow.

Her, so desperate to be beautiful (literally she is so gorgeous how?) deciding to steal her mother’s wand isn’t paced very well and doesn’t make a lot of sense in the plot. But they just wanted to avoid Mal being the cause of the barrier being brought down so her redemption would be easier.

A classic Kylo Ren of avoiding direct contact and having it all be indirect so they can easily be forgiven later.

Now by all means after her actions that day, I’m surprised Jane herself isn’t sent to jail.

But I guess in D3 they show that they have an AK bias so whatever.

Now the important thing about this is that Carlos is there for all of Jane’s worst moments.

The moments where she is not at her best emotionally and it’s manifesting in bad ways. He knows that Mal had planned to use her to get to the wand in the first place before dumping her when that wasn’t going anywhere.

He knows that’s she’s afraid of them by the way she reacts to them in her first scene in Goodness Class.

He knows all of that.

And he still drags her onto a dance floor, refusing to let her be alone.

You could argue that Jay was there too, but her immediately ditched to jump on the Audrey train so…

This small moment, Carlos’ selfless act of kindness, plants a seed that most people laughed at or rolled their eyes - but all the same it was there.

And that little seed began to grow until two years later (six months in the actual movies) we get a beautiful Janelos flower.

Now D2 Janelos is some quality stuff and never have I seen so many people hate a ship that hasn’t done anything wrong.

And I think it’s fitting that Carlos’ arc for D2 is all centered around Jane.

In the first movie, he conquered his fear of dogs.

Now in this movie, he conquers his fear of being rejected by her.

Now if you’re an over analyzer by nature and a Carlos stan by choice, you tend to pick up on subtleties that Disney doesn’t have the guts to cover. Most notably, Carlos being touch/affection starved

You can see it in the ways his mother doesn’t show him love outside of threats and total, emotional reliance. In the way the VKs don’t particularly reciprocate his touches unless absolutely necessary. Or unless you’re Jay and you need to pull and alpha male moment and start wrastling.

And you can definitely see it in the way he thrives off of contact with Dude, and later, Jane.

Now somehow you people don’t think it is absolutely incredible that Carlos De Vil, physically and emotionally abused since birth, grew up on the Isle where love and dating were not a common place thing, fell in love.

And with the girl that was afraid of him in the first movie.

And omg I could talk about Carlos “Heart Eyes” De Vil forever and ever. Amen.

But instead I’m gonna talk about the three most major Janelos scenes in the film.

First one is gonna be the truth gummy scene.

First of all, Carlos’ puppy dog eyes when he’s thinking about Jane restore my life to the full one million years I am supposed to live.

People you are not allowed to overlook what Carlos was going to do in this short and beautiful scene.

Because he’s never really lived a life where he can speak his mind and share his feelings, the whole movie he’s struggling to even figure out how he can open up to Jane.

Not change his personality to get her attention.

Not making a love potion that’ll force her to love him.

No, he decides that the only way to approach it is honesty - by that I mean he agrees to sacrifice lying for the rest of his mortal life. And Mal gives him plenty of reasons to back out, most of them being about her but still, and he simply replies, “I’ll take my chances.”

Ugh.

The world did not do anything good enough to earn Carlos De Vil.

But the thing is, the truth gummy is his only hope to help him spit out how he feels about Jane. Because whenever he’s in her presence all he can do is freeze up and stutter. Simply due to the fact that when he’s faced with the chance, Carlos has no clue how to describe what he feels and what he wants.

But he knows that his heart does.

It’s in there somewhere and dang he’s gonna get it out because he cares about her so much and just wants to TELL her how he feels when he looks at her.

Of course then Dude eats it and all those years Carlos’ heart eyes had given me instantly went away again.

And then the whole Janelos plot line takes a bit of a nap until the third act of the movie when Carlos decides that Mal alienating herself from the Core Four ain’t helping her mental health and their friendship.

That’s when he drops the absolute BARS of knowledge, “Then don’t.”

He tells her that she never should change herself just to make someone else happy, you’ll never know if they really love you that way.

And I just wanna take a moment to wonder where Carlos got all these strong good person energies, because being raised on an Isle where love and dating aren’t even concepts should show in all the VKs.

Yet in D2 and D3 we can see that Carlos and Evie both seem to approach love with an impressive maturity that I can’t even fathom how they figured it out.

His advice is a comfort to Mal as well as Jay’s protective big brother move, and then we get to see the way his own advice affects him.

His Lovecraftian horror paraphrases what he said in the earlier conversation, “If she doesn’t love you for who you are than she isn’t the one.”

But this applies differently than in the Ben/Mal situation.

Carlos doesn’t try to change who he is or how he acts (unless you count the sacrificing lying thing but that wasn’t really used to earn her love so) but he gets the general idea.

And so, Carlos offers himself to her.

Just him, and a date and his love because that’s all he has to give her.

And she can either say yes and accept him and he can finally begin to understand what he’s feeling.

Or, she can turn him away - not wanting anything to do with what he has for her.

Which leads to such a beautiful scene, ugh I could write songs about the Janelos confession scene it’s that good.

First you see Carlos running at the speed of sound just to catch her, and he was definitely running around the whole campus because he absolutely needed to do this before he chickened out like every other time in the movie.

And at first it doesn’t seem to click in Jane’s head, because she’s only ever been just Jane.

Not pretty like Audrey or athletic like Lonnie.

Boys didn’t flirt with her or ask her out on dates, certainly not the boys she liked.

So of course, like the other times he had tried, she just wasn’t getting it. Too preoccupied with party planning and not getting her hopes up to let it sink in.  And that’s when Carlos does something that he didn’t even need a truth gummy to do.

He gives her a list of all that he can give her, looking into her eyes and waiting for her to take or leave it

And not only does she take it, but she fully adds all the things on the list that she’s always wanted to do with him, giving herself right back to him in the process.

Leaving Carlos absolutely shocked and overwhelmed and happy.

He just figured she’d either say yes or no.

Her giving herself to him wasn’t even a consideration in his mind.

And then she throws him for a loop once again, by throwing her arms around him and holding him tight.

And honestly, Carlos’ reaction says it all.

The first time somebody initiated legitimate affection towards him, and it’s from the girl he loves no less.

He’s at a loss for words and can’t even fathom what he’s feeling, but finally, Carlos is the one hugging back. Clinging onto her for dear life because it’s almost like he can’t believe this is real.

The next time we see them, they’re both looking super fine at cotillion; and let me tell you that seeing touch starved Carlos finally getting to hold hands and cuddle with his girlfriend makes me weak every time. You can see that for now, they’re figuring it out, they’ve both been super far away from the whole love thing so now they’ve just gotta go at a healthy pace for them.

Regardless of that, you can really see how much they not only love but need each other.

And then it was gonna be another two years until we’d get to figure what the writers were gonna do with Janelos, if anything at all.

During that time I had gotten well acquainted with the horrifying wall of Janelos hate you had to walk along before getting occasional content. So obviously, I chose to have nothing to do with the fandom and then Janelos fell off my radar again until I found the nerve to watch the third movie.

And oh my goodness remember just a few lines ago when I said that Jane and Carlos needed each other?

That was the key point of their story in D3.

While I think it’s poorly shown, Carlos’ character arc from a quiet abuse victim with a good heart to an honest to goodness hero (I’m talking the kinds they write songs about) is just amazingly beautiful and deserved so much more screen time than it actually got.

In D3, Carlos finally has something to lose.

Or, more accurately, something he needs to protect.

I really wish they had zeroed in on him worrying about Jane more, because while it was still there it wasn’t very focused on.

Not that I can be mad because their reuniting scene was something that made me immediately sit up in my chair and go, “Oh my fluffing gosh they have a thing.”

Like I’m sorry, what?

You’re telling me that whenever they cling to each other like that Carlos has that same look of just, pure happiness.

“She loves me and I love her, I’m never letting her go.”

Carlos De Vil went from someone who had never known or felt love in his life, to loving a girl so much it made me fall out of my chair.

D3 just wanted to remind us that the VKs have come very far, and now they’re happy and loved and we don’t need to worry about them.

All I can say is that Jane and Carlos are just an amazing couple if you step back and just look at what it means for them to be together.

A touch starved abuse victim and an insecure cheerleader fell in love and surrendered their hearts completely. And you don’t see that anywhere near Disney as a franchise, much less dcoms.

Bottom line, I know I went off for a hot minute but if we’re being honest I still have about a trillion things I could say about “Jarlos.”

But I’m pretty sure I’ve elaborated enough  to get my point across.

I just wanna say that Carlos would literally never let his mother come anywhere near the light of his life and that was some total BS.

[ijustreallylovezebras]

Secret of Us

Pairing: Tom Holland x Osterfield!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Y/N is Harrison’s sister, Tom and Y/N finally tell Harrison the truth about them

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This is my first full-length fic since coming back from my little (long-ass) hiatus! I hope you guys enjoy it! This is also my entry for @h-osterfield ‘s 5K writing challenge! I’m so sorry again that this is so late but congrats on the followers you deserve them all! My prompt was “Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?”

“Are you sure we have to tell him?” Y/N asked, her hand brushing through Tom’s hair. Tom shivered as a response and nodded, a slight smile on his face.

“We’ve kept it from him for too long, darling, he needs to know,” Tom informed her. Y/N sighed and fell back on the sofa with a groan. Tom laughed, an adoring grin set in place.

“But I quite like life,” she argued. Tom rolled his eyes.

“We both know that it’s going to be me who doesn’t make it through this conversation alive,” he disagreed. Y/N grinned and shook her head.

“I’d never let him touch you,” she promised. Tom raised his eyebrows and moved to hover over her body as she lay on the couch. 

“Is that so?”

“Definitely,” she nodded, pulling a mock-fierce face. “I’ll be your own personal bodyguard,” Y/N decided. Tom laughed and ducked down to capture her lips in his.

“Terrifying, love,” 

“I do try,” Y/N teased, her fingers tangling themselves in his hoodie, as though it was an attempt to keep him as close to her as possible.

“You’re so cute,” he sighed contentedly before kissing her again.

“It’s a talent I’ve worked hard at for years,” she told him, one corner of her mouth quirking up into a little smile. 

“You appear to have perfected it too - I can’t imagine anyone being more adorable than you,” he sighed, gently lowering his body so that it lay on top of hers, his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. Y/N’s fingers moved from his hoodie to run through his hair, her lips were by his ear and occasionally she’d turn her face to kiss his cheek.

“I love you, Tom,”

“I love you too, Y/N,” Tom sighed contentedly. “You know, after we’ve told Haz about us we don’t have to hide - we can do this whenever,” Y/N started to laugh at that and shook her head.

“You’re crazy if you think Haz is going to let us do this around him,” Tom shrugged and kissed her again.

“It’s my apartment too,”

“I’m his little sister, Tom, he used to get grossed out whenever I used to even talk about guys,” Y/N pointed out.

“You used to talk about guys? To Harrison?” Tom questioned. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“My best friend growing up was a guy and talking about him at home was like mentioning Satan in a church,” Tom started to laugh hard at the analogy and shook his head.

“It can’t possibly be that bad,” he argued.

“Have you met your best friend?” Y/N asked, raiding her eyebrows at him.

“Okay so he’s a little overprotective,”

“A little?”

“Okay, very,” Tom agreed. “You really think he’s going to be pissed?” He asked, a hint of worry finally creeping into his tone.

The two of them heard keys in the lock of the door and heard Harrison’s call.

“I’m home!” Y/N bit her lip and looked at Tom, forcing a worried smile onto her face.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” she said, sitting up on the couch and gently pushing Tom off of her as she stood up. “Lets go,”

“We’re just going to ambush him when he gets home?” Tom asked, eyes wide with fear.

“This was your plan!” Y/N hissed, holding out her hand. Tom groaned loudly but took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet and lead him into the kitchen. “Hey Haz,” Harrison didn’t look over at them as he replied.

“Hey Y/N, what are you doing here?” 

“Um... we have something to tell you?” She offered unsurely, looking to Tom who gave her a nod of support though he was still biting down hard on his lip. Y/N squeezed his hand and Tom let out a breath he had been holding as he returned the action.

“What’s going on?” Harrison asked cheerfully enough. 

“Do you want to sit down, mate?” Tom offered awkwardly. Harrison’s eyes widened as he finally turned to look at them, gaze falling on their locked hands.

“Is that what I think it is?” He asked, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“Quite possibly,” Y/N nodded.

“Depending on what you think it is,” Tom added. Y/N looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, it probably is,” he sighed in defeat.

“You - and her?” He asked, his gaze moving between the two most important people in his life, trying desperately to come to terms with what he was being told. 

“Yeah,” Y/N admitted quietly.

“How - how long?” Tom and Y/N shared glances.

“About six months now,” Tom finally told him.

“Six months!” Harrison repeated, eyes wide and angry. “And you only thought to tell me now?” 

“Trust me, Haz, telling you has been almost all we’ve thought about the whole time,” Y/N said, moving over to her brother. Harrison scoffed, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you two,” he said, moving away from her angrily. “I’m going out,” he decided.

“You just got back!” Y/N argued but Harrison glared at her.

“I don’t want to be around you two right now,” tears filled Y/N eyes at Harrison’s words and Tom watched the interaction of the two siblings with a heavy heart, unsure of whether to comfort Y/N or go after his best friend and try to talk some sense into him.

He heard the door slam and bit his lip.

“I’ll be back in a second, love,” he promised before rushing after Harrison. “Harrison! Harrison wait!” Tom shouted as he ran down the hallway after the blond man. His best friend’s pace sped up and Tom did the same, needing to catch up to him.

Tom reached out and grabbed Harrison’s arm. Harrison whirled around, anger and pain evident in his blue eyes.

“I need to tell you something,”

“Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?” Harrison snapped, turning away, ready to storm off again but Tom made sure his grip on his arm was tight. “Let me go, Tom,”

“No Harrison - I need to tell you this and I need you to listen and try to understand,” Tom insisted. Harrison sighed and shook Tom’s hand off before nodding.

“Whatever,”

“I’m so in love with your sister, okay? And I know you’re pissed that we didn’t tell you and you’re worried that I’m going to hurt her but I promise - I’m not.  Hurting her would be like hurting myself. I love her so much, Haz,” Tom admitted. Harrison looked at him levelly for a moment.

“You really love her?”

“I really do.”

[nadiawrites14]

the sidekick

word count: 1821

aka me coming up with the worst superhero names. for a reedsy writing contest uwu

“At last,” cried the villain, wiping away the blood that streaked their mouth. “At last, I will control the city. Their greatest protector, finally defeated, by the likes of me!”

Huddled beneath the villain’s feet, crumpled and winded, lay the hero. “You won’t get away with this,” they sputtered, chest heaving as they began to rise to their feet. The villain hastily urged them back down with a swing of their boot, and the hero rolled to the side.

“Give it up already. I won. You lost. How does it feel to finally lose for once in your life?” The villain paced around the hero, looking down with a menacing smile. “Must feel awful. Maybe you can walk a mile in my shoes,” they mused, crouching down to the height of the wounded hero.

“Don’t try to make me pity you,” spat the hero.

“I’m not. I’m just imploring you to think about other people than yourself for one moment.” Reaching into their pocket, the villain pulled out an electrical cord, and began to wrap the hero’s hands as they struggled. “By the way, where’s your sidekick?”

“Excuse me?” The hero demanded, blue eyes wiry and confused. 

“Your sidekick,” the villain repeated. “You know, the little cupcake who’s been with you since day one. I don’t remember her name. Little, dresses in pink. What’s her superpower? I’ve forgotten. But she’s always been on the scene, now, where’s she gone to?” The villain looked around, half-expecting the sidekick to appear just in time to save their defeated partner.

The hero furrowed their brows, confused, before perking up with realization. “Right. Lucy. I wouldn’t call her my sidekick, exactly--”

“You wouldn’t-- she’s like your shadow, are you joking? Really strange that she hasn’t come for you yet,” The villain wiped their forehead and resumed garrotting the hero.

“... About that,” the hero grated their teeth, eyes darting around the dim room. The villain paused, an eyebrow cocked. “I may have left her behind. In one of your weird puzzle rooms.”

Dumbfounded, the villain dropped the electrical cord and stared. “You left your sidekick behind?”

The hero nodded.

“You just… left her?’

“I don’t need another person to defeat a villain. I’m strong enough on my own.”

“Obviously, you do! Look at yourself!” The villain rose to their feet, fuming. “What a despicable man you are! Leaving your goddamn sidekick behind to die? What’s your problem? You’re worse than I am! All I do is screw with the electrical grid and cause county-wide blackouts, I don’t leave sweet little sidekicks to die in an escape room!” boomed the villain, raving as they stomped towards the door. “I’m giving you one second to go and rescue her, and then we can get back to this.”

“Why would I do that? Look, can we just get this over and done with so I can break out of your dumb jail cell and get out of this bloody dumb lair? She’ll be fine on her own,” the hero protested.

The villain scoffed and shook their head, continuing to the door.

“Where are you going?” the hero demanded, rising shakily to their feet.

“I’m going to go rescue Lucy myself, because you’re obviously a useless, self-centered bag of bones.” The villain spun around, and snapped their fingers. A sizzling sound rippled through the room, and the lights flickered on, filling the room with a glow. “Go on. Get out of here.”

The hero looked around, confused. “Where?”

“Out that-- ugh, you idiot!” With another snap of their fingers and another buzzing current of electricity, a balcony door flew open. The lights of the city had been reignited once again, and the hero stared down in surprise.

“I thought you caused a blackout.”

“Just turned the lights back on,” the villain shrugged. “All good now. Go on. Shoo. Get lost, idiot.”

The loose electrical cord slipped from the hero’s wrists as they shrunk out the door, a baffled expression on their face. Climbing onto the balcony, they spread their arms, and disappeared into the night.

Another snap of the fingers, and the door to the villain’s lair flew open. They sighed, wiped the last bit of blood from their face, and began to descend down the long flight of stairs.

***

Shivering, lacerated, and entangled in miles of electrical wire was the sidekick, just barely dangling above the criss-cross of lasers on the floor. Her chest heaved, and she swung helplessly, calling the hero’s name as she moved closer and closer to the stinging heat of the lasers. At last, she heard the footsteps, and smiled. The hero had come for her! She knew that villain was no match for her super duper strong partner. “I knew you could do it! I always knew you c-”

As the door flung open, the hero did not stand there, rather, the villain who Lucy had gone to defeat. Now wearing a pair of thickly rimmed glasses and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt over their spandex uniform, a complicated remote tucked in their hand. “Stay very still.”

Lucy screamed.

The villain watched, deadpan, and nudged their glasses up the bridge of their nose. “I said to stay still,” they repeated. “Not wake up everyone in New Melbourne.”

“What have you done with the hero? Why are you here? Get away from me, you monster?” she cried. 

The villain sunk against the door and fiddled with the remote as Lucy shot out more and more imploring questions, despite the visible exhaustion and pain etched on her face. She swung back and forth with violent intent, attempting to swing a punch or a kick at the villain the closer she swayed. 

Tossing the remote on the floor with a sigh, the villain rubbed their temples and snapped their fingers. The lasers disappeared, and Lucy looked up at the villain, wide-eyed. “What are you going to do with me?”

They strolled to the door and pressed a button on the keypad beside the handle. The ropes uncoiled and Lucy toppled to the carpeted floor. She grabbed her stomach, wheezing, and rolled to the side. Her breaths were shallow and quick as the villain approached, hands behind their back.

“What are you going to do to me?” she forced out, her voice a whisper as she stayed glued to the floor, her eyes afraid and her lips trembling as they took a seat beside her.

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” the villain said, tugging their hoodie around them. “Goodness, spandex makes you so goddamn sweaty. Really need to get a better uniform for the December heat, eh? Alright.” Resigned, the villain sagged and pushed their hair out of their face. “Let me get you fixed up.”

“I want to leave. Where’s Cryotrap? He’ll take me.”

“He left,” the villain said. “He told me you’d be fine on your own.”

Lucy blinked and laughed, eyes full of confusion as she began to study her wounds. “No, he wouldn’t do that. Not to me. What did you do to him?” she demanded, looking back at the villain with burning frustration. 

“I’m telling the truth. Why don’t you hear it for yourself?” The villain rolled up their sleeve, revealing their mechanically-decked armpiece, and pressed one of the many buttons. Muffled voices echoed through the small speaker, and the villain shifted through the recording.

“I don’t need another person to defeat a villain,” the replay muttered. A jumble of words. “She’ll be fine on her own.” 

“I don’t need another person to defeat a villain,” the chalky audio repeated. Lucy shifted uncomfortably, her bottom lip shaking. “She’ll be fine on her own.”

“Let me go home, please,” she asked, leaning against the wall as she rose to her feet. 

The villain shook their head. “Can I fix you up first, please? I don’t want you walking home in such a state. I have everything right here,” they said, digging in their pockets and brandishing a handheld first aid kit. “Ya see? Here. Let me fix you up and you never need to come here again. Alright?”

Lucy rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright. Fine.”

The villain held out their hand, and she reluctantly took it. They led her out of the narrow room and carefully up the stairs. Lucy groaned with every step, and when they arrived at the third floor, she immediately collapsed onto the villain’s dirtied green couch. 

With the bandages and ointment in hand, the villain shuffled to her side and began to tend to her wounds, dabbing the alcohol-kissed pad on her bruises and cuts and wrapping her lacerated arms in bandages. “Are you alright?”

Lucy shrugged her arms, a sagging frown on her face and her eyes faraway. “Thank you. I didn’t know villains could be nice.”

“This isn’t being nice, this is human decency,” the villain muttered. “I’m not evil. The most evil thing I do is fight heroes and cause city-wide blackouts. And that’s not too awful or murderous, I don’t think. I’m not bloodthirsty.”

“Sparkplug,” Lucy muttered. “Right?”

“Yup,” they replied, sitting up and leaning against the couch. “I can manipulate electricity, or whatever. I like building stuff sometimes. I just like stealing the city’s energy and Cryotrap hates that stuff. I’m not as bad as Dagger, or Andromeda, but bad enough for people like him to come after me. You know? You could say I’m a passive villain.” Sparkplug shifted and stared at their calloused hands, then back at Lucy. “What’s your power? It’s funny. I have no clue.”

Lucy straightened her back and folded her bandaged hands. “I can heal people. Not myself, as you could guess, but… it comes in handy sometimes. He always says he doesn’t need it, but whenever he gets kicked down it’s always me fixing him up. And I guess I just needed to hear it.” Tears pricked the poor girl’s eyes, and she stared at her feet. “I don’t think he appreciates me at all. No matter how hard I try or how much I train.”

“Healing is powerful in many ways, and it deserves to be appreciated,” Sparkplug commented, shooting an admiring look at Lucy. “You’re strong, and with enough patience and training you could be the next best hero in the city.”

The two sat in silence for a minute, sharing a long look before Lucy got to her feet.

“I should go now. Thank you for helping me.”

Sparkplug rolled onto the couch and nodded, holding their hands behind their head.

Lucy paused as she stood on the threshold, and turned back around. 

“Tell me. How do I become a villain instead?”

The villain thought about it for a moment. Meanwhile, the hero was far gone, the sidekick being the last thing on his mind as he soared above the city. The villain smiled warmly, and extended a hand to the sidekick. “Why don’t you come find out?”

[iainwrites]

A Samhain Brouhaha

Harry Dresden, trick-or-treating with Maggie, Karrin and Mouse.  And a tie to the earliest stories I posted on here.

“Charity, you can trust me.”

“Harry, I know you’re trying to be a good man and do right, but you’re also Harry Dresden and that name doesn’t inspire a lot of trust, especially for what you’re asking for.”

“What I’m... All I’m asking for is that I can take her out for one night.  That’s all.”

“I’ve heard that request before, and we both know what came of it.”

“It was an accident!  How was I to know...”

“Yes, Harry.  How were you to know?  Something like this means you need to know, and to be prepared for whatever might happen.”

“... Mouse will be with us.  Do you trust Mouse?”

“I trust Mouse with her life.  But Mouse is just one dog and...

“Murphy will be there, too.”

“... I suppose I can trust Mouse and Karrin to keep an eye on her.  And you too.”

“Great!  Thanks, Charity.  You won’t regret this.”

       My name is Harry... Well, you know the rest.  Wizard and Warden of the White Council, Knight of Winter, Warden of Demonreach, yadda yadda yadda.  It feels like I have more titles than the Cubs at this point, and they all mean something different to someone.  After a while, it just gets tiring repeating them all, and they seem to lose their importance.

      A few years ago, none of this would have meant much for my personal life.  I lived alone, with nothing else in my life but my work and a few people kept at arm’s length that I could call my friends.  It’s funny how the years can change things.  As the world turned, my life kept getting more and more... complete, I guess.  Filled, maybe.  I found out that there are people who look up to me, then that I had a brother, got a dog, found out I had a daughter, then a sort-of-girlfriend-I-think.  Oh, and I died once, became possibly irreversibly connected to one of the greatest powers in the magical community, might possibly be losing my morality, and am currently the master of a jail that makes Area 51 look like an amusement park.  But those things aren’t as important as the family side.

      All of my history, those titles and that backstory doesn’t mean much tonight.  Everything else is pushed to the side, and tonight I’m wearing only one of those mantles.  Maybe the most valued one.  Tonight, I am Harry Dresden: Dad.  And with that mantle comes a responsibility like no other I have shouldered before.

      “Alright, Maggie.  We’ll go whenever you want to.  Charity made sure I know the list of houses that we can go to, and Mouse-bacca will make sure that anyone who's acting too spooky won’t bother us, okay?”

      “Okay...”

      “What?  You don’t believe in the Great Mouse-bacca?  I mean, he might not look like much, but he’s got it where it counts, right?”

      The walking carpet that is my dog actually manages something that sounds closer to a Chewbacca warble than his usual chuffing sound.  Matched with the belt slung around his middle and a little bit of brown dye, it’s hard to mistake him for anything other than a Wookie.  The rest of us are dressed in a way that makes it impossible to see us as anything but nerds.

      Maggie, with the help of a mother who has spent more years making costumes than anyone else I can begin to think of, is dressed up in a Rey costume, complete with a little lightsaber.  Karrin and I nearly came to blows over what we were going to wear.  I’m... well, ME, so of course I’d be the dashing and roguish Han Solo, right?  And my partner is a giant, furry thing.  It practically writes itself!  Karrin argued that I’m the dork and should be Luke Skywalker, while she’s the cool guy with the gun.  She may have also mentioned something about being able to kick my ass.  And so here she stands in her black vest and over-sized pistol at her side and looking (damn me for saying this) appropriately Han Solo-y.

      I wasn’t content with being Luke, and am not nearly old enough to be rocking the Sir Alec Guinness look, so I settled on something a little more my style.  Thanks to a mop of hair as a result of living out on a deserted island for way too long, a scar across an eye thanks to a past encounter and a penchant for flirting with the dark side of magic, I gussy myself up as an over-sized Anakin, pre-lava bath.  With a little help from Andy, we managed to make up a casing for my blasting rod that looks like the hilt of a lightsaber.  A little focus and the blade lights up with a nice shade of blue, thanks to a little help from Winter.  We couldn’t figure out how to get it to sound right, so I end up making the sounds myself.  All in all, we look like a nice, nerdy family out for some trick-or-treating.  And that’s how it all began: a nice, nerdy sort-of family trick-or-treating together.

      I was worried when we started out that all of the costumes, noise and excitement might be too much for Maggie.  I mean, there’s a lot that usually goes on during Halloween night.  For the normal people, at least.  There’s the noises, the lights, the people running around costumes that go from home-made to movie quality.  And while she starts off close to Mouse, Murphy and me at any particular time, she eventually starts to look the way she should: a little girl out on Halloween, hitting up houses for a sugar fix.  She might not be running around Hell and Creation like some of the other munchkins out there, but there is a smile on her face, and a little bounce in her step.

      Mouse, Murphy and I take turns going up to doors with her, each of us to varying degrees of success.  Mouse always seemed to be a lock for more candy, because whenever she comes back the bag feels a lot heavier.  When she goes up with Murphy, Karrin comes back with a smile on her face, with just a hint of conflict hidden underneath.  A part of me wants to ask; the intelligent part knows to stay quiet.  The detective part of me has suspicions.  When she was married to Rich, there was tension around them having kids and her staying home to take care of them.  Going up to a door with a kid for Halloween and being told that your “daughter” is cute is probably playing around in head each time.

      When I take her up, I get to experience my own brand of head and heartache.  I keep hearing them ooh and ahh over her costume, and how sweet or cute or cool she looks, then there’s the looks up to me.  And I hear them say again how sweet she looks.  And it tears a piece out of my heart each time.  Susan and I should be taking her out for this.  Susan should be here with our daughter.  Our daughter should never have had to go through everything she’s gone through.  She should be living a normal life, spooked of the costumes at Halloween because she has an overactive imagination, not because of what she’s lived through.  And I smile, try not to loom so much, thank them and squeeze my little girl’s hand when we walk back to the street.  I steel myself for the next time that I’ll hear those words, and try to make the most out of this first father/daughter Halloween.

      On my side of the magical divide, Halloween has this recent habit of being more exciting each year.  The wearing down the divide between the living and the dead, necromantic rituals, changing of mantles, and the killing of immortals seem like they’re only the tip of the iceberg these days, and there’s always the little whisper in my ear that there’s going to be more.  Somehow, I manage to trick myself for a fair portion of the night that this one will be different.  That the creepy crawlies from the other side will take the night off and give me a chance to have a well-deserved break.

      Yeah, right.  The author of my life isn’t ever going to be that nice to me.

      The first indication is the sudden jerk of Mouse’s leash.  He’s usually happy to trot along at his own pace, with the leash there to show everyone he’s a well-behaved dog.  It’s not uncommon for him to stop and smell the proverbial roses; but for him to stop because there’s something he wants to stop, that’s enough to get my attention.  The only thing that stands out around us is a small pack of costumed clowns hanging a little ways back.  They all have the shabby zombie costume that seems to keep its firm grip from year to year, combined with some cheap masks.  The clothes portion of the costumes are pretty good, comparatively; they look distressed, like there was some actual damage to them.  I know those kinds of rips and tears intimately.  They even got the blood patterns around the tears right.

      The night gets cold when I realize that some of the rips and the stains look fresh.  And have that quality that costumes either exaggerate or downplay.  I look from the costumes to the people (no, things) wearing them.  They move in sync, coordinated.  My brain goes back to my throw-away description of them and revises is: a little ways back behind us is a small Pack of costumed wolves.

      The Pack.  A holdover from an old fight some Hunters and I should have finished and buried.  They’re a roaming group of monsters who hunt together, and have been the death of innocents and those that have tried to stop them.  The legendary Hunter John Winchester worked with the fledgling Black Cats to kick their asses up around their mouths decades back.  After a misunderstanding, Karrin and I teamed up with his sons, Sam and Dean, to ring the bell on Round 2.  We didn’t finish them off, but I thought we left them with a nose that was so bloody that they’d never want to try hunting together again.  Apparently, the lesson wasn’t definitive enough for them, because here they stand, lesser in number but still a threat to everyone walking this street.

      Karrin must have realized that we’ve been left behind, because she calls back to us.  “You okay, Harry?”

      Mouse clues in that I’m clued in and goes from alert growl to “stay way the hell away” growl.  “Yeah,” I reply.  “Mouse just has to use the little doggy’s tree.  We’ll catch up with you in a little bit.”

      “You sure?  We can wait.”

      My gut starts to get wrenched around.  I want my daughter to be safe, and safe is away from these things.  But if she’s sent away, that means I can’t be there to protect her.

      But Murphy will be there, and short of Michael, she’s the one person I know I can trust to keep my daughter safe.  “We’ll be there in a bit.  I’m going to take Mouse away from the street so nobody has to get caught up in it.  Have you been feeding him table scraps again, Maggie?  Because you’ll have to clean up you’ve been sneaking taco’s to Mouse.”

      My daughter gives off a little giggle and Mouse lets off the subsonic growl long enough to give a happy little chuff.  I pat his head, wave to Karrin and Maggie and start to lead him to an alley, digging out one of the plastic bags we’ve been using for Maggie’s haul.  I see Karrin look from me to Mouse, to the Pack and unlatch her blaster.  Just like I put a case around my blasting rod, she has a plastic shell around her service pistol.  It might not be much, but it’ll sure as hell slow down anything that I let get past me.

      The Pack seem to size up Karrin and Maggie as they leave.  Their gaze stays on them for a very uncomfortable time, before slowing coming back to me.  The message is loud and clear: “We saw them, we’ll remember them and we’ll find them.”  Yeah?  I have my own message.

      “Okay, assholes.  You were dumb enough to sign up for Round 3, so let’s find a nice quiet corner so I can beat on you like I’m Rocky.”

      As they follow me, one makes its way out of the main body, to stand in front of them like a spokesperson.  I can tell even underneath the costume what it is, and a fire starts to burn through my veins.  Human sized, but not human like. Extra-long arms that end in claws.  An unhealthy color that some could pass off as make-up but I recognize as naturally disgusting.  And behind the mask, eyes that are weighing and measuring you up for its plate.  A ghoul.  A ghoul who has seen my daughter.  Ever since the Red Court was dealt with, the whole race of ghouls have been moved up to the top of my “Things That World Will Never Miss” list.  This one just reserved extra special placement.

      I take my hand off of Mouse’s lead as he and I turn in sync to stare at the Pack.  The lead ghoul stops only a few feet away from me.  The alley is barely wide enough for Mouse and I to stand side-by-side, but that also means that they’re limited by how many can come forward at a time.  It’s not my favorite ring to fight in, but there’s been worse.  “Okay.  Say your piece, then let’s get started.”

      “You assume too much, wizard,” the ghoul says to me.  I’m not sure if it’s actually speaking English or if I still understand Ancient Sumerian as a parting gift from Lash.  Whatever the case, it sounds like a snake slithering over broken bottles.  “What stops the hunters at the mouth of the alley from going back out to the street?  You?  The dog?”  Damn it.  “No.  You will hear what we have to say, you and the beast will die, then we will go out and continue our hunt.”

      “Alright, Smiley.  Let’s hear it, then.”

      “You are known, Wizard.  You are remembered.  The Pack knows your scent.  You went to ground, but have decided to appear again.”  There’s a murmur behind the ghoul that could politely described as “agreement”, if agreement was made up of growls and rumbles.  “You may have bested us in the past, but that is when you hunted with others.  The Winchesters.  They are known to us.  They are remembered.  They will be found.”

      For a ghoul, this guy is practically Shakespeare.  This is the most I’ve ever heard from one before and it all comes across as understandable.  “Alright.  So what’s your point here?  Are you just going to keep talking until I go into a coma so you don’t have to strain yourself?”  I keep my attention off of it and on the ones in the back in case they decide to amscray back onto the street like they were threatening to do.  “Because there’s actually stuff that I want to do tonight.  If that means I have to walk through all of you to get there, and this sounds weird coming from me, let’s stop talking and get it done.”

      “No, Wizard.  You do not decide the Hunt.  The Pack hunts its prey, and when it is cornered, their lives are ours.  You, a human, have no say in what happens.  Should we decide to kill you, you will die.  Should we decide to eat your beast, it will be eaten.  If we decide to hunt your mate and your whelp, they are ours for as long as we wish and for what we wish.”

      “You don’t want to do this,” I mutter, while Mouse begins to growl behind me.  The only mercy I can think of is that Karrin is away from us, and that Maggie will be safe with her.  I might even be able to take a few of them with me.  I might be able to protect my daughter from what’s to come.

      The ghoul doesn't break eye contact with me, but I’m willing to be to bet that it knows what’s going on and what’s going to happen.  The cocky bastard doesn’t even seem to care.  “Oh, I think I do, wizard.  I think I will.”  The Pack behind him shifts, the sounds of claws scraping ground, of bones snapping and reforming into monstrous forms.  I get a death grip on the lightsaber case and start to will my power into it.

      Why?  Why does this always have to happen?  I try to take my daughter out for something nice, like a trip to the zoo or out for Halloween, only for things to go sideways on us.  This life, this job, this responsibility... I’m okay with it.  But I want to be a father once in a while.  I want to try and give Maggie a normal life whenever possible, but something seems so damn set in ruining that for us.  There is always something that shows up and ruins things and keeps me from connecting with my own daughter.  Susan should be here.  Our lives shouldn’t be so... wrong.  She should be allowed to grow up with a mother and a father and never have to worry about all of these things.  All of this is happening and I’m just about ready to...

      Something around us changes.  I’m not even aware of it until I hear something shift in Mouse’s voice.  It still carries a sound of warning, but there’s something else.  Anticipation?  Excitement?  A certain reckless happiness that his human sometimes shows?  He’s ready for a fight, but there’s something that’s allowing him to relax, even in the smallest ways.  He’s not worried about the fight.  From what I hear, he might even be looking forward to it.  I do a quick scope around me to see what could flip the switch in him.  Turns out it’s a lot closer than I’d ever expect.

      It’s my blasting-saber.  A firey shade of orange is starting to appear in the core nearest the hilt.

      Its old color.  Something from years ago that has since been covered in Winter ice.

      MY old color.  A color of will, and excitement, and barely controlled power, all of it coming from me.  Not a mantle.  Not a mostly immortal Faerie Queen.  

                                                      Me.

      I bring my eyes back up to the ghoul, and I smile.  It’s not a nice smile, but it’s one with a promise.  “Let me rephrase that.  You’re NOT going to do this.”

      The remnants of the Pack shift, the faces under their costume masks shifting.  Most of them change their posture and flex their hands, getting ready for the fight they’ve been working themselves up for all night.  What they don’t understand is that the moment they looked at my daughter, they didn’t have a chance in Hades.

      “Here’s why you’re not going to do that.  In fact, here’s why after tonight, you’re never going to see each other every again.”  A few give off growling laughs.  “I am Harry Dresden.  I am a wizard and Warden of the White Council.”  “Warden” makes a few of them twitch.  “I am chosen by Mab, Queen of Winter, Air and Darkness to be her Knight.  I wear the mantle of Winter, and I wear it very damn well.”  Mouse has stopped growling by now, as though he doesn’t want to take any attention off of me.  “I am Warden of Demonreach, jailer to nastier bastards than you’ll all ever be.  Combined.”  The blue of my blasting-saber exists only on the outside of the blade; fire is making up the core and it’s becoming a brighter shade of red with my every word.  “I am Bane of the Red Court.  The one who has outplayed and overcome Death.  My ride is one of the greatest predators to ever roam this earth, and I brought it back from millennia of rest. I am Ally to Hunters and Slayers.  I know and will invoke the names Winchester and Summers.  I have been tempted by and refused a coin of the Blackened Denarius.  I have led the Wild Hunt.”  THAT gets their attention like I know it would.

      The air around us suddenly gets warmer.  Almost spring-like, like the nights you sit outside near a fire.  There might be a chill in the air, but there’s also the promise of warmth and comfort.  The snow starts to melt and the grass can be seen again, and there might even be the faint sign of flowers starting to bloom.

      Life and warmth after a snow that never seemed like it would leave.

      The various creatures in front of me start to look around, probably trying to figure out what all this means.  The quicker ones figure it out and look at me, the hostility they had been showing before beginning to melt away, revealing something almost like fear.  But right now?  Fear is not enough.  Fear can be conquered or forgotten.  They need to feel something much more permanent.

      “I am Harry Dresden.  This is MY city.  And this is MY night.  I claim it by birth and by my strength.”  The tension that’s been building in this little alleyway just... pops around me.  If there’s a pressure, I don’t feel it anymore.

      “You have threatened my daughter, and I will protect her.  Ask the Red Court what that promise means.”  I let those words hang in the air, full of meaning and threats.  “This is my city, and I will protect it.  Ask anyone how far I’ve gone to keep it safe, and what happens to the people that threaten it.”  I let my blasting-saber dip until it nearly touches the pavement, which starts to send up wisps of smoke.  “The people who live here are my people, and I.  Will.  Protect.  Them.  Ask the Heirs of Kemmler and the Black Court what that oath means.”

      I don’t make any of this a challenge, or a brag, or something to piss them off.  These are all things that simply are.  They’re all true, like that the sun rises or that water is wet.  You can argue and try to ignore it all you want, but these things are, have been and always will be.  I am who I am, and I do what I do, no matter the mantle I wear, or what tries to change me.

      “So here’s what you’re going to do.  Tonight, I curse the name ‘Pack.’”  There’s another subtle pop in the air as those words gain meaning and permanence.  Words have power, and I invest a portion of my own self into those words.  “All those who live under it do so under pain of... Well, death is too nice.  Non-existence.  Erasure from history.  I will call in every favor, from the crater of Sunnydale to the Isle of Manhattan and every road of that cuts across this country.  You will cease to exist.  You will never be spoken of and you will never be remembered.  And you will all die bloody.”  I draw my gaze from one face to another, never letting off until they look away first.  They wouldn’t need to Soul Gaze me to know what is on my mind; it’s pretty damn apparent to any of them with half a clue.  “You will never run together again.  You will not do it under the name Pack, or any other name.  Because if I hear so much as a rumor that a group of creatures attacked an innocent person, you’re done.  You will be found, then you will be gone.  This right here is your only warning.  Any questions?”

      “And you,” I say to the ghoul.  I start walking forward, the cape billowing behind me, my blasting-saber burning a line in the ground.  I get right up to its face, and lean down towards its ear.  “I really, really hate fucking ghouls,” I whisper.  “And I know how hard your kind is to kill.  I have experience with that.  But you want to know something?”  

      I whip the blasting-saber down and take its hand off at the wrist.  We both look down at it in surprise.  I was expecting some burning, maybe a little cut, but not full blown lightsaber action.  I doubt it was expecting anything at all.  We both bring our eyes back up and I stare it down one more time.  “I have one more title for you: I was the Fire of Camp Kaboom. There was a message that was sent back with a survivor.  I told it ‘Never Again.’”  And I bring the blade flashing up in an arc and sear through its head with barely any resistance.  The head drops with a stunned look on its face as the body falls back into the hastily made space its friends make.

      “Never again.  Never again in my presence, in my city or to my people.”  I bring my gaze to each of them once again, but this time, nobody is too excited to look me in the eye.  “Do I need to repeat that to any of you?”  None of them reply. I snake out the blasting-saber again and take a chunk out of a rawhead and take out what looks to be a rugaru at the waist. That’s the sign they needed to break away and run, but not before I take a couple of slashes at their retreating asses.  I manage to down some; Mouse manages to run down another before it makes it to the mouth of the alley.  The ones I see escape split up.  When I step back onto the street, they’re long gone.

      Mouse and I take some time getting rid of the bodies, thanks to some creative uses of Ways and a few convenient garbage cans. The ghoul got some extra-special treatment, just like I promised.  I only realized how much time had actually passed when we finally caught up to Murphy and Maggie.  They’re less than a block away from the Carpenter’s home, with Karrin carrying an impressive haul of sugar filled goodness.  Even with all the best intentions, I still missed my first night of trick-or-treating with my daughter.  I try not to let my disappointment show as I lope up to them and ruffle Maggie’s hair.

      “Ha... Dad?  Are you okay?”

      “Yeah, I’m okay.  Just had to help Mouse clean up a mess.”

      “Your lightsaber is red.  Um... Isn’t red the color bad guys use in Star Wars?”

      “A lot of them do.  But remember the end of Return of the Jedi?”

      “We never finished it.  The Emperor... I don’t like what he says to Luke.”

      “He’s a pretty scary guy, and his threats are pretty serious.  But when he threatens Luke, Vader decides that his son is more important than his master.  He decides to fight against the Dark Side.”

      “So... Vader... becomes a good guy?”

      “It’s... complicated.  He did bad things, but family helped him so he could try to be good again.  He decided what to do, and that he didn’t want to follow the Emperor’s orders anymore.”

      “So, you’re like Darth Vader.”

      “... Yeah.  And the people I care about are helping me come back to the Light Side of the Force.  There’s going to be... bad things in my past, and there are going to be people who tell me what I have to be, but I decide whether that’s who I am.”

      “That’s... you’re kind of a cool guy.”

“Cooler than Han Solo?”

      “Well Mouse is cooler than Chewbacca, and he’s your partner.  So I guess that means you’re cooler than Han.”

I admit, it kills some of the cool vibes, but I squeeze Karrin on the shoulder and as she looks up at me, I stick out my tongue like I’m a kid.  I get an elbow in my hip in return, but it’s worth it.   I’ve never gone out trick-or-treating before tonight, so my expectations were pretty low.  But this was actually pretty fun.  And my daughter thinks I’m a cool dad.  Yeah.  That’s never going to go to my head.

      “Hey, Dad?”

      “Yeah, kiddo?”

      “Do you want to stay after we get back and watch Return of the Jedi?  If you’re there, I think I can make it past the Emperor this time.”

      “I’d love to, Maggie.”

      Murphy gives my hand a tug, and gives a nod of her head to let me know she wants to whisper something to me.  

      “I don’t know everything that happened, but you were pretty amazing tonight, Dresden.  And it’s your birthday.  There’s a Slave Leia costume I think we should break in later.”

      I love Halloween.

      “But you’re wearing it.”

      … Happy birthday to me.

[voiceofreader]

Hello , could you please do a oneshot with shinsou where the reader is heartbroken over a boy (preferably midorya but if not that’s okay) and he comforts her? Sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes!

I should really just made a Shinsou x oc fic just because whenever I get a request for him, I ignore all other asks and then write a whole 8 page long story.  I just love him so much ❤❤

Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader (fluff)

Reader is locked away in her room, trying to get over a crush, when a wild Shinsou appears and asks her to go get ice cream with him during a rain storm. 

A new school year, a new you. Well that’s what you always said every year. You were going into the second month of the first term of second year.

Usually every new school term you had a determination to dominate all your goals, challenges and overall try to become a new improved you.

But for once this year, you kind of brushed it all off. Call it seasonal depression.

But this cold weather, rainy day, dark and dreary early spring. It didn’t help that rain cloud that had been over your head since first year ended.

For you were dealing with heartbreak. You had the biggest crush on Izuku Midoriya. And you broke your own heart when you realized that it would never happen between you two.

You first liked him when you saw him during the Sports Festival. Well, there was some stray feelings from the very beginning when he was so nice and cheery, even with you.

Your mind must’ve thought his kindness was a way of him flirting? You didn’t know how you really fell for him. He was such a dork. But he always made you smile, always brought your spirits up with his own determination to be a pro-hero.

But he acted this way with almost everyone.

You noticed his close friendship with your other fellow classmate, Ochako Uraraka. They became friends during the entrance exam, so Uraraka had the upper hand.

But they had been great friends ever since then. You couldn’t deny their chemistry. And when it was so painfully obvious that Uraraka had a crush on Izuku and vice versa.

It’d be pointless to try to pry them apart and take your chance. It wasn’t your place anyway.

Besides, you two weren’t really that close of friends.

You somehow became part of the “bakusquad”. Your friendship with Mina and Kaminari gave you a sure spot in the gang. Although, with your crush known within your group of friends, to no surprise, Bakugou was annoyed with you the most. He didn’t understand how someone could like that “damn Deku”.

You weren’t remotely in the “deku squad”.

Everyone in that group was nice and friendly with you, but your personalities just didn’t seem to match up enough to make you real friends.

It just seemed like destiny was against your love for Izuku Midoriya.

And that all just crashed down on you at the end of the year when Izuku accidentally called you the wrong name.

It wasn’t too off from your name, but you then realized how little of an impression you made on him.

Sure, he had soon realized his mistake and apologized profusely, and you knew he didn’t really mean it, but the damage had been done.

Here you were faced with the heartbreak, alone. You weren’t going to get any sympathy from your friends with Bakugou around because he would probably threaten your life and say you get what you deserve.

You didn’t really need that right now.

Here you were, secluded in your dorm room, trying to work on homework, but you couldn’t focus. Either it be your train of thought running off course because of your aching heart, or the loud rain hitting your window.  

It was a Saturday and instead of hanging out with everyone in the common room, you didn’t want to chance seeing Izuku yet. You knew you weren’t ready to see his smile or his bright eyes. You had to alleviate some of the hurt before you could interact with him.

A knock on the door made you jump. You weren’t expecting company. Mina knew about your slump and let you have some space, even if it seemed out of character for her, she promised to let you be for a few days.

She most likely passed that on to Denki as well.

So who would be at your door?

You unraveled yourself from the blankets you had wrapped around you and made it over to your door. Opening the door you were greeted by the newest student of Class 1-A. His disheveled purple hair, dark eyes, uninterested expression. He was wearing a dark ash purple hoodie with a acid washed grey denim jacket over it. Black jeans, and sneakers. He looked like he was going out.

“Hey.” He nodded, looking down at you. You looked at him confused, but you tried to fake a smile. Not that you didn’t like him, in fact, you two got along great. It was just he didn’t ever reach out to you first. “Hey.” You repeated him.

“You look worse than me.” He commented, not a hint of amusement on his face. You frowned. You hadn’t taken time to notice your appearance yet that day, so you only guessed you had dark circles under your eyes, and messy hair.

“Thanks, Shinsou. Anyways, so same time tomorrow? Great. Bye.” You tried to close your door on him.

“Hey,” he kept your door open a sliver, with his foot in between the door and the frame. “I’m going out. You wanna come with?”

“Where? Why?” You wondered, either way, disinterested. Especially in this rain.

“I want to go get ice cream and Kaminari told me to drag you with me. Something about getting you out to cheer you up. I don’t care either way though.” He rolled his eyes, sighing. It made you warm inside knowing Denki was thinking of you.

But you weren’t in the mood to leave your room. “I’m not interested. Thanks though.” You smiled as bright as you could, but your face felt heavy from your constantly crying, so you knew whatever your face looked like, it must’ve seemed pathetic.

“Isn’t it common practice to eat ice cream when girls get their hearts broke?” Shinsou replied in his normal deep voice.

Your face heated up in embarrassment.

So Shinsou did know about your crush on Izuku. That was another person too many.

“Yeah, well…shut up,” You muttered, at a loss of words. You didn’t have anything to say to defend yourself.

“So get dressed, or brush your hair. Do something at least. And hurry up. I’ll be waiting down at the doors.” Shinsou walked off, not giving you a chance to decline.

You were too nice to leave him hanging, so you felt compelled to listen.

For the first time that day, you looked yourself in the mirror. You now understood what he meant. The ponytail you put your hair in the day before had moved to the upper side of your head and half your hair was out of it. Your eyes were dark and puffy from both overwhelming emotion and sleep deprivation. You did in fact look like a mess.

After fixing your hair into a neat pulled back style, washing your face and putting on a new outfit, you once again checked yourself out. It was a bit of an improvement, but your face would only improve with sleep and time, which you didn’t get to have.

You pulled your hood up to shade your eyes from light to hide the state you were in.

Sighing and glancing out the window, you shivered mentally, realizing you would have to go out in the freezing rain.

“Welcome back to the living, y/n!” Mina welcomed as she looked at you from the couch in front of the T.V.

Stray hellos were said from other classmates, and a grumble from Bakugou, probably about threatening someone’s life.

“Good afternoon, y/n!” Uraraka greeted with a smile, from the love seat at the square table not too far from the T.V.  You noticed she was sitting next to Izuku. They were playing some kind of board game with Iida, Momo, and Tsu.

Izuku looked up from the table and smiled at you. “Good afternoon, y/n! Do you want to play with us?” He asked from across the room.

“Maybe later.” You lied. You felt a sharp pain in your chest, when you saw his attention quickly taken by Uraraka saying something.

You might as well have said nothing because he wouldn’t be paying any attention to you, too wrapped up in Uraraka’s pretty eyes and warm smile.

“Hey. You ready?” Shinsou called to you from the threshold of the main entrance. You nodded and hurried over to him.

“Hey, while you’re out, get me some monaka?” Denki requested. Before you could reply, Shinsou beat you to it. “Ice cream is for people who go out. I’m not a delivery service.”

“Let’s go before it gets even colder.”

You nodded, letting him lead the way.

You two got off the bus, at the stop in the shopping district. A waft of savory noodle dishes came from the nearby restaurant, with it, your stomach growled. Shinsou looked over at you. “Have you ate today?”

“No?” You said, although it sounded more like a question rather a statement, only because you could sense the annoyance in his voice. “So you were going to have ice cream as your first meal of the day?”

You recognized the stern tone.

“Yes.” You lowered your head, a bit shamed by his “mom” attitude.

There was a moment of silence. “Where do you wanna go eat?” Shinsou asked in a grumble.

“No! I’m fine! Let’s get that ice cream!” You declined feverishly, shaking your head wildly. “You’re not going to just eat ice cream. In this cold weather, soup sounds good. I suppose that noodle shop right there will do. Come on.” He decided for you. You begrudgingly followed behind him.

Sitting down together, you, pouting, didn’t say anything, and let the awkward tension take over.

It wasn’t until you two paid for your meals and were leaving, conversation picked up once more.

“You really gotta take care of yourself better. You’ll get sick if you don’t.” Shinsou advised, slowing down his pace to walk side by side with you.

“I know. I’m usually not like this.” You mumbled, looking down at the sidewalk, watching the rain hit the ground and the shallow waves the impact made on the water already on the sidewalk, and then the water flying from your shoes with every step you made. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. You’re much more social and annoying. But you shouldn’t let Midoriya get you down like that.”

You hated how just the mention of his name made your heart beat faster. You had to find a way to calm yourself so you could get over him.

“So you knew it was him, huh?” You wondered. “Kaminari just told me you were dealing with a crush. But just as we were leaving the dorms, the way you acted when Midoriya talked to you told me everything I needed to know.”

You frowned more. You didn’t realize you were that obvious. You didn’t reply. You didn’t know what to even say. Though, what was there to say?

“Though, I gotta say, it was a bit surprising finding out it was him you were hung up over.”

“Everyone says that when they find out.” You commented. “Well yeah, you and him are way different. He’s all innocent and determined and whatever. You’re more- well different. Besides, I thought it was common knowledge that him and Uraraka like each other.” Shinsou shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

You chest felt heavy, like it always did when you were reminded by the undeniable facts. “Just because a person likes someone doesn’t make them unlikable by anyone else.” You argued in a grumble. “I know that. I just figured when two people are so undeniably into each other, that it would ward off anyone else.” He shrugged. “They’re not that so obviously into each other. They’re just really good friends.” You felt it pathetic to even defend your crush at this point, but you couldn’t help your headstrong nature.

Shinsou laughed. “Really? They’re always so flustered around each other and they both can’t get a full sentence out without stuttering.”

You bit your lip and sucked in a breath of air.

“Sorry. I’m not really helping, huh?” Shinsou noticed the hurt expression on your face. “I’m not good at the whole comforting thing. I haven’t really had the chance to do it either.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to comfort me. I only agreed to go because I needed a break.” You half lied.  

“Yeah, sure. I know what it’s like to have a crush on someone and them not liking you back.”

“Doesn’t everyone at some point?”

“Yeah, I suppose. But even if that’s true, it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You feel like you won’t ever find love like them, or you’re not good enough. Sometimes the feelings you have for them is so overwhelming you get your hopes up and you start imagining what it’d be like to be with them and it all comes crashing down when reality finally kicks in. It sucks, but you gotta keep going.”

“Yeah, I know. This isn’t the first time I liked someone. I just thought… Maybe this time it’d be different.” You shrugged.

“Don’t we all?… Well here we are. The best ice cream in this whole city for the best price. You can’t go wrong.” Shinsou stopped in front of a store.

“What do they have?” You asked, walking in, as Shinsou opened the door for you. “Lots of things. I come here for their kinako topping on vanilla soft serve.”

“I gotta say, you picked a weird day to get ice cream.” You relished in the warmth, once fully inside. You felt bad about dripping water all over the store.

“What can I say? I’m a weird guy. What do you want? I’ll order and you pick us somewhere to sit.”

“Mochi?” You asked. “Yeah. Flavor?”

“Green tea, or if they don’t have it, strawberry.”

“So, does Midoriya know?” Shinsou once again reopened the wound, after a delightful conversation about types of cats you both like and arguing which breed was more superior.

There came back your figurative rain cloud. “No. I mean, if I’m as obvious with my crush, then maybe he figured it out. I was scared to ever say anything because even I know that he has feelings for Uraraka and even though I was kinda in denial about it, I still didn’t want to intrude into what they have going on.”  

“Yeah, I get that. It’s refreshing seeing two innocent and naive people so obviously in love with each other, and everyone but them see it. It’s kind of amusing.” Shinsou replied, nodding along with what you were saying.

You had to admit, it was quite enjoyable to have someone so actively listening to you. Your squad was filled with people who got off track so easily, and then one person who couldn’t stand listening to you just because of your crush on his rival.

Having someone keep focus on you and showing that they’re interested in what you’re saying. It was charming. That’s what you liked about Shinsou. He was a great listener.

“But, I suppose I tried to give him hints, but I guess if he didn’t get them, then that means he’s just not interested, right?” You shrugged, trying to lighten your mood.   “Yeah, but Midoriya is the type of guy to completely not comprehend when a pretty girl is trying to flirt with him. He probably thought you were just being a nice friend. You’ll have to really spell it out to him, but even then, when someone so obviously out of his league is confessing their feelings to him, he’ll try to talk himself out of the reality of it. He wouldn’t understand how incredibly lucky he was and  it wouldn’t be until it was too late that he’d realize he should’ve shut up and just taken the opportunity he was handed.”

You were completely in awe. Did Shinsou not only call you pretty but also say you were out of Izuku’s league?

You shrugged away the tugging in your head that demanded you dwell on the compliments.  “It’s funny, Shinsou. You said you weren’t good at comforting others. But it seems like you’re doing a pretty good job.” You looked him in the eyes, and smiled sincerely.

Shinsou’s cheeks were a faint pink. He seemed surprised by your words. “I, uh, I’m not-… I’m freezing. We should head back soon. It sounds like the rain isn’t letting up anytime soon. It’s going to get darker as it gets later.” Shinsou got up and headed straight to the door.

You two had finished your ice creams a while ago, you just were waiting to see if the rain would let up at all.

“I agree. We’ll both get sick at this rate. So let’s hurry.” You caught up to him at the door, bracing yourself for the cold wind. “You want my jacket or something? I know it’s just as soaked and cold as the rest of your clothes, but it might help.” Shinsou offered, hand on the door handle.

“What? And let you get sick and then I’d feel guilty and have to take care of you? No way.” you declined. “Whatever, but if you get sick now you’re not getting any sympathy from me, since you don’t want to take care of me.” Shinsou grumbled, opening the door and you skipped out. “I’m just saying I don’t wanna take care of you just because then I’ll end up getting sick.” You defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest tightly to get some warmth.

“Seems like you’re gonna get sick either way. So pick your poison.”

“All right, if I get sick and you agree to take care of me, then I’ll also do the same for you when you do, or vice versa, deal?” You turned to look at him as you both sped to the bus stop.

“It seems either way I’m getting screwed.”   “Wow, I’ve just decided I like hanging out with Bakugou more than you now.” You pouted, jokingly. “All right, fine by me if you wanna be around someone who is probably planning your death. Be my guest.”

You both decided to run to the bus stop to 1. Produce warmth by physical activity, and 2. To prove who was faster.   You were the winner, but there was no prize for winning, only being out of breath and still being cold. Although, you got to the stop faster and got out of the rain sooner.

You giggled as Shinsou arrived quite a few seconds after you. “Can’t keep up, huh?” You teased. He frowned at you, although, he was breathing hard. His breath visible in the cold weather.  “I’ve been in a general studies course for a year.” He excused.

You scoffed at his answer, smirking at him. “You think I got this fit just by being in the hero course? This is all from hard work! Though, I suppose your assumption that I’m just naturally fit is a compliment.”

“I wasn’t complimenting you. You’re getting back to your normal annoying self. So I’d like you to be quiet all the way back to the dorms.” Shinsou gave you a look.

You supposed that you in a better mood, therefore, acting more like yourself, although, if Shinsou didn’t like how you usually were, it kind of hurt. Though, it was better than dwelling on the real reason you were upset in the first place.

“I was joking. If you didn’t know.” Shinsou added. You were pouting, “that wasn’t a good joke. If you didn’t know.” You replied. “I suppose that’s two things I’m not good at. Comforting others, and making jokes.” He shrugged.

“One of those things, yes. But you really made me feel better. So, you know, thanks, Shinsou.” You shyly looked over at him. He quickly turned to face away from you. “It was whatever.”

The bus arrived, and you two got on and made your way back home.  

Anywho, if there’s any grammatical mistakes, or any typos, I’m sorry. I’m kinda out of it. (as always, just a bit worse than usual) I tried my best to edit, because I can’t write for shit today.