#toddler on toddler violence lets go!!!

[soldier-poet-king]

manchild uncle CONTINUES to cause problems, he apparently send a VERY NASTY lengthy text to my mother and aunt (his sisters) filled with swearing bc they ‘sided with’ his wife when he was publicly berating her in front of the whole family over literally nothing yesterday and im just. OH BOY OH BOY when my nonna finds out things will either 1) explode bc she is too catholic and old for this shit and maybe he’s FINALLY crossed a line in her mind 2) nothing will happen bc he’s the specialest baby and apparently needs to be coddled like glass and TRULY i hope it’s the former im SO GODDAM TIRED OF HIS SHIT.....every single grandchild is insanely more mature than him. including the 11 yr old. 

unironically come correct or get corrected re: BASIC HUMAN DECENCY AND MANNERS

[nyxwoodstone]

Televangelism | Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Summary: Simon offers Johnny a place to stay the night after a deployment, and Johnny gladly obliges. Much to his surprise, there's more to Simon Riley's home life than he previously thought.

TLDR: Soap doesn't know that Simon has a wife...he finds out when he goes to his Lt's house. :)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, female reader, pregnant!reader, Simon and reader already have a toddler..., maybe a little OOC Ghost but allow it, no smut all plot, still MDNI I swear to God, idk like minor swearing but if you're from the COD fandom I feel like you should know that, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: if you saw this previously posted to another account, no you didn't :) I don't really know what to call this type of fic, it is a Ghost x Reader, but it's got quite a bit of self-reflection and characterization from Soap. very little beta, but msg me if there's any horrendous spelling or grammar issues. i'm not American, hence the spelling differences. let's just ignore the fact that Ghost inviting Johnny to sleep at his house is more than a little too friendly for special forces guys, let's just ignore that plz!!!!!

Dictionary: SO - superior officer Civvies - civilian clothing NOD's - them night vision goggle thingo's Padre - colloquial name for Bristish Army Chaplains

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

It was done.

Another successful operation. A difficult operation.

The entire squad had returned with just minor scrapes and cuts, and more shit to compartmentalise. Not that there was much compartmentalisation these days, the missions just rolled into each other. Sometimes there was a week break in between, sometimes a few months. Never enough time for Soap regain his footing in civilian life. Never enough time to get past the 'disruption' phase of reintegration that the chaplains were always talking about.

Every time he flew back to base, he'd get the same bleeding rundown from a different Padre. Every. Time.

"Now, there are five stages of reintegration after deployment, Sergeant."

"I know that."

"Humour me."

He'd fight back the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes, he'd just do it. The chaplain would continue.

"Pre-entry, you've done that already, psych evals and such. You know the drill. Then, reunion, you'll see your family again-"

Shit. He needed to call his sister.

"-and take some time for yourself. Next is disruption, you'll realise not everything is the same as when you left it, people will have new routines, new hobbies, it's normal to feel resentful during this stage-"

And they'd go on. Tell him about communication, then normalcy. But he never got that far. He'd go home to his apartment, visit his mother, go to coffee with his sister (she worried about him, always did), and then he would be off on his next operation. He'd get a visit, or a call, and he'd be off, with little word to family. There was never enough time. Soap wondered why the task force needed the same spiel every time they returned, it wasn’t as if this was new. It was old. This runaround was old now: United Kingdom, to some forsaken country, to back home, with more memories and less connections. It was what he loved. But it was also what he despised. 

"Johnny."

Most of the squad had dispersed, each finishing psych evals and heading off to the on-base housing,  their cars, or the mess hall. He didn't actually know if the mess was open at this time of night, he supposed it was only the wee hours of the morning, but God-knew. Johnny had just finished his packing, and was heading towards the unremarkable block of small apartments on the far side of the base. It was a fair hike, but he'd do it. There wasn't another choice, but his flight wasn't until tomorrow, and he staunchly refused to stay awake all night. He'd sleep tonight, then go to debrief, then go the fuck home.

"Johnny."

It was Ghost, in civvies, hands in his jacket pockets. Mask gone. Johnny supposed that was just the way it ought to be, he couldn't wear it everywhere, and wearing it in civvies would certainly give any onlookers, soldiers or not, reason to be curious. Attention was not what men in their position needed. Still, seeing his face was…almost unsettling.

"Lt.?"

*************************************

Simon hung up the phone and tucked it in his back pocket. He felt God-awful calling at this time of night, but he had to do it. He'd sworn to, every time he got back to base, he had to call. Johnny was staring out at the quiet base, the parade grounds just a few hundred metres away, still lit up in the night.

"Johnny."

He'd never really thought about where Johnny must go after operations, he didn't even assume anything, once they were back on the ground, once they were out of the shit, it wasn't any of business, or any of his concern.

"You're allowed to like the men you work with, love." His wife's voice rang in the back of his mind.

He did…like them. They were good lads. Got the job done. Stitched each other up. Didn't leave each other behind. But liking them outside of work? Their job was far too dangerous to make close attachments like that. In his younger days, when he wasn't in the special forces, he'd made…’friends’ wasn't the right word for it. He'd made…acquaintances with some of the soldiers on his unit, they'd go out for drinks, egg each other on in the pub, take each other home after a long night out. But special forces were another world. Here, everything mattered. Every little thing mattered. And perhaps he was just older now, he'd matured more. Back then, he hadn't had anything to lose. Now, though-now he had everything to lose. A family, a home - a life.

But despite all of that, he had grown to appreciate Johnny. He was a good man, in the shit, and out of it.

They'd talked a few times about their lives outside of the army. Nothing important, nothing below surface level. Soap had a mother who had health problems, and a sister who worked in a hospital (he hadn't told Simon what she did, or even told him her name), and who worried about him constantly. Johnny joked that she would end up a patient one day if she kept stressing so much. Simon had told him that he lived far enough from the base that he wasn't constantly thinking about work, he'd told him that he played football as a kid; that was it. Not a lick more.

Johnny gave up far more information willingly than Simon ever could. But they got along. That was enough.

The Scot stood across from him, still staring out at nothing. 

"Johnny."

Soap turned his head.

"Lt.?"

"Going home?"

“Sleeping on base tonight, sir, then got a flight tomorrow night.”

On base? After that operation? Simon sighed inwardly and observed the bent hunch of his subordinate's shoulders. He knew that feeling. Finishing a mission alive, but with more red in his ledger. That was all good and well, but the final fucking straw was those damned prison cages that the military called bedrooms. It took a moment to debate, no longer.

"Mine’s 15 minutes from the airport.”

Soap’s eyebrows raised at the Lieutenant’s offer.

“It’s alright, sir, I’ll survive here.”

“After that shit? You need a real bed, Johnny.”

The sergeant ran a hand over his face and dropped his shoulders.

“Y-yeah, alright, Lt. If that’s alright with you.”

“Let’s go,” Ghost turned on his heel and began towards the car park, taking out his phone to shoot off a quick text.

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

****************************************************************************************

'One of the boys needs somewhere to stay. He's a good man.'

You groggily shot back a text.

'Get home safe, love you."

Simon had been due back for a few days now, but you'd been trying to get used to the unpredictability of his work schedule.

This was nothing new, though. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you got married to him. He had sat you down when you had first gotten serious, and showed you his will.

That had been an aggressive wake-up call. You knew how dangerous his job was. No one on the planet Earth was foolish enough to think that special forces meant 'safety.' You knew he could die any time he went away. But the long-term reality of that fact didn't set in until you sat beside him and scanned your eyes over that document. You didn't feel connected to your body. It was as if you were peering in on some other person's life, quietly staring through the looking glass to see some insane woman who was desperately in love with a man whose life meant very little up against the interests of international security. To your credit, you hadn't cried when he showed you. How badly you had wanted to. But you didn't. You grit your teeth and clenched your fists. He could die at any moment. So you had better make the most of every second you had with him.

You'd told him as much and he had accused you of not taking his job seriously. A method of self-preservation you recognized from your years of being with him. You had told him he wasn't going to push you away so easily. He had left in a huff and came back the next day with an apology on his lips, and a ring in his hand.

There was no pomp about it, just simple, and practical. So very Simon Riley. 

Simon had never been a particularly romantic man, and God, was he difficult to read. But he loved you. He did. And you adored him. And you'd made it this far, a few years of marriage, one kid in, and one on the way; you'd done it. You would keep doing it until the day you dropped cold. So would he, he'd told you so hundreds of times. 

No, he was not romantic, but he showed you in other ways. He would rub your back when you were tired, he would open doors for you, or kiss you gently when you needed it. Simon Riley was a man of few words, but frequent action. You loved him for it.

The first time you'd met him, you'd nearly gone weak in the knees. Cliché. He teased you for it endlessly, you never should have admitted that to him. But how were you to help yourself, he was a handsome, well-muscled man with a scowl that you found endearing. You still found that deep scowl endearing today, and on more than one occasion, you had gently pinched his cheek when he pulled that face. He would always chuckle and bat your hand away, biting the inside of his mouth so there was no looser skin for you to pinch again.

Simon Riley was, in your (biassed) opinion, the most handsome, most incredible, most loving man to ever live. And he was yours. Whenever he came shopping with you, or took you out somewhere, it was impossible to escape the stares that other women gave him. Part of you despised it, part of you basked in it. You'd lean in to whisper something in his ear, or pat him gently on the chest, anything to mark him as yours. See this man, he's mine. He'd swear other men did the same to you, but you didn't believe him. He certainly believed himself though, placing a hand on the small of your back or tucking a piece of hair behind your ear whenever he thought he saw eyes on you. It was sweet.

You two had this little…thing. This cocoon for just you two. The comfort and safety that flowed between the both of you had been years in the making, and had taken many, many arguments and discussions to solidify. And you had argued, sometimes into the night hours, going back and forth about trust, and patience, and understanding. You had often had to fight for his agreement, or for his trust, but you had never had to fight for his love. That had come without question, but you'd had to fight for him to show it to you, for him to allow himself one good thing in life. He was different now, all those years of being with you, and working on himself, and all the absolute hell that he had been through. He was different, and you loved the man he was, and the man he had become. No one at his job knew how gentle he could be, the softness he was capable of. No one.

Although, you supposed that was about to change. He was bringing 'one of the guys' to your house, to stay. You had told him before that you had absolutely no problem with him bringing his friends - he wasn't a fan of you calling them that - over. If they needed somewhere to stay, you were more than willing to house them, they were strong men facing down the worst of the world's threats, they deserved somewhere to feel safe, if only for one night. He'd told you he might - although you'd always suspected that he wouldn’t - allow one of his squad mates into his home, and you'd encouraged him to do so if it was necessary. Tonight was the night.

Simon had called you as soon as he could, like he always did.

"I've landed, love, I'll be heading home soon."

"Good. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"Hungry?"

"Just ate here."

"Alright, I'll be in bed, please wake me up."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too. Drive safe."

He sounded exhausted on the phone, nothing out of the ordinary though, he was always tired when he came home. You were remiss to admit to yourself that you were tired too. You ran a hand over your stomach. It had swelled up in the time that Simon had been gone. What a difference just a few weeks made. You'd had to attend your scheduled scan alone, and had the photos in the drawer next to your bed, ready to show Simon when he got home.

This baby had been something of a surprise. Not an enormous one, though. Simon and yourself had been significantly less careful in the months leading up to when you found out, and you'd talked about it: another kid, the whole thing. He had been apprehensive to say the least, so you had waited without resentment. He needed time, and God knew, you needed time, so you had both taken time. It had taken a year or so of discussions, he was terrified to become his father. He would never be his father, never. He was nothing like him, nothing. And he had come to his own decision. Being a father would be new, terrifying, different, but he put an ounce of faith in himself, and-

- And then you were late.

You wished you could be like those women in movies who have no idea, and have a whole revelation about being pregnant. But you were not stupid, you were practical, it was one of the things Simon often told you that he loved about you. So practicality it was. You were sure you were pregnant. Three positive pregnancy tests later, and that sealed the deal.

Then you'd burst into tears in your bathroom.

God, who were you to think you could do this? He was due to leave for a three-week operation in two days. You'd be alone in your first few weeks, with a young toddler as well, who's needs were more important than your own.

You didn't hear Simon come home from his run, you'd hardly heard the jagged tone to his voice when he pushed the door open. What a sight it must have been for him. You, curled into the bathroom wall, crying hysterically and hugging yourself. He did well to hide his panic, the soldier in him must have taken over for a few seconds. He scanned the bathroom floor, then checked you over for injuries, asking what was wrong the whole time. Then he'd scanned the bathroom counter and found the three tests lined up. He knew what they were, but bless him, he didn't know if they were negative or positive, the lines meant nothing to him.

"You're pregnant?"

You'd barely managed a nod and to his absolute credit, he did not clam up. He did not shut his mouth, or grit his teeth, or sink back onto his heels. He had reassured you, pulled you into his lap on the floor and talked you out of your hysterics. He'd waited patiently until you could talk. And you had been fine. You loved him, he loved you, and you both loved this baby. You would be fine. It had never been so hard to say goodbye to him as he left for his next mission. You'd never been so panicked whilst he had been away. You had to call your friend to come and stay with you for the time he was away, so she could help you stay out of your thoughts and help with the little toddler who was always asking where her Daddy was.

But all of that panic always subsided when he came home, when he lay beside you and breathed quietly as he slept. Everything was better when he was there. And he would be in an hour or two, so you allowed yourself to get some rest until you heard his tires in the drive.

************************************************************************************************************** 

Every few seconds, the car was forced into the dull yellow shine of the street lights. Soap wanted to ask how much longer they would be travelling, but for lack of better words than ‘are we there yet,’ he remained silent, watching identical rows of darkened townhouses amble by. It had been a long drive though, long enough that Johnny had glanced at the clock on the car's electronic display once or twice, just to make sure he wasn't losing his mind.

Suburbia was not quite what Soap had imagined when he thought of his lieutenant's home, although he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he thought Ghost might live. Far from base was all the information he had to guess from. Everyone has to stay somewhere, right? Guiltily, John realised he hadn’t much considered that Simon did in fact, live a civilian life. For weeks or months at a time. The task force wasn’t on duty 24/7, but Ghost, as a normal person? Someone you might see crossing the street? Carrying groceries? It hasn’t crossed his mind.

Strange.

Strange to think of such a deadly man in such a domestic sphere.

They were the same though, he supposed. Just as deadly as each other. Just as domestic, too.

The low rumble of a flight path ahead served to calm Soap, so used to noise as he winded down. Silence was deafening, silence was dangerous. Deep down, although he struggled to admit it, the long string of silence that met him in his own home terrified him. The emptiness, the void that greeted him when he first entered his flat, before the click of his fingers on the light switch, before he turned on the industrial fan beside his couch and before the kettle started to whistle. The silence would grip him around the neck, trying to pull him into his thoughts.

Close-knit housing soon dropped off into plots of land, with sparser houses and longer driveways. The expected pricing of these blocks didn’t escape the sergeant.

Another hour or so later, when the modern street lights had long since faded out into antiquated street lamps every hundred metres, the car began to slow.

“We’re here.” Ghost ripped the quiet in two with the gruff edge of his voice, turning off onto a lined driveway. In the dim light, the house stood modestly. Perfectly normal. Far enough away from other houses to be private, but close enough to be watchful of the neighbours. How fitting.

The ignition rumbled to a stop as Ghost turned the key and exited the car.

Boots hitting the stone, Soap immediately felt at odds with this house. It wasn’t his. It was Ghost’s, a man he knew very little about. It wasn't enemy territory, perhaps this was worse: friendly territory. Too friendly territory. A peaceful space, one that he shouldn't be encroaching on.

He followed said man to the door, crunching quietly up the drive and swinging his bag over his shoulder, a more comfortable hold for his exhausted muscles.

Ghost grunted quietly as he unlocked and pushed the door open, swearing and muttering something about getting it fixed.

“Boots off.” He spoke rather quietly and Soap responded immediately, shrugging out of his boots and sitting them next to a few others at the door. His first sign that something was…amiss, was that there were a few pairs of shoes far too small for Simon, stacked neatly on a wooden shelf next to the door.

He was greeted with a long hallway as he followed Simon through the quiet house. His second sign that something was amiss, was that this house smelled, to put it kindly, feminine. It did not smell like an empty house, nor one that was inhabited by a lone man. Unless of course, Simon Riley had a penchant for vanilla-scented candles. Soap suspected he did not.

A few photographs and decorations adorned the walls but they were impossible to make out in the dark. Soap’s fingers twitched towards his head a split second before he was pulled back to reality and realised that there were no NOD's to help him out here. A stupid instinctual move that he found himself doing more and more these days.

Compartmentalisation, his ass.

Ghost pushed a door to his right open, it creaked quietly in the silent house.

“Spare room’s in here, bathrooms to the left-“

“Thanks, Lt.”

“Take a shower, but keep it down, the missus’ll be asleep.”

And as if he hadn’t just flash-banged Soap, Ghost left, turning on his heel and heading further into the house. 

Next Part

[wizzard890]

So there’s a trend that I absolutely hate in online discussions of (non-satirical) genre, particularly genre that’s influenced by the gothic. This trend makes my eyes roll back in my head until I can see through my own skull. It makes me want to bite a car in half. It makes me want to step into the jellyfish tank at the New York Aquarium and beg for the sweet sweet annihilation of a thousand stings. 

I call this trend: Oh Just Be Sensible, and it goes like this:

“Why do vampires always end up covered in blood when they feed, I don’t spill soup all down the front of my shirt when I eat dinner. Real toddler energy.”

“Why do people always cut their hands to swear oaths, everyone knows it would hurt way less on the [insert body part with fewer nerve endings]”

“Vampires shouldn’t be feeding from people’s wrists, it damages the tendons, if doctors don’t take your blood from your wrist, vampires shouldn’t either! No one will be able to flex their fingers the next day.”

(This comes up a lot with vampires, I mention, as I stride purposefully into the glistening mass of jellyfish.)

There are direct answers for some of these when it comes to the practical visual language of a particular medium (for example, you cut your hand on stage / on set because you can hold a blood pack in there, and even if you don’t have an effect, the gesture and its purpose can be discerned from the nosebleeds) but what really gets me is how thematically boneheaded this sort of observation is. 

Like, let’s go down the list here. 

Why do vampires end up covered in their victims’ blood? Well Scoob, do you think it could maybe have something to do with their bestial, inhuman nature? Or with the erotic and sensual abandon with which they can approach violence, now that they’re untethered from human morals? 

Why do people cut their hands to swear oaths? Aside from what I mentioned above, do you think maybe it’s because it adds a layer of gravity to see two people swearing an oath to one another with blood dripping from their clasped hands? Do you think it’s maybe to evoke a unity of body, something greater and more primal than a unity of word? Or maybe to remind us of the dire consequences of breaking a blood oath?

Why are authors having vampires feed from people’s wrists if it damages their tendons? Damn, maybe that’s because it’s where the pulse is. You know, the pulse? The heartblood, the thing that races when you’re scared or turned on or both? The thing that stutters when you’re close to death and could, should the author choose, ring in the vampire’s ears like a chime or a great pounding thunderclap. Maybe in a story about undead beings who drink blood, we can sacrifice a bit of sensible reality in order to enforce the emotion and thematic heft of a scene? 

Images like these communicate what is happening between two characters, not just the events that are transpiring! No one making stories forgot to consider ~sensible~ little observations, because it would be absolutely inane to consider an observation with the creative value of a wet paper towel. This stuff is part of our visual language for a reason! Themes also need to be communicated! 

God, like, okay, I’m exhausted and the aquarium staff keeps yelling at me when they find me here, but let me just wrap up by saying that relationships, character and meaning are expressed in so many ways beyond dialogue or internal monologue, and those expressions are so rarely sensible. 

(Also all this shit looks cool as hell, do you really want your protagonists swearing to die for one another by dabbing their slightly bleeding elbows together, grow up.)

[heytheredelulu]

I was wondering if you could do maybe a like feral Bucky? Like maybe they trigger the soldat and instead of him fallowing their orders he goes after the shy curvy little intern of Tony’s? They’ve both been too shy to make a move. I’m cool with whatever spin you put on it, I LOVE your writing.

(Love all your normal kinks so feel free to add those too as you see fit! )

Thank you lovely 🥰 Can’t wait to drool over more of your writing lol

I took this and RAN with it.

It ended up becoming much longer than I had anticipated so this one will be broken up into two parts.

I struggled with trying to incorporate Bucky being triggered after the reader already being somewhat aquatinted with him, pining after him, etc. so I went the route I did and I hope it fulfills your request!

Part one will be mostly just plot building with a spicy cliff hanger leading us into a part two of pure smut.

Ready to Comply - Part One - Anon Request

Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Word Count: 2.5k

C/W: Language, discussion/implications of violence and murder, choking, blood (Bucky is strugglin’ and bites his own hand), a lil sexual tension in prep for part two, he sniffs her coochie, okay?

“Okay, stop. Stop that.” Tony whispered out of the corner of his mouth. You shot him a glance and tugged at your skirt one more time for good measure. He lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes. “You look fine, Rookie. Very professional. Is that what you needed to hear?”

You scoff and shake your head. “That’s no- I’m not fishing for compliments, I genuinely hate dressing like a fucking secretary.” You grumble, drawing a laugh out of Tony. “And don’t call me ‘Rookie.’” You add with a prod to his chest. He brushes the front of his suit jacket sarcastically in response to your poke and raises his hands defensively, a soft chuckle rising from his throat.

“A fucking secretary? Really? It’s business professional. Did you think I could let you stand next to me in a press conference wearing an old t-shirt and some torn up jeans? We need to create a semblance of professionalism.” He gestures to his own attire with a grin and there’s a teasing glint in his eye as he continues.

“And what’s wrong with ‘Rookie’? You’re my little protégé.” He jests, reaching like he’s going to pinch your cheek as if you were some adorable little toddler. You frown, swatting his hand away and brings it to his chest, clutching it dramatically. “Wow, you’re going to assault your friend, mentor and extremely rich and handsome boss?” He jokes, feigning offense.

“The only accurate adjective in that sentence is ‘boss’, Sir.” You reply dryly, crossing your arms. The corners of his lips twitch into a sly smile and he nudges you with his elbow. “I’ll accept if you don’t agree with friend and mentor.” He starts, pressing his lips into a pout. “But I might actually get a little offended if you refuse to acknowledge how devastatingly handsome I am.”

You groan in annoyance and roll your eyes, preparing a witty comeback when Pepper Potts rounds the corner with a tablet cradled in her arm, a phone nestled between her ear and shoulder and an expression of concern written across her face.

“Everything alright?” Tony asks, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me.. another offer for People’s ‘sexiest man alive’? I keep telling them, I can’t be on the cover every ye-“ Tony stops mid sentence as Pepper’s manicured forefinger lands on his lips, effectively silencing him.

“Yes. Okay. Understood. Thank you.” She says curtly into the phone before disconnecting the call. “That was Fury. We have an issue. A Barnes issue.”

Your brows furrow at this. “What’s happened with Bucky?” You ask, a sense of dread creeping up your spine. He’d been all but isolated since he’d moved into the Avenger’s tower alongside his best friend Steve Rogers and you couldn’t imagine him being the source of an issue with how reserved this man was. You weren’t at all oblivious to his past- it had been global wide news after all, but in the months since his de-conditioning in Wakanda he had been making great strides towards recovery, working to make amends.

Though your interactions with the ex-assassin had been few, he’d always been polite and kind towards you. You’d felt so out of place among the Avengers, being Tony’s intern. You weren’t on the team, hell, a few of them didn’t even know your name despite you having been trailing behind Tony for the last year. Maybe it was your own fault, considering you hadn’t really made an effort to talk to any of them but aside from the fact that they were all extremely intimidating, you were naturally a shy and quiet person.

You quickly push the self deprecating thoughts from your head. You didn’t care about any of that. You shouldn’t. It wasn’t as if you wanted to be on the team, or were there to make friends, you were here as an engineer, to learn from who was arguably the most intelligent man on the planet. Perhaps that’s why Bucky had always been cordial to you more than some of the others living here. Maybe he gravitated towards you, as someone who constantly felt so out of place, because he felt that way here as well.

Or maybe he thought you were cute.

Oh fuck, if only.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to the man or that you’d been quietly crushing on him practically since you’d started your internship. Every small interaction with Bucky left a blush on your cheeks and a kaleidoscope of butterflies flitting about your belly.

The thought of someone as absurdly good looking as Bucky fucking Barnes finding you attractive was enough to spark a surge of heat straight to your abdomen.

No, get it together. Now’s not the time.

You mentally scold your vagina for having the nerve to throb at the mere mention of Bucky Barnes regardless of the context and turn your attention back to Pepper and Tony as they argued in hushed whispers.

“What’s happened with Bucky?” You repeat, knowing they likely won’t clue you in if it’s related to Avenger’s business.

Tony offers a nervous smile and exchanges a quick glance with his wife before he checks his watch. “Terminator? He’s fine. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably holed up with security for setting off the metal detector.” He pauses and then snaps his fingers. “Or maybe he walked past the junkyard on fifth and got snatched up by the hydraulic magnet.” He says, lifting a hand and miming a crane.

Pepper lets out a soft sigh and your gaze flicks to her. “Yeah, a big magnet or something.” She mumbles, turning her attention back to her tablet. “I don’t think that’s-“ Your cut off by Tony’s hand on the small of your back, urging you forward. “Enough about Robocop. We’re on, Rookie.” He says, his nervous expression falling away and quickly being replaced with a mask of professionalism. “Let’s go unveil our project to the press.” Pepper moves to open the door for you both and before you can open your mouth to tell Tony that if he calls you ‘rookie’ one more time you were going to strangle him with his overpriced tie, your senses are overwhelmed with an onslaught of overlapping voices and camera shutters.

You toss your blazer over the desk in your quaint office and slump over into the chair, trying not to let your mind run wild with anxious thoughts about the press conference. Despite your best efforts you couldn’t help but worry that you probably looked like a deer in headlights up at the podium alongside Tony.

You huff and rest your chin on the back of your hand, glancing over at the computer screens. Your attention is immediately drawn to security footage from one of the conference rooms when you see movement on the monitor. You lean in with your brows furrowed. It’s late and no one should be in the conference room. You expand the image and can clearly make out Tony and Steve moving about the room with tense body language.

You hover over the footage with your mouse and hesitate. You know that you absolutely should not eavesdrop on the two men but once Tony’s hands begin angrily gesturing around you give in to temptation and turn on the audio.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘back up?’” Tony shouts, beginning to pace the room.

Steve leans forward with his palms on the table and his head bowed slightly. “It’s exactly what I said, Tony.” He replies, his biceps flexing as he grips the table. “HYDRA had a fail safe. They’d planted a back up activation incase he would ever manage to be deprogrammed.” He looks up at Tony with a solemn expression. “They got to him. I should’ve been there, I should’ve-“

Tony holds out a hand, his other resting against his temple as he tries to comprehend what Steve is telling him. “Well you weren’t and they did so know we have to figure out how the fuck we navigate this.” He says firmly, shaking his head. “Do we have eyes on him? Is he in the building?”

Steve sighed and stood upright from the table. “No. He’s in the wind. We lost contact with him a few hours ago.” He admits, running a hand through his hair. “But there’s something you need to know.” He adds, looking at Tony with concern as he begins to pace again.

“Well spit it out, Rogers!” Tony yells, stopping and turning back to Steve.

“Nat received some intel. The hit HYDRA ordered is on you and your intern.” He says so quietly you can barely pick it up on the audio. Fear crawls up your spine and your hand trembles as you increase the volume on the security feed, while your heartbeat in your ears becomes near deafening.

Tony stiffens, slowly approaching Steve. “You wanna tell me why?” He asks, his voice low and dangerous. Steve nods. “The new tech you unveiled today.“ He explains.

Tony sighs, understanding why one of their enemies would be threatened by what the two of you had been working on and reaches to loosen his tie. “I’ll take Pepper and move her to the safe house before I meet you at a rendezvous point. Send someone to get my Rookie and get her off the grid. I don’t want her alone for a single second.” He says in an exasperated tone, reaching into his suit jacket and pulling out his cell phone as he stalks towards the door.

“And Rogers?” He asks, turning around one last time, his hand curled tight around the doorknob. Steve’s head snaps up and he looks at Tony with guilt ridden eyes. “Yeah?”

“Find Barnes.”

Find Barnes.

The statement echoes in your ears, sending your thoughts spinning as if a category five hurricane were waging inside your head.

No. No, no, no.

There’s a hit out on you?

To be carried out by the fucking Winter Soldier.

Oh you were so fucked.

You scoot your chair back, bracing your hands on the desk to stand with wobbly knees.

Bile rises in your throat as you take a slow step backwards, bumping the chair in your state of panic and knocking your jacket off the workbench. You jump at the sound of it slipping to the floor and clutch your chest as a result of inducing your own jumpscare and take slow breaths to steel your nerves before you bend down to pick it up. As you rise back upright, your gaze connects with a pair of vacant, icy blue eyes in the shadows across the room and your entire body seizes in terror.

He’s not in the wind.

He’s been in here with you this entire goddamned time.

“B-Bucky?” You stutter, bringing your jacket to your chest and grasping it until your knuckles turn white. Maybe Steve and Tony were wrong. Maybe Nat’s intel was wrong. Maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding and you weren’t about to die at the hands of the ex-assassin you’ve been pining over for nearly a year.

He takes a step forward from the shadows, his face expressionless and his eyes unblinking without a single trace of emotion behind them.

Okay, yeah. You’re fucked.

“Sergeant Barnes?” You whisper, almost a plea to the man you knew, locked away somewhere in the brain of the cold and calculated killer standing in front of you.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t register your words, as he crosses the lab in a few quick strides and catches your throat in his cybernetic hand.

Oh god.

The air leaves your lungs, his grip tightening around your windpipe as his face remains blank.

You’re going to die.

So why are you so fucking turned on?

Heat pools low in your abdomen, your core flooding with arousal, coupled with fear and unbridled lust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as you gasp and thrash in his grip, your thick thighs rubbing together with every kick and flail, doing nothing to alleviate the throbbing ache in your cunt.

God this is so wrong.

His brows furrow, the first hint of emotion since he stepped out of the shadows. His head tilts inquisitively and his grip slackens around your throat as he leans in, tracing his nose across your jaw line and inhaling deeply. You still, your face contorting in confusion as you swallow hard against his palm, leaning your body into his hold.

His eyes narrow as he pulls away from you and you take the opportunity to suck in a breath, massaging your neck gently while your gaze drops to observe his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

“Bucky?” You ask, wondering what’s caused the sudden shift in his demeanor, wondering if maybe he’s somehow snapped out of the trance he’d been in. He’s still and silent for a long moment, his head bowed as his chest rises and falls heavily with every breath.

“Sergeant Barnes, are yo-“

His head snaps up, effectively silencing you.

Your mouth remains agape, stuck on your last word and as he watches you with predatory eyes, taking menacing steps toward you, you can’t seem to find your voice any longer. You stumble backwards, losing your balance and falling back against the desk, unable to regain your footing before his hands grip the flesh of your bare thighs.

He tilts you backwards, your back colliding hard with the surface of the desk, stealing the breath out of your chest. He drops to his knees, splaying his palms against your thighs, the hem of your dress rising up to expose your panties as he spreads your legs wide before him and drags his nose across the fabric.

He groans.

He fucking groans.

“You’re my mission.” He breathes out, eyes wild and fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as if he were fighting to physically restrain himself.

“I know.” You whimper, lifting your head to look down at him over the soft curve of your stomach.

“I’ve been ordered to kill you.” He chokes out, pressing his forehead against your inner thigh and drawing in a deep and shuddering breath.

“Then why haven’t you?” You ask in a broken whisper.

He turns his head and mumbles something incoherently, his breath ghosting against the damp fabric of your underwear and sending a wave of arousal crashing through your core. He stiffens, curling his flesh hand into a fist and bringing it to his mouth, biting down on his knuckles as he swallows back a moan.

He shakes his head, his teeth pressing into his skin hard enough to draw blood and you move to sit up, leaning on your palms as you look down at him where he’s slotted between your legs, visibly trembling.

He rises quickly to his feet, his left hand shooting out to curl around your neck again and he drops his bloodied flesh hand to his side.

“Because..” He says through clenched teeth, inhaling sharply as the cool metal of his thumb strokes the column of your throat.

“I can’t fucking focus when all I can smell-“

His free hand roughly cups your pussy over your panties, his voice trailing off as he kneads his palm against the thin, wet fabric.

He growls, tightening his grip around your throat and jerking you up to him, forcing you to meet his threatening gaze.

His expression grows pained and he whimpers, dipping his head to meet your forehead with his own, his breath fanning across your face with every heave of his chest.

“All I can smell is how wet you are.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@suz7days @blackbirdwitch22 @truthfulliarr @lilacka

Part two

[waspredteeth]

the thing about Damian, especially pre-Robin, is that you have to straddle a line between child and cult assassin. He’s a nuanced character, you can’t dumb him down or simplify him. (On that note: PLEASE stop calling him feral! It’s pretty racist!)

You cannot make other characters be nice and understanding to him from the start like Dick or Tim or Jason. You cannot make them treat him like a toddler below his actual age.

You also cannot make him a irredeemable psychopath who exists only to hurt Tim and sow conflict. Because that’s just straight up not true. Fanon.

Writing Damian needs to be a balance between these, and he needs this nuance to be interesting.

If everyone treats him softly, then there’s no point for Damian’s personality as it is. He is rude and arrogant and abrasive for a reason. You could argue that he’s spoiled, but he’s also a child who was ripped from a culture he knew and thrust into the arms of a white family who don’t understand him and don’t make the effort to actually teach him their views. He’s rude and angry because there is no place for him there, not until Robin, and even then he is still subject to their judgements. If everyone treats him with kid gloves, then his attitude comes without justification and doesn’t make sense.

Please remember that when Damian first appeared in comics, everyone except Talia disliked him. Bruce wasn’t sure what to do with him, but he also was quick to scream obedience. From Dick’s inner monologue in Resurrection of Ras al Ghul and his very early interactions in Batman and Robin, he didn’t like the kid and thought him a burden to bear in the place of Bruce. Tim never once gave him mercy after the first meeting. His inner monologue and actions all speak of hate and teenage angst - some justified, some way out of line.

Damian’s anger is then reasonably apparent. He doesn’t fit in. He can’t. But he doesn’t seek violence. He doesn’t try to murder everyone in their sleep like some people think. It’s shocking that fanon’s interpretation of him is a boy who goes for the throat in every interaction. He’s snippy, but in every single comic I’ve read he’s never tried to fight someone without a justification. If he was an X-Men level telepath, then I’d argue that his actions would become worse if he really knew what people thought of him at first glance.

If you’re a child that knows he is hated, then you lash out. You test boundaries. You see what will make them exile you, hurt you. You are a brown boy surrounded by a white city in a culture that you don’t understand. You cannot see your mother again. They hate her. You cannot express yourself in a world that expects the worst. You are shackled by expectation and judgement. They won’t let you be, but they won’t let you go.

You are stuck.

And in this, you will always be.

[laughing-with-god]

Unsaid Vow I

(This is the first 1.7k of the 10k chapter that is available right now on my Patreon. Please join for early access plus beta content!)

Synopsis: You always knew when you weren't wanted. And the way things are going in your marriage with Jungkook, a divorce is looking more and more likely. While he's getting closer to a woman at work that you're certain he's having an affair with, you're planning your escape with your four-year-old son. However, five years of marriage did not expose you to a certain side of your husband. A side of Jungkook that only gets triggered when you try to leave and break apart your perfect 'family'.

Warnings: Yandere behavior, graphic language, violence/murder, women bashing on other women, heavily implied infidelity, bad parenting, absent father, broken family vibes, very slow buildup bc Jungkook doesn't really snap until you leave him so just give him a min lol, inexperienced author writing for a five-year-old.

Also looking for new fic art for this if anyone's interested!!

Read first: Prologue

“I’m a grown man.”

These were the words that greeted you and effectively pulled you out of your weary slumber.  

You drowsily rubbed your eyes and rolled over, yawning as you took in the sight of your son staring at you bemusedly from beside your bed.  

If you weren’t used to this behavior from Hugo already, you perhaps would've screamed at the sudden creepy sight of a child with a solemn expression saying odd things to you before the sun has even risen.  Yet, you have grown accustomed to the old man your toddler was.  

“Good morning to you too, bud.”  You groaned tiredly, already searching your thick bedding for your phone in order to check the time.  Your alarm hadn’t even gone off yet, which told you it was earlier than you had originally planned to wake up.  But what was the point of having plans when you had a child?  They had a talent for ruining them.  

“I’m five today.”  Hugo ignored your greeting, getting right into the point with furrowed brows as he held up all five fingers, each one representing a year of his life.  

“Yup, I know dumpling.”  You chuckled, finally pulling out your phone and opening it to see  ‘6:03 am” staring back at you.  “Believe it or not, the day you were born was quite memorable for me too.”  

You cringed as you thought of the 20 hour labor that preceded Hugo’s birth.   How could you ever forget that hellish day?  

“Mom, it’s my birthday.”  Hugo told you, tone serious as a heart attack.  

“Yes, happy birthday love.”  You smiled at your son, trying not to let him see the exhaustion you secretly felt.  “I suppose there’s no way I can talk you into going back to bed for another hour or so?”  

“No. You always say ‘the day starts when I first open my eyes in the morning”.  Your son parroted the saying back to you with a proud grin.  

Hugo once went through a phase where he wouldn’t want to leave the bed after waking up, simply wanting to stay in pj’s all day long and watch cartoons amongst his stuffies. 

It took a while to get your little homebody to actually stop this habit and begin getting up to ready himself for the day whenever he woke up.  You used to tell him that the day starts whenever he opens his eyes in the morning, however on days like these where he wakes up super early, he now does not see the point in lying in.  

“Right, that is a good point.”  You softly relented, mentally scolding yourself for yet another parenting tactic backfired.  “How does some breakfast sound?”

“Mom, I have a prop-pre-preposaa-”  

“Proposal?”  You offered, swinging your legs off the side of your bed.  

“Yeah, that.”  Hugo nodded to himself, most likely taking note of the proper pronunciation of the word so he can use it again in conversation.  “I think it’s time we talk about coffee.”

“Coffee?”  

“You and daddy are always saying that coffee is for grownups.  Today I’m five, which means I’m older, which means I should be able to have coffee.”  Hugo reasoned this to you while twiddling his thumbs, a nervous habit he does when he wants you to say yes to something he knows is unrealistic.  

“Mmm...”  You hummed, pretending to think hard about the offer.  “What if I gave you a very light coffee?  A beginner version to get you ready for the real thing when you’re older?”  

Hugo looked conflicted, but after reading your face and correctly assuming that’s the best he was going to get, he nodded solemnly in reluctant agreement.  

With one final huff you shoved yourself off the king sized bed, standing to your full height and throwing your arms up in a stretch.  “Why don’t you wait in the living room for me bud?  I’ll be right out.”  

The freshly turned five year old happily nodded up at you before exiting your bedroom, leaving you alone once again.  

You turned your attention back to the bed in which you just rose out of.  More particularly, you stared at the other side of the bed, the side in which your husband was supposed to sleep on. 

It was a direct opposite of your messy side, crisp and neatly made; the fluffy pillows, pressed sheets and silk duvet being perfectly in place.  Yet, this wasn’t an ode to Jungkook’s neatness and attention to detail.  

No.  

Jungkook hasn’t been sleeping in the same bed as you for a while now.  

Your husband always preferred to rise early, given he was a man who liked to follow a strict morning regime which could easily be thrown off if he slept in even a minute later.  Up at 5:30. teeth brushed and face shaved by 5:40.  Breakfast, coffee and newspaper consumed by 6:00.  

Then right before taking his leave, Jungkook would pack himself a bag of work clothes and make a quick protein shake, given he would then head to the gym where he would get his morning workout and shower from.  Then from the gym, he would head straight to work.  

A few months ago, he suggested sleeping in the guest room.

You had asked why, bewildered at the request.  

Sure, you two didn’t really cuddle anymore. Sex was also rare. But you figured that the least you could do as husband and wife was sleep in the same bed amicably. Had you started kicking him in your sleep or something?

“I’d notice you begin to kinda stir when I first get up and go about my routine.  I don’t want to wake you up or be a bother.”  He had said.  

That didn’t really make sense to you.  

You have always been a deep sleeper. And even if you did wake up for a second, you’d clearly see your husband getting ready for the day, roll over and go back to sleep.  

It was such a lame excuse, you just shrugged and bitterly told him that he hogged the blankets anyway.  

It wasn’t true, but Jungkook didn’t comment.  

You trudged over to the ensuite bathroom and quickly did your morning routine.  

When you came out of your room and into the living space, you saw Hugo glued to the giant flat screen in a trance-like state as he watched his usual morning cartoons.  The sight tugged a small smile out of you, although the mother in you didn’t like how close he was.

“Hugo, back up from the screen! Bluey isn’t going anywhere. Your eyes will go bad.”  Your son wordlessly obliged and scooted back, not breaking eye contact with his favorite family of puppies.  “What would you like for breakfast ‘Mr. grown man’?”  

“Blueberry pancakes…and don’t forget my coffee!”  

“You got it, birthday boy.” 

The kitchen, dining and living room were open concept, so you multi-tasked watching Hugo while whipping up his breakfast.  You never were much of a cook and you still aren’t even after motherhood, but you did commit to learning your son’s favorite dishes.

The process was over quickly, you having made this recipe countless times and knowing it like the back of your hand.  

You set a plate on the island table, calling Hugo over while you secretly mixed some instant hot chocolate in a mug.  

The five year old jumped up and grinned at the meal, saying a quick “thank you” before digging in with all the grace a five year old could possibly have.  

“And of course, your coffee.”  You tried not to smile as you handed him the cup.

“Thanks mama.”  

The mini-Jungkook took a gulp, then stared seriously at the contents of the mug, swishing it around in some faux detective work.  

“Something wrong, dumpling?”

“It tastes…fa-fam-”

“Familiar?”  

“Yes. Is coffee always this sweet?”  

You laughed, now moving to the real coffee maker to make your own cup.  “No, this is the kid version.  It might taste like chocolate because chocolate has caffeine in it too.”  

Your little old man huffed to himself but nodded in agreement, simply not knowing enough to dispute your logic.  

Your old coffeemaker grumbled awake, croaking and hissing as you pressed the worn-out buttons for your usual morning brew.  Jungkook always made fun of you for the ancient machine, but even after he had bought a much more expensive and up-to-date one, you stubbornly remained loyal to yours.  

“So buddy, what do you want to do today?  We can go get new books, hit up the toy store, maybe even visit the aquarium?”  

“I wanna help set up for my party, mommy.” 

Well, “party” wasn’t quite the right word for it.  

Hugo had no friends.  It was tough for a kid like him to make any.  At this age and as a boy, most of his peers would meet and form relationships in little league or rough housing at the local park. 

Your son was different.  He preferred reading to sports, hated the outdoors and was generally a shy kid who tended to tear up when anyone other than his family tried speaking to him.  

So this year, his birthday party was an intimate circle of family and family friends.  You hoped that by next year you could host an actual kid birthday party, as Hugo would be in school and have classmates by then. 

“That’s very sweet of you, but there’s time to do both.”  The boy looked at you skeptically.  “We can go to the bookstore across the street after breakfast and I’ll let you pick out some new bedtime stories.  Then we can go to the aquarium and have lunch there. And on our way home I’ll stop by the store to get some stuff for the party, and you can get a toy.  Sounds good?”  

Hugo frowned, then peeled back his pajama sleeve to look at his submarine-themed watch.  The act seemed a little pretentious to you, given he didn’t yet know how to read clocks.  

“Fine mommy, but we should be quick.  Also you need to ask our guests if they have any food aler-alergeez-”

“Allergies?  Yes bud, I’ll be sure to send them a text.”  You rolled your eyes.

With that, Hugo quietly finished his breakfast as you sipped your coffee.  

When you two were done, you both got dressed and ready for the day’s activities. 

Before leaving the apartment, you were sure to send a text to your husband.  

‘Be home by 6 please.  Hugo’s birthday party starts at 6:30 and he needs you there.’

[wandascrush]

Let the light in

Summary: The Avengers are separated after being hunted down and forced to live life on the low, causing a painful break up with the love of your life. What happens when she finds you again? Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

A/N: Based off of this request

Warnings: Angst, violence, loneliness, blood, breakup, team separated, depression, kissing, comfort

Song: Let the light in- Lana Del Rey

The team sat around the dark living room, the familiar voice of one of New York's most famous news anchors echoing in through the air, “Good evening New Yorkers, today we open our headline with some shocking news:  Former Stark enterprise building, located on the upper east side, exploded earlier today by a missile attack on the Avengers. Sources say Tony Stark was currently using it to house new plans for an updated Avengers training arena and larger compound.  Two architects, three investors, and one security manager was injured. Two of the victims later succumbed to their injuries after the explosion. Reports confirming the source of the violence are still unknown, however the Avengers were believed to have been inside the building at the time- hence the attack. The founding members of the Avengers Initiative such as Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Thor Odinson, Y/N L/N, and Clint Barton have yet to speak out. This marks the second targeted attack on our world’s heroes in nearly a month since the Maximoff twins incident in Barbados, where Pietro Maximoff was nearly assassinated. It raises the question for us all: Are our heroes being hunted?” 

The screen went black, bye bye news lady. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “What’re we gonna do Tony?” You got no answer. 

 “Cap?”  

For the first time in the decade you’d known the team, (except for the Maximoffs & Peter) you saw uncertainty in all of their eyes. Tony threw his classic sunglasses on the couch, squeezing the middle of his nose in a useless attempt to massage an oncoming headache away, “Fury… thought it’d be wise if we split up for awhile-,” he was quickly shut up with protests from the group.

“It’s too dangerous. This isn't easy for me, but we're facing a threat that's beyond anything we've encountered before. I've crunched the numbers, run simulations – the Avengers need to disband temporarily. We scatter, go off the grid, and regroup when the dust settles.”

“This is bullshit, Tony. You know it is. This is exactly what they want-” 

“Tasha,” your gentle touch on her back always softened her heart, but not today. She didn’t even look at you. 

“It’s not the end, Nat. It’s like a strategic retreat. We're ensuring we'll live to fight another day. For once, I’m with Stark on this. We play it safe, keep low profiles, and spread out,” Steve sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a hard look at everyone, “we’re family, we keep each other safe. And this is how we do it.” 

As much as the idea made your stomach churn, he was right. He always was. This was your family. Every holiday, happy memory, laugh and cry and battle and bruise was all with them. This team is how you met the love of your life. You loved each other, and if this is what needed to happen, then you’d do it. 

But that didn’t sit well with your girlfriend. 

“No, end of story. We’re not separating.”

“You know I don’t think it’s just you’re choice, Natasha. I mean we have to decide this together,” your fingers lightly brushed the edge of the bed, nervously playing with the soft sheets you had just bought.

“Exactly, and I. Said. No.” She was acting like a stubborn toddler that didn’t want to eat her veggies, crossing her arms and raising her voice an octave.

It was then when you saw something different in her eyes, those beautiful green orbs that held so much sadness and joy at the same time. But today they were cloudy, like a storm was brewing in her mind. You gently slipped off of the bed and stood in front of her, pressing your forehead to hers, “You know it’s going to be okay, right?” soft palms caressed the side of her cheek, immediately feeling her sigh into your touch. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.” You wish your words were true. 

    Two months later the Avengers were spreading out all across the U.S., saying choked up goodbyes and packing your things. It was agreed upon that there’d be a team meeting once a month, every month, for the next year until you could figure out who the threat was, and how to eliminate them. You thought San Francisco sounded nice, fresh, and a little more peaceful than the hustle and bustle of New York. And it was, for a time. You got a haircut, dyed your gorgeous h/c locks to a rich h/c shade. You bought a sweet little home with a bay window over looking the Golden Gate Bridge, started building an in home gym and library, and kept an extremely low profile. You finished file work and other Avengers paperwork at home, with a high security grade laptop. Natasha on the other hand, refused to dye her hair, or keep a low profile. She didn’t want to admit that she was depressed, but it was glaringly oblivious. Being thrown out of her comforting routine put a wrench in Natasha’s life that not even you, her beautiful girl, could fix. All day she would do her paperwork, workout, and just keep to herself. It was like you weren’t even girlfriends anymore. Finally, in the fifth month of living “undercover,” she finally agreed to go on a low key date with you to a small, cozy bar on the outskirts of the city. You got dressed up for the first time in what felt like forever, did your makeup real pretty, and even did braids on Natasha’s silky hair. She looked happy, finally. Adorning a brown leather jacket, dark blue jeans, and a low cut green top- her classic silver arrow necklace sitting pretty on her chest- your girlfriend looked like her old self again...absolutely perfect. 

“You look gorgeous, baby,” swift arms swept you into a gentle kiss, smirking against your lips and pulling you close to her waist. 

You thought that night would be perfect, but by 11 pm you two were home and icing her bloody knuckles, static tv voices echoing in the background. You felt hot tears rising to the surface, but you never let them fall. It’s not like you were just mad or angry or disappointed…no this was something more. You were embarrassed. Embarrassed by Natasha. You thought you’d never say that sentence, but then there you were, apologizing to the bartender for your girlfriend's rowdy behavior, and throwing $20 to the guy she completely knocked out before nearly carrying her out of the bar and into a cab. Within the next two weeks she packed her bags, and your home was changing once again, now empty. 

  8 months later 

    The team said that you’d only be separated for a year, or less, but you were coming up on a year pretty soon and none of you were any closer to figuring out who the threat is. But you, you moved on, strived forward, and kept going. Your breakup with Nat had been one of the most painful moments of your life, but you didn’t let it stop you. These days you hardly cried over her at all, never even thought of the old days. Well, except for last Tuesday, when you saw one of her old sweaters and lied in bed for the rest of the day, or on Thursday when you heard her favorite song and- well, never mind that. You were at the top of your fucking game. 

  Ms. Romanoff, on the other hand, had moved out of San Francisco completely and settled in Washington D.C. from the last you heard. She attended the monthly zooms, same as you, but you two never addressed one another. Natasha pushed all of the heartbreak she harbored deep, deep down until she would lie down for bed and reach out next to her…but you were never there. 

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | y’all accidentally adopt a kid

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; parenthood (?), mentions of violence

♡notes; i work with toddlers all day yet still somehow get baby fever- so here’s this i guess lol.

i can’t see Brahms as a dad so skipped out on him this time, Vincent is iffy too but we might come back to him

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> micheal never wanted to be a father before he met you

> he knows for a fact he has something terribly wrong with him

> and while it never bothered him…it was far too dangerous to pass on

> but the way you light up when little kids on the street wave to you

> how you talked about building a family when you got drunk and sappy

> and how soft and gentle you were holding your friend’s baby…

> he knew you’d be the perfect parent, good enough to balance any bullshit he was bring to the table

> so it’s maybe not a complete accident when he stalks into the house with a banged up stroller out front

> the baby is crying, his parents passed out from some shit they snorted in the living room

> it makes his job easier when he slits their throats, and he’s sure as hell not sympathetic

> not that he ever is

> he follows the cries upstairs- a tiny little boy is wailing in his crib

> but he stops and stares at Micheal, blue eyes wide as he looms in the door

> at first Micheal thinks the racket it going to start again and braces for the scream

> but the boy reaches for him eagerly instead, making grabby hands and squealing

> it takes a bit of snooping but Micheal finds some paperwork after he’s secured the child in a carrier

> Miles. The boy’s name is Miles, and he’s ten months old- just tiny for his age

> you think he’s fucking with you when he sets a baby carrier on your table that night

> “…that’s Miles.” He mutters and walks away

> you’re pissed but you can’t say you have anything but an urge to protect this tiny boy

> he has red hair, and light freckles and the sweetest disposition

> he’s perfect, surely Micheal wouldn’t just steal a child…not without good reason

> and you notice Micheal still lingering, watching you both

> you try not to smile

> “…well. Gonna help me find somewhere he can sleep or not?”

Thomas Hewitt

> when Charlie brings in the little girl, Luda Mae is beyond excited

> she had no idea the couple she’d sent down their road had a baby

> her dark curls and chubby legs and ruddy pink cheeks remind her so much of Thomas at that age too

> not too far off from one if she’s got it right

> she’s thinking selfishly, she’s always wanted a daughter

> but Thomas’ eyes go so wide when you both walk in

> he’s in awe of the tiny lil thing sleeping against his mama’s shoulder

> he won’t hold her, terrified of hurting her

> but you’re eager to take her for a bit and he gets real close, chin hooked on your shoulder so he can inspect her closely

> she’s all giggles as she touches his mask

> and you’re nearly in tears when she snuggles up against you

> “…yknow…i’ve been thinkin. i’m much closer to grandmama age than mama age now”

> you say yes before Luda can finish her ask - there was nothing you wanted more than a child with Thomas

> he’s hesitant, but he already adores her

> you have no way of knowing her name, so what you should call her is a bit of a hot topic for a few days

> Charlie wants to name her Charlotte because he’s a self centered bastard , and Luda Mae has about a thousand suggestions that come from baby books decades older than you

> but you let Thomas decide

> Audrey Mae Hewitt is what he chooses

> Audrey from a book he read

> Mae from his mama

> and it suits her perfectly

Bubba Sawyer

> “hey cook! look what i got!”

> Drayton about beats Choptop in the plate when he sees him carrying a toddler under his arm like a log

> but he’s kind of impressed such a scrawny dirtbag can carry a chunky kid like that

> the little boy is a healthy weight for two or so, with lil chipmunk cheeks that dimple when he grins

> and the cutest damn mullet you’ll ever see

> Drayton is getting too damn old for this, and there’s only one person he trusts even a minuscule amount in the house

> so he just. hands him to you when you walk into the front room

> “congratulations, it’s a boy”

> you’re confused but excited

> and a bit concerned with how he and Bubba will feel once the man gets home

> a kid is a big commitment- and a man that wears people’s faces can be scary

> but Bubba immediately squeals and beelines for the little one when he staggers in

> they both tilt their heads curiously before the boy tries to climb up his leg

> when he picks him up, the boy gives a huge belly laugh, kicking his legs

> you choose his name- politely declining your boyfriend’s brothers’ insistence on Lil Choppy or Drayton II

> Jedediah Junior sounds perfect to you - little JJ

[literaila]

emotions

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you and megumi discuss how terrible satoru is

warnings: little spat between gojo and megumi, reader is the only sane one, lil fluff, and pining ofc

last part | next part

*

year three.

you're used to the door slamming open every day when they get home--and you've given up on scolding all of your family members about it--but what you're not used to is megumi storming through the door, his aura a dark and stormy color as he walks by you, not even bothering to look your way, and slamming the door to his room. all within a good three seconds. 

and, okay. you blink, trying to comprehend him, or what just happened. 

satoru comes in next, slower, more peaceful, shutting the front door softly like it'll make up for megumi's actions. for whatever he probably did. 

you immediately turn towards him, frowning. "what'd you do?" 

"why did i have to do something?" satoru asks, scoffing. "the kid is a glorified teenager. or an old man. he's moody." 

"yeah, but he didn't even say hi to me," you cross your arms, trying to analyze his body language and the twitch of his lips. 

satoru waves a hand at you. "join the club." 

"seriously. is he okay?" 

satoru kicks at the floor, mumbling something indecipherable under his breath. 

"satoru." 

he looks up, almost pouting. 

"what happened?" 

"i was just teasing him--" he's already pleading for mercy, taking a step towards you with his arms out. "i didn't even say anything bad. i just said something about his attitude, and he told me to leave him alone, and i... i didn't do anything!" he swears. 

and you both know that he's lying. you sigh, shaking your head at him. 

"did you listen when he told you to stop?" 

"no," satoru says, with a fake smile. 

"then you did something," you take a step away from him, watching as he slides off his jacket, then his glasses. "what were you teasing him about?" 

"he was telling me about some kids at school. i guess they're scared of him, or something." 

you raise a brow. 

his hand gestures to megumi's room, helplessly. "you know him and i like to mess with each other, i didn't think that he would... get upset." 

you almost laugh, because he looks so guilty, unknowing, and childish. and you can tell--by a mere glance--that satoru feels bad, and doesn't want to admit that. 

you snort, still shaking your head. this man is the sole cause of all of your problems. "okay, well you should apologize to him, and listen when he asks you to do something--" 

"no." 

"excuse me?" 

"will you talk to him instead?" he pleads, tilting his head at you. "you're so much better with him, and he'll listen to you." 

"satoru," you frown. "i didn't do anything. megumi doesn't need an apology from me." 

"but he's just going to yell at me," he whines, body flailing pathetically as he emphasizes this point. "and he's scary when he yells." 

"he's nine." 

satoru shakes his head. 

you flick his forehead. "honestly, all you have to do is say that you were wrong. easy." 

"i don't wanna say that," he mumbles, feebly, crossing his arms like a toddler.

you groan. "satoru--" 

"i have to go pick up tsumiki anyway. please? just talk to him? do you really want him to sit in his room all alone and be all gloomy?" 

satoru's lip twitches because he knows that he's got you there. just the idea of megumi brooding alone is enough to break you. 

you scowl at him, crossing your arms with a knowing glance. "i'm going to let megumi punch you, and then i'm going to do it myself." 

"we're not supposed to encourage violence." 

you roll your eyes. "go get tsumiki. do not be late again. i'll see how he's feeling, but we're going to talk trash about you, just so you know." 

"see? this is why i love you." satoru grins, then pecks your cheek. "okay, got to go! good luck," he says and swings himself out the door. 

and honestly, how did you get stuck with him? 

*

you give him a couple of minutes before you knock on the door, assuming that any space he has to cool off is probably good. but you can only wait so long. 

there's a worry somewhere in your chest, the fear that you won't know how to mend the rift between the two boys. but the other part of you feels easy, simple. 

kind of how you assume satoru feels about most things. 

if you can't fix it, you think, he probably can. 

"hey," you whisper, peeking into his room. the lights are off. "can i come in?" 

megumi shrugs. he's sitting on the bed, staring at the floor, looking like a forlorn statue. 

so you go in anyway, stepping over the backpack he threw on the floor and the books cascading out of it to sit next to him on his bed. 

it's actually a little hard not to laugh because even though he's grumpy, megumi is so cute. his little scrunched-up eyebrows and his pout make you want to squeeze him forever. you want to coo over him, or say something inappropriate, but you refrain. because you are not satoru, and you will never be. 

"how was school?" you ask, after you've settled in on his dinosaur sheets, watching him pick at something on his pants. 

he shrugs again. 

"wow. glowing remarks." 

megumi doesn't even smirk a little. 

you tilt your head, trying to meet his eyes. "do you want to talk?" you ask softly, trying so hard not to prod. even though you will.  

"no." 

you smile, a little. "too bad," you tell him, rolling your eyes for show, "you didn't say hello or give me my hug when you came in. talking is your punishment." 

"sorry," he mumbles. 

"i'll let it slide this time--only this time--okay, kid?" you give him a hard look and he nods immediately. you smile at him again, leaning up. "what happened with satoru?"

"nothing." 

"unforunately for you, he's a gossip so..." 

he rolls his eyes. "he was just being annoying."

"naturally. did he make you mad?" 

megumi nods. 

"did you tell him that?" 

he shakes his head. 

"okay. what'd you say when he started annoying you?" 

"to stop." 

"and then he didn't, so..." you hint, nudging him.

"i told him to leave me alone." 

"what'd he say to that?" 

megumi sighs. "he just said that i'm adorable when i'm mad." 

because of course he would. satoru is probably the worst person in the world. the sole cultivator of everything terrible. 

and, for some reason, you're kinda obsessed with him. 

"yeah," you shake your head, grumbling internally. "i'd expect nothing less from him. i'm sorry he didn't listen, though." 

megumi finally looks at you. "you are?" 

you raise your brows. "well, yeah. if you want to be left alone, then he should leave you alone." 

megumi looks at you skeptically. "you're not going to tell me that i shouldn't have gotten mad at him?" 

"um," you frown. "no. you're entitled to your emotions, megs. you can feel whatever you want." 

he frowns, too, but doesn't say anything. he's stuck somewhere you'll probably never reach. 

but you try to meet his eyes anyway. "and satoru'll be getting a lecture from me, don't worry," megumi smiles a little at that, looking a little more like the boy you're used to. "but i just wanted to tell you that you can talk about it with me, if you want. nobody understands being angry with satoru like i do." 

he looks away again. his fists clench, briefly, and he makes a sound at the back of his throat. "i just--why doesn't he leave me alone? he always teases me, even when i'm trying to be serious, or when i tell him to stop." 

you nod in agreement, letting the words sit for a moment. and then you say, "i think that satoru thinks if he never takes anything seriously, then the negative emotions and all of the things he doesn't want to think about won't matter to him. or as much."

"but they do matter." 

"they do. and if he's irritating you, you should tell him that." 

"i try." 

your lip twitches. "satoru's not the easiest person to talk to. but he's a lot like you, you know? in that way." 

megumi frowns. "how?" 

"you don't really like to talk about these things do you?" you ask, seriously. 

megumi thinks for a moment, fingers messing with the bedsheets, and then shakes his head, slowly, like he doesn't want to admit it. 

"satoru doesn't like it either. and he feels things the same way you do--very deeply, and seriously. that's why he always messes around. and why he frustrates you." you stop, thinking about how to explain this to a kid. how to explain it to yourself. "well, you know how when there's only one melon soda left and you give it to tsumiki, or when you let her pick the movie?" 

megumi nods. 

"that's your way of putting her first. because you love her. but it's different then the way that she loves you, right?"

"yeah. she says it, a lot," he rolls his eyes, familiar with the antics of tsumiki.

you smile. "and she gives those hugs where she tries to crack your ribs," you emphasize it by squeezing his shoulder, making him laugh. 

you swallow, shrugging. "you both show your love differently. everyone does. but tsumiki isn't afraid to let anyone know that she loves them, and satoru is, i think. and you're like that." 

he looks down at his lap, contemplating this. satoru might think that you understand megumi better than he does, that the two of you are easy, but you feel like you're standing on uneven ground. 

everything is so clear in your head. but you can't clarify the interworkings of someone as complicated as satoru for megumi. you can barely clarify him for yourself. 

"i don't know if that's the right way to put it..." you sigh. "well, i like to talk things out. like right now. i want to talk about how i feel, and why. that's how i process everything. but satoru doesn't do that. usually, he'll refuse to." you nudge megumi. "and that's okay, sometimes. but i think he's taught you to do the same, on accident." 

"that's not bad, though," he mutters, frowning. 

"no, not all of the time. but it also means that his emotions come out in his actions. like teasing you, or when he tries to get all of us to sleep in his room." 

megumi rolls his eyes again and you laugh. 

"there's no bad way to show the people that you love that you love them, but when you don't talk about things, or you try not to show those emotions, they get stuck." you poke his chest. "and then they break out, like today, and it's too many feelings all at once." 

megumi nods. 

"so when he's annoying you, you have to tell him. or if you need a break from him, or me, or tsumiki, you should say that." 

it's advice for all of you. some secret that you don't want megumi to know about--the part of you that's lying to him. the unspoken things you don't say--emotions buried so deep beneath your surface that they'll never see the sun. 

you can see the thoughts as they pass over his face, still dark, still stormy, but lighter now. 

eventually, he nods, meeting your eyes. "okay."

you give him a half smirk, leaning down just a little. "but you can't be mean about it, alright? i know today was hard, and satoru was pushing you, but it's still not okay to snap at him." 

megumi curls in a little. "i'm sorry." 

"i'm not mad, buddy," you assure him, ruffling his hair. "and neither is satoru. we're just here to help you, you know? but you have to let us in so we can. you can depend on us, i promise. and you have to be nice, because i can't deal with another satoru." 

he laughs, just a little. you rest your head on his. "i'm here if you want to talk about it," you tell him, "today, or anything else that's bothering you." 

"i know." 

and you feel like he does, just a little bit. he's a very smart kid, and you know that when you leave he'll think about it some more--put it into words that work for him. 

honestly, most of the time his intelligence frightens you--like you'll never be able to slow him down, or make sure that you're on the same page. but at least there's some use for it. 

you sit up. "good. now i'm going to leave you alone, but when satoru gets home and he apologizes, try not to yell at him?" you plead, only partly joking. "he's sensitive." 

megumi scowls, but nods anyway. 

you stand up, nudging his leg with your foot and then you step back over the maze of his things, turning the doorknob. 

"y/n?" 

you turn back, brows raised. "yeah, bud?" 

"do you want to... play cards, or something?" 

and finally, you laugh. just a little. 

*

"how'd it go?" 

"megumi said that he didn't like my haircut, and that i needed to review my wardrobe situation." 

"and?" 

"he's okay." 

you sigh out in relief. "good," you say, looking back down at the paperwork you're supposed to be filling out. the teaching courses, and jujutsu regulations, course handbooks, and bills... 

satoru sits down next to you, looking over all of the papers with a frown. "this is disgusting," he says, nudging your hand away from the pen you're lingering on. 

"true."

"take a break," he hooks his leg around yours. "let's talk." 

you sigh again. "we really need to get this stuff done, satoru." 

he shrugs. "we'll do it tomorrow." 

"you said that yesterday, too." 

"and i was right..." 

but you relent, and you turn so that you're sitting facing him on the couch, your legs crossed in front of you. 

"hey," he whispers, softly, grinning. 

"hi." 

"how was your day?" 

"boring. all i did was clean the house and wait for you and the kids to get home." 

he leans in, eyes crinkled. "can you imagine what your life would be like without me?" 

"not even a little bit. you take up all of my time."

satoru smiles, adoringly. he leans his forehead against yours. 

you want to push him away, or roll your eyes, or ask him more about his talk with megumi, or if he checked on tsumiki, but you don't. 

you just let a small, tired smile rest upon your lips and close your eyes. 

satoru is close enough to smell. his warmth is almost mechanical, unmoving. and everything about him feels sort of unbelievable. he's so close. close enough to touch and taste, if you were that daring. 

but you're not. 

"you okay?" you whisper to him, feeling his breath against your cupid's bow. you refrain a shiver. 

"i'm good," he says, voice soft and low. "you okay?" 

"i'm good." 

satoru nods against you. there's a whole minute where the two of you sit just like that, no need for words or movements. 

it's nice like this, you think. with him and nothing else. you don't get a break very often nowadays--and you don't mind it, really--but sitting with him is enough to not care. who needs a break when you've got your best friend, curled against you like a vice you'll never ever touch?

and then satoru asks, "do you think i mess with megumi too much?" 

"yes," you say, immediately, opening your eyes to meet his glorious blue ones. satoru is pouting, so you continue. "but he loves you anyway." 

just like i do, you think, so brief there's no time to push it away in your mind. 

"yeah?" 

"god knows why," you say, rolling your eyes, laughing when he bends down to tickle your neck with his nose, sniffing against you like a dog. 

but you do know why. and the paperwork can wait until tomorrow. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[thegnomelord]

omg yes for the Ghost fic request you can do prompt 3 instead that would be great, thank you. some angst with a happy ending please

Sure thing dude, sorry this took so long, but a happy xmas to you lol My hyperfixation hyperfixated on this so it's a bit long and expositiony but I'm actually really happy with how this turned out :D Play the game HERE

Prompt: "Tell me how I’m supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me.”

CW: NSFW, subbot Ghost, domtop Mreader, angst, misunderstandings, gentle sex, making up kinda, confessions, fwb turned lovers, idiots in love,

Simon's apartment is a picture of painful domesticity; your muddy boots sit neatly next to his by the door, two mugs set next to the coffee maker, two toothbrushes left on the sink only a foot away from different shower products that have long since mixed together into one giant pile, and a dozen more little things that tell anyone with a cursory glance — 'yeah, two people live here'.

When people wonder why you practically live together when you're just casual, you both just say it's convenient (and ignore how fake your answers sound).

After all; Why leave after he's ridden you to both of your completions when you can just settle on the couch and share a drink over a movie? Why should you waste money on a cab to get back to your own flat when you two can just tumble into bed? Why should Simon wake up to an empty and cold flat when he can do so in your arms, your steady heartbeat remind him you're both alive? Why leave in the morning and miss one of the few times Simon's fully relaxed when you can have a lazy morning, laying in bed and enjoying each other's company until the sun's high in the sky?

Why leave at all?

. . . Simon treasures every moment with you as much as he hates it, every second in your presence like a pretty hummingbird singing sweetly in his ear while it drills holes into his skull. Absolute Hell. Utter bliss.

He knows he doesn't deserve you. Knows you don't deserve to have a living corpse crawl back into your arms every night, nothing but a stranger with Simon's face. But you two have known each other so long it's impossible to let you go.

You met as toddlers when you'd nicked his toy, refusing to give it back until he agreed to play with you, and you've been stuck at the hip since. You two were each other's first kiss, fumbling behind the school bleachers, eager and sloppy like inexperienced lads are. First set of blooming hickeys along his collarbones, Simon's ma giving him a knowing look when she'd noticed it amongst the other bruises her no good husband had left on him. First fuck, quick and rough in a dark janitor closet during basic training, burning with need and heat. First—

. . . Simon doesn't know when the word 'Love' first registered in his brain. Maybe when you tore up heaven and hell looking for him. Maybe when you stuck by him when he did his best to scare you off, all rough words and teeth, unable to form one nice word when violence and revenge was all that was left in his head.

He doesn't know when he registered the word. Only that he looks at you whenever you do something mundane and thinks 'yeah. Love. That fits.'

But love has no place in. . . whatever this is. Hell, he's the one who'd set the ground rule when you two were young and dumb, reaffirming it after he'd come back as Ghost. And you'd never fought against it, agreeing to just be fucking casual, there's no way you want anything more than this. He doesn't want to cock it up, doesn't want to take more from you than he's already done, so he swallows all he feels and ignores how it burns his throat, going day by day like nothing's changed.

He wakes in your arms, deeply ingrained training waking him before dawn but the heat of your body keeps him rooted in place. Distantly he can still feel the cold tight confines of that coffin, of maggots wriggling on his skin, but memories of that nightmare float away before his traitorous mind can latch on to them. He lays in bed, head firmly on your chest so he can hear you, see you breathe. Morning comes too soon and you rouse awake, laying a sweet kiss on his forehead before getting out of bed to set the kettle on.

It's domestic.

It's painful.

. . .

You love how Simon looks. You especially love how he looks in his civies, freed of his armor and no longer needing to be guarded at all times, shoulders relaxed and mindlessly looking around as you talk while you browse the store. He's still gruff, and sarcastic, but you love that about him. You loved him long before he said not to tangle emotions in your meaningless bliss and long after he'd come back as Ghost, each unknown scar on his body taking a chip out of your heart.

And you respect his choice. You'll take what you can get and won't give it up even after your corpse has grown cold, hoping that will be enough to drown out the neediness of your heart. You lost him once and it had nearly killed you, you can't lose him again. . .

God, you're pathetic for him.

You meet miss Betty on your way back from the shop. She's your neighbor a few doors down, a sweet old lady who waters your plants when you and Simon are called back into action. You see her struggling with her bags so you hand your own to Simon so you can help her, "Hold this, please?"

"Only because you asked nicely." Simon huffs, but takes the bag without further complaint, walking behind you as you help miss Betty with her shopping, content to listen to you two talk about who knows what. It still amazes him how you've managed to charm all the neighbors Simon rarely spoke to.

"Oh, thank you deary." Miss Betty says as you put her shopping next to her door, holding onto your arm for support. "It's so nice to have a helpful person around here."

"It's not a problem ma'am." You say with a small smile, and fuck if Simon's heart doesn't beat a bit faster at the sight.

"You know," Miss Betty begins. "My grandson's been eyeing you up. And I can see why, you're such a strapping young man."

You feel Simon's gaze fall on you like a dagger, cold, hard, expectant. You try to think of what to say but your words fail you, because while you and Simon aren't in a relationship you can't picture yourself be with anyone else. "I-"

"Oh don't worry deary, I told him he was barking up the wrong tree." Miss Betty cuts you off by giggling like a school girl, "I wouldn't want to separate you two love birds."

The words burning on your tongue escape you before you can filter them. "Yeah, I doubt I could love anyone other than Simon." You clear your throat after, feeling his eyes on you.

Miss Betty just coos. "Oh, to be young and in love." Then she turns, waving her walking stick at Simon like he's an annoying pigeon that flew into her house. "You better treat him properly you big oaf, he's good for you."

Oh, Simon knows. Knows you're too good for him. But all he lets out is a small grunt, and you can't help the surprised laugh that escapes you.

You don't think of what you say next, so far away from a warzone your defenses are lowered. "No need to worry ma'am, he's the love of my life and I can assure you he treats me very well."

There's that word again, and the way it leaves your lips has Simon's heart skipping a beat. Fuck, Simon wants to hear you say it until he's deaf. Wants to hold your jaw closed so you don't speak again and stop making him feel this. Wants to pull you close and throw you out of the window at the same time. Wants— . . . he doesn't know what he wants.

"Oh, well I won't hold you up any more dears." Miss Betty says, patting you on the arm before shuffling back to her apartment with her shopping.

There's an uncomfortable silence between you two while you get back to Simon's flat, neither one of you sure what to say about the damn elephant in the room. You take the bags you'd given him, your back to him as you put them on the counter.

Acting like nothing's wrong. Nothing's changed.

But it has.

"An' you say my heart's rotten." Simon grunts, gruff and harsh, too many thoughts brewing in his head to properly say what he's thinking.

You turn to him, surprise obvious on your face. "What?"

"Lyin' to old ladies." His jaw is tense behind his face mask, which you note he hadn't taken off when the front door had closed, back to being guarded around you, something between Simon and Ghost. "Granted, it was convincing. What, did you take some creative writing lessons from Laswell?"

You stare at him for a few seconds, then you feel your jaw tense as well. "Christ, Simon, what are you on about?" You growl, stomping over to him.

His shoulders tense as you approach, but the scent of your cologne calms his body without his mind's input. "Can't love anyone but me?" He asks, something cold and slimy settling in your stomach when you realize he's repeating your words. "Love of your life am I?" Simon scoffs, the skin around his eyes moving in a sardonic smirk. "You're full of shite."

He doesn't know who he's trying to convince here.

You know you should brush it off, go along and say it was just a joke. Say anything that won't clue him in to your real feelings. Hell, not even saying a thing would be good.

But you just have to open your mouth.

"I wasn't lying about that Simon." You say suddenly, open, honest, your eyes meeting his.

Silence stretches long enough to have your nerves crackle with static, your body needing something instead of the nothing he gives you. Then Simon lets out a short, dry laugh, like your words are just a joke.

"Quit it." He huffs, doesn't meet your eyes because looking at you and entertaining the idea that he could have something more with you fucking hurts. "'m not up for your focking jokes." He grows, turning to leave,

Something inside you makes you move before your mind can comprehend it, grabbing his hand to stop him, "Simon I love you damn it!"

Your words are like a slap to the face for him. Simon freezes like a cornered deer, thousands of thoughts darkening his eyes, brows furrowed like he doesn't know whether to be angry or not. "But we—'

"—we agreed, I know. I fucking know." You hiss and damn it you can feel tears prickle your eyes like needles, "But I fucking love you, been in love with you for years and I know we agreed not to but—" You're babbling now, each word leaving your chest feeling raw like an open wound, the weight on your shoulders lessening but it only draws the noose tighter. "—just tell me how I'm supposed to un-love you, then. Tell me. Spare me."

Silence greets you as you stare into his eyes, that same static gnawing on your nerves the longer he just looks at you without a word, searching for something in your eyes he expects not to find.

But he does.

He spares you, pulls you by the clothes so his lips can crash onto yours, holding you close like you'll disappear. The kiss is sloppy and desperate just as it had been when you'd been hiding behind the school bleachers, all teeth and tongue and care.

Eventually the need for air breaks you two apart, but Simon refuses to let you go far. His rough hands hug you close as he rests his forehead against yours, pupils blown wide. ". . .love me, huh?" He says under his breath, as if he can't believe it.

"Yeah." You breathe out and wrap your own arms around him till there's not an inch of space between your chests, hearts beating fast like war drums but in such a rhythm you'd be fooled to think you share one. "Do you?"

Simon swallows, his throat dry, but the words slide smoothly off his tongue. "Yeah." He says, letting you pull him back into a kiss. It's sweeter this time, calmer, no longer rushing to feel the other. He melts against you, a low sound building in his throat as the sensations of you wrap his mind in silk, the taste, the feel, the scent, all of it making his mind fuzzy. All his now.

You lose track of time, stealing gulps of air between kisses as your minds drown in the other, your bodies moving on their own. You don't know how you end up in the bed but you do, your skin prickling with goosebumps as Simon's body presses against your own.

You part to catch your breath, Simon's head falling back on the pillow with your name leaving his lips like a prayer. He's underneath you, eyes hooded and short hair ruffled, and while usually he'd push you back and wrestle for control, this time he just melts into the sheets, lets you do as you want.

"Fuck-" Simon growls as you kiss down his neck, his blunt nails scratching your scalp as reward for the little hickeys you leave on his throat. Your hands roam across his body, leaving lingering trails of burning heat. "Love, please hurry up." He breathes out, cock already rock hard from just a few kisses and heavy touches.

"Right," You say, because that's all your brain can conjure up at the moment. Blindly reaching for the lube you trail kisses down his front, your lips tracing every scar along the way, his legs easily parting so you can settle between them. You can't help but look him over again, all relaxed and eager for you, chest rising and falling like he's a racehorse. "God you're fucking pretty."

A deep flush spreads from Simon's ears down to his hickey marked shoulders, a little smile tugging on the corner of his lip. "Just pretty?"

"Beautiful." You breathe out against his abdomen, rubbing your fingers together to warm the lube. "So handsome." You don't miss how his cock twitches, your lips following his happy trail. "Charming." You hum against the tip of his cock, tongue lolling out to lick at his slit. "Bloody bewitching." His hips buck into your mouth as your fingers slowly circle his puckered rim, putting just a bit of pressure at first. "Irresistible." His body yields, the tense muscles of his rim going lax and letting you slide a finger in.

A low and long groan escapes his chest, eyes fluttering shut as he savors the stretch, tight walls clenching in the rhythm of his breaths. "Read a dictionary, did you?" Simon smirks, heart warm and floaty at the way you wait for him to relax after the intrusion before you move, at the way you look at him when your exploring finger brushes his prostate and makes him moan. "Such a focking charmer."

"Just for you." You chuckle, lightly sucking on his cockhead to make him forget about the lingering pain, your ears pricked to hear every little groan and unabashed moan leaving his lips. "Can you handle two?" You ask, your second finger resting against his rim without trying to push in.

He growls like an animal and pushes his hips down on your hand, "You're sleeping on the couch if you don't hurry up." He warns at your question, his harsh glare softened by the heavy flush across his face and his hooded eyes.

"Not the dog house." You say in mock fear, swallowing his leaking cock a third of the way down in one go as you push your second finger in, your thumb rubbing the space between his balls and ass so his prostate is trapped on both ends.

"Shite-" Simon's hips twitch up, beads of precum painting your tongue as his legs spread open more. "-you wanker." His insult is light, head rolling back as he grounds his hips down in an attempt to chase after that spine numbing pleasure your fingers bring.

Pulling back enough to murmur "Love you too." against his tip you take him into your mouth again. You can't measure how good it feels to say those words honestly instead of sarcastically, your own arousal forgotten as you work him open on your fingers, the constant pressure on his prostate making a small stream of precum bead down your throat.

Simon floats in heaven for, he doesn't know how long, the pleasure making his brain melt through his dick, unable to stop the soft sounds escaping his throat. He cracks an eye open when the tightness in his stomach becomes apparent, barely able to stave off his orgasm when he sees his cock throbbing between your lips.

Your name comes out slurred as he tugs on your hair, "Need you. Now." A little bit of his usual demanding nature comes out, but even then it's born out of desperation to feel you rather than the need to be in control.

You let him pull you off his cock, placing gentle kisses on his thick thighs as you pull your fingers out of his stretched hole. "You have me."

You go to grab a condom but he stops you, too aroused to be embarrassed by his eagerness. "You don't- my physical, I'm clean. If you want, I mean-"

You furrow your brows, your chest tight with how big your heart feels. You could never hide how sick you'd feel at the thought of Simon being intimate with someone else, even when you'd never agreed to be exclusive. "We did physicals nearly three months ago, you haven't. . .?"

He shakes his head, "No," Suddenly he tenses up, his jaw tight like he's expecting bad news. "Have you?" His tone isn't judgmental, but you can hear the edge of hurt.

"No. No. No!" Quick to dispel his thoughts you lean over to kiss him like he's a bout of fresh air and you've been drowning for years. It's not too far from the truth. "You're the only one I've ever. . .done that with." You murmur against his lips, earning yourself another kiss as he pulls down by a hand on the back of your neck.

"Good." Simon tuts, proud, hiking one leg around your waist to pull you closer, your cocks rubbing together. "Fuck me already." He grumbles, his strong arms wrapped around your neck.

"Right, yeah." Despite how many times you've done this suddenly you feel like a fucking virgin, your hands trembling slightly as you lube up your cock. You press the tip against his slick hole, forcing you to bite your lip as you start to push your hips. "Just relax, yeah?"

"Yeah." Simon breathes out, feeling pressure of your cockhead against his hole. You both groan when your cockhead pops inside him, your lips on his making him forget about the lingering sting. "Shite, so good for me." Simon hums, looking at you with hooded eyes. Usually he relishes the sting and burn sex with you brings, but he's so loose and lubed the pain is barely a prickle at the back of his skull and he finds himself getting addicted to the unfiltered pressure and weight of your cock inside him.

"Simon," You say, clenching your teeth as you try to keep still so he can get used to you, holding his hips for dear life. "Can I- please I need."

"Focking move it," He nods his head, his head rolling back from the sensation of you moving inside him, your cock brushing against his walls as you push inside him inch by inch until you're fully inside him.

Your nerves a live wire from how tight and hot his hole is, forcing you to rest your head on the pillow next to his as you try to gather your self-control; you'll be damned if you cum before him.

"I'm good." Simon tugs on your scalp, your lips meeting in a lopsided kiss. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, his eyes blown wide and hooded, something about this position so intimate it melts your heart. "Hurry up, 'm not going to last long." He confesses, his walls clenching down on your length.

Words escape you so you just nod your head, slowly pulling your hips back before pushing back in, Simon meeting you half way so your cock can lay consistent pressure on his prostate. You two move like one, your senses full of sex and heat, your ears ringing with Simon's low moans and groans. Moving your hand down you stroke him in time with your thrusts, earning yourself even more moans. Usually Simon's so quiet in bed, but now he lets it all out so freely, low growls and huffs and small 'ah, ah, ah's breathed into your ear with every small movement of your hips.

Your pace picks up as your orgasm approaches, your cock bashing against his prostate with all the subtlety of a tank. "Shite-" Simon throws his head back to moan, leaving his throat open for your teeth to lay even more hickeys. "-I, fuck, yeah, that's the spot- just- I need-" His voice turns higher pitched and needy, his body moving with the force of your thrusts, powerful arms pulling you even closer so his teeth can clamp down on your shoulder.

Simon cums with a shout that's muffled into the meat of your shoulder, whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind as he paints both of your stomach's white with his cum, his hole clenching down and pulling you along with him. You cum inside him and moan, collapsing on top of him, completely exhausted.

The silence of the bedroom is broken up by your haggard breathing, both of your bodies sweaty and hot. You tilt your head just enough to catch the way Simon looks at you, like a content cat that knows he's safe, and shit if that doesn't melt your heart, nothing will.

"God, that was something else." You say to break the silence, trying to pull out when you feel yourself soften but your attempts are stopped quickly, Simon grumbling something under his breath as he hugs you closer. "What?" You ask.

He throws a light glare your way, but his eyelids droop with exhaustion. "Don't." He says, relaxing when you stop what you're doing. "Want to feel you." He says; it's the most intelligent thing his mind can conjure up right now.

A gentle smile tugs on your lips. "Right." You lean down to share another kiss with him, this one sweet and slow, his tongue gently liking your lips as a way to ask for entrance— why rush when you've got all the time in the world?

The exhaustion weighing on your bones and Simon saccharine kisses lull you to sleep soon enough, your body like a weighted blanket on top of him. "Love you," You mumble just before your eyes close.

Simon fights against his own fatigue for a few more minutes, relishing the feeling of being connected in such a primal way, with you in him and around him. He takes in your sleeping face with blurry eyes.

Yeah. Love. That fits.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Without the levels of ectoplasm Amity Park has, the rest of the world was filled with other, weaker forms of ‘ghosts’ called shades. Danny finds his purpose of protecting comes in all kinds of forms. This is useful when he finds a challenge in Gotham.

Warning: violence, murder, probably something else. Proceed with caution.

Danny has noticed when he left Amity Park and went to places that didn’t have ambient ectoplasm, he saw lots of shades. They were outlines of the people they once were, mere shadows of themselves. It wasn’t a soul per se. He was close to believing his parents when they said ghosts were just impressions of emotions in ectoplasm.

These shades couldn’t really hold a conversation with him, if they even noticed he was speaking to them. Some mumbled things under their breath, some moaned or screamed randomly, and others didn’t utter a sound. What he figured out over time was that they were actually attached to things or people. Not like a child is attached to their favorite toy, but physically couldn’t go far from whatever it was.

He’s seen shades attached to the places they died in, or perhaps a favorite object that was important to them, but the most interesting were the shades attached to people.

It was a small game of his to figure out who that person was to the shade. A child, a caretaker, a friend. He once saw a nurse who had some shades following her with smiles. It became less fun when he found his first serial killer. It was an older man carrying an oxygen tank behind him and surrounded by at least half a dozen young women shades. They wore expressions of sadness and anger and fear. He could recognize trauma when he sees it. Danny just stood frozen for a while, just watching this man pull out his oxygen to smoke a cigarette. He didn’t really know how to feel other than a cold fury that made his mind worryingly quiet.

“Whatchu lookin at, boy?” The old man snapped.

Danny just stared back into the dark and arrogant eyes. Then he looked up to the women who blinked back.

“You will have him soon. Then you can rest.”

They seem to understand, turning again to stare at the back of the man’s head with such expressions any other person seeing them would have screamed and run away as fast as they could. Danny did neither.

“Who you talking to?”

Danny stares back at the man who shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he answers coldly before turning and walking away.

That was the first of more than he cared to find. Some he approached. Some he just stared at knowingly, watching the killers squirm under his intense gaze. Some he had to restrain himself from killing to avenge the victims hovering over their shoulder. One or two he didn’t hold himself back. His first was a woman actually, with children and toddlers clinging to her back like they didn’t understand how else to process what she did to them other than by staying close.

Danny followed her home. She ran a daycare from it. He couldn’t let it happen again. She wasn’t as old as the man with the oxygen tank, she had several more years before she died naturally. He needed to end it then. And he did.

He didn’t say one word to her or answer any of her angry questions as he plunged his hand into her chest and squeezed. Her heart burst like a water balloon and he cringed at the feeling. She died quickly and he waited for her shade to form.

When it did, the children didn’t know what to do. They were innocents, they weren’t like the young women waiting for their killer to die so they could rip him to shreds viciously. They hovered and flicked around excitedly. And when her shade finally formed and predictably turned on the children, snapping and reaching out with clawed hands to quiet them permanently, Danny stepped in to protect, like he always did. He bit and tore until there was nothing left.

He had seen shades and ghosts ‘move on’ before. Where they finally felt like they didn’t have to stay and they just faded contently, going where Danny couldn’t follow. Seeing all of the children disappear with laughs and smiles was the most bittersweet experience he could remember.

He cried himself to sleep that night.

So after traveling for a while and stumbling upon a glum city with far too many shades, he was a little overwhelmed. Never before had he seen so many in one place, other than the Zone of course. He couldn’t just leave, he needed to help as many as he could. For the first time in a rough while, Danny settled into one place, Gotham.

Over a couple weeks he helped as many as he could while working at some fast food place during the day and a weird bar at night.

Things were busy but manageable until one evening he was kidnapped and held hostage along with a dozen other people in some mad man’s scheme. He wasn’t particularly invested, knowing the Bats were going to come save them, that is until he actually saw the man, or more specifically the number of shades surrounding the man. This was Joker. It had to be. He never had a face to the name until today, but the shades that he spoke to the gave half answers to exactly three questions before becoming disinterested about half the time brought up Joker. Even the ones that weren’t in the building, must have been killed by this man. He wasn’t just a serial killer, he was a mass murderer.

Danny knew what he had to do.

With the Joker’s goons distracted with his presentation, the clown laughing into a camera that was apparently live, it wasn’t hard to escape his bonds and then borrow a gun he ‘found’.

He took aim.

“Boss, behind you!” One of the men shouted from behind the camera.

Joker turns with a wide grin and Danny doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

Three shots ring out in the open space, the other hostages scream, and the goons shout urgently. Three holes are now in the Joker’s chest, the purple suit slowly staining an ugly brown. The Joker falls, allowing the camera (and everyone watching) to show the face of the teenage murderer.

Danny doesn’t even notice, his wide eyes on the body, gun pointed to the floor. He watches the beginnings of a shade form and he can feel more shades gather around with anticipation.

A window shatters before the goons can figure out what to do now that their employer is dead. They run as the Bats descend upon them, one freeing the hostages and another directing them outside where it’s safe.

The shade is almost formed and Danny catches himself from leaning in with the rest of the shades. They weren’t victims right now, they were hungry wolves prepared to bite and rip and tear apart.

“Hey, kid, I’m gonna need you to hand that over okay? You’re safe now, no one’s gonna hurt you,” Danny hears one of the vigilantes tell him, slowly moving closer.

Danny doesn’t pay the man any mind, not even twitching in his direction. The shade was formed. It was whole and disgusting and ugly. The rest of what made up the Joker started to laugh. Just that awful noise triggered the other shades into action, flying so fast at the grinning face the shade chokes and that ear-piercing laugh turned into a scream.

Danny feels the cold metal be removed from his loose grip at his side. That’s okay, he didn’t need it anymore. The monster was being slain right in front of him. He was glad he didn’t have to intervene like he had to with the children, Danny didn’t want to touch that thing.

“He’s in shock,” the vigilante says to someone else.

“Let Gordon take care of it. Zip tie his hands, he might be a danger to himself or others when he snaps out of it,” came a different voice, younger.

“Red,” the man hisses. “He’s a kid. He’s just scared.”

“Scared people do dumb things, N.”

Danny hears a sigh before his numb hands are gently tugged behind his back and he hears the shick of plastic tighten around his wrists. He doesn’t bother struggling as he’s more preoccupied watching the scene end as there is nothing left of the clown shade to tear apart anymore. The shades all around seem to settle and accept what just happened. Their murderer was gone. They were finally free.

One by one they started disappearing into the Aftermore until the effect was exponential. More and more until he couldn’t see any anymore, but he could feel shades fading throughout the whole city.

Danny doesn’t really remember what happened after that, too focused on the change in atmosphere all throughout Gotham. He could feel it, feel them.

Maybe he was in shock like the guy said. One minute he’s staring at the body of the man he killed on shaky knees and then the next time he blinks he’s in a chair in the police station, metal handcuffs keeping him to the table and an older gentleman with a grey mustache in the seat opposite him.

The man looks at him from over his glasses.

“You with me, kid?”

Danny nods.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Danny stares back.

“I shot the Joker,” he answers simply.

The man nods.

“Do you understand that he is dead?”

Danny blinks.

“I’d be concerned if he wasn’t.”

The man pauses and then shrugs a nod.

“That’s fair.” He looks at the teenager and sighs heavily. “My name is Commissioner Jim Gordon. I am in charge of this case and I need your statement of what happened. We already did this but I don’t think you were all there, so I’m going to read your Miranda rights again, okay?”

Danny nods and then listens to the man recite words that he says he understands. He tells Mr. Gordon what he knew and what happened (withholding the pieces of information that were ghostly) and then signs a piece of paper that reiterates what he just explained as well as a confession that he shot and killed the man known as Joker in the act of being a Good Samaritan as well as self defense.

All of this was just legality. Mr. Gordon assured him no one was actually going to prosecute him, not even the state to be honest, for the Joker’s murder. In the eyes of pretty much the rest of the city and the world, it was a public service.

It was unfortunate he couldn’t just go home after that. No, of course Mr. Gordon found out Danny didn’t have parents (that he knew of) and legally couldn’t just release him back to the abandoned hotel where he lives alone. Danny works, he has money for food and the laundry mat, he doesn’t really need anything else.

It would have been as simple as handing him over to one of the boy’s homes if, you know, Danny wasn’t the one to kill the most hated man in Gotham.

So Mr. Gordon calls someone and Danny sits tight, drinking a soda and eating some chips, both from the vending machine. He was just glad his handcuffs were off.

Danny has been at the station for hours by the time Mr. Gordon comes back with a well dressed man who was tall and big. Honestly the guy kinda reminds him of his dad. Danny represents a shiver.

“Son, this is Bruce Wayne. He’s taken in a couple other boys in their time of need. I think you’ll find you’ll fit in well with his many children,” the Commissioner explains with a tight smile.

Danny tilts his head, looking behind the man to the man and woman duo who hold hands while staring at the man lovingly. He parents probably from the rumors. Maybe he’ll try talking to them later.

“Wayne as in like The Bruce Wayne? Like Wayne Enterprises?”

The man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes, that Bruce Wayne. Nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“It’s Danny. Just Danny.”

“My butler, Alfred, just made some cookies. If we’re lucky, there will still be some left over.”

Danny perks up. Sweet! Cookies!

“You have a butler? Wack. But cookies are a yes. Let’s go! Are we done, Mr. Gordon?”

Mr. Wayne seems to blink at his easy behavior, like he was surprised Danny was so okay after just killing a man. Mr. Gordon just smiles at him, but Danny can see the concern in his eyes.

“You can go, but remember you have mandatory therapy that Mr. Wayne will make sure you get to. It’s only for three months but more sessions will be added on if you don’t cooperate so keep that in mind,” the man warns.

Danny gives the man a two finger salute.

“Roger roger!” He turns to Mr. Wayne. “Can we go now?”

“Sure.”

Turns out Alfred the butler left aside two delicious chocolate chip cookies for him. He munches on them as he observes the others in the house, but mostly the shades attached to them and the feeling of death-touched from a few of them. The one the feeling was coming from the most is the first to hug him tightly and thank him for killing the Joker.

Oh.

“Was he the one that killed you?” Danny asks without thinking it through.

The arms tighten around him and there is a collective silence as the words register. Then lots and lots of questions and suspicious looks.

It was a very long night.

[the-cannibal]

“Clicky papa!”

Predator/Yautja x (platonic) child! Reader

Summary: what happens when a small three year old child gets attached to a big killer alien?

Female reader - she/her and you is used

Yautja is male in this one - he is also unnamed so if you wanna imagine him as a specific Yautja or an oc feel free! :)

This is a platonic oneshot!

This is also very short, but I hope you like it anyway!

Warnings: Some violence and what not in the beginning, blood/gore

It was a simple job. One that he was going to get in and out quickly. The big alien let out a screech as he ripped open another human, blood splattering all across his armor and mask. He was surrounded by a field of pure gore as he continued his mission, a mission that we won't go in specifics as to what exactly it is. But to summarize it he had to kill people. A lot of people. Which wasn't out of the ordinary. Rapid foot steps came up behind him and before he knew it his precious mask was ripped off of his face and carelessly tossed to the side. The Yautja slowly looked down at the frightened human, who stood shaking as he realized the mistake he had made. "N-no please!" But before the poor human could make anymore pleas, the Yautja had sliced open its throat, watching as the body fell limp to the ground, twitching and pouring out blood. The strong alien quickly wiped down all his tools and was ready to leave the scene. That was until he felt someone tapping on his leg. "Boo!" The alien looked down to see a small human girl, around the same size as the young Yautja pups he sees running around his planet. The alien tilted his head in confusion, making a clicking noise with his mandibles as he picked up the girl to examine her. The child giggled and attempted to copy his noise, getting drool and spit down her chin, as she made grabby hands towards his dreadlocks. The Yautja couldn't keep the small smile from spreading across his face. He had to admit, they were quite adorable. But the smile quickly fell when he remembered what they were. A human... But they were so small! How could he harm such a thing? Looking down in his arms and seeing the child holding her fingers up to her face in an attempt to make her own mandibles, he knew he couldn't hurt her. And it wasn't like he could go find the humans that made said offspring. They were probably in the carnage that laid around them... "Clicky papa!" That made him freeze up. His eyes were wide in wonder and curiosity as he looked down at the giggling toddler in his arms. She really wasn't afraid of him, what's so ever. Which really surprised him. Every human he has ever come across scream in horror when they see him. They scream louder when his mask is off and they see his true face. But here he held a small human that called him papa.

"Clicky papa?" The child said confused. The big alien sighed, moving the child so they were resting their head on his shoulder. He made up his mind. She was now his pup, his child. He was going to take care of her, no matter what the other Yautja say. Climbing into his ship and getting ready to fly back home, he knew the risks he was taking. But one look down at the child in his arms, sound asleep with a gentle hand wrapped around one of his dreads, he knew he couldn't just leave them behind.

[chaosandmarigolds]

(sips my seventh energy drink) I’m working overnights and I have nothing to do- so I’ll present to you

Uncle Soap

just to be clear Simon tried to tell Ollie that Johnny’s name was indeed just Johnny, however when the little boy heard ‘soap’ he took it and he ran with it

not that Johnny minded, in fact it tickled him

(cause well he associates the name with violence and gore so the idea of a small toddler screaming the name with utter glee seemed…redeeming)

Johnny will babysit a lot, since he’s in town with his sister and niece- Simon and him agree that Jane (Johnny’s niece) and Ollie should have play dates

So if you and Simon are ever going on a date Johnny comes over with Jane on his hip and beaming smile, Ollie ditching whatever he was playing with to run to his friend and uncle

now the first time Simon offered Johnny to watch-

“The one with the mullet?” You say deadpanned, trying to get the earring in without accidentally stabbing yourself. With a spin of the heel you look to your boyfriend, who seemed pretty serious about the matter. To that he shrugs, “Mohawk.”

A moment passed as your processed that information, “Mohawk.” You echo slowly and furrow your eyebrows, “Simon…”

“he’s great wit’ kids, loves em. He’ll tire Olls out and when we get back he’ll be out like a light.”

Johnny indeed did tire Ollie out, after jumping on the trampoline (they were doing the rocket thing) for forty two minutes and then running laps around the yard during Tag, Ollie was out

Now whenever Ollie gets a bit too high strung either you or Simon will call him over, if it be for a few hours or even ten or so minutes

Ollie loves Johnny, now he doesn’t love him as much as Simon- but he thinks of Johnny more of a best friend

(mainly because Johnny will buy him any and everything, Johnny is a sucker for Jane or Ollie)

Johnny will take the two to the mall a lot, letting them play around in the Lego store (he’s also building the little Lego figures)

“Uncle Soapy, look it,” Ollie chirps as he holds up the little Lego figure for the towering man to see. Johnny quickly bent over to see it, the little Ghost figurine in the small child’s hand, “Oooi, it’s a spooky ghost- eh?” “Nooo, it’-it’s Ister Riley.” The boy corrects, “He has a spooky face mask.”

“Oh- gotcha, mmhm, tha’ does look like ‘Ister Riley’ doesn’t it?”

anywayyy, that’s it! <333

[avatarkv]

III ! I watch the fathers with their little girls and wonder what I did to deserve this, (How could you hurt a little kid?)

✎ Synopsis ! You've been thrusted to carry the burden of the eldest after his passing. (First | Second)

Content & warning: Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of death and violence! (wc; 3538)

This is like stones in your heart. 

The journey felt like forever; soaring high above the lush forests of pandora and just beyond the great currents. The rush of wind was nauseating– a stark contrast to the fluttering feeling when you’re amidst the warm orange glow across the sky, the thrill of flying over the vibrant forest. It was as if the scent of the trees and the sounds of the animals below called for all you, bidding their goodbyes. You marveled at the beauty nonetheless– home. This was home and you couldn’t help but doubt your father again, asking yourself how he could ever stomach leaving. 

You’re too young to feel this kind of hurt, you think, but could you still consider yourself a child after so many losses? Your Ikran would slightly falter whenever your mind drifted too far, thoughts taunting you to no end. 

“Ma’ite,” Neytiri would softly call for you with Tuk hugging her tightly near her chest. You were sandwiched between her ikran and your father’s, throwing you glances every second. They were worried, you couldn’t even sit upright. Jake’s heart faltered every look shot towards him by his mate, but he couldn’t risk stopping; the enemy could be sleeping anywhere for all he knows. Everyone had to move forward.

When you finally arrived at Awa’atlu, the people there weren't exactly welcoming. Your skin felt slight discomfort, burning against the ambience and sand. It felt weird under the soles of your feet and it would sink slightly with every step. You approached the clan, hands upward like your father’s. They avoided you like the plague– like your family was some sort of incurable disease that they wouldn’t dare touch. Tonowari, the clan’s olo’eyktan, was condoling enough– unlike his hostile wife. She had addressed everyone with great disdain and perhaps, rightfully so. Ronal was skeptical– untrusting.

Demon-blood, she openly disclosed, tightly gripping your sister’s hands for everyone to see. You immediately pushed Kiri behind you, suppressing a hiss that threatened to leave your throat. “We are na’vi!” The look your father shot at you was enough reason to pipe down and let him do the talking, extremely careful not to enrage the Tsahik already. 

Something softened inside her from seeing the troubled family. Ronal is Tsahik, but a mother nonetheless. She knew very well the struggle. After exchanging knowing looks, Tonowari approached Jake and granted them Uturu. 

“Teach them our ways,” He had announced to the clan which was met with a few gasps of disbelief, “So they don’t suffer the shame of being useless.”

Their lifestyle intimidated you, Tonowari was right. You felt like a toddler taking your first step and it made your heart heavy. Everything you have ever known and learned– gone. You had no choice but to power through. Tsireya and Rotxo were accommodating, the kindest souls who had ever approached you since coming here. Ao’nung was a pain in the ass, but for the sake of keeping up images, you knew better than to piss him off.

“Breathe in,” Tsireya instructed while everyone inhaled, “And breathe out. Imagine flickering a flame– slow down your heartbeat.” While Tsireya was hospitable, she was a relentless teacher, absolutely eager to teach everyone their ways. Kiri seemed to have gotten the hang of it already and although you couldn't admit it, it set a pang of jealousy inside you. 

You thought you’d learn in a span of days, letting yourself go easy the first few weeks but time passed quickly, blurring alongside the thrashing waves and the seafoam. Your body burned from fatigue, but your mind was the heaviest of all. It remained a mess and it did not help with your training, oh Eywa, you were falling behind– it was almost a month. A month of you trying to control your Ilu.

Ao’nung was equally frustrated, angry even. Not only was he wasting his time babysitting the Sullys’, you just couldn’t get the hang of it. His patience was wearing thin, if not nonexistent already. The olo’eyktan’s son tried to steady his breathing as he watched you situate yourself above the Ilu once again, hands grasping on the handles tightly. You lowered your body, chest meeting the creature’s back with a deep sigh. 

“Control your form,” He reminded, “This is like riding your Ikran, tell them what to do. Clear your mind.” It was a mantra at this point, you swear you could even hear his voice while you slept. You knew very well you weren’t doing good, but it was your damn best already. Although Ao’nung wasn’t the friendliest, he did his part as a mentor nonetheless; he had carefully explained the technique, demonstrated it for you, and even spent time riding with you on its back to help you get a feel for it– but as the sun began to set over the tranquil waters, it was another reminder that you had to try again tomorrow. 

You weren’t gonna give up so easily, despite the many bruises and scratches from the nearby corals whenever the Ilu would throw you off. With a determined nod, you asked it to go. The water rippled around you as you surged forward, pushing the creature to its ability, but as you went deeper, your mind had drifted once again to another memory.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the Hallelujah Mountains, casting a golden glow over the lush, verdant jungle below. You and your brothers each had mounted on your Ikrans, soared high above the treetops, their wings slicing through the crisp morning air. Neteyam let out a wild whoop of excitement, egging you on to pick up your pace. You responded with a grin, urging your Ikran to tilt her wings to gain speed and keep up with your brother's soaring figure. 

While everyone weaved through the trees, their ikran's agile bodies allowed them to execute the most incredible maneuvers. The sun was now high in the sky, casting dappled shadows over the forest floor as the siblings continued their exhilarating race. Lo’ak struggled, the rush of wind hitting him straight to the face from behind. He groaned, feeling displeasure in letting his older siblings best him again. Neteyam cast a knowing glance, tilting his head towards him– you could only grin in approval. 

He slowed down slightly, causing you to lag behind his Ikran. Lo’ak took this as an advantage and immediately surged forward. Your ikrans let out triumphant roars as they touched down and you could already see the smug smile plastered on your younger brother’s face as he approached you. 

“Neteyam, did you see that?” He beamed in pride, hitting his brother in the shoulder. “Sis, this has got to be one of your bad days, hate to break it to ya.” He continued, saying how none of you should not have slacked and that he would never let this day live down ever– Lo’ak is a man of his words. The moment you returned back to the clan, it was all he could tell; he couldn’t stop talking about his win and you indulged him nonetheless. 

“Mighty warrior,” Neteyam teased, putting his weight on Lo’ak’s shoulders as he tried to shake him off.  “Maybe you can beat me in training next time then.” The laugh that erupted your throat was painful– too painful, you couldn’t breathe. 

You flailed your arms in panic, suddenly aware of the lack of oxygen on your chest and your Ilu was long gone. You tried to shout, but your voice was lost in the roar of the waves crashing against you and was only met with bubbles gushing out your mouth. You kicked your legs violently, trying to swim above. You couldn’t see anything but the murky depths of the sea and you felt weaker by the second, muscles burning from the strain. This was it. Eywa had cursed you the death of being useless and you failed once again. 

Maybe you weren’t cut out for this– weren’t used to sticking out like a sore thumb. You were your brother’s shadow and you liked it that way, being there with him through thick and thin. Now that he was gone, there was no shade to hide from the glaring sun and you had no choice but to stare back. Your mind was clouded with nothing but fear and desperation, most of all guilt. Your lungs ached from the lack of oxygen and before your body could finally still, a hand reached out and grabbed your arm. As you resurfaced, you coughed up water and gasped for air, body shivering against him as your hold tightened around his figure, but Ao’nung didn’t relent. 

“What was that?” He barked as you two neared the shore, approaching the concerned expressions of your siblings. Ao’nung immediately retracts from your hold, nudging you off. “Something is blocking your mind and I could not care less for whatever it is. Get it off your head and stop being so incompetent– even Tuk can manage.” 

He’s then met with a harsh shove from Lo’ak. “She’s new to this, cut her some slack bro.” 

“It’s been weeks, she could’ve died there!” Tsireya held him back, shooting him a glare. He could only run a hand through his hair, anger wavering and was replaced with an equal pounding heart. “Great mother, help this sad excuse of a Na’vi.” 

You hung your head in shame, feeling absolutely small and foolish. You were burning from embarrassment, the coldness from drowning immediately leaving your body. Their argument blurred from the background, only feeling Kiri’s hands searching your skin for any serious injuries. She then nudged your stiff shoulders softly, muttering a series of “Are you okay” and “Did it hurt?”. Vehemently shaking your head, you stormed off and made your way back to your pod. 

You passed by Jake who was sharpening his hunting spear and immediately, he felt the aura you emitted. It was ominous– sad. He looks around for Neytiri, only to meet an empty space. He knew he had to deal with this one, “What’s wrong kid?” You heard him ask, but your reply still bubbled like acid inside your stomach, mouth opening only to close it shut again. 

When he doesn’t get an answer, he finally approaches you and realizes you were hyperventilating– shaking. Your face was wet with tears and your fists were tightly clenched. He places a hand on your shoulder only for you to draw back sharply, almost as if his slightest touch had burned you and that was what put you on edge– the breaking point.

“I want to go home!” You cried, voice cracking and laced with nothing but longing. You circled around the Marui frantically and away from him, “Why are we here?” 

He didn’t understand why you were mad at him. The look you threw was nauseating– a look you’ll never want to receive from your child. It was full of hate, borderline disgust. He slowly exhaled from his nose, exhausted himself. Jake just got back from a hunt with Tonowari and today wasn’t on his side either, having to embarrass himself multiple times in front of the clan’s olo’eyktan and his warriors. He’d be a big fat liar if he said that the training was a piece of cake, that he already got the hang of it. 

The last thing he wanted now was to argue with his daughter, but the way his chest tightened told him that he needed to let it out. “You know damn well, __” His tone was steady, slowly brewing like the calm before a raging storm.

“No, why are we running? Why are we here when we could have ended the war back in the forest? Let it remain there instead of having it roam around to search for us?" You replied, “Do they know that? Are they aware that we’re only bringing them here?” 

His fear was only now confirmed and he fought the urge to hang his head low and dissociate. You blamed him, he thought, and the creeping insecurities of being a father had once again rushed inside, now double in size. Jake thought he was doing good– better, even, but after all the occurrences and the strings he had to pull, there was no more proving himself. For a moment, he felt human again– unwanted. Right now he was just that sad marine who had lost everything and had nothing at all. 

He palmed his face in frustration, unable to explain himself properly. “This is our last chance for home, do you hear me? No one is coming, no one!” His voice heightened, figure slightly towering over you. “Pull your weight–, bare some teeth and show skin. It’s just an Ilu, for Christ’s sake!” Of course he was aware of how his children struggled, listening attentively while they talked between meals or when they got back from a tiring day. 

“You don’t understand! I didn’t grow here– throw me into the sea and they spit me right back out. I don’t belong here!” You responded in the same fierceness, chin raising. “I want to go home!”

“Then go! You’re so desperate to follow in your brother’s footsteps, then you might as well go! Get yourself killed there, is that what you want?” The loud snort he let out was only a hard jab to your beaten stomach. A father shouldn’t be his daughter’s first heartbreaker– hell, he should be the one to instill fear in whoever dares lay a finger even, but here he was, watching you crumble in front of him and it was from his own words. 

You couldn’t help the frown deepening your features and he wanted nothing more than to rush to you in an embrace– to take back what he said, but your siblings had hurriedly entered the pod with Neytiri trailing behind with a basket of fruits she just washed. “What do you intend to do, let the whole clan know that you two are fighting?” She had butted in, pitch not the lowest either. Neytiri immediately rushes to you, while the others stand unmoving at the mouth of the Marui.

You missed your father; perhaps it was the reason for this argument boiling over. You haven’t talked to him ever since arriving at Awa’atlu, nor had he regarded you with even a faint nod. It took a toll on you, not having your father’s recognition. When you seeked the comfort of his arms back at home, he had only stared and while it was little no nothing at all, it gnawed your insides. You feared that he blamed you– it was your fault that he had to bury his child. The stupidest part of you hoped that he didn’t, that he was still your mighty warrior– his first baby girl. 

The way he stood now, gaze still unwavering and cold, had crushed that small hope of yours. 

The creases on your forehead was long gone as your legs threatened to cave in, “I wish you were more of a father than whatever a Toruk Makto is,”

You missed the way his ears flattened, the way his look had finally faltered. Neytiri had engulfed you in a hug, almost like she was trying to undo what you said. You could only hear his steps retreating and Tuk calling for your father– you could only cry harder when you felt the hands of your family, pulling you into a tighter embrace.

The night loomed heavily. 

You desperately tugged on the woven cloth pulled up below your chin. You were no stranger to the lulling waves anymore, but you felt that the evening’s air was denser; it carried along a certain guilt you desperately sought to leave behind, and yet it continues to deprive you of rest. Everyone was soundly asleep, too tired to discuss today’s occurrences and too scared of what might leave their mouths the further it unravels. They were pretty good at doing just that– it was so unlikely for everyone to share their feelings, to tell each other where it hurts and where it’s heavy. You wondered how many more bottles could be filled before they realize that it’s already leaking from the brim, that it’s fine to let it all out before keeping it all in again. 

Looking at everyone, you were almost convinced that they would never and that made you want to shout at your family– ask them why you were the only one crying your eyes out and mourning him to no end. It was confusing, so confusing for a child; just where do you unload all this grief? 

Your father had not yet returned after the argument and while Neytiri assured you that he only needed air, you couldn’t help but feel worried. The night continued on without any sight of him and your stomach would only churn impossibly tighter. 

The pod was silent except for your family’s soft snores and your own ragged breathing– tears streamed down your face and your body racked with sobs as you desperately tried to stifle them. You tried to breathe through your mouth, your nose too clogged to even function, and your chest heaved deeply with every attempt. Suddenly, a hand landed on your waist and for a second, you were still, afraid that you might have woken someone up– but the night continued on with the same silence and you were forced to turn your body to check.

Tuk immediately buries her face against your chest, wriggling her body closer to yours. You waited until she was completely unmoving again before you could let out a sigh of relief, stroking her hair gently. 

“I dream about him sometimes,” Her whisper startled you. It sounded so small it could go unnoticed, but the way it muffled and vibrated off your chest told you that Tuk was indeed awake and speaking. You waited for her to continue, rubbing soft circles on her back. “He's still in the forest and we play there, just like before.”

You swallowed hard, trying to will the tears away. “Yeah? How’s he looking over there?”

“Mighty,” Tuk replies with a giggle, “Kiri and Lo’ak would sometimes be with us too and we would go on adventures–! could you believe that? Neteyam is finally letting me go with the bigger kids now.”

You let her ramble, listening intently to her stories and what her dreams contained. There was a sense of normality to hearing her talk without a problem, Tuk had that kind of power– trust her to lighten up a gloomy room. You couldn’t even remember the time you had a conversation as heartfelt as this, just you and your little sister. She continued babbling, drawing shapes on your stomach and tracing the stripes on your skin.

“But you know, you’ve never joined us– never seen you in my dream even once.” Her voice starts to lower again as she digs her head further into your chest, hugging you closer, “I miss him too, tsmuke, but I think I miss you more now. I hardly see you and you’re just right here– feels like I'm losing you too.”

Your eyes widen. You forget that Tuk is still a child– literally years younger and that must be so confusing for a little girl; it was impossible for her thin arms and small fingers to hold shards of grief that continues to wound you, let alone for all the family– so just what were you doing? Why are you letting her carry such a burden already? 

You start to sob again and you feel the same wetness against your chest. You frantically search for her face and desperately try to wipe the tears falling from her eyes, peppering her with kisses all over as you let out apologies. Every sorry grew miserable, slurring with each peck and she would only cry harder. “I’m here, sweet child, just here.” You would comfort her, “If you feel troubled, come to me, yeah? Your sister is strong– let her carry everything for you, alright?” 

Her hand reaches up, attempting to wipe away your tears as well. You both stared at each other and it was enough words said; only now can you see her troubled doe eyes and it pierces through your heart with a thousand more needles. This was your epiphany;  the realization that everyone endured differently and no matter how much you wept, they mourned just the same– hurt just as bad. You had to move forward, even if it meant letting your condolences rest. 

Unknowingly, your father listened just outside, his heart wringing him of any more emotions. He knew very well how he failed as a father. He missed his son– misses him terribly. His eyes were locked on the handle of his dagger, fingers tracing against the messily etched names of his children on the wooden hilt. A reminder of what he was fighting for– of who he was trying so hard to protect, and yet he still needed to bury his eldest and break the heart of his daughter. Maybe Eywa did turn his back on the chosen one already, maybe his luck had already run out. 

This is like stones in his heart, and he could never lessen the weight.

��� mauve here! finally finished with chapter 3, had to rewrite this like one or two times. it was a pain in my ass, im crying hahah will be inactive for a week! traveling to the rural and the signal there is whack. special tag for @eywas-heir bec i love her SMOOCH

Tags: @aonungsmate @cappsikle @minkyungseokie @wwwellacom @dearstell @alohastitch0626 @gcldtom @aleracrovn

© avatarkv, do not repost.

[2knightt]

IM SORRY, I KNOW U GOT A REQUEST ON THIS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT…

Your motherly!reader fics are so good 😭! can you pleasee do another? platonic with the gang!! no romance 🥰 thank youu ❤️❤️❤️ your work is amazing btw!

the gang x motherly!reader

!warnings!

1.i did headcanons i hope thats okay😭

2.fem!reader

3.swearing and a small mention of violence.

Johnny Cade ;

like i’ve said before in other fics, he loves you so much.

honestly, you might be one of his favourite people!

when he walks down the street and he just so happens to see a cute flower, he picks it and gives it to you!

when he first met you, he refused to see you when he was injured in anyway. he thought you’d think he was weak and never see him again.

but as time went on, and you showed that you genuinely cared for him, he showed more of his vulnerable side.

johnny likes it when you patch him up now!

he thinks it’s calming, relaxing, and a, ‘nice change of things rather than lettin’ mother nature cure it.’

when he unknowingly/accidentally vents to you about his home life, he does get embarrassed.

he didn’t want you knowing, but when you hugged him real tight and told him sweet nothings?? he teared up ngl.

johnny wishes you could’ve been his mom.

when or if you have kids, johnny wishes they don’t take the, ‘how was your day?’ and the, ‘how’s school going?’ for granted.

because to johnny cade, that would be his perfect fairytale.

having someone as sweet as you to turn his life around, makes him excited to see tomorrow.

Dallas Winston ;

another bitch with mommy issues who is glad to have you.

mrs.curtis was definitely the mother he never had but always wanted and when she died, he was devastated.

but when you came along and started being that mother he missed??? he was both annoyed and over the moon.

he didn’t like that every time you bailed him out of jail, he got an ear full. however, he did like to know verbally that someone cared about him

he doesn’t show you any sort of affection, but he will tell you how he feels when drunk.

“thank you, so much y/n. i-i don’t know where i’d be without you.”

for mothers day, he doesn’t do anything special.

BUT—you didn’t hear this from me, before the clock hits 12, expect to hear like a cute little knock at your door, and open it to see a single flower on the ground with a pack of cigarettes.

dally ran off before you or anyone else could see him.

even though he didn’t sign his name, you knew it was from him. so, next time you see him, say thank you.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

he’s like a toddler around you???

ponyboy definitely pretends to be like, your own bodyguard.

but really, who’s scared of ponyboy?

he tries though!

when he watches a movie and some character reminds him of you, expect that to be the first thing he tells you.

“ya know, when i went to the drive in, you really reminded of this one character.”

“oh? why’s that?”

“well because-“

and now you have to sit there and listen to him.

he’ll draw for you so much :(.

if you tell him your favourite flower, he WILL give you a drawing of it the next day. he’ll stay up all night if he has too!

Sodapop Curtis ;

he’s literally your #2 fan. first place goes to johnny.

he’s your biggest hypeman??? omg???

“gee, y/n! you’re lookin’ real fancy!! gonna get all the guys, eh?”

when ponyboy and darry argue and he just can’t take it anymore, he calls you and asks to come over.

and of course, you say yes everytime.

so please, PLEASE, just let him cry into your arms!!!!

when he’s done, he’ll try to go home but i’m begging you to tell him he’s welcomed to stay the night.

and if he does stay? ponyboy will be at your doorstep too.

he’ll share his famous chocolate cake with you!! he’ll make sure steve doesn’t touch it.

“STEVE THAT WAS FOR Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT! WE MAKE MAKE ONE TOGETHER! THE MORE PEOPLE THE FASTER THE CAKE WILL BAKE RIGHT?!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A SCIENTIST??”

Darry Curtis ;

he is so thankful for you i legit can’t stress that enough.

you keep the gang in check, you keep ponyboy happy, and you help him around the house. what more could he ask for?

you legit force darry to relax while you look after the gang to make sure nothing bad happens.

“we’ll be fine, darry. go to bed, your dark circles are gettin’ darker by the minute.”

“yeah super-man! we’ll be fine with y/n!”

“yeah!!”

“fine, but if she wakes me up to tell me about any of you, so god help me.”

if you welcome him home with a newspaper and his favourite cup of coffee after a long day at work, he might ask you to move in.

Steve Randle ;

steve pretends that he doesn’t like you that much.

but he really does. like, the second he hears some soc threaten or insult you? he’s after them.

shit, he might be chasin’ after them in two-bits car while two-bit yells at the person.

he will legit go to war for you if you asked him nicely.

he will rant to you about cars if you let him😭.

he’ll rant to you about anything, honestly.

“and then the old bastard asked for a refund! the ‘no refunds’ sign was right on the door! how could that old bat not see it?!”

“steve! don’t call people that, but yes, it was very rude of that man to do that too you.”

“RIGHT?!”

Two-bit Matthews ;

he forces you to relax and watch mickey mouse with him.

he says it’s for your own good but when really, he just wants to spend time with you without the gang interrupting.

“guys! you’re stressing her out with all your STUPID questions! c’mon, y/n, mickey mouse is calling our names. can’t you hear it?”

“or maybe its the booze you had at 10AM.”

“i will sock you in your fucking throat steve.”

he plays with your hair…he finds it fun!

please tell him how to do some styles so he can go home and impress his little sister :(.

he offers you beer every once and awhile just so he can say he got you to loosen up.

“so y/n…you want some?”

“oh! no thank you, two. you know i don’t drink.”

he calls you mom in a joking way, ya dig?

“momm! steve called me a dumbass!”

“steve, be nice! apologize.”

“what the fuck?!”

author notes ;

1. i like totally rushed near the end LMFAO.

2. i never thought you bitches would eat motherly!reader up like this??

3.are you guys okay??

4.THANK U SWEETHEART OMFG??

5.i think theres no romance??

may 15th, 2023. 6:39PM

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Hello! How is my favorite author? I have a request from xadenriorson, something angst (I need it) Since I read your fics, I know how great you are at writing them and make us happy and sad at the same time.

26 days

“Where were you?”, the sound of Xaden’s voice ripped through the ache in your head that had been throbbing for the majority of the day. Not to mention the piercing pain in your heart. Brought by the fact that you had hoped to not see him. Had wished that he wouldn’t have bothered to come to the landing. But here he was. Frowning so hard his face was almost red.

“I’m talking to you y/n, and when I’m talking…”, he had stepped closer, reaching for you when you cut in, “You’re not talking. You’re yelling!”, you hissed back. You knew that the sensible thing would have been taking this up to your room. Not doing it here. Where the fleeing cadets saw it. Where your friends would see it.

“What do you expect me to do when you’re acting like a toddler?”, Xaden’s voice dripping venom. The veins in his hands were so visible now considering that he had been clenching his fists ever since he had found out about your little excursion. You didn’t regret it though. You would do it again.

“I was doing my job”, you said blankly. Yes, you had taken your squad to fly over the waterfalls. Was the place considered a war zone? Yes. But doing the plunge gave them the feeling of falling, of losing control for a shared moment and no one bothered to teach them this here in the college.

“Your job was to do the patrol and fly back but what did you do?”, Xaden rubbed at his temple. Bits of his shadow twirling around his legs and arms. He was close to losing control. “We saw an opportunity”, your blazing eyes met his. “We? You led them!”, Xaden let out a growl, gritting his teeth so hard, his jaw had to hurt. “I know what I’m doing for fuck sake. I earned my spot”, your palms met his solid chest as you shoved him back, or at least attempted to. Not wanting him so close to you. “Yet you’re not above me”, Xaden pointed out bitterly, that was enough to make your heart plunge, “Oh, fuck you and your titles”.

“Guys maybe…”, Bodhi had cut in, turning to step closer to you two. But you and Xaden had met him with a chorus of, “Shut the fuck up”, and “Get lost”. “Don’t interfere, Bo”, Imogen pulled at the male's hand. You silently hoped that she would walk him out. That they all would go. So explaining yourself and this mess would be easier. You were running out of lies at this point.

“I’m subtracting you from the squad”, a couple of surprised gasps sounded around. A shiver ran down your back as you muttered, “Don’t you dare”. This could easily get you expelled too. And that meant dying a slow death because no one left the war college on their own two feet.

“You need to learn”, Xaden’s words finally broke something in you. As if the vessel holding the volt with all the suppressed emotions finally cracked open. “And who are you putting in my place, huh?”, you said with a bitter laugh. You were his second in command. Had been even before you two tangled duty and love together. “That’s none of your business”, he said dismissively, turning back from you but he didn’t make it far. “Offer it to your sweet Violet or Violence? Is that what you call her?” as if your words had turned Xaden into a statue he froze. You could see his back muscles tense. His shoulder twitched. “Bullseye, Riorson”, you imitated making a throw at him as Xaden turned back to face you. You knew that he was blissfully unaware that you knew and the bubble had bursted just now.

“YN”, his voice was way lower now, smooth. A voice of someone caught redhanded. “Oh now you go all sweet?”, you mocked him, crossing your arms over your chest as the wind picked up around you two.

“Nothing is going on between us”, Xaden practically hissed but you could hear that thread of worry there. “How unfortunate”, you cooed, “maybe you should shoot your shot with her after all”, you outstepped him, patting his shoulder once. Xaden gripped your wrist, “What the fuck are you talking about?”, and there it was that changed look in his eyes. The mask was off. He was no longer a wing leader. Just Xaden. But you found it so hard to care.

“I’m done playing your rag doll”, you pulled your hand out of his grasp harshly. “Yn”, he muttered, the anger replaced with a plea now. Oh how quickly the tables had turned. You simply stepped back, “No Xaden, that’s it”. Your eyes looked past him. You couldn’t bring yourself to look straight at him. Not now. Not when parts of your heart still yarned for him. “I lost my temper, we argued. I worry about you because I care, baby”, his words made your gut turn. Quickly you extended your hand upfront, stopping him in his tracks.

But then you had mustered the last bits of strength you had. Lifting your gaze to meet his panicked eyes. You didn’t let yourself assess if it was real as you said, “Do you remember the last time you told me that you loved me?” The words might as well have been a dagger plunged at Xaden’s heart. You saw the pain that flooded his eyes. You saw his jaw flex. But he stayed silent. You simply nodded, fighting the tears, “That’s what I thought”, you let a bitter chuckle slip out, “It’s been 26 days, Xaden, and I think it’s enough for the last bits of the embers to die down”, your voice cracked at the last moment, but you didn’t let your head drop as you marched right past him.