#this is -not- a prompt for anyone to send me money while i appreciate it GREATLY and thank everyone who’s ever sent me money dearly

[dagasinfilo]

i do not think i can mentally handle having no income anymore but i do not think i can handle literally anything that’ll give me an income

[formosusiniquis]

find your Suzie

Written for Day 2 of @stevieweek Gender Euphoria with bonus prompts t4t and Scoops. Coincidentally also hitting Day 5 of @steddie-week with Reunion/Getting back together lucky me!

Stevie Harrington/Eddie Munson WC: 7679 | T | No Archive Warnings Apply | CW: Features Eddie using the word tranny to refer to himself | Tags/Themes: Transfem Steve Harrington; Transmasc Eddie Munson; Steve & Robin Best Friends Forever; Steve and Dustin have a sibling relationship; Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers; Small Town 80s typical discussions of gender

AO3

It’s been a long summer. 

That’s probably the least of what can be said about the month Steve has been working at Scoops. He has a coworker that hates him, the emotion he’s sure of the reason not so much. The kids only want to see him when he’s either giving them something or letting them in the back to sneak through to the movies. And his favorite kid isn’t even here.

Wasn’t even here.

It’s finally the week Dustin is supposed to be back from camp. And it’s not like Steve expects to be the first stop on the welcome back tour, Dust had sent a letter from camp -- surprising when he told Steve before he even left not to expect anything. Camp Know Where was the kind of camp, “that demanded your full attention the entire time you’re there, Steve.” Except when the counselors are requiring you to send one letter a week to the homestead so there’s no parents worried about dead kids or something.

That hadn’t been something anyone was afraid of when Steve went to camp. But he also didn’t have parents who cared if he went missing. If Mrs. Voorhees went nutso on his summer camp they would probably have just liked having the excuse to sue. Everything is a money making opportunity.

But Dustin’s Mom liked him, and Steve knew Mrs. Henderson would want first dibs on smothering her precious son with all of the attention that she hadn’t been able to give him in his month away. Then there was supposed to be some big Doorknobs and Dipsticks thing -- a name he was going to have to remember to repeat in front of Dustin just so Steve could appreciate the way it’ll make him groan.

Then after all that there will probably be time for Steve and Dustin time.

Which is only serving to make the day stretch longer. Because that’s the kind of summer it’s been.

After a month, it’s probably safe to say that nothing is really going to make this summer feel like a success. Something that he knew he was going to be able to say from the moment they handed him the uniform that it was going to be a miserable time. It was square and boxy, the ascot so long that the little red tie hung at his bellybutton. The shorts are okay, well they became okay after a trip through the dryer on the wrong setting changed them from baggy and saggy into something that cupped his ass and displayed a work safe amount of thigh.

He doesn’t even want to talk about the hat.

There’s a voice in his head that gets a little louder, a little more insistent with each shift as he puts on the uniform. There are only so many more things he can do while staring at his reflection in the mirror to make it shut up.

An end of the year haircut turned into highlights, when the thought of losing any of the length he’d been steadily growing out made him feel the same way getting called Little Guy used to make him feel. Which turned into figuring out the perfect way to get the blowout style waves in under twenty minutes, because he wasn’t spending more than that on hair that was going to get hidden under a stupid hat that was just going to push it back and make his forehead look weird. Which turned into noticing that his forehead looked weird so the things below the forehead had to look better so that no one would notice when the hat was on. The brown mascara had probably been Mom’s but could have been Nancy’s or possibly Carol’s, but either way it was sitting in the drawer of the third bathroom he looked in -- Steve knew it was there the whole time, it rolls in the drawer everytime he opens it looking for the nail clippers and every time it did he looks at it the way he thinks people who haven’t seen monsters probably look at snakes.

And the mascara was good. Gave him big, doe eyes that he liked watching in the mirror as the girl in there swayed this way and that, making sure the blonde highlights didn’t need to be toned to keep from going too brassy.

Only after a little while that stopped working too, and the mascara turned into a two step routine. Lipgloss, chapstick really, toned because it tasted like cherries.

And that was enough to feel like normal, for a little while longer. But the itch was there, a mosquito bite Steve wouldn’t stop itching until the skin was picked open.

But it was just loneliness. He’s always been like this. Left alone for too long without someone to distract him and he’s prone to spiraling. 

The summer right before freshman year when Tommy and Carol both got grounded for a month for getting caught at the quarry drinking, he spent hours alone in his room wondering what life would have been like if he’d been born as a girl instead. Thanksgiving Break ‘84, without a girlfriend and his parents in Toronto or Cabo or Ohio, he sat alone in the living room with the curtains drawn as Some Like it Hot played on the TV. With a blanket pulled around his shoulders, he watched Daphne more than any of the others. Wondering if he could ever go back to being Jerry now that he’d gotten to experience being other. By then he could quote along with the movie by heart, he had seen it so many times he could practically play it in his head when someone else had it rented. He flopped down on the sofa in time with Daphne, spoke aloud into the empty house with her, “I'm a boy. I'm a boy. I wish I were dead.”

Now, in the middle of the worst summer of his life. He’s had the movie out so long he thinks it would be less embarrassing to just never go back to Family Video ever again. It’s been so long since his parents have been home or looked at the entertainment center he probably could have bought his own copy. He plays it every night until he wakes up to the static of the television. Still it’s not enough to keep him from laying in bed wondering about the girl who first told him to watch it and what she would think about what he is and isn’t now.

But Dustin is coming home and maybe he’ll bring the Steve Harrington he’s supposed to be in a suitcase or something.

The next day the blue of his uniform washes him out. That’s the reason he comes up with to rub a little bit of the pink Avon blush he found abandoned at the back of his Mom's vanity. A thumb rubbed gently through it, picking up just enough of the color that it shimmers on the pad of the finger. He rubs it into the round of his cheek. Swiping and rubbing at each one until it's impossible to tell if any of the color is still there or if it's just from his touching that's left them cheery and pink. The blush, the lipgloss, the mascara, the hair. Steve feels something like happy at the reflection in the mirror. Everything settling less like the costume he put on everyday since the middle of senior year.

Then Dustin gets home, and he's found a top secret Russian code. 

They never would have made Jill or Kelly or Agent 99 wear a stupid fucking uniform like Steve's. But no one looks at him more than twice as he scurries around the mall with Dustin like the Moneypenny to the kid’s Bond or whatever.

He wouldn't hate it if the alt guy with the ratted out hair and vest browsing in the record store or the jazzercise guy looked a couple extra times.

Dustin stays at the mall for the rest of the day, hanging out in the back working on the code. In between customers Steve does what he can to help. Mostly that looks like trying to run interference with Robin. Her antagonism seems a little friendlier lately, but with her fun stolen now that Dustin was back -- and more important than trying to land a date he cared less about than sating the loneliness -- he could tell she was watching. When the mall is closed he walks Dust out the employee hallway, his bike shares the rack with Robin’s, the only two left even with cars still dotting the lot. He offers like every shift to give her a lift home.

“Like my bike would even fit in the trunk next to kid genius,” she says as she kicks off. Dustin unusually silent beside him. “I’ll catch you tomorrow, Harrington.”

The kid brother that forcibly adopted him stays quiet the entire time Steve is loading his bike into the back. But worry doesn’t set in until they’re pulling out of the parking lot and he still hasn’t said a word.

“So other than the girlfriend-”

“There’s really nothing going on between you and Robin?” Dustin interrupts, something steely but unsure on his face. “And don’t just say the same stuff about her being a nerd. You exclusively hang out with nerds. You obviously aren’t still holding on to that high school stuff anymore.”

He doesn’t know if it is that obvious, but even as he consciously setting that thought aside; the thought of dating Robin, taking her out and showing her off and possibly getting so far as intimacy, it feels weird. The kind of weird that thinking about dating Carol felt like, a half step in the direction of wrongness.

“Even if she didn’t totally hate me, dude, that’d be like if I asked you about dating El or Max.”

Belatedly, he remembers Dustin did have a capital T Thing for their random girl. But the comparison carries the correct weight.

“You have to find your Suzie then, man.”

It's hard to bite back the hysterical laugh, the thought that they'd rather be someone's Suzie. It's easier to push the twerp off than to touch that sticky, raw scab they couldn't stop picking. Still something about being in the car, the comfort of having their favorite kid back makes it feel safe to talk about a girl they’ve never stopped thinking about.

“I already met my Suzie,” a laugh makes it out before Steve can even think to stop it. “Literally Susan M. Even met her at summer camp, she called herself my boy named Sue.” Smiling out the windshield, they think back to that summer. It hadn’t been a reference they’d understood as a kid, not until Sue had made the joke again too close to one of the counselors. At home Steve had made Mom go get the album the song was on. They played it so many times they could find the track on the record without even looking.

“She called me her sweet Stevie,” they finish. It’s something they haven’t said to anyone.

That uncharacteristic quiet is back. Dustin looking at them; but with the softest parts of themself turned over, half exposed in a way even they haven’t looked at before, Stevie doesn’t look back. Just keeps driving the familiar path to the Henderson house.

“What happened?” Dustin asks, softer than they think they’ve ever heard his voice.

Maybe bringing up the lost summer camp love to a recent summer camp boyfriend wasn’t as smart as they thought.

“Tried to write but I guess they moved. People do that sometimes, I guess, send kids to camp so they’re out of the way during the move. Letter came back return to sender and she wasn’t at camp the next year.” They weren’t back the year after, determined old enough at 12 to stay home alone during the summer.

“Maybe you’ll find her again. If she was really your Suzie.”

“Maybe,” Stevie says. It’s easier than digging any deeper.

Later it won’t feel so much like digging when they’re sitting in the bathroom high.

Stevie feels like floating away, like underneath the skin it’s all bubbles. They’re there lifting up everything: the mood, smiles, secrets.

When Robin asks, “Have you ever been in love?”

It feels easy, for once, to bring up Nancy. It feels just as easy to say, “I think I met the love of my life when I was 10 years old and it was a girl who acted like a boy and treated me like a girl. Do you think that's like a sex thing and I'm just now realizing it?”

“I had a crush on Tammy Thompson and she liked you, that’s why I hated you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

The moment feels loaded. Bubbles popping in the air. Stevie doubts that’s what an OD feels like.

“Tammy’s such a dud.”

“What and you think I should have had a thing for a girl like you?”

Bubbles again, bright and fast and fizzy like a shaken up coke. Exciting, explosive.

“Yeah, well, at least I can sing.”

Dustin and Erica interrupt karaoke but Stevie can feel something solid setting into place beneath the foamed up feelings.

It turns out being an adult and not having to go to school leaves you with a lot of time to kill. 

Being reported as the hero of Starcourt who pulled a bunch of kids and a coworker out of a burning building bought another year of living rent free in the Harrington house. That and the passionate bond with the female coworker who was still in high school. It was easy to make promises that neither of them planned to keep while on the phone with her parents. Lies laced with truth, the two of them would be leaving for whatever city Robin picked for college with every intention to stay bonded for life. That was good enough for Dick and Diane to look the other way for another year.

So with time and money to kill Stevie spent the hours Robin was in school looking for the kind of secret bookstores that Robin’s heard about. The ones with zines and pamphlets about people like them.

And they learn and they change. And she's chasing that feeling she felt in that dingy mall bathroom where her best friend called her a girl. She’s a girl, she’s a girl, she’s a girl. She sometimes feels like she’s Daphne at the end of the movie. Shaky and a few wrong sentences away from pulling off her wing and throwing in the towel.

And Eddie Munson is stealing her goddamn kids.

That’s a separate part of her new life. Not that it’s any less frustrating. She’s figuring out how to be her own person in a way that’s not gonna get her killed, and she has to compete for attention with the king authentic.

“If you’d just meet him,” she’s barely listening to Dustin’s insistences. She’s heard them all before and Keith is lurking somewhere in the store waiting for her to slip up.

“I don't want to meet your Geek Mother.”

“It’s Dungeon Master,” Dustin tails her around like a second shadow. “And I think you would actually have a lot in common if you’d just talk.”

“That there’s something wrong enough with both of us that we want to spend our free time with you gremlins?”

“Ha. No. You both like those shitty, pulp, horror novels, you both like cars, you both have a secret love of Johnny Cash.”

“Oh yeah, a real recipe for best friendship.” She rolls her eyes into the cover of Flashdance, somehow he feels like Alex will be more receptive than her brother. “I’ve got Robin, I’m not really interested in any more friends right now.”

“Okay, well, he’s kinda meeting me here so.”

“What? Dustin!”

The bell above the door tongs, Stevie glares daggers and nailbats at Dustin while she shouts out the required, “Welcome to Family Video.”

The sound of metal hitting something solid carries over the sound of Oxford Blues. Normally it’s the sound of feet shuffling on the carpet that gives her the chance to make sure she’s the right amount of everything. Surviving this slow paced transition on the virtue of already being known around town as a pretty boy, as long as she keeps the right amount of butch it’s fine. At least Molly Ringwald and Ally Sheedy keep their hair short. She’s taken them on as hair icons until she’s in a place where she can grow it out long like Farrah or Brooke Shields.

A place where hopefully she’ll be able to add the occasional skirt to her wardrobe. She adjusts the rise on her jeans, she’s got no idea where Munson is. It’s hard to track the slap of his chain in the store the way she can dragging footsteps. Tugging at the belt loops of her pants, the ones she got from the women’s side of the thrift store, she feels like it’s obvious from the cut they’re different. Swears they hug her differently.

She doesn’t know if she wants Munson to be able to tell, but he’s coming around the bend from the Romance section and she can’t really do anything about it.

“Henderson,” Munson greets even though his eyes are locked hard onto Stevie. It’s been a quiet day, maybe she left one of those butterfly clips El gave her in her hair.

“Eddie! Did you grab the movie you said you were gonna show me?”

“Where’s the fire, Henderson?” He has a nice voice. Pitched in a nice warm tone it has a husk  she thinks she can feel. Gives her goosebumps. It’s not that she didn’t know that already, or maybe she didn’t, in all the ranting and screaming he did at school she thinks she remembers it higher. Cracking even as late as his junior year.

He’s looking at her again, something molten and complicated in his eyes, “Why don’t you officially introduce me to your favorite babysitter.”

Dustin sighs, full bodied and dramatic. “You went to school together, do I really need to?”

“No manners in these kids these days,” Eddie jokes. “You are not the same person I went to English third period with.”

Something bubbles up in the pit of her stomach, a little bit fear and a little bit joy at being recognized as something different. “That could be because you were barely ever in third period English.”

“Touche. And in that case it's all the sweeter to meet the fabled Stevie.” He grabs her hand by the tips of her fingers, sweeps his other arm out as he bows and presses a kiss to the little gold ring Robin gave her. She’s surprised by the sound of her own giggle.

“Can we be done with what’s happening here?” Dustin interrupts the fireworks happening in the back of her brain like a mindflayer on the Fourth of July.

“You were the one that wanted us to meet,” she reminds him.

“And I immediately regret it now that it’s happening. I need better impulse control, you and Ma were right.”

“Really are the best babysitter in the world, humility out of Henderson is like getting blood out of stone,” Eddie teases.

“You were coming out of Romance, what is this favorite movie you were going to show me?” Dustin demands now, a pink flush to his face like they’ve succeeded in embarrassing him too.

“I could like romance, I contain multitudes. And I said I was showing you my favorite horror movie, Re-Animator got shelved there a couple weeks ago. My favorite is a comedy and never on the shelves.”

“Someone just brought back Ghostbusters today, and we were holding Goonies for movie night this weekend, but the kids have seen it before,” she offers, taking a blind stab at the kind of comedies that might make it to Eddie Munsons's favorite list. It's really a puzzle made more for Robin.

"Excellent features both, but I'm afraid my favorite is a little more black and white. Caught Some Like it Hot in a Marilyn Monroe double feature at the Hawk with Wayne as a kid. Used to rent it at the Blockbuster all the time before I moved to Hawkins full time, it's always rented here so," he grabs Dustin by the cap, shaking the kid's  head roughly back and forth, completely oblivious to the way Stevie's palms have started to sweat around the sticky case of Halloween.

"Who sorts their favorite films by genre?" Dustin asks, the question wobbling out of him with the shake of his head.

"I do, shortstack, by genre and all kinds of criteria your yet to be enlightened brain hasn't even thought to try."

"Sure, whatever, did you grab your favorite horror movie yet?"

Instead of answering, like a normal person might, Eddie Munson takes a step closer to her. He leans in close enough that she can smell the cigarette he must have smoked before he came in, the smell of his deodorant below that. His arm brushes against her lower back as he reaches and reaches.

She's gotta talk to Keith about getting the a/c fixed.

Eddie is close enough she can count the stubbly hairs of his not quite mustache. There's something about his eyes that reminds her of someone, but it's hard to place. Unlike the exact location of his right arm, currently brushing against the waistband of her jeans.’

And then he's gone.

In his hands he's got the black clamshell box of the movie, and Stevie feels a little bit like an idiot. "I could have moved."

"But then I wouldn't have gotten to appreciate the sweet, sweet smell of your hairspray."

With a sigh that could probably propel him into space, Dustin announces, "I'm going to the van."

And even though it doesn't really mean anything, it kind of feels like it might mean everything when once he's out of earshot she decides to tell Eddie, "I actually have that movie. That's why you can't ever find it, it's one of my favorites too."

Before he can finish the door alarm sound again, and she would recognize the sound of converse on the dirty store carpet even if Robin didn't immediately shout, "Stevie, you better get a brick someone locked your kid in their dirty van." She rounds the corner to find whatever scene she and Munson must make, the two of them too close together to be in a store with Family in its name right beside the horror section. "Oh."

"I'm across from Little Red, in the park," Eddie takes a big step back, hands stuffed in his pockets in a way that makes him look a million times more suspicious than if he'd just pulled away. She'd been right that it was a mistake to ever meet him. "If you wanted to bring that movie over sometime."

"We'll see, Munson."

He’s got the widest smile on his face that she only gets to appreciate for a second before he sweeps down low into a bow. The dimple in his face screams of a mischief that makes her think of childhood. “I know I shall, fair Stevie.” He nods at Robin, who trails him to the desk to check out while Stevie goes back to putting the returns on the shelf while they have that moment of quiet.

Moment of quiet from customers anyway, the second Eddie is out the door he takes Stevie’s last chance of peace with him.

“Were you just flirting with Eddie Munson,” the thought doesn’t tick up because Robin isn’t asking a question, she’s making an accusation.

“He was flirting with me.”

“But you were receptive to it.” She decides correctly and immediately. “Are you gonna go over there?”

Reaching under the counter for the wipes she’s started keeping there, Stevie carefully wipes off the gunk on her hands from the grimy video cases. Taking the time to try to figure out what she even wants to say.

“I’m just trying to survive. He knows who I am, who I was,” she corrects, “I’m not trying to do anything stupid that’s going to jeopardize our escape from Hawkins or being able to protect the kids.”

Pushing up to her tiptoes, Robin takes a quick glance around the store. Even though the room must be empty for her to even risk continuing the track Stevie has started them down, Robin still leans in close enough that she can smell the fruity scent of the gum that Robin always chews after lunch. “Maybe don’t jump to conclusions, you know the kind of rumors that go around about him. Like why he flunked gym twice before he got that doctor’s note, because he wouldn’t dress out with everyone else.”

She’s thinking about the guy who kissed the ring on her hand even when she says, “I think we already know that you can’t trust rumors. If they were all true then I’d be gay but compensating and you’d have gotten fired from the Hawk for letting the film burn because you were having sex in the bathrooms.”

“Part of that is true, I did burn that film reel.” She waves him off with a flap of her hand, stopping the movie on screen as it reaches the credits and tossing it to Stevie to rewind. She snags one off the counter at random and tosses it in the VHS player connected to the main screen. Stevie recognizes the start of Victor/Victoria as Robin leans against the counter in a way that screams she isn’t feeling as casual about the thing she’s about to say as she’s pretending she does. “And I mean, visually, it’s six of one or half-a-dozen of the other, right? You like both.”

“Okay, well,” she’s scrambling for something to say and she knows Robin can tell. “Eddie can just be my Vickie then, how about that?”

Stevie has backed them both into a conversational suicide pact. But she knows Robin well enough to know that she’s too scared to take the Vickie bait. While she’ll glare, and boy does she glare, she’d rather let Stevie get away with the blatant denial than admit she might have a real chance with her fellow bandkid.

“I think I’m gonna add Notre Dame to my application list.” She changes the subject, right on time.

When she’s holding a single VHS tape outside of Eddie Munson’s trailer with her hair carefully styled and her favorite lipgloss on. It’s too late to be wondering if maybe she’d been a little bit too right about calling Eddie her Vickie. The cab of the beemer is looking especially inviting, but she’s been in the Mayfield trailer when people have pulled up to their houses and there’s no way in hell that the Munsons haven’t heard her pull up.

A curtain twitches, like someone inside is aware of her internal debating. She tugs on the sleeve of the soft, colorblock sweater she’s got on, forcing the neck to ride a little lower on one shoulder.

And as the plastic case creaks in her hands she gives in and knocks.

Eddie is breathless when he answers the door, even though she was positive he was the one twitching the curtain just a second ago. He has a hoodie on that matches her out of season sweater.

“I wasn’t expecting you to actually show up,” he says, “I didn’t think to mention that my Uncle is asleep.”

“Oh!” She isn’t sure what else to say, standing on the porch with the news that she wasn’t actually expected.

“I just mean I would have told you to come by after he was awake so we could actually watch the movie.”

She glances back over her shoulder at her waiting car, “So should I-”

“No!” A strong hand closes gently as the friendship bracelet Robin made her around her wrist. “I’m not doing this right. I just mean you’ll have to kill some time in my room with me.”

“That’s some line.”

His eyebrows disappear into his bangs, the faint flustered pink that had been taking over his cheeks blooming into something someone who wasn’t staring intently at his face would notice. With a doglike shake of his head, he says, “This isn’t going the way I thought, hold on back to one.” And the door is shutting in her face.

When it reopens a bare second later, Stevie is sure she must be gaping.

“Hi Stevie, thanks so much for coming and bringing that movie we talked about. My Uncle is asleep in the living room right now, but don’t worry he works nights so he’s a sound sleeper. If you’ve got time, we can hang out in my room for an hour until he gets up and then we can watch it together.”

“Hi Eddie, thanks for giving me the 411 so clearly and without any possibility of confusion. It sure would be embarrassing to think that you hadn’t actually wanted me to come over.”

He pulls her in off of the front porch into a house that has things. After keeping herself awake last night worried that she would accidentally reveal something with her familiarity with the movie or that she wouldn’t be able to stop staring at Eddie. But with the mugs and the caps hung up on the walls, there are hundreds of things to distract herself with while she hangs out with him.

“Wayne’s a semi-professional thrifter.” Eddie tells her, it's hard to know if he's correctly interpreting her awe.

“Is he not good enough to go pro?”

That dimple is back, deep as the quarry dug into the side of his face as he drags her past the man in question, asleep on the pullout couch. “Oh he is, but he's too scared to quit his day job. He prefers to keep it a hobby.”

Before she knows it, she's a girl in a guy's bedroom on what's questionably a date. And according to some of the zines she's been a girl in a guy's bedroom a lot of times, at team overnights and birthday party sleepovers. 

But this feels different right now. Maybe it's the knowing: that there isn't something wrong with her and that she is what she is. Maybe it's the not knowing, does Eddie have expectations for the afternoon? And she doesn't have a clue what he does and doesn't know. 

As her wheels are spinning against the road, trying to grab onto anything to get moving, the babysitter brain kicks in. Instinct the snow chains of the mind, later she'll talk to Robin about whether she should be concerned about that.

“3 inches!” 

Eddie freezes with his hand on the door, more like an inch from latching.

“I, um.” He's looking at her now, and she's scrambling for an explanation that sounds better than ‘I've listened to multiple baby teens complain about this particular prophylactic and now that I'm on the other side of the bedroom maneuver I'm feeling a little inexperienced.’ She just isn't sure how well that would go over.

“The hinges squeak, good call.” He flops down on the bed, beckoning her a little closer. All she can think to do is sit at the edge, it makes her feel prim, too proper and too aware of the way her body fits in this room.

After the silence starts to drag, and she starts to question whether or not she's made a single good decision since November of 1983, Eddie asks, “So, what makes Stevie Harrington tick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Single handedly supporting the social lives of a generous handful of mouthy teenagers via unpaid taxi service, enjoys black and white cinema or at least enjoys this movie enough to risk the wrath of the VHS gods,” he ticks each one off on his fingers as he goes. “What else is there that makes you, you? Do you like piña coladas, getting caught in the rain? You look like you could be into yoga.”

The tension breaks like it had never been there to begin with, she tries to hide her laugh in her hand. The door is open, and Eddie's uncle is sleeping. “Oh my god is that that Jimmy Buffet song?”

“Escape is not a James Buffet number, your majesty, that's Margaritaville. And you're dodging the question.”

He's calmer than she remembers from high school, but still that bright passion he seems to have for everything is too much to look at directed at her. The warmth of him as hard to look at as the noonday sun. “I don't think I'm that interesting,” she casts her gaze around the room instead looking at all the personality that Eddie has shoved into the place in the few years he's lived here.

“I think you're lying.”

His closet is bursting from its boundaries. A sea of black pushing its way out in a waterfall of clothes onto the floor. 

“You think I’m lying about being boring?”

Jeans, shirts for bands she’s never heard of, a skirt.

“Tell me one weird fact about you, and I’ll tell you how you are definitely not boring,” he insists.

Skirts, multiple, now that she's looking she can recognize the shape of them. Is that a heavy metal thing? If she changed her style could she get away with finally wearing one in public.

“When I was a kid, I rode my bike to see 101 Dalmatians in theaters like six times. Then one day I found this fur coat in my mom’s closet and I made her get rid of it because I didn’t want her to be the kind of person who could own fur.”

“An animal activist,” Eddie says, “see, interesting. And proof of my bigger point that you, Stevie, are one of the best Hawkins has to offer. Aren’t you?”

It’s hard to imagine how he got there when she’s mentally rifling through his things, trying to figure out a way to ask about-

“They’re gifts from confused but well meaning long distance relatives.” Eddie explains, done politely ignoring where Stevie’s attention was actually focused. “I was a tomboy as a kid, so when they heard I was a tranny I guess they got confused. I felt bad donating them or throwing them away, made with love.”

That’s probably the bravest thing she’s seen that doesn’t involve flesh eating monsters. Stevie musters up the courage she taps into when fighting those monsters to say, “Me too, opposite direction. Obviously.”

“That would make you the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen then, Stevie Harrington. And definitely still the most interesting.” 

Euphoria, big like soap bubbles, fills her chest. It already feels like she could float away when he asks, “You wanna try one of them on?”

“You wouldn’t care? You just said they were homemade.” She’s already off the bed though, running a thumb over the soft black cotton. Up close she can make out the faintly lighter blacks and greys of a flower pattern. It’s beautiful.

“Well I wasn’t blessed with the gorgeous ass you’ve got, but it should fit just fine.”

She doesn’t have to be told twice, it's off the hanger and clutched in her hands before Eddie’s finished complimenting her. And oh, that sends some of that bubbling joy flooding a little farther south.

That new not revelation is easy to table. Drowned out by the feeling she gets when the skirt swishes around her knees. Light and floaty as cotton fabric. She’s a balloon flying out of some kid's hand disappearing into the clear blue sky.

“What do you think?” She twists and twirls, the long fabric spinning out around her like a princess in a Disney movie.

“Pretty as a picture.”

Her eyes snap up from the swirling black of the skirt, in time to fall down deep into the dark expanse of Eddie’s focused gaze. Hot and heavy on her.

For a second, it throws her back to when she was a kid. Standing on the dock at the camp lake, a pair of dark brown eyes staring at her while her beach towel wrapped around her like a dress. Twisting this way and that, posing with a hand in her hair that had grown longer than she was usually allowed to keep it after a missed summer cut. They’d just climbed out of the water, fingers pruny and faces ruddy from laughing. 

“How do I look?”

“Pretty as a picture!”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

Mouth open, whatever he’s about to say that warrants the way his eyes go soft and nervous is swallowed by an older man’s voice shouting down the hall, “Ed, you and your friend can come out and use the living room. I’m up.”

It’s refreshing, having one more person she can be herself with, fully. Having someone who understands even better than Robin what it feels like to be different. To feel the way she’s always felt. It’s hard to believe he hasn’t been in her life for forever the way he slots into it so easily.

But then maybe Dustin had a point, she has a way of attracting nerds.

And once they’ve found her they latch in and don’t let go. Feral cats every single one of them.

“Just put something on, Stevie, I swear to god.”

Eddie’s where he is most of the time these days, flopped sideways across her bed. Hair hanging off the side in a dark wave. Ratted out as it is it’ll defy gravity for longer than natural when he sits up again. But it looks beautiful now, the way Eddie always does.

“You say that now and then it’s all, ‘did the estrogen break your eardrums? How can you even like Wham?’ and ‘The only good thing Fleetwood Mac ever did was break up.’”

There’s a thump behind her, she doesn’t have to turn to know he’s flailed his way onto the floor. She does turn to see how his hair lifts up from the roots like the bride of Frankenstien. “I did not say that shit about Fleetwood Mac, Rumours is one of the best albums of all time.”

“No, you’ve just defamed everyone else in my record collection.”

 “It can’t be everyone,” he groans, “your entire collection can’t be Wham and Huey Lewis.”

“You’re forgetting Madonna and Blondie, pretty sexist of you Munson.”

“No, the ladies are where your taste shines through. That’s my planned window in, you see,” Stevie turns back to her record shelf, carefully paging through each one while Eddie talks. ABBA, Adams, Benetar, Bowie. “I’m gonna make you a real rock’n’roll mixtape, get you on the right path. Joplin, Heart, The Runaways, Girlschool.”

She lands on the perfect album, tosses it on the table and starts it spinning. It’s not until the jaunty guitar starts bouncing that she realizes what she’s done.

“Shit, sorry, let me set it back. You probably want to listen from the actual beginning of the album.”

“No, no, leave it, it’s fine.” Eddie says in the toneless way she’s noticed he gets when he’s focused. “Do you always skip straight to this track?”

“Yes?” Stevie knows this is one of those times when the answer she’s giving is going to mean something even if she isn't sure what the question hiding under the first is.

“Is there- I mean, is this just your favorite song or do you always start three tracks in on the B-side when I’m not here?” His laugh is weak, and it’s noticeable when everything about Eddie is so sure and strong.

She tugs on a single lock of her hair, twirling it around her finger before tugging. A nervous gesture she’s picked up from Eddie, now that it’s long enough. “There was this kid I went to camp with, first love shit, you know. We lost touch but she called herself my Boy Named Sue all summer. When I got home this was the only song I’d play for months. It’d finish and I’d pick the needle up and put it back at the start for hours. I really hope she’s doing okay now, however okay looks like for her. 

“Anyway, it’s just a force of habit. I can put it back to the start or pick a new album if you’ve got shit to say about the man in black too.”

There’s a dazed sort of reverie on Eddie’s face that he doesn’t snap back from until she moves for the record player. “No, no, play it again. I, um, shit- Okay, so I need you to not be mad at me.”

She doesn’t even need to look to set the track back to its start. Eddie’s got his hand fisted in his hair, pulling at it hard enough that it hurts her scalp, chewing at his bottom lip. Nerves have always made her a little mean. “I’m already feeling a little mad at you, say what you’re going to say.”

“I was going to tell you that first day we were hanging out,” he’s digging around in his back pocket for his wallet like it isn’t on a leash he could tug on like a dog, “we were sharing these mutual coming out moments and I thought, ‘now’s the time I’ll tell Stevie, everything is going to be great.’ Only Wayne woke up and ruined the moment and the longer we kept hanging out the harder it was to bring up again.”

“Just spit it out already.”

The photo insert hits her in the chest. Fumbling, she bats at it between her two hands before she’s able to get a firm catch. Raising both her eyebrows in a question Eddie barely answers with a wave of his hand. Even as she rolls her eyes, she looks down at the photo in her hands. A larger picture, carefully folded so that two kids are at the center. She recognizes the picture, has a copy of it in a shoebox in the back of her closet where she keeps all the tiny precious things she doesn’t want her mom to throw away when she starts decluttering. A picture of everyone who made it to the last day of summer camp, and now made center of this one is a ten year old Stevie with her arm flung tight around… Around Eddie.

“Surprise,” he says.

“You're? And you've been?”

“We moved right after that summer, I’ve told you the kind of guy my dad was. Not like evil or anything, just incapable of keeping his nose clean and he’d gotten into some trouble in Fort Wayne that sent us to Indianapolis for a bit. When I tried to write, I realized I’d either lost your address or it’d been thrown away.”

“What about when you got to Hawkins, with Wayne?”

“My voice still cracked when I got nervous, and you’ve always been the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And it wasn’t like I looked the same way I did when we were kids, and at first you didn’t either.” She remembers the way she styled her hair back then, the tragic mustache she’d tried growing freshman year cause maybe that would make her feel the way everyone else said she was supposed to. “You looked muted, sad. But then I saw you laughing, at an FFA party I was dealing at, and when you tossed your head back I finally saw Stevie again.

“And when Henderson started coming around talking about his best friend Stevie. Stevie, who was the coolest person in the world. Who kept taking on all the worst parts of the world to keep people safe. And I latched on to him as hard as I could hoping I might get to see you again. If it was puppy love when we were ten, I've got a whole dog pound now I'm so in love with you. Maybe that's crazy to say.”

She can't listen anymore.

“Eddie, stop.” Before he can shut himself down, shutter closed and make his excuse to leave, she lets her own confessions tumble out faster than she can think of what she even wants to say, “You have made me feel more like myself since we first met.”

Her skirt, a deep plum and stolen from Eddie's collection, gets tangled around her ankles as she knee walks close enough that she can touch him. “You've given me confidence and clothes and a name.”

“I added an -ie, Sweetheart.”

“And I like it! It feels like me. I feel like me, and you helped me get there.

“Maybe it is too early to say things like I love you, but I loved the boy who refused to make friendship bracelets for anyone else at camp but me and now he's just promised me a mixtape.”

Stevie knows she could go even longer, could give a Shakespeare worthy speech about all the ways she likes Eddie Munson and what he has come to mean to her as the summer love she cherished in her heart and now. She could, but it's swallowed by the press of Eddie's mouth against hers. An ugly, spitty, puckered lip, perfect first kiss.

She gently corrects the motion until the kiss becomes something sweet and gentle. The kind she'd been hoping for when she'd gone back to camp that following summer. Something that belonged to sunscreened skin and freckled faces. Soft, innocent. But felt just as right here in the bedroom she’d grown up in with Johnny Cash on the stereo and the scent of the perfume she was trying out hanging in the air.

Eddie pulls away, moving just far enough to lean his forehead against hers, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck. She can feel each slow exhale against her mouth. “I’m really glad I found you again.”

“I’m really glad you found me too.”

[feralkat]

A commission for @fleshkink who gave me the super fun prompt of a trans guy going through a rapid pregnancy and giving birth to triplets. This is also posted on AO3 and I'll have the link for that in my pinned post on my blog.

If anyone enjoys this and is able to, tips are hella appreciated since money is super tight right now or if you'd like to commission me go ahead and send a DM and we can work things out!

The Rule of Three

Word Count: 2.2k

Characters Used: Kieran (transmasc OC) & Max (cis-male OC)

WARNINGS: rapid pregnancy, triplet birth, trans character giving birth, orgasmic birth. Also - I do use AFAB terms to describe the characters' genitalia so please be aware of that.

If it weren't already obvious, this is a birth/labor fetish fic so if you are a minor or not into that then DO NOT INTERACT. You have been warned.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Um..." Kieran mumbled into the phone, all words suddenly out of reach as he scoured his brain to find a way to tell his husband what was happening. "So... you - uh - you know how I suggested trying a - um - a fertility spell?" he stammered, staring down at his steadily growing stomach as it continued to swell.

"Yeah, I remember," Max said, suspicion clear in his tone. "I also remember us agreeing that those were too unpredictable and not worth the risk," he added.

Kieran sucked in a sharp breath as a baby landed a kick right to his ribs before he was able to respond. "Mmhmm, well... Maybe I decided to try one," he replied timidly, rubbing his free hand over his swollen stomach in an attempt to calm down the rapidly growing baby inside.

"Kieran."

The way Max growled his name said everything and, honestly, Kieran couldn't blame his husband for being upset. They had agreed not to use magic to conceive which is exactly what Kieran did.

"Yeah, um, so I think we're going to be parents a lot sooner than we expected," Kieran mumbled, he already looked like he was overdue with a huge baby (or two) and he assumed it couldn't be long before labor started.

"What do you mean by 'a lot sooner'?" Max questioned, apprehension clear in his voice.

A small, involuntary whimper left Kieran's throat as his whole midsection tensed, the cramp wrapping around his back and thighs. "T-Today? Maybe?" he answered tightly, having no idea if the labor would progress just as quickly.

"Today?! Shit, Kieran, I - fucking hell - I've gotta go. Love you."

Click.

For a few long moments, Kieran just sat there on the couch trying to process everything that just happened. Honestly, the only thing keeping him from completely losing it being the quick 'love you' that Max added before hanging up.

"Ah!" Kieran gasped as a gush of fluid left him, soaking his underwear and the couch cushion underneath him. "Okay, okay, okay," he mumbled to himself, taking a couple of deep breaths in a feeble attempt to calm himself before he tried to get up.

It was difficult with the sudden heavy weight of his stomach and it took Kieran several tries before he finally managed to stand up.

He managed to take a few slow, unsteady steps before another contraction stopped him. Luckily, they weren't too bad yet so he was able to breathe through it before continuing to waddle to the bathroom to clean himself up - resolutely ignoring the pressure growing between his hips.

It was all going so fast and Kieran was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was even pregnant already - let alone about to give birth.

And he had no idea what Max was doing - if he was going to come home early from work or not - but he had a feeling that calling him again wouldn't help things.

Kieran peeled his soaked briefs off of himself once he got to the bathroom before stripping off his T-shirt, which had rolled up a while ago to sit on top of his large, rounded stomach. Not even a minute after stripping down, Kieran found himself leaning against the sink counter as another - stronger - contraction started.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," he muttered through gritted teeth, the pressure between his hips slowly working its way down until it felt like a bowling ball had wedged itself into his pelvis.

There was just enough time between contractions for Kieran to start up the shower and step into the tub, but that one - along with the general added weight of his stomach - sent him to his knees.

This time he couldn't help but bear down a little against the increasingly intense pressure, a strangled groan coming from him that was equal parts pain and relief just from being able to push back against the pressure.

Reaching down with a shaking hand once the contraction was over, Kieran managed to slip two fingers into his vagina, wanting to see if he could figure out how dilated he was. Just the slight stretch of his fingers sent arousal burning through his veins, his cunt still sensitive from the night before along with all the different hormones coursing through his body right now. "Oh," he moaned, hole twitching and clenching around his fingers as the tips of them found his cervix.

It had to be something with the spell because Kieran was sure his cervix usually wasn't that intensely sensitive but right now? Fuck, Kieran almost couldn't keep his mind on track as he slowly spread his fingers.

Honestly unsure how to actually measure cervical dilation, Kieran could only guess that he had to be close to 10cm with how far apart he was able to spread his fingertips and the fact that he was almost certain he had brushed against the baby's head at one point.

Apparently, the pregnancy wasn't the only thing that was going to happen rapidly.

Kieran hardly pulled his fingers out of himself when his abdomen tensed again. "Oh God," he groaned, leaning forward against the edge of the tub and instinctively rocking his hips as the contraction built.

Again, he couldn't help but bear down as it got more intense and he swore he could feel a hard, heavy mass pressing against his cervix and forcing it to stretch even further. It was equally uncomfortable as it was oddly pleasurable and Kieran's head swam with the conflicting sensations.

That continued for a while, Kieran choosing to stay in the tub and let the warm shower water flow over his aching back as he worked through contraction after contraction.

It was all he could do, bearing down with each one and trying his best to ignore the heat flooding through his veins and the way his big, swollen clit throbbed between his legs every time.

There was no telling how much time had passed before Kieran, in the middle of a contraction, realized the pressure was moving lower and his cunt felt like it was filled to its limits by the time the contraction was over. "Fuck, oh fuck - it's coming," he whimpered to himself as another contraction started almost immediately after.

As he pushed, panting and moaning and grunting, he could feel his labia bulge and start to part. Everything hyper-sensitive in both the best and worst ways, clit throbbing as the skin under and around it pulled taught.

"Oh, oh, ohhhh - Ah!" Kieran cried out as all the sensations became too much all at once and he was pushed over into what had to be the best orgasm he's ever had. "OhmyGod, o-oh, oh God, ahh, fuckfuckfuck," Kieran whined, hips moving in small circles as he panted and cursed because fuck the baby was at a full crown and it was the best thing he has ever felt in his life.

That had to be thanks to the spell but by now Kieran wasn't really complaining about being stuck in orgasmic bliss as he goes through what is usually one of the most painful things a person can.

The sound of the front door opening broke him partially out of it, realizing that Max must have come home.

"Max!" Kieran cried out, sitting up carefully on his heels and gasping as the baby's head slid out just a tiny bit more from the movement. "Ohhh," he moaned as his stomach tightened in a contraction. "Max!" he shouted again, words strangled as he had no choice but to push, "Max, it's coming! It - Ahh!"

Kieran nearly screamed as the rest of the head popped out all at once, a gush of fluid and immense release of pressure coming with it that sent Kieran into a second, even more intense, orgasm which left him writhing and shaking until Max came in.

"Holy fucking Hell, Kie," Max's gruff voice exclaimed as he quickly knelt to the floor in front of Kieran. "Shit - lean back, babe, I can't see anything like this."

Unable to reply, Kieran just carefully leaned back against the other side of the tub. The change of angle made it so Max could see everything going on between his spread thighs, the baby slowly turning in preparation for the shoulders to come out.

"Okay - okayokayokay - M-Max, catch - catch it," Kieran stammered out as he felt one last contraction start, gritting his teeth and pushing as hard as he could.

Max was saying something to hm but Kieran barely heard him as his clit twitched and throbbed hard in response to the first shoulder making its way through.

All Kieran could do after that was sob through the rest of the contraction as his whole body pulsed with pleasure. He barely even realized when the baby slid the rest of the way out into Max's hands with another gush of fluid.

Panting hard as he came down from it all, Kieran collapsed against the tub and worked on catching his breath.

Once he managed to open his eyes a few seconds later, he found Max holding the newborn as it started to squirm and cry.

"Hey there," Max mumbled to the baby before grey eyes flicked up to look at Kieran. "Here, you hold her and I'll round up some supplies to deal with the rest of this," he said as he leaned over to put the fussing baby in Kieran's arms.

That's when it fully hit Kieran that holy fuck - he just gave birth despite not having even been pregnant yesterday.

It was the most surreal, unbelievable thing Kieran has ever experienced and he knew he and Max would have some things to talk about but, in the moment, Kieran couldn't stop smiling as he gently cooed at the infant to calm her down.

By the time Max had come back, cut the umbilical cord, and helped clean off and bundle up the infant, Kieran was starting to feel some cramps starting up again.

He could only assume it was the afterbirth even though his stomach was still quite swollen.

"Oh," Kieran whined, rocking his hips a little as pressure started to build. "H-Hey, Max," he muttered, grunting softly as his body instinctually gave a small push and that pressure increased tenfold. "Fuck," Kieran gritted out, unable to help but bear down against it and feeling the undeniable sensation of something big moving slowly through his cervix.

"What's wrong, Kie?" Max asked, taking his eyes off of their daughter to look over at Kieran again.

Panting as the contraction ended, Kieran looked down at his stomach and back up at Max. "I-I think... there's another - um - baby," he stammered. "Can you look?"

"Are you serious? Fuck," Max swore, "Hold on. Let me figure out where to put the kid down."

"Kay," Kieran squeaked out as another contraction began and he was forced to push whether he wanted to or not.

It was such a strange sensation, too. His cunt unbelievably sore from the first baby but still so intensely sensitive. It felt just as good as it hurt when he pushed.

At least until his abused labia started to bulge out and Kieran lost his momentum with the sudden burn. "Ahh!" he cried out, a hand flying between his thighs to press against his lips and hole. "M-Max," he whimpered shakily, panting and grunting as he gave a series of smaller pushes to try to make the stretch more manageable. "O-Oh God, Max, i-it's coming," he sobbed, lips bulging out more and more with each little push.

"I know, Kie, just breathe, I-"

"N-No, it's - fuck - it's coming now," Kieran managed to stammer as another contraction started and he was bearing down again with no hope to stop.

And fuck it was both the worst and best thing Kieran's ever felt, the intense burn of the head crowning coupled with Kieran subconsciously rubbing the heel of his hand against his throbbing, swollen clit.

There was no stopping it now, either, everything happening in mere seconds as the baby's head popped out and Kieran screamed in a mix of pain and pleasure as another orgasm washed over him even as the contraction continued.

"Max!" Kieran cried out, feeling the baby's shoulders stretching him and knowing it would only be seconds before the rest was born.

And Max was just a little too slow, Kieran barely managing to catch the second baby as it came out with a gush of fluid. 

The couple sat in shocked silence - save for the two newborns fussing - for a few long moments while they came to terms with the fact that they suddenly had not only one surprise baby but two.

Anyway, that had to be all there was. Kieran’s stomach was still a bit swollen even after delivering the placenta but, despite the pregnancy happening all in one day, it would probably take a little while for Kieran’s body to recover and that was completely fine.

Except…

Kieran had just enough time to clean himself up, get into some comfy clothes, and have Max help him into bed to rest when his abdomen tightened in a very familiar way.

Max was in the other room with their two newest additions, trying to figure out how to get what they’d need for their surprise twins without having to leave Kieran alone in case something went wrong. 

It was a good thing Max stuck around, too, when Kieran suddenly yelled for him. 

By the time Max got into the bedroom, he was greeted with the sight of Kieran laying on his side, pants halfway off, and one leg pulled up to make way for the third baby that was starting to crown. 

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

maybe like a

daryl x reader but he finds her really drunk in (alexrandia)

or finding reader in the woods (meeting her for the first time) and she’s really hurt and he practically saves her

Happy Monday Everyone! Sorry I am taking so long to get to these writing prompts that I ask you all to send my way. I am so appreciated of each and ever one of them, that I want to give each one time to create something special, or at least passable.

I hope @dreamtofus I did you justice in your ask, I really had a lot of fun writing a Daryl x Reader, it was my first, but hopefully not my last. I know I still need to work on getting the 'voice' of Daryl down, but for a first attempt, I don't think it's too bad.

Please let me know what you think, reblog, likes are always welcome. This story is my own, so please don't steal it. All mistakes, typo are mine, I do apologize. I do a few rounds of edits, but things just slip through, so be kind when passing judgement.

Details:

Daryl x Reader, told mainly from the reader POV, but we do get a small POV of Daryl. A flashback is had, some pop culture references, not sent in an particular timeline of the show. Seeing how the reader meets Daryl for the first time, how he saves her not once but twice, and the reader letting her guard down around Daryl.

Ment to be a one shot, but if you all like it enough, I could be persawded to write more, with these two.

Triger warnings: nothing really, its sweet, angst.

Word count: 2,000+

You knew never to go out this late in the day for anything, even a ‘simple’ supply run would never be done this late; you should have just waited until tomorrow. But No, you have to prove something to yourself? No, you knew you had survived this long, almost two years now, in this fire burning world. Your smarts, being a country/farm kid growing up, and your love of reading anything you could get your hands on help you survive this long. 

So, you need to prove something to the members of this group that found you a few weeks ago and brought you into their community? Maybe, you're sure they are still assessing you, and seeing if you're worth the trouble of being another mouth to feed and another body to protect. 

The leader, Rick, seems nice, standoffish, but also a protector that if you do get to stay with them, would be loyal and a big brother figure for you. Maggie, is also in that camp of big sister energy that would kick anyone’s ass for you. 

No, if you were to put money on who in the group is still questioning if they should take you in or not, that would be the redneck hunter Daryl. 

Daryl was the one that came across you while you were scavenging an abandoned drug store just a few miles south from where the group’s camp was. He was the one that held a crossbow aimed at your back, telling you to drop the antibiotics that there was a baby in his camp that needed it more than you. 

Flashback

“Don’t make me say it again, drop the drugs.” A gruff, gravelly voice, from behind you, fills the silence of the space, and makes you freeze like a deer in headlights.

Getting up from your crouch position, you slowly turn, with the bottle of pills in your hand. Sweat from the fever you're currently trying to shake and not the Georgia heat drips down your face. If you hadn’t already heard him speak, you would have thought you were seeing things. There standing in front of you is a man, dressed all in black, his dark brown hair long and slightly covering one side of his face, while the other side is slightly covered by the crossbow that is currently aimed at you. His lean but muscular frame in a stance that screams hunter, his tone arms never wavering, so you know that he will wait you out, he has the discipline to do so.

“Fuck…I can’t…” you reply desperation, and exhaustion taking over. You know that you should be scare, you should be worried that he’s going to let go of the trigger, and put you out of your misery, but, you can’t give a fuck at this point. 

“Will you at least aim for the head, if you're going to kill me.” You quip leaning on the shelving next to you, feeling yourself get weaker.

This seems to throw off the mystery man, as he hesitates for a second, “what?” he questions, not lowering his bow, but moving his finger from the trigger.

Grabbing something from your back pocket, a purple bandana, you wipe the sweat from your forehead. “Look, I can’t come back as one of the dead.” your voice ragged. “You could give me at least that courtesy. Because otherwise, I will find you, and eat you.” You joke, giving your best Lim Nelson voice at the end. 

The mystery man doesn't seem to get the reference to that line, as he gives no reaction to the idea that you, as a walker, could somehow find him on purpose and eat him. 

“It's a joke…it's from…never mind.” You toss the bottle of pills towards him, and slide down to the floor and wait for either the exhaustion, fever, or this mystery man to take you.

Your mind is fuzzy, and either this guy will leave you alone or not. With your eyes closed, you can hear the rustle of him putting the bottle in his bag, and then the sound of him coming over the counter and towards you. His footsteps stop and you can feel him staring down at you. “What?” Uou question, keeping your eyes closed. 

“Whatcha doing?” he questions. “you bit?”

“Waiting for a bus, what does it look like? I am sick you ass, and I am exhausted.” Your frustration taking over. You open your eyes to find him crouching down and bringing a hand up to your forehead, “What the hell, dude!” You slap his hand from you and push yourself up and back from him, scattering bottles around you. “Just leave, you got what you wanted.”

“You didn’t answer me, are you bit?” He grumbles back, harsher this time, with authority. Annoyance is now apparent, and his blue eyes that are staring at you seem to bore into your soul.

“No, I am not bit, just sick. With the quick change in weather we had, my body...why am I explaining this to you….” you start and stop yourself from going into detail about how back when the world was somewhat ‘normal’ any drastic change in the weather always sent you into a quick cold for a few days.

Ringing out your bandana, you run it over your face and down your neck. What you wouldn’t give for some cold water, a nice cool lake to dive into. Your mind drifting to the fantasy of cooling waters is cut short when your bandana is taken from you and quickly replaced with a cool wet red one.

“What the…'' you're about to protest, when the feeling of the cool water hitting your skin shuts you up. You see him, pouring a bit more water on the rag and running it down your bare arms.

He doesn’t say anything, after wiping both your arms, he gets the rag wet again with cold water and hands it to you, “take it.”

You do, and wipe your face and then cover your forehead with it. You close your eyes and let the cool water seep through your pores, it's something, it won’t cure you, but it's something for now.

“Here.” His voice brings you back, and you open your eyes to see him holding out some of the pills and his water jug. 

Your hestent, wondering why he’s being so nice now? He keeps his hand out for you to take the items, and after another second of thinking you finally do. Swallowing the pills and taking the smallest of drinks, no need to piss him off by downing his water, you hand back the jug. “Thanks.” You mumble. 

He nods, and is about to speak when another voice from the other side of the counter breaks the slice, “Daryl, you in here?” 

Present 

You would soon come to find out and meet Rick Grimes, the man attached to that voice, and after seeing you in the state you were in that day, and asking himself if you were bit. Would then ask if you wanted to come with them and join their group.

Now here you were, somehow stuck back in that same drug store just a few miles from camp. Nighttime has settled in, and you can’t leave, with the horde of walkers outside, too many to kill on your own. Even if you could somehow make a path through, you know yourself, and your fighting abilities, you were good, but not that good.

Luckily the doors were still in good shape, and the horde didn’t know you were in the store, so they were just passing by. This has been going on for 20 minutes, and it didn’t look like they were going away anytime soon.

You had checked the backdoor, but it must be barcade on the outside, so here you sit, with your back against the wall, behind that same counter, waiting for the time pass, and hoping no one from the group notices that you're gone and starts to worry.

Running through your interactions with everyone earlier, you don’t think anyone would have seen you slip out, and you never told anyone of your plan, so you should be good, you try and reassure yourself. Stacking up the discarded bottles again in a precarious tower, what else is there to do?

“What are you doing?” a voice, gruff, deep, deadpan startles you and the tower tumbles down.

“Shit!” you yell, looking up you see Daryl leaning over the counter looking down at you. “How did you….” you start to question. Wondering how he found you? Why was he here? and how did he get in?

He strums his fingers on the counter, as if he can read your thoughts, “I saw you slip out from the gates after dinner. Waited for a bit, but when it was getting dusk and you weren’t back, figure I go out and find you.”

“So you tracked me like what...a dear?” You question, not sure if you should be flattered or creeped out by it.

“No…a dear would have been a bit more of a challenge, you were easy to find.” He jokes, and gives you a quick smile, to your glare and giving him the finger.

“Ha,ha,” you quip. getting up, you walk over to the counter, “how did you get in? sounds like that horde of walkers are still out there?” You question, looking over his shoulder, you can just barely make out the crowd still moving.

He looks towards the doors and then back to you. “AC unit on the roof, the air return drops down in the office on the other side of the store.”

“Well aren’t you just the MacGyver of the post-apocalyptic world?” You tease. He cocks his head, giving you a questionable look at your reference. Letting a sigh, “Sersious, dude, what did you watch as a kid? or did you not have a tv?”

“Come on.” He brushes off your comments, and motions for you to follow him. “What were you thinking of doing a run this late?” He questions, waiting for you to grab your gear and walk over to him.

Shit, you were hoping not to have to tell anyone why you went on this run. There was a reason you went on your own, and Daryl, especially telling Daryl was not on your list of something you wanted to do. “Umm…it's nothing….stupid really…” you start and stop yourself, wishing he would take pity on you and drop it.

Daryl wasn’t going to let you off with that answer. After all he did come and risk his ass in saving you. Even though it wasn’t a big risk for him, he knew he could find you, and get you back to camp in one piece, but still, he wants an explanation. Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, he is not moving until you start talking. “Come on, out with it.”

You let out a sigh, “Fine” you say, and start digging in your bag, “this.” You state and pull out your purple bandana. 

Daryl knew that was yours the moment he saw you pull it out of the bag. He remembered it, taking a corner of it in his hands, the fabric ruff from the dried water/sweat. “You came back for this?” He questions, wondering why risking your neck for a piece of fabric was so important.

Slightly embarrassed, taking Daryl’s tone as stupidity or bewilderment, you pull back the bandana from his fingers and stuff it back in the bag. “Look, I said it was stupid, okay, lets just drop this and go.” You quip, feeling your cheeks start to go red of embarrassment. You start to head towards the office.

The feel of Daryl’s hand on your wrist, stops you from taking any more steps from him. “Don’t walk away from me.” His voice is commanding, but not in a harsh mean way.

The feel of his callus hands in your slightly worked but not as worked as his send a shiver up your spine. You’ve only known him for a few weeks now, and most of that time you were coming down from a cold. So why was the feel of his skin next to yours, him coming to find you, and the thoughts of him judging you make your head spin and your heart slightly race. “You're going to think it's stupid” you mumble, keeping your eyes and body away from him.

“Try me.” He replies, letting you keep your eyes off him, but still holding you in place.

You let out a breath, “it was my dad’s, or at least one of them. He was a mechanic before the world fell, and he always had a bandana in his back pocket. This was my favorite color.” Your voice slightly cracks at the end. thinking about your dad, your family, life before the world was on fire, it hurts too much. You feel the tears start to slightly fall. “He was gone before…”

Pulling you back and into his arms, laying your head on his chest, Daryl says nothing. He wraps his arms around you, surrounding you in a cocoon of him. The feel of him, his strength around allows you to let go. Sobbing, cries that you have been holding in for so long let go, and pour out of you and into his chest. He’s silent, running a hand up and down your back in comfort.

You're not sure how long, but when you feel there is nothing left you pull back to see the tear stain circles on his black shirt. “I am sorry.” Your voice shakes, bringing a hand up to wipe your face. 

Daryl takes his red bandana out from his back pocket, and wipes your cheeks. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He replies. Gentle wipe away the last tear from your jaw. He knows what it's like to lose your family, to be on your own. He wants to tell her he understands that she shouldn't be embarrassed by wanting to hold onto a piece of her past. He gets it, in more ways then she will ever know.

But now is not the time. Whatever he’s feeling for her, whatever he thinks could happen between them, the reality is, that it won’t. This pull that she has on him, it will pass, it has too. Stuffing the red bandana back into his pocket, and his feelings aside. He lets go of his hold on her and starts walking towards the office.

[no-m4gic]

Hi! I'm the anom who asked for the autistic reader and I loved your writing! So may I request the same THH characters but with a reader who's try to be the sunshine in their lives (example: help Chihiro to be himself), but is secretly depressed and hide It from them cause reader doesn't want to seem fragile?

Sorry If Is complex XD thx!

i have limited free time so i know im probably never gonna complete (another) request(s) today. also i discovered i have no idea how to write for hifumi and yasuhiro, so i'm gonna blacklist them and replace them with mukuro. felt like this request seemed like a good prompt for nagito and also i feel like i could replace ishimaru's one with komaeda's as an apology.

sorry if you wanted the girls too, i'll get on them as soon as i finish my work- i didn't have enough time to write for them. i'll write for ishimaru, too. sorry for missing a lot of characters!

p.s thanks guys for your support !! i appreciate it sm <33

that's a long title 😨

the tags are such a PAIN

~ mod sitaya

THH CHARACTERS W/ AN S/O WHO IS THEIR SUNSHINE BUT IS SECRETLY DEPRESSED

BYAKUYA TOGAMI

"damnit s/o, why didn't you tell me earlier? you know i wouldn't judge you."

money = happiness to him, so he wouldn't fully understand your pain. he'll still support you though, if you need anything he'll send one of his workers to get it for you.

i mean if you were gone, yeah, he'd definitely be upset, so whenever he couldn't understand, he'll just imagine how he'll be like if you died or something.

he'll hire a personal therapist for you, unless you want him to be your therapist... which trust me, he is not good at.

bro can't even comfort anyone without making them cry more.

since he can't comfort someone psychologically, he'll comfort them physically, though he'll only show displays of affection at home or when you guys are alone, n e v e r in public.

honestly at this point, he won't give a shit if you stain his rich people clothes with your tears, he can buy the same new clothes again.

he's not that desperate, but can you imagine byakuya singing his s/o a lullaby?

not really, but he'll tuck you into bed himself personally if you fall asleep while sobbing your eyes out.

if you don't, he'll ask if you wanna fly out of japan for awhile, on his rich people private jet.

it's the least he could do to repay you for helping him during his dark times.

MAKOTO NAEGI

"s/o. how could you hide this from me? did you think i was going to criticize you...?"

he wouldn't ask the million questions running through his head first, he'd hold you first.

you come before anything.

he'll hold you for as long as you'd like, letting you cry in his shoulder while he rubs your back and pats your head.

since you helped him show the others he isn't an 'omega male' and also chased everyone who bullied him away, he'll return the favor.

he'll tell the teacher that you weren't feeling well and needed some time to rest in your room.

also he'll bring you your homework so you don't have to get it yourself and do tons of paperwork at once after coming back.

you don't need a therapist, you have naegi tell them as your therapist.

he'll listen to you go on for the entire day, and if you need to break down, you can jump into his arms and break down, using his shirt as a handkerchief.

MONDO OOWADA

"damnit... who did this s/o?!"

honestly he might just break down too.

but then he'll tell himself he's gotta be a man, with balls in front of his s/o.

he'll put his coat around you and hug you, telling you that it's alright and you can let everything out.

you can take that in any way.

he feels really guilty whenever he has to leave you for training or a competition.

but he'll always come back with a gift and your favorite takeout.

if you ever wanna cuddle, go find him. he'll be more than happy to have a reason to hold you.

daily compliments whenever you two meet up.

CHIHIRO FUJISAKI

"s/o, it's okay. you're not hopeless, you're filled with hope, you still have so much more potential,"

he'll offer to accompany you to do some activities to keep your mind distracted and also to cheer you up.

something maybe like styling your hair and making it look ridiculous by putting tons of bright, glittery accessories on your hair.

he'd ask if sharing his own insecurities would help, maybe just so you know he has other countless insecurities than just him fearing showing the others he's a guy.

if making your hair look worse than junko's didn't cheer you up, chihiro would make up some stupid games like hop like a bunny into mondo's room or sing one of sayaka's songs outside makoto's room while he's showering.

speaking of sayaka's songs, he'll blast all her upbeat pop songs in the room and you two can dance your heart out.

LEON KUWATA

"i figured. now come here i'm gonna cuddle your sadness away!"

leon would definitely try to remain positive

the only good side would be that he could skip his daily weekday baseball training, since y'know he likes hates baseball.

but no, really, he'd have NO idea on how to comfort someone properly.

he'd ask what he could do to make you feel better.

as well as bring you out to get ice cream.

while you guys are out you may or may not encounter celestia's cat wandering around aimlessly... and bring it back to leon's room.

obviously you guys return her, maybe style her a little, watch leon get scratched by her and so on.

overall at least you recovered quickly and now everyone can see you smile again <3

BONUS ;; NAGITO KOMAEDA

NAGITO KOMAEDA

"oh s/o. you didn't have to hide it from me, hopeless trash like me don't have the right to judge hopeful people like you,"

well now it was his turn to have his clothes stained with tears.

countless outfits of yours have been stained with his tears, because whenever you'd return late (which was always) he'd think you left him or something, and the closest thing he has to you are your clothes.

he's clingy.

and he'll become clingier.

everywhere you go he'll follow you like a lost puppy.

lost puppy literally. he won't just follow you, he'll beg for your attention.

anyway... back to you, once you even mention you were upset he'd pull you into a tight hug.

imagine how long that tight hug would be with depressed.

verrrrrry verrry long.

he'd wish he didn't have to let go of you.

and he wouldn't. you'd have to literally wait for him to fall asleep just to work your way out his arms.

he'll shower you in compliments and bless you with encouragements.

if you wanted he could ask gundham for a cat or dog or something, or he'd blackmail gundham just to "borrow" the four dark devas of destruction for like 10 minutes before giving them back even though nagito would lie and say they'd forever be gone.

you want, he buy. literally, you just have to say "i want this" and you'll have it.

no more despair only hope.

IM SORRY ITS MISSING SO MANY CHARACTERS ANON 😭

[frikatilhi]

Jere keeps asking/informing Bojan about his OF ideas, sending different pictures and videos to get opinion if this is still fine or already too much. Meanwhile Bojan is sweating, jumping at every message ping and checking them while hidden in a corner, to the point that it pisses off everyone else in the studio. He can't say not to send them to Jere but can't ignore them either because the phone is burning a hole in his pocket.

Anon, I think you just wrote your own fic, this is perfect.

I got several prompts about Bojan's reaction to the OF, so here's a little something about that.

Bojan can’t believe it has come to this.

It used to be that musicians would make a living selling records and performing live. Nowadays you need to sell tons of merch to even break even, have an online presence and be accessible to your fans and be relatable and funny and flirt with your bandmates to keep them guessing and keep generating fucking content, all the time.

But he wasn’t aware that the hustle included Onlyfans now too, apparently.

Bojan can appreciate Jere trying to make the most of his success and fame. He has clearly done some Scarlett O’Hara type “I shall never go hungry again!” pact with himself, determined to strike while the iron is hot, and make up for his meager earnings by any means possible.

It is none of his business how Jere chooses to make his money. If posting cheeky little skits with Häärijä is going to make people throw their money at him, who is he to judge.

So there really is no problem for Bojan. 

The only problem is that he is lying awake, 1 am Slovenian time on December 1st, knowing full well that the first post of the calendar has been live for two hours.

It’s probably nothing too risque, anyway, he reasons. He has watched those two idiots film their stupid skits enough times to know that they like to joke around, shitposting their way through life. It’s probably just them in santa hats doing… the stuff they always do. Maybe a little suggestive, but nothing actually pornographic. 

But also, knowing those two, knowing what they truly are capable of, he wouldn’t put anything past them.

So of course he is curious. Who wouldn’t be?

He can’t just ask Jere. He just can’t. He’s been trying for days to craft a message that would convey the exact joking, teasing nonchalance that would make Jere share the stuff with him without him asking directly. But everything he comes up with is too transparent. Asking Jere would mean admitting that he wants to know. And Jere can’t know how much he wants to know. 

He also can’t join Onlyfans. He just can’t. Because that would mean… Too many things. Things Bojan is really not ready to prod or poke at.

It would also be totally icky. Watching Jere in… situations without him knowing that Bojan is watching, even though he is clearly okay with anyone and everyone seeing it, feels somehow wrong. If he can’t man up and talk to Jere and tell him how much he wants to see him naked, what right does he have to sneak around and pay money for it?

But also, he really, really wants to see what’s there.

So you can see his dilemma.

He holds off for two days. But then the online reaction to the newest one reaches him, and he sees a mention of the socks. It is the opening he needs. He taps a text.

me Watafak is this I hear about Joker Out socks making an appearance on OF???

Jere Did you like it?

me I haven’t seen it jesus christ

Jere No just us, Käärijä and Häärijä 😝

Jere You not subscribe? 😥

me Wtf you mean, of course not ☠️

Jere Bojan poor 🙁 🙁 

Jere Wait

In a minute, Bojan’s phone dings as a sign of a new email. The pop-up notification shows the beginning of the subject line:. You have been gifted a subscription to–

me You didn’t.

Jere This one on me! 😊

Jere And Boju…

Jere Tell me what you think after you watch 🤭😘😉

*

(okay sorry for ending it there, I know you wanted his reaction to the actual videos, but I don’t think I have it in me to write about him looking at those apron strings hanging between his buttocks and him imagining picking them up with his teeth, I am already hanging by a thread here)

[free-for-all-fics]

Romeo and Juliet Prompts! These are written with the Hungarian musical production in mind, (seriously it slaps and it slaps hard. It’s so dark, gothic, and sexy.) but I guess any adaptation of the play could work. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these ideas and I’d love to read it! 🎭🧡

1. You’re Mercutio’s best friend and are secretly in love with his uncle, Prince Escalus. You know you shouldn’t be and your love is unrequited. He’s so much older than you, and he’s too great and too high above you. He’s a Prince and the leader of Verona, while you’re just a commoner of low birth who comes from nothing. You’re not a woman of noble blood nor do you come from a family of status like the Montagues or Capulets. In your late teens and still unmarried, you’re considered an old maid and undesirable to most men. One or both of your parents may be dead already and you’ve been managing on your own. You’ve only shared a few words with the Prince while visiting Mercutio. His position is an important one and he’s always so busy; Verona is a demanding city to watch over so you doubt he’s ever really noticed you.

You thought you were being discreet and hiding your love for the Prince well, but Mercutio is an observant man. He’s known for years of your love for his uncle, and is sick and tired of watching you pine for him. He encourages you to stop skirting around and finally do something about it. Just walk into Escalus’ study and confess your feelings for him. Mercutio is stubborn and won’t let you leave or run away until you tell his uncle you love him. If he rejects you, at least you’ll know for sure and can move on with your life. You’re terrified you’ll only make a fool of yourself, but Mercutio has a feeling his uncle won’t deny you. The sooner you can start courting officially, the better. Mercutio jokes that at the speed you and his uncle have been going, he’ll be dead before you marry. After his untimely murder by Tybalt, you and Escalus are both deep in grief. You finally decide to marry, posthumously fulfilling Mercutio’s wish.

2. You’re Prince Escalus’ illegitimate daughter, but you’re still able to live comfortably and later achieve a measure of social standing due to your father’s noble blood. You may be a bastard, but you’re the daughter and so far only child to the Prince of Verona, which is nothing to scoff at. When your mother first came to Prince Escalus with news she was with his child, he wasn’t so sure if you were actually of his blood. Due to his demanding position as Prince, they hardly saw each other beyond sharing his bed. For all he knew, your mother could’ve been lying and trying to pass off another man’s child as his for some sort of monetary compensation or other personal gain.

But the moment you were born further confirmed you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but his - You had his eyes. As you grew up, you resembled him more and more in both looks and mannerisms/personality. He tries to be a good father to you, but he’s often absent because to his never-ending duties and the restrictions of the time period. He can’t raise you, but he’ll send you or your mother money or do what he can to support you. When he’s too preoccupied with his obligations, he may send out his servants to keep an eye on you and report back to him so he knows you’re happy and in good health.

As you’ve grown up, you���ve very rarely spent time with or even talked to your father. The only time you’re able to be alone with him is if he summons for you. You’ve only been inside the castle a handful of times, but you’ve cherished each of your father’s visits. You appreciate his efforts to make time for you, knowing it’s near impossible and a rare treat if he can sit down and take a break. As you grow older, you can see the toll the feud between the Capulets and Montagues is taking on your poor father as he tries to keep the peace. You wish there was something you could do to help him and end the feud. After Mercutio and Paris’ untimely deaths, he finally orders the rivaling families to reconcile and make peace. Meanwhile, he wants to marry you off so that he knows you’ll be safe and taken care of after his own inevitable death. He can’t bear to lose more of his kin to the blade or the plague that’s ravishing the country. Your arranged husband is your cousin, Valentine. He’s Mercutio’s brother and one of Escalus’ only surviving kinsman.

3. You’re a servant in the Capulet household and Tybalt’s secret lover. Thanks to the seemingly never-ending animosity that exists between these noble families, breaches of the peace have become an all-too-common occurrence on the streets of Verona. You’ve been involved in fights against Montague servants at least twice now, wanting to defend your lover’s family against their sworn enemy. You’d always end up with bruises or cuts, and another servant has had to patch you up. Tybalt would sneak into your bedchamber to check on you after everyone else has retired for the night. He’d scold you for being so reckless and make you swear to him never to involve yourself in a brawl for his sake ever again. He appreciates your show of loyalty to him and his family, but he hates whenever you get caught up in the middle of the violence. He’s been infected with harshness and a cold sense from an early age. His childhood was stolen and thus his life is full of violence. But that doesn’t mean he wants your life to suffer the same fate as his. Seeing your purple eye or the blood seeping through your bandages makes his temper rise. The Montague household dared to lay a violent hand upon you, so he wants the blood of a Montague on his sword for their offense.

Another brawl breaks out but you keep your promise to Tybalt and stay out of it, instead watching as a bystander within the jeering crowd. Once Prince Escalus arrives on the scene to put a stop to the altercation, he warns the street brawlers that they must put down their swords and listen to him, or he will have them tortured. He severely chastises both households for disturbing the peace thrice now and issues an edict: If any member of the Montague or Capulet family disturbs the peace again, they will be put to death.

After Romeo secretly marries Juliet and refuses to fight Tybalt, you try to intervene and dissuade him from drawing his sword, worried that the Prince will have him killed. But Tybalt is too consumed by his anger and hatred of the Montagues, and your efforts are for naught. Unlike you, Tybalt believes the Prince's warning is an idle threat. No one else really believes that he would execute Capulet or Montague.

Desperate to stop the heated duel between Tybalt and Mercutio, you throw yourself between the combatants. It happens so fast that your lover doesn’t have enough time to react or stop himself before he accidentally stabs you instead of Mercutio. You had inadvertently shielded him with your body. Your wound may or may not be fatal. While you’re breathing heavily and trying to stop the bleeding, you can hear the hoof beats of the Prince’s horse fast approaching.

4. Ever after AU: You secretly attend the Capulet ball with your brother Romeo and his friends. While he falls in love with Juliet at first sight, you catch the attention of Tybalt. It’s a masquerade ball and everyone is wearing masks, so he doesn’t know who you are nor do you know who he is. You’re his dancing partner for almost the entire night. In those blissful hours you spend together, you never tell him your name or let him remove your mask. Are you being coy on purpose or do you really not want to tell him your name? He takes you by the hand to somewhere quieter where you can be hidden from the crowd. It’s in this secret place that he kisses you. Just when he takes off his mask and you realize who he is, he sees your brother kiss Juliet. He flies into a rage and storms over to Lord Capulet, while you and Romeo take that as your cue to leave. If you stayed any longer, Tybalt would surely try to kill your brother. When Tybalt realizes you’re gone and he never got your name, he scours Verona in search of you, his mystery maiden.

You’re later sent by Romeo to the Capulet house to deliver a message to Juliet for him, but you’re intercepted in the gardens by Tybalt. You don’t want to betray Romeo by revealing the true reason you’re here, so you make up a lie that you’ve come to see him. He pushes you away, claiming he’s in love with another woman and is preoccupied with searching for her. He’d never want anything to do with the likes of you, a disgusting Montague. He insults you and your family name, not realizing the other woman he speaks so highly of is you. You dress up and meet at more masques, but always slip away before he can see your face. If he persists in his pursuit of you and asks for a name, any name, you may give him a false one.

You accept Tybalt’s invite to attend Prince Escalus’ ball, wanting to tell him the truth yourself. But your secret is cruelly exposed in front of all of Verona by Lady Capulet when she tears your costume and rips your mask off. Tybalt is in denial. Dear God, it can’t be true! He couldn’t have fallen in love with a Montague! Lady Capulet accuses you of being a lying, devious little pretender and orders you to bow in front of Tybalt and tell him the truth, you insolent fraud. This is a nightmare. You’re scared and crying but don’t know what else to do to get him to believe you, so you tearfully kiss him on the lips. When he realizes your kiss is the same as his mystery woman, he steps backwards in shock. You were one and the same all this time.

He spurns you in front of the entire court and refuses to listen despite your pleadings. He does nothing to help you and abandons you. Prince Escalus looks on in concern as you fall apart and run away from the castle just as it begins to storm. It isn’t until many days later that Tybalt will realize what a horrible mistake he’s made in betraying your trust and throwing you to the wolves. Prince Escalus or someone else may confront him later and call him out on the disastrous scene the Capulets created in the middle of the masque. He or she may express disappointment in Tybalt’s harsh treatment of you. Tybalt has always been his parents’ puppet. They taught him to thirst for blood. What they wanted was burnt into him and he always did without question what their thirst for revenge demanded. Tybalt is told in no uncertain terms that his parents have been dead for a long time, and if he still won’t become his own man or yield in his hatred of your family after this, then he doesn’t deserve you.

Either way, the young Capulet will come to his senses sooner or later. He’ll want to find you and beg your forgiveness. This feud has taken so much from both of your families. So much blood has been shed and lives have been lost on both sides, and for what? Pride? Ego? It all seems so meaningless now. He’s wasted so much time hating your family. When he finds you, he’s going to call you by your real name and kneel before you not as a Capulet, but as a man in love. Could you find it in your heart to forgive him and be his wife?

5. You’re Juliet’s older sister and your parents arrange for you to marry Prince Escalus, even though he’s so much older than you and you barely know him. You’re only a girl, a woman, so your wishes and wants don’t matter. Your parents are unwilling to postpone the wedding, despite your pleadings. You’re reaching an age where being an unmarried woman is unacceptable, and your parents refuse to let you be an old maid. The Prince isn’t getting any younger either and will need an heir. You’re scared of not only marrying a stranger, but living up to the expectations of being Princess of Verona. You lock yourself in your bedchamber and don’t let anyone in to see you, not even Juliet or your Nurse. Tonight you will mourn for the life you wanted but couldn’t have, and tomorrow early you will marry the Prince.

While neither you nor Escalus are overtly enthused at your wedding, your husband does his best to fulfill his marriage duties and take care of you. He knows you’re scared about consummating your marriage, so he’ll be gentle. He wants to make you feel safe and give you pleasure on your wedding night. Don’t pay attention to any witnesses that may be in the room. Just focus on him and only him, and let him help you relax. If you ask him to stop, he will. He knows this isn’t the life you would’ve chosen for yourself, but he wants to make you happy even if you never love him. While he’s your husband by law and you’re now Princess of Verona, he hopes that even if you never fall in love, that you can at least be friends. He hopes you’ll grow fond of each other, in time. You may not love each other now, but if a child is born of your union and love comes later, he’ll be just as elated. As the leaders of Verona, you each have specific obligations to fulfill, but you’ll still try to make the best of it.

6. You’re Romeo’s sister and are arranged to marry Tybalt to bring an end to the feud once and for all. Enough is enough, it’s time to let this long-standing grudge go. The Capulets and Montagues are wealthy and established families, both alike in dignity. So for all practical purposes, they should be allies rather than enemies. Your marriage was one of obligation and convenience, and your new husband doesn't want anything to do with you at first because of your family history. He’s still in love with Juliet and may either consummate your marriage begrudgingly or not at all. After you’re caught in the middle of a random brawl or attacked in the street, he saves you. You thank him but he waves it off, claiming it’s his duty since you’re his wife and he’s your husband.

He doesn’t realize he’s grown to love you until you part ways for a while and he hears false news claiming you succumbed to the Plague. Believing you dead, he mourns for you in private and nearly gets himself killed in his recklessness due to his grief, until you return to Verona and explain that there was a miscommunication and your servant was misinformed. ‘Twas not you who died, but a cousin or friend you were visiting. And it ‘twas not the Plague but childbirth to which she had succumbed. She had a similar hair color and body type to you, so anyone watching her funeral from afar could’ve easily mistaken her body for yours. The babe lived and you were delayed in returning home because you were asked to stay by her grieving widower until a nurse could be found.

7. You were Juliet’s sister who was betrothed to marry Count Paris. You were the city’s most beautiful rose, but you became infected with and later succumbed to the Plague. While spending your final days isolated in quarantine, you knew you were dying and that your chances of surviving were slim to none. In your final lucid moments, you had a mourning ring made for your intended, composed of a lock of your hair under crystal set round with diamonds. Paris purportedly burst into tears upon receiving it. Unbeknownst to you, your cousin, Tybalt, was also in love with you and mourned for you in private. He never dared to confess his unrequited love for you while you were still living. When your body was first interred into the Capulet crypt, neither man could kiss you for fear of infection. So instead they kissed their hands and then bid you a farewell kiss from afar.

Even years after you were gone, Paris and Tybalt still mourned for you and what could’ve been. They visited you in the Capulet crypt (sometimes individually, sometimes together) and left flowers for you. Some days they’d stay with your body for hours. Paris was so determined to marry your younger sister, Juliet, because she reminded him of you. His love for her is what kept him going. If it wasn’t for her beauty and spirit so uncannily resembling yours, he feared he would’ve succumbed to his grief and committed self-murder to join you, despite knowing it was illegal and a mortal sin. When Juliet shared a kiss with Romeo at the Capulet ball, Tybalt was so incensed and blinded by his hatred for the Montagues that he later slew Mercutio in the streets of Verona, only to be slain in turn by Romeo’s blade. In your cousin’s dying moments, he prayed to God to reunite with you in heaven.

After Juliet drank the sleeping potion to feign death and evade her arranged marriage to Paris, he returned to the Capulet crypt to mourn for yet another would-be bride. After losing his duel with Romeo, the young Momtague drags Paris's body inside the Capulet tomb and lays him out on the floor beside you, fulfilling Paris's dying wish. He prays for God to have mercy on him and reunite him with you, much in the same manner as Tybalt had done before him.

8. Much Ado About Nothing AU (sort of): You’re the illegitimate daughter of Lord Montague but are unaware of the circumstances surrounding your birth. You grow up with Tybalt in the brothel, raised by your whore mother while his father teaches him to treat women as objects and nothing more. But despite his father’s teachings, you fall in love with him when you become a woman. He treats the other whores as objects to use, crawling into their warm beds but not caring for any of them. Except you. You’re the only woman Tybalt loves, so you and he have a secret affair. At first it was just sex but became much more over time. He opened up to you and you became his confidante, comforting him and listening whenever he needed a shoulder to lean on. You were the only one who could calm his unpredictable temper. You both know you’d never be permitted to marry due to your low breeding, so you conspire to elope. You seek the counsel of Friar Lawrence, and he marries you and Tybalt in secret. For a few days, you live in newly wedded bliss. Consummating your marriage was far from the first time you had been intimate with each other, but your wedding night just felt different, in a good way.

But the servants of the Capulet and Montague households know everything and somehow the truth of your lineage is brought up. The rumors spread, and soon the streets of Verona are abuzz with gossip from the villagers regarding Lord Montague’s bastard daughter and her liaisons with a Capulet. When Tybalt hears you’re technically a Montague, he publicly shames and abandons you despite your pleadings for him to wait. You insist that you really had no idea Lord Montague was your father and implore for Tybalt to listen to you, etc. but he doesn’t. Though illegitimate, you still have Montague blood in your veins and Tybalt is disgusted. Unbeknownst to him, Romeo and Juliet have also secretly wed, so even though he spurned your marriage and left you to the wolves, he’s still related to the Montagues.

Do you later commit self-murder out of grief? Do you conspire with Friar Lawrence to fake your death so Tybalt will learn a very valuable lesson of what life is without you, as well as be shown the destructive results of not having enough faith in his wife? Will Tybalt realize he can’t live without you and ask for your forgiveness, your lineage be damned? Is Tybalt later chastised by Friar Lawrence, Benvolio, or another character for his betrayal of your trust and told to come to his senses and get over himself? If he doesn’t yield in his hatred for the Montagues, then maybe he doesn’t deserve you. Does his hatred of your family and conflicted feelings towards you drive him to later get killed by Romeo’s hand when he challenges him to a duel? What happens next is all up to you.

9. You’re raised in the Capulet household as Juliet’s sister. Your mother, Lady Capulet, is eager to find husbands for both you and Juliet, loving you both equally. Instead of Juliet, you’re the Capulet daughter Count Paris seeks to marry. He had already approached your father early in the morning and asked for his permission to take you in marriage, carrying a large bouquet of beautiful flowers for you. Paris hopes you’ll be his wife and mother to his children.

“I brought flowers for y/n. Please be so kind as to give me permission to marry your lovely daughter! I’m a wealthy man, young and handsome. I want this girl and I’ll get her. I have a house of my own. I don’t need her dowry. I’ll pay. I only want the fair y/n for my wife!”

“Lord Paris, you’ve taken me by surprise. You’ve seen her, she’s not grown up yet. I’m asking you - shouldn’t you wait a little? Wait a little before you marry her. That’d be the clever thing to do. She’ll be at the ball tonight - Just charm her, ask her to dance. But believe me, just look at her. She’s just a child. Don’t marry her too soon!”

Unbeknownst to everyone except Lady Capulet herself, you’re not actually Lord Capulet’s biological daughter. You’re the result of an extramarital affair she had with another man sometime after Lord Capulet’s desire for her dwindled and he started taking mistresses and having affairs with other women. She slept with her husband just enough so the timing of your birth would still match up and she could successfully pass you off as his blood without leaving room for doubt. While having dresses fitted for both you and your sister for an upcoming masquerade ball, your Nurse tells you and Juliet to just look at your mother and that she can always find consolation if your father isn’t in the mood. Despite your mother’s insistence that she’s never cheated on Lord Capulet and has never been with anybody else, you and Juliet share a knowing glance as if to say, “Of course not, mother. Of course you haven’t.”

She tells you and Juliet, in her own words, that “Your father doesn’t love me the way he used to. On our wedding night his desire reached the sky. I was standing there naked and he went wild. That’s how it was. I used to be so beautiful - even more than either of you. No wonder he wanted only me. But as the years passed, his desire became less and less fierce.”

Yours and Juliet’s dresses for the ball are beautiful but more provocative than your father would like. They’re clearly designed to suit your mother’s taste and catch men’s eyes so you and Juliet can secure husbands. Paris dances with you at the ball for most of the night and woos you, despite Tybalt being overprotective and trying to interfere by keeping Paris away from you. As the Prince’s nephew, he’s a very young, handsome and wealthy man. He has a house of his own and has proven he’s more than capable of providing for you for the rest of your lives, but making you happy is another matter. So he spends more than enough time courting you properly and getting to know you.

Following Tybalt’s untimely death at Romeo’s hand, your father finally gives you away to Paris, hoping you can lean on your new husband and forget your grief. You’re set to marry on Thursday, news which makes your husband-to-be ecstatic. You’re not overly enthused due to Tybalt’s death casting a shadow on your heart. He was your favorite cousin and you’ll miss him terribly. But you’re content with your fate; Paris is a good man who truly loves you, but you just can’t get over Tybalt’s death so quickly despite your parents’ good intentions. You’ll be Paris’ joyful bride like your parents want you to be. You know you’ll be expected to give him children, preferably a son, and you just hope you’ll be a better mother than your own was to you and Juliet. You love your Nurse, but you want to raise your future children yourself. What does the future look like for you?

10. You’re Juliet’s sister. Instead of her, Tybalt and Paris are both in love with you. Paris approached your father, Lord Capulet, and sought his permission to marry you, while holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers for you. While Tybalt’s love for you is unspoken. You’re the only woman your cousin has ever loved, but he keeps his feelings to himself. But ever since Paris came along as a rival suitor, both men have been competing for your love. They both hope to win your father’s favor and secure your hand in marriage. Though Lord Capulet had urged him to wait a few years, Paris was still encouraged to woo you at the Capulet ball. When confronted by Tybalt at the masquerade and asked if it’s true, Paris confirms what he already knew, much to his annoyance and dismay.

“Paris, is it true what I’ve heard?”

Yes, Tybalt! I asked for your lovely cousin’s hand!

“But why in such a hurry?”

“So that another man doesn’t set his eye on her, Tybalt.”

Paris says this with a knowing smile, quickly looking Tybalt up and down, as if sizing him up while Tybalt looks away, before walking away to rejoin the dancing and merriment. Paris steals you away from your current dance partner, grabbing your hand while you’re in the middle of a twirl. He tries to keep you to himself as he kisses your hand and pulls you in for another dance, but Tybalt comes between the two of you and ushers Paris away from you. While Tybalt and Paris are busy constantly cutting in and trying to keep you away from the other, you run off somewhere and get caught up in the crowd of party guests. Which man will win your heart and be your husband? Tybalt? Paris? Neither? It’s up to you.

[shai-manahan]

Finalized Update Schedule: October 8, 6:00 am (GMT+8) 

Hello! I hope you’ve all been doing well this week! Like I mentioned above, the update’s finally coming :) And there’ll be no further delays, I promise. I will be sending the edited last scene for the update to my testers later, or tomorrow morning if my headache still persists tonight, but I’m truly excited to show you this!

As of now, there are three main things I wanted to discuss:

FUTURE UPDATES

For the sake of my health, mentally speaking and to help my eye issues recover somewhat, I will be taking a one-week break from writing after every update. I’ll still be answering asks, but I’ll be limiting myself to that.

Reblogs for the updates are very much appreciated every time. That’s really the only way for me to reach more readers, and it’s also quite motivating when I see folks reblog my silly posts and my silly game.

I’m no longer going to write as many prompts as I did last year; I kinda learned my lesson with that (that was a very bad idea of mine). When I do share prompt lists, it will probably be every 2 or 3 months, and you’ll have to wait a week or two before I actually get to writing your requests.

My target right now is to upload an update every 2 months, although this will only be possible if I get to focus on writing.

Please expect there to be more edits to preceding updates once I upload the next ones. It’s just how I write. For all the years I’ve written screenplays, I’ve never finished one without making a lot of edits to the opening parts. This will likely happen here, too. What I plan, though, is to do these edits once I’ve given my updates to the testers and before publicly releasing them, so there will be no time wasted on it.

Any kind of feedback and/or suggestion will be appreciated every time I push out an update; they help in motivating me, which then equates to a faster pace of writing, as weird as that may sound.

The first book for Hollowed Minds is quite long, so I will be looking forward to your continued support!

If anyone here has a better sense of time management than I do, please help me out and give me some tips lmao.

PATREON

I’m planning to launch my patreon a week or so after the update; I’m also aiming to set up my ko-fi in a way that you could choose to get the same benefits there instead if you wish to.

I hope y’all wouldn’t see this as greediness or anything alike, but I’d definitely prefer to focus on writing Hollowed Minds as much as I can, without a lot of distractions. Gradually raising funds through these platforms would help in doing that, while ensuring that more frequent updates will come in the future and that everything with regards to my health would be properly taken care of. Setting this up will also help me manage my time more efficiently through stricter deadlines, and you’ll be free to cancel your subscription at any time.

I want to ask for your inputs with regards to the content you wish to see in here. So far, I’ve been planning for: sneak peeks, lore content and q & a, more plot-oriented snippets for the ROs, bonus short stories for the characters, access to polls, and a 2-week early access to the succeeding updates once applicable. I honestly don’t want anyone to just waste their money, so knowing what you want to see would be great.

A weekly progress will be kept free to view here on tumblr, though I will also start posting them on patreon and on ko-fi. (I might not post them at certain times if I feel like I didn’t have sufficient progress to report about.) 

FEEDBACK

I don’t like having to keep asking for them, but really, receiving any sort of opinion about the game and especially about its characters will help a tremendous amount. While I do have testers, it’s not as if they can catch every issue in it, so knowing how you feel about the overall flow will be appreciated.

I will be searching for more testers for the next update, so keep your eyes peeled!

Do note that you can choose to send your feedback here, on the discord, or on the forums, wherever you prefer.

I feel like I’m forgetting something, but uh, I’ll just reblog an edited version of this if I do remember. See you soon!

[dycefic]

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

[donutloverxo]

Good little wife

Note - Inspired by a request I got long ago and written for the happy hoelidays challenge I'm cohosting with my sister hoes @navybrat817 and @stargazingfangirl18 . I used the prompts two idiots in love + Character A loves Christmas. Character B hates it. A melts Bs cold heart Dividers by @firefly-graphics .

Summary - Your husband makes up to you for being a Grinch and a meanie to you throughout your marriage.

Warnings - 18+ only, smut(m/f), dub con, older man/younger woman, arranged marrige, leaking nudes, daddy kink, blood play, virginity/innocence kink, loss of virginity, virgin reader, painful sex, misogyny, mob activities.

Pairing - Mob!Andy Barber x reader

Word count - 8k

“You look beautiful, cookie,” your mother raved, pressing her lips to your cheek, “He’s a lucky man.”

You only hummed. Staring at your refection, seeing someone you didn’t even recognize.

Your white lace dress somewhat conservative, still really pretty, something you would’ve been more than happy to wear if your circumstances weren’t so depressing.

You almost let out a sardonic laugh, you didn’t get to choose your husband but at least you chose your wedding gown.

“It’ll be alright,” your mother picked at your hair, noticing your evident sadness, you’ve never been one to hide how you feel anyway, “you’ll learn to love him. He’s very successful.”

“I always thought ‘money doesn’t make you happy',” something she had said to you so many times over the years.

“That’s just a fairy tale. People fall out of love, run out of things to talk about, men cheat, in the end all that’s left is how well he can provide for you,” she stated.

You checked your phone as soon as you could, going through your messages to see if your boyfriend, or rather your now ex boyfriend, had sent you anything. You still naively hoped that he'd come on a white horse and sweep you off and away, so you wouldn’t have to marry someone you’ve else. So you wouldn’t have to give up your freedom forever and just be someone’s wife.

But you saw nothing. He hadn’t talked to you, not since your father found out about you both. Since he was from a family your daddy hated with a passion, and you were supposed to as well, your father made you cut all times with him. Locked you in your room in a timeout till you came to your senses.

After over three weeks he came to you, telling you how he was ready to forgive you and move on. You were so happy. For a minute you let yourself believe that this was your father, he loved you unconditionally, of course he'd set aside whatever vain feud he has and let you be with your love.

All your hopes were crushed when he told you he had selected a husband for you whom you have to marry in just a month. That you had to drop out of college since you wouldn’t need that degree anyway.

You always did believe that he had your best interests at heart, you wanted to believe it this time as well, but you just couldn’t.

Cringing inwardly when he kissed your cheeks, “You look beautiful,” he told you, cold eyes staring at you, “Don’t try anything stupid. Andrew is a good man,” he looped your arm in with his.

“He’s more than a decade older than me,” you argued, biting your lip as he squeezed your arm to warn you.

You slapped a fake smile on your face, walking down, one step after another as everyone looked at you in awe.

This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life...

But when you looked at Andy waiting for you at the alter you felt nothing but grave anxiety which made your teeth clatter, his palms joined together at his front, he did look handsome with his tux and neat beard. You have had a crush on him for a long time but you’ve never even had a real conversation with him, you didn’t know him. No one did.

Your heart filled with dread as your father handed you over to Andy, patting him on his shoulder, “Take good care of her.”

“I will,” Andy smiled.

You weren’t really there, maybe your body was but your soul had left you to maybe make the whole ordeal less painful. The priest read the vows asking you if you were ready to take him as your husband forever.

“I do,” since you had no other choice.

“I do,” he repeated.

You felt a shiver jolt up your spine when his fingers grazed yours, putting the thin silver band on your finger before lifting your veil to press his lips to yours, giving you a chaste, barely there kiss as everyone cheered you on.

The rest of the evening was a blur, you could barely register what had happened, everyone sweetly calling you ‘Mrs Barber’ only making you more nervous.

Andy however, was cordial and formal as always, shaking their hands and thanking them.

Since you hadn’t really taken any dance lessons you were left to simply wing it with him at your first dance. With your clammy hands in his you tried to match his pace as he lead you, bumping into his feet with yours more than once.

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Relax,” making you shudder.

You looked up at him, he had barely said two words to you but your grandmother often said ‘Eyes are the windows to the soul’.

And Andy’s eyes were so... kind, like a blue ocean you could happily drown in. He almost looked at you as if he were fond of you.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad...

You didn’t really expect Andy to carry you over the threshold, that was just a silly little fantasy you’ve always had and you knew he’d never indulge you in it but he didn’t even hold the door open for you.

You looked around his condo, so grey and boring, looked like it was out of a magazine catalogue, you felt so out of place there.

Naturally, you followed him to his bedroom, watching him wake his coat off, followed by his cuffs as he rolled his sleeves up.

You went over what you wanted to say in your head, how do you tell your husband that you’re a virgin, on your wedding night--that was something your grandmother never gave you advice on. You could’ve used her wisdom then.

With your mouth suddenly dry you tried to speak as he poured himself a drink, “Um... I’ve...”

“What?” he looked at you, quirking a brown brow up.

“Nothing,” you shook your head as you took a seat on the edge of the bed. “This is a nice house.”

“You can take the guestroom,” he said bluntly.

“What?”

“You can take the guestroom. I’ve already put all your bags there, you can decorate it however you like but don’t touch anything else.”

“But I...I’ve never heard of husband and wife sleeping in different rooms.”

“That’s true, it is unusual. This is not a normal marriage though, is it?” His tone so frustratingly patronising, as if he was talking to a child.

You’ve never really been appreciated for your mind, women never are--not where you come from, even your love Alex only ever thought of you as a ‘pretty face’. But Andy didn’t need to spell it out for you, “You... don’t want me...” you realised.

He only scoffed. He’d never been one for long term relationships, he had tried but he could never give himself to another person, women often called him emotionally unavailable, his demanding and dangerous job did contribute a lot to that, but more than that it was his unwillingness to change. He was self aware enough to know that but he didn’t need anyone else. He didn’t want to be tied down or to have a nagging immature wife.

“But why...” you wondered. Sure, you weren’t thrilled to marry him, but now you had accepted it and wanted to make the best of your new life. You thought he wanted the same.

“Why would I want you?” he spat. “ You’re nothing but a spoilt rich girl who’s had everything handed to her. Who was ungrateful and stupid enough to fraternize with the enemy.”

You let out a shaky exhale, looking at him with teary eyes, “I loved him...”

“You don’t know the first thing about love,” he rolled his eyes.

“He loved me too! But I’m willing to put that behind me. I made a vow to you.”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” you frowned.

He took his phone out of his pocket, opening his gallery to show you the compromising pictures you had sent to your ex, “He shared that with everyone, it was all just a ploy to humiliate your father.”

You gasped, taking his phone in your trembling hand, your breasts exposed as you shyly looked at the camera. You had flat out refused to send him a nude when he asked for it but then he threatened to break up with you, to go after your best friend, even called you a prude because you hadn’t slept with him. At the moment you felt as if you had no choice but to do it...

“He wouldn’t,” you sobbed.

“And because of your stupidity I had to marry you since no one else would ever want you,” he said. But then regretted it as you just started crying harder. He thought of maybe trying to console you but what would he even say?

He took the phone from you before you could even think of deleting the photos. He used them to pleasure himself almost every night. Maybe he was an idiot, he could have the real thing, yet he was pushing you away, “Go to your room,” he told you which made you sob even moreso.

You looked up at him, begging him for a hug, for some sort of comfort or sympathy but his face was cold and harsh. Finally gathering your wits you went to the other room, ready to cry yourself to sleep.

No matter how beautiful you were, you were still thrusted upon him, you didn’t love him, you never could because you never even had a choice

“Perfect,” you beamed, setting down the chicken pot pie you had just cooked up.

Your grandmama had always told you that a wife should be a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. So that her man would never stray.

And while you hadn’t had a chance to be a whore for Andy... something that you were looking forward to, you hoped the fresh home cooked meal, the holiday season and decorations you had spent the past few days working on would put him in the mood. To maybe accept you as his wife.

For the past six months you had tried everything, making him breakfast, packing his lunch, offering him massages, even trying to help him with his work but he was always so cold to you.

You feared that this is how it will be forever. He would never love you, not the way you’ve always loved him. Even when he was so cruel towards you.

But you were nothing if not resilient. So you said chuck it and went all out. Decorating your whole house, with a real tree for the past few days while Andy was out on a work trip for thanksgiving. Maybe you could surprise him and he’d realise just how much he lucked out with you.

You even went with a more risqué outfit than you usually would. Your little emerald green skirt with pleats was a bit too short and impractical for the cold winters but you were going to stay inside anyway. It was topped off with a tight burgundy blouse and a push up bra which made your girls look enticing and some red pumps.

With a pumpkin pie for dessert in the oven, your salads done and the gingerbread flavored candles lit up you were good to go.

So you sat on the couch, watching 'A Christmas story' for the hundredth time to kill time till he gets home and to distract your nervous mind.

After ninety minutes the movie was over but Andy still wasn’t home. You tried calling him but it kept going to voicemail.

Frustrated, but determined to follow through with your ‘Seduce Andy Barber’ plan you put on another movie, chewing your lip till it bled as you impatiently waited for him.

Soon it was midnight, your food got cold and the rumbling in your tummy became more prominent so you decide to eat your dinner, put the leftovers in the freezer and cut your losses.

You were almost done with your dishes when your husband coming into the apartment, turning around you saw him hang his coat on the back of the chair and plomp down on it. He groaned, pulling the sleeves of his shirt up to reveal his bulky forearms.

“You’re home,” you said, taking off your apron so he could see your little get up.

He didn’t smile at you like you expected he would, he didn’t say ‘Good job’ like you thought he would. He certainly didn’t look like he wanted to bend you over the dining table and take you then and there. He simply frowned at you. Looking at you as if your mere existence offended him.

“I told you; you were allowed to decorate your room however you liked. Not the whole apartment,” he growled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What? I did it for you... I thought you would like it, ” you stood there, dumbfounded, shifting from one foot to another, “You don’t like Christmas.” You realised.

“No, I don’t. Christmas isn’t all fun and jolly for everybody. I’ve never had anyone to celebrate it with,” he did you a once over, his pants tightening uncomfortably as he took in your little ensemble.

He had never had a single good Christmas in his whole life. He’d usually spend it either working or drinking. But now, he had you, his good little wife who had gone out of her way to do all this just for him.

He could kiss your red lips then and there, finally do what he’s been wanting to go for the past few months and make love to you, eat the delicious meal you had made him because he was fucking starving.

But then he realized how easily you could be taken away from him. How this was all so fickle.

“Do you want a divorce?” he crossed his hands over his chest, as if daring you to give a wrong answer, “If you do, I’ll give you one right now.”

“I - ” you strutted, you didn’t really know, “Daddy would never let that happen.” To which he scoffed.

Your father would kill you both if this marriage failed. He knew that, why would he still be willing to risk everything?

“Where are you going?” you asked when he got up from the chair.

“To my room, to sleep,” he sighed.

He knew what you would say, he knew you were daddy’s little girl who’d die before disappointing her father, which was solely why you were with him, and yet he let himself fall for you and get hurt.

You tugged on his shirt, ready to beg him to at least eat the meal you made for him but then you frowned, inhaling the feminine perfume from his shirt, mixed with his own Cologne, you took a step back, your eyes brimming with tears as you realised he might’ve been with another woman.

While you were home slaving away to make everything perfect for him.

Your father had a handful of mistresses, a few of them younger than you. Your mother knew, all wives know and look the other way. That was how it was supposed to be. It was how you make marriages last...

And your poor beaten heart could take his coldness towards you, it absolutely could not bear him being with another woman. Your father had always praised him for being loyal, and it was one of the things you loved about him...

“Where were you?” you sniffled to keep the tears at bay.

“I was out working. So I could pay for your shopping sprees.” He spat.

You gasped, “I haven’t gone shopping in months! I only did now for Christmas!”

“That tree better be down by the time I wake up. You can out all that crap in your bedroom if you like. I do not what to see it.” He said gravelly, before slamming his door shut.

Something was horribly wrong.

Andy came home to an empty, cold house. You weren’t there to greet him like you usually are, in fact you hadn’t been for the past few weeks. He could hear the TV from your room, some kind of musical playing.

He checked the kitchen for some food, you used to make dinner every night, rave about your love for cooking and baking, but now it seemed that you lived on poptarts and McDonald’s.

He knocked on your door, to ask if you wanted some of the alfredo he was cooking up, also to maybe get you to have dinner with him.

Ever since he had married you, he had such a beautiful companion to have dinner with. To watch silly romcoms with, someone who waited for him to come home, called him all worried when he was late, asked him how his day was

It’d break his heart to say good night to you, you’d give him those puppy eyes, fluttering your lashes as if begging him to invite you to bed with him.

He wanted to ask you to come, to feel what it would be like to snuggle up with your soft body, to smell your hair, to finally fuck you, but he’d just go away to sleep in his cold bed with a heavy heart. Making do with his hand as he thought of you, it wouldn’t feel nearly as good as you would but it would have to do.

“Can I come in, honey?” he asked.

Letting himself in when no answer came from you. You were lying on your bed, blankets draped over you, your eyes trained on the television. He looked around your room, he had only been there a couple of times, he had expected to see some kind of winter wonderland since you were such a fan of Christmas.

But it looked just how it usually did... pale pink walls, a queen sized bed, a small closet and a dresser and a vanity. No tree or fairy lights or nut crackers.

He leaned against the door frame. “Did you have dinner?” He wanted to know.

You made some sort of unintelligible noise; which could mean anything. So he asked, “Would you like some pasta? I can’t make it as good as you do but I’ll try.”

“No.” You answered. Still not even looking at him.

“It’s Christmas Eve, do you want to go celebrate with your family?”

You shook your head in response. “No, I think I’ll just stay here.”

He had stolen your brightness and sunshine away, tainting you with his darkness. “Stop it,” he scolded, switching off the TV and standing in front of you to make you listen to him. “Get ready, I’m dropping you off at your fathers. You’re not spending Christmas in bed.”

“What difference does it make?” you huffed.

“Get ready. Right. Now.” He ordered, pulling your blanket away from you.

“No!” you whined. Sitting up, your face heating up with a simmering rage you had harbored for months. “Why do you even care? Do you want to get me out of the house so you could spend Christmas with her?!”

“Who’s her?” he furrowed his brows.

“Your mistress!” you yelled, looking around for something you could hurt him with, you grabbed a hold of your Mrs Bunny, your cute pink stuffie and threw it at his face. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not bringing her in to my house!” You said, throwing another stuffie at him which he caught with his hand.

“Honey,” he said, as if he was so disappointed with you, for catching him in his lies and deceit. “I don’t have a mistress. Where would I even find the time for one? All those late nights were spent at the office or in meetings.”

He would be the world’s biggest idiot to get a mistress when he had a wife like you waiting for him at home. A wife he hadn’t even so much as even kissed... given how pouty and tempting your lips looked, he didn’t know how he resisted for so long.

“Don’t call me honey,” you puffed out your cheeks, “And I don’t believe you.”

“Well, what can I do to make you believe me?”

You sighed, laying back down on the bedding, “There’s not much you can do. Except leave me be. I just want to sleep this Christmas away.”

He had to do something to get your spirits up. And since you has thrown away your old decorations he ran to every store in the town, waiting in the queue for hours, calling in as many favors as he could to get some new ones.

While he wasn’t able to get a real Christmas tree, he got a fake one which was a bit smaller than the one you had put up but not all that bad.

You had decorated the apartment with the traditional red, greens and golden he decided to go with a soft pastel pink theme. Hoping that you would like it and forgive him.

He had gotten you couple of gifts, a little babydoll he saw on the internet, it was pink and sexy, he thought of you the moment he saw it. Ordering it for you but he never really gathered enough courage to ask you to wear it. He wrapped it up for you in some festive paper, tying a ribbon around it.

He decided to get as many gifts for you as he could so the tree wouldn’t look so depressing, a Tiffany’s set, an advent calendar from a make up company he knew you liked, a box of cookies and one of chocolates, a new apron with floral patterns and frilly trimmings, some cozy socks, and a surprise gift he had been saving for you.

Looking around the living room, while it wasn’t as good as what you had done with the place he was still proud of what he could pull off in just a couple of hours.

He called out your name before knocking and entering, switching on your bedside lamp he sat next to you, stroking your hair, “Wake up, angel.”

“Seriously, stop it with the petnames,” you said, your voice groggy from sleep and irritated. Because he had only ever said your name with contempt before.

“I’m not going to stop, honey. You’re my wife, I can call you whatever I like.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled, rubbing your sleep away from your eyes.

“I have a surprise for you.” He smiled at you.

And while he had certainly smiled at you before that, when you had said something funny or silly (which you usually did just to see him smile), this one seemed so much brighter and warm.

“What is it?” you sat up. Still a bit crossed with him but excited to see what surprise he had for you.

“You have to come into the living room for that, and promise to stop being a Grinch,” he said, bopping your nose.

You scoffed incredulously, “I’m being a Grinch?! You were the one who made me take everything down in the first place!”

“I know, honey, and I am sorry for that. Hopefully I can make it up to you.” He winked.

You combed your hair, splashing some water on your face and then following him out to see what he had in mind for you.

You all but gasped at the tree in the middle of your living room, so beautiful, the soft glow of the fairy lights illuminated the room, little festive trinklets all over the room.

He had got you a pink stocking with sparkling silver hearts on it. His was a normal red one with ‘Andy' written with a sharpie or a pen. You giggled at that.

“You like it, honey?” he asked.

You nodded, observing the ornaments on your tree, “I do. Thank you so much, Andy. It’s so beautiful, I don’t think anyone’s ever done something so grand for me.”

Your rave gave him the courage to out his hand over your waist, pulling you into him, “I know this doesn’t make up for everything, but it’s start.”

“Yes! I think... I’d like a fresh start,” you beamed up at him

He excused himself to make some hot chocolate for you both, handing you a mug with little heart shaped marshmallows and sprinkles on top of it. You didn’t even realise how you ended up snuggled up next to him on the couch, Elf playing on the TV which he shockingly had never seen before.

“You know... for someone who hates Christmas so much you did a pretty good job saving it!” you giggled, kissing his bearded cheek.

“Well...” he looked down at you, wiping away the mustache the hot chocolate gave you before sucking his thumb off, “I don’t hate it anymore, because I’m not alone,” he said, his thumb pulling on your plump bottom lip.

“Um...” you face heated up as looked away, “You got me gifts!” you screamed a bit overzealous to change the subject, “Can I open one now? Please?! I’m just so excited!”

“Sure,” he murmured, a bit salty that he didn’t get the kiss.

He knelt next to you on the carpet as you pinked one up, shaking it next to your ear, scrunching your nose up so cutely as you tried to decipher what it was.

“Mmm... I can’t tell...”

“Why don’t you just open it?” he asked as his hand caressed your bare thigh, finding himself unable to keep his hands off of you now that he has you.

You ripped at the wrapping paper, opening the box to reveal the skimpy baby pink lingerie he had got you.

You pulled it out of the box and then started stammering, unable to form words once you realised what it was. “Is this... um..”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s very cute and nice. Do you, want me to wear it for you?”

“If that’s what you want,” he said casually and then shrugged but then regretted it as your face fell and you let. He wasn’t used to half-assing things if he was going to tell you his true feelings, he had to go all out.

Taking a deep breath, “I have to tell you something I’ve been meaning to say for months.”

“What?”

“I... love you,” he looked down at your lap, because he couldn’t bear to look in your eyes if you decided to reject him.

“Oh, Andy!” you beamed, “I love you too! I’ve always loved you,” you crawled on top of him, throwing your arms around his neck you hugged him.

“That’s good then,” he smiled stroking your back, he pulled you back so he could look at your pretty face, cupping your cheek he pressed his lips against yours.

He had only kissed you once, months ago at your wedding, and while it was not bad at all it was too short and formal and distant, nothing compared to how he felt right now. Moulding his lips against yours, kneading the flesh of your ass, you tasted just as sweet as he imagined you would.

You gasped in his mouth when he rutted his erection up into your core. “Andy!” your chest heaving as you felt him pressing against your thigh.

“What do you say you go put that on for me, doll? Hm?” he instructed.

You meekly nodded, grabbing a hold of the lingerie which you just now noticed was so sheer and would not really leave anything to the imagination.

“Come on out quickly now,” his impatience seeping through his voice as he sat on the edge of his, or what would now be both of your marital bed, one leg crossed over the other, his foot tapping against the floor.

His pants already snug, just from imagining what you would look like with the flimsy thing on. It wasn’t as revealing or kinky as some of the other pieces he had seen, but he felt it would match your personality perfectly.

He groaned, calling out your name again, “I’m gonna fucking die of blue balls, if you don’t come out right now, I’m coming in,” he got up to his feet to do just that but then stopped when he heard the knob twist.

One smooth leg peaking out of the bathroom, “Um... promise you wouldn’t make fun of me?” you asked. Your eyes screwed shut, you didn’t really have much of choice but you had never been so vulnerable in front of anyone. You’d hate to not be satisfactory for him.

“I promise,” his face softened, he had to practice some restrain, at least until he breaks you in, “Now come on out.”

You opened the door, your meek eyes fixed on your hardwood floor, your hands hugging your midsection. You blinked when he said nothing for several long, tortuous moments. Peaking a glance up at him you found him staring at you.

“Uh, do you like it?” you asked as your hands played with the helm of the teddy.

He almost scoffed. Like would be an understatement.

He knew pink would be your color. The nightie so short, clinging to your curves, your nipples pebbled against the satiny fabric, you looked like a sweet little doll and a whole fucking meal to devour at the same time. He would burst before he even got to touch you.

“Twirl,” he made the motion with his forefinger to demonstrate it, “Let me look at you better. And hands to your sides.”

You took a deep breath, letting your hands fall, doing as he had asked, your heart hammering in your chest because for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out if he actually liked you.

“Stop there,” he instructed when he got a look at your pert, round butt, the cloth barely covering it, he could see the imprints of the thong you wore.

“What are you thinking?” you asked.

“If I like your front better or your behind.” He almost chuckled at the incredulous gasp you let out. “Alright, look at me again.” Definitely the front, because he could see your beautiful face. Taking his original position on the bedding, “Come here,” he patted his lap.

Like the obedient wife that you aspired to be, you followed, perching yourself up on his lap, your arms around his neck for some support, looking into his lust blown, dark eyes.

You bite your lip when you felt that pressing into your thigh. Unable to bear his intense gaze you hid your face in the crook of his neck.

He hushed you, snuggling your soft body closer to his, his fingers drawing patterns on your hip, “How many men have you been with before?”

It didn’t really matter whatever your answer would be. But he wanted to tell you, that how ever many there were before him won’t matter anymore. From now on you are solely his.

“None,” you whispered so lowly that he almost couldn’t hear you.

“What?” Holding onto your chin so that he could make you look at him, “None? How is that possible?”

“I’ve just been waiting for the right one... I was going to with Alex but then didn’t...” you said as your hands caressed the coarse hair on his jaw.

He hummed, the fact that he would be your one and only, forever, only served to entice him further.

“Have you ever sucked a cock before?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

“No...”

“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you,” he promised, pushing on your shoulders to make you get on your knees.

You hissed at the cold floor, biting into the your calves and knees.

His dainty princess, he grabbed a throw pillow, instructing you to put it under, all the while staring at your cleavage peaking out like a creep.

Your eyes were fixated on his crotch, eager to see what a real penis looks like. You had watched some porn when you were a teen, out of sheer curiosity, but your friends had told you to lower your expectations. That real ones are much smaller and not so aesthetically pleasing.

You all but gasped when he took his cock out of the confines of his sweats, slapping over his abdomen. So big... and thick, with two veins over it, a bright flushed tip leaking with pre-ejaculate, and some soft hair dusted at the base of it.

You tried to stop yourself but then couldn’t help it, your hand shyly touching his tip yanking it down and then releasing it to see what happens. As suspected it flew back over, hard against his tummy, making you giggled.

“Oh gosh...” you slapped a palm over your mouth to stop from laughing.

He scrunched up the hair on the back of your head, yanking your neck back so that he could look at you, “What’s so funny?” he growled.

“Nothing,” you gulped, “It’s all just so strange and new... and exciting...”

He hummed as he took in your words. Grabbing the base of his cock as he rubbed his tip and precum all over your cheeks till your face was positively glowing with his essence.

“You wanna taste it?” he asked, to which you eagerly nodded.

Nudging your pouty lips with his tips before tapping on them when you didn’t get the clue, “Open.”

“Oh,” you said before opening as wide as you could, his length easing into your mouth. You hummed around him, the salty unique taste of him you had never really known before and couldn’t get enough of now.

He was barely halfway through inside you when he touched the back of your throat, he tutted, “Relax your throat,” he told you.

You didn’t really know what he meant but you tried loosening up all your muscles. Choking around him when he pushed in a few more inches.

Most of him was still out but it was as good as it’s gonna get, not that he’d ever complain... no... your mouth was like heaven. He had only known his hand for the past year Or so, and your mouth was almost too much.

Holding onto your face to keep it in place he started thrusting upwards into you, his heart swelling with tears escaped your eyes but you still tried to take more of him, to please him like the good girl that you were.

He stopped his hips, gently slapping your cheek to get your attention, “You always look at me when my dick is in your mouth. Got it?”

Since you couldn’t talk with your mouth full of cock, you just nodded.

You peered up at him innocently, fluttering your lashes, popping him out of your sloppy mouth, “Am I doing it right?” because you truly couldn’t tell.

He chuckled, smoothening a hand down your hair, “More than right... it’s too good but I want to come in your pussy. Maybe I’ll make you swallow my load latter, what do you think?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” you licked your lips to taste more of him.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered.

“Um... can I go fix my face before that,” you rubbed your mouth with the back of your hand, you doubted you looked very pretty to him then.

“No,” he stated, pulling you up by your armpits and all but throwing you on the bed.

You yelped and tried to protest, “I wanna look good for you...”

He pushed your legs apart to make room for him, smirking above you, eyeing you up as if you were a piece of meat, his prey, “This really does look pretty on you...” he rubbed the flimsy spagetti strap between his fingers, “but it’s served it’s purpose.”

You screamed, holding onto his wrists as he ripped the babydoll in two pieces, revealing your breasts to him, he yanked at it, throwing the remains away.

“That’s much better,” he gritted, pinching one of your peaks, capturing it in his mouth and suckling at it to his hearts content.

You pouted as you looked at the torn cloth, a bit upset that he ruined his gift to you. “I really liked that...” you sniffled. But couldn’t really ponder because Andy’s ravenous mouth was sucking hickies all over your breasts.

“I’ll buy you another one. I’ll buy you ten more,” he bit into the side of your breasts, your mewls and whines were like music to his ears.

“Andy...” you heaved, “Don’t leave marks... I have to go to dinner tomorrow to moms...”

He stopped abruptly, propping himself up above you and you were afraid that you had upset him, “You’re my wife now, honey. Your father gave you to me,” his hand snaking down your body, between your legs, he parted your moist lips, the pad of his fingers meeting your little pearl, “I can do whatever I want with you,” he reminded you, pushing a finger into you, “This cunt is mine now, got it?”

“Yess...” you whined as you squirmed under him, the invasion of his finger inside you too alien to your body.

“Which means you ask for permission before you touch yourself, or better yet, don’t touch yourself because that’s my job,” he stated.

“Have you ever made yourself come?” he asked, trailing soft kisses down your body till he settled between your legs, moving the strong of the thing to the side so he could get a better look at your virgin pussy, adding another finger inside you, your snug walls clinging to his digits, “You’re so fucking small. Can barely fit my finger. How will you take my cock,” he teased.

He’d make you take it.

You whimpered at the sting of it, “I’ll try, daddy...” throwing your head back as you massaged your breast.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him when he stopped his ministrations, “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” he quirked a brow. “Do you realise what you just called me?”

You simply shook your head because you hadn’t really called him anything, “Andy?”

“No,” he huffed, “You called me daddy, honey.”

You gasped, you didn’t mean to say it out loud! “No...” you shook you head from side to side, trying to pull away from his fingers still knuckle deep inside you, “It can’t be!”

“Oh, but you did,” he laughed, “And you’re gonna say it again. In fact, from now on, when it’s just the two of us that’s the only thing that you will call me. Unless you wanna get punished...”

“Okay...” you said, still a bit unsure of it all.

You had always called him ‘daddy’ in your fantasies. It was maybe a bit expected for it to slip out like that but still so embarrassing. You said it again just to make sure that he actually wanted you to call him that and wasn’t just teasing you.

“Good girl,” he winked, latching his mouth around your clit, fucking you with his fingers as he kept sucking.

“Daddy...” you whined, biting on your hand to muffle some of your noises, a knot building up in the pit of your stomach, “Don’t stop, please!”

You gushed over his mouth, he lapped it all up, making sure nothing went to waste.

“You did good, honey,” he said, your cheeks heating up when you saw his beard glistening with your juices. He rolled your thong down your thick thighs, “You wear this to dinner tomorrow,” he told you. “Since I’m going to be a real husband from now on I pick out what you wear.”

All so he could see you in those pretty flowy dresses you wear sometimes, but you didn’t need to know that.

He hastily pushed his sweats and briefs past his hips, throwing them off the bed before pulling his t-shirt over his head.

You bit your lip at just the sight of him. His shoulders so broad, chest so wide, dark hair dusted all over his chest, you just knew then that all those hours he spent at the gym paid off, you knew he’d be ripped.

But you absolutely did not expect, someone as uptight as him to have numerous tattoos all over his torso.

Something inscribed in Sanskrit on his chest that you didn’t really understand... the logo of your family’s mob on just under his pectoral.

You sat up to get a better look at them, tracing a skull on his bicep that looked much less sophisticated than the others, the lines a bit scribbly, it was already fading.

“That’s the first one,” he interrupted you, “I was a kid back then, got my foster brother to do it.”

You pressed a kiss over it, “I love it.”

His blue eyes beamed at you, he was so beautiful...

“Now for your gift...” he circled your wrist bringing it down to his pelvis.

“Hm?” you looked down, tears brimming up in your eyes as you saw your name written on just beside his hipbone, next to his hard cock, standing tall against his stomach. In a small heart, dark ink against his pale skin, “When did you get it done?” you sniffles, touching his skin to feel the texture of the tattoo.

“A few weeks ago. I just... I’ve never belonged to anyone. Never had a family of my own. But now I have you, and you have me, I’m just as much yours as you’re mine,” he confessed, finally feeling the weight of it lifted off his shoulders. You were a blessing in disguise.

“I love you,” you beamed up at him.

“I love you too, doll, now come on,” he pushed you till you were on your back, “Daddy’s waited long enough. Can’t wiat to fill you up, make you mine.”

He planted a hand on the mattress, so he could see what he was doing to your virgin cunt, look at you and her, as he defiles you and makes you a woman, his thick manhood nudging your glistening lips as he eased into you, he felt you stretching around him, your face twisted in pain as you begged him to go easy on you, he halted when he felt your barrier.

He looked up at your pretty face, sparkling with his spend and your tears, your sweet little whimpers filled the room, he stayed still for a moment to let you get used to him, he knew he should take it easy.

His wife was a delicate, fragile, sweet little girl. He should be more gentle. A better husband and man would be. But he had his whole life to become a good man for you, tonight he just wanted to take what was rightfully his.

Letting out a deep, almost animalistic growl, piercing through your seal, your innocence till you were screeching, your nails drawing blood from the sides of his thighs.

“It hurts!” you screamed.

“It’ll only hurt for a little bit, doll. Just ride through it,” he cooed, stroking your sensitive clit to draw your attention away from the pain, he withdrew his hips before snapping them back till he was deep within your womb.

“You’re so snug, honey,” he grunted, not letting up his pace as he kept fucking into you,

A proud smirk gracing his face as he looked down to see himself covered in blood, a sticky mess of both your bodily fluids where your sexes were joined. His dick somehow grew harder inside you knowing how he took something from you that you’ll never be able to give someone else.

Slowly your crying and whining was subsiding as you got used to have him inside you, but he wanted to hear you scream for him in a different way. “Don’t you want to make your husband, no, your daddy happy, honey?” He asked, each word punctuated with a deep, harsh thrust into you.

You nodded, willing your tears away, cringing when you saw his crotch covered in your blood, “Yes I do, daddy. What do I do?”

“Your cute dumb brain always needs to be told what to do,” he chuckled, moving closer to you he circled his palms around your wrists, pinning them above you, “Wrap your legs around me.”

You followed along, wrapping your legs around his hips and hooking them together on his back. Closing your eyes when you felt your body seizing up, your pussy pulsating around his length when you felt the familiar feeling creep up on you.

“Look at me!” he barked and you immediately opened your eyes, “You look at me when I fuck you.”

You gulped and dared not close your eyes again. Even as you felt your orgasm wash over you, clenching around his length. His face was scrunched up, his neck, face and chest flush as he chased his own release till you felt his warm release coating your walls.

He collapsed above you, panting beside you he kissed your hair, “You liked that, babygirl?”

You let out a meek little yes. Feeling empty and void of his warmth and hardness when he pulled out of you before settling next to you.

“But...” you trailed off. Not finding it in you to bare yourself to him like that just yet.

“But what?” he whipped his head to look at you.

“But I’m sorry if I wasn’t very good!” Since you had simple laid there and took whatever he gave you. You had heard that men don’t like that...

“Don’t worry, honey, you were absolutely perfect,” he sighed. “You’ll get even better with practice, we’re gonna practice a lot from now on.”

You tried to cover your breasts up with the comforter, still awkward about being stark naked right next to a man, a man who looked as good as like Andy, but he swatted at your hands, reprimanding you and telling you to stay still and let him look at you to his hearts content.

Soon you felt your cunt throbbing back up again, still so raw from the loving Andy gave it, you tried rubbing your legs together to ease it a little bit.

“It still hurts?” Andy asked as you nodded.

He snaked a hand between your legs, massaging your little nub and your lips, tutting when you tried to pull away from his touch, “Shh I’m trying to make it hurt less.”

He hummed when he saw his seed leak out of you, pushing a finger in you, much to your displeasure, to keep it inside you, where it belonged.

He would make you go on some form of birth control as soon as he could. While the idea of you all round and plump with his kid was more than appealing, he didn’t want to share you with anyone else just yet. You were young, he had plenty of years to breed you.

“You’d make a good mother,” he wondered out loud.

“Hm?” you blinked at him. Squirming from the torture he was yielding on your overworked sex. His lips curled up in a twisted smile as he pulled his fingers out of you, wiping your blood on your soft nipples, painting them crimson as you shivered.

You looked at his cock, hard again against his stomach. “Does it hurt?” you asked, your hands twitching to touch it again.

“Yes, it does. Do you wanna help me get rid of the pain?”

“Mm... can I use my mouth again? I’m sore...”

“It’s okay, honey, you’ll get used to it,” he promised, grabbing your hips and pulling you on top of him, your palms pressed into his abdomen as you looked so wrecked, “Guide me in,” he ordered.

You shook your head which earned you a harsh slap on your ass so you held onto the base of his cock, parting your intimate lips, before slowly sinking down on him.

You sighed as you settled, sitting on top of him with his cock nestled inside you, so full and strangely satisfied, his warmth soothing your aching walls, he spanked you again to remind you to move, so you started bouncing on top of him the best you could.

His hand groped at your bouncing titts before he wrapped a hand around your throat, applying the slightest bit of pressure as you whimpered and cried, just to remind you who’s in charge, not that you’d forget anytime soon.

His only regret was that he hadn’t done this sooner. He was an idiot to ever resist an angel like you. He’ll have to do a lot to make up for lost time.

Tags will be in the reblog! Click the link in the bio to be join the taglist or shoot me an ask/dm. Comments and reblogs are really appreciated! ❤❤

Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though!

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

For your 300 Followers special (congratulations btw) can I request prompt 16 with rosaria with a reader that’s is related to jean/ Barbara

“Will you just marry me already?”

characters: Rosaria x gn!Gunnhildr!reader

warnings: none

a/n: I don't know too much about Rosaria to be honest, so I wrote her with the few informations about her I had in mind, that could mean that she's out of character, so if that is the case, I am sorry.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Rosaria

It was impossible for you not to have heard about the sister of the Church of Favonius, after all, Barbara never failed to mention her in any of your conversations, always worrying about her, but also telling you about how the Church would always send her to try and convince Rosaria of attending the church activities.

You would often wonder why she even became part of the church, the only time you would actually see her being the night or at the tavern, so you decided to keep an eye on her, observing what she was even doing. You didn’t get far, every time you tried following her, she would just vanish. When she one day confronted you, assuming you to also try and talk her into coming to church, the two of you somehow struck up a weird friendship. You trying to use your Gunnhildr name to help her out as much as possible, in exchange for her attending Church activities every once in a while, with you hoping, that it would cause Barbara to relax a bit.

Like on most nights, you sneaked out of your home, wearing a disguise in hopes of not being recognised. You didn’t want to hear rumours about how on of the siblings of the acting Grandmaster was seen doing something in the middle of the night. When you finally bumped into Rosaria, you quickly handed her a small package, only for her look at you with a curious look before opening it, revealing the knife inside.

“I noticed that you always run around with a knife at night, so I thought it would be nice of me to gift you the best money and reputation can buy”, you told her in a low voice, partly to not potentially wake anyone up and partly because of embarrassment. Rosaria took the weapon, inspecting it before hiding it somewhere on her body.

“Are you not going to ask what I need a knife for?”, she asked in a rare, half-joking voice. You used to always try and question her about why she was sneaking around at night, but after never getting a straight answer, you eventually gave up, choosing instead that it was probably best for you not to know.

“I know you won’t tell me, but please just promise me that you’ll be careful”, you stated, even though you first met after you had tried spying on her, nowadays you saw her as an important friend, and even though you hadn’t confessed yet, she was the person you loved. You hoped she felt the same way, with how she sometimes showed you her warmer side, but as with everything about Rosaria, it was hard to tell.

“Would you just marry someone already? Maybe then I won’t have to hear you worrying about me so much”, the sister said in a sarcastic tone, but the face she showed you made it clear that she appreciated your sentiment.

“Well, will you just marry me already?”, you had no idea why, but her her comment and a random spark of confidence had somehow made your mouth work on its own. When you realised what you had said, your face got completely red, you were thankful for the darkness, since it made it almost impossible for Rosaria to notice, but your comment had even caught her off-guard. It wasn’t enough to make her blush or anything, but her eyes widened for just a moment before she took out her new knife again, just to inspect it for a few second and putting it back again.

“Well, I guess it’s time for me to do my job now. We’ll talk again tomorrow”, she excused herself and when you looked up at her, you could swear that you saw the smallest hint of a smile on her face.

[studiojeon]

bitterness in goodbye | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. sadly, you can't read this as a stand alone (meaning: feel free to check the previous parts ♡)

| summary | - You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

warnings: none (?) i mean chaeryeong insults jungkook which is an atrocity in itself but-

contents: we diving into the angst my friends. jungkook is an innocent, kind hearted soul, i promise. oc's got the feels (out oct. 1) for jk. idol!jungkook × student!reader.

author's note: I EDITTED THIS FROM MY PHONE DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING ANNOYING THAT IS? also, thank u for the amount of support i've been receiving lately, i appreciate everyone lots. feel free to ask away or suggest anything btw, i would love to write for any prompts you guys come up with. 💞💗💖💘💓💕

words: 1.57k

playlist: honey by halsey

Four weeks later, the receptionist of your apartment complex hands you over a cardboard box with the hoodie Jungkook and you had talked about that day on the Han River. Jungkook kept pestering you to please please please send him your address for confidential purposes, which you knew had to do with his determination to literally provide anything that catches your eye right away. You assumed it was a sensitive topic for the boy whether people had purposefully taken advantage of his money before, so you didn’t dare to say anything when the man asked you for your size literally two hours after he dropped you off, scared to either reject his solidare intentions or piss him off for bringing unwanted memories back. In  your defense, your personality type keeps oscillating between INFP and INFJ so it’s only natural that you take extra care to make sure those around you have as much peace of mind as possible in your presence. 

As pretty and comfortable the piece of soft clothing is, an important factor is missing, something that you can’t recreate buying two of the same size and color, and that is Jungkook's escence and how good it looks on him in comparison to anyone else in the world. Meaning, you didn’t like it as much as you thought initially would. And it absolutely did not have to do with the fact that your short stature made you look like a toddler who stole their dad’s jacket.

Still, in order to show Jungkook how much you appreciate his gift, you bring it to work the next day, and the rest of the days after that, with the excuse that with winter rolling around you needed something to keep you warm in the office. Jungkook doesn’t miss the opportunity to confirm your assumptions regarding your appearance whenever he barges into your office randomly throughout the week, arguing that ”you look so adorable” and doesn’t stop for two weeks more, until he gets used to seeing you wearing something you shared with him. Which doesn’t help ease your growing romantic feelings for him whatsoever.

Because yeah, you liked Jeon Jungkook, just like every human being with eyes and sexual desires, except, you didn’t just like him in a superficial way, and that’s where the problem with him resides. Though you are sure everyone has fallen in love with the endearing boy at some point - especially the excluded and invalidated women of society - you can’t help but place some blame on you for allowing yourself to be swooned so goddamn easily. Your mom had said to you at some point to be wary of the way some men would talk to you when you grew up, their intention usually being getting inside your pants, which has happened to you more times than you'd like to admit. And with the argument that she knew you better than anyone, she claimed you would comply right the second someone talked sweet to you; you despised the fact that was the case with Jungkook (and Jungkook only), although he had never shown any sexual innuendos. What your feelings could do to your relationship with Jungkook and your rather chill lifestyle scared you to death, shiver me timbers and all that shit, having romantic feelings for someone else is embarrassing, especially when your chance with them has been scratched out the second you laid eyes on them.

Jungkook sits on your couch, legs spread on your thighs as you two pretend to watch some series on netflix. “I don’t buy for a second the act you’re putting on right now.” he speaks randomly after staring at your deep-in-thought state for a few minutes and laughs when you snap at him for not letting you overthink in peace. “What’s going on?”

Truth is, you don’t fucking know. A few hours before he arrived at your place (you had to pick him up at the dorm and sneak the both of you through the subterranean parking lot, because god forbid someone saw Jungkook arriving at some chick’s dorm on a saturday afternoon) you swore you would be able to conceal whatever emotional turmoil you had going inside of you without compromising your regular behaviour around the man, but when push comes to shove, it’s impossible to keep yourself from wondering how far you could go before that special someone found out what was going on inside of your head.

Jungkook’s phone rings in his pocket with some annoying tone he had downloaded illegally from youtube the same day the company had handed over the device as a gift for him (you still were a little bitter over how they neglected the rest of the staff but you also knew it was kind of impossible for the human kind to just gift a-thousand-dollar-phones to almost five hundred people out of solidarity). “Hyung?” he picks up, still wary of your unusual behaviour, concerned eyes looking at you. “No, uh- i’m with Yugyeom right now.” and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

You have been suspecting for a while that Jungkook is being hesitant to introduce you to his social circle. Although, you’ve tried your best not to take it personal, it is getting harder to resist the urge to ask him what the fuck is up with that. The fact that Jungkook had to lie about the person he was hanging out with broke your ego; he could’ve just said he was with a friend, right? You suddenly feel like you’re fifteen again, when the guy you liked would love you in the dark but pretend he didn’t know you in the light. 

Holding your tears back, you gently push him off and make your way towards the bathroom in the most nonchalant way you could. This is your fault for falling for the nice popular guy in the first place, you remind the reflection staring back at you. Still, as bad as it hurt, there was no way you were going to cry over a stupid boy, let alone when he was literally sat on the next room. He can go fuck himself if he thinks he can just toss this behind as if nothing ever happened.

You text Chaeryeong instead.

“chaery bom bom: i swear to god i gonna throw hands the next time i see the bitch.

chaery bom bom: like who the hell does he think he is? fucking squidward looking asshole.

chaery bom bom: he ain’t even that cute bub, you’ll get over him. i know jinyoung wouldn’t treat you like this”

You sigh. Chaeryeong has been enamored with the idea of you and his former company colleague from GOT7 since the day she met the guy (which was somewhere around ten years ago), and although he was all that, you didn’t like his quiet and cold aura, it intimidated the fuck out of you (Jungkook was the entire opposite of that).

You spray on some perfume just to have an excuse as to why you randomly ran to the bathroom when Jungkook’s inquiring eyes stare as you sit back on the couch, which is exactly what he does. “You done with your call?” you ask, bitter.

Jungkook frowns, a bit taken aback by the sudden question but still unaware of the way his words had made you feel, not even sensing the hostile change in your mood. “Yes, it was one of our managers. He was wondering if I could come back to reshoot some...-thing.”

Okay, now you kind of understand as to why he lied in the first place and to say you feel guilty is an understatement. “I supposed he backed down once you mentioned you were hanging out with Yugyeom.” playfulness makes its appearance on your tone and Jungkook rolls his eyes at you, tongue poking on the inside of his slightly red cheeks.

“Sorry for that” he moves closer and cuddles your arm, like a sad guilty puppy. “It’s just- I don’t want them asking questions''.

You understand. He is a very reserved and private person after all. It took you a bit to crack him open yourself. Plus, you kind of share that trait with him, you’d hate it too if people were constantly on your nerves for the people you decide to hang out with. 

And that’s all it takes to forgive him. Not very cash money of you.

“You better not pull that shit again, though” you shift in his hold and he looks up at you. One look into your eyes and he knows what you mean. “I’ll kick you out.”

After nodding, Jungkook resumes his concentration on the series you picked out for him. Due to your short attention span, you are very picky about what you invest your time in, especifically with audiovisual pieces of media, so Jungkook trusts you whenever you recommend something on very rare occasions. As a matter of fact, Jungkook was busy attacking your kitchen counters for snacks (which you didn’t have) when you mentioned Money Heist. “Munch on some grapes instead” you suggested to soothe his disappointment.

You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Gotham Villains x Hotel Owner!Reader || Headcanons

Explanation / Topic: You run one of the cities dingy hotels except this one, in all of its glory, is only ever visited by bad guys. Your hotel is well known as the place rogues hide away in when they're planning or they're just out of action for a while because you refuse to give up information to the police no matter what (Its proprietor-client confidentiality! Ha ha) and you're treat them fairly (Although- on the kinder side of course)

These are the many ways they show their gratitude, no matter how small.

Character involved: Most, if not all, of Fox Gotham's rogues. Except Ra's Al Ghul because he bores me. Nevertheless, not just the Legion Horrible's like the picture might lead you to believe- that's just the picture with the most villains that I could think of.

Warnings: Probably too much fluff. I'll make a sequel to this with the less-then-pretty, nitty grotty details of this hotel too probably XD

Barbara likes to invest every now and then, "Just making sure my affairs are in order baby- gotta make sure my hidey hole's still there when I need it." but she always adds a little something for you to buy yourself 'something pretty' (Since your style is SO plain, according to her but then again who isn't plain compared to her XD). This little something is always upwards of a hundred dollars. She's such a sugar mommy you cant convince me that she isn't-

Butch (Or Cyrus Gold, or Grundy. he has too many names) has made it clear that if you ever need help, you can always call him and he'll be there. Very gangsta about it. He's such a big, tough guy but such a softy on the inside XD When he had Grundy brain, he still had some kind of tracker in his mind like dogs do that took him 'home' (To your hotel), dragging Ed along with him. He gave you a big, bone crushing hug when he got there.

Dr Strange is not allowed in as he'll steal your guests and experiment on them.

You don't know Ecco too well yet and vice versa but when she turned up with Jeremiah and Jervis- you definitely appreciated her presence more then that of Jeremiah's. You were still sore over Jerome and didn't trust this new brother. Still, you complimented the bullet in Ecco's skull, saying it was pretty cool, and now she loves you XD When she's in the neighbourhood she occasionally likes to pop in and say hello; Spread a little chaos, you know the deal.

Honestly you probably new Bridgit long before Strange forcing upon her the heat resistance thing and her becoming Firefly. She of course didn't remember you but soon *warmed* up to you after you gave her one of the few rooms with a fireplace and easily forgave her when she accidentally set the couch in her room on fire (I mean its for sure not the worst thing that has happened within these walls- no worries). She has been known to go around lighting the fireplaces for you under the pretence of having fun (Which is true) but also so that you can worry about one less thing. Firefly is also one to come chat with you if she's bored.

Fish Mooney obviously doesn't stay with you very often at all, because this lady can find better dwellings (As, no offense but your hotel is kiiiiinda dingy. What can you do about it, though? You house rogues and a lot of them don't have a lotta money) but she still absolutely appreciates what you do. She'll send bad guys that she does business with that have deeper pockets then your usual client, your way. She's also kind to you, which to me is even better honestly haha XD

Headhunter stays with you a lot when he's on business and often reminds you that you get a discount from him if you require his services. Hey, you keep him in milkshakes! He's gotta repay you somehow.

Okay, the twins. You knew Jerome first and got off to a bad start with Jeremiah due to that. Still, we aren't talking about relationships; We're talking about nice things. So moving on. Just assume that you warm up to the brainier twin.

These two are hard XD Cuz their 'good' and 'bad' sides kinda blur together as they're so unpredictable and don't really care about anyone.

Still, I can see Jerome being pretty light with you and valuing the fact that you can keep up with his banter- so he keeps you alive. You're basically his mother actually, despite the possible lack of age difference. Like, he wants to show you stuff he does and tell you about chaos he's created.

And Jeremiah honestly appreciates that you'll listen to his long speeches (You've gotten pretty good at just sitting and nodding your head and you've perfected the art of the well placed understanding noises like 'Hmm' and 'Ah!' and 'Oh dear' in your line of work)- so obviously, you're invaluable to him. Must keep you around. I mean, Ecco listens, but does she really understand? That is the question.

When he's around, Jervis is very polite and gracious. He'll duck into the kitchens after dinner and start helping you with the dishes and clear dining tables, he'll ask you how you are and mean it (Like, he'll stand there and discuss it with you), he'll try to keep Jerome from barging into your room in the early hours of the morning, etc. Just nice things like that ^^

Magpie tries not to steal from you... Haha XD Like, she'll pick up a pretty clock off a mantle piece and then go to leave with it... then realise that this is yours and go 'Oops!!' and put it back, giggling nervously.

... When she leaves you still find various items from other places in the hotel, in her room, but still. The fact that she tries is enough!

Mr Freeze is a pleasure to have around, of course!! He's quiet, he nods to you when he passes, and he's there to freeze assholes that harass you (And then take them outside so they don't melt all over your carpet). A respectful dude. He has frozen Jerome multiple times... particularly when Jervis has been unsuccessful in persuading him not to wake you up at 3 in the morning.

Ivy gets so happy whenever she sees you. Lots of hugs and telling you all about how she's been. Her energy is enough to cheer you up, and on your birthdays she always brings you a new plant that has meaning to her. Like, a sunflower for how kind you are, a Ficus for abundance, etc. Always in a pot of course, never dead. So of course, you have to take care of them but its a small price to pay for the sweetness ^^ And the not being murdered thing.

Like Mooney and Barbara, Oswald doesn't stay often due to having that mansion from his father but he remembers your kindness from when he would fall on hard times before that (And after the fact, too of course) and whenever he's making some kind of mafia deal he always ensures your and your hotels safety in the contract.

Pyg / Lazlo (I cant decide which name I like best XD) is just very polite, like Jervis. Gentlemen. Also his impressions- God. Have fun with that. He might just do your favourite Looney Tune character if he's in a good mood.

With Ed... look, if you even try with his riddles without being prompted, he'll do anything for you. It's well documented. I'm not sur about nice deeds, cuz Riddler's kind of a dick, but he'll for sure send you a birthday card every year! Christmas probably too ^^

Scarecrow: I will not spray you today. You: Gee thanks. // No but seriously, he's quiet about his gratitude but he is definitely once of the good ones ^^ Would absolutely take it upon himself to come save your ass if you got abducted.

Tabitha... well, you know how Headhunter will you get a discount if you want someone killed? Tabitha will do it for fucking free.

Hey, if you feed Victor (Zsasz), you have a friend for life. He will bring pizza and just hang out together. He is also willing to murder someone for you.

[mypoisonedvine]

Hungry Like The Wolf | soft!dark!Ari Levinson x reader

summary: when you need ari’s help for a secret mission with the CIA, he expects gratitude from you— and he wants a lot more than just a thank you card.

word count: nearly 6.5k

warnings: smut (dub con/coercion/sex as bartering tool), oral sex (f receiving) and vaginal sex, overstimulation, possessiveness/very very slight yandere vibes?, some violence and gun use, mentions of human trafficking/warfare, religious discussions and traditions but not particularly orthodox ones, vague discussions of sexism and misogyny with implied religious background, overall just lots of global politics and all that fun stuff

(a/n: I went ahead and wrote the hebrew and arabic in english lettering because tumblr doesn’t support right to left text so just a heads up.  my arabic is very weak so I apologize if there are any errors.)

Taking a deep breath, you ran through your pitch in your head again.  Sure, you’d had plenty of time to go over it on the plane, but one last recitation couldn’t hurt, right?  Unable to stall any longer, you turned the knob and entered Ari Levinson’s office.

You’d heard he was good-looking but his appearance still surprised you; his long hair and thick beard made him look like he’d fit in with a rock band better than an intelligence agency, and his half-buttoned shirt put his Star of David necklace and muscled, hairy chest on display.

He must have caught your gaze trailing down because he smirked at you, making your cheeks feel a bit warm.

“Mr. Levinson,” you greeted as you looked up to his face again.

He greeted you as ‘Ms.’ instead of ‘Agent,’ but you let it slide since you were about to ask him for quite the favor.  When he motioned for you to take a seat across from him, you did so with a nod and a quick smoothing of your skirt.

“So, what can I help you with?” he prompted. 

This was the easy part; this was the part you’d rehearsed a thousand times.  “There is a group of trafficked women and girls who have been rescued from all over— Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Kuwait— and gathered in Riyadh.  We are working on a plan to move them to Cyprus and, eventually, Greece where they will be accepted into a camp there.  Maybe they’ll end up in the States at some point, if we can swing it, but… Cyprus is step one.”

Ari nodded, listening to your story with more patience than anyone else had so far.

“As you can imagine, it would be a lot easier to move through Jordan and Israel and use your ports, rather than go around through Egypt or Syria…”  He stared at you expectantly as you trailed off, and you cleared your throat before finishing:  "The CIA would greatly appreciate Mossad's cooperation in the movement of these refugees."

"How much would they appreciate it?"

You paused, unsure what he meant.  "Um, quite a lot, I'm sure…"

"I just mean that we have missions the CIA could be a useful assist for, too,” he clarified, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on his lap.  “You guys have a lot more resources than we do.  If we help you out, is this going to be an allyship we can rely on?"

You swallowed dryly, pondering if there was a way to get out of this before you sighed and slumped down in your chair, leaning a little closer to him.  "Alright, I have to be honest with you: it's not really the CIA that's asking for your help."

"Then who is?"

"Me.  Just me.  I'm the only one who believes in this mission; I'm the only one fighting for these people.  The CIA won't help you because they won't even help me and I work for them."

He slumped his shoulders a little bit.  "Then I'm not sure if I can afford to say yes to you."

"Please," you implored, "I know I can't offer you as much as they can, but I'll do whatever I can to make this work.  Please," you repeated as you laid your hand over his, noticing the way his expression shifted a bit, "help me."

"I've been the one person fighting for a mission before," he remembered, voice a little softer.  "I know how hard it is to go it alone."

You smiled gently at him.

"And, I know how far I would've gone to get my people to safety." 

His hand flipped around suddenly and grabbed yours tightly, pulling you closer as you gasped.

"How far will you go?"

You shivered, the darkness in his eyes burning right through you even when you tried to look away.  "Mr. Levinson, I—"

"Call me Ari," he instructed gruffly, grip tightening around your wrist until you yelped softly.

"Ari," you corrected, "I have money—"

"Don't want it."

"I can offer you my assistance in—"

"Don't need it."

"Tell me what you need,” you requested softly.

"I need to know you're gonna show me this 'great appreciation' you promised,” he answered quickly.  “I need to know that if I take care of you, then you'll take care of me."

You gulped but nodded.  "O-of course…"

"Good."

He released you from his grip and stood up, smiling at you like nothing had even happened.

"Pleasure doing business with you, madam."

You stood up and left his office in a haze, unsure if what had just happened was a dream or reality.  But, sure enough, he showed up the next day where you’d told him to meet you, and brought some money and fake passports that you desperately needed.  Frankly, just having a man around was going to make things smoother for you, even if it was a white man who didn’t exactly blend in by any stretch of the imagination.  Seeing him again the next day only reminded you how big he was, tall but moreso heavy with muscle; he looked pretty cramped in his tiny coach seat on the plane to Dubai (your connecting stop where you’d spend the night before flying out to Riyadh).

“Bloody mary, please,” he requested from the stewardess with a gentle nod, turning to you.

“Uh, just water, thanks,” you ordered quickly with a tilted smile.  You had brought a book to read, but Ari insisted on barraging you with personal questions about your job, your personal life, your favorite things— he seemed fascinated by the most mundane things, and disinterested in giving his own backstory.  

Of course you considered that it wasn’t a great idea to tell him so much about yourself, let him in your head and under your skin.  But then again, you’d put your trust in him enough for the mission, so you ought to trust him completely, right?  

So why did his stare send shivers up your spine?

//  

There was room for you and Ari at a CIA safehouse outside Dubai; it wasn’t exactly luxurious or anything, but at least you weren’t going to have to share a room… or a bed.

Normally staying in a safehouse meant sharing common areas with a random assortment of other agents, but it being a Friday night in Dubai meant they were all out enjoying the local nightlife while you two stayed in.  Hoping to review a game plan for the mission with him, you found Ari’s door open, peeking around to see him on his knees on the floor, a candle burning before him, and his hands raised to cover his eyes and face.

“Shema Yisrael,” he sung to himself below his breath, “Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad…”

He jumped a little when he uncovered and opened his eyes only to find you standing there.  “Shabbat Shalom,” you greeted.

“Shabbat Shalom,” he nodded back.  

“I’m sorry you’re forced to take your Shabbat alone,” you apologized, “and that there’s nobody other than me to appreciate your vocal chops.”

His cheeks tinged pink at that.  “It’s all part of the sacrifices we make for our missions, eh?”

“Then I suppose you don’t mind that you’ll be doing plenty of work tomorrow,” you presumed.

“You probably realized by now that I’m not actually so traditional,” he chuckled, extinguishing the candle and standing up.  “I work on the sabbath quite a lot.”

“I hear work is permitted if it is needed to save a life.”

He smiled, but he looked a little sad; maybe not sad, but tired.  “With me, it always is.”

The silence was thick as you tried to reconcile that this was the same man that had grabbed and threatened you— was it a threat?  You couldn’t even tell anymore.  Apparently he wasn’t going to take whatever it was that he wanted until you’d finished the mission, and that should’ve made it easier to procrastinate your worry, but the extra time to ponder what it was actually going to be only brought further anxiety.

Of course, you had an idea of what he was going to ask of you, but the fact that nothing too untoward had happened in his office when you first met him was throwing you off.  In that moment, you were just waiting for him to tell you to get on your knees and show him how bad you wanted these women rescued, but he didn’t.  Wouldn’t have been the first time somebody tried to bribe you into sex; it would’ve been the first time, however, that you actually considered doing it.

Now, the anticipation just made it worse; you were working with him every day and he always acted normal, as if there wasn’t this looming threat of whatever favor he was going to ask from you in return.

Once you actually got to work the next day, it was easier not to think about that.  You barely had any extra brainpower to think about anything except survival and extraction.  Still, each time you looked at him only to find him already looking at you, your hands shook a little.

//

“You’ve been driving for 10 hours, you’re sure you don’t want me to take the wheel?” you offered, watching him blink a few times to clear his vision.

“Not worth getting arrested,” he frowned.

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“Not worth the risk of getting caught.  And I don’t know about you, but if I get arrested here, I’ll probably be killed, too.”

You chewed your lip as you appreciated that it was probably worth avoiding as much trouble as possible.  It’s not like the CIA was popular in these parts, either, and for good reason.

“What’s that up ahead?” he asked, leaning further forward against the steering wheel and squinting.

“Um,” you stalled as you unfolded the paper map in your lap, “I’m… not sure.”

“Looks like a barricade,” he announced, and it did; a gate with two guards and barbed wire on either side.

“There isn’t supposed to be a stop here,” you reminded him as you frantically shuffled around the map, making sure you were where you thought you were and that there wasn’t a mark indicating a vehicle stop on the road.

“What do we do?” he asked, looking around as if he was considering veering off the path even though that would be equally dangerous.

“There isn’t supposed to be a stop here,” you repeated, more anxiously.

“Well, there is,” he replied, his own agitation clearly increasing, “so we’ll have to go through it.”

“They’re going to pull us over.”

“Probably,” he admitted.

“And they will search the back of the truck.”

“I’d be surprised if they didn’t.  How well do you think they’re gonna take it when they see eighty-something women packed like sardines?”

You chuckled a little even though you were anything but amused.  “Um, not good.”

As the men at the stop waved to signal your car to slow down, Ari sighed a little.  "I'll ask once again: what do we do?"

"Act natural," you suggested quickly as you lifted the scarf draped around your head to cover your nose and mouth.

Ari slowed down to a stop, lowering the window to talk to the officer outside and putting on a fake English accent.  “How can I help you, sir?”

“Identification please,” he requested sternly.  Ari smiled as he grabbed his and your passports, handing them over through the window.  It was a long, awkward moment as he flipped through the thick papers slowly, his partner leaning down to look through your window but never taking his hands off his gun.  “What brings you out here?” the man finally asked.

“My wife and I operate a restaurant in Jordan, and we get most of our equipment here because the workmanship is better,” Ari explained.  “Just passing through with our new stoves and oven hood.”

The officer glanced back over your truck, his expression mostly unreadable but overall not necessarily friendly-looking.  “Could you step out of the vehicle please?”

“Hal hdha daruri?” you asked quickly; Is this necessary?

“Alsamt,” he replied in a hiss; Silence.

Ari looked around like he was thinking but nodded and reached for the handle to his door.  You did the same, the second guard stepping out of your way so you could swing open the rusted metal and step out.

The men guided for you to circle the car with them, stopping at the back and staring at the metal sliding door that was latched shut.

Turning to address Ari, the guard’s face dropped completely as he got a bit more serious.  “What am I going to find in your vehicle?”

“Kitchen supplies, like I said,” Ari insisted.

As the officer reached for the latch on the back of the truck, Ari shot you a wide-eyed look and you gave him a quick nod.  He lunged at the second guard, wrestling him for his gun while you went after the first, who was much easier to take down with him being distracted by trying to unlock the back of the truck.  Your CIA instincts told you to shoot him once you’d grabbed his weapon, but thankfully you knocked him out with the butt of it instead.

Loud pops of gunfire beside you made you fear the worst, but Ari had managed to push the gun toward the sky before pulling it out of the officer’s grasp, swinging it wildly until it made contact with his head and he fell to the ground.

Gun in hand and panting heavily, Ari looked back at you with a grin.  “That wasn’t so bad.”

“You almost got shot,” you reminded him.

“A little more than almost,” he corrected, showing you a gash where a bullet had grazed arm.

“Shit, Ari!” you yelped, running over to him and inspecting the wound.  The way he looked down at you as you clutched him made you sort of regret it, though.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, but he made no effort to push you away.

“I… should check on the girls,” you decided, a little bit distracted but making your way back to the truck to roll up the metal back and examine the women inside, who looked scared at first but relaxed when they saw you.

“Kli shay' ealaa ma yaram,” you assured them that everything was fine, “nahn taqribaan 'iilaa al'urduni, wasawf nasil 'iilaa alsafinat allaylat.”  We're almost to Jordan and will arrive at the ship tonight.

They relaxed a bit and smiled at you, a few muttered ‘shukraan jazilaan’s (meaning ‘thank you’) echoing from inside.  You hated to shut the back and plunge them into darkness again, but they had assured you before that they would brave any conditions for a chance at freedom.  You hoped they meant it.

“Please, let me drive, you’re injured,” you offered to Ari as he started to make his way toward the driver’s side door.

“It’s not even that bad, and we’ve had enough run-ins with the law today,” he dismissed.

“Then let me patch you up first, okay?  Is that so terrible?”

He smiled a little.  “No, I guess not.”

And that was how you ended up leaning on him in the passenger seat, supergluing his arm shut, trying not to think about how his bicep was probably bigger than your head.

“You’re a pretty good medic,” he observed, speaking quietly since you were so close.

“When you’re as clumsy as I am, you have to be,” you responded, sounding monotone due to focusing mostly on your work.  “It shouldn’t scar too—”

You stopped when you looked up at him, because the way he was staring back down at you made you completely devoid of the ability to speak or even conjure words in your mind.  You’d never seen him so close before and those piercing blue eyes made your head spin.

“What were you gonna say?” he asked softly, 

“It… shouldn’t scar too bad,” you finished, “as long as you keep it clean and dry.”

“I generally aim to keep my entire body clean and dry,” Ari chuckled.

“Right, yeah, well— keep up the good work, then,” you stammered as you wrapped some gauze around his arm and rolled his sleeve back down over it.

“Let’s hit the road before we waste any more time,” he suggested, and with a nod you leaned back into your seat.

//

The radio blasting was the only thing keeping both of you awake as you drove through the dark.  The border to Jordan was easy enough, and both of you sighed with relief as you crossed into Israel.  It was by far the biggest blockade you’d seen so far, but of course, Ari got you in faster than you’d moved through anything else.

“Good to be home?” you asked when you saw Ari smiling as he looked around at the streetlights through the windshield.

“You could say that,” he answered.  “Think we have time to stop for falafel before we get to the port?”

“Not unless you plan on buying for all your passengers,” you laughed, motioning toward the back.  “If they have to wait until we reach the ship, so do we.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he relented.  “Besides, probably better to be seen by as few people as possible.  Even if we’re in friendly territory, it’s still a covert operation and all.”

“Wow, so you do have some desire to play by the rules,” you gasped in faux shock.  He smiled and shrugged a bit.

“More like the rules and my desires occasionally overlap.”

It was past midnight when you pulled into the port, surrounded by ships so big that you couldn’t see the tops of them from inside the car.  A cargo ship was waiting for you, along with some Navy men who helped you escort the women onto the vessel.

Since it wasn’t meant to accommodate this many people, the refugees occupied extra crew space while you and Ari were given sleeping bags in an unused office; you were so tired, though, that it actually looked enticing.

As soon as you’d set your pack down and shut the door, you heard a distant horn and felt the ship begin to move.  You let out a long sigh as you leaned against the desk, watching Ari take a seat in the chair and start laughing exhaustedly.

“We did it,” you smiled, “we fucking did it.”

“We’ve still got a long boat ride ahead of us,” Ari mitigated, “but yeah… we should be in the clear, and tomorrow afternoon we’ll be in sunny Cyprus.”

You were so elated from the high of a successful mission that you forgot to worry about Ari’s vague request all those weeks ago; it was probably the first time you hadn’t thought about it since then, truthfully.  That changed when his smile fell as he looked up at you, eyes darkening a little and scanning your body.

“You’re a great agent,” he nodded slowly, “and an incredible woman.  You saved a lot of people tonight.”

You shifted nervously under the weight of his stare, but tried to hide your discomfort.  “I… couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I know,” he informed you coldly, standing up and approaching you.  “I think I’ve gone above and beyond on my end of our deal.”

A pit formed in your stomach, growing with each step he took towards you.  His eyes stayed trained on you except for when he glanced to the side to flip on the radio, American music suddenly piping through the speakers.

— discord and rhyme, I’m on the hunt, I’m after you…

You looked to the radio as well but his hand gently guided your jaw until you looked back at him; he was closer than ever, and you had to look up to meet his gaze, shivering as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip slowly.

“Are you good for your end of the deal?” he asked lowly.

And I’m hungry like the wolf…

You swallowed, hoping it would somehow ease the ache in your gut as you realized what was about to happen, before nodding meekly.

He smirked a little.  “Good girl,” he praised, only a bit louder than a whisper, as his hand moved to cradle your face.  “You want me, don’t you?”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to figure out how you were supposed to answer that.  “I want to repay you, for all you’ve done for me.”

“No, not just that,” he disagreed, “you want me.  I know you do.  You don’t need to hide it, we’re alone…”

Hesitant but catching on to his desires, you nodded a little.

“Say it.”

“I want you, Ari,” you whispered.  

It felt like forever waiting for him to kiss you as he leaned in slowly, eyes half-lidded and dark but never leaving you.  As his lips brushed against yours, you finally let your eyes flutter shut and reciprocated his kiss.  His hands felt especially big as one slipped behind your neck and the other rested on your waist; in fact, with the way you had to crane your head up to kiss him back, all of him felt big.  Including the part you were pretty sure just bumped against the inside of your thigh.

His kiss was soft and patient but determined, slow but somehow still moving faster than you were ready for.  You gingerly reached up and rested your hands on his shoulders; they were strong and warm beneath your touch, even through his shirt.  You couldn’t think of the last time you’d been kissed like this, or held so tenderly like this, but then again, you were also sure that nobody had scared you like this in a long time, either.  For a woman who always knew what to do in a dangerous situation, you couldn’t seem to get a read on Ari Levinson— mostly because you didn’t truly believe he was dangerous.  But maybe you should.

When his hands reached up to start unbuttoning your blouse, you pushed him back a little.

"N-not here," you protested, "someone could hear, or walk in."

"There's nowhere else to go, and I'm not waiting 'til Cyprus.  I need you now."

He kissed you again before you could respond, more forceful and desperate.  You let him work open your shirt this time, his fingers dancing over your skin as he pulled it off your shoulders and tossed it aside.  The feeling of him working your bra open made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but his tongue slipping into your mouth distracted you and before you knew it, it was gone as well.  Your nipples hardened in the cold air— or maybe they’d been that way already, for whatever reason— but they reacted even stronger to his thick fingers gently pinching them as his palms cupped your breasts.

You gasped against his mouth a bit, your breathing getting heavier as he moved his hands down to your trousers.  The idea of being naked when he was still fully-dressed scared you, but you didn’t have time to think about that anymore when he pulled back to drop to his knees, taking your pants and underwear to the floor with him.

He looked back up at you with a mischievous grin as you cautiously stepped out of them.  After guiding you to sit up on the table, neither of you stopping to consider how rude it was to put your bare ass on somebody’s desk in a borrowed ship, he slowly parted your legs.  As he kissed a trail inside your thigh, you felt your hands clutch the edge of the table tightly with anticipation.  You felt so exposed with his face right there, to the point that your cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and yet you couldn't manage to tear your eyes away from his as he leaned in to lick you teasingly with the tip of his tongue.

"Fuck," you shivered, feeling your inner walls quiver as he moved so delicately.  You kept waiting for him to really get into it but he was determined to stay gentle and slow, circling your bud for one glorious moment before stopping again.  "Ari, please," you whispered without even realizing you’d said it.

"What do you want, baby?" he asked darkly, his voice deep and gravelly as he ran his hands up the back of your legs.

Your begging whimper was so pathetic you could hardly believe you were hearing yourself.  "More, please…"

He dove right in after that, suddenly latching onto your clit and letting his tongue explore every fold, every wrinkle, every sensitive spot with thick, wide licks.  Your head fell back and your hands jumped to weave into his hair— that gorgeous fucking hair that had driven you halfway insane.  It was soft between your fingers, and in this light you could see the touches of red, blonde, and maybe even grey scattered into the brunette.  Better yet was the way he moaned against you when you accidentally pulled it, your hands clenching into fists against his scalp each time he sucked on your clit just right.

"Ari, baby, fuck," you groaned, feeling your hips shift a little as if to try to get more of yourself in his mouth.

Sensation was sparking under your skin faster than you knew what to do with it, faster than you had ever figured out on your own, and definitely faster than anybody else had ever managed.  You felt your body shaking and couldn’t suppress it at all, every part of you (inside and out) quivering uncontrollably.  It would’ve been embarrassing except that he seemed to be enjoying it quite a bit, egging you on with his tight grip on your thighs, and his deep moans that reverberated over your body, and the way his brow furrowed like it almost pained him to see you like this.  Your back arched so dramatically that he had to hold onto your hips tight to keep you in his mouth, but he managed to maintain what he'd been doing— in fact, he didn't stop even when you started to whine and cry, feet digging into his back as you tried not to explode from the overstimulation on your sensitive clit.  

"S-stop, s'too much, can't take it," you pleaded, looking down at him.

He looked back up at you with dark, dilated eyes that said 'you're gonna take it.'  His tongue lapped at you with renewed vigor, sending you tumbling over the edge again and again and again.

Tears were streaming down your face when he finally relented, standing up slowly and staring you down as he wiped his face with the back of his hand; your arousal had coated his mouth and most of his beard, too.  You bit down on your lip to stop it from shaking as he slotted himself between your legs again, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and smiling as he watched your gaze trail down every inch of newly-exposed skin.

You knew he was in good shape, because it was always obvious, but you still shivered a little when you were greeted with chiseled muscles, dusty-blonde hair, a few stray freckles and scars, and last but not least, the gauze wrapping on his arm where you’d patched him up before.  It was nice to see a piece of your handiwork on something so flawless, like how it must feel to design the frame that holds a Monet.  Your mouth was even watering as you followed the trail of hair down to where it was interrupted by his jeans, which were misshapen with the unmistakable outline of his neglected cock.  Either you could actually hear it throbbing, or that was just your heartbeat in your ears as he made a show of undoing his buckle and fly slowly.  

A breath caught in your throat as he slid the jeans down and kicked them off with his boots, his cock bouncing up against the bottom of his abs once he’d freed it.  You hoped to hide your intimidation, but you must have failed from the way he smirked and licked his lips as he stepped forward and pressed it against your stomach; you felt a little dizzy seeing the head of it reach past your bellybutton.  "That's how deep I'm gonna be in you, baby."

For all his delicacy and tenderness in everything before now, he must have had a change of heart; with a little growl, he pushed all the way into you with one brutal thrust, watching darkly as your head fell back in a choked scream.  He didn’t stop for very long, either, setting up a pace that was slow but unyielding, his length filling every part of you and then some with each slam of his hips into yours.

He grabbed your hair tightly and suddenly, pulling your head back to expose your neck to him.  He licked and sucked along your pulse until you were shaking against him, nails accidentally digging into his shoulders a little bit as you held onto him.

His lips trailed up to pull you into a frenzied, sloppy kiss, your mouth slack wide for him to explore however he wanted.

"Tell me how it feels," he growled against your lips.

It feels like my body is on fire but I like it.  It feels like you're shaping my insides to fit you exactly how you want.  It feels like you might split me in half before you're done with me, but if you stop now I'll fall apart even worse.

His grip on your hair tightened at your lack of response.  "Gettin' fucked too good to answer me, huh?  So full of my cock you can't even speak.  Is that right, pretty baby?"

You nodded as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your hoarse moans and sobs muffled by his skin.  

"Aw, poor thing," he purred, wrapping his arms around your back.  His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke to you in a deep mumble, the bass of his voice sending shivers down your spine with each word.  "You don't have to tell me, I know how it feels… you're so wet that you're fucking dripping, your needy little pussy is clamping down on me like it's the end of the fucking world, and you're screaming for me so loud I bet half the ship can hear you.  I know how it feels, baby; it feels so good that you're already about to come for me."

You gasped as he pushed you to lay back on the table, hoisting your legs up over his shoulders; you felt a bit whorish seeing your legs up in the air like that, especially when he leaned to the side to plant a wet kiss on your calf.

Soon he was letting your legs slip back down to his hips, leaning over you and caging you in with his thick arms, watching your face as he started to fuck you harder.  His long hair was at risk of tickling you as it fell down beside your face, but it was that Star of David necklace that was dangling from his neck and swinging right in your face with every thrust.  Slightly annoyed by it hitting your face from time to time, you stuck out your tongue to catch it, holding it between your teeth and finding that biting down on it helped you cope with the slight pain of him so deep inside you anyways.

"Baby," he moaned, inspired by the sight to grab your hips even tighter and slam into you even harder.  "Fuck, I'm close," he hissed.  "Gonna fill you up so good, baby, gonna ruin you for anybody else, huh?"

"Yes, Ari," you whimpered.  "I'm close, too…"

"Go ahead, pretty girl, wanna feel how tight you get when you come— when I make you come."

Trying to hold it back only made it hit you harder, and as your moans grew louder and your body began to shake, you felt your walls flutter and flex intensely.  He pulled his necklace out of your mouth and kissed you suddenly; it kept you grounded as you feared that the rest of you would float away, lost in pleasure so thoroughly that you'd never come back to reality.  His moans mixed with yours as they moved between your tongues, and just when you thought you'd break into pieces if he didn't slow down, you felt his movements stutter and his cock pump inside you.  You couldn't feel the warmth of it because you were already so hot all over, but the way his cock swelled as he came was unmistakable and overwhelmingly erotic.

He broke the kiss but didn't pull away, catching his breath while he stayed inside you, resting his forehead against yours.  

After cooling off for a moment, he scooped your limp body into his arms and lifted you into his chest; you wrapped around him and let him carry you to the other side of the room where he set you down on the pallet sleeping bags and blankets.  You whimpered as he pulled out, his softening cock still big enough to make you wince.  The gush of warm, sticky come made your cheeks burn even if it also sent a dulled tingle of arousal up your spine.  He was gentlemanly enough to wipe you off with a towel, mumbling something about how pretty you looked stuffed with his come, but you couldn't really focus on any of that because you were still waiting for sensation to return to your numbed extremities— brain included.

He turned his head and laid it on your chest, and you found yourself absent-mindedly scratching his scalp with your nails.

"That's nice," he whispered, but you could tell that already by the way his skin was erupting into goosebumps, and the way he held you tighter.

You must've laid like that for hours, or maybe it was just a few minutes, but it was one of those moments that felt like a piece of forever.  He lifted his head to look up at you, pulling you down a bit so his face hovered over yours.

"What's next for you after you get these women to Greece?" he asked quietly.

You chewed your lip as you thought about that.  "Back to DC, I figure, and then wherever they send me next.  I hear they might want me undercover in Cuba or Russia…"

"How often do you end up in Jerusalem?"

You squirmed a little beneath him, but he slipped his arm under your neck and pulled you closer; how were you supposed to think with his bicep right by your face like that?  "Uh, not often, but if I'm in town I'll give you a call—"

"Come with me," he requested softly.  "Get to Cyprus, go to Greece, and then meet me in Tel Aviv."

"Ari, I can't—"

"Why not?"

You laughed a little, but he clearly wasn’t joking.  "Because I have a job?"

"You won't need a job," he shrugged, "I make good money and you can just live with me."

Your throat went dry as you stammered, trying to figure out if he had seriously just asked you to quit your job and move in with him.

"You'll like Israel.  You speak some Hebrew don't you?"

"Uhh, yeah but—"

"Then what's stopping you?"

You couldn't answer because you didn't even know where to start with all the things that were stopping you.  Your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish out of water, and he laughed at you lightly.  

"Just say yes," he encouraged gently, and your heart twisted as you wondered if this was part of the deal, if you needed to do everything he wanted to keep him on your side.  You were on an Israeli ship, sailing international waters; if he changed his mind now, he could still sell you out and have these people arrested or worse.  But he wouldn't do that, right?

Perhaps the more important question was not 'would he do that?' but rather 'are you willing to find out?'

"Yes," you heard yourself answer before you even realized you were considering it.  

He grinned, hugging you tightly.  He was already rambling about how great it was going to be and how he would spoil you all the time and maybe find a way to get you hired as a contractor at Mossad so he could bring you along on missions, but you couldn't hear it past the ringing in your ears. You desperately needed sleep, and his arms were warm and welcoming as you drifted off.  He kissed your forehead before letting his eyes fall shut as well, joining you in unconsciousness.  

The swaying of the ship was like being rocked to sleep, so much so that you slept for an uncharacteristically long time: you were just a few hours out from your destination when you awoke, in fact.

Instead of getting up and attempting to acquire some food, you laid there staring up at the ceiling as his heavy arm draped over your chest.   Even in his sleep he had power over you, refused to let you go.  You tried to remember how you'd ended up in this situation but instead you found yourself fantasizing about a chance at love.  After running around the world for so long, there weren't many good men left to settle down with.  And Ari was maybe not an entirely good man, but you believed him when he said he would treat you well.  You'd shacked up with a lot worse in your time, when you were young and reckless and thought the worst thing you could be was alone.  Still, a long-suppressed desire for companionship was awakening in your mind and you weren't going to swallow it back down this time.  Smiling, you lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles.  If what he wanted in exchange for his cooperation was your affection, you could do that.

[tryingmyves]

Love Me Right

Ask:  hi hi i’m sliding in the inbox 👀 congrats on 60 followers !! you deserve it 😔💗💗 could i request #2 with dabi ? if you don’t write for him, just let me know and i’ll change it ! tysm bb 💓 @madeofsaltiness​

thank you so much for the request babe! i hope you like this! i haven’t written for Dabi before, so hopefully this doesn’t seem too out of character - but i liked the challenge. also this is the first time i’ve written smut sooooo 👀 the prompt is italicized

PAIRING: Dabi x Y/N

c/w: alcohol, possessive!Dabi, villian!Y/N, smut-smut golf 

a/n: like i said - this is my first time writing for Dabi so i’d really appreciate any feedback anyone has  ☼

Send me a request! ► 60 Followers event

You never intended to become a villain, but you have never been enamored with heroes the way the whole of society is. You had decided a long time ago that you were content being just another cog in the machine of the world. You work a dead-end job at a run-down bar near the city’s red light district on nights and weekends and spend your days sleeping off your hang-overs from the night before. The Copper Queen was a shithole, if you were honest. But the alcohol was strong and free since you were a bartender. Moreover, you make decent money off tips from nervous perverts who come in to get drunk before wandering over a few more blocks to purchase some company for the night. Aware of your regular patrons’ personalities, you thought the true heroes of the world may be the working girls near the bar. In your opinion, heroes get too much credit. Society isn’t better now that everyone has quirks - it’s just different. There’s still inequity, extortion, and a load of other shit that every-day people have to deal with. The heroes don’t help with that, not unless it was flashy enough to garner some publicity. Maybe if you had been blessed with a better quirk you’d think differently; give the glamorous life of heroics a try. But you were just a mockingjay - able to copy the phonetical diction and vernacular of those you hear in person. You are great at impressions, but typically you went through life without acknowledging your quirk. Although, occasionally you’d entertain yourself by mocking some of your patrons - they just made it too easy. It’s incredibly off-putting to hit on someone only for them to sarcastically flirt back in your own voice. You’ll never tire of the reactions you get from your little trick.

It was just another Saturday night at the Queen. The lights low, music loud, and air filled with the smell of smoke and stale beer. A couple of regulars sat on the far end of the bar, while others played billiards or darts. The bell on the door chimes, announcing the arrival of an unfamiliar face accompanied by a gust of chill air. He strides forward to your bar, not concerned with platitudes, “Whiskey, neat. Make it a triple.”

You’re unbothered by his attitude, men clothed in faux toughness came through the Queen’s doors daily. You simply grab a glass and place it in front of him, fetch the whiskey bottle from behind you, and rotate it once around your arm before catching it by the neck and pouring his shot. You’re not a show pony, but cheap tricks like this often increased your tips, and cash was cash.  

You slide the tumbler forward to your new patron, leaning forward against the bar slightly, ensuring he’d catch a glance of your cleavage, accentuated by your low cut top, “Seven dollars, hun.” He is admittedly hot, his dark hair and purple scars make his blue eyes even more striking. And from the few words he spoke you could hear his voice was deep and raspy. Typically, the men who frequent The Copper Queen are the types you avoid, but this one has you intrigued. 

He slaps a $10 onto the counter, “Keep the change. And the names Dabi, princess.” The word princess was more of a hiss. He takes a deep drink from the glass you placed in front of him, “I don’t do pet names.”

You grab the $10 from the counter and turn around to place it into the register, already rethinking your first impression of this Dabi. “I don’t do pet names, princess.” You mock under your breath, it was too early in the evening to deal with his shit. 

“What the hell was that?” he snarls.

You didn’t intend for him to hear you; you didn’t even intend to say the comment aloud. Maybe those shots you took when you opened tonight had done more than you thought. “Don’t recognize your own voice, Dabi?” You say in your own voice, emphasizing his name.

He’s staring at you, jaw clenched and brows knitted together in annoyance, but slight curiosity. “Say something else, like me,” he orders.

“I’m not some bitch, I don’t do tricks,” you retort.

He raises an eyebrow, “You just did when you were trying to get a tip from me.” He holds another $10 up between two long fingers. You see the burn scars present on his face and neck extend down his forearms like sleeves, stopping just past his wrists.

You extend your hand and once he places the crumpled bill in your palm you say, “Hi, I’m Dabi, I don’t do pet names, and my social skills are shit. I tip well though.”  Your voice gone, now replaced with a perfect replica of his. 

His eyebrows raise, shifting from their furrowed position, and his jaw relaxes into an amused smirk. “What’s your name, princess?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeats, finishing off the remaining whiskey in his glass. He looks like he is considering something as he drinks and then he speaks again, “what time do you get out of here? I want you to meet some friends of mine.”

“And what makes you think I want to meet them?” you challenge.

“Because you want to leave with me tonight,” he answers with a wicked smile.

And he was right. Something about his abrasive attitude had you hooked, and he didn’t back down when you responded with a similar temperament. “2AM.. You’ve got a couple of hours to kill,” is all you say before turning around, walking to the other end of the bar to get more drinks for your other patrons.

____________________________

  The memory of your first encounter with Dabi comes to your mind. You shake your head with a sad laugh. What the fuck had you been thinking? You had left with him that night and met his friends: The League of Villains. Somehow you ended up as a new recruit. You had always thought your quirk was a bit useless compared to things like super strength or fiery power, but the League of Villains saw its potential. Between Toga’s ability to look like anyone whose blood she got her hands on and your ability to mimic voices, doors were opening left and right for the LoV. 

Over the last three months you’ve gotten pretty comfortable with your new friends. The Copper Queen essentially a villain bar now and one of their unofficial hideouts. You and Dabi had even started dating. At first it was just sex, hot, mind-numbing sex, but nothing more. That was until Dabi saw another new recruit trying to make a move on you. He put an end to that real quick. He strode over to you, possessively throwing an arm around your shoulder, growling “she’s mine,” at the man who was trying to flirt with you. His eyes sparking, a warning of the blue flames to come if the recruit didn’t scram. The warning was more than enough, and he left the two of you quickly. 

At the time, his words made you happy, but now they felt like a prison. She’s mine. Dabi isn’t a jealous type, but he is possessive. And he often misread your friendly interactions with others as something more than they were. You had ignored it for a while, but lately, it felt like you were suffocating. Your irritation finally boiling over in a fight four nights ago when you yelled at him in front of a number of other LoV members, “You’re fucking smothering me! It’s like I can’t even breath near other people or you think I’m going to fuck them!” You’d stormed out after that, not waiting around for a reaction to your outburst. 

You’ve been hiding out in your apartment since then, unable to go to work, knowing the people you’re avoiding are likely there. You hadn’t talked to Dabi since then either. Neither of you were the type to apologize first and you were too stubborn to let him win. Toga had texted you a few times since the incident but you hadn’t responded, unsure of what to say. You’re watching TV in your living room when there’s a knock at the door. “Toga, I promise I’m alive - I just want to be alone,” you shout, heaving yourself off the couch and meandering towards the door. You fling it open, expecting to find the school girl and her space buns, but instead find Dabi. As you’re deciding whether or not you’re just going to shut the door in his face he strides forward.

“I’m done with this bullshit,” he declares, hoisting you off the ground and into his arms. He spins you around, shoving your back against your front door and pushing it closed. He smashes his lips against yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth, keeping you pinned between him and the door. The initial surprise fades quickly and you give into your desires, wrapping one arm around his neck and bringing the other up to grab a fistful of his hair; you cross your ankles behind his back bringing yourself closer to him and securing your place. His kisses are sloppy and forceful, his tongue fighting with your own for dominance, neither of you willing to surrender. You can feel his cock through his jeans, already hard and grinding into you. You pull his head backwards by the fistful of hair in your hands, separating his lips from yours, desperate for air. Despite your grip, he brings his face forward again, this time kissing your collarbone, sucking bruises into your skin. One of his hands holding you up by your ass, the other has worked its way under your shirt grabbing your breast and rubbing circles over your nipple with a calloused thumb. His long tongue licks a stripe up your neck to your ear, before he bites down on your earlobe. “We’re done fighting. I love you,” he rasps, his breath making goosebumps erupt across your skin. 

“If you’re gonna love me make sure that you do it right,” is all you can get out before his lips are back on yours, your bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Dabi seems to take your answer as a challenge, standing up right and spinning around. He carries you to your bedroom and only separates himself from you when he throws you on to your bed.

“Take off your clothes,” he commands before he starts removing his own.

You do as he says, but not quickly enough. You are just getting to your shorts when he pushes you onto your back. He hooks his fingers under the waistband and strips them off of you with force, before crawling between your legs. He bites at your thighs, littering them with a trail of kisses, as he works his way to your core. He murmurs a soft, “missed you,” before licking a slow stripe up your folds. A breathy gasp leaving your lips as he continues lapping at your cunt. He’s got your legs thrown over his shoulders, one hand coming up to rub vigorous circles against your clit and the other massaging the breast he neglected while he had you pinned against the door. 

“Nng, you’re already so wet for me,” he hums into your folds.

Moans of pleasure escape your throat, even though you were angry at him you had missed him the whole time. You had grown so accustomed to his touch, it made you ache to go so long without it. “Dabi, please,” you beg.

“Not yet, princess,” he coos. He repositions himself, bringing his face to yours to shower you in kisses once more. His hand shifts, still thumbing at your clit he slides two long fingers into you. You buck your hips into him, a sigh of pleasure spilling out of your mouth and into his. He swallows your noises hungrily, pumping his fingers in and out of you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and can feel the heat inside of you building already. He adds a third finger, picking up the pace of his thrusts. His other hand comes up to grab you by the throat and you’re on the verge of tears. He spreads his fingers out inside you and you feel yourself come undone around him, a strangle scream of pleasure spilling from your throat.

Your head is in a daze, still coming down from your orgasm, but you can see through unfocused eyes Dabi licking your juices off each of his fingers. Before you can even catch your breath he flips you onto your stomach. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you onto your knees so your ass is in the air. You can’t even ask him to wait before he’s thrusting into you, his cock burying itself in your walls.

“Ahhh, fuck Y/N,” he moans, slapping your ass.

Your knees are shaking and you can barely see past the tears spilling from your eyes. You were still riding out your first orgasm and Dabi was already pushing you towards a second. You know the overstimulation is punishment for the scene you caused the other day, but Dabi just can’t help himself. Since the two of you got together, the longest you had gone without sex was two days. He never cared what time it was, where you were, or what time of the month it was, he just couldn’t resist you. He snakes an arm under you, grabbing you by the neck and bringing you up so your back rests against his scarred chest. His other arm comes around your waist, his hand going back to your bundle of nerves that was already so sensitive.

“Tell me what you want, princess,” he whispers, each word punctuated by the thrust of his cock deeper inside you.

“Ahh - I want.. I want you to come inside me!” you all but scream, hardly able to form a coherent sentence. 

His tongue glides across the outside of your ear, “As you wish.” He plunges his dick into you deeper still, hitting that special spot that only he seems capable of finding. You clench around him, overtaken by ecstasy once more, pornographic screams of pleasure filling your room. Between your sounds and your walls constricting around him, Dabi falters, his steady movements becoming sloppy as he nears his high. He pumps into you once more before bursting, spilling his seed inside your messy cunt.

He releases his grasp on you, letting you fall to your bed again in bliss. The both of you lay next to each other, breathless and sweaty. He places a gentle kiss on your shoulder and throws an arm over you.

“I don’t want to fight with you again,” he whispers.

You roll over to face him, snuggling in closer. “Then don’t,” is all you say, placing a quick peck on his lips before settling into your bed.     

[the-bau-quinjet]

Memories, Pt. IV

Summary: You were captured by Hydra. What did they do to your memories?

Warnings: mentions of violence, panic attacks, torture

Word Count: 4878

a/n: The last part! I'm so sorry this took so long! I planned to have it done over the weekend, but life got in the way. Hopefully y'all like the ending though!

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

3 Months Ago

"Come back to me, okay?" Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, relishing in this moment.

"I promise. I love you" You give him a quick kiss before moving back to board the quinjet. He calls out his response just as the doors begin to close.

"I love you too!" Bucky watched the quinjet fly away, waiting until you were completely out of sight before he turned to go back inside.

He nearly ran through the building, the excitement and nervousness he was feeling rolling off him in waves. He nearly ran right past Steve before skidding to a stop, grabbing onto a wall to slow himself down.

"Hey Buck." Steve greeted him with a furrowed brow. Typically after you leave for a mission, Bucky spends the next week moping. "What's got you so happy with Y/N gone?"

"I need your help." Bucky grinned, so focused on his plans that he missed Sam and Tony walking into the room.

"With?" Steve prompted, eager to figure out why Bucky was behaving so strangely.

"Picking out a ring." Bucky stated confidently, earning gasps from all three men. He spun around, eyes widening in surprise to find Sam and Tony in the doorway.

"You're proposing?" Sam nearly squealed with delight.

"Do you need dinner reservations? I know a guy at L'Artusi, I could probably get you in the week she comes back even though reservations are booked months in advance. Oh! I need to get Pepper to start planning a party." Tony mumbled more to himself, thinking back to how he proposed to Pepper.

"Tony!" Bucky nearly had to scream to get the man's attention. "I appreciate the offer, really, but I don't think Y/N is a fancy restaurant, big party kind of gal." Bucky sighed, not having expected to share his proposal plan just yet.

Steve cut in before Tony could respond, knowing the billionaire would say something about everyone loving fancy restaurants. "Congrats, Buck. I'm happy for you."

"She hasn't said yes, yet." He mumbled in response, suddenly feeling a bit bashful at being the center of attention.

"She will. That girl is madly in love with you." Sam encouraged, but couldn't help adding in a playful joke. "For reasons unbeknownst to me."

"Thanks for the encouragement." Bucky rolled his eyes, turning back to Steve. "So will you help me?"

Steve nodded, happy to help in any way necessary. "Of course, did you have any ideas?"

"I'll help too!" Tony added in, inserting himself into the conversation. He held up a hand before either man could interject. "And before you say it'll be too much if I have any say, I'll just help you get the ring made and to you in a reasonable time."

Bucky smiled, about to thank Tony when Sam cut in again. "If he's helping, I want in too. You can't leave me out!" He whined.

"Fine. You can both help too. Just don't push it." He eyes Sam, knowing he would take any opportunity to mess with him.

"Did you have any ideas or did you want to go to a jeweler tomorrow?" Steve asked, trying to refocus the conversation.

"Actually, I have a few ideas." He took a deep breath, trying to prepare for any criticism the men would throw at him for his unusual choices. "Nothing too flashy, and I don't want a diamond."

Tony nearly fainted with how big of a gasp he took. "No diamond? But, but, diamonds! Diamonds are the best! She deserves diamonds!" He stomped his foot, nearly throwing a full on temper tantrum before Bucky jumped in again.

"You're absolutely right, she deserves the world." He smiled softly, just thinking about you. "I just don't think she would like a diamond." He tried to explain.

"Tony, Buck probably knows her best..." Steve cut in, trying to calm him down.

"Friday, call Natasha and Wanda to the kitchen." Tony sent out the command, receiving a response from the AI before anyone could protest.

"What are you doing? You can't tell them!" Bucky harshly whispered, knowing it wouldn't be long before the two women arrived.

Tony sighed dramatically, "Look. If you don't think she'd like a diamond, those two are going to be your best bet at figuring out what she would want."

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but realized Tony was probably right. He hadn't made it much past his no diamond idea. "Fine, we can ask them for help." He resigned himself to everybody knowing his plans.

"Help with what?" Wanda asked as her and Nat strolled into the room, eyes slightly narrowed.

"What kind of engagement ring Y/N would like." Sam relished in the surprise that overtook their faces.

Nat recovered in seconds, scoffing immediately. "Well, definitely not a diamond."

"You're right. Too flashy for her." Wanda immediate went into planning mode.

Steve clapped Bucky on the back, reassuring him that he was on the right track.

"Yeah, Romeo over here already ruined my plans with that idea." Tony huffed. "What kind of stone then?"

They all spent the next few hours debating between opal, amethyst, sapphire, and sunstone. Then another few hours debating the shape and style of the stone and band. By the time the entire ring design had been settled, the sun was rising the next morning.

"I'll send the plans to my jeweler. You should have it in hand a few days before Y/N is due to get back." Tony stated, happy that you would be receiving the best money could buy.

"Thank you. All of you." Bucky turned to look at the people who had become family to him. "I really appreciate the help."

"Now we just need to plan the proposal." Nat smirked, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Nope. That is for me to know, and Y/N to tell you if she says yes." Bucky smiled, glad he had already planned how he was going to ask you.

"I'll worm it out of you. You know I will!" Sam narrowed his eyes, ready to start his barrage of questions when Friday cut into the conversation.

"We have lost tracking capabilities on the quinjet. Communication with onboard agents has failed. Enacting emergency personnel tracking protocols."

Everyone froze, anticipating Friday's next announcement. In seconds, they would all know if you were okay or if you were missing.

"Tracking failed. Agent L/N's whereabouts unknown."

They all took off to the lab, Bucky leading the way despite not knowing how to use the technology to try and find you.

Tony started asking questions: what was the jet's last known location? Did any of the tech onboard fail? Was another aircraft present in the vicinity? Were missiles involved? Any heat signature information from before it went offline?

Each question asked did little to calm Bucky's racing heart. It felt like his world was collapsing, his future falling apart right before his eyes.

"We have to find her." He whispered more to himself than anyone else in the room. "We have to."

-

Present

"Where's Y/N?" Bucky asked as he sat down in the debriefing room. Everyone else was already there, waiting for Tony to explain why he called the impromptu meeting.

"She's... She's in the med bay." Immediately Bucky was out of his chair, ready to run to you. "Barnes. You need to hear this before you go. She's fine, she just had a panic attack and passed out."

"Fine? You call that fine?" He was nearly raging, pushing to get back to the door.

"Relatively, yeah. Look, just trust me on this. We'll all go see her when I've filled you in." Tony sighed, knowing it wasn't going to be easy to explain what you told him.

"Filled us in on what?" Nat questioned first, honing in on Tony's distressed state.

"Y/N." He stated simply, finally getting Bucky to listen to him.

"What do you mean, Y/N? You just said she was fine!" His words cut through the room. He just got you back, he couldn't lose you again.

"Physically, she is. Would you just sit down?" Tony practically begged, trying his best not to break down at the memory of the pain in your eyes.

Bucky stomped back to his seat, giving Tony his undivided attention and gesturing for him to continue.

"I ran into her last night. Literally. She was running through the halls. It looked like she had just seen a ghost." He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to contain his emotions.

"I figured she was just having flashbacks to being held captive, so I made her talk to me." He closed his eyes, unable to look everyone in the eye as he continued his explanation.

"I should've noticed sooner. She wasn't acting right. I just thought it was PTSD. I-" Steve cut him off this time.

"Tony. What happened?"

"She wasn't making any sense. She said she didn't belong here, that she wasn't who we thought she was." Confusion grew on everyone's faces as Tony explained your breakdown. "Said she wasn't an Avenger. She was a murderer."

"The experiments..." Nat mumbled to herself, putting the pieces together as Tony continued explaining what happened.

"Long story short, she thinks she made a bomb that killed 38 people and that she was in prison for 3 years before we broke her out and brought her here." He took a deep breath, letting his words sink in for everyone.

"She was mumbling about experiments." Nat said louder now that Tony was done. "In the kitchen. She said they would bring her to another room sometimes, but it looked like it hurt for her to remember. They must've messed with her head."

Bucky could barely breathe. You strange behavior suddenly made sense. Your surprise at being part of the Avengers, not wanting to tell him what was bothering you, leaving bed before he woke up, not telling him you loved him. It all started making more sense.

"We have to tell her the truth."

-

While everyone was trying to come up with the best plan to help you with your memories, you woke up in the med bay alone.

You were surprised to have been left alone after admitting to your crimes, but you took the opportunity to finish what you started: running away.

You quickly found your way to the elevator hoping you could remember which floor would lead to an exit. As you snuck down the halls, you could hear voices coming from one of the rooms.

"We have to tell her the truth."

You felt your heart flutter at the sound of Bucky's voice. He had been so kind to you. it felt wrong to just leave him, but you didn't see another choice. You couldn't bear the thought of looking him in the eye now that Tony likely told him about your past.

You quickly made your way back to the elevator, figuring a different floor would be better suited for your escape.

You ultimately made it outside, deciding to forego any vehicles you passed. They could probably be tracked. Instead, you took off through the woods.

-

It wasn't long before Bucky got tired of debating how best to fix your memories. He needed to see you. He needed to know you were alright.

"Look, call Shuri and T'Challa. See if they can come here to help her." Bucky headed for the door, not waiting for a response before making his way to you.

Everyone but Tony, who was calling T'Challa, quickly followed his hasty exit.

When they arrived to the med bay, it was empty.

"Where is she?" Sam questioned, causing everyone to glance around the room.

Tony walked in as everyone searched the multitude of beds, making sure you were in fact not in the room.

"You said she was in the med bay." Bucky glared, waiting for Tony to explain.

"She was." He glanced around the room as well, confused by your absence. "She passed out, so I brought her here. They gave her a sedative to calm her heart rate. She should still be sleeping."

"She's not here." Bucky stopped moving, the realization causing a mixture of anger and panic to course through him. "She's not here." He repeats it louder, causing everyone else to freeze as well.

"Friday, where is Y/N?" Tony asked the AI, knowing it was a waste to search the compound.

"She left the Med Bay 23 minutes ago, briefly stopping outside the debriefing room before exiting the building from the garage." The AI easily recounted your quick escape.

"Are there any cars missing?" Tony followed up, figuring you'd be easy enough to track.

"All vehicles are accounted for."

"She's on foot. Friday, which direction did she go?" Bucky asked, barely waiting for a response as he ran from the room.

"I can track her movements via security footage east until she hits the woods."

Tony, Sam, Nat, Wanda, Steve, Vision, and Clint all followed right behind Bucky as he ran out of the compound.

Bucky and Nat headed east, following Friday's information. Everyone else split up, figuring it'd be best to cover all directions since you could have doubled back or gotten turned around in the woods.

-

You weren't sure how long you had been on the move, but you had made it about 3.5 miles when you found what looked like an abandoned treehouse.

With the sun setting and the exhaustion of waking up in a hospital bed catching up to you, you figured it'd be best for you to stop and rest for the night.

Hopefully you made it far enough to avoid detection for now. Ideally, they wouldn't start the manhunt for you until morning.

You climbed into the treehouse slowly, trying to distribute your weight over the creaking and breaking floorboards. You settled in the corner, propping yourself against the walls to keep an eye on the door.

Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the sounds of frogs croaking and crickets chirping invading your senses.

Your sleep was restless, plagued by memories of a life you barely remembered, memories that felt more like a dream than reality.

-

Nat and Bucky tracked you through the woods methodically. Every snapped twig or partial footprint lead them in your direction. The sun set early in their search, but it did little to deter their efforts.

A few hours after dark, they approached the abandoned treehouse you camped out in.

Even twenty yards away, they could hear your whispered screams.

"No. No, no, no. No, please. Stop. Bucky, help me. Please don't. Please." You begged.

Bucky's heart broke at the sound of pain in your voice. It killed him to know you were begging for him while Hydra was removing him from your memory.

He climbed the ladder of the treehouse rapidly, not paying any mind to the creaking floors and breaking boards. He rushed to you in the corner, pulling you into his arms as he tried to wake you up.

"Y/N, I'm here. I've got you. You're safe. I'm here now." He whispered into your neck, rocking you back and forth.

"Bucky?" You squinted in confusion, eyes adjusting to the dark.

"I've got you, doll. You're safe now." He easily replied, trying to calm you from your nightmares.

"No, Bucky. I- I killed people." You sobbed, your hands burying themselves into his shirt.

"No, doll. Y/N, that's not real." He repeated your name, trying to convince you of the truth. "Hydra, they messed with your memories. We can fix it."

"But, no- I hurt people." You were shaking, trying to explain even though you'd rather give in.

"Please trust me. Let's go back to the compound. We can figure it all out. We'll get your memories back, I promise." He held you in his arms in an unwavering grip, afraid if he let you go you would disappear. "Come back to me, okay?"

"I promise. I love you." You whispered the words more to yourself, trying to figure out why they came to mind. Images flashed through your mind; saying goodbye to Bucky, boarding a jet, being attacked in the air, Hydra.

"I'll come with you." Your voice was shaky, still unsure of what was true.

Bucky quickly lead you out of the treehouse, regrouping with Nat on the ground.

"Good?" Nat questioned, trying to prepare for if you ran.

"Good, for now." Bucky replied, scooping you into his arms to carry you back to the compound.

- You woke up to voices, patches of light flickering across your closed eyelids.

"Can you do it?" You recognized Bucky, but the responding voice was only vaguely familiar.

"I can. It will take some time, but it does not appear to be as severe as your own memory problems." His memory problems? What was she talking about?

"Shuri, you're a genius." Shuri, the name triggered something in your mind, but it's like you can't put the pieces together.

"I know. Now let me get to work." She shooed him out of the lab as your world faded to black yet again.

-

Bucky sat beside your bed the second Shuri allowed him to. If it weren't for Steve bringing him food, he wouldn't have eaten anything in the day and a half you've been asleep.

"Buck, you've got to rest." Steve tried for the fifteenth time to get his friend to sleep.

"I can't. Steve, if I sleep and she's not here when I wake up..." He trailed off, unable to put to words the pain of losing you again.

"I'll stay with her. She'll be here when you wake up, I promise." Steve sighed.

"You'll stay?" His voice was small, his body's need for sleep finally overpowering his concern for you.

"Promise." Steve nodded, pulling a chair to sit next to your bed while Bucky laid down in the hospital bed next to yours. "I would've preferred a real bed, but I'll take it."

"Good, because I'm not going anywhere." Bucky closed his eyes, knowing he had to at least try to sleep to avoid another scolding from Steve.

A few hours later, Steve couldn't help but smile as he watched Bucky finally get some rest. Even asleep in a different bed, his body was angled toward yours.

"Steve?" Your voiced cracked, throat dry from crying and lack of use.

"Y/N?" He sat up instantly, moving to pass you a glass of water.

"What the hell happened? Where's Buck?" You questioned, feeling as though your brain was a pile of mush.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Steve avoided your questions for the time being, subtly pulling out his phone to message Shuri.

"The mission. The quinjet was attacked. Hydra took me captive." You slowly put the pieces together. "But you saved me. Bucky saved me. Right?" You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to clear up the memories.

"That's right. Do you remember anything else?" Steve probed gently, unsure of how to tell you about the last few days.

"Um, there was a lab in the basement. They brought me there sometimes. I think..." Everything in your head felt incomplete, like you only knew part of the story.

"You're awake." A feminine voice called from the door to the med bay, causing you and Steve to turn your heads.

"Shuri! It's so good to see you." You pull her in for a hug as soon as she's close enough to your bed. "What are you doing here?"

Shuri eyes you suspiciously, willing you to remember everything with just her stare. "You'll remember soon enough. What do you remember from the past few days?"

"Um, where do you want me to start? I was just telling Steve, I left for the mission, but the jet was attacked and I was captured. I think Hydra must've tried to do experiments on me or something, I remember a lab." Your whole body shook, shivering from the bad memory.

"Good. It's good you remember that." Shuri nodded, a confident smile on her face. "What about after you were rescued?"

You thought back to that moment, but it was a little fuzzy. "Bucky... Bucky was there. He carried me out." Suddenly, an even more urgent thought popped into your head. "Oh my God. Where's Bucky?"

Steve gestured to your left, pointing out a sleeping Bucky in the bed next to yours. He always looked so peaceful while he slept.

You couldn't stop the grin from forming on your face as you watched him. You couldn't imagine how he was feeling while you were gone.

"Messages." You whispered. "I remember listening to messages from Bucky. He- He must've left them while he was looking for me, while you were all looking for me." Your eyebrow furrowed in confusion.

"Y/N?" Steve questioned, drawing you back to the present. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure." You shook your head, as if the action in itself would clear your mind. "I remember how I felt when I listened to the messages and it doesn't make any sense."

"How did you feel?" Shuri questioned, eager to see if she gave you back all of your memories, including the past few days.

"Guilty? I think." You replayed the messages in your head as best as you could remember.

"What do you mean guilty?' Steve questioned.

"Like they weren't really for me. Like I wasn't actually me." You looked at Steve and Shuri as they shared a look. "What are you not telling me?"

"I'll leave this one to you, Captain. She is healing nicely." Shuri turned to you before she walked out of the room. "You should understand everything in a few hours. Just give your mind time to put the pieces together."

"Steve, what is she talking about?" You settled a hard glare in his direction, knowing he knew more than you.

"Let me ask you this: do you know how long you were gone?" Steve sighed, unsure how exactly to explain everything.

"About 3 months. I tried to keep a tally while I was there, based on the daily routine." You responded easily.

"Well, when we found you, although we didn't know it at the time, you thought you had been there for 3 years." Steve looked like he was about to continue when you interrupted.

"38 people. I thought I killed 38 people." Suddenly, the pieces were falling into place. "They made me forget who I was. Erased my past and gave me a new one." Your breathing was speeding up as everything came back to you.

"Y/N, hey, look at me." Steve nearly commanded causing you to meet his eye. "You're safe now. We've got you."

You nodded, matching your breathing to his pace to settle your racing heart.

"How long has Buck been asleep." You looked at his sleeping form, wanting more than anything to wake him up.

"A few hours. Ya know, it's good to hear you calling him Buck again." Steve looked at his friend as well, knowing he would be furious that he was still asleep when you were now awake.

"What do you mean?" You turned back to Steve, the question clear on your face.

"The past few days, I mean we all thought it was PTSD." He ran a hand through his hair, guilt clearly playing at his emotions. "Well, not Nat. She knew something was up."

"Of course." You chuckled.

"You called him Bucky every time you talked to him."

"Isn't that normal though?" You were more confused now than before.

"No, not really. You use a lot more pet names than you realize. Plus, you didn't say 'I love you' when you woke up." Steve sighed, again upset at not putting it together sooner.

"Well, that should've been a dead giveaway." You joked, but Steve's eyes remained sad. "Hey, it's not your fault. I'm fine now. That's all that matters."

"I'm glad to have you back." He looked at you with so much sincerity, you nearly started crying again.

Before you could respond Bucky groaned, stretching as he woke up.

"Damn, that was a good nap. How long was I out?" He asked before opening his eyes.

"Oh, just a few hours. You should really sleep more." You answered casually.

"Y/N, you know I can't sleep when- Y/N!" His eyes popped open comically wide as he nearly threw himself out of the bed.

"I love you." You said it so clearly he froze next to your bed.

"You remember?" He asked, voice full of hope.

"I do." The tears pooled in your eyes again as you watched his body visibly relax.

"I missed you so much, doll." You pulled him on top of you in the bed, needing to hold him as close as possible.

"I missed you too. I knew you'd come for me." You smiled through the tears, breathing in his scent.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry it took so long. I'm sorry I didn't realize everything sooner. I'm so sorry." He apologized over and over.

"Look at me." He moved his head back just far enough to look you in the eye. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Not one single thing. Okay?"

"But-" His protests were quickly cut off.

"Not. One. Single. Thing." You stared him down until he nodded.

The two of you cuddled in your hospital bed while Steve went to update everyone on your condition. He could've just had Friday announce it, but he wanted to give you and Bucky a minute to yourselves.

"I've got a date planned for you." Bucky smiled cheekily.

"Oh really?" He nodded. "Care to share with the room?"

"Nope. It's a surprise." He shared a small smile, the love he felt so easily portrayed through his eyes.

"I love you. So much." You couldn't help but blurt it out one more time before everyone barged into the room.

"I love you too."

-

"We're going to be late." Bucky huffed, waiting for you to leave the bathroom.

"Well, if you had told me where we were going it would've been easier to pick an outfit." You teased him back. He had never been good at keeping secrets from you, so the fact that your date destination was still a surprise shocked you.

"I told you to wear whatever you want. You always look beautiful." He relished in the bashful smile that you covered with a playful roll of your eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm ready now Mr. Impatient." You grabbed his hand as you walked out of your bathroom.

"Good, let's go." He guided you to the kitchen where he stopped to grab a picnic basket. He then lead you hand in hand to a blanket set up by the lake.

"We were going to be late for a picnic?" You questioned, fixing Bucky with a teasing glare.

"Not the picnic. The sunset." He teased back, turning your head to look out over the water.

You hadn't realized the sun was already in the midst of setting. "It's beautiful." You smiled as you stared at the horizon, the ultimate picture of peace and tranquility.

"Y/N, I've been in love with you for so long, I can't remember what it was like before I met you." Bucky kept his eyes trained on you as you took in the pink and orange hues of the setting sun.

"That's just because you have a bad memory." You joked, but your breath caught in your throat when you turned to look at him.

"Maybe so, but I don't want to remember any part of my life that you weren't in." He stated from his kneeling position. "I knew from the second you agreed to get dinner with me that I would ask you to marry me someday."

He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a teardrop cut sunstone ring, small diamonds set along the band.

"Y/N, will you marry me?"

You shook your head up and down as you willed your voice to answer him.

"Yes. Bucky, I- yes."

He slipped the ring onto your finger, silently thanking Nat and Wanda for knowing your ring size. He then pulled you down into his lap, pressing a series of quick kisses to your lips between smiles.

"I love you so much, doll." He whispered, pressing kisses to your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

"I love you too, Bucky." You responded in kind. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

He cuddle you closer, sliding the picnic basket next to you. "Let's start with dinner."

"I think I might be too excited to eat." He laughed at your pout.

"Well, if we hadn't of been late, you would've eaten before sunset." He smiled at your carefree laughter.

You looked out over the lake one more time, taking in the dusk sky as the sun swiftly dipped below the horizon.

"It was perfect just like this. You're perfect." You kissed him again, unable to contain the utter joy you were feeling.

"I'm hardly perfect." He objected.

"You're perfect to me." You countered.

"I love you. So much." He whispered one final time before kissing you again.

"I love you too."

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