#(i am then dragged away and buried under the mud)

[merakiui]

just saw this art of cowboy floyd and i am so so sosososososososososo not normal in the slightest way.

#meraki mumbles #COWBOY FLOYD WITH HIS PRIZED HUCOW DARLING AND HE'S ALWAYS KNOCKING YOU UP!!!!!! #AND MAYBE BUSINESSMAN AZUL COMES TO THE FARM TO PURCHASE YOUR MILK FOR HIS RESTAURANT SO IT CAN BE USED IN DISHES #BUT HE DOESN'T KNOW IT'S YOUR MILK AT FIRST UNTIL HE PEEKS INTO THE BARN AND SEES YOU AND......... #(i am then dragged away and buried under the mud) #WAIT ONE LAST THOUGHT!!!!! if floyd is the farmer here then jade has to be the bull hybrid they pair you with but floyd gets jealous #because he wants you all to himself but you and jade are biologically compatible and and and !!!!!!! #(i'm dragged under the mud for real this time)

[kaiwewi]

Hello! I have a request if you don't mind. Hero dies. And Villain is mourning over his death, but there's a bit of a twist. Especially when Villain sees Hero on the Tv fighting other Villain (Who had killed him.) Surprise surprise, Villain finds out Hero is immortal.

Thank you anon!! I'm always happy to receive interesting requests. I hope you'll enjoy reading this little snippet as much as I enjoyed writing it 💙

The Perks and Pitfalls of Immortality

tw: mention of blood, death, and being buried alive

They found the hero sitting on a park bench, sunbathing and humming a melancholic tune. His dishevelled hair and a ripped glove were the only evidence of his newest battle with Other Villain.

Last time he'd fought her, she'd ripped him apart. Literally.

“You’re alive,” they said as they came to stand in front of him.

“Yes.”

“No. No, you can’t be. Other Villain killed you.”

“Yet here I am.”

“But that’s impossible. There was a hole through your chest the size of a fist.” They shook their head and the hero nodded. “You died. I saw you bleed out and die. Two weeks ago. You were dead. Dead. You were—” Their fingers twisted around the fabric of the hero’s collar, and they pulled him up to eye level. The hero made no move to fight them; he merely met their gaze – no doubt a tormented thing – with his infuriating unshakable serenity.

How? The hero was dead … Or had been? His eyes weren’t lifeless now, his chest wasn’t hollow. He was breathing. But … No. This couldn’t be real. A dream, a nightmare – that’s all this was. The hero couldn’t be here, couldn’t be alive, because—

“I dragged your body out of Other Villain’s lair. I protected your identity. I gave you a covert funeral.” Their voice cracked, halfway between accusation and confession. It was horrifying. “I- I mourned you.” That had been horrifying as well. They’d never before grieved as much as they had these last two weeks, dammit.

And now the hero was back, somehow whole and alive, as if none of it had been real. But it had been real. Their pain had been real.

Two weeks ago, the hero had died. His blood had soaked through their sleeves as they’d carried him away, and their arms had been sore for days. The branches of a thorny shrub had left scratches on their cheek as they’d made their way through the forest, to that secluded clearing they’d elected as the hero’s final resting place, and those scratches were still visible. Mud had caked their boots as they’d dug his grave, and they hadn’t found it in themself to remove the stains they’d later left on the pale lilac carpet lining their hallway.

All of that had happened. It was real. They’d buried the hero and—

They let go and stumbled back a step. “How can you be here?”

“The perks of immortality.” The hero shrugged. “I just can’t seem to stay dead.”

“But … I buried you.”

Something decidedly not serene passed over the hero’s features then. He tried to rein the emotion in, smothering it with a lopsided smile. “Yeah, well. Not that I don’t appreciate the effort,” he said, and his attempt at casual joviality did nothing to disguise the tension in his shoulders. “You picked such a nice spot too, but… maybe just put me on a bed next time? Might make for a more pleasant awakening.”

The thought of waking up six feet under, in darkness, surrounded on all sides by earth and the tiny remnants of a dwindling air supply…

The second-hand claustrophobia was nauseating. They couldn’t breathe. “Oh god. I didn’t mean to—”

“It happens. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I buried you alive.”

“I told you, it’s fine.”

“Like hell it is!”

The hero heaved a sigh. “Villain. Just forget about it.”

As if it was that easy. As if regret and guilt weren’t ripping them apart.

“I’m so, so sorry.” They reached out again, hesitant, but lost their nerve and stopped just short of touching, afraid to cause him even more pain. They’d already done too much damage. The hero had said he couldn’t stay dead. Which meant he’d been dead. Which meant he could die. Which meant that if he’d come back to life in a grave… “How long did it take you to get out?”

“Villain, please. Let it go.”

“How many times did you—”

The hero jumped at them and pressed his hand to their mouth before they could finish the question. A range of conflicting emotions flittered across his haunted features. “Too many times,” he said softly. Then he sucked in a sharp breath and released it through something suspiciously close to a sob. “So please, stop. I’m not ready to talk about it. Okay?”

They nodded, and the hero pulled his hand away. But he didn’t step back. He let his head fall against their shoulder and wrapped his arms around their torso.

“Thank you,” the hero said, “for mourning me.”

They both started crying.

———

For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥

#snippet #writing snippet #heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain #immortal hero #immortality #resurrection #whump #buried alive #angst #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #writeblr #writers #writers on Tumblr #whump community #hero x villain community

[theimpossiblescheme]

The Shudders

(This time it’s Etcetera and Electra’s turn for @flame-x‘s Kittens Week!  Trigger warning ahead for some mentions of violence.)

Once upon a time–as Munkustrap would tell it and as I am telling it now–there was a kitten who wanted to know what fear was.

It wasn’t as though she’d never been scared, of course.  She was scared of a lot of things like spiders and thunder and getting washed down a storm drain while she was still small enough to fit.  But these were all things she assumed she’d get over once she was older.  After all, she’d never met a grown-up who was still scared of spiders.  Thus far in her life, Etcetera didn’t know what it was like to be truly afraid, deep down in her heart.  But she wanted to know very badly.

Two of her best friends figured they could help, since they had their own share of terrifying experiences to share.  Carbucketty was full of stories about his Protector training, of venturing down dark, rat-infested alleyways, encountering large dogs and pots and pans thrown at his head, and nearly getting his head taken off by Socrates’ paws when they sparred or the Junkyard gate swinging shut.  Every time he told them, he bugged out his eyes and lowered his voice to a suspenseful whisper like they were sitting around a humans’ campfire at night, out in the middle of woods infested by foxes and badgers and all manner of cat-eating monsters.  But in reality, they were just sitting on the old stove sharing a batch of stolen pancakes.  And far from sounding all that scary, Carbucketty just sounded excited, his voice thrumming with the thrill of sharing his exploits.  Even when he talked about what a harsh taskmaster Alonzo could be, there was more admiration in his words than anything.  So it was hard for Cettie to feel anything but thrilled herself, wolfing down pancakes and listening eagerly without a hint of fear.

Electra’s stories were more intense and personal, the kind she only told the cats she trusted most.  Stories about Macavity and his Palace, about the horrible noises upstairs and the stark cold of downstairs, about hulking henchcats skulking in every corner, about the sharp smell of human drinks and refuse and the sharp, haunted look in her mama’s eyes every time she came back from a long day away.  About the sharpest, most raggedy claws she’d ever seen pressed under her chin for just a moment before drawing away into darkness.  Most of these stories were hazy, half-remembered from when she was even smaller, but still burned into her brain nonetheless.  Cettie had heard stories about Macavity and his horrible crimes–mostly from Demeter, who talked about him like an unstoppable storm, and from Bomba, who talked about him like a fleck of mud on her paws.  It was hard for Cettie to really imagine him as a real cat, putting together all the pieces she’d heard from even her best friends.  Like outside of those stories, he didn’t really exist.  And even if Electra’s stories made her worried for her friend, it was still the distant kind of worry from knowing it could never happen to you.

Until that night at the Ball, of course.  

Seeing Macavity up close for the first time, those cruel claws sweeping through the air as he made so many cats dance for him like puppets on strings.  Seeing him swipe a bloody streak across Electra’s face and throw Carbucketty to the ground like he weighed nothing, all before dragging Demeter to his side and trying to carry her away.  Cettie tried to hide, but it was no use.  She didn’t even have the breath in her to scream until he was gone in a burst of lightning, and even then she couldn’t as a hush fell over the Junkyard.  In the blackout, relieved to find she could move her paws again, she crawled frantically over to the foot of the bedstead.  There, Electra lay curled up in Bomba’s lap, and Carbucketty with his head on Skimble’s knee.  Without a word, Cettie folded herself gently in between her two friends, tail entwining with Electra’s and nose buried in Carbucketty’s fur.  Trembling from both the horror of nearly losing them and the gratitude that they were both still here.  And as much as she knew Bomba or Skimble would if she asked, she didn’t want them to hug her or even touch her right now.  She just wanted to lie here until she stopped shaking and let this awful night pass over like a bad dream.  

At some point, right before Tugger came in to bring some of the light back, Cettie heard Electra’s voice somewhere in the dark.  “Hey… you okay?”

Cettie couldn’t help giggling a bit helplessly.  Electra was the one who’d actually been attacked by Macavity, yet she was asking if Cettie was okay.  And cats thought she was weird… but for the moment, all she could manage was a small, squeaky “Yeah.  ‘M okay.”  With that, she wrapped her tail even more tightly around her friend’s.

And so it was that the kitten who wanted to know what fear was learned for herself.

#Inspired by an episode of 'The Storyteller' because I am nothing if not predictable. #cats the musical #kittensweek #etcetera #electra #carbucketty #fanfic

[midnightscxre]

@hccgvlieger CLOSED STARTER

Independence was always the crown the ruby haired woman wore. Turbulent ride of the young woman’s life never ending, finding knew twist and turns on the rocky roads, barely allowing a break to draw in a single resting breath. Meeting challenges head on almost came as something completely natural, a task written inside her DNA. Clare took pride and also serenity in the fact she was able to handle everything alone. . . until the elegant legs didn’t walk upon a sinister route, field of mines and demons determined to see the woman crumble. When things turned bad -- they really aimed for an infernal, apocalyptic experience.

As a successful biochemist with a reputation that opened the doors to any pharmaceutical company, trust placed in her own drugs were unquestionable. . . until an error occurred. One-night-stand and a pill that didn’t work left her in a cage of panic, anxiety and fear, learning that inside of her another life is blooming. Sinister past marked by a heavy childhood forbade the scarlet haired woman to give the child away, developing a strong sense of obligation to protect its existence. Just when Clare thought she made peace with her new future, the walls of stability came crashing down, when the once prestigious company was dragged through mud and dirt, buried under heavy allegations and lawsuits for distributing a drug that caused liver failure. . . and what was worse, woman’s name was on the list of the biochemists that created it. Even though it was a terrible mistake, sadly in this case things took a turn of ‘ guilty until proven innocent ‘ , tearing away any possibility of getting a job.

Desperation wrapped its chains around the tortured ankles, mind attacked by horrors that might follow and this time. . . the victim would be an innocent child. Clare never dreamed that the day would come where she would ask for help, any sort of assistance, even more so when the circle of friends she had was small, almost non-existent. . . but a name that was carved inside of private, intimate memories drew an invisible map towards the man’s door. Only man that stirred up the calm surface of her feelings once, only one that she allowed her heart to yearn for --but from a distance. It was hazy, almost unreal when she came to his door. Tears, something the woman never allowed to be spilled in front of others pouring down her ivory cheeks like heavy rain. What she hoped for and what she expected was two different things, but somehow, here she was, already a month under Joshua’s roof, being welcomed as if they never drifted apart. 

“  I thought you would be married by now.  “ melodic voice said, while the busy fingers traveled along the pages of a cook book. Clare was highly intelligent, brilliant at her field and other things people usually find quite challenging. . . but when it came to the simple domestic things such as cooking, she was lost as Hansel and Gretel in the thick, dark forest. “  Honestly, I expected an angry wife at the door when I came, not you.  “ recalling the night when she appeared in front of his house brought a wave of guilt and agony. Clearing he throat, Clare gazed at the distance, thinking. “  Did I ruin something for you?  “  the man never mentioned any relationship, any personal affairs that might be effected by the decision to let her stay.  The idea of destroying such happiness for him shattered the heart. “  I. . . I am trying to get the court to hurry, to just confirm I didn’t work on that damn project so I can get a job. . . but. . . Joshua I don’t want to fuck up your life just because you decided to help me. . . “ breaking in front of other people was the most difficult and humiliating thing Clare could experience. So uncharacteristic for the young woman’s personality that she barely recognized herself. . . however, it all was for her baby, so the woman endured it.

#hccgvlieger: joshua #ft. clare #ksifnsi the angst

[skylitterror]

left alone in lake wide shoes that slowly sunk til i felt  a noose

taught around me dragging me down

no shoulder to rest or chest to lay my head only the comfort of rawhide round my neck

not to hang not to choke but to weigh me down from my own words

to let me drown under the earth

to bury my head in mud and clay to mold around my face

a forever uncured death mask made to prevent made to immortalize in instability

my arms and legs chained to the decaying world beneath

i am free

ask me how

i will say

do not writhe you will sink deeper

i would tell you do not hold your breath you need it to fight

not with you body

but your head

your teeth

bite viciously breathe calmly

bloodily slowly but steadily you will gnaw that rope

you with shovel the earth around you away

truly tho id say do not lose hope scan the horizon

help surely isnt far away

you’llve done most the work but they will be the ones to pry you out

do not fret for if you call if you scream if beg if you are honest about your plight with those you can see eventually one will free

the earth has left its grasping scars, the noose hand shouting has torn up my voice but the words they are as strong as ever

#poem #poetry #skylitterror

[rubysunnday]

it’s a bugs life | bridgerton!sis

A/N: I. AM. BACK, BITCHES!!!

Gregory Bridgerton had a slight obsession with animals and bugs. He loved the bugs he found in the garden of Bridgerton house, often collecting the caterpillars and spiders to put in shoeboxes that then lived in his room. Most of his family refused to go into his room when there were bugs within its walls - Gregory had a habit of forgetting to close the doors or lids of whatever receptacle he’d put the bugs in and they often escaped for freedom, ending up in, normally, Daphne’s room - but Colin and Y/N were the two exceptions.

Colin, thanks to his numerous travels, had a soft spot for animals and bugs, like Gregory, and was the main sibling who helped Gregory in capturing and looking after the bugs they found in the garden.

Y/N didn’t mind bugs. She did, however, hate spiders and refused to be in the same room as one - there was an infamous incident a few years back where she’d fallen down the stairs in a desperate attempt to escape a spider, narrowly avoiding smacking her head on the floor thanks to Anthony’s diving catch.

Colin and Y/N’s unfazed nature towards bugs meant that Gregory favoured them both when he need help capturing a bug or animal. Y/N had been roped in to numerous muddy and rainy escapades to collect frogs or worms - she’d ruined many dresses much to her mother’s annoyance - but she secretly enjoyed getting dirty and cold and being able to see Gregory admire the bug in his room and name it something ridiculous. 

The funniest bug incident had involved Anthony, Benedict and a baby bird.

 It’d been a particularly stormy day and Anthony had forbidden Gregory from even thinking of going outside to collect any type of bug. Anthony had sat down in his chair with a satisfied smile, knowing that his little brother wasn’t going to come back in covered in mud with a dozen new bugs.

Naturally Gregory hadn’t listened.

Y/N had been quietly reading a book in the main room when she’d noticed her youngest brother sneak down the stairs, several shoeboxes in hand. She looked over at Anthony, who was having a passionate ‘discussion’ (”It’s not an argument, Y/N,” Anthony said, whilst glaring daggers at Colin, “it’s a discussion”.) with Colin about why he couldn’t just flounce off to Wales for the week, and shut her book, quietly sneaking out the second door and following after Gregory.

“Gregory,” Y/N hissed as she caught him struggling to unlock the back door in the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

Gregory turned around and batted his eyes, looking like an angelic, innocent angel and not a mad, bug obsessed annoying human. “There’s a frog.”

“You have a frog,” Y/N replied, crossing her arms. “Why do you need this one?”

Gregory paused. “Well, there isn’t actually a frog,” he tried again. “I was looking out the window and spotted this baby bird on the ground, hiding under a bush.”

“Bird’s like the rain, Gregory,” Y/N reminded him, pushing herself up onto the counter near the door. “Besides, its mum will probably come back soon.”

“I don’t think it will,” Gregory said, leaning in to Y/N as if he was about to whisper a huge secret. “Its wing looks broken and I saw a fox.”

Y/N sighed and closed her eyes. She needed to not be so easily roped into things. She needed to build up a wall that couldn’t be broken and that no one could -

“Fine,” she said, jumping off the counter and grabbing the gardener’s jacket from the hook by the door. She pulled it on, buttoning it up as high as it would go and pulled the hood up. “Fine, come on.”

The wind ripped the door out of Y/N’s hand and it slammed against the wall. She ushered Gregory out the house and then forced the door shut, pulling it against the wind. Gregory quickly made a beeline to a bush near the side gate, kneeling down in the wet, muddy grass and setting his shoebox underneath the bush.

Y/N, knowing her dress was already ruined by this point, knelt down next to him, feeling the mud seeping through the material of her dress. The hood of the jacket had been blown down and her hair was soaking wet and falling out of it’s intricate styling.

Underneath the bush, cheeping nervously at them, was a tiny, baby bird. It’s left wing was hanging down slightly and looked to be at an awkward angle. Y/N reached her hands out and gently held out a finger for the bird to inspect. It hopped back a few steps, nervous of the newcomer in front of it. After a moment it hopped forward and cheeped, nudging Y/N’s finger.

Y/N took that as a sign and cupped her hands together, gently scooping the bird up and placing it in the shoebox which Gregory was holding out for her.

“Gregory!” 

Gregory swung around, falling on to his bum, at the sudden roar of his name. Anthony was marching towards them, struggling to keep his rain jacket on, holding the hood over his head as he glared at Gregory.

“I told you not to come outside!” Anthony yelled, pointing a threatening finger at Gregory.

Gregory looked down at the ground. “But -”

“No, there is no excuse -” Anthony trailed off as Y/N turned around, cradling the shoebox against her and protecting it from the worst of the rain. “Y/N.”

She gave him a wince of a smile. “Hello.”

Anthony looked like he might explode. “Inside, now.” He pointed a finger to the door but didn’t look away from his rebellious siblings. “Now.”

Gregory quickly stood up and ran inside, slipping on the step as he took the corner too fast. Y/N slowly stood up, shivering as the rain and wind began to get colder.

“Y/N, what were you thinking?!” Anthony yelled as she stepped around a puddle and approached him. “Out of all people -”

Anthony’s rant was cut off again as the biggest clap of thunder Y/N had heard in years went off directly over their heads. Y/N flinched and slipped on the grass, reaching an arm out to Anthony, refusing to let go of the shoe box.

Anthony grabbed her arm with one hand and wrapped the other around her waist, catching her before she fell into the mud. As soon as Y/N regained her footing, he marched her inside, pushing her inside the door and then slamming the door shut behind them.

Benedict was drying Gregory off with a towel and looked up as Anthony slammed the door. He let out a snort of laughter at his bedraggled brother and quickly looked away at Anthony’s scathing glare, busying himself with drying Gregory’s hair.

“What were you two thinking?” Anthony yelled, throwing his hands up. 

Y/N turned away from Anthony, only half listening. She set the shoebox on the counter and gently lifted the lid. 

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?” Anthony snapped. He went to continue his rant but was cut off by a quiet cheep. Anthony closed his eyes. “Please tell me that wasn’t a bird.”

“It wasn’t a bird,” Y/N and Gregory replied in unison, both giving the other a knowing smirk as Anthony let out a long, despairing sigh that only a big brother, who’d been putting up with his siblings for too long, could make.

Y/N picked the box up, turning around and showing her older brothers the tiny bird. “Gregory found it. It’s injured. I couldn’t leave it out there to be eaten!” Y/N exclaimed. She lowered her voice, nodding her head at Gregory. “He was going anyway, Anthony.”

Anthony took a step forward and looked down at the baby bird in the box. The bird cheeped as it noticed Anthony and hopped into a corner, burying itself in the moss.

Anthony sighed again. He looked over at Benedict, who had an arm around Gregory, the younger Bridgerton clinging to his side as he shivered.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Benedict said, shrugging. “We can get the gardener to look at it tomorrow morning.”

Anthony looked like he wanted to murder all three of his siblings. “Fine. Y/N get changed.”

And with that, Anthony took the shoe box containing the baby bird and disappeared from the kitchen.

“Did he just... did he just take the bird with him?” Y/N asked, staring after her brother with a frown.

Benedict chuckled, letting go of Gregory and wrapping a towel around Y/N’s shoulders. “He has a soft spot for animals, really,” he replied, rubbing her arms with the towel as she shivered. “Now, go get changed before you get ill.”

The baby bird was soon named ‘Anthony’ in honour of the eldest Bridgerton who had subconsciously adopted it for the few weeks it spent in his room as its wing healed. 

There had been numerous other bug incidents over the years. Y/N had fallen out of a tree trying to rescue a cat, Colin had been biting by an angry swan who’d refused to be rescued from the net it’d swam into and Gregory had broken his wrist as he chased away a fox trying to eat the chickens he’d insisted on Anthony getting for Audrey Hall.

The bug incidents tend to stay at home, however. Gregory rarely tried to collect or rescue animals or bugs from any of the garden parties of receptions he was allowed to attend - probably because he was scared of getting into trouble with the hosts.

The night of Lady Danbury’s birthday ball, however, was apparently an exception to this rule.

Y/N smiled and nodded as she listened to a lord (she had no idea what his name was) talk about politics. Colin was standing next to her and was nudging her every so often when he noticed her attention span wandering to other, more interesting things - even the chandeliers were more exciting to listen to.

Someone ran into Y/N from behind and she stumbled forward, almost dropping her glass of champagne. Colin grabbed her elbow, catching her with one hand as she turned to see who’d ran into her.

“Gregory, what -”

“Help me,” Gregory said, grabbing Y/N’s hand and dragging her away from the group she’d been talking to.

Y/N barely managed to shove her glass into Colin’s hand as Gregory dragged her through the ballroom and onto the terrace outside.

“Gregory, that was actually really rude,” Y/N said as he let go of her hand and stopped running. She looked at him and frowned, noting his panicked expression. “What’s wrong?”

“A duck is chasing me,” Gregory replied, his little face looking very serious. “It’s following me around and keeps... quacking.”

Y/N snorted. 

“It is not funny!”

“Oh, it is,” Y/N replied. “Why is this duck chasing you, then, brother?” 

Gregory squirmed and Y/N’s shoulders slumped. Whenever Gregory squirmed she knew that whatever he was going to say was going to be ridiculous or stupid. There’d been a time when he’d accidentally toppled a bookshelf onto her - long story - and he’d lied to their mother and Anthony about how it had happened. But one glare (well, attempt at a glare, Y/N was on the verge of passing out and was clinging on to Colin for dear life) from Y/N had him squirming and he’d told the truth.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Gregory Bridgerton.”

Gregory reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a baby duck.

Y/N had no other word other than, “Oh.”

“It was stuck on the steps so I picked it up to help it down and then the mother duck started flapping her wings and quacking and then ran at me and I panicked and ran away,” Gregory replied, barely stopping for breath. 

Y/N let out a soft sigh and crouched down until she was the same height as Gregory. “Pass it here.”

Gregory carefully handed her the fluffy, chirping duckling. Y/N let it sit in her palm and stroked its head with her little finger. 

“Where did you find it?” She asked quietly, looking up at Gregory.

He pointed to the door the other side of the ballroom. “The pond over there.”

“Come on, let’s go put it back,” Y/N said, standing up and cradling the duckling in her hands. “It’s mum is probably worried.”

Y/N and Gregory walked back into the ballroom, weaving through the crowds of people.

“Y/N!” 

Y/N closed her eyes as her mother called her. She looked down at Gregory. “I’ll be back, go to the pond,” she said, ushering him off.

She turned around and plastered a smile to her face as her mother, Anthony, Benedict and a very unhappy Eloise approached with Lady Danbury and a man who looked slightly familiar but she couldn’t for the life of her remember why.

“Y/N, dear, this is Mr Williams,” Violet said, gesturing to the man next to her.

“Oh, yes, of course!” Y/N said, remembering that she’d danced with the man last week. “We danced together at Lady Christy’s ball, last week, didn’t we?”

Mr Williams nodded. “We did indeed, Miss Bridgerton. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Mr Williams held out a hand and Y/N suddenly remembered that she was, in fact, holding a duckling in her hands.

“Can you just give me a minute?” She asked. “I’m sorry.” 

She slid past Anthony and her mother, ignoring their confused stares, and quickly walked to the door Gregory was hovering at. She was vaguely aware of the fact her mother was sending Anthony and Benedict after her but the duckling in her hands chirped and she focused on the pond and the fact that she was still holding a duck in her hands.

Gregory led the way down the stairs and halted suddenly. The mother duck and eight other ducklings were at the bottom of the stairs. The mother duck quacked loudly and hissed.

“Alright, it’s ok,” Y/N said softly, slowly walking forward to the mother duck. She knelt down on the last step and lowered her hands to the grass. “Here’s your baby.”

The baby duckling hopped out of Y/N’s hands and quickly waddled over to its mother, chirping happily as it reunited. The mother duck quacked and turned to the pond, the nine ducklings following after it in a line.

“See, she was probably just scared you were going to take her other babies,” Y/N told Gregory, still kneeling in the grass.

“I was just trying to help,” Gregory said softly, looking wistfully at the ducks.

“I know,” Y/N said, ruffling his hair. “But how would you feel if some stranger came and took you away from mother?”

“Scared,” Gregory admitted.

“Exactly. But you did the right thing, Greg. Even if I did have to interrupt mother’s attempt at match-making,” Y/N muttered, glancing behind her at the house. Anthony and Benedict were hovering at the top of the stairs, trying to make it obvious that they clearly weren’t listening but failing impressively.

“Go on,” Y/N said, shoving Gregory back towards the house, “go annoy Hyacinth.”

Gregory smiled and ran up the stairs, pausing for a second to hug Anthony around the legs, surprising the man. Anthony hugged him back and patted his head with a frown.

Y/N stood up, wincing as her legs tingled at the sudden movement. She looked up at her brothers, both of whom were watching her with a great deal of admiration.

“What?” She asked, frowning.

“You’re a good big sister,” Anthony replied, holding out his arm to her.

“I know I am,” Y/N said, taking his arm and smiling as he rolled his eyes. “And you two,” Y/N linked her other arm through Benedict’s, “are amazing big brothers.”

“Colin will be sad he was left out,” Benedict replied.

“Colin stole my cake, he can be jealous for all I care,” Y/N muttered, remembering her cake with a fond sigh.

The obsession with bug’s never did stop for Gregory. When Colin returned from his travels, he would always sit down with Gregory and go through all the drawings and writing’s he’d done on the bugs he’d seen whilst exploring. 

For his fourteenth birthday, Y/N bought her younger brother a book with detailed drawings of every insect known to man. It’d cost her the equivalent of almost her entire dowry but the joy on Gregory’s face had been worth it. And it was on that day that Anthony realised that, maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t done such a bad job of raising his siblings after all.

#benedict bridgerton #Bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton!sis #bridgerton sister #platonic #platonic imagine #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #how the fuck do i tag again? #imagine #sibling reader #sister reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hue and Cry XXI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), trauma, violence, some elements untagged.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The reader faces her past.

Note: We’re gonna keep going til this is over...hopefully ;)

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

You looked down the hill on the castle you grew up in. The road behind you didn’t seem as long as that before you, your destination not an hour away. You sat on a rock as Peter paced and muttered under his breath. You closed your eyes and thought of Elina. You knew she was safe with Zemo and that made the distance easier.

Before you left Heinrich’s Creek, you’d held her as long as you could. You kissed her all over and handed her over with tears in your eyes. Zemo promised you would see her again but you knew it was unlikely. He did too and he had never been one to lie for the sake of emotion. It struck you deeply and you kissed him just as desperately.

“So… we walk straight up to the gates and what? Hope for peace?” Peter asked.

You fixed the collar of your tunic and gripped your cane, “we’ll get her back, Peter,” you promised as you pushed yourself up. You were dressed as a man, it made travel easier and the two of you less conspicuous, “you have rope?”

“Rope? Uh, yes, but--”

“We’ll leave my horse up here. May will need it,” you said as you neared him, “get the rope.”

“Why--”

“Peter, we came this far knowing what needs to be done,” your chest stirred with dread though you were consigned to your fate, “tie it around my neck, get up on your horse, and take me down that hill.”

“I--”

“He can’t think I’m here on my own will, he’ll know. You make him think you only want your aunt and you leave with her as quick as you can,” you voice cracked and you inhaled deeply, “I’m doing this for my daughter. So she can live without men like him.”

“You don’t have to die for it. Zemo, he can help--”

“He can’t. Not swift enough to save May,” you shook your head, “we’ve taken long enough to get here. Now tie me up and let us go.”

He looked at you and shuttered. He frowned and went to his saddlebag. He took out the length of rope and you raised your head as he wound it around your neck quietly. He knotted it and you leaned on your cane.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he finished.

“No, you don’t have to be,” you said, “when we get close, if you see him, you yank on me. As hard as you can. Make him think I am as much your captive as she is his.”

“I can’t--”

“Peter, you have to be strong. I won’t have your aunt die for me. Not like your uncle. I lived, he didn’t. I owe you much more than you ever did me,” you uttered, “Now get on your horse.”

He hung his head and nodded. He mounted and wrapped the end of the rope around his hand. He nicked and set off along the path. You stumbled and limped behind him, your cane skidding over the stones and mud. It was well into fall and the land was cold and wet. You were careful on the incline not to slip and saved yourself several times with the wooden stick.

He kept looking back the closer you got to the gates and you hissed for him to keep his eyes forward. He could blow it all after everything. He pushed his shoulders back as he approached the guards at the wall and he stopped just a little away from them. They stood at attention and gripped their pommels.

“Who goes there?” one asked and the men shared a look of recognition before Peter could answer.

“Lord Barnes is awaiting his bounty,” Peter said stonily, “I have her but he must first return what is mine as he swore to.”

“This is her?” The man at the left side of the iron gates asked.

“It’s her, you dolt,” the other interjected, “you remember her, don’t you? And look, she’s all messed up from the horse.”

“Where is Lord Barnes?” Peter insisted.

“Aye, in a moment,” the man clanged on the gate with his mailed elbow, “Oswald, fetch the lord. Tell him Lord Parker has come for the crone.”

You shifted and leaned heavily on your cave. You focused on your breath as it threatened to quicken to panic. You had weeks, months to prepare for him but you could never be ready. You shook and struggled to keep afoot. You knew only cruelty awaited you, even if he did believe your lies.

It was a time before you heard anything more. Peter grew impatient as his horse spat and snorted in kind. At last you heard footsteps and suddenly Peter tugged harshly on the rope. You fell to your knees as he spoke, boots mulching in the mud.

“Lord Barnes, I have your whore,” Peter called out, “Where is my aunt?”

You looked up as you clutched your cane and felt along the rope at your throat. Your eyes met Barnes’ and time seemed to stand still. His hair was even longer than before, his beard too. There were threads of silver through both and his left shoulder was barren of its former attachment.

“You are fortunate I had the patience to wait on you,” Barnes growled, “your aunt is alive… though I cannot say she is happy about it. You give me my woman first and I’ll give you yours.”

Peter hesitated. “How do I know it is not a trick?”

Barnes raised his hand and signaled to some unseen person. There was a creak and more footsteps. May was dragged up in her stained shift, a patched cloak draped crookedly over her shoulders.

“See, she’s all here,” Barnes called, “Now you hand her over and I’ll do the same. Fair trade.”

Peter looked over his shoulder as you stood and you lowered your chin. It was a subtle nod. Do it.

A guard came forward and he bent to hand over the rope as the gate was opened with the crank. You were taken off your feet again as the armored goon wrenched you meanly and laughed.

“I will have you stripped and whipped if you do it again,” Barnes warned as he came forward, his hand on May’s elbow, “give him the old lady.”

He released May as you were led through the gate and as you passed May she glanced at you. Your eyes met and she knew. There was an unspoken and piteous gratitude in her eyes. You hobbled onward and felt fingers closed around your arm. You lifted your head as Barnes grabbed you and pulled the rope slipped from the guard’s grasp.

“Close the gate. Let the boy go,” he demanded.

He said nothing more and turned back and hauled you with him. His hand slid from your arm and followed the length of the rope as he wounded it around his knuckles. You barely kept up with him as your cane bounced off the ground and you walked unevenly beside him. His silence was unsettling.

You passed through the wide doors of the castle and he huffed as you staggered across the stone. He spun you suddenly and kicked your cane out from under you. The stick rolled away from you and he bent to scoop you up over his shoulder, the rope straining at your neck.

“You won’t be walking much,” he snarled as he set off up the stairs.

You quivered and grasped at the back of his tunic. His hand held your thigh firmly and he squeezed, as if making certain you were real. The fear bubbled in your chest and all your plans fell to the floor like your cane had.

He swept into his room and kicked the door closed. He tossed you down on the bed as he let the rope free and you bounced violently on the feather mattress. He was quick to follow and straddled you under him. His hand roughly felt along your cheek and lips, lingering on your scar as he stared at you.

“I thought…” he rasped as his eyes bore into you, “did you laugh to think of me mourning you?”

“No, my lord, I…” you croaked. You were that girl again, that maid, terrified. “I never--”

“I cried for you,” he sneered, “I buried you!”

“My lord,” you grabbed his wrist as his fingers stretched across the rope, “please--”

“Did he make a good whore of you? Huh? Did you prefer him to me?”

“He took me against my will. I was not aware even that he did until it was too late--”

“I know,” he hissed as he leaned over you, his hot breath scoured your skin, “I know about our child.”

“I…” you shook your head, “I-- I--”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t--”

“You know!” he shouted, “you know!”

“I don’t. Zemo… he fled when Peter got hold of me. Like the coward you know him to be--”

“Stop lying--”

“I am not lying, I swear it, my lord,” you pleaded, “you have me. You don’t need the child.”

“It is my child,” he barked, “mine. You would keep her from me as you kept yourself.”

“No, I cannot-- I didn’t run. He took me. I never asked for it--”

“You will tell me where they are,” he backed off of you and grabbed the loose end of the rope again. 

He flipped you and moved your hands to the middle of your back. He snapped at you not to move as he looped the rope around your wrists and struggled with one hand to pull it tight. He tested it with a violent tug that jolted your entire body. His fingers hooked into the back of your breeches and he ripped them down.

You yelped as he struck you with his hand. You kicked out and tried to stand. He pushed you back down with his foot and smacked your ass again.

“Stay,” he bid as he moved around behind you, “stay or it will only be worse… but I suppose it must be before you tell me.”

You twined your fingers together and pushed your head into the mattress as you braced yourself. You listened to him behind you and as he walked across the room. He opened the door and called to someone. You did not hear his orders, only the feet that shuffled to do as he wished.

He waited until they returned and the door closed heavily. There was a tap, tap, tap, as he neared you and you looked down past your shoulder at the sparkling head of your cane. He lifted it in his hand and rested it against your ass.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon when I said we would not need this,” he said.

He pulled back the cane and brought the wood down with a crack across your rear. You scream at the agony it sent up your spine. He did it again and your legs flailed helplessly.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you sobbed.

He struck you once more and asked the same question. You gave the same answer. The same thing, over and over. At least a dozen before he stilled. He brushed the wood against your bare skin and bent over you.

“I could have loved you. I wanted to,” he said, “we could have loved the child, too. Children… we could’ve had a whole litter.” He poked your ass with the cane as he stood straight and grazed between your legs with a hum, “Gods, we could just try for another right now.”

You closed your eyes and bit down. He withdrew the wood once more and his boot scuffed over the stone. He took a deep breath and let it out.

“In due time,” he said as he hit you again, “where the fuck is my child?”

You wept into the bedcover and thought of Elina. Thought of her in Zemo’s arms, the way she pulled his beard, and the way he smiled back at her, at you. You couldn’t tell him where they were if you wanted to. You never would. And if you suffered for it, Barnes would only suffer more. He would never know the only good piece of him to remain in the world.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x reader #peter parker #series #hue and cry #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #spider-man #steve rogers #sam wilson #falcon #medieval au #au #medieval!au

[crystalirises]

FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).

Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.

But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...

So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.

TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365

“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.

After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.

“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”

No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.

“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”

“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”

“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”

For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.

“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”

“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.

“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”

His only wish was to go home.

The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.

Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”

---

“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”

George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.

After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.

At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.

“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”

The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.

A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.

Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.

He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.

“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”

“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”

George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.

“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.

George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.

“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”

---

Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.

Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.

He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.

When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.

It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.

He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a “little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.

Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.

The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.

The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.

The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.

The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.

The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.

The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.

Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.

Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.

---

It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.

“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”

Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.

“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”

He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.

“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”

The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.

Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.

XD laid him down on the altar.

Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”

“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”

Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”

“I OBJECT!”

---

George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.

“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.

“Let him go, XD.”

“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”

“I’ll take his place.”

The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”

George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”

He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”

Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”

XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”

George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.

Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.

The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.

“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”

=============================================================

Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.

Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).

I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.

The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).

#fundy #dreamxd #dreamwastaken dsmp #fundywastaken #fundXD #wilbur soot #georgenotfound dsmp #georgebur #goddess of death kristen #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

[pitterpatterpot]

35. “Here, take my hand. Everything is fine, just hold onto me and keep moving.”

41. “I had a nightmare about you, and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

45. “Again?”

48. “You know, it’s okay to cry.”

52. “Just say it is okay. I just need to hear you say that.”

53. “I love you and I am terrified.”

Here’s the one shot from these prompts! The rest are coming!

~~~

Aedion hiccups, the soil hard and freezing under his cotton sleepwear. The tree behind him prickles and scratches at his back while his body shivers, his stuffed lion toy pressed tightly to his chest. To the left, fires burn. He closes his eyes, sniffling as his wet nose buries against his arm, a cold little touch against his skin. The wind does nothing to soothe the situation, howling between the trees and trembling the shadows in a way that sends him scrambling back.

None of it distracts from the yells and cries in the distance, the clanging of the shields and swords ringing through the night. It prompts another whimper.

Then the tips of his red ears are suddenly encompassed, the sense of a broad hand cupping his head taking over. A thumb rubs soothingly at where his skull meets his spine, a gentle shushing starting as a larger body curls over his.

“It’s alright,” he’s lifted and held against a strong chest, a heart beating solidly underneath his ear. “It’s alright.”

His father. Gavriel. If he says everything will be fine, then it will be. Aedion reaches a small hand up, grasping the collar of Gavriel’s shirt.

“Here, take my hand. Everything is fine, just hold onto me and keep moving,” Gavriel whispers soothing, lifting a palm up in offering.

Aedion immediately releases the shirt, fingers curling around three of his father’s before letting go. He plays with the plane of his palm, tracing the lines and scars, measuring how his closed fist fits in his father’s palm. Gavriel shushes him once again and flattens out Aedion’s hand, taking it in his own.

“Come on,” Gavriel whispers. “Keep moving.”

Aedion blinks at his father. Keep moving. But he’s in his fathers arms. The shouting grows closer.

“Just keep moving, Aedion. We need to go.”

Hoof beats join the yelling. Aedion tries to twist his head to look. Gavriel bounces him slightly, holding him firmer.

“My cub. You need to move, Aedion. Hurry.”

An arrow imbeds itself in a tree, centimetres away from Gavriel’s head. Aedion whines.

“Why aren’t you moving?” Gavriel looks down at him in confusion, brows furrowing. “I need you to move, Aedion. We can’t stay here. Aedion. Go.”

Aedion twists in earnest now, wondering why Gavriel’s feet seem to have been planted deep in the earth, the frozen mud creeping its way up his ankles to anchor him in place. Aedion knows this land. Has seen soldier after soldier die on this land. It doesn’t let people go.

He drops his toy Lion, and it’s swallowed by the mud. His breathing comes faster, legs kicking.

“Hold my hand and keep moving, Aedion,” Gavriel continues with his calm orders, despite the second arrow that sings to the left, flying past them. “That’s it. We’ll be alright.”

But they’re not moving. Aedion screams in frustration, no sound leaving his lips. Muted and silent as an arrow arcs towards them.

The spray of blood from Gavriel’s neck is warm.

~~~

Aedion heaves, choking on his tears and hollowed breaths.

His body flinging upright, hands splaying outwards and eyes darting around, he inhales a deep breath that leaves his body wheezing. More soon follow, a harsh pattern of panting taking place. He stares at his hands, now the hands of an adult, and traces his scars with his eyes. Counts the edges.

“Aedion?” Lysandra turns to face him, the sheets sliding over her body. “Are you... oh, darling. Again?”

Aedion swallows and nods, a hand pressed to his heart. Lysandra slowly sits up, lifting a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. He leans into her side before pulling away, dropping his legs over the side of the bed and pulling on the first clothes he reaches.

“I just- Gavriel- I need to see-“

“Of course,” those green eyes watch him, bright and alert. “Do you want me to come?”

Aedion shakes his head. “I- no. Thank you, but this-“

“I understand,” Lysandra nods. “I’ll be here if you decide to come back.”

Aedion nods, pressing a kiss against her forehead before leaving the room. It’s when he reaches Gavriel’s doorway he realises how numb his toes have become, his body breaking out into goosebumps through the sleepwear he threw on. Standing in front of his fathers door, tear marks staining his cheeks and hair in disarray, like the child he dreamt he was instead of the man he really is.

Aedion turns and begins to walk away.

The door clicks open, Gavriel looking out in bewilderment, the Lion dishevelled in a way he rarely is. “Aedion?”

Said male freezes at his name and turns. Gavriel steps further out the room, concern taking over. “What’s wrong? Aedion, you must be freezing, walking around now. Is everything alright?”

Aedion swallows, his throat thick. It’s all he can do to keep another round of tears from being shed. The Lion steps out of his room, approaching his son, clad only in loose fitting pants and clearly bleary eyed from exhaustion. A small band aid rests on his neck, near his scar from the Valg. An injury from a stopped attempted robbery on the palace treasury. A miracle the fool even managed to shoot an arrow in Gavriel’s direction.

But the fact that it’s right next to where the Valg tore at him-

Aedion’s breath hitches, and if Gavriel wasn’t laced with concern before he was now consumed with it.

“Why are you up?” The question comes before Aedion even thinks to ask if.

“Light sleeper,” Gavriel says softly. “You stood outside my door for seven straight minutes.”

Seven minutes? It had felt like a second.

“Aedion, what’s wrong?” His father’s hand rests on his shoulder, warm and heavy in both the weight and safety it promises.

“I had a nightmare about you, and I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Aedion blurts, the words spilling forward and retraction again and again just as quickly. “But you’re fine, obviously, so I’m just-“

“Aedion,” Gavriel’s voice takes on a soft but slightly firmer note, “come sit down with me.”

“You’re freezing, come in, son.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

He is. He is? His hand trembles against his side. Aedion follows the hand on his lower back that urges him towards Gavriel’s room, delicious warmth simpering through the room thanks to the smouldering remains of a fire in the fire place.

Gavriel doesn’t lead Aedion to the desk or the very foot of his bed, instead sitting him on the side, closer to the pillows where the covers are already drawn back. There’s something vulnerable and strange in sitting on his father’s mattress that makes Aedion swallow once again. Gavriel settles next to him, arm dropping from his back to allow him space.

“You had a bad dream about me,” Gavriel recounts softly, “and wanted to make sure I was alright.”

It sounds ridiculous and childish when said out loud. Aedion closes his eyes in a pained response.

“Every time you have a bad dream about me dying you become distant,” Gavriel murmurs, trying to meet Aedion’s eyes. “But this time you decided to check on me. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Aedion croaks, surprised by the rawness of his voice.

“Would you like to talk about the dream?” Gavriel asks, standing and pouring a glass from the pitcher on his bed side table.

Aedion jerks. “No.”

He accepts the cup nonetheless, glad for the cool sensation it brings as he gulps down the contents, Gavriel settling near him once more.

“Alright,” Gavriel nods. “Can I hold you?”

Throat closing up, Aedion leans slightly towards his father. An arm is immediately set around his shoulders, pulling him against Gavriel’s side. His shoulders shake, breath coming through hitched and wheezing as he tries to hold his tears at bay. The dam breaks when Gavriel encircles Aedion in both arms and tucks his head under his chin.

“It’s alright,” one of Gavriel’s hands trails upwards into Aedion hair, stroking at it as he coos. “You’re alright. Breathe for me, Aedion.”

“I am.”

“Slower, for me, Aedion. You’re breathing too fast.”

It’s exhaustion that wins in the end. That causes Aedion to slump further in Gavriel’s hold, breath burning as it drags through his throat. He eventually sits back to allow the Lion to pour him another glass of water, downing in thankfully when it’s handed to him.

“I’m sorry,” Aedion apologises, rubbing at his eyes as he hands the glass back.

Gavriel examines his son as he sits. “You know, it’s okay to cry. It would be more worrying if you, and anyone who had been involved in the war from a young age, didn’t. It shows emotion and the ability to mourn.”

Aedion gives no response, simply swallowing and staring at his hands.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Gavriel asks. “In your dream. You’ve never had the desire to come to me before.”

“It- I was five,” Aedion begins, throat closing as he speaks, thickening with swelling tension. “Or younger. I don’t know. I was small. And Adarlan- or someone- they were coming. You picked me up and kept telling me to- but you were holding me and-“

“Breathe, Aedion,” Gavriel reminds him, settling a hand on his back. “What made this dream so much worse then the others?”

“You had an arrow through your neck.”

“You’ve dreamt worse,” Gavriel’s eye pierce him. “Has something happened recently?”

“No, I...”

“If you feel distressed, or have been under too much pressure lately, I’d understand.”

“Nothing has happened!” Aedion stresses. “I just had to see you this time, alright?”

“Alright,” Gavriel agrees soothingly. “I understand. It was just worse this time, wasn’t it?”

“No, it wasn’t!” Aedion near growls. “It wasn’t that vivid.”

“Alright-“

“It’s not alright!” Aedion stands abruptly. “It isn’t!”

“Why, Aedion?” Gavriel’s face twists in confusion and concern. “I won’t know unless you tell me.”

Aedion flings his arms out in anger and exasperation. “Because I love you and I am terrified!”

Gavriel stares. Aedion begins pacing in earnest, his chest heaving with each word.

“I love you now,” Aedion’s voice shakes along with his hands. “You’re my father and I love you. Do you have any idea how much harder that’s going to make ever losing you?”

Gavriel stares.

“And I’m so stupid for letting it happen!” Aedion bites out, his pace quickening. “Do you have any idea how many times this has happened? And each time I move on, I let myself get attached again, because it’s better to love and lose. I know that. I have no regrets in loving the people in my life. It was war, I knew the risk of loving, but I did it anyway, and that’s fine!”

Gavriel stares.

“But you’re a warrior. You could go fight in a far away war next week! And not because you’re forced to!”

Gavriel jolts, shoulders tensing.

“On some trip or campaign and-“

He’s cut off by Gavriel enveloping him, his father’s arms encircling him tightly and refusing to let go. Aedion sucks in a deep breath, trembling in Gavriel’s hold.

“I am never leaving,” Gavriel promises, voice deep and reverberating through his son. “No more war, or enemies, or hunts and campaigns. I swear to you, whatever fears you have of me visiting some far off kingdom and never coming back are just that- fears.”

“You’re a warrior,” Aedion responds bitterly. “It’s who you are.”

“So are you,” Gavriel responds, voice thick. “It’s who we are. But that does not mean we don’t deserve peace. Our job now is to protect, not attack. So that is what we will do. We will tend to our home. I will tend to you.”

Aedion inhales a large breath, closing his eyes. His father squeezes him tight.

“And for what it’s worth,” Gavriel continues, “I love you too.”

#asks #tog #aedion #Gavriel #prompts

[cripplestein]

So I cross my heart, and I hope to die (c!Quackity Angst and c!TntDuo fluff)

TW: Smoking, referenced/implied alcoholism, mentioned sex and riding, panic attacks, mentions of murder and death

Characters: c!Wilbur, c!Quackity, mentioned c!Niki, c!Ranboo, c!George

Fandom: Dream SMP /rp

Wilbur and Quackity had a strange relationship. Quackity would say that they are rivals, enemies even. While Wilbur would call something a bit more, intimate. It was common knowledge that the two of them definitely have some sexual tension, but it was less known that on nights when Quackity didn't have papers to sign or contacts to make deals with. He was with Wilbur, watching as a bounced on his cock.

Quackity couldn't help but feel guilty for his relationship with Wilbur, still hung up on his ex fiances. He kept their wedding rings in a box that he stores under his bed, just incase they come back. He knew they wouldn't, why would they? Quackity was a rude, arrogant prick who didn't care for anyone other than himself.

At least, that's what he's been telling himself.He spent most nights drinking, he'd probably join his ex husband in hell if he kept this up, but he didn't care. He was too tired to care. Everyday felt the same, get up, do boring country stuff, drink his problems away, rinse and repeat.

Expect when he was with Wilbur. Wilbur made him feel a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Loved. Even if it was just them getting together to fulfill their sexual needs, Quackity felt nice with Wilbur in his arms.

~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~

Quackity leaned over the side of the glass railing, looking down from the eighth floor. His cigarette hung from his fingers, ashes falling to the ground as he moved it between his fingers. He sighed and brought it up to his lips, taking a long drag and blowing it out into the night sky.

He allowed his bare feet to rest comfortable against the cold quartz floor. His golden wings spread out as a particular cold gust of wind his him dead on. He shivered a bit and took another hit from his cigarette.I

t was nearly two in the morning, the lights from the casinos still blaring and the sound of construction covering the city in a dull noise. Quackity was on the verge of tears as he thought about back when him and his siblings would go out and watch the construction of cabins and buildings near the small town they lived in. Him and Niki would climb the scaffolding, while George would stay on the ground, holding Ranboo's hand and yelling at them to get down before someone saw them. They'd always come home covered in mud or something and their Obi would help them clean up and put them to bed with a story.

Quackity missed those days, now his siblings wouldn't even talk to him and his dad tried to kill his Obi, relationship goals am I right?

He ran his hands through his through his hair, sighing and finally letting tears fall. He buried his face in his arms, leaning probably a bit too far over the edge. He choked out sobs and gasps, almost unable to breath. He fell down onto his knees, banging his head against the glass railing.

He was in full panic mode when he heard soft footsteps from behind him. "Quackity?" Wilbur said, slowly coming up behind him. The hybrid continued to let out gurgled sounds, unable to make any real words. "Hey, hey it's okay. I'm here." Wilbur said, wrapping his arms around his lover and kissing him on the forehead.

"W-wilbur-?" Quackity breathed out, returning the embrace. Wilbur just shushed him and continued to let his hair, letting Quackity sob into his night shirt. Quackity held Wilbur even closer as he calmed down some, sitting up and looking at him. "D-did I wake you up?" He asked.

"Yeah, you did, but I don't mind." The brit said, running a hand down Quackity's back. " What's wrong my dear? " He questioned.

"Can we- can we talk about it in the morning? I just want to go to bed." He replied. Wilbur nodded and help them both off the ground. He led him into their bedroom, pulling down the sheets for him. Quackity climbed in, pulling Will down with him and holding him to his chest.

"Goodnight Wilbur." Quackity said, turning off the lamp next to their bed.

"Goodnight my dear, sweet dreams." Wilbur said, kissing the scar on his face. Quackity smiled and rested a hand in his lovers hair, before peacefully falling asleep.

#tnt duo #c!quackity #c!wilbur #tw smoking #tw death mention #tw panic attack #angst #fluff #las nevadas #tnt duo fluff #c!quackity angst #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp #c!quackbur #minecraft roleplay

[novelconcepts]

fic: unexpected

a fill for @karatam’s prompt : “Five things Dani realizes she likes in bed (and one thing Jamie realizes she likes about being with Dani).”

It comes as little surprise to Dani Clayton, who has spent most of her life trying not to pay attention to the things her body craves, that time with Jamie has been unlocking some unexpected doors. It’s embarrassing, sometimes, but not in a way that feels too heavy to bear; the more time she spends with Jamie, the more time she spends feeling progressively better in her own skin, the more she’s bound to understand about what makes her tick. It’s kind of nice, actually. Kind of refreshing, finding situations where she doesn’t feel inclined to hold herself rigid, where she can let her guard down and just exhale. 

Still, there are some experiences which--until they sneak up on her--she absolutely does not see coming.

1

There is a rule in their house about cleanliness. Not because Jamie is a terrible mess, by any stretch of the imagination, but because a small space gets out of control fast. Especially given how much time Jamie spends with both hands buried in potting soil, Dani feels it’s important to set some ground rules. Things like “shoes stay on the plastic tray if you’ve been out gardening.” Things like “clothes caked in dirt go straight into the special hamper to get washed first.”

Things like “if you’re going to initiate anything requiring hands on bare skin, you scrub up first.”

Jamie takes it in stride, agrees wholeheartedly that this is the only safe and hygienic approach to life. She kicks off her boots, drops any mud-encrusted flannel in the proper receptacle, and works the grime out from under short nails without pressure. 

“I’d do this without the rule,” she tells Dani the first time after this conversation, eyebrows arched. “How filthy d’you think I am, anyway?”

Dani chooses not to dignify this with a response. It’s still early-days, all things considered, and Jamie poking her tongue through her teeth on a word like filthy sends her brain places that aren’t conducive to getting anything done.

Still, there are things that test her carefully-imposed boundaries. Not so much the gardening; gardening and Jamie are a singular entity, a packaged deal Dani was wholly aware of long before falling into the woman’s bed. She sees flowers and root webs and clods of dirt packed into pots and thinks, Yes. That’s Jamie. 

It’s the fixing she wasn’t prepared for.

There are things she is better at than Jamie around the house: remembering to pick up groceries, basic human chores like laundry and vacuuming and taking out the trash. And there are the things Jamie has an edge on: hot drinks, building furniture, and repairing just about anything that slips sideways. 

“Grew up without a lot to lean on,” she explains while Dani, feeling a little light-headed in a way she can’t fully explain, watches her replace a questionable light fixture. Her hands are nimble and steady, her eyes on the job at hand, but she’s smiling. “You pick up a lot of convenient tricks along the way, life like that.”

Dani, who grew up in a household marked by her mother having “a guy”--usually neighborhood men with bad facial hair who scrubbed her around the head and called her “little lady”--for just about every little hiccup, can only watch with fascination. Jamie, it seems, has a sixth sense for problems. By the end of their first year together, she’s fixed the bathroom sink, the AC unit, innumerable lightbulbs, and the vacuum cleaner. Never once batting an eye. Just a simple smile and a “give it here, then.”

Dani, for her part, tells herself she’s watching closely to learn. To pick up these convenient tricks Jamie mentions like they’re nothing. To be able to one day make similar repairs while Jamie is busy or out of the house.

She tells herself this, even as her skin grows warm and her mouth goes dry, because there is just something about watching Jamie work. Something she can’t put her finger on about the way Jamie tips her head musingly, inspecting every inch of the problem area like her attention belongs nowhere else. She moves methodically, deliberately, never frustrated, never slamming or swearing. Her hands squeeze and slide, her brow furrowed, and Dani...

Likes this. 

She keeps it to herself, careful not to distract Jamie from the task at hand, even as her own face flushes at the sight of Jamie working a screwdriver or sifting through a set of drill bits. It’s stupid, she thinks with a hot thread of embarrassment, that her legs are weakening at the mere image of Jamie on her back on the bathroom tile, knees bent, arms working to seal some hidden leak in the piping. 

“You want to try?” Jamie asks, head and shoulders in the cabinet below the sink. Dani clears her throat. 

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jamie says absently, the muscles of her stomach flexing as she arches for that little extra strength to finish up. Dani leans her forehead against the wall, struggling to find some measure of calm before Jamie can extricate herself and catch sight of the look on her face. 

She manages to keep it quiet for months, this strange heat that springs up whenever Jamie’s hands are greasy and her face has that serious cast of inspecting a complicated problem. She might have kept it quiet for months longer--indefinitely, perhaps--if not for Colorado. 

Colorado is, like so many of their trips, a spur-of-the-moment decision. They rent a battered Jeep from a questionable agency, intent on seeing the Rockies as man was always intended: hopped up on a decent amount of bad gas station coffee, a pack of cigarettes, and each other. It’s a good day, cheery sun beaming down from a sky scattered with soft clouds. Dani has been having more and more of these kinds of days, and is starting to think maybe this is the new normal. Less fear. Less tension. Just her hand in Jamie’s as they bump over an endless road in the middle of--

“No,” Jamie says in a low, frustrated tone. Dani, who has been gazing distantly out the passenger window, snaps back to reality. 

“What’s going on?”

The Jeep is slowing. Jamie steers it toward the side of the road, which is to Dani’s eyes the most abandoned place on earth. 

“Something’s off,” Jamie groans. “Engine light came on.”

Engine light came on is one of those phrases Dani intellectually understands is in English, but it might as well not be. She’s grateful for how much Jamie enjoys driving; cars are something of a mystery to her, loud, rattling machines she’d prefer not to ever deal with on her own. 

She steps out onto the road now, arms hugged tight around her body, and watches Jamie pop the hood. The day is as warm as it is beautiful, and it isn’t long before sweat is trickling down the back of her neck. Jamie, in jeans and a flannel shirt, rolls the sleeves up past her elbows and grimaces. 

“Gonna be a minute, I think. But maybe...”

She’s muttering words Dani wouldn’t understand even if she thought Jamie was speaking to her and not a busted set of gears and pistons. Jamie, thankfully, seems to know what she’s talking about as she pushes the hair out of her eyes, ties a bandana around her head, and sets to work. 

She’ll fix it, Dani assures herself, rocking back and forth on her heels in the sunshine. Jamie fixes everything. 

And, in the meantime, it’s not like there’s anything wrong with the view. The horizon is endless, the land green and gorgeous and sprawling out as far as she can process. Dani could stand here for hours, head tilted back to take it all in, letting the clean air bathe her face. 

She could also, she notes, eyes sliding back to Jamie, watch this for hours. Jamie, up on her toes, an emergency set of tools open on the ground. Jamie, sweat beading on her upper lip and trickling down her temples. Jamie, pink-cheeked, the muscles of her forearms from years of groundswork standing out in sharp relief as she jams a wrench beneath the hood and twists.

It is...very hot out here, Dani thinks dazedly. She snaps her eyes away, searching the sky for birds, searching the world for anything that could be more interesting than the sight of Jamie with grease halfway up to her elbows, a dip of skin tantalizing between her shirt riding up and the waistband of her jeans. 

Dani swallows hard. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, currently stranded on the side of a road in Colorado. Tries to remember that they are, in fact, not in a situation that should be excruciatingly appealing. 

Jamie makes a low noise in her chest, pulling hard on the wrench. Something in Dani, already strung tight enough to make her pulse race, seems to snap. 

“Hey,” Jamie protests as the tool drops from her hand and clatters against the pavement. Dani has her around the wrist, dragging her with firm intent away from the open hood. “Hey, Poppins, I don’t think--”

Dani, unable to stop herself, catches her around the back of the neck and kisses her hard. Jamie’s protests go slack against her lips, her hands windmilling uselessly as she tries and fails to locate somewhere safe to place them. 

“I--Dani, what--”

“Can’t explain,” Dani says, muffled, mouth a bit occupied with trying to kiss Jamie stupid. “Just. Need this.”

“Right now?” Jamie asks, plainly bewildered--though, Dani notes, not exactly arguing. Her hands rest gently on Dani’s hips, as though the desire to hang on and the desire not to ruin Dani’s skirt are locked in fervent battle. 

“Right,” Dani groans, licking at the sweat running down the side of Jamie’s neck, “now.”

She fumbles them toward the backseat, pausing every couple of steps to push Jamie hard against the car. There’s something about it--something about the sun beating down, and her hand caught between the hard shell of the Jeep and the soft skin at Jamie’s back, and the way Jamie is making surprised breathy sounds against her ear. Something, most of all, about Jamie trying so hard not to get her dirty while being utterly unable to keep her hands to herself. 

“There’s a rule,” Jamie says, like she’s reciting a play she couldn’t possibly care less about. “Your rule.”

Dani, pulling the back door open and sliding along the gray leather, shakes her head. “House rule. Don't care.”

Jamie’s laughing, but there's something nervous about it, something like she sort of expects to get into trouble for this. “Poppins, you are...something else today.”

Dani pauses, leaning back on her elbows, watching with dark desire as Jamie climbs in after her. The door latches with a soft click, Jamie hovering on her knees over her in the small space. 

“Something okay?” Dani asks, her voice smaller than intended. Jamie grins. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay.”

Dani grabs for her again, unable to pin down the roaring pleasure in her chest as Jamie’s smile lands against her skin. Her hands are wild, roaming creatures with their own agenda, sliding under Jamie’s collar, fisting around Jamie’s shirt. When Jamie kisses the hollow of her throat, she sighs, arches, liking the weight of Jamie between her bent knees. 

There is a rule about dirty hands, it’s true, and they both know it’s for a reason--which is why, eyes on Dani’s face the whole time, Jamie grasps her by the hips and lifts, shifts, eases Dani until her back is pressed against the window. Jamie hooks her fingers into the waistband of underwear already too ruined to be of use, sliding them down Dani’s thighs, shoving them restlessly into the back pocket of her own jeans. 

“Jesus,” she breathes against Dani’s skin, already soaked through with sweat and want. “This much from--”

“Watching,” Dani groans confirmation. One hand is gripping the back of the seat, her knuckles stark against the dark leather. Jamie makes a noise she thinks might be amusement, or utter helpless desire--maybe some mad combination of the two. 

“Didn’t know you had a thing for--”

“Jamie,” Dani interrupts, a sharp plea that snaps Jamie’s attention back where it belongs. They can talk about this later, Jamie teasing her for an unexpected mechanic kink, Dani hiding her face and laughing. Right now, she can focus on nothing but Jamie’s hands, creased with engine oil, gripping her thighs. Sliding smooth down to bracket her kneecaps, up to hold her hips steady. Jamie, mouthing at her slowly, trying to make it last, teasing her with soft flicks of her tongue and warm, soft kisses. 

“Jamie,” Dani repeats, her voice cracking, her free hand winding in Jamie’s hair and pulling. Jamie concedes, head bobbing gently between her legs, body coiled in a position that will probably feel fantastic tomorrow--but, if she cares, she certainly doesn’t show it. Her fingers dig into Dani’s skin, leaving dark stains behind, her mouth drawing Dani tighter by the second. 

Sex with Jamie has never been what Dani would call boring, but something about the sight of her here--eyes closed, breathing hard, fingers pushing Dani’s skirt up as she strains to keep from putting those hands directly between Dani’s legs--has an effect they’ve never quite managed before. Dani, biting hard into the back of her own hand as her hips jerk out of control. Jamie, making the most of the moment, kissing her clean with long, sweet strokes. 

“Jesus,” Jamie says again, sitting up and staring at her. “If I’d known--”

“You’d never have finished a repair around the house,” Dani points out, breathing hard, head lolling back against the glass with a light thump. 

“You’ve been feeling this at the house?” Jamie looks stunned. “Poppins, you’ve been wanting this for months, and you’ve just been letting me fix things instead of taking you to bed? Where the hell are your priorities?”

“Didn’t want to distract you,” Dani mumbles, the drowsy delight of a good orgasm wrapping comforting hands around her good sense. Jamie’s jaw hangs open.

“Poppins.”

“Mm?”

“Distract me. For the love of god. Distract me.”

2

Dani doesn’t go back to teaching. It’s not that she doesn’t love it, not that she doesn’t know she’d still be good at it; it’s more that the world is too unpredictable now. That she is too unpredictable now, unable to tell what tomorrow will look like inside her own head. She’s been feeling better, admittedly--Jamie has a way of making the ground stand still under their feet, of leading her by the hand into warmly-lit places where she feels less like there’s something following at her heels--but it’s not the same. Even before the Lady, before Bly, before fleeing to Europe in the first place, teaching had been heavier than school had prepared her for. So many kids, with so many expectations, so many needs one person couldn’t possibly fulfill. 

So, no--she doesn’t go back to teaching. Teaching feels like the old Dani in some terribly sad way she can’t define. The new Dani turns her attention toward a different kind of cultivation, toward learning how to make people happy with the art of living things. It’s a creative outlet she hadn’t realized she needs. It brings her closer to Jamie, gives her a better understanding of Jamie’s way of seeing the world. It’s different, but she does love it. 

It does not, for all of that, erase old habits. 

She doesn’t really realize she’s doing it, at first. Some things are just so naturally ingrained, so much a part of her daily experience, that she doesn’t think about what she’s saying. 

Until Jamie just stops and...looks at her. 

“What?” Self-consciousness, not a particularly new song, hums under the word. Jamie is gazing at her with head slightly cocked, lip between her teeth. 

“Nothing. Nothing, just...”

Dani reels back the last five minutes, searching for whatever might have put this truly unfamiliar look on Jamie’s face. It’s not teasing, exactly; not bothered, either. It’s...pleased?

Jamie had just passed her with a basket under her arm, laundry rescued from the dryer and folded before Dani had even realized they were ready. She had turned, watched Jamie amble by with a spring in her step that said I have done the thing, and the thing is good, and she had said...

“Oh.” She can actually feel the color draining from her face. “I just, uh. I mean. Habit.”

Jamie grins, still looking a little surprised, but not exactly upset. “No, no, it’s fine, Poppins. Got no argument with being a good girl now and then.”

She winks, throwing an exaggerated little swing into her walk as she makes off toward the bedroom, and Dani sags against the couch. Has she done this before? Has she been absently calling Jamie a good girl upon the completion of  little tasks this whole time, and only just realized?

It is a very particular kind of embarrassing, and Dani does not have the first idea what to do with it. 

“Have I been doing that?” she asks over dinner, picking awkwardly at her pasta and studiously not looking Jamie in the eye. Jamie, midway through pouring a glass of wine, pauses. 

“Doing what?”

“Calling--uh--I mean--”

“Praising me for my efforts about the house?” Jamie is too pleased about this, Dani has decided. Entirely too pleased for her own good. 

“Hey, I can take it back,” she mutters. Jamie snorts, setting a full glass beside Dani’s place and kissing the top of her head. 

“Uh uh. I’ve earned my gold stars, Poppins. Pry ‘em from my cold dead hands.”

Dani downs half the glass in a single swallow, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Jamie is really laughing now, the full-body laugh she reserves for poking fun at Dani with absolute affection. 

“Oh, don't be like that. It’s sweet. Can’t say anyone’s had nice words of the like for me much before you.”

Dani looks up to find Jamie leaning across the table, her expression heartbreakingly earnest. The tension melts slowly out of her body; she realizes she’s made a fist under the table, her thumb tucked into her fingers. Old habits, indeed. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about things like that,” Jamie says, her voice softening. Her hand slides under the table to close over Dani’s flexing fingers, like she knows what Dani was just doing, that Dani was just sliding back to anxieties she’s long tried to bury. “I take no offense at being called good at anything where you’re concerned, Dani. Trust me.”

She does, very much, but even so, she tries to keep a handle on it. Isn’t it condescending, she wonders, speaking to Jamie that way? Why on earth would Jamie appreciate a pat on the head, a gentle assertion of good work?

She gets it under control. Reminds herself she is not a teacher anymore, and Jamie is very appropriately an adult who doesn’t need to be confirmed in her choices at every turn. 

She gets it under control--until one night. One night, spent celebrating an exceptional year at the shop, with too much wine in her system and too many hours spent in a too-public setting to be allowed to touch Jamie properly. They’d sat at a table with a few well-meaning shopkeepers from down the street, and they’d laughed, and drank to hard work and good fortune, and all the while, she’d been watching Jamie out of the corner of her eye. Jamie, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair mussed from hands Dani understood as wanting to be on her body, sifting through her hair. Jamie, chain-smoking cigarettes Dani ached to take from her and place between her own lips, if only to taste Jamie. 

By the time they make it home, her hands are tingling, her body desperate. Jamie, watching her with the smug smile of a woman who knows Dani’s hand has been flexing between her own knees for two hours, makes a show of stretching. Her shirt pulls up from her belt, flashing a glimpse of stomach. 

“Bit tired,” she says. “What do you think, time for bed?”

Dani makes a powerfully undignified noise, and Jamie’s laughter rings bright in the otherwise-silent apartment. She catches Dani by the hand, eyes shining. 

“Honestly, Poppins, you are too damn easy.”

They fall into bed--into couch, really, the bed being far too many steps away--and the world shrinks to the polished buttons of Jamie’s shirt popping open under her tripping fingers, the material of Jamie’s slacks shoved awkwardly down her legs, the trace of Jamie’s tongue around her earlobe as she tries desperately to focus on intricate details like zippers. Jamie, bless and damn her, never seems this clumsy, even with all the wine in the world in her blood. 

“I like it,” Jamie breathes, grinning. “You only get clumsy when you’re desperate.”

She climbs over Dani, curling behind her to better get at the zip on her dress. Dani leans back, dizzy with the rush of Jamie pressed against her back, grinding her hips slowly as if to intentionally drive Dani up the wall. The dress peels away, and Dani hears herself swear. 

“Could you go any slower.”

“Could if I tried,” Jamie murmurs, nipping at her neck. “Why? Don’t like it?”

She splays a hand beneath Dani’s breasts, pressing in tight against her back, rocking against her with little sign of picking up the pace and putting those hands where they’re most wanted. Dani groans, lets her head fall back against Jamie’s shoulder. 

“You,” she says without thinking, “are being a bad girl tonight.”

Jamie freezes. Dani, head buzzing with the aggravation of Jamie playing her little game, Jamie’s fingers toying across her belly, doesn’t hear herself. Not at first. Not until Jamie says in a voice almost like a growl, “That so?”

Oh, Dani thinks. Oh no. I did it again. 

“Tell me, please,” Jamie goes on, hand slinking lower, “how I can get back into your good graces.”

It should be weird. It should be so uncomfortable, slamming the brakes on this whole evening--but Jamie’s hand is on a mission, Jamie’s hips rocking against her faster, and Dani finds she doesn’t care nearly as much as she should. 

“You--know--”

“Tell me anyway.” Jamie’s hand is circling, refusing to continue its descent, and Dani almost wants to laugh. This is insane. This is insane, and stupid, and if she doesn’t get Jamie to keep going, she might just kill her. 

She turns her head, finds Jamie looking at her with pupils blown and lips parted. She reaches back, grabs Jamie by the jaw. 

“Touch me,” she says, her voice firmer than it’s been in a long time. “Now.”

Jamie’s eyes roll back in her head, her fingers dipping between Dani’s legs with obedient speed. Dani sighs, moving to meet her strokes. 

“More,” she hears herself say in that same commanding voice, and Jamie shudders. “Harder.”

She’s never done this before; it’s never crossed her mind to tell Jamie what to do, how to touch her, what she needs. Jamie is intuitive, naturally taking the lead on nights like these, and she’s damn good at it--but this feels incredible in an entirely new way. Her hand slides down to join Jamie’s, curling around Jamie’s fingers as they slide in and out in a series of increasingly rough thrusts. She finds herself arching back, Jamie’s hips bucking as she strains for friction of her own, and when Jamie curls her fingers deep, she curls with her. 

“Fuck,” Jamie groans, shifting her hand out from between Dani’s legs and replacing it instantly between her own. Dani rolls, pushing her flat against the cushions, grabbing hold of Jamie’s wrist and stilling her fingers. 

“That,” she breathes, lips brushing Jamie’s softly enough to burn, “was very good work. Gold star.”

Jamie whimpers, letting her hand drop away so Dani can return the favor. It doesn’t take long at all; Jamie’s pretty far gone even before Dani brushes against her with a hand that no longer feels clumsy. 

“That,” Jamie says when they’ve collapsed in a sweat-slick mess of limbs, “was new. Teacher voice always just sort of on tap, huh?”

Dani resists the suddenly-overwhelming urge to hide her face. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Don’t much care,” Jamie says, rather happily. “It works for me, as it turns out. I am gonna line these gold stars up on the fridge.”

3

There is something engrossing about being wanted, something Dani never really understood before Jamie. Being wanted before wasn’t exactly a positive sensation; men looking her up and down in malls and bars, eyes like brands on her skin, made her feel like crawling under a table. Women, on the rare occasion she crossed one who met her eyes, were somehow even worse--their smiles were thin, brittle reminders that Dani wasn’t Normal. That, if she ever were to jump from that ledge, these women wouldn’t be there to catch her. Their want was an ice bath, a horrible reminder that there was something wrong with her ability to be wanted. 

And, with Edmund, it was worst of all, because she wanted to want it. Wanted to want the way his eyes started following her out of rooms before they were even in their teens. Wanted to want the way his hands would reach for her as they grew older, as his body began sending signals that she was right, and hers developed an alarm bell that only ever screamed stop, please, go away. 

She should have listened to that alarm bell sooner, probably, but Edmund--for all the horrible suffocating sense of him draped over her life--was also a shield against the rest. With Edmund’s arm around her, she felt caged, but strange men let their eyes slide off her like rain. With Edmund kissing her cheek, she felt wrong, but strange men stopped trying to brush up against her skin. 

The line, however, she had to draw somewhere, and she drew it at marks. Eddie accepted her unwillingness to climb into his bed as classic “good girl” behavior; Danielle, he thought with ease of understanding, wanted to wait until they were married. Sure, fine, good. His mother would approve, and hers would leave them both un-defenestrated by their wedding day. Perfect for everyone.

Still, he wanted to touch her. Wanted to press his lips to her skin. Wanted to make sure she--and anyone else who chanced a look--knew he was always there, etched into her. 

She hated it. Hated the way he’d lean back after leaving a hickey hot on her neck, looking faux-apologetic and more than a little smug. Hated the way, no matter how many times she told him it wasn’t professional for an elementary school teacher to stroll in with love bites, he always seemed to “forget.”

She hated being marked. 

With Edmund.

With Jamie, it’s an entirely different story. 

“Shit,” Jamie sighs. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Dani, shirt slung over the back of a kitchen chair, shifts in Jamie’s lap. There’s something about being able to do this at their own leisure, about Sunday brunch fading into charred bacon and lost-chance waffles as she and Jamie sink into long slow kisses on the other side of the kitchen, that she thinks she’ll never be over. 

Jamie, looking more than a little irritated with herself, is now brushing soft fingertips across Dani’s collarbone. Even that much sends sharp little thrills up her spine. She tips her chin down, tries to see the spot Jamie is pressing against. 

“Left a mark?”

“Yeah.” Jamie sighs again. “Sorry, Poppins, I don’t know my own goddamn--”

Dani laughs. She really doesn’t, is the thing. Jamie, who couldn’t be more unlike Eddie if she tried, genuinely doesn’t ever mean to mark her skin. And it’s not like it happens often. She’s normally pretty good about self-control in ways Dani suspects have to do with a history of punishment and consequence following every action. 

Jamie is grounded. Jamie is restrained. 

Except when Jamie isn’t. And, lately, Jamie has been restrained with her less and less. 

It started the day she told Dani she was in love with her. A thing Jamie had been saying without words for a long time, Dani knew, but it was so good to hear the phrase fall from her lips anyway. So reassuring, to see the nerves in Jamie’s face, the way Jamie’s eyes shone with a desperate need to make Dani understand. 

That day, in the back room of the shop, Jamie had marked her for the first time. Heat still pools in her belly when she thinks of it, even now: how Jamie had shoved her up against the door, hands fevered, mouth a hot wet slide against her throat. Jamie’s touch had felt good; Jamie’s devotion, even better. And something about the sum of it--of being in the shop, where precautions had been taken, but they were still rather public, of Jamie’s nerves still holding the reins, of Jamie’s words still fluttering between them: pretty in love with you, it turns out--had both of them nearly high. By the time they broke apart, giggling and heaving for air, the deed was done. A single red mark, low on Dani’s neck, burning bright for anyone to see.

Jamie had touched it lightly, kissed it gently, face flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean--”

And, somehow, that had been the thing to do it. The thing that sent Dani’s arousal over the edge. Not just Jamie leaving the mark on her skin, but the apology in Jamie’s eyes as she realized. Jamie, never intending to force ownership. Jamie, never striving to show the world she owned Dani’s body. 

Every time since, she’s tried to explain it to Jamie, tried to bring clarity of word to the hot pulse of pleasure she feels. How there’s a wild delight to watching Jamie want her. How Jamie is, as the time passes, getting worse at pretending to be cool about it. 

It isn’t kind, exactly. Isn’t the nice, sweet, orderly thing to do about it. But all the same, Dani finds she’s having trouble not coaxing Jamie along when it’s clear she’s starting to lose control.

She’s taken to loitering in the bathroom while Jamie showers, for example. Most days, it’s innocent; Dani will post up on the counter with a book, or a cup of tea, and they’ll just make small talk through the thin curtain. Jamie will wash quickly, with no sign of needing assistance, and Dani will hand her a towel when the water shuts off. Perfectly fine. Perfectly civil. 

But there are days--usually when the shop has been particularly stressful, when customers have been needy and shipments have been delayed--when Jamie will gesture for her to follow under the spray. Days where Jamie’s nerves are so frazzled, her control over all the tiny little details of owning a business so slim, that she’ll invite Dani to join her. These days, with Jamie loving her under hot water, with Jamie whispering her name into the steam, Dani thinks it is good to be wanted. So good, to be the small bright spot of control in the world for Jamie, who likes understanding how things work, who likes being able to set things right. With her back against the shower wall, Jamie’s mouth sucking sharp hot bites into her shoulder as her fingers stroke and rub between her legs, Dani thinks there’s nothing better than giving Jamie that measure of control. 

She notices it other times, too--usually when the world is bigger than the two of them can stand. When a snowstorm blocks off the whole street, stranding them inside, and the power goes, and it’s just the two of them moving together under a stack of blankets to make their own warmth. When it’s Jamie, fearful of how long it will take to dig them out again, leaving sharp, nervous marks on her breasts only to be dragged back up by the hair to kiss her as her fingers work Dani to orgasm. 

Or when they make the mistake of turning on the news, signs of war and violence and politicians making unacceptable calls about the bodies of their constituents, and the only way to bring Jamie back from the brink of hopelessness is to coax her into shutting it all out. Pinned against the counter with her hands braced, with Jamie biting hard and kissing soft, Dani forgets for a long stretch of matching heartbeats that anyone else exists outside their walls. 

Sometimes, the mark is gone by morning. Sometimes, Jamie ruefully kisses the spot on her throat, the underside of her jaw, her breast, and says, “You really should yank on my hair or something to stop me.” 

Dani can't quite find the words to tell her how much she likes it. How the brief flare of delicious pain, soothed so soon after by Jamie’s tongue, the pad of Jamie’s thumb, Jamie’s soft embarrassment, grounds her in the strangest way. Not because it shows the world anything--she’s good at wearing sweaters that hide the spots nicely, to keep anyone from questioning her “roommate” in the aftermath--but because it shows that Jamie doesn’t need to keep her head when Dani’s around. That, sometimes, the act of giving Jamie full control over their bed and the way their bodies come together, feels as good as the first nervous time Jamie had said she loved her. 

Jamie shows her with every act, every day, that this is love. Jamie in these moments of unrestrained passion is showing her something else. That she’s safe with Dani. That she doesn’t need to hold anything apart from Dani anymore. 

And there is something else to it, as well. Something entirely different. Something about the rare occasion she rolls Jamie onto her back, holds her wrists to the mattress, gazes into Jamie’s eyes in search of permission. Jamie likes to give, in all ways that matter, but sometimes, Dani likes this, too: to give back more than she takes. To grant Jamie not just control, but release. 

On this kind of night, left hand pinning Jamie in place, right hand setting a brisk, rough pace between damp thighs, Dani lowers her mouth to Jamie’s throat. She kisses slow, tasting sweat and that undefined thing that is Jamie alone, and waits for Jamie to chase her hand. Waits for Jamie to writhe beneath her. Waits for the moment where the right twist, the right pressure, sends Jamie over the edge. Then, only then, does she bite down. 

Because Jamie is embarrassed by marking her, but she’s seen the way Jamie looks at the rare mark she receives in the mirror. The way the collar of her t-shirt will slip, revealing a maroon blemish on pale skin. The way Jamie’s eyes grow dark, her body leaning against the counter like she’s suddenly lost all the strength in her knees. 

She really does prefer giving Jamie control, giving Jamie the gift of building a safe space for them both to land. But every so often, it is beyond worth it, to see the look of surprised delight in Jamie’s face when she flips the script. 

4

There are things, though. Things she didn’t know, before Jamie. Things she’d never thought to glance at, before Jamie. 

“I don’t know about this,” she says. Jamie doesn’t look the least bit perturbed. 

“It’s only an idea, Poppins. Can absolutely veto it at any time.”

Dani frowns. “I don’t--I mean, what made you think--”

She’s going about this all wrong. Jamie shakes her head, some of that old shuttered guard dropping into her expression in a way Dani decidedly does not like. 

“I’ve embarrassed you,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry, Dani, I wasn’t trying to--”

“No, It’s just...won’t somebody notice?”

Two women walking into a shop like that. Two women looking around a shop like that, having conversations about what they’d like or like nothing to do with. Somebody is bound to overhear, Dani thinks. Bound to report it down the line, and what then?

They’re in San Francisco, and Dani knows that’s the main reason Jamie’s even talking about this. They’re in San Francisco, have just bought a brownie that, yes, makes her feel more inclined than usual to drop her guard. She’d thought maybe they’d partake of that brownie in the comfort of their hotel room, that she’d follow the buzzing of her body right into the bed with Jamie, and that would be their afternoon spoken for. It had seemed a good idea at the time. 

Jamie, evidently, has other ideas. 

Which is how Dani, with a bit of a body high and the grip of anxiety tight around her throat, finds herself gazing at a Californian sex shop. 

“We do not,” Jamie says, watching her carefully, “and I cannot stress this enough, Poppins, we do not have to go in.”

“There’s...stuff in there.” The brownie is certainly doing its work. Dani swallows hard, searching for words more befitting of the situation. “Toys and things.”

Jamie looks as though she's suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. She seems considerably less high thus far, less inclined to disappear into this sidewalk if only someone were to let go of her arm and allow her to lie down. 

“It’s the brave new frontier,” Jamie says, managing to keep her amusement tamped down in the face of Dani’s wide eyes. “We’re in the 90s now, Dani Clayton. The world is changing.”

“It is,” Dani repeats in a stage whisper that sounds very loud to her own ears, “a sex shop. In California.”

“Bit better stocked than one in England, I’d wager,” Jamie says through a smile that might yet dissolve into giggles. Dani squints at her, trying to stop the street from performing a gentle rotation around her. 

“Whose idea was this again?”

“The brownie,” Jamie says, “was yours, actually. Haven’t tried this, Jamie, that’s what you said. We’re on an adventure, Jamie. I thought a nice spot of grass would do the trick fine enough, but...”

Dani slaps at her shoulder, misses somehow, almost tips over. Jamie catches her around the middle, and there’s a flash--the briefest, there-and-gone flash--of that night. Of Jamie holding her up. Of watching the world spin for a very different reason. 

Life, she thinks with a stab of unease, is very short. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Jamie repeats, a bit bewildered. She adjusts her grip, helping Dani find her feet again so she can let go. California is better than most anywhere else--at least this part of California--but it still isn’t good to give the universe an open shot. 

“We can...” She can’t say it. Isn’t quite that high. “We can--”

“Explore,” Jamie supplies. “See the sights. It’s an adventure, after all.”

And it does feel adventurous. There is a bravery in Dani Clayton she never seems able to predict--the things she’s capable of, the things she even finds she enjoys, tend to come out of left field and catch her unawares. Some of these things have a tendency to work out better than others. 

(Example: kissing Jamie. Truly the best snap decision she’s ever made. Inviting a ghost into her body? Maybe not so high on the list.)

But the sun is bright, and the buzz beneath her skin feels good, and there is no sign of ghosts in California. Just a surprisingly well-lit shop with a clerk who gives them a bored nod and a tiny hand gesture that says, Go on, couldn’t care less what you do, long as you’ve got cash. Dani smiles at him, too wide, and wonders if he’s like them. If he, too, has spent a lifetime unable to show off in the world. 

There isn’t much time to think about it, not with Jamie taking her by the sleeve and guiding her through neatly arranged aisles. There are costumes here that make Dani’s skin go white-hot to imagine trying to be serious wearing. There are items designed to vibrate, items designed to bind wrists, items designed for things she really feels better off not thinking about at all. 

“What d’you think?” Jamie asks at one shelf, eyebrows raised, and Dani thinks she’s joking. Probably joking. Must be joking. 

“Have you--I mean, I’d have no idea how to--”

“You could,” Jamie says in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine. How Jamie can do this to her without even trying, even after years together, she can’t explain. Jamie isn’t even working at it now; her hands are tucked into her pockets, her head tilted pensively as she considers the array of options laid out before them. She’s barely even looking at Dani. 

“I could,” Dani repeats weakly, “what?”

“Try it out,” Jamie explains. “If you wanted. If you were interested. But that’s not really what I’m suggesting. See...I know how they work. I’ve, uh...I mean, if you’re interested in...that.”

Her voice trails off, her eyes darting to steal a brief glance at Dani’s face, and Dani’s not entirely sure what her face is even doing. Judging by the way Jamie licks her lips, she suspects it isn’t subtle. 

“Interested,” she says in a very small voice, gripping Jamie’s hand with convulsive force. “Yeah. Little bit.”

They don’t try it out in the hotel room; that is, Dani says once the brownie has worn off some, entirely too bold, even for an adventure. They make absolutely certain the package is tucked away in the bottom of the suitcase, as far as possible from prying eyes that never come to call. They don’t even talk about it again until they’re safely home. 

Dani’s suddenly so nervous, it’s like the first time. Like stumbling up to her room with Jamie pressed close behind, every touch the kind of electric she’d thought might take her out before she had a chance to get Jamie’s clothes off. She walks into their apartment, this place they’ve called home for almost four years, and she thinks, I have never been terrified here before. 

Jamie, seeming to sense her mood, sets the bag by the door and pulls her into an embrace. She kisses the side of her head. “Hey. We don’t have to. Can just put it in the closet for a rainy day.”

Dani senses the truth of this statement, that Jamie is perfectly fine pretending they never bought the thing at all. That Jamie would be perfectly fine sliding into bed with her like always, relying on skilled hands and searching tongue, loving Dani with everything she’s got as she has for years. Jamie would be okay with this. Jamie would never push. 

But life is short, and sometimes, a person can surprise herself. 

Jamie switches the lights off. Jamie almost never switches the lights off, not since the first time she ever told Dani she was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. Still, Dani is relieved. There is something reassuring about Jamie’s willingness to take her hands in the dark, about Jamie’s eagerness to please her binding tight to Jamie’s devotion to keeping her safe. 

“Slow,” she promises Dani, sliding into bed and cradling her face. She is still just Jamie, Dani recognizes, though anxiety is playing tricks on her heart rate. Just Jamie’s hands, soft on her cheeks, brushing her hair back. Just Jamie’s mouth, raining small, light kisses across her face. Waiting for her to decide how far this goes. 

And Dani would be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous--if she said the brush of cloth harness around Jamie’s hips and the silicon between her legs wasn’t a surprise, even knowing what to expect. She would be lying, too, if she said it wasn’t a thrill. That Jamie is just laying alongside her in familiar sheets, thumb drawing soft arcs across her cheekbone, down the line of her jaw, tipping her head back so Jamie can kiss her neck. That Jamie is touching her like always, not pushing, not rushing, fingers playing along her skin like she’s the world’s most well-loved instrument. 

Jamie, breathing soft words into every kiss. Jamie, exhaling, “Lead the way, okay? Tell me. Anything you want.”

Dani finds her own hand sliding down, exploring the familiar curve of Jamie’s neck, fingering the chain that rests against her collarbones, drawing down, down, until she’s taking a handful of something not Jamie in the least. Testing its weight against her palm. Curling her fingers loosely. Jamie, though this object is not possessed of skin or nerve endings, sucks a breath in through her teeth anyway. Like Dani taking the time to explore is doing something maybe Jamie herself can’t even explain.

“Okay?” she says, breath warm on Dani’s skin, and Dani nods. She finds her body is searching Jamie’s out, pressing in close, and Jamie’s hand is covering hers. Even as she moves Dani gently to her back, even as her hips are coming to rest against Dani’s, her hand is there. A grounding force, as ever. Guiding in. 

Dani draws a hot breath, knees bent, and Jamie pauses. Moves only when Dani’s eyes open and she nods, one arm around Jamie’s neck, pulling her down to kiss her parted lips. 

“Slow,” she agrees, and Jamie makes a noise she likes more than anything else in the world as she shifts her hips, slides all the way in. The world is dark around them, made up of little more than the careful rock of Jamie’s body against hers, the instinctive way her own legs come up to pull Jamie deeper, the wonderfully small, uncontrolled noise she can hear herself making against Jamie’s shoulder. The method is foreign, but it’s still Jamie’s body behind each thrust, still Jamie’s rhythm making her whimper and clutch at Jamie’s neck. 

They move together, and it’s been four years, four years of learning every inch of how Jamie is capable of moving with her, but Dani finds this is something other. Something perfectly matched. Not better, not a completion she’s never found before--Jamie has never been lacking--but new, anyway. 

She hears her own hitching breaths, hears the fevered, reverent way Jamie says her name over and over, the bed knocking against the wall again and again. Jamie, true to her word, goes slow the whole way, until Dani is biting her own lip against a cry, until Dani is clenching and shuddering under her. 

“Good kind of adventure?” Jamie asks, having carefully extricated herself, stripped off the addition, curled up against Dani’s chest. Dani hums. 

“Thank you.”

Jamie raises her head. “For what?”

Dani mulls it over, her body spent, her mind already on its way to sleep. 

“For,” she says at last, nuzzling closer, “not getting sick of me. Not getting sick of walking with me through the parts I’m not...prepared for.”

She doesn’t say what she means--that, someday, the parts she isn’t prepared for won’t be trying a new toy in bed--and knows she doesn’t have to. Jamie signed on for the whole adventure the day she took Dani’s hand, kissed her knuckles, promised her company for good or for ill. 

There’s a promise like that, Dani thinks blearily as she sinks into sleep. For better or worse. People say that to the person they’re going to...

5

Living in America when you can’t share the love of your life with the world is, sometimes, a lot more frustrating than Dani would have given it credit for before finding Jamie. Back in her old life, walking around with Edmund’s hand possessively wrapped around her waist, she’d felt like no one should want to lean into PDA. It was embarrassing, she felt. Horribly awkward, having someone else’s arm around your shoulders as you tried to fall into step with their much longer legs, or trying to find the right produce at the grocery store with someone insisting you hold their hand. She’d thought it would be a relief, in its own horrible way, not to have that opportunity. 

And then Eddie was gone, and Jamie’s was the hand in the grocery store, the arm hesitating before reaching her shoulders. Now? Dani gets it. Dani gets it, and can’t have it, and it makes her crazy.

She thinks Jamie knows this. Knows Jamie, too, longs for a world where no one would look twice if they curled close together in a movie theater, or lay with Dani’s head pillowed in Jamie’s lap at the park. Jamie wants the constant contact at least as much as Dani does, because tactile environments are where Jamie shines. 

It is, before Jamie ever said the words aloud, how Dani knew for a fact Jamie loves her. 

It is, before Jamie ever admitted as much, how she knew for a fact Jamie has chosen this for good and for all. 

And it is, as time marches on and strangers remain staunchly bigoted, making her crazy not to be able to embrace. 

Jamie feels it, too, she knows, but Jamie has a very particular way of coping with her inability to just behave normally with Dani in social situations. A way that is, in its own way, also driving Dani crazy.

She just keeps getting more and more handsy. 

The thing is, she’s doing it in the most absent-minded way possible, like Dani has watched girls--straight girls, girls who are allowed to cuddle close to other women and touch their hair and play with their jewelry without anyone caring to judge--do her whole life. In ways Dani herself can’t imagine. Jamie will just sidle up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder and falling away again before anyone can question it. She’ll touch two fingers lightly to the soft inner stretch of Dani’s wrist to get her attention at dinner, and by the time Dani’s fully registered it, her hand is gone, flagging down a waiter.

At first, Dani thought she was doing it on purpose. A kind of game to keep them entertained in boring public situations. She’d thought it was another brand of adventure, of Jamie being comfortable in her skin so long, she feels capable of sneaking past strangers. 

Now, after weeks of increasing torment, she thinks Jamie is just doing this. Somehow toeing the line between what is dangerous and what is fraying at Dani’s sanity. 

“How are you doing that?” she asks when Jamie brushes the tips of her fingers just under Dani’s blouse, catching the strip of skin before her jeans begin, though they’ve got seven customers milling around the shop. Jamie looks confused.

“How am I doing what?”

“You’re--” Dani bites down on the words as old Mrs. Morgan, who comes in twice a month for arrangements to present to her daughter-in-law, shuffles up to the counter. Jamie smiles her best customer-service smile, as polished and somehow genuine as anything, and sets to work ringing her up. Dani, free for the moment, leans back with thumbs folded tight into her fists.  

“Sorry,” Jamie says a few minutes later, once more wearing that lightly-perplexed look she gets when Dani points out something of which she has not been conscious. “What’ve I been doing, now?”

“You’ve been...” Dani makes a concerted effort to lower her voice, which seems like a wise idea right until Jamie takes another step and bends her head to hear the next words. She’s right there, barely three inches away, and Dani’s never clenched her fists so hard to keep from grabbing at thin black suspenders. “Touching me. In public.”

“Have I?” Jamie looks genuinely startled. “More than is normal, you mean?”

Dani shakes her head, unable to stomach the difference between what is normal for them and what is normal for women who are not sleeping together. Not in love. Not sharing every inch of a life that deserves to have songs written about it. 

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says. “Honestly, Dani, I didn’t mean--am I making you uncomfortable?”

You’re making me want you, Dani thinks helplessly, in places I absolutely cannot have you. Which is, in its own way, worse. 

“I’ll be more careful,” Jamie assures her, completely missing the point. She reaches as if to touch Dani’s elbow, catches herself, smiles wryly. “A lot more careful.”

Dani wants to tell her that isn't what she wants, isn’t what she’s ever wanted, that there’s only so much time in the world for careful--but that’s the fire talking, the one running through her blood each time Jamie looks up from repotting flowers and gives her a little once-over, a wink. The real world requires careful. The real world requires walking lightly, hands swinging a little apart. 

The real world requires, when Jamie leans over her to recover paper towel from a higher shelf, breasts pressing into Dani’s back, her to keep her goddamned head. 

It requires, when Jamie reaches around her for a drinking fountain in the park, bare skin of her arm pressed flush to Dani’s, her to keep her goddamned self-control in check. 

It requires, when Jamie laughs and bumps close in line at the airport, her fingers brushing the hair behind Dani’s ear to keep it out of her eyes, for Dani to keep her goddamned pulse from skittering into adrenaline overdrive. 

It’s been years, she reminds herself furiously as they settle in on the plane. They’re off to see Owen for the first time in ages, and it’ll be good to get away--there have been feelings she can’t collate inside her head, dreams in black and white she wakes from gasping. A little time away should help bring her back down. 

Back down from worrying over ghosts, anyway. 

Jamie’s wandering hands, on the other hand...

“Jamie,” she hisses, because airplane seats are really not spacious, and though they don’t have a seatmate on the aisle, there’s an elderly couple across the way with a perfect view of Jamie’s hand resting on her knee. Jamie looks down, jumps a little, tucks the offending hand under her own leg. 

“Shit. Don’t know what’s wrong with me...”

Nothing, Dani wants to say, is wrong with you. It’s them. They’re wrong for asking us to hide. They’re wrong for asking me to ever pretend, even for a second, that you’re not the most important person in my life. 

“It’s all right,” she whispers instead, like the pressure of Jamie’s palm sliding off her kneecap hasn’t left scorch marks. She closes her eyes, leans her head back. There’s a long flight ahead for someone already on fire. A long flight, and she thinks with truly feral madness, There’s a bathroom. Small. Cramped. But we could fit, maybe. I could get her in there, maybe. 

She lets the image unspool for a moment: Jamie propped against a tiny airplane sink, muffling filthy sounds against her arm, Dani on her knees before her. No. No, best put that away for now. Even if they weren’t caught, by some insane miracle, they’d just have a bigger problem afterward. A problem labeled we’ve proven we’re willing to test this. 

Dani isn’t, not really. Not if there’s a chance of blowing up their whole life. 

Still, it’s hard to scrub the idea away. Jamie is looking at her with some concern, and it’s fair: Dani’s aware her cheeks are pink, her breath coming in sharp hitches. She forces a smile.

“You all right?” Jamie asks quietly. “Don’t feel sick, do you?”

“Not sick,” Dani says. She presses her lips into a thin line, gaze flicking unintentionally from Jamie’s eyes to her mouth, and understanding breaks slowly across Jamie’s face. 

“Ah.” She looks so smug. Dani wishes that made her want Jamie any less. 

“Don’t tease,” she mutters. “Can’t help it.” She really can’t, either. Jamie’s been there, right there, touching her everywhere for such short bursts, but the shop has been crazy. They’ve been tired. There hasn’t been any real time together in far too long. 

Jamie looks at her, a long look that Dani thinks for a heart-stopping second will end in her simply saying, “Fuck it” and leaning in to kiss Dani on this plane. Can’t, she warns her silently. Can’t do that, Jamie, because if you start, I won’t be able to stop--

“Bit chilly,” Jamie says conversationally to someone over Dani’s head. She turns, catching sight of an airline stewardess just as Jamie adds, “Wouldn’t say no to a blanket, if there’s one handy.”

Oh, she’s made a joke, Dani thinks, staring fixedly at the ceiling. Heaven help me, she’s made a goddamn Owen pun, and they don’t even know. 

The blanket, when it arrives, is thick, made of a somewhat scratchy dark gray material. Jamie spreads it laboriously across her own lap first, then makes a show of looking at Dani. 

“You cold? Only, this is huge, and I’d feel terribly selfish hogging it the whole trip.”

Across the aisle, one of their elderly neighbors nods as though Jamie is the wisest, kindest person she’s ever seen in the wild. Jamie gives a returning nod, says blithely, “Ask for a blanket, flight’s always frigid once we get going.”

She’s pulling the blanket across Dani’s lap now, somehow making it look as though her hands are not sliding up Dani’s thigh in the process. Dani nearly bites her tongue trying not to respond. 

She does believe, with her whole heart, that Jamie did not mean to start this. That Jamie’s wandering hands in public are entirely a thing of habit built at home. Jamie is always touching her at the apartment, always squeezing her arm or stroking her cheek or kissing whatever part of her is within reach. It’s the most natural thing in the world. She certainly hasn’t been putting them at risk on purpose. 

But right now? Right now, on this plane, tucking the blanket carefully around Dani so there’s no way prying eyes can catch a glimpse of what’s going on beneath it?

Jamie is absolutely doing this on purpose. 

“Are you crazy?” she hisses, trying to look as though she isn’t seconds from flying out of her own skin. Jamie is smiling so calmly, so rationally, tucking her hands under the blanket.

“Nope. Just chilly, as I said. Aren't you?”

Dani thinks she’s never been warmer in her entire life, not with Jamie’s rebellious left hand dragging the skirt up over her knees. From an outside perspective, it’s impossible to see; Jamie looks perfectly calm. Even friendly, should anyone catch her eye. She smiles like she doesn’t have Dani’s skirt rucked nearly to her waist.

She smiles like her hand isn’t sliding down the curve of Dani’s thigh now, cresting against the front of cotton underwear. 

“Jamie,” Dani breathes. Jamie leans over on the pretense of trying to glance into the aisle for persons unknown. Her lips graze Dani’s ear. 

“Keep quiet. Just pretend you’re looking out the window.”

Looking out the window, Dani thinks wildly, right. Like nothing’s going on under the noses of their fellow passengers. Like nothing whatsoever is happening under this blessedly-thick blanket, Jamie’s left hand tracing shapes into the apex of her groin. Jamie, with the calmest goddamn smile she’s ever seen, saying, “This is going to be good for us, y’know. Haven’t been out to see the sights in ages. America’s really gotten under my skin...”

How, thinks Dani, fists clenched against her own thighs under the blanket, is she talking? How can she possibly be holding a perfectly sane, perfectly serene conversation with her fingers sliding up, pulling aside the elastic of Dani’s underwear, moving the material aside just enough to press against slick skin. Dani swallows hard enough to hurt. Her own fingers are leaving impressions against her legs, bruises she’d rather be digging into Jamie’s skin. 

“You’ll like it,” Jamie says in a placid, low voice, like her fingers aren’t currently tracing a spot particularly wet and warm. Like Dani’s hips aren’t twitching as she fights the urge to press into Jamie’s hand. Like she doesn’t know Dani’s nails are biting into her own thighs, dragging grooves that will burn later. 

“Jamie.”

“Mm?” Like she doesn’t know. She’s grinning a crooked, cheerful little grin that makes Dani want to kiss her blind. If only they weren’t on a plane, if only there weren’t so many damn people around, she’d be out of this seat and riding Jamie’s lap, paying her back for this, making her squirm--

“You,” Dani says through clenched teeth as Jamie teases with one finger, slowly sliding in and easing right back out again. “You are in so much trouble when we land.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees, eyes shining. If anyone bothered to look at her properly, they’d see the hunger etched all over her face, even under the easy smile. “Yeah, reckon I am. But that’s hours off, yet, Poppins. Might as well enjoy the ride.”

Dani moves a hand to grip Jamie’s knee as hard as she can, exhaling through her nose to keep from whimpering as Jamie sets a slow, dangerous pace. 

This, she decides, will certainly be the thing to drive her insane. 

6

She's learned a lot about Dani over the years. A lot of wonderful, invigorating, sexy things about Dani--and a lot of simple ones, too. How much garlic Dani prefers in just about any dish. How good she is at decorating a house so it looks safer than anywhere in the world. How bad she is at pretending not to stare when Jamie walks out of the bathroom in nothing but a mis-buttoned flannel shirt. 

A good relationship, Jamie has determined--all too aware that this is the first and last truly good relationship of her life--is constant education. Learning what your person likes, and doesn’t like, and didn’t think they could ever tell you they liked until the moment arrived. Learning when to keep the lights on, when to hold them in the dark. Learning what moods beg a kiss, which ones require hands wiping away tears, and which ask only for silence. 

She’s been with Dani a long time. Hopes to be with her a lot longer. Decades, if she can trick the universe into granting them that long a reprieve. Years, if she can only steal that much. Any time with Dani is cherished. Any time with Dani is more than either of them expected. 

She’s been with Dani a long time, and there’s a lot she knows now. Where Dani’s ticklish in ways that will derail sex entirely by way of hysterical laughter; where she’s ticklish in less aggressive ways that will, in fact, enhance the experience when Jamie kisses those spots. She knows that Dani likes to relinquish control, because it makes her feel safe in Jamie’s hands, and that she sometimes likes to sneak control back when Jamie isn’t looking, because she likes the way Jamie forgets how to speak when she’s surprised. She knows the way Dani likes her neck kissed, the way Dani likes to be held through a particularly intense orgasm, the way Dani gets the right kind of embarrassed when something unexpectedly obscene comes out of her mouth at just the right moment. 

She knows a lot about Dani, every last detail precious, but she doesn’t know everything. Sometimes, Dani still surprises her.

Like the day she comes home with a sad little plant. 

She doesn’t recognize the look on Dani’s face, and a part of her--the part that’s been waking more and more as Dani jerks restlessly in her sleep, as she carefully averts her eyes from the bathroom mirror, as she gives that old tired not-quite-present smile Jamie remembers so well from their last week at Bly--worries. Dani is still full of surprises, but some of those surprises have teeth. Some, Jamie fears she’s not strong enough to lift from Dani’s shoulders. 

This time, though, the look is less hunted and more...quietly nervous. Jamie is distracted, failing miserably to secure dinner for what feels like the thousandth time in this kitchen, but something about the way Dani is hefting this plant cuts through her focus. 

Dani, rescuing plants off the side of the road. Be still her heart. 

Something about the way Dani glances at her as she takes over at the stove, something about the way Dani brushes past like she’s running on something electric, nearly ruins the surprise. Nearly. Except Jamie is distracted, and there's something green and not entirely lifeless to repair, and Jamie has always been up for getting to the heart of a problem. The roots, she sees without really needing to dig. The roots are...

“Dani,” she hears herself say. “Why’s there a...”

And then Dani is using words like best friend, love of my life, words so big and so wonderful Jamie wonders if she’s really awake right now. And there are other words, scary ones--don’t know how much time we have left--but Dani chases them quickly with the best words Jamie’s ever heard. Words like spend them with you. Words like we’ll know. Words like it’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you. 

Jamie can’t imagine this not being enough. 

She’s half-crying, kissing Dani, half-laughing, wholly effervescent. Dani’s hair is soft under hands that suddenly feel too small, too clumsy, holding on to something so fragile. Dani’s whispering I love you against her lips, and Jamie recognizes some fear in the way she’s pulling Jamie closer. Some fear, and a huge amount of relief, too. 

“Did you think I’d say no?” she teases when the tears dry up enough to let her speak again. Dani, forehead pressed against hers, shakes her head minutely. 

“I don’t think anyone knows what the answer will be. But...no. No, I didn’t.”

“Good,” Jamie says, trying to look like she’s not sniffling. “Think you know me better than that.”

“I know you better than anyone,” Dani says, so honestly, Jamie feels something crack from deep inside. She slides the ring onto her finger to distract from this feeling of being dunked under by some enormous wave, by feelings she truly once thought she’d never have the space for in her body. 

Dinner is decidedly not salvageable by this point, and Jamie finds she isn’t hungry, anyway. She leads Dani to the the couch, curls up close to her, eyes straying back to that sad little potted plant. 

“Tried to grow it, didn’t you?”

“No,” Dani says, with exactly the same inflection she once used at six in the morning in a greenhouse. Jamie laughs. 

There’s an energy between them tonight unlike anything Jamie’s ever felt before. It’s been hinted at over the years--in a bedroom at Bly, in a diner in the Midwest, in the middle of their shop--but never quite so clearly as in this moment. Dani, who has seemed less and less content lately, has an arm around her shoulders, her breath coming easier than it has in weeks. Jamie doesn’t like thinking about that, doesn’t like looking too closely at what might be pulling Dani back down that particular road.

This, she decides. Just this. Just today. The rest can wait. 

Dani has her hand in her lap, is fiddling with the ring like she can't quite believe she had the guts to actually give it to Jamie. Dani is always so much more surprised by her own courage than Jamie has ever been. It was always, she thinks, watching Dani idly twist the gold band back and forth, going to be Dani doing the proposing. Dani, whose relationship with marriage is so complicated. Dani, whose relationship with time is so complicated. 

There’s a lot in the relationship Dani leaves in Jamie’s hands. Repairs around the house, ideas of how the shop could run more smoothly, most nights in the bedroom. There’s a lot Dani doesn’t feel like she needs to grip in tense fists, a lot Dani has never felt the need to control. Jamie’s not sure control is the word she’d choose for herself, either, but there’s a certain natural leadership to her posture in the world. Maybe because, for a time, there was no one but Jamie herself calling the shots. Maybe because she’s used to making hard choices, unable to drop them on anyone else’s shoulders. 

It makes her feel an unexpected kind of strong, that Dani trusts her with so much. 

But this always felt important to leave to Dani. Jamie would have been all right if they never had this conversation; the way she sees it, not much would have changed. Dani is still her most important person, ring or no. She’ll be here as long as Dani will have her, even without vows or witnesses.

But for Dani to have done this--for Dani to have planned it out, kept it a secret when she is absolutely terrible at keeping secrets from Jamie (”I never know,” she says, making a horror into the sweetest thing in the world by virtue of pout alone, “how much time we have, why would I keep anything from you?”), dropped it smoothly on a sunny evening like this--is perfect. It’s small, and it’s private, and it’s the bravest thing in the world. 

“I love you,” Jamie says, because there is no amount of saying it that would feel like enough. Dani smiles until the corners of her eyes crinkle. 

There are things that have surprised her about Dani over the years, and things that may have surprised Dani even more--but the thing Jamie finds most surprising of all comes from this. From the way her whole body relaxes in Dani’s hands. From the way her eyes close and her breath shallows out when Dani’s nearby. She’s never been good at vulnerability, not with anyone, but the minute Dani entered her life, it’s like vulnerability became her life’s mission.

Never consciously. Never with intent. Just...organically, the way cells know to age, the way plants know to seek sunlight. Dani walked into her life with shoulders tight and more love in her heart than she seemed to know what to do with, and suddenly, Jamie wanted only to give. Her time, her affection, anything Dani needed. Anything Dani could ever want. 

It should be exhausting. It should take everything out of her. It should wring her out and leave nothing in its wake. 

Instead, it seems to make her stronger every day. It seems to make her more with everything she gives to Dani: her love, her hope, her reassurances. She gives, and Dani, who could so easily take, gives back, and Jamie thinks, It’s this. It’s the exchange. Not just the caring, but the being taken care of. 

“What’re you thinking?” Dani asks. Jamie winds their fingers together, brings their joined hands to her lips. 

“That I’m lucky. Incredibly, illogically lucky.”

“Should I have--” Dani hesitates. “I don’t know, done it sooner?”

Sand in an hourglass, Jamie thinks. In the end, it’s all sand in an hourglass, and no amount of rushing can change it. 

“It was perfect,” she says, leaning across Dani to kiss her lips. “Truly. Couldn’t ask for better.”

Dani looks like she may be considering pressing--there’s a particular crease she gets between the eyes when self-consciousness is at the wheel, and it breaks Jamie’s heart every time she sees it. Jamie pushes her back against the arm of the couch, dropping with her until they’re laying flush, cupping one hand under Dani’s jaw to kiss her properly. 

“Perfect,” she repeats, brushing her nose against Dani’s, sighing when Dani’s hands move reflexively to slide the strap of her overalls off her shoulder. 

There’s less verbal reassurance from there, considerably more work done via hands and sighs and lips. They’re laughing even as Jamie shifts too far to the left and rolls them both onto the very-solid floor in a half-dressed heap. Dani’s still laughing--half-wild with what Jamie reads as untempered relief--even as Jamie helps her wrestle out of her jacket, even as Jamie is sliding down her body, kissing her way back up again through the impossibly-deep slit in her dress. 

There are times with Dani that feel like the pair of them will burst into flame if they aren’t touching, if they aren’t setting a rhythm together in that very moment. There are times where it’s all hunger, all heat, where Jamie thinks the very act of loving Dani might set her ablaze. And then there are times like this: times where Dani watches her with half-lidded eyes, smiling even as Jamie is undressing her, even as Jamie is coaxing cloth aside and pulling Dani to her mouth. Smiling, sighing, shifting under Jamie like there’s nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. 

Times like this, tasting Dani, grasping blindly for her hand with eyes closed, are secretly Jamie’s favorite. Times like this, feeling Dani move beneath her, tracing Dani’s knuckles with the pad of her thumb, Dani’s voice the only song in the room, are the absolute ideal. It’s only here, in their home, knowing Dani would give anything to keep this safe, that Jamie thinks she’s her absolute best self. 

It’s here--curled on the floor with her back against Dani’s chest, Dani’s hand tossed lightly over her hip, both of them covered with a very badly crocheted blanket Dani picked out at a flea market--that she feels most real. 

“I want this,” Dani says sleepily, words muffled with her mouth pressed against Jamie’s shoulder. “For as long as possible.”

“Sleeping naked on a hardwood floor?” Jamie shifts her face against her bent elbow, grinning. Dani’s arm slides tighter around her middle.

“Holding you. Anywhere.”

“Think that can be arranged,” Jamie says, voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. Dani nuzzles against her shoulder again.

“Promise?”

Something releases in her chest, the duality of Dani now--a Dani who is starting to get scared again, but still brave enough to ask Jamie to marry her--and Dani then--a Dani terrified already, but so brave in asking Jamie to stay--coalescing into one. She inhales, shuddering, pressing back into Dani’s arms as hard as she can. Dani squeezes like she understands, like she knows Jamie needs nothing like she needs to know Dani is the most solid thing in the room. 

This is the thing, Jamie thinks, that surprises her most. Not just being taken care of, but needing it from Dani. Needing to be held, needing to feel the weight of Dani’s body against her own. Needing to be reminded that for all her good humor, all her confidence, all the times Jamie can’t help putting Dani first--Dani’s doing the exact same thing. 

“I’m gonna marry you,” she hears herself say, turning in Dani’s grasp and pressing her face against Dani’s neck. “Someday. Minute it’s even remotely legal.”

Dani makes the most content noise she’s ever heard in her life. “One day at a time,” she says. To Jamie’s ears, it's the purest kind of vow. 

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #good lord this took three days #1) as usual thank jess #2) it has been a long time since I've written this much smut #3) this one shouldn't make people cry as much you're welcome.

[link4eva]

Kiro’s Collection of Sounds Date Translation [CN]

Hey! Just a couple of things before you begin reading. I don’t actually know Chinese so this translation was done through the power of Google Translate and with help from @keliosyfan​. Thank you! 💛

I highly recommend reading the prologue to this date which I’ll link here. It gives some context and has some sweet and spicy moments. 😍 There’s also a phone call that comes before the date which I’ll link here.

This translation contains spoilers for a date that has not yet been released to the English server. If you wish to not be spoiled, please don’t look below the cut.

Hope you enjoy~ 💛

*Spoilers below for future content!*

[First Part]

The moment I opened the car door, unlike the smell of the city, fresh air flooded into my nose.

The air seemed to carry the fragrance of grass, and there were also some hints of wet grass.

Several flat brick houses in the distance were scattered on the hillside, and the smoke from the chimneys was also reflected by the sun with a faint golden light.

Ahead is the end of our journey; a village far away from the noise--

Kiro is currently composing a new song. To add more special elements to it, we are here to collect sounds.

Kiro: Miss Chips, come and help!

The flustered tone brought my thoughts back. I looked behind and saw Kiro getting out of the RV with several pieces of recording equipment.

I quickly hugged the microphone boom on his shoulders in my arms. He stabilized his balance, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Kiro: The air here is so good. I picked a good place. 

Kiro: We will definitely find the best sound here!

Kiro: Gogogo! 

We picked up the hand-drawn map and started to walk towards the village not far away. 

MC: Passing through the small forest ahead, you will reach the elderly lady’s house!

As soon as the voice fell, there was a rustling sound in the grass not far away, accompanied by a few animal noises.

I followed the sound, and a big plump goose appeared in the gap between the grass and walk towards us swayingly.

I don’t know who was blocking the other’s way but we both stopped at the same time.

I couldn’t help thinking of the stories of many people being chased by geese, and my feet involuntarily took a step back.

Kiro: We unexpectedly met the rumoured “Country Bully”; Goose Boss! 

It flapped its wings, telling us in a high-pitched manner, “Don’t mess with me!” 

*Can confirm. Geese, especially Canadian geese, are hella vicious. They will just stand there and 👁👁. If you stare long enough, they’ll start honking and flapping their wings at you. They’re cute though!*

Kiro: Hahaha, it’s really as fierce as the ones in the video.

Kiro looked at Big Goose curiously and didn’t seem to realize the “crisis-ridden” situation at hand. I couldn’t help pulling on his sleeves.

MC: Let’s take a detour, just in case….

Before I could finish, there was another noise coming from the grass.

A few goslings poked their heads out. They are like yellow pompoms, and their eyes are looking at us steadily.

Kiro: Hey~ *The way he said this was so cute!* 

He spoke softly, bent down and waved.

Immediately afterwards, the goslings wandered over with wobbly feet, trying to climb on his calf again and again.

Kiro couldn’t help laughing. He put down his luggage, sat down and carefully touched the goose.

Kiro: Hello, future Goose Boss~

[Second Part]

After a while, one of the goslings flapped its wings and struggled to climb to the toe of Kiro’s shoes while making a soft sound.

Kiro: Little guy, do you want me to hug you? *He’s talking so softly here 🥺* 

The gosling seemed to understand what he meant by spreading its tiny wings and shaking its body.

Kiro gently held it up, looking at the little life in his palms without blinking.

Kiro: Miss Chips, would you like to come closer?

MC: Ok!

I just took a step when the ‘Goose Boss” in front of me gave a more threatening honk than before, and it rushed towards us with its neck thrust forward.

MC: ….Be careful!

Kiro quickly put down the goose in his hand steadily, but it was too late to dodge the collision of the Big Goose.

The moment the Big Goose pounced on him, he opened his arms and held the Big Goose in his arms. 

“Goose Boss” was stunned for a second, then spread its wings again and his long beak approached his cheek.

Kiro smiled without worry. He stretched out his palm to cover the goose’s head and gently pet it.

Kiro: Don’t be afraid, don’t be angry. I won’t hurt you. *Changed some wording*

The Big Goose shrank its neck somewhat resisting and honked a few times in protest, but Kiro still stroked it without letting go.

Kiro: We can be good friends, right?

His voice seemed to have magical power, and the Big Goose gradually quieted down. Its menacing wings also retracted.

It leaned lightly on his shoulder and squinted its eyes in content.

Kiro smiled and hugged the Big Goose and couldn’t help rubbing its white head a few more times.

Suddenly, the young goose at his feet wailed as if hungry, and the Big Goose immediately spread out its wings and jumped out of Kiro’s arms.

It gently combed the feathers on the goslings and then swaggered away with them.

Kiro smiled crookedly and waved his arms.

Kiro: Goodbye, Goose Boss~ 

Watching them disappear gradually, Kiro stood up and rubbed the mud off of his body.

MC: Unexpectedly, the frightening Big Goose gave in to the “head pats”~ *This came out weird in GT so I changed this part up a bit*

Kiro: Of course, no one can resist “head pats”.

MC: Are you the same?

Kiro walked towards me, lowered his head and shook it.

Kiro: Miss Chips, would you like to try it too?

The curly blond hair swayed gently in the breeze as he shook, seemingly sending me the most sincere invitation.

It looked so soft and vibrant under the sun, I couldn’t help rubbing it a few times.

Kiro: Well….it’s true.

He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head into my neck and shoulder.

Kiro: I am like a big goose now. I don’t want to leave anymore. 

His warm cheeks were close to my collarbone, and a sudden rush of heat quietly reached the tips of my ears.

I didn’t know if he could hear my accelerating heartbeat. He raised his head and looked at me with pure blue eyes.

The next second, a hand fell on top of my head and rubbed it.

When I didn’t react, a sly smile raised at the corner of his mouth.

Kiro: Now it’s your turn.

He opened his arms and seemed to be waiting for me to pounce into his arms.

MC: ….Let’s hurry up and get to the elderly lady’s house!

I pretended to glare at him and walked forward with a chuckle.

But even if I speed up my pace, it seems that I can’t hide the sound of my heart beating like a drum.

(Cut to elderly lady’s house)

Soon we arrived at elderly lady’s house.

She is the person who is most familiar with the mountains and forests in the entire village. After she learned that we need to collect sounds, she enthusiastically introduced us to many places here.

After we gave her a greeting gift that we had prepared a while back, she took us to the backyard.

Although I heard many things about this lady’s backyard filled with a sea of flowers; after seeing it with my own eyes, it was even better than I had imagined--

Clusters of slender branches are adorned with flowers of different varieties. Large painting-like flowers rippled with the wind, setting off a “wave”.

I closed my eyes and the wonderful sounds around me continued to interweave, entangle, and overlap, as if playing a song.

I turned my head to look at Kiro and found that he had also closed his eyes.

The sunlight gleamed on the side of his face and the corners of his lips curled up as if greedily taking everything in around him.

Against the background of the sea of flowers, all the light and colours are gathering towards him, becoming extremely dazzling.

I don’t know if he felt my gaze but he opened his eyes and looked at me.

Kiro: Miss Chips, are you ready to move into our Flower Sea View Room?

(Cut to room)

We walked into the cabin. Although the space was not large, it was very tidy. Some flower buds had even bloomed, filling the cabin with life.

MC: It’s really nice here and the scenery is pleasant. And along the way, it was very quiet because there were no people around!

MC: This way, you don’t have to worry about being interrupted, and you can do what you want without any restraint.

Kiro: With no restraint? 

Before the words finished, he raised a lazy smile and dragged me into his arms. Our center of gravity was thrown off at the same time and we fell on the soft bed.

I stared at Kiro above me in a daze. He pushed some hair on my face away, leaving an itchy feeling.

Kiro: Then I have a lot of things I want to do….

Kiro: You will cooperate with me, right? 

His breath was so breathy and soft, it made the tips of my ears turn red instantly.

MC: If it is a reasonable thing….of course I will cooperate.

Kiro: Let’s rest for a while.

He fell on the bed and hugged me tightly, leaving only a small gap for us to breathe freely.

Kiro: Before collecting sounds, let’s be lazy. But not too much~

[Third Part]

After the afternoon nap, Kiro and I walked into the mountains with our equipment and started the official sound-collecting trip.

Seeing the porcelain doll originally placed in the RV hung on his backpack, I couldn’t help but be a little surprised. He seemed to see my doubts and shook his backpack.

Kiro: It is the main character of this song, and I want to take it and set off.

Kiro: I believe that everyone listening will be moved by it. *Changed some wording*

Kiro: Creation is like a kind of communication. The creator just tells us what the character wants and does it another way. 

Kiro: So since it is going to find the “fragments” that have been lost, this doll cannot be absent from the process. 

Kiro lowered his eyes and gently rubbed the porcelain doll with his fingertips. I couldn’t help holding his hand.

MC: So have you figured out what sound you want to collect?

Kiro: Of course….I’m collecting all of the beautiful sounds. 

Kiro: There are always people experiencing unsatisfactory things, I want to use these sounds to awaken the beautiful memories that are not noticed by them.

His earnest words can’t help but remind me that each of his songs seems to bring light and power to everyone.

MC: Then I have to make a contribution and prick up my little ears to find the sound!

Kiro looked at me and raised his brows slightly.

Kiro: Miss Chips, do you know?

Kiro: In fact, in some special circumstances, you can let the sound actively find you.

MC: Really, how do we do that?

Kiro: Such as….

He pressed the corners of his lips, his eyes closed, and then a warm touch pressed against my ears.

Kiro: I am the “sound” that will come to your door. *It took everything in me to keep to the original as much as possible. My mind went many places 😳*

Kiro: Whenever Miss Chips gets bored or misses me, I will be the first thing to pop into your ears. *HIS VOICE IS SO BREATHY AND LOW AAAAAAHHHH*

I couldn’t help but tremble and my heart was beating wildly.

MC: You….!

He tilted his head, smirking like a little devil.

Kiro: I seem to hear a special heartbeat. 

I realized that I had accidentally fallen into his “trap” and had to blush and ran forward.

MC: There seems to be a sound in front of me. Let me go and take a look!

(Cut to spring)

Kiro and I walked forward slowly and the sounds from the distance before became clearer and clearer--

The gurgling clear spring faintly made the sound of water colliding with the stones, and the crisp birdsong in the sky also flew near and above.

Kiro put in his earphones and walked forward softly.

He bends down for a while and stretches his hands in front of him; he raises his arms high again as if he is adjusting his posture following the bird’s path.

The sun shines through the gaps in the leaves, through the mist in the forest, and poured a little bit onto him, creating a beautiful aperture.

Looking at Kiro like this, I was subconsciously drawn in.

It seemed that whenever he was immersed in the world of sound, his expression would become extremely pure and profound.

There is a sense of keenness in his eyebrows, but the curvature of the corners of his mouth never fell.

He is very happy.

Thinking of this, I smiled to myself.

Suddenly, he walked up to me, took out the earphones and gently put them in my ears.

Kiro: Listen with earphones; you will find many unexpected nuances.

Following his whispers, the natural sounds around me rushed into my ears like a spring.

The sound in the earphones seems to be completely different from the sound heard by human ears at ordinary times--

The sounds of birds, cicadas, springs, and the wind brushing leaves are more delicate and clearer than usual.

These pure sounds are usually drowned out by the sounds of the city.

Kiro: How do you like it? 

MC: I think these sounds have become a song….

Kiro looked into the distance with a serene smile in his eyes.

Kiro: They are original songs created by nature.

Hearing this, I quickly took off one of the earphones and put it in his ear.

MC: The let’s listen for a while~

I leaned against Kiro’s body, quietly feeling the “music” in the earphones.

The sounds around me kept flowing and flowing into my ears. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and imagine the invisible scenes one by one--

The leaves fell on the ground with the wind and the fish flipped in the stream with splashes, water droplets falling from a height….

These sounds automatically filled the picture inside my mind, drawing every detail. I couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Kiro: MC, what are you laughing at?

I opened my eyes and found that he had seemed to have been looking at me the whole time.

MC: I was just imagining the scenes of these sounds and I thought that the experience this time was amazing.

MC: I haven’t finished yet, why are you laughing!

I said, poking at the corner of his raised mouth.

Kiro: Because I found myself thinking the same thing as you. 

Kiro: So I can’t help but feel…. very, very happy.

Suddenly, a ray of sunlight seemed to pierce through the clouds and shoot straight down, making the surroundings shine brightly.

Even the porcelain doll hanging on Kiro’s backpack was shining brilliantly.

[Fourth Part]

As it was getting late, Kiro and I were passing by the small pool in the backyard with a “full load” when he suddenly stopped.

MC: What’s happening?

Kiro glanced at the pool next to him, his eyes flickering slightly.

Kiro: MC, do you want to cool down? 

Although my clothes weren’t soaked, the sweat from my forehead kept coming.

I looked at the cold pool and couldn’t help nodding.

We put down the equipment in our hands, turned on the hose and walked towards the pool.

He sat down by the pool first and then stretched out his hand to me.

I thought he was going to help me sit down but I didn’t expect him to gently pull me to sit on his lap.

Kiro: There is mud on the ground. Sit with me.

As if guessing what I would do next, he wrapped his arms around my waist and tightened them.

MC: I’m….I’m not afraid of getting dirty.

I blushed and retorted but did not continue to struggle. My feet splashed the water gently.

The water splash sounded continuously and it blended into the surrounding cicadas seamlessly--

This is the sound of summer.

I couldn’t help but lean my head on his shoulder and the porcelain doll was reflected by the moonlight in the corner of my eye.

Thinking of its story, I couldn’t help but feel something in my heart and spoke slowly.

MC: This porcelain doll may represent a lot of people. Despite being “broken”, it felt that it was not a big deal.

MC: But over time, more and more cracks in the body began to make it incomplete….

MC: When I think about it, it must feel empty.

Kiro lowered his head, his breath lightly brushed my cheek.

He looked at me quietly, his eyes seemed to be mixed with inexplicable emotions.

MC: However, I’m not worried about this situation!

MC: Because I have you, Kiro.

MC: Whenever I encounter problems in life and work, I will face them more positively as much as possible.

MC: Because of you, I am not afraid of anything.

I couldn’t help laughing and there was a little splash on my feet.

Kiro: Mm, Miss Chips has me. 

Kiro: I hope you are always happy.

His tone was with undeniable certainty and a warm current suddenly surged in my heart.

MC: However, Kiro, you also have me.

MC: I will also make you happy forever and ever.

Kiro looked at me deeply and suddenly widened his eyes slightly as if thinking of something.

Kiro: I seem to have a new idea!

He raised the corners of his mouth and hummed a brisk melody on the spot.

MC: Is this your new song? It seems different from the demo before.

Different from the soothing tune before, the melody this time is light and free; as soft as lying on a cloud.

Kiro: Because MC has changed it. 

MC: Eh, how did I change it?

Kiro wrapped his arms around me tightly again and looked at me softly.

Kiro: Before, I wanted to awaken some of the beautiful memories that people hadn’t noticed and retrieve the lost goodness.

Kiro: But there are actually more powerful ideas than this, like a porcelain doll, for example.

Kiro: Even if it doesn’t get its lost fragments back, it can still use the leaves, petals and grass that pass by to complete itself again--

Kiro: It can have a new ending in the future!

Kiro looked straight at me, his eyes full of stars.

Kiro: In fact, we can also re-decorate with the beauty around us and become who we are now. 

Kiro: Just like how you have been by my side, I became the current Kiro.

Kiro: When I am happy, you turn it into double happiness. When I am tired, you will be my power bank. When I’m frustrated….

Kiro: You are the reason that I won’t fall down.

Kiro: I accepted all the “fragments” you gave me and became my current self; a better Kiro.

Each word he spoke pulled my heartstrings inadvertently.

MC: Kiro….

Before I finished speaking, there was a sound of water pouring coming from the hose.

I don’t know why the hose was still trickling just now. A large amount of water came gushing out of it and began to dance in the air.

Kiro and I couldn’t avoid getting most of our bodies soaked and he hurriedly reached out to hold the hose in a panic.

Just as Kiro had grasped it, the hose sprayed me.

I instinctively turned my head and threw myself into Kiro’s arms, but my lips brushed against something soft.

I immediately lowered my head and buried it in his neck.

Kiro: What’s wrong? Why is your face suddenly hot? 

MC: It’s nothing. It’s just a bit hot.

Suddenly, his chest trembled slightly, as if he has seen through my cover and was trying his best to hide a laugh.

Kiro: Oh~ So that’s the case. Let me cool you down.

As soon as the voice fell, he raised the hose in his hand and pointed it at me at a relatively safe distance.

The jet of water brushed my ears, bringing a comfortable icy coolness.

Kiro: Is it cooler now?

I subconsciously looked away and responded to him in somewhat of a daze.

MC: Okay, much better, thank you!!

Kiro: Now that you’ve said thank you, can I ask for another reward?

MC: ….What do you want?

Kiro: I want Miss Chips to replicate the moment with me before. 

He seemed to be deliberately reminding me that he was very close to me, his hot breath blew from the tip of his nose.

I stared at him blankly and finally looked at his lips.

My thoughts flooded like a tide, and my lips suddenly became a little hot.

MC: You are shameless….!

Kiro: No, I’m asking for it honestly. 

Seeing him blinking his eyes cheekily, I wanted to laugh.

MC: Well….

I took a deep breath, held his face and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

In the next second, a jet of water splashed my ears-- 

Kiro: That one just now doesn’t count. Do it again.

MC: Kiro!

As soon as the voice fell, he touched the tip of my nose, his eyes locked onto my face.

Kiro: I want more than that.

His soft voice crept into my ears, leaving traces of tickling.

Kiro: Those lost fragments….

Kiro: Let me fill them in for you.

After he finished speaking, he closed his eyes and my lips were instantly covered by a soft touch. His breath is sweet, like a fruit gummy.

He seemed to pour out all the hidden emotions that he couldn’t express out into this kiss, which was long and uncontrollable.

I also close my eyes and responded softly. In fact, I still have a lot to say.

I want to tell him--

Actually, you have done more for me.

You have brought light to me, and you have made me more courageous to look forward to a better future.

Because of you, I gradually became a better version of myself.

End

The call that comes after the date can be found here!

#mlqc #mr love queens choice #mlqc spoilers #mr love dream date #mldd #mr love #mr love game #mlqc kiro #mr love kiro #mldd kiro #周棋洛 #date translation #I'M SO PROUD OF MC!!! SHOW YOUR MAN SOME LOVING!!! #HE DESERVES IT!! #I really enjoyed this date #It was a perfect mix of all the flavours of Kiro

[anflan]

Royai prompt: They get caught gettingiton by all of Team Mustang, pre frat rules being lifted. (Or making out, if you wanna keep it PG~ honestly I just wanna see the members of Team ‘We-All-Share-The-Same-Braincell’ finding their very professional bosses not being very professional.)

Hello sorry this took so long!! It's here now! This is also a lot more tender than what I think you were expecting haha

Title: flash flood under my bed

Rating: T

Read it here or on AO3

-

Riza feels herself stretched between the realm of consciousness as if her body is being hauled through a swamp. Sticky and lethargic, her eyelids flutter and fall as her mind claws at the mud. Each time she resurfaces from its depths she can take the world in for only a second—a burning light above her, a white ceiling tile, thin sheets beneath her arms—before she is submerged once again, dragged into the grime.

Her mind wakes before her body does, kicking at the shallows to keep her eyes open. Fear creeps up the back of her neck at the foreign bed under her, the unfamiliar room. She wills her body to move, to secure her surroundings. Her eyes drag to her right, blinking sluggishly at the figure there.

Black hair. It’s messy. Who is that again? A small part of her asks.

Silly girl, a larger part supplies, rattling through her entire body, that’s your Colonel.

My Colonel…

She finally blinks awake, eyes wide. Her body feels like it’s been dumped in ice water after being in a hot spring. She turns her head.

Roy does not acknowledge her movement, he sits on a borrowed hospital chair at the side of her bed, head bowed, fingers twisted in the bedsheets. His eyes are closed.

Her memories catch up with the rest of her—the tunnels, Bradley, Pride, the transmutation circle—she swallows back a choked noise. Her throat is rubbed raw from both the exertion and the yelling, her tongue feels like it’s been turned to cotton, and when she swallows again she tastes iron.

“Colonel…,” she rasps, but it comes out more of a cough than a word.

He hears it, though, and his head shoots up, eyes opening to reveal foggy pupils as he looks in the direction he thinks her head is. “Lieutenant—” he gasps, a quiet noise. Maybe he’s been swimming in a swamp, too. “Lieutenant, are you awake?”

Riza nods. Realizes he cannot see her. She hums an answer instead.

A grin splits his face, and it is a look so utterly relieved that she feels her eyes misting, “I’m so glad,” he whispers, breathless, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She wants to answer, wants it more than anything at this moment. To reach out and reassure him with words he’ll need now that he cannot see, to talk, finally, now that the battle is over. But her throat still tastes like metal, and she desperately needs a drink.

“Water,” she croaks, reaching feebly for the table at her bedside.

“Oh, right.” Roy traces the edge of her bed until his hand hits the table leg, brushing upwards until he closes his hand gingerly around the full glass. She meets his hand halfway, closing her fingers around his bandaged skin as he moves the cup to where he thinks her head is.

Riza sits up, the wound in her shoulder smarts as she does so, but she ignores it in favor of guzzling the water, only stopping to gulp down air.

When the cup is empty, and her throat feels less like it’s full of copper cenz, she opens her mouth. “Thank you, Colonel,” she starts, she almost says I’m glad you’re okay, too. But he isn’t okay, his hands are wrapped in gauze, and he’s still blind. What a poor excuse for a bodyguard you are, her mind spits.

“How long have you been waiting here?” She asks instead, an innocent question, a safe question.

“A couple of hours, I think. Though I really can’t tell,” he laughs, but it sounds strained. A string pulled taut. “You’ve been asleep for longer, It took the medics a while to bring me here. How is your neck? Your shoulder?”

“Sore, they itch a little, too. Mei Chang did a fine job, it’s not as bad as it could be.”

His mouth creases in a thin line at the memory of her, the blood, the gold-toothed doctor. “I suppose you’re right. It seems I am indebted to her for saving my precious subordinate’s life.”

Precious. Riza ignores the warmth in her chest and eases back onto her pillow with a heavy sigh. “How are your hands, sir?” She doesn’t ask about his eyes, she knows Amestrian medics don’t have the means to restore his sight from the other side of the gate.

Roy’s head tilts down as if to look at the bandaged limb before he catches himself, snapping his head upwards like it was pulled by a hook. “The surgery was quick, and the doctor said they’ll heal fine. The cuts were clean. Neat, even.” He shoots her a lopsided smile, “still hurts like a bitch to move, though.”

Riza doesn’t have the energy to laugh, her lips quirk instead. “That’s good, Colonel.”

There’s a lull, a tension settles in the air like lightning is about to strike the very room they sit. She hasn’t felt this uneasy in his presence since Ishval. Riza takes a breath, “sir—”

“I am very sorry, Hawkeye.”

Riza freezes, staring at him. She doesn’t speak, she senses he’s not quite finished.

“I apologize for… for everything that happened in those tunnels. For losing my head fighting the homunculus, for yelling at you, for my… attachment to you getting you hurt,” he looks up, and despite the blind gaze, she feels his eyes bore into hers. “I was reckless. Arrogant to think they’d never hold you against me and a fool for thinking I was a good enough man that you would never have to pull your gun on me.”

“Please,” he begs, bowing his head. “Please forgive me, Hawkeye.”

She inhales slowly, turning his words over in her head. She remembers the terror in his voice as he watched her get dragged to the transmutation circle. “You don’t have to apologize for what happened with the doctor. That wasn’t your fault, sir. It was never your fault that they decided to use me against you. You could never have prevented that.” Roy looks like he wants to argue, she forges on, “do not apologize for being a human, Colonel. You are bound to have people close to you. Any one of those could have been used against you, to drop them for any potential threat is a foolish paranoia. Our…” relationship? Partnership? Friendship? “...proximity is nothing to apologize for. I will not have it.”

She pauses, clenching her hands against the pristine sheets of her bed. The battle with Envy flits through her head like an old film, her Colonel’s savagery seems branded in her mind. Riza takes a deep breath. “You lost yourself against Envy. You lost yourself in your anger, and you said horrible things. You almost did horrible things. You pushed me away, Colonel. But…,” she looks at him, his fingernails are digging into the fabric of his pants, knuckles white.

She remembers what he had said to her months prior, before she had been reassigned. I’ve been called a human weapon, a monster, but it’s only when I’m fighting a real monster that I realize I’m just a human. She rests her hand on his, his fingers relax under her touch.

“You didn’t go past the point of no return. You didn’t lose your humanity, Roy.”

Roy sucks in a breath, the sound rattled and hollowed. It makes him look fragile. She curls her fingers around his palm.

“So…,” she begins, her voice no more than a whisper, he leans his head towards her. “I forgive you, Roy Mustang. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Roy turns his hand upwards, slipping his fingers between hers. His eyes are closed again, and there is a small, shaky smile on his face. “I don’t know why you’re forgiving me so easily. You shouldn’t.”

“Well, I’ve never listened to everything you have to say, sir.”

Laughter bubbles from his lips, the sound warm. The knot of stress in his voice seems to have unwound. He bows his head, his forehead nearly touching hers. “Thank you, Ha— Riza.” She can make out the small, newly healed scratches on his face from this distance. “Truly, for everything, thank you.”

The hand he has clasped in hers untangles their fingers and reaches up to trace along the inside of her wrist, up against the length of her arm, her uninjured shoulder, the side of her face, until he sweeps the loose hair that falls over her eyes behind her ear. The movement is slow, tentative, cautious of her injuries and his own blindness. Riza leans into his palm and hums, a soft encouragement. She pushes up on her elbows as his finger traces her cheek, her jaw.

Riza reaches up to hold his hand in hers once more, grasping at his knuckles, brushing against the bandages on his palm. The tension that had crackled before isn’t vicious now. It is still there, palpable in the air, but it doesn’t threaten a flashover, lingering instead with the promise of summer rain.

Roy leans in and pauses a breath away from her, unsure if he’s welcome or unsure where she is, Riza can’t tell, but she huffs a laugh nonetheless. Still useless in the rain, I suppose, she thinks with a smile, and closes the gap for him.

Warmth blooms in her chest and she feels a rush of lightheadedness. This. This is what had been building in them since before the Promised Day, before the homunculi, in the budding years of their partnership. The kiss says a million things, it is the culmination of a thousand stares, a thousand late-night dinners, a thousand confessions buried under propriety and mumbled words. Roy’s palm flexes against her cheek, his other hand moves to grasp at her waist, the heat of his grip searing over her thin hospital gown. Her own hands reach up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Now that she has allowed herself to touch him, she never wants to stop.

Roy has the same mindset, the hand on her waist traveling up and down her side, never quite stilling even as it moves to her lower back, pressing gently into her spine as he tilts into her. His lips are soft, unfairly so when hers are still chapped, and when he opens his mouth to scrape his teeth against her bottom lip she lets out a noise that makes her flush spread to her chest.

They break away only for a heartbeat before meeting again. Roy leans over her now, and a reasonable voice in the back of her head whispers that, maybe, she shouldn’t let her commanding officer press her into a creaky hospital mattress in a crowded building with a door that is, presumably, unlocked.

Riza ignores this thought in favor of pulling down his collar so she can kiss the length of his neck. He grumbles low in his throat, and she feels the noise against her tongue.

She’ll be damned if they stop this now, after years of nothing, she wants nothing more than to lie with him here forever. The bed dips where Roy props up his knee, and she leaves his collarbones to seal their lips again.

And— yes, yes. She refuses to let this go— not when Roy squeezes the skin of her outer thigh, not when she allows herself to rub the wide expanse of his back through the thin hospital shirt, not when he presses his tongue between the seam her lips and makes that noise—

Someone in the room coughs.

Roy freezes just as Riza wrenches herself away from him, face flaming as she whips her head to look for the source of the noise.

Breda stands at the door, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Fuery and Falman flank him, the former of whom has turned a dangerous shade of red and has cast his gaze downwards to lock eyes with the suspiciously Hayate-shaped lump under his jacket. Falman is thin-lipped and tense, his shoulders pressed up against his neck, he averts his eyes to a space in the far corner.

Rebecca stands behind them, body halfway through the door, with the smuggest grin stretched across her face. Riza feels a headache coming on.

“Apologies for the interruption, sirs,” Breda deadpans, raising an eyebrow and shooting her a look that says, really? Riza clears her throat self-consciously. “We just came in to visit the Lieutenant.”

“We can leave if you’re… preoccupied,” Rebecca says, trying, and failing, to stifle her laughter with a cough.

Roy had settled back into his chair as soon as they spoke, his back straight. “That’s quite alright, Second Lieutenant. I’m sure Hawkeye would enjoy the company.” The professionalism in his voice belies the red of his ears. She’s sure the team doesn’t notice, far away as they are, but the attempt amuses her nonetheless.

Breda strolls in, determined to pretend that nothing abnormal has happened, Falman follows in his example, although he has yet to meet her eyes, and Fuery avoids the dilemma entirely by pulling Black Hayate from his jacket and placing him on the floor. Her puppy bounds across the floor, his entire body moving with the wag of his tail.

“Hayate!” Riza cheers as he leaps onto the bed with her, tilting his head as she scratches behind his ears. She pulls him to her chest, pressing her face into his fur, “I’m so glad you’re okay, Braha. You’re such a good boy.”

Hayate chuffs in response, leaning into her hold as his tail whacks her arms. She lays a kiss on his head.

Rebecca sidles up to the bed, brushing the fur between Hayate’s shoulder blades. “It was the Sergeant Master’s idea to sneak him past the staff,” she supplies, nodding back at the man in question.

Fuery rubs the back of his head, meeting her eyes for the first time since he’s entered. “Well, they probably saw him and just ignored it, really. He couldn’t keep his tail still.”

“Maybe a nurse should’ve stopped us. Then you two could have continued with your catch-up time,” she cackles, failing to smother the noise into her fist, and shoots Riza an exaggerated wink.

Roy huffs, his arms crossed over his chest, “I think we get the picture, Catalina.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re thinking up quite the picture, Colonel—”

“Thank you, Fuery,” Riza cuts in before the bickering could devolve further, “I appreciate it.”

Fuery gives her a nervous smile, “It was no problem at all, Lieutenant, really.”

“Still,” she looks over the rest of the group, “I’m glad you all visited, and that you’re all uninjured.”

Breda waves his hand dismissively. “Yeesh, I didn’t know you were such a sap, Lieutenant. Of course we’d visit,” he cups a hand to his face like he’s about to tell a secret, “It would be cruel for us to leave you here alone with the Colonel for God knows how long.”

“Har har,” Roy mocks as the rest of the room snickers, “if you’re going to be a pest, Breda, you should have at least brought some food with you.”

Breda rolls his eyes, just as Falman pulls a paper baggy from his coat pocket. “One monte cristo and one turkey, lettuce, and tomato sandwich from Zullo’s Deli,” he states in the same tone of voice he delivers his mission reports.

Riza thanks him as he hands her the baggy, she slides Roy his monte cristo as she unwraps her own sandwich. Hayate watches the food curiously while giving her a particularly pathetic look. “No begging,” she tells him, and he lowers his head to her lap once more.

Roy nearly groans as he manhandles his food, “Falman, you are a saint.”

Riza takes a bite of her food, savoring the taste. It tastes like liquid gold on her tongue, but, she supposes, even food from the trash would taste impeccable right now. She nudges Rebecca with her elbow, “did you bring anything for yourselves?”

Rebecca shrugs. “Nah, we already ate about an hour ago. We plan on staying here to chat while you two eat, assuming that’s fine with you.”

“Of course it’s fine, as long as you find your own chairs,” she responds, scanning the room for seating. It’s relatively barren, with there only being two guest chairs in the room, one of which Roy currently claimed. Rebecca took the other chair, pulling it closer to Riza’s bedpost while the other men in the room piled onto Roy’s empty bed.

The team recounts their friend’s whereabouts as they finish their sandwiches. The Elric’s had been admitted soon after she had, and Alphonse currently resides in quarantine, with his only visitor being his brother. Reconstruction of the Central Command building had begun as well, led by Grumman and his men.

They keep the conversation light, they don’t talk about the death toll, or the injured. No one mentions the clouded sheen over Roy’s eyes.

Riza brushes her finger against Roy’s knuckle while the rest of the room laughs at something Breda said. She taps twice, lingering a second before pulling away. His hand chases hers as it retreats, catching it and curling his pinky finger around hers. He taps back, once, twice, thrice. Repeating the motion in sync with the steady beating of her pulse.

#royai #fma #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fullmetal alchemist #my writing #this has been sitting in my drafts for like four months I'm so sorry LMAO

[bonkwrites]

Come On, Fuck Me, Emo Boy (Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader)

Description: Shigaraki’s only sanctuary is you but he’s too busy to appreciate any peace recently.

Warnings: begging, a bit, if you squint. Some switch!shiggy/switch!reader. riding?? is that a warning??? Idk this isn’t beta read either so plz enjoy at ur own risk. degradation of you squint.

———

You get it. Fighting the heroes is end game, he’ll never hold you above that, you understand that about him. But, now that All For One is in jail, you can be out as a couple within LOV, so why won’t he let you in on anything? When had he gotten so far from you?

You thought you were making progress, getting him to ditch the creepy hands, put the cream on his skin…. when had he gone backwards?

“Baby?” You poke your head out of the bedroom door when you hear the door close.

“It’s just us.” Shigaraki replies, the sound of boots and shoes being kicked off in the mud room echoing through the increasingly lonely apartment.

“Cool.” You step out of the bedroom, sweatpants and his sweatshirt hanging off you.

“Y/n!” Toga slings herself onto you in a hug.

“Get off my girlfriend.” Shigaraki deadpans, glaring are Toga.

“We’re friends!” Toga insists.

“We barely know each other, Toga.” You reply, holding her away at arms length. “Take me out to dinner first.”

“Don’t tempt her.” Dabi says from the kitchen island.

“Are you guys having a meeting?” You walk away from Toga to give Shigaraki a welcome-home hug.

“Yeah.” Shigaraki replies. “Go back to bed.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” You say. You’ll stay this time. “I’ll just stay, won’t even listen.”

The cold had been bitterly biting at you through the walls of your apartment all day so Shigaraki’s odd warmth despite his quirk was a welcome experience. You leave your head squished against his chest and you feel a hand slide up your back to settle between your collarbones. He’s wearing the artist’s gloves you bought him. They were the high quality ones.

“Whatever.” He drags. “So, guys..”

You tune out most of his monologuing and droning about the LoV’s next plans. There’s no reason for you to listen and Shigaraki told you that you could be tortured if anyone captured you to give information, or even have your mind read, so the less you knew the better.

“What about you, Y/n?” Twice asks. “Doing anything fun this weekend?”

“Hunting.” You reply. “Hanging out here when I can but this one’s high profile.”

“Get that cash, girl!” Toga hypes you up, high-fiving you.

“Who is it?” Dabi asks. You narrow your eyes, he’s only with the LoV if it benefits him.

“A huntress never revels her prey.” You raise a finger to your lips.

“You’re so badass.” Shigaraki says. “Let me give you targets.”

“I’m freelance, baby.” You pull away to give him a kiss on the nose. “The LoV is too popular for me, I like to hide away.”

“I’ll hide you away.” Shigaraki leans down to kiss you. Twice whistles and Toga giggles. Maybe he wasn’t as pulled back as you thought.

After the League sees their way out it’s just you two. Shigaraki sits comfortably on the couch, playing video games to unwind while you lounge out next to him, your legs thrown over his thighs.

“Hey.” Shigaraki puts down the remote after about an hour. You look up from your phone, buried in his sweatshirt. “About what I said… you know I wouldn’t pull you into the LoV unless you wanted to come willingly, right?”

It’s easy to forget that he thinks behind that scary mask of a villain he throws up for missions. You smile and nod.

“I know, baby.” You reply. “I would work for you if we weren’t in a relationship.”

“That’s the only reason why?” He asks, shuffling around to wrap himself around your legs, head on your stomach.

“It would fuck with our dynamic, don’t you think? You would hold a lot of power over me by controlling my clientele. I like it now, we’re equals.” You put your hand in his hair, ignoring your phone completely now.

“I like it too.” He agrees. “I like you.”

“I like you too.” You reply. “I wish I could show you off.”

“You’d show me off?” He asks, looking up to see your face.

“You think I wouldn’t? Parade you around? Make you my arm candy on my undercover missions? Pretty boy hanging off me?” You watch his blush crawl up his neck to spread across his cheeks.

“Pretty boy.” He scoffs, hiding his head back in the fabric of the hoodie. You giggle.

“I could dress you up, get you in a suit, buy you a martini at the bar and all you’d have to do is keep your arm around me-“ you run your hand down his arm to squeeze it- “and let me con my way into my next kill.”

“You’ve had lots of arm candy, then?” He asks. Always the jealous type, you think, he never had much to call his, did he?

“Nope.” You reply. “At least… not arm candy as good as you.”

He looks up at you, silent for a moment, before he moves up quickly to kiss you. You get caught off guard a little but you wrap your arms around him easily. He hums, kissing you slowly, letting you kiss him back just as slowly.

You tug on his hair just a little and he moans, a shiver running down his spine. You smile, breaking the kiss.

“What are you doing?” He asks, head ducking to your shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down.

“Treating my pretty boy well.” You reply, kissing him again. This time, you let him grind his hips into yours. He moans shakily and you whimper into the kiss, hands tangled in his hair.

“You wanna go to bed?” He pulls back from the kiss. You nod and follow him to the bedroom.

“Sit down.” You put your hand on his shoulder and push him to sit on the edge of the bed. He puts his hands on your waist, looping his thumbs into the waistband to pull them down.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Shigaraki pulls you down into his lap with his hands on your thighs. “I could fuck you all day and never get bored.”

“Could you?” You ask, hands in his hair.

“Yeah. F-fuck.” You grind your hips down into him and tug on his shirt. He pulls it off.

“Come on, then.” You kiss him. “Fuck me.”

He kisses you, hand roaming up to tangle in your hair and pull on it. You arch your back, neck bared for him. He attaches his lips to your neck, teeth biting little bruises into your skin. You gasp, hands spreading across his shoulders.

“B-babe-“ you gasp. his hand slides up your torso to play with your nipples. you whimper, back arching further.

“I love this.” He growls. “You’re so sensitive. I’m gonna play with you all night.”

“Fuck me.” You say, words slightly broken.

“You’re so pushy.” He lets go of your hair and your boob to grab onto your hips. He twists you both around so that you’re under him.

“Shi- Shigaraki-“ You stutter out his name as he kneels between your legs, pulling your panties down and throwing them off the bed.

“I’ll help myself.” He growls before pushing your thighs apart and putting his head between your thighs.

You moan, hands pushing into his hair. He grunts, eating you out like you’re his last meal on earth. Your thighs fight to close but he pushes them back down, the actual meals you’ve been feeding him are paying off in strength.

“Fuck- baby- you’re- you’re so good at that what the fuck.” You struggle to form cohesive sentences through the pleasure.

His fingers dig down into your thighs and you cry out, the slight pain mixing in with the pleasure deliciously. He moans as he eats you out, one hand leaving your thigh to press two fingers into you. You arch your back and he pulls his face away to watch you grind down onto his fingers.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan. He smiles up at you sinisterly.

“Are you gonna cum?” He baits. You nod, your hands pulled out of his hair. One of them grips at the sheets and the other tries to reach your clit.

He catches your wrist with a glare.

“You’ll cum from just my fingers inside you.” He demands. “Won’t you, slut?”

The name makes you gasp as thrusts his fingers in and out of you. You nod, biting your lip as you buck your hips on his fingers.

“I need more.” You cry out, squirming down, trying to get his fingers deeper impossibly so.

“Oh, do you?” He says, voice hoarse. He pushes in a third finger and you gasp, shuddering as he thrusts them slowly.

“Shiggy~” you pull out the nickname you use for him when you’re trying to act cute. His eyes get wider and he laughs, turning his head to kiss your thigh.

“Sorry, babe, am I being mean?” You nod and he bends down to let his breath graze over your clit.

“Guess it makes sense that I’m a villain then.” He leans in to close thie distance and licks at your clit.

You whimper loudly, hips twitching. He’s gotten you so close from his fingers that you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Your hands go back to his hair, tugging on it.

“I’m- I’m- Cum- I’m gonna cum- fuck, fuck, fuck.” You moan loudly as your hips buck into his mouth and fingers. He grins as he pulls back, watching you ride your orgasm.

“F- fuck-“ he climbs up to kiss you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He moans, pants and boxers long forgotten as he grinds into you.

“Fuck me.” You whisper when he pulls back. “Come on, fuck me.”

“You’re so fucking hot, babe, fuck.” He growls into your neck as he lines himself up and slowly thrusts in.

You moan lowly, hands on his back digging in. He starts up a slow pace, content for a while to get those sweet moans he likes so much, before he sets a quicker pace. You moan and whimper loudly, crying out for him as he manipulates your hips to go where he wants them.

“Fuck- baby- eating you out turned me on so much I can’t-“ He’s so sensitive, you think, a hand curving up his neck to pull on his hair.

“Let me ride you.” You whisper into his ear and he nods, stopping and pulling out.

You smirk as you straddle him, taking his hands in yours and intertwining your fingers. He moans as you sink down onto you but you stay mostly still, grinding down just slightly.

“What are you doing? Just. Go already.” He moans, eyes looking up at you.

“Ask nicely.” You whisper. You let go of his hands to bend down and kiss with your hands on his face.

“Ask- what?” He’s so turned on he can barely understand you. You scoff out a laugh, one hand still on his face.

“I’ll just give you a word.” You grind down again and he moans. “Beg.”

“F-Fine.” He hisses. “Please ride me. I’m not above begging, just- just ride me.”

Hearing him beg satisfies your soul. Smirking, you lift your hips and bring them back down, continuing to bounce on his cock as he slowly falls apart beneath you. You moan breathily, hands on his chest as he grips your hips.

“I’m gonna cum- baby- oh, oh, fuck-“ he bucks his hips up off the bed as he cums, moaning loudly, fingers pressing bruises into your skin.

You lift off of his slowly, muscles aching, and lay beside him panting for a moment.

“Hey.” He turns over, hand grazing your cheek. You smile at him. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Shiggy.” You say, leaning in to kiss him.

What a dream this was.

#my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia fic #boko no hero academia #mha #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura #shiggy #boku no hero academia shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n

[mythicamagic]

“bite your lip once more, i dare you”

AN: Woop! This long detour has finally ended! Read the complete fic - here.

Warning: Some smut

---

It was with embarrassment that she bowed and apologised to the patrons and staff outside. Soon enough though, a steady arm around her waist steered her away from their disgruntled faces, Sesshoumaru leading her around a street corner.

"I should really go back and apologise once more..."

"Hn, I sense their moods will not be better improved by it, miko," amusement coloured his tone. His eyes found her in the dark. "What exactly were you doing? Other than...flexing."

Kagome fiddled with her fingers, missing his arm around her the second he released her. "I got tired of keeping a lid on things, I guess. Did they know who you were, in there?"

"Mn, seems so."

"No one knows who I am," she muttered, hugging her arms loosely. "And I haven't been honest with any of them. Not one demon boyfriend. I never showed them my true self, so I just thought, maybe I could start tonight. And instead..." she sighed. "I just made my problem their problem. I better go apologise-"

"I know who you are, Kagome."

The glow in his eyes was unmistakable, stopping her.

Sesshoumaru inclined his head, "and there is no need to express regret over announcing it so loudly. It is something I would have done, a long time ago. Those with power can afford to stomp their feet, just a little."

Kagome looked at him, searching his face for any hint of the overworked person she'd seen at the park. Reaching up, she brushed careful fingers over his striped cheek, mindful of the slight burns.

"I hurt you…"

A large hand ensnared her wrist, thin lips meeting lithe fingers in a lingering kiss.

"They will heal quickly. I am merely out of practice with handling reiki."

Kagome swallowed, tears stinging her eyes at the unexpectedly gentle contact. She glanced away, voice hushed. She couldn't contain what she'd seen a moment longer. "I saw your children."

Sesshoumaru's grip tightened, his form becoming tense. "The kit-" he sneered, flashing sharp teeth.

"He was just trying to help. I… saw them at the park," she murmured, fingers curling to touch his hand, prompting him to release her.

Kagome stepped back, searching his guarded, watchful expression. Slowly, the confident, easy facade he wore melted away, leaving behind a weary near immortal. Sesshoumaru swept the length of his silver hair back over one shoulder, sinking down to his knees.

Blue eyes flew wide.

"W-what are you doing?"

Sesshoumaru bowed his head- forehead descending. Kagome quickly gripped at broad shoulders madly, nails biting in. "Stop! You don't have to!-"

A crescent moon pressed to the dirty street floor as Sesshoumaru remained in a deep bow, large body hunched over. No matter how much she pulled and yanked at him to rise, ugly emotions clogging her throat, he would not budge.

"This Sesshoumaru apologises."

Hot tears leaked down her cheeks as the once cripplingly regal demon lifted his head, catching her gaze. "It occurs to me now...perhaps I should have started with this," thin lips crumpled into a jaded smile. "I cannot claim to be very good at humility. Even after all this time."

Kagome smiled sadly, reaching out and brushing gentle fingers over him, wiping away the mud marring his blue moon sitting proudly upon his forehead.

"My apology comes too late," he uttered, resting clenched fists upon his knees. "There is no Western territory in Japan that I own anymore. I am not a lord."

"How'd that happen?" she mumbled.

"I became disillusioned."

Kagome shifted, seeing the lines that he'd tried to conceal before that cut beneath his eyes. He seemed tired, even more jaded and weary than she. "I was naive," he uttered. "So set in my convictions. After losing you, I tried to convince myself it was for the best. We were an ill-suited pair, that sort of thing. I even approached my Mother, seeking vindication from her. She...who had taught me from a young age, instilled in me the value of our special blood and heritage."

Sesshoumaru chuckled, golden eyes dimming in the moonlight. "It was she who looked at me after I explained everything about our breakup and said, 'why did you do a stupid thing like that? Foolish pup.'"

She bit her lip, knowing how rattling that must've been. He'd explained to her before about the necessity of his role. He'd been the perfect heir by design. The Killing Perfection.

"It had not occurred to me she could change. That I could change. That blood and suitability were just abstract concepts, and in the end did not matter. The realisation came too late. You were...gone," Sesshoumaru looked at her soberly, as though waiting for the verdict of his trial.

Kagome hated the idea of him awaiting judgement, gripping his shoulders again.

"... Let's go back to my place," she said softly. It was there in her tone, living and breathing within soft blue eyes. Forgiveness wasn't clear cut or easy. She still hurt. But...she couldn't let him pass by without at least trying to see if they could last this time.

Helping to guide him up back to his feet, a thought occurred to her. "Unless- do you need to go home?"

"No," he said sharply, eyes wide, as though fearing that the offer would never come again. He relaxed his features, "no, my eldest can watch over the young ones."

Kagome nodded. On impulse, she took his hand and began walking down the street.

Sesshoumaru kept pace with her, long fingers frozen, slack in her hold. Soon they twitched, wrapping tightly around her own.

---

Stepping into her humble apartment silently, with the shadows thick and moonlight pouring in from behind them, having guided their steps- Kagome paused in the dimly lit hallway.

Sesshoumaru stood still in his usual way, so watchful and quiet, having not donned a glamour. Long silver hair tumbled down his shoulders.

Kagome's fingers reached up and buried in it, moving herself up on tiptoe.

Lips crashed, bodies meeting- his back thudding against the wall as she shoved and pressed herself against him hungrily.

There was nothing gentle about it. Hips met and pressed demandingly against one another, clawed hands hooking under her thighs, dragging Kagome up the toned length of his body, allowing her to squeeze them around his waist.

Teeth knocked, noses bumping. Sesshoumaru's tongue forced itself past her lips. He kissed her for so long- too long, indulging in the hot cavern of her mouth. Kagome's blunt nails dragged over his scalp, swallowing his answering hiss and canting her hips.

Inside. Please. I want you inside.

Sesshoumaru pulled away to press sloppy, hungry kisses over the length of her throat, sucking at her neck with a low, possessive growl. Kagome reached for his belt, loosening it hurriedly- finding his hard length ready against her thigh. Yet still he was content to tease, nipping at the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Kagome climbed down in frustration- only to yank and pull at his clothes, discarding them in their clumsy attempt to reach the bedroom.

They made it to her small living room, collapsing to the floor. It would do.

After 506 years, give or take a few- neither had envisioned it to happen on her pastel red rug. Surely a nice fancy hotel room, or at least a huge, plush bed-

Kagome straddled his waist, lavishing attention on his pointed ear with her lips while fiddling with her dress. Pulling it up over her head, she growled as it got stuck halfway, obscuring her vision.

Sesshoumaru took advantage of this, capturing a hardened nipple in his mouth and holding her arched back as she gasped, sighing breathily.

It wasn't until their underwear was shoved down, a condom hastily grabbed and a clawed thumb over her clit, circling it- did they find each other's eyes again.

Kagome stopped, panting.

His face was flushed, hair dishevelled. A bite mark had begun bruising his thoroughly kissed lower lip.

Sesshoumaru caught his breath, staring at her, unblinking. Slowly, Kagome gripped his shoulders, guiding herself down just as he held onto her hips. The head of his twitching, achingly familiar cock nudged inside slick folds, before surging deeper with a hard jolt. Kagome cried out and buried her face in his neck.

Sesshoumaru pressed his nose into dark curling hair, wrapping her up in a tight embrace, skin to skin. He cradled the back of her head, everything stopping for a long while.

They held each other without speaking a word, rendered mute, overcome with finally being connected again. Kagome shuddered, clenching her inner walls tight, as though luring him deeper, forbidding him to never part. She'd keep him locked inside her forever if possible. His body felt so warm and nostalgic, plastered against her own. She nuzzled and breathed in his good smell, sighing against heated skin.

A horrible thought whispered in her ear; It was all so breakable. He could ruin her again. With just a few words, he could undo years of progress.

But now Kagome understood it was the same for him. She could dismiss him tomorrow morning and break him too. Hurt him. Hurt the untouchable demon lord who had broken her heart.

Kagome cupped his cheek, lifting her head to brush an ardent kiss over his jaw.

"I missed you," she said instead. Because it was the truth. Nothing could compel her to willingly hurt someone she loved.

"I have…" he whispered, kissing her closed eyelids, "dreamed of you for centuries," starving lips pressed to her neck, "'missing you' is an understatement."

Kagome gave a broken laugh, saddened. "We're so stupid. We've wasted so much time."

"I wasted so much time," he uttered grimly. "But...perhaps it was not wasted time if it brought us here, eventually. Together."

"We've both made mistakes, let's leave it at that." Resting her forehead against his for a moment and inhaling his exhale, Kagome kissed him tenderly before beginning to move.

---

Laying nestled into a sprawled out Daiyoukai's side with her face pressed snugly against his chest wasn't a terrible way to wake up. Kagome stretched slowly, making a soft noise. She planted a few kisses over his ribs, palm splaying over his abdomen and grazing along the length of his exotically striped body. It lay littered with a few scars that hadn't been there before, new to her. Kagome kissed those too, wondering about their stories.

A velvety chuckle soaked with sleep escaped him. "Minx, you are aware that our late night activities will continue if you persist?"

"Maybe that's my goal."

Sesshoumaru sighed, stroking a lazy, affectionate hand through her dark rumpled hair. "I see your appetite has not diminished."

"If anything, I think it might've gotten worse," blue eyes danced as she bit her lip. "It's your fault, you started it."

"Hn, this one takes full blame," he rumbled, touch shifting to her mouth, sharp nail gliding over her it. "Bite your lip once more, I dare you."

Kagome flushed red- and she'd forgotten she could still blush right down to her toes. She bit her lip, hard.

Sesshoumaru flipped her over and muffled her giggles in the bedding as his lips found her neck and hands wandered all over again.

After thoroughly rememorising each other's bodies, they finally located her bed.

Shifting beneath the covers together, Kagome slung a leg over his hip. Sesshoumaru rested a hand over the back of her thigh under her ass, stroking. Basking in the afterglow, she began asking him about his life.

"How come you adopted so many kids over the years? Hanyous too," the topic soon came up.

"I did not do it for any particular reason. They were abandoned, much like Rin. Whenever I happened upon them, they took to following me in a similar manner. However..." his lips thinned, gaze dimming as it stared at the ceiling. "The first Hanyou that followed me was persecuted quite badly at my Stronghold. I did not intend to feel as much as I did about it. She was deemed 'mine' and so I felt outraged on her account. I experienced protectiveness for her, even if I did not recognise it at the time."

"Change happens slowly," Kagome hummed, shifting to lay atop his chest, their stomachs meeting as she rested her chin on her arms. "Did she marry a demon to extend her lifespan?"

"No, she died of old age, much like Rin."

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be, Erika chose her own spouse and lived as she wished. There is no sadness in that," golden eyes slid shut as she stroked his bangs, combing them back briefly from his handsome face. "There is only sadness when children are taken too early," his tone became wooden, dim.

Her heart squeezed in her chest. "Shippo...said there was a reason you didn't come for me during those 6 years. What happened?"

"I thought it wise to wait since you were experiencing heartbreak. My appearance would have made matters worse," Sesshoumaru's eyes peeled open, hazed with remembrance. "On top of which, one of my children could not be moved from his facility."

"Facility?"

He did not answer.

"...Can I meet him now?"

Sesshoumaru gazed out of her brightening window unseeingly. "If I could stop myself from taking in one species again, it would be humans," the words came softly, like a secret. "You always die much too quickly," he uttered, golden eyes sliding to her heavily. "Ruka was terminally ill."

"D-did you adopt him knowing that?"

"It makes no difference to me," he said a tad bitterly. "Whether they last five years or seventy, it is always too short a time," passing a heavy hand over his eyes, Sesshoumaru let it linger there. "Tenseiga brought him back, briefly. But not long enough. Never long enough."

The depth of his grief felt staggering. Kagome could see it, hidden away in all the corners of his face that he tried to hide behind a placid mask.

"Come here."

Sesshoumaru arched a brow. She persisted, leaning back into the pillows beside him and beckoning the demon closer with arms open wide and inviting. He was not one to refuse such a thing, soon resting a striped cheek directly over her heart. It thudded loudly, quick as a rabbit beneath his ear.

"I have not changed my opinions on some things, miko," he said in a dour, soft tone. "You humans are weak. I curse your weakness- and loathe every mortal child I take in for it. They are so fleeting. Every time they came to be in my care, I promised myself no more. Never again. Surely someone as great as I can have the self-discipline not to heed their cries should I hear them, nor follow the scent of their tears. Surely I do not need a pack so badly."

She could tell his conviction to stop caring for them wasn't working out too well, considering the group she'd seen at the park. He would love human children again, and continue to love and take care of them in an endless cycle of happiness and grief. Such was the way of an immortal guardian.

Kagome bent down, kissing the crown of his head. "You've given them a home. Even if it was fleeting to you, it was a lifetime of happiness for them."

Kagome couldn't see his expression anymore but felt Sesshoumaru's grip on her elbow, tight. His thumb dragged slowly, reverently. Heavy breathing shook, beginning to calm as she soothed his rippling youki.

"I'll look after you for now," she muttered, petting silky silver hair and massaging his scalp. "I can't do it all the time. Sometimes you'll have to take care of me, but we can take it in turns. So you can tell me...if you ever need to get those thoughts out again."

Sesshoumaru made a noise of affirmation, lulled by her gentle ministrations. After a while she figured he'd fallen asleep before he asked;

"Do you think you will desire to adopt, in the future? Raising them alongside our biological children is certainly possible."

Her mouth grew dry, hands freezing. Kagome drew in a shaky breath, vision going blurry with damn tears again. She stubbornly held them back, giving a laugh as she squeezed his shoulder.

"That's a tad presumptuous, isn't it? We haven't even said we're dating yet."

"You just said you'd take care of me, duplicitous woman."

"Yeah, because you're a tired old dog who needs a break," she teased, giggling as he huffed and transformed with a burst of youki, collapsing dead weight atop her in a smaller version of his true form. Wheezing, Kagome whined and wrapped her arms around him, stroking fluffy silver fur.

As she caressed along his muzzle, tired crimson eyes slide shut in a display of utter trust and peace, causing her to smile and kiss his wet nose.

---

They did things carefully after that explosive night, gradually easing into things. It was a couple of months before Kagome was introduced to everyone, not wanting to shatter that which had become so precious to them.

"Come on, come on. We have the place to ourselves for an hour, so go wherever you like," Kagome smiled, spreading her arms wide within the museum, voice echoing.

"It is not as though you needed to arrange for a private tour, you could have just showed us around during your normal working hours," Hiroji observed as most of the other children ran around.

"Ach, but I wanted to do something special..." she put a hand to her heart, pretending to be wounded.

"Hiroji, you're so bad with women!" one of the Hanyou's piped up.

"Bad with women!" echoed the other.

The snake demon grit his teeth sourly, while Kagome giggled and picked up the leopard Hanyou and accepting a nuzzle, gazing at their spots with affection. "I'm teasing. It's just nice to let everyone wander around in the open without glamours sometimes, right?"

"Won't the security cameras see us?"

"We have a face-painting section in the stone age area. Totally explainable," she leaned against Sesshoumaru's side as he wrapped an arm around her waist, markings on full display.

Golden eyes smiled, "and if that is not a suitable excuse- we're a Yakuza family with many colourful tattoos."

Akiko giggled, "that sounds cool!"

"I think a family of demons would be easier to accept," Hiroji grumbled, glancing in Shinto's general direction, who lingered away from everyone else anxiously.

In the snake demon's minds eye, he could see the shape of a powerful reiki source approach his brother. Kagome bent down into a crouch, getting on eye-level with him.

"It's okay, Shinto," she said gently. "You know, they have an interactive computer section in here on the Edo Period."

He brightened slightly. "They...do?"

"Mhm, come on. I'll show you," Kagome gestured, catching Sesshoumaru's eye in passing.

His expression softened, morphing into something she could recognise now. Trust in. They'd probably keep making mistakes, but so long as they weren't quite so costly as before, she felt as though they could weather the storms now. Kagome gentled and returned his smile, grabbing his hand as they entered the Edo section.

His children gasped and pointed at the display case of his armour. "Papa, this was yours!"

"I am aware," Sesshoumaru rumbled with amusement, taking his lips to Kagome's ear. "Do you miss wearing the hankimono to bed?"

She shivered, "maybe a little. They were comfy pyjamas," blue eyes caught the mischievous look skittering across his face. "Oh no you don't- Sesshoumaru! Don't you dare steal them! You donated them to this museum!"

"Technically they were mine first so I would merely be taking them back," he chuckled. "Never fear, dear one," he purred, tossing his head regally. "A bit of thievery is a minor feat for a Yakuza family, and the matter is especially pressing when it concerns comfy sleepwear."

Kagome groaned, burying her face in her hands and hiding another smile. She had centuries more of this to endure.

End

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #Asks

[not-close-to-straight]

Lost (Spideypool)

(Guess which story this is a sequel to??)

The archeological dig site was more impressive than the kid thought it would, though still no where near the level of comfort of the high rise penthouse apartment he’d left behind in Manhattan. 

It didn’t seem possible for there to be so much mud in one damn place, and he groaned as his bright white sneakers sank into the ooze and stuck. The sun was bright, there was at least a billion mosquitos in the air, it was hot and humid and everything smelled like the nearby river and the stink of research assistants gone too long with out a shower.

It was terrible. 

Despite the well constructed living quarters, clearly labeled kitchen facilities, ventilated artifact collection sites and what looked like impressively modern shower rooms towards the tree line, the dig was still... rustic....if rustic was the right word to describe the actual complete opposite of what he’d hoped his summer plans would include. 

From Peter: Remind me again how digging for pottery is going to help me build character? Just because Grandpa Howard made you do this doesn’t mean I should have to. There was nothing wrong with my plans to go to Cancun, alright? I would have brushed up on my Spanish, spent all summer swimming... how is playing in the mud better? 

From Dad: Buck up, Kiddo. I survived and so will you

From Peter: You survived because Pops literally carried you out of here on his back after you messed up your designer suit

From Dad: I resent that. Ask your Pops about the slingshot grenades. Pretty sure I saved his giant ass. 

“Christ.” Peter put his phone away and dragged both hands through his hair. “Could’a gone to Cancun. Could definitely not be here getting malaria cos my Dad’s met and fell in love in some psycho turn of events.” 

“Hey!” a sharp whistle from the runway, and Peter tried his best to turn in the thick mud to see what the person wanted. “You just gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get that perky ass in gear and unload these boxes? I got places to be!” 

“Oh I don’t--” Peter shook his head quickly. “I don’t work here--” 

“If you’re standing here, you work here.” The guy was wearing fatigues in the same sort of pattern that Uncle Bucky’s employees wore, but Peter was less focused on that and more focused on how the guy was balancing a heavy box on each shoulder, biceps straining around the weight and big hands splayed wide to keep his grip. 

...wow. 

“Hey!” another sharp whistle and Peter jumped. “Stop staring at my guns and go get a box! I’ve got half an hour to get this shit refueled and gone again, let’s go sweet cheeks!” 

“Yeah, I don’t really haul boxes?” Peter hesitated. “I don’t know if you know who I am but my Dad’s sort of own this place and I’m just here to learn a little bit.” 

“Uh huh, why don’t you start by learning some manual labor.” Up close the guy was even bigger, but Peter’s attention was caught by the faint lines of scars up and down the soldier’s arms and criss crossing up his neck. “You’re Stark’s boy?” 

“Stark-Rogers.” Peter corrected immediately. “Yes, and how did you--” 

--he stopped when the ground shifted beneath their feet and a low rumble came from the hills behind the camp. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked slowly. “There’s hardly ever recorded seismic activity on this side of the continent, everything earthquake related stays towards the coast on the Pacific.” 

“Yeah, you’re Stark’s kid alright. All big eyes and quoting facts nobody needs to know.” the soldier looked Peter over again, something unreadable glimmering in his hazel eyes. “What you just felt is the result of unregulated mining attempts in the hills out here. They’re blasting down deep trying to find something valuable and it’s upsetting the stability of the entire region.” 

“The dig site--” 

“--is sinking as the ground gets more unstable.” he confirmed. “That’s why we’re rushing trying to save everything. Buck tells me they’ve been working this place for thirty years now and still haven’t collected it all, but they’re running out of time.” 

“My Dad’s sent me to a sinking archeological dig site to die of malaria and earthquakes?!” Peter shouted. “What the fuck!? What are we supposed to do?!” 

“Take ten to twenty percent off the top there, bud.” came the dry answer. “We’re supposed to load and unload these planes just as fast as we can manage before the mountain over there collapses in on itself and buries us under a few hundred tons of mud and rocks and washes this all out to the river. Get to work.” 

“I--” 

“Get to work.” 

“Fine.” Peter swallowed, unstuck his no longer bright white shoes from the mud and followed the guy back to the plane. “I’m Peter by the way. Peter Stark-Rogers.” 

“Wade Wilson. “ the soldier grunted. “I work for the Bronco’s unit. Security, assassinations and now apparently babysitting.” 

“Babysitting?” 

“Your ‘Uncle Bucky’ reassigned me from a cushy job overseas and planted my ass here to make sure nothing happened to his nephew.” Wade tossed Peter a duffel bag that weighed almost as much as he did. “I’ve been here a month waiting for you to show up. Everyone’s gettin’ real restless with the mining going on and the risk of losing everything they’ve dug up. There’s been a few attacks on the mining camps, some retaliation-- nobody’s happy about the situation and me and a few others have been trying to keep the peace.” 

The ground rumbled again and the muscle in Wade’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together. “A month ago I felt one of those a week, now it’s multiple times a day. It’s not good.” 

“Are we--” Peter held the bag tight and wet his lips anxiously. “Are we safe?” 

“Safe enough.” Wade nodded. “Your Dad’s been fully funding this place for years now, he wouldn’t send you out here if there was any real danger. Don’t worry about it, kid. At least not yet.”

“I’m not a kid, I’m twenty two.” 

“Fuckin’ Mazel Tov, bro.” 

Peter narrowed his eyes but followed Wade back towards the camp, huffing and puffing as he lugged the huge bag, eyes wide as he tried to take in everything about the archeological dig that had brought his parents together. 

Our love was never buried too deep to find. His Pops liked to say, all smooshy and smarmy and gross as he rubbed at the gold ring Tony still wore every day. Maybe you get out there and find an adventure of your own, son. Build some character, get some sun, come home a changed man. 

“A changed man.” Peter grumbled when he stepped in something that was most likely not mud judging by the baleful look a nearby horse gave him. “Gonna get lost out here in the goddamn jungle, got a goddamn mine trying to collapse and wash everything down the mountain into the water, got a goddamn soldier calling himself my babysitter--ooph!” 

Unexpectedly running into Wade was like unexpectedly running into a brick wall and Peter stumbled backwards and splatted right into the muck. 

“Damn it!” he shouted and Wade-- damn him-- definitely cracked a grin before kneeling down in the mud too. “What are you doing? Help me up!” 

“Listen here, kid.” Rough fingers grasped Peter’s jaw and he went very very still. “My job is too look out for you, but I’ve got a whole camp full of people to look out for too. If you’re gonna fuss and complain all summer, why don’t you take that cute ass of yours and sit it right back on the plane, cos I don’t have time for this shit.” 

“I-- I--” 

“If you feel like settling down and doing some good, then get up off the ground and get back to work.” Peter might have imagined the brush of a thumb over his cheek, but he definitely didn’t imagine the way Wade’s gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered. “And if you’re gonna stay, maybe you wear real shoes not pretty city shoes and real pants not whatever this jegging shit is making your legs look all distracting.” 

“....are my legs distracting you?” Peter breathed and Wade’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Cos I brought shorts if those would be less distracting.” 

“Pretty sure you’d be distracting even in a nun outfit.” The soldier jerked away and stood abruptly. “Get up and get going, honey bunches. We’ve got a lot to do before I even give you a tour of the camp and introduce you to the researchers. Back to the plane for more gear, c’mon.” 

“Sure, sure.” Peter scrambled to his feet and made a half hearted attempt to wipe the dirt from his clothes. “So. Wade. Why did you call my Uncle Bucky the Bronco?” 

“Oh ho ho that is not a conversation we are having, small fry. Absolute not. Move past the question.” 

“But--” 

“Move past the question!” 

#spideypool #stony