#fifty sentences fic
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@femslash-february bingo 2024 (dark edition): enemies to lovers
series: untitles // rating: mature
trigger/content warnigs: blood, temporary captiviy, mental health issues, mentioned blood & violence, arranged marriage, implied child abuse. whatever the fuck you call "forcing your daughter to pose as your son so you don't lose the throne".
01 – Destiny
There’s fate, there’s destiny, and there are people meant to hate each other; people who meet across the battlefield but can’t bring themselves to draw the other’s blood.
02 – Royal
In a world built by men, first-born daughters don’t have the same rights of the firstborn son; sometimes she forgets her name’s the one carved in a tombstone, and that the reason she suffocates all the time is because if she’s not Krystian, than she’s nobody – and being nobody us dangerous when you do have a womb.
03 – Forest
The witch was collecting herbs in a cold winter morning when she found the bundle, impossibly, impossibly small, and a baby that somehow survived the night that kills even the strongest men.
04 – Protection
It’s annoying, how he father will forget she’s a princess for everything but his insistence that she needs protection, a knight to be around her all the time; her, Prince Krystian, the best soldier that came out of the Royal training in years.
05 – Silver
Prince Krystian shouldn’t be here, it’s what her commander says, he’s the Crown Prince and he’s the second most important person of his kingdom. And he’s her prey as soon as the commander orders.
06 – Dark
Krystian is mildly surprised that the barbaric enemies of her kingdom allow women in their ranks, but judging by her tall and broad the one attacking her is, it’s probably because she can easily go toe-to-toe with the order tall and larger savage; she’s, luckily, the average size of her people’s male soldier, still easily defeated by the behemoth.
07 – Eyes
Krystian pretends she’s not mesmerized by silver eyes, moonlight eyes, definitely not human eyes.
08 – Compression
Her routine is to spend her day with her chest bind with tightly wrapping, hide in her quarters or private tent and take it off so she can breath; in the forth day of captivity, she’s lightheaded all the time and probably with some damaged ribs.
09 – Purple
Savina’s more worried by the purple and black on the Prince’s soldiers chest than with how that’s definitely not your regular male chest.
10 – Silence
“Will you say anything,” she asks, exhausted, her chest and back hurting even if now she’s free from the bindings for the night. The savage in front of her, the one who gave her a shirt of hers that is large enough to hid most of the bulge just gives her water and a bow of broth.
11 – Secret
She frowns at the way the savage lies without even looking like she’s lying, telling her commander that the only reason she gave the prince one of her shirts is because he’s injured (Krystian pretend she doesn’t want to hug her as a thank you).
12 – Sharp
It’s a full moon, she notices how the savage is restless, how fast she eats and how she looks jumpy, weird; the commander enters their tent, she bares her teeth at him, sharp fangs – mo than one set of canines, eyes shining brighter than ever; all he does is roll his eyes and tell her “please do not eat the prince”.
13 – Blood
“Why,” she asks one night, “because my father needed an heir”; because they’d make him sell me as soon as I bled, because it’s being his son or being a breeding stock.
14 – Water
The savage, Krystian won’t go a low as call her “Savina” or whatever. Guard the body of water as Krystian takes her bath; because I won’t let any of you see royal goods, she tells the men and women of her brigade, half of the men grunt, the men made disgusted noises.
15 – Cold
Savina watches the prince – the princess? – shiver, teeth clattering, and covers her with her own warmed blanket;.
16 – Touch
Krystian doesn’t know how it escaped from borrowing a blanket to standing close to curling up on Savina’s arms, but she’s not complaining when she has a warm touch to stop her from freezing to death.
17 – Joke
The savages joke about how Savina must be riding the princes dick for him to get this attached to her, Krystian is disgusted by the blatant show of “a woman needs to be fucking a guy to be his friend”; Savina rolls her eyes and tasks him if that’s how he got into the position of member of this brigade
18 – Armor
Krystian’s shoulders are broad, well-sculpted, and she has been wearing a rather heavy armor since she was eleven – since her body started to reshape itself in a form too feminine for a prince; she’s so used to layers of thick leather and metal that it’s weird to feel safe without them.
19 – Predator
Savina’s a predator by nature, Krystian has been sure of that since she saw her coming towards he in the battlefield; she’s not ready to watch a wolf take place of her and bring a large buck to fed the brigade.
20 – Share
Krystian shares how the pressure of being the heir makes her feel small (how she’s desperate because how the fuck she’ll get her own heirs?); Savina shares sweet nothing, comforting words and keeps her own burden a secret – Krystian doesn’t like the feeling that it’s because it’ll hurt her.
21 – Sweet
Turns out that the enemy that was supposed to kill the Crown Prince brings her little candies, the woman turns into a giant wolf and is still the sweetest person she has ever met.
22 – Venom
In hindsight, Krystian finds it almost ironic that turns out Savina is the one holding her when the venom wrecks havoc on her body and changes her so deeply that she feels like a dead woman walking.
23 – Pink
Savina’s lips are pink, and soft, and warm, and everything Krystian shouldn’t be addicted to.
24 – Moon
Under the moon, all Krystian can think of is how she managed to get capture and fall in love with one of them; the answer, she think, is that it’s because they’re just in opposite sides, the devil is decided by who wins.
25 – Hold
Savina doesn’t think she can get used to the way Krystian curls up and relaxes on her hold, the so feared prince is just someone that hasn’t been held since she was a baby.
26 – Sword
The tip’s painted red, coming out of her chest, the wielder is dead before Savina’s knees touch the ground.
27 – Lonely
There’s something lonely about being a Prince, there’s something lonely about being a wolf without a pack – finding each other seems to fix it; (then there’s something lonely about not being allowed to die).
28 – Marriage
The issue with this marriage, Krystian thinks, isn’t that her wife is a bad person, not even that she still doesn’t know how to tell her “you see, Myrian… I’m not a male and I do not have the needed parts to get you pregnant”; is that apparently Krystian’s not the only one easily charmed by Savina.
29 – Flesh
Warm and tender, under her fingers and under her mouth, Savina decides to not think about how delicate it is; she pretends she doesn’t know how sweet human flesh tastes (but she thinks Krystian knows what she has done before, and somehow still trusts her with her very human, very breakable body.)
30 – Mark
Krystian offers to watch over Savina during baths, as a thank you, the soldiers frown but don’t mind it when Savina says “I trust the prince”, she takes a sneak peak; Savina’s all muscles and smooth skin, and marks down her back that Krystian doesn’t want to think about what it means.
31 – Noise
The forest sounds are soothing, calm, Krystian misses them when she comes back to the castle – she learns in a few days that the noises of her home are too much for Savina, the other guards side-eye them when she lets the woman sleep on her quarters; she doesn’t think they need ot deal with a distressed werewolf.
32 – Glint
Many things glint: her eyes, her sharp canines, her chin when she lifts her head from her apparent favorite spot between Krystian’s thighs.
33 – Tears
When her father dies, she wonders why half of her tears feel fake; when Savina and Myrian hold her at night, she wonders why the tears felt more like relief than grief.
34 – Bird
“A little bird told me you’ve been eying my bodyguard,” Myrian just stares at her and smirks; a little bird also told her that better a bodyguard that can’t give the Royal Family bastard heirs than any other member of the Kingsmen.
35 – Father
Krystian’s supposed to Father a dozen children, the court says, since ‘he’s’ the only heir of the royal family, she wants to ask them if they can make her fingers suddenly able to impregnate women (Savina laughs at her face, pulls her closer and pats her head like she’s trying to mollify a dog – it works).
36 – Smile
They have different smiles: Savina’s a predators barely in disguise and Myrian a wolf in sheep’s skin; Krystian loves both equally, and also fears them because she’s not stupid.
37 – Devil
The man cries “devil!” when Savina’s teeth sink into his throat, she doesn’t care, not when he was trying to break into Myrian’s room, expecting Savina to have followed Krystian in a trip; Myrian laughs maniacally until she’s sobbing when it hits her.
38 – Night
Krystian lies that she has “tried to secure an heir” after every night of “genuine attempts at keeping my bloodline alive”; it’s pretty funny that they don’t find the silence suspicious.
39 – Seasons
Days pass, weeks and years, seasons change and Krystian keeps doing her best to visit both of the graves; she finds them again, again and again, different faces and different names; but she always comes back to where there’s nothing but bones turned to dust and smooth gravestones.
40 – Grab
The baby boy grabs her finger, he doesn’t seem scared that a stranger with blood-red eyes visits him at night; she wonders if that’s the good ending, that this version of Myrian is happier than the ones that came before.
41 – Summon
“I can’t fix your curse,” the demon’s blacker than black, “I can’t save you from your love.”
42 – Miss
When Krystian’s away from home, before she does befriend Savina, she misses something she never had; in hindsight, she thinks maybe her soul had been tethered to Savina’s since they were forged deep in the pit of the underworld.
43 – Spite
For the first few years, she survived out of spite – for her father, for the usurper, for the bloodsucker that bit her, and for how something greater than her cursed her like that.
44 – Spirit
“What do you see? When you look in the mirror,” the spirit, the hallucination asks, the mockery of a mx between Savina and Myrian, nothing, vampire’s don’t have reflections.
45 – Talk
The first time she takes time to talk to Myrian, she think it’s when she’s doomed to love her for the rest of her life (unaware of how long that is).
46 – Past
Savina doesn’t tell her about her past, but whispers to Myrian and she pretends she didn’t listen (and she pretends it doesn’t hurt that Savina trusts Myrian more than her.)
47 – Fever
Maybe she should have known she loved Savina right then, after the weeks of torture as the wolf fought to survive the poison, when she only could breath again when the fever broke.
48 – Double
There’s much more than double the pain when you loose two soulmates.
49 – Plan
When she meets Harlow, she doesn’t see the spark, the silver or the golden, she only sees normal human eyes; so her plan is to settle down with this human that doesn’t host the souls of people she has loved for centuries.
50 – Fairytale
It’s almost a fairytale, her story – meeting one in a battlefield, meeting the other under the duty of a Crown Prince, and never being free of them.
#femslash feb bingo#enemies to lovers#fifty sentences fic#femslash#whump#whump community#whump blog#whumpblr#lady whump#check the tw list hm
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secrets
ryomen sukuna x f!reader
**part of my best friends (older brother) fic
previous part linked here
sukuna watches you get ready. or more appropriately, watches you try to hide your panic as you busy yourself with getting ready.
he found it interesting - the little rituals that you had. it was almost like a rehearsed routine the way you rotated in the morning, one he had committed to memory. he watches you secure your hair back, your fingers massaging different serums and moisturizers into your skin.
but there’s an increased fervor today, in the way you meticulously prod at your own skin - rubbing hard on the slight blemishes on your skin, covering up the darkness under your eyes, and brushing your hair three times to perfection.
it’s borderline obsessive. he hovers over your shoulder, before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“don’t you think you’ve brushed your hair enough, doll? looks great.”
he watches as you run it through your hair again, muster a peachy smile for him. it doesn’t meet your eyes. sukuna starts to wonder when it was that he started getting so concerned about you, in the way that it almost never left the back of his mind.
“has to be even, sukuna. i brushed six times on the right so i have to do the same amount on the left.”
he pinches his lips together.
“seems closer to a hundred, princess. your hair is fine.” he murmurs.
sukuna watches as you give him a nod, brushing through your hair the last three times, before you swirl around in your chair and place your hands on his hips. if sukuna wasn’t so irked, he’d make a comment about the compromising position - the way you were looking up at him like you were on your knees.
you squish the bones in his fingers as he pulls you up, his demeanor increasingly reserved today. on any other day sukuna would have smothered you in fifty kisses by now - making some teasing comment about how he’d want to shower with you or make every attempt to kiss all the lip gloss off of your face.
you reach for sukuna’s tie, still loosely hanging around his neck as you eye the clock, and start knotting it together. you tighten it to his collar, pushing the buttons through their slits, as sukuna stares at you. it’s something you find him doing often, almost like he’s trying to discern your thoughts just from looking at your face.
“you okay, sukuna?” you hum.
“are you okay, y/n?”
“huh? why would you say that?”
“you said it first.” he counters.
“well, you haven’t kissed me yet today. it’s been an hour and-”
he cuts off the sentence by pressing his lips to yours, the coffee you made him still lingering on his lips. you smile into the kiss, pulling back to press a kiss to his cheek.
“didn’t realize i had to.” sukuna mumbles.
“are you stupid? that’s part of your boyfriend taxes.”
sukuna smiles, watching you tilt your head to the side and smile at him. he commits it to memory - the sweet look on your face.
“and what’s due, hm?” he asks.
“you’ve paid your fees.”
“you haven’t paid yours, pretty girl.”
you brush the fabric of his collared shirt on his shoulders, as you tuck the last of the folds in the place.
“you’re needy, you know that?”
“s’not what i meant. it’s part of your girlfriend taxes to tell me what’s bothering you.”
“just nervous to talk to yuuji, that’s all.”
sukuna would be lying if the pending approval wasn’t on his mind too. not only because he was positive that it would make you retreat from him, after he had been making every attempt to ease you into it over the past few weeks.
but the fact is that he’s always considered yuuji his savior. a silent gift sent to him, his first companion in life. it would be a sting to him if yuuji didn’t view him fit for someone special to him. that he’d think so little of him, or even worse, that yuuji could think that sukuna thought so little of you.
“you’ll come back here after?” he asks.
you nod.
“call if you need me.”
you and sukuna trek out of the apartment at the same time, both of your phones clutched in your hand as he locks up. his phone buzzes one and you flip the screen, ignoring the text from satoru and swiping away the notification to look at his lock screen properly.
it’s a picture of you and sukuna, one that you took as a joke on his phone. he’s barely in the picture - just the slightest tuft of his pink hair and one of his dimples. it’s of you - smiling brightly into the camera.
-
sukuna can parse that something is wrong when nobara’s voice is the one that comes through on yuuji’s phone. and when he parks outside the bar, his suspicions are confirmed when the four of you are already lingering out on the sidewalk in the cold, as opposed to the usual antics that he has to wrangle you out of.
it’s a strange sight. the first thing his eyes are drawn to are you, naturally, and he’s immediately irked by the sight of you sniffling, megumi wiping the tears from your eyes. his eyes gravitate to yuuji next, nobara yanking him down by the hair as she gives him an earful.
the smell warns him enough - that the group of you, except for megumi he presumes, have lost your inhibitions.
“yuuji. you had no right to say that to her.” nobara scolds.
“she said plenty to me too!” yuuji bites back.
sukuna makes his way over to the two of you on the pavement, ignoring the sting when your face droops even more at the sight of him. megumi’s hands are on your shoulders, rubbing circles into your back, as he quietly sits at your side.
“up. both of you” he demands.
megumi follows his instructions, holding up a hand for you, as you wipe away the wetness around your eyes and megumi opens the front door for you. you settle into the seat - embarrassment burning in your chest - as megumi crouches at the side of the door, poking his head into the car to talk.
“he doesn’t mean it. weirdly enough, this is his way of being overprotective of you.”
you scoff, before turning to megumi. sukuna lingers by the door, watching as yuuji can barely hold his own against nobara, and attempts to catch the end of your words.
“sure, megs. i’m fine.”
megumi places a hand on sukuna’s shoulder as he stands up, reaching for yuuji and nobara as sukuna switches and takes his spot. it’s a quick glance over his shoulder - yuuji entirely preoccupied - as he leans his lips close to your ear. he notices you nearly flinch at the closeness but makes no comment about it.
“need anything, pretty girl?” he whispers.
“i want you to take me home after you settle them in. i want to be alone.” you mutter.
sukuna squeezes your hand, a silent response, as megumi shuffles the two of them in the car and he releases your hand just as fast. nobara gives you a smile, albeit half hearted - having spent a better part of the last hour in your defense - as megumi takes to scolding yuuji in his ear.
sukuna gives you one last look before he shifts the gear and heads home.
-
sukuna’s able to wrangle the three of them faster than usual and when he returns you’re crying softly in his passenger seat, his stray hoodie strewn over your shoulders.
“home?” he asks.
sukuna takes your non-committal nod as a yes, ignores the sting for a second time when you refuse to hold his hand, and drives slowly on the quiet streets. there’s a light sheen on the roads, the street lights reflecting in the puddles and shining a red light on your face.
you can tell that sukuna’s making his best attempts to be quiet as he drops you home. he’s quick to attend to anything - not letting you open the door or take off your coat or even tuck your hair behind your ear of from your own hands.
and sukuna almost does it. he almost makes it through without interjecting. but when he watches you rub your skin a little too hard with the moisturizer, so hard that it starts turning pink, he reaches for your hands and has to stop you.
he can’t watch you rub your skin raw just because you’re frustrated.
“here. let me.” he whispers.
“but you don’t–”
“i know the order, pretty girl. i’ve watched you do it enough times.”
he watches your weary eyes as you place the next bottle in his hands, pouring the cold liquid onto his fingertips. he taps the counter with the back of his hand and you obediently jump up, the two of you face level as he takes residence in between your legs.
the mere act eases the tension for sukuna - the fact that you hadn’t dismissed him yet, that you were letting him massage the serums into your skin was an olive branch enough. whatever yuuji had said hadn’t scared you off yet - and he’ll take his win where he can get it.
“need to talk?” he asks.
you look up at him, at the focused look in his eyes, accompanied by the soft pressure of his fingertips. he squishes your cheek, before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and you instinctively pinch your eyes shut. it makes that angry, stinging feeling in your chest twist into that sinking feeling that makes you want to cower in the darkest corner of your closet.
“how many girls have you been with?” you ask.
“in what sense?”
“all of them.”
“i’ve dated two girls, not including you. one was in highschool, a girl named kisa. the other one was when i was in europe.”
“why’d you break up with them? or them with you?”
“no, it was me. both times. kisa, because i was leaving. the girl in europe because i got bored.”
he watches your eye twitch, as he continues.
“i’ve had sex with both of them. besides that, there’s six other girls that i’ve had sex with. talked to loads more, here and there, on and off.”
“what were they like?” you ask.
“meaning?”
“like…occupation wise. or-or personality. looks.”
sukuna furrows his eyebrows.
“can’t remember much to be honest? kisa and i dated in highschool, i think she said she wanted to be something stupid like an influencer. and the other, she was in vet school. they didn’t look similar. i don’t have a type if that’s what you’re trying to discern. and if i did have one, it would be you.”
you nod.
“okay.”
“i feel the need to clarify that it was never like this with anyone else.”
“well, why do you feel the need to clarify that?”
there’s something laced in your words - either hurt or animosity - but he can’t place which one it is.
“because you’re my girlfriend? i can tell that intimacy is important to you, that what i’ve done can raise questions and-”
“are you trying to infantilize me? i know you’re older and more experienced than me but that gives you no right. i’m not a little girl.”
animosity. it was definitely animosity.
sukuna reaches for your hands, pressing your knuckles against his lips as he mumbles.
“i know you’re a big girl now.”
you glare at him. his joke doesn’t land well.
“don’t taunt me, sukuna.”
“i know you’re not a little girl. and i know you’re smart enough to not equate maturity with intimacy. it’s a good thing that intimacy is important to you – that you want to take it slow. it’s important to me when it comes to you too.”
you sigh, scrunching your eyes shut as you lean forward and rest your forehead against his chest. you can feel your head pulsating - his words, yuuji’s words, your own mixing enough to give you a tension headache. he’s quick with it, his hands in your hair as he pulls you closer, resting his chin against the top of your head.
“what did yuuji say?”
you swallow hard.
“i was trying to bring it up, nonchalantly. i…i said that you and i had been hanging out. and yuuji was like yeah, that’s fine and all just don’t go dating sukuna or something.”
you watch sukuna’s eye twitch. but his immediate thought is pleased – that you’re still standing here telling him.
“i asked why. and he brought up mazzy. said that i should be careful, not jump into things so fast since i wasn’t over it yet.”
mazzy. sukuna commits the name to memory, another piece he stows away to put together his puzzle.
“and-and i said that i had learned my lesson. i am over it. i-i’m smart enough to know my boundaries now, you of all people know that.” you whisper.
sukuna offers you a smile.
“that’s right.” he affirms.
“he asked me why i was interested in you. then i got kind of defensive and said i wasn’t, that i was just suggesting it. i asked him – why was he so opposed to the idea? is it so crazy to think that you would like me? and he said…”
you swallow hard.
“he said why would you? why would you like me when i’m the way that i am?”
“he said that?” he seethes.
“not the second part. but the way he said it. why would sukuna like you, y/n? i understood it all the same. i know you’re great and all, sukuna, but is it really that ridiculous to everyone that you would be interested in me? what’s so wrong with me that everyone feels the need to question it? he said that–”
sukuna waits for the end of your sentence but it doesn’t come – just another bout of your tears.
he tilts your face up, before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. it’s wet, your tears brushing against the bridge of his nose and his cheeks as he nearly breathes fully into the kiss. and every time you try to pull away, he’s following you just as fast, refusing to let go. each one stings in your core.
“do you ever think you’re settling for me?” you ask.
“you wouldn’t believe what i think.”
“tell.”
sukuna shakes his head, almost like he’s embarrassed. you muster a halfhearted smile, poking the softness of his pecs as he rolls his eyes.
“y/n.” he warns.
“just…so squishy. like a stress ball.” you whisper.
“i’ll pretend like you didn’t just objectify me for your sake.”
“personification and objectification are different. and since you’re humbling yourself to date me, i might as well enjoy it.” you deadpan.
sukuna tries to temper the anger that flares through him. that you think so little of yourself. that you think so big of him – in the same vein as his parents. his isolating thought that you viewed him differently shatters. it’s aggravating.
“i’m joking. but i just mean that – we’re really different. and yuuji –”
“i don’t give a fuck what he thinks. do you?”
you sigh.
“i want you. do you think i’m not prepared to deal with what that means? that i don’t notice the things you do?”
sukuna watches your eyes go wide.
“you tend to get a little obsessive, princess. and you feel insecure more often than not. you’re far more chatty, more quick to joke when you’re emailing me rather than standing in front of my face, just because you can’t see my reaction – or more appropriately, can’t overthink my reaction – if you don’t see it. you can’t bring yourself to fully accept the fact that i like you, that i’m very very fond of you, because you think too little of yourself. you don’t tell me much – but s’okay. i’m able to figure most of it out.”
sukuna’s ability to read you to filth is enough to make your blood boil.
“other peoples’ words mean too much to you. wish you’d give mine more importance when i say there’s nothing wrong with you. s’not a problem that you and i have things to work through. you don’t have to meet any previous standards i have – any girls i’ve talked to – because you already don’t compare to them. they’d be in your spot if they did.”
it’s enough to make your heart ache.
“i can parse that me being more experienced than you bothers you. i have no intention of holding it over your head, nor does it make me feel any less attracted to you. you’re all things - intelligent, brilliant, beautiful. i have every intention to basically worship you when i get the chance – and that would stand if you were experienced or not.”
sukuna watches you shiver, the gravel of his voice making the goosebumps prickle on your arms.
“how can i be settling when you’re far too good for me? when you have such a hold on me?”
“sukuna –”
his lips hover by your ear, warm breath tickling down your spine as he murmurs. sukuna’s combined defense of whispering sweet nothings and sending sparks all over your body was never something you can win against. he leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttered shut.
“ i know my brother means the world to you – that what he thinks is important – but can you make space for me too? i don’t want to compete with him for your affections or your loyalty, especially when he has no right to make that call anyways. or make you feel uncomfortable in your own happiness – if that’s what this is.”
you cup sukuna’s face with your hand.
“that is what this is.” you murmur.
sukuna presses a kiss to the palm of your hand.
“you make me really happy. i hate that i need so much support sometimes but last time, i just –”
you swallow hard.
“i get in my head a lot. i’m trying not to but it’s hard sometimes. but i like you too much. i’m not just going to give you up like that. you don’t get off so easy.”
sukuna smiles.
“ah. there’s my beautiful princess with a disorder.”
you cross your arms across your chest.
“it’s a joke, dollface. we both know you’re not royalty.”
“asshole!”
sukuna snags the headband out of your hair, before following you out to your bed.
“what do you want to do about yuuji?”
“well, what do you want to do? he’s your brother.”
“and he’s your best friend. you care what he thinks far more than i do. nothing’s going to keep me from you.”
you sigh.
“we’ll keep it a secret. tell him again when – when it’s more solid. not that it isn’t but –”
he doesn’t question it.
“when it’s more solid.” he affirms.
-
next part linked here
an: a wild ronnie has appeared. be nice to me pls.
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missing pieces | marcus lopez arguello
pairing: marcus lopez x reader | genre: exes to lovers | warnings: angst, swearing, minors dni | word count: 1.3k | aura's note: this fic is for @chericherilvr who has an obsession with marcus like, so girly this is for you, enjoy🫶🏻
[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]
Ever since you and Marcus broke up, your only mechanism was singing. To say the least, you were actually good at it. That's when you found yourself with your schools band practicing a cover. Unfortunately for you, the rain started pouring soon after you finished, which forced you to stay under a bus stop.
Sadly, as you did not own a car, you had to call your brother, Billy. He said he'd pick you up, but that's when you saw Marcus car, probably a stolen one, pull up in front of the school.
The two of you dated for 3 years, until you decided to end it, without giving him any reason why. That was 5 months ago, until now, you haven't talked since. The only person that you didn't want to see right now, surely, the break up was a complicated one to say the least.
"Get in." He says. From the tone of his voice, you knew one thing, he was pissed.
"No fucking way!" You say in an annoyed voice, crossing your arms. You two are like magnets and you didn't want to be stuck in a small place with him. He was bad for you. He brings out the worst in you.
"Are you seriously going to stand out here?" He says with the same tone. Marcus knows that he is being irrational, but he can't help it. He's just mad and heartbroken right now, seeing you just makes it even worse. He hates you for breaking his heart, but he's not going to let you know that.
You roll your eyes, knowing that he has a point never the less. And you wanted to be home faster, so having an argument with him, wasn't useful. As you open the passanger door to get into the car, you look at him.
Marcus starts the car and pulls out of the bus stop, onto the road. He doesn't say anything, just drives. The windshield wipers make loud screeches as they fight to get the rain off the windshield. The heater blasts as it tries to warm up the car from the outside cold. The air makes the windshield foggy. Then suddenly, Marcus sights loudly and looks over at you. As you were looking outside the window, gathering your thoughts about what just happened.
Turning around to look at him, you decided to ask him. "What?" Looking at him with confused eyes.
Marcus just stays silent, he just stares at you, trying to gather his thoughts. You can see his anger and frustration written all over his face. He doesn't want to look at you, he doesn't wang to look at anything. He's just so angry. Finally, he breaks the silence with a blunt ask. "Why did you dump me?"
"Marcus..." You look at him and then out the window, sighting, trying to find a good way to answer his question. You hate this situation that you're in. This was not the right time to talk about the break up, not with him.
The classic answer, and the one that he didn't want to hear. He hated when things were "complicated". He hates uncertainty. He wanted an answer and he wanted it now. His grip on the steering wheel tightens as his anger builds up. "Jusf answer me, god fucking damn it!" He snaps a little at you. He doesn't like losing his cool, but he's already too far gone.
"Because i'm leaving for university..." You talk in a low tone, looking outside the window. "I got accepted into Harvard." You explain yourself to him, staring at him, hoping he understands your intentions.
Marcus felt an intense wave of jealousy wash over him as soon as you finish the sentence. He could never get into Harvard. He's not smart enough. He knows you are and that bothers him. He hates that he feels jealousy of you, but he can't help it. "So you dumped me because you got accepted into a stupid school?" He says completely ignoring the fact that you're going to Harvard.
"A stupid school? I got a full scholarship to that stupid school." You say in an annoyed tone whie looking at him, feeling that he doesn't care about your achievement. "You'll only be three hours away.." You say trying to find something positive in your departure.
"Oh three hours away, really?" Marcus says sarcastically trying to ignore the jealousy that's building up inside of him. "And i'm sure that this full scholarship is a huge achievement." He says mockingly. Marcus knows damn well the school isn't stupid and he knows how hard getting a full scholarship there is but it just pisses him off so he can't help but belittle your achievement.
"It is, Marcus! I didn't want to leave you...I didn't want to leave you in the first place. I was scared that this won't work, us, fuck i want this to work out cause i miss you." I explain myself to him on a calm tone, trying not to be affected by his words. Coming closer as you say the words "I miss you"
The words "I miss you" make him soften up, but only for a bit. He still doesn't know if he should forgive you or not, but hearing those words come out of your mouth makes his heart feel a little warmer. He slowly turns to look at you more. He reaches his hand over and places it on your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. Marcus likes to hide his emotions but that small act kind of gave him away.
"I missed you! You have no idea..." You lean your head on his shoulder as he drives. The truth is that you missed him. His kisses. His hugs. His affection, You were craving it.
Marcus blushes a bit as you put your head on his shoulder. He can barely believe he's allowing you to do these things. Maybe part of him is ready to forgive you...but another part of him is not. He stays silent as he continues driving, his hand firmly planted on your leg. He can't help his attraction towards you and his desire for you. The silence is getting more intense as the minutes go by.
"My brother said that long distance relationships don't always work out...so that's why i thought it's for the best...but it's only three hours..." You say sighting interlacing your fingers with his, still having your head on his shoulder.
Marcus wanted to argue and say that three hours is too much but he knows is his own jealousy getting the best of him. A small part of him, a very small part, has forgiven you for breaking his heart. He's not completely over it but he's slowly starting to terms with it. "You know, I could drive over and see your every weekend." He says finally, turning to look at you as he tries to gauge your reaction.
"Really? You would do that for me?" You look at him surprised, hy his answer. Jumping into his arms, hugging him tight, still surprised by what he said.
Marcus freezes up with surprise. He was honestly prepared for you to reject him, but now? This is...unexpected. He feels your tight embrace and a wave of butterflies washes over him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you even tighter. "You can't get rid of me that easily you know?" He says with a smile, brush a piece of hair out of your face.
"I don't wanna get rid of you." You smile, looking at him as he brushes the hair from your face. That's when you take his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his.
What was once a small wave of butterflies now turns into a tidal wave of euphoria. Marcus is swept away by the kiss, he wraps his arms arouns you and pulls you in closer. All the emotions and feelings that have built up during the car ride come bursting to the surface. He kisses you hard and agressively, like he wants to make this moment last forever.
© LUCIFERTOXICS ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.
#Spotify#marcus lopez arguello#marcus lopez x reader#marcus lopez x you#marcus lopez x y/n#marcus lopez imagine#marcus lopez smut#writing#marcus x reader#deadly class#benjamin wadsworth#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo x you#mattheoxreader#mattheo x y/n#slytherin boys#slytherin
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Reveal
PAIRING || Boyfriend!Young!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Pregnant!Fem!Reader & College Student!Natasha Romanoff x College Student!Bruce Banner
WORDCOUNT || 5.6K
SUMMARY || Your life is turned completely upside down when you discover you're pregnant despite not even being together with your boyfriend for a year. Despite this, everyone in your direct circle of friends and family is nothing short of happy for you both, and you're very fortunate to have such a strong support system around you during this time in your life.
RATING || Explicit (E)
TAGS || No powers AU. College AU. Pregnancy AU. Future Dad!Tony Stark. Established relationship. Use of nicknames. No use of Y/N.
WARNINGS || Pregnancy. Positive pregnancy test. Pregnancy reveal. Sonogram. Finding out the gender/gender reveal. Swearing.
SMUT || Pregnancy kink. Lactation kink. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Praise. Teasing. Nipple/breast play. Grinding. Oral (M receiving). Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!). Multiple orgasms. Cum swallowing. Creampie. Aftercare.
A/N || This one-shot takes place during the events of 'A Small Miracle' and will give a small sneak peek into the spin-off of this AU, called 'Fifty Shades of Brutasha'! This story is proofread by the amazing @ccbsrmsf1, and I cannot thank you enough! 💙
A/N 2.0 || This is my last fic for the next week or two, as I'll take a short writing break! I can't wait to come back after my break with more stories for you all, but for now I won't be posting anything for the foreseeable future. Thank you all for your understanding and support!
EVENTS
Masterlist || @fandom-free-bingo Wild || Free Space
Masterlist || @multifandom-flash Compliments || I'll Take That as a Compliment
Photo: Source || All graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin
Main Masterlist || Tony Stark Masterlist || AU Masterlist
"My Love? Can I talk to you for a moment?" you ask as you're seated on the large bed in his dorm. Tony has been working behind his desk while you were reading, and you've been mulling something over. You have to talk to someone about it. Thank God the person you trust more than anyone is in the room with you.
"Of course, Sunshine. What's on your mind?" he asks as he turns around and wheels his desk chair towards the bed. He gives you a reassuring smile, but it quickly falls when the following words come out of your mouth.
"What would you do if I get pregnant?" you ask him with a straight face, and you have never seen someone's expression change that fast. He goes from confused to concerned in about 10 seconds, and before you know it, he's on the bed with his hands on your belly.
"A-are you-" he asks, his thumbs running softly over the flesh of your stomach. His gaze is locked on yours as he looks at you with furrowed brows.
"I-I'm not sure, actually. I might be..." you say as your voice trails off near the end of the sentence.
"Is there anything that has you entertaining the idea of you being pregnant?" Tony then asks with an undying love in his voice, and you show him a small smile before casting your line of sight down to where his hands are on your belly.
"Yeah," you whisper, your hands finding their place beside his.
"If you are pregnant, I would welcome them with open arms. I know that our situation is far from ideal right now to have a baby, but if you are, I will do anything in my power to ensure they have all the care and love from us they could have," Tony tells you, and you can't help but tear up a little at his words.
"I think we should do a test before we do anything else," you offer up, and Tony chuckles because he knows you're right. He tends to go overboard when he's excited, so you definitely need to pull the brakes a bit.
"Yes, you're right, sorry," Tony says as he lets out a nervous chuckle, his hands running through his hair as he thinks about possibly becoming a Dad.
Almost an hour has passed since you first mentioned the possibility of being pregnant, and you're standing in the bathroom with your boyfriend's arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as you both wait for the timer to go off. Your heart feels like it will burst out of your chest as time passes, your nerves making you tremble in your boyfriend's hold.
"It's going to be okay, Sunshine. No matter the outcome, we'll be okay," Tony whispers in your hair. Now that there's a genuine possibility that you might be pregnant, he is secretly hoping for it to be true. Timing may not be on your side, but he doesn't care. He knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, which also fits into that picture.
You get startled as the timer goes off, and Tony quickly releases you so you can pick up the test. It's lying upside down so you can both find out simultaneously, and there it is: the result of your test is loud and clear.
You're pregnant.
"I- I can't believe- I'm pregnant, Tony! We're having a baby!" you say excitedly as tears run down your cheeks and a burst of nervous laughter bubbles up in your throat. Tony can't help but shed tears as well, as he will have a family with the woman he loves - you.
"We're going to have a baby, Sunshine! A baby! I can't believe it, oh my god!" he says as he holds your face in his hands, and his lips crash on yours instantly to celebrate the test's positive result.
"I love you, Tony, oh my god, I love you so fucking much," you say between your happy tears and hiccups that keep interrupting you, but the main feeling you have is pure joy. You never thought you'd become a Mom at this age - you at least thought you would have finished college first -but now that it's happening, it's like you're on cloud nine with your boyfriend and your baby.
"I love you so much, Sunshine, God I'm so fucking lucky. I'm the luckiest man on earth!" he says as he falls on his knees and lifts your shirt until your belly is exposed, and he peppers it with soft kisses.
"And I love you too, little Munchkin; I cannot wait to meet you," he whispers between tears, your stomach wet from them, but you don't care. You're enjoying that you're pregnant now and growing a tiny human inside you.
"I love you both so much," Tony says before kissing your belly and getting back up. As the initial shock dies down a little, you can start thinking straight, and the situation begins to sink in. Tony gently cups your cheeks again, his thumbs softly rubbing over the tear tracks on your cheeks.
He leans in to give you a soft, small kiss that instantly makes you want more, but he doesn't give it to you yet. Instead, he smiles as he looks into your eyes while you look up at him, his eyes glimmering with hope.
"Let's make love together, Sunshine; I want to celebrate our baby by doing nothing but making soft, slow, and sweet love to you for the foreseeable future," Tony whispers as he nudges your nose with his, and your breath hitches in your throat at his words. You nod, and he allows his hand to drop to interlace it with yours.
Tony takes a seat on the edge of the bed before pulling you to stand between his spread thighs, his hands softly rubbing over the bare skin under the length of the dress you're wearing. Your hands are lying on his shoulders as he leans forward to softly press his face into the flesh of your stomach with a big smile.
"We're going to have a baby together, Sunshine. Can you imagine it? I can't help but hope they look like you," he says as he looks up at you, his dark brown eyes glimmering with excitement.
"That will be a problem then, My Love. I hope they will look exactly like you. I wouldn't mind having a mini version of you running around," you tell him, your smile not moving even an inch.
"Maybe they will look like both of us," he says, and you nod.
"I would like it if our baby looks like both of us," you agree with your boyfriend. His hands move in such a way that he can pull you onto his lap instead of having you standing between his legs, and he immediately captures your lips with a deep, passionate kiss that has you grinding on his lap, where you can feel that he's getting hard already.
"Tony," you whimper when the fabric of your panties gives you just the right amount of friction, especially combined with the way his erection presses against your sensitive flesh. Your high is quickly building as he keeps working you over his clothed member.
"Cum for me, Sunshine, fuck! So gorgeous when you cum for me," he spurs you on and praises you, which ultimately pushes you over the edge. With trembling legs and feverish kisses, Tony carefully works you through it until you're back on earth again.
"You did so well for me, Sunshine, such a good girl for me," he whispers as he peppers your cheek and jaw in small kisses. Then, he finds your earlobe and nibbles on it to earn himself the cutest of moans from your lips.
He keeps this up for another few minutes before he takes the zip pull on the back of your dress and lets it glide down to expose your back to the room. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as he pushes the shoulders of your dress down your arms, only to be greeted by the fact that you're not wearing a bra.
He gasps softly when your breasts bounce in front of him, and it's now that he's noticing the fact that they have gotten bigger, although you haven't been pregnant for very long yet. It only makes him wonder what else you've been hiding from him now.
"God, they will be so beautiful when they're full of milk, just dripping when they're too heavy to keep it all in. Are you gonna let me drink from them, Sunshine? I want to taste your sweet, amazing milk so badly," he almost whines, shivering down your spine.
"Yes, fuck yes! Want you to drink from me, Daddy," you whine as he takes one of your sensitive nipples into your mouth, his fingers kneading the other breast with careful squeezes, making you squirm on his lap. His cock twitched when you called him Daddy, and he couldn't help but smile as well.
"Call me it again, Sunshine," he almost growls after letting go of your nipple, ready to give the same amount of attention to the other one.
"D-Daddy," you say, biting your bottom lip when you see Tony's reaction. It's enough to almost send him headfirst into his orgasm, but he manages to keep himself together just enough to not cum.
"Love it when you call me that, especially now that I'm going to be a Daddy," he says in a breathy voice, leaning up to capture your lips with his once more. Tony's hands wander from your breasts to your sides and then down to your hips, only to catch you off guard when he's turned you around, and you're suddenly looking up at him while your back hits the mattress.
"That's it, you want to be Daddy's good girl, don't you?" he asks, his voice seemingly dropping a bit when he calls himself Daddy.
"Yes," you tell him, and not even seconds later, your dress has been pushed up to reveal the fact that you're wearing nothing but a pair of tiny, flimsy panties that are ripped off your body without any effort whatsoever. His shirt also finds its place on the floor, and you can't help but ogle your boyfriend's delicious body with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth.
"It's almost like you wanted me to rip them off you, Sunshine," Tony tuts before opening the button of his pants and pulling down the zipper, pushing them down and off his legs until he's completely bare. His cock is standing at attention between his thighs, and the veins adorning it have you drooling in no time.
"You like what you see, don't you? My little cockhungry slut," he says in an endearing tone, brow quirked and a smirk on his lips. You can never have enough of him and his cock, and you both know it. He decides to keep the teasing to a minimum this time, instead opting to slide in immediately with lots of moans and groans from you both.
Tony lines up with your entrance, his round, flushed tip sliding into your slick, dripping entrance without a single bit of hesitation. Your warmth and tightness welcome him in as you envelop him, your body moving up and down in time with his thrusts.
"So beautiful, Sunshine. I can't wait until your belly is round and showing with my baby. You're going to be the most beautiful mama I've ever seen," Tony tells you. Your back arches into him, your nails digging into his biceps as he works more of his length in. Together with the words he tells you, you're nearing the edge faster than you ever thought possible.
"Tu sei il mio sole," he whispers as he bottoms out, and your gaze is immediately locked onto his. This is the first time you've ever heard him say anything in Italian—you know he was brought up bilingual because Maria is from Italy—but it only strengthens your love for Tony.
"I love you, Tony," you say before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a soft kiss. Tony sets a slow, leisurely pace that has him hitting your sweet spot each time, and your eyes roll into the back of your head every time he speeds up a little.
"I feel you squeezin' me, Sunshine; you're close, aren't you?" he asks, and you nod. You don't need much to fall over the edge, and without saying another word, he brings his thumb to your clit to rub small circles, making you clench around his cock as your orgasm washes over you with a loud moan of his name.
"That's it, fucking milk me! 'M gonna cum so fucking hard for you, Sunshine, 'm gonna fill you up with every last drop of my cum. If you weren't already pregnant, I would fuck you every single day until you were, oh my god. Feels so good when you milk my cock-" he says, suddenly cut off when you land a smack on his ass that catches him off-guard but also sends him headfirst over the edge.
He keeps rutting into you in short, uncontrolled strokes as he rides out his orgasm, all while still being mindful of you, and when he's nearing overstimulation, he pulls out with a groan. As he lets himself fall next to you on the bed, he pulls you to his side, his hand rubbing soothing circles over your exposed back.
"I love you so much, my beautiful Sunshine. 'M forever lucky to be calling you my girlfriend, and now my baby mama too," he says with a big smile, and you can't help but smile up at him as well.
"We're both lucky, My Love, and I can't wait to meet our baby when it's finally time," you tell him. Once you're both strong enough to stand, he pulls you into his shower, where he takes extra care of you, from washing your hair to lathering your favorite soap all over your body; he does it all for you.
While your conditioner is doing its thing, Tony stands behind you and places his hands on your belly. His thumbs rub up and down as he does, and you can't stop smiling.
"What do you hope it'll be? A boy or a girl?" Tony asks, and you shrug.
"Both are okay with me; I know I will love the little Munchkin no matter what," you tell him, and he nods in agreement.
"Though I have already thought of some names, I just never thought we'd get to use them so quickly," you say with a chuckle, and Tony turns you around.
"What are they?" he asks as he cups your cheeks, and you look up at him with an excited reflection in your eyes.
"I'm thinking if it's a boy, we can call him Hudson, and if it's a girl, I love the name Orion," you say softly, and Tony smiles widely at the names.
"Hudson and Orion, hm? I think they're both perfect," he tells you before leaning in and kissing you softly. Your hands are on his waist as you enjoy the moment—just you, your boyfriend, and your baby—nothing more and nothing less.
"How're you feeling, Sunshine? Nervous?" Tony asks as you're seated on his lap, his arms wrapped around you protectively. His hair is still wet from the shower he just took, and he's wearing comfortable clothes while you're wearing one of his football jerseys, which is practically a dress on you.
"Yeah, but I think I'll be fine. She's at work, and she knows we'll call, so I have faith that it'll be okay," you say to Tony, who nods. Your parents aren't in a good place now, so you have decided together with her that you will call her while she's at work.
"I know we'll be okay. She will love the news about our little Munchkins," Tony reassures you, and you nod as you think about the two babies growing in your belly. It has been a few weeks since you found out you're pregnant, and you have gotten the fantastic news that you're carrying twins, which makes you even more excited now.
A few minutes later, you get a text from your Mom saying she's ready for the call—she had an appointment with a client first. You quickly press call on FaceTime, and before you know it, a giant smile greets you and Tony, together with your Mom's soothing voice.
"Hi Buttercup, hi Tony! How are you guys doing over there?" she asks, and you both tell her everything's okay, but you have some big news to share with her.
"Mom, you're going to be a grandma in about 7,5 months," you tell her shyly, a deep red blush on your cheeks as you feel Tony hold onto your belly. It's silent on the other side for a few seconds as the news sinks in with Virginia.
"I- I- I'm going to be a grandma? Are you pregnant? I'm so happy for you two! I can't believe I'm going to be a grandma!" she says excitedly, wiping tears from her cheeks. They're happy tears, but you can't help but tear up.
"Oh my God, Buttercup, I'm so happy for you; I know you've always dreamt of becoming a Mom! Have you been to the OBGYN already, or do you have your appointment soon?" she asks, always being practical.
"Yeah, that's the best news still. We're having twins!" you tell her, and she completely loses it and sobs on the other end of the line, all while you are crying right along with her.
"We haven't found out about the gender of the babies yet, but I have to say, it was quite a surprise to find out she's pregnant, to begin with, but to get two at once is even more unbelievable! It still feels like I'm living in a fairytale if you ask me," Tony says, and Virginia nods, unable to say anything now.
"I love you both so much, you know that? And I am so happy to hear you're pregnant, Buttercup," Virginia says after you have talked a bit more about your pregnancy and visiting her soon as well.
"I love you too, Mom. I can't wait to see you again soon," you say before she has to go and get ready for another appointment with a client. Running her law firm comes with its fair share of things to do, and she loves it with all her heart, but she's also glad she made time for you.
With a last goodbye, you hang up and put your phone on the desk before curling into your boyfriend's hold. Your knees are pulled up to your chest, and his long arms are wrapped around you protectively.
"I'm so happy she knows, and I'm also glad she's the first one we told. She's missing out on so much now that I moved to the other side of the country, and sometimes I feel bad for not calling more often," you tell Tony, who nods in understanding.
"I get how you feel, Sunshine, but you're already calling as often as possible. But the good thing is that we'll be visiting her soon so we can look forward to that," he tells you, and you know he's right. You give him a soft peck on his lips before getting off his lap and grabbing yourself a snack as you're getting hungry again.
"Do you want a snack too, My Love?" you ask, but Tony chuckles mischievously.
"The only snack I want is standing right here and wearing nothing more than a football jersey," he says with a wiggle of his brows.
"Alright, but I will have to eat something first. After that, you can feast on my pussy as long as you'd like," you tell him with a smile and Tony's more than content with that compromise. For now.
You're about 18 weeks pregnant, lying on the treatment bench with your now very much pregnant belly exposed and your boyfriend by your side as he holds your hand. Your gazes are fixed on the small screen, on which you can see both your babies and the sounds of their hearts beating, echoing through the room.
"Everything looks good in there. They are the size they're supposed to be, and they're both developing well, so all that's left now is to find out their gender. Do you two want to know, or do you want it to be a surprise?" the sonographer asks, but you already know the answer.
"We want to know today," you tell her with a large smile. Then you look over at Tony, who's starting to get a little antsy as he looks at the screen.
"You are having—" she stops for a moment to confirm her suspicions—fraternal twins! This means you will have one of each! Congratulations, you two! I'll take some photos for you to take home, and after that, you're free to go!" She says, but you don't hear anything after 'fraternal twins.'
Tony has gotten up and cupped your cheeks before kissing you fiercely through the tears streaming down his cheeks. His world is complete now that he knows he will have both a boy and a girl, which is more than he could have ever expected. They might not have been planned, but they're already incredibly loved by you both.
"Now we can use both the names you love so much Sunshine. We can name them Hudson and Orion Stark," he says, and you nod. Their names go together perfectly, and now your babies officially have their names. Tony eventually lets you go, but only because he has to - if it were up to him, he would have held you for the rest of the day.
Not long after your appointment, you're on your way back to Tony's dorm room, where you spend most of your time nowadays. While Tony drives you two back, you invite Natasha, Wanda, Bruce, and Clint out for dinner tonight, and they all happily agree.
"I'm excited to tell them, Sunshine. Now we can finally tell everyone about our babies without having to hide anymore," he says as his hand caresses your thigh, and you sigh in relief.
"Me too," you say as you look at Tony with fondness in your eyes, a smile dancing on your lips.
"I love you so much, Tony. I'm thrilled to be going through all this with you," you tell him, and he smiles back at you.
"Me too, Sunshine, me too."
Once you arrive at Tony's dorm, you're both getting ready for dinner with your friends and already have the perfect dress to wear tonight. You grab a light blue dress that is wide enough to hide your growing belly, which is ideal for tonight.
Tony opts for dark jeans and a pink shirt, making the combination you two are wearing perfect for your little reveal in the restaurant. As you're putting your hair up in a simple ponytail, you look at Tony, who's getting ready beside you, and a burst of butterflies goes through your stomach as you take in his appearance.
"You're beautiful, My Love," you tell him out of nowhere. The color on his cheeks suddenly turns from a beautiful cream to bright red at your words, as he's not used to being complimented despite you constantly doing it.
"Not as beautiful as you, though. You're carrying our babies, which makes you infinitely more beautiful than I could ever be," he tells you, making you smile wide with his words. A warm feeling spreads through your body as he kisses you.
"I love you, Sunshine," he whispers against your lips before giving a few more pecks, leaving you feeling more loved. As you pull away, you notice the time, and if you two don't hurry, you'll be late, which you don't want.
Suddenly, the way to the restaurant seems to fly by in a blur. You both take an Uber to the restaurant and when you're only a few minutes away, the others let you know they're already there. They have gotten a table, so they will be there once you two arrive.
"I can't wait to finally tell them the good news. I couldn't hide it much longer anyway, but now I'm glad we can finally show everyone about our love," you tell Tony as you're rubbing your belly lovingly. Every chance you and your boyfriend get, you either rub or touch it, especially when one or both are kicking in there.
"Give me your hand, My Love," you say, and Tony does. He gasps softly as he feels one of your babies kick, and neither of you can stop smiling until you're at the restaurant.
As soon as you're both inside, all four of your friends greet both of you with many hugs, and it's always fun to get together. Even though you're just drinking water, the drinks are flowing plenty, and the food is delicious while the conversation continues. That is until it's finally time for dessert, and you look at Tony for strength and reassurance.
"Can I have everyone's attention for a moment?" you ask Nat, Bruce, Clint, and Wanda, and suddenly everyone's gaze is focused on you.
"Tony and I have some wonderful news to share with you all, which is why we brought you here today. As of today, we have found out we're having fraternal twins because I'm pregnant!" you say excitedly, and Nat and Wanda immediately hang around your neck to hug you.
"Congratulations, man! I always knew you'd be the first to knock someone up," Clint jokes as he pulls in Tony for a hug.
"I'll take that as a compliment, Barton," Tony jokes before letting him go and being congratulated by his oldest friend, Bruce.
"We're all very happy for you both. You both deserve it," Bruce says, and Tony thanks him profusely. It doesn't take long for everyone to congratulate the two of you, and before you sit down, you can't resist showing off your belly to everyone.
"It's a miracle I've been able to hide it from all of you this time because I feel huge!" you say jokingly as you show off your belly, and Tony comes to stand beside you, pulling you into his side. He places a kiss on your temple before giving everyone a proud look. The happiness is practically dripping off you both, and the fact that everyone is happy about the news is the cherry on top.
A week has passed since you told your friends about your pregnancy. Yesterday, you both told Howard and Maria the good news, and they were absolutely over the moon about their two grandbabies. Many tears were shed during that afternoon between all four of you, and they were nothing short of supportive when you both told them.
Today, everyone's invited to have a little party/get-together at their house, and while you and Tony have a shower, Howard and Maria are decorating their garden for what will soon be your baby shower.
"That's it, Sunshine, takin' me so well in that beautiful mouth," Tony groans as he grabs your hair in a sloppy ponytail, the water falling on you both as you're on your knees for your boyfriend. Your hand is wrapped around the base of his cock as you work him up and down, and your lips are wrapped around his sensitive tip.
"O-oh God, I'm close! Fuck-" is all he can say before you take more of him into your mouth, the salty taste of his cum coating your tongue before you swallow every last drop of it with a hum, your eyes closed as he works himself through his orgasm.
"I don't know what I did to deserve you, Sunshine, but I'm glad I did," he says as he helps you up, being mindful of your pregnant state. Once you're up and steady on your feet, he captures your lips with his, and you never want this moment to end.
"You deserve everything life has to offer and more, My Love," you tell him, and he smiles before capturing your lips again. Once you're both done in the shower, you braid your hair into a simple Dutch braid to keep it out of the way. You decide on a short green dress for today, as you will just be having a party with Howard, Maria, and your friends, so you opt to keep it simple.
Tony has decided on dark jeans and a green shirt to match your dress, and you two look stunning together.
"Ready? I think the rest is here already," Tony asks, and you nod. He grabs your hand before leading you down the stairs and into the garden, where you can see everything being decorated with blue and pink decorations, and you can't help but laugh.
"I thought we were keeping it simple today!" you say to Maria, but she chuckles. She enjoys going all out for everything, and the celebration of her grandchildren is something she takes seriously. She has been prepping food for everyone - including a few snacks to accommodate your current cravings - and there are presents as well, and your friends will bring more later on.
"But this is simple, amore mio!" she states with her hands on her sides, and Howard looks at his wife with a raised brow before shaking his head in disbelief. He walks over to his wife before wrapping his hands around her and kissing her softly.
"I love you very much, amore mio dolce, but this isn't simple, and you know it," he says. Maria starts to glow as he calls her 'my sweet love,' and it makes you smile. You wish you and your boyfriend will one day share the same type of love as them, and just when you're about to say something, he stands behind you. His arms wrap around you to place his hands on your belly again, and you smile before leaning into his touch.
"Let's just enjoy today, Sunshine. You can sit down and let everything happen to you, as it's all about you and our babies," he whispers before kissing your temple, and you agree. The weather is beautiful, and the sun is shining bright, so you pick the comfiest chair in the garden to make your place for the afternoon.
Tony helps Howard set up some more while Maria goes inside to prepare the last things for the food; when everyone arrives, she lets them all in.
"Thank you for hosting the party today, Mrs. Stark," Bruce says as Maria shows them the way to the garden. She smiles broadly in response before saying there's no need to thank her, and they can all sit down.
It only takes a little while for everyone to have a drink as they sit and munch on the snacks. Clint and Tony are the only ones brave enough to try some of your weirdest cravings, which range from pickles smothered in hot sauce to hard-boiled eggs with Nutella, and it earns loud laughs from everyone as they find out they do not like it, even a little bit.
"Good, that means there's more for me!" you say. Not long after, you and Tony are opening presents, and they range from lots of baby clothes in blue and pink to matching onesies and stuffed animals. You will have enough to last both of them at least a few weeks after they're born.
"Thank you all so much for everything; your support means a lot to us," Tony says after opening every present, and you agree wholeheartedly. The rest of the afternoon is spent laughing, eating, and generally having fun, and it is an afternoon always to remember. You have everyone close to you with you, and this day couldn't be more perfect if you tried.
Meanwhile, behind the shed in Howard and Maria's garden...
While everyone is enjoying themselves, Natasha has pulled Bruce to the side because something has been on her mind for a while, and she can't hide it any longer. They're standing behind a large shed in Howard and Maria's garden, where they can have some privacy.
Bruce is standing with his back towards the shed while Natasha is pacing back and forth, and his gaze follows her with every step.
"Mylaya, can you please stop pacing back and forth for a moment?" Bruce asks Natasha, and she stops dead in her tracks. This was the first time she'd ever heard him speak Russian, but her cheeks flushed at the nickname he gave her: Sweetie.
"What's on your mind? You seem a bit... off," Bruce asks after pulling her close, and she casts her eyes down. He lifts his finger to her chin before meeting her gaze and smiles reassuringly.
"I'm sorry, Bruce. I- I don't know how-" is all she says before he leans in and carefully captures her lips with his. The feeling of her soft, pink lips has the butterflies in his stomach go crazy, and Natasha wraps her arms around his neck to pull him closer until they're standing chest-to-chest.
"I'm in love with you too," he whispers, their foreheads touching. He has known this for a while, and her reaction to calling him Sweetie cemented it for him. She has feelings for him as well, and Bruce couldn't be happier about it.
He tucks a piece of Natasha's flaming red hair behind her ear, and he can't stop looking at her flushed cheeks and pink lips before meeting her green eyes again. The moment it all sinks in is when she meets his lips for a kiss this time, and they're glad they have finally told each other how they feel.
This will officially start something new for them, but they're both very excited to see where it goes. As long as they have one another, they know everything will be okay, and they can get through everything life throws their way.
#fandomfreebingo: wild#multifandom flash bingo: compliments#tony stark#tony stark fanfiction#tony stark fanfic#tony stark x female!reader#tony stark x reader#tony stark x y/n#tony stark fluff#tony stark smut#young tony stark#young tony stark fanfiction#young tony stark fanfic#young tony stark x female reader#young tony stark x reader#young tony stark x y/n#young tony stark fluff#young tony stark smut
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soukoku fics: recs and reviews
look, i really like fanfiction. and i've always felt people sometimes don't give good enough reasons to actually read a lot of it. if you scroll down enough, you'll see i did that too. so i thought i'd help out some people that don't know what to read tonight. you'll notice i took my reviewing seriously hgdsafvkhagsv
i'll add more in my reblogs as i go on with this review style, but for now, here are three fanfics that pushed me to do this.
fair warning, they're long ones.
A Lesson in Thorns by arkastadt
Word Count: 454,556
Tags: Arranged Marriage, BSD Beast!AU, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Character Death, Heavy Angst, Happy Ending, Ghosts, So Much Smut
Review:
As one of the longest fics I’ve ever read, it took me three days to read it, and a lot of lost sleep. A Lesson in Thorns is a journey that no one is truly prepared for. It’s surprising, I think, how one only notices the slow burn in the beginning, and forget they didn’t start out together in the end. So many things happen in the span of those fifty chapters, and so many feelings arise alongside their events. The reader watches Chuuya grow into himself, despite the haunting (hehe) that surrounds him by the end. Dazai becomes a man wishing to live, despite becoming a ghost of who he used to be. It’s quite magical, the way the story builds upon itself. What is usually some home, this piece makes an empire.
This author appealed a lot to the wants and needs within these characters, making a paced build up to the challenges the characters face. Furthermore, there is a wonderful line of thought that is unwavering, consistent to the very end. The reader meets Chuuya getting ready to be married. A deal has been struck with the Port Mafia, and as the leader of the Sheep, Chuuya must marry their boss. A questionable and confusing task, but Chuuya has no more cards under his sleeve, and he has to save Shirase from the pending prison sentence. He walks into where he is to be married, looking to find a wrinkled, aging man. Instead, he faces the bandaged limbs and cunning eye of Dazai Osamu, and the story truly begins.
The reader already knows it’s not a choice left for random that Dazai takes Chuuya under his wing. It’s already stated that on the first day in his position as the boss, right after killing Mori and sixteen months before he and Chuuya marry, he finds the redhead. A search that is broken down as the story unravels, and an effort that builds them and breaks them apart and puts them back together.
This fanfic is clearly derived from a lot of the factors pointed in Bungou Stray Dogs’s BEAST light novel, which in my eyes makes it all the more interesting. I tried to give a short insight into the beginning with as much care as I could without creating any spoilers for the reading. I guess from me, all my notes just say it’s worth it. This fic really drags you through so many stages of feelings and excitements, and it builds off from them until you reach a new peak all over again.
On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation
Word Count: 71,848
Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Canon-Divergence, Port Mafia and Post-Port Mafia, Smut
Review:
There are some stories that find themselves tucked into a hidden corner. It does not make them any less, and it does not make them any better, it just makes them quiet. Which in turn, when they are finally found, makes them all the more surprising. That is how I feel about On Deathless Feet, tucked in a corner of Ao3, and all incredibly surprising.
Written with a nonlinear narrative, the reader meets the famed Double Black in different moments, recently met, in the middle of their rise through the ranks, at the brink of their end, after their disconnection with years of silence. AbsoluteNegation makes a wonderful story threaded in different moments, contextualizing their uncomfortable return to each other with interruptions back to their old lives before Dazai’s split from the Port Mafia. The author mainly focuses on Arahabaki, and Chuuya’s relationship with understanding the singularity as it slips out of control. Dazai is sent in to help counter it throughout their time together, and long stretches of contact are needed to get it down to normal.
With a state of constant carataking, the two are thrusted into communion, needing to learn to accept living with each other for the time being. It isn’t a foreign feeling, seeing the other there, but at the end of the day it’s hard for the two with all that past. A past the author explores in detail just as much, not holding back on making it layered and pretty and very intense. They are creatures of passion, that’s what drives this ship and makes it so loved, and the author doesn’t shy away from building on it. Just as well, however, does the author place their own touch to their relationship, with the care and devotion the two also experiment between them. This fanfic is a welcomed balance to the rockier roads often explored surrounding these two. It never lacks sharpness, but it definitely warms the heart.
music for our funeral by itotypes
Word Count: 67,723
Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Songwriting, Artistic Lyricism
Review:
Music for our funeral by itotypes is a breathtaking composition, and there is not much like it. Set in the 70s, the author explores the surrounding setting of the rock genre, and writes a story of struggle and connection. Starting out with a run-away teenager, we meet Dazai’s lackluster perfection, the narrative often picturing him as a clinical artist. After leaving home, we watch him make himself something, and see him survive until he looks to live. Meanwhile, the other side of the piece plays with a striving perfectionist, and a reckless guitarist, in the form of Chuuya. The man comes from a struggling family (a stark contrast to the origins of his partner), and finds himself lost in the music.
An interesting part of the story is that we get to know the characters before they meet. In a way, it allows the reader to explore the lives privy to the explosion, and before the pining and intensity that sparks between the two. One of the most appreciative factors that make this story one of my personal favorites is the usage of images throughout it. With beautiful lyrics exploring the essence of a character’s beliefs without them needing to admit it to themselves, there is a clear view into the conflicts and selfish needs that each character has.
This author’s work is best described as an ode to music. It comes as a surprise at times, the way words fit together in reverence to this branch of artistry. Yet the fact that it’s done through another form of storytelling, through the use of words on a screen instead of notes on one’s ear, makes it all the more captivating. There is no question this is a must read.
#i read and review and rant#i have no idea if anyone wants this#i have no regrets writing this tho#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bsd chuuya#bsd dazai#chuuya nakahara#nakahara chuuya#dazai osamu#osamu dazai#soukoku#skk#skk fanfiction#soukoku fanfiction#fanfic recs#fanfic recommendations#fanfic reviews
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Can I request a fluffy Tangerine imagine where the female reader works for Maria, but rather than being an assassin, she’s the driver of the getaway car for missions, and Tangerine has a thing for her and she picks him and Lemon up one day and Eye of the Tiger by Survivor plays on the radio and she sings along and Tangerine is shook because her voice is amazing and he didn’t know she could sing? I thought I should pick a song pretty much everyone knows, and Eye of the Tiger was the first one that popped into my head.
Hey Anon,
Thanks for waiting so long. I hope this is alright! To feel something I may have been dipping into Christmas music and it may have bled into this fic. My apologies.
Warnings: FLUFF
“Fifty bucks.” He said into the phone hating himself for resorting to this.
“Fifty bucks off a two million dollar job?” Maria spoke into the phone slowly and Tan pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fine 50K.” He sighed and quickly looked over his shoulder to see if Lemon was in earshot.
“50K?” The surprise in her voice only made him hate how stupid he was being even more.
“Give her half as a tip.” He quickly added.
“Deal. You know this is just a ride home right?” He kept his mouth shut trying to avoid being rude. Yes, he just spent 50K to sit in the car next to a girl he liked. Yes, he knew how stupid that was.
“Talk to you later Maria.” He said quickly before hanging up the phone.
_______
The job went off without a hitch and they were done slightly ahead of schedule. The item was secure, the dude was dead, and there was no threat of security as they stood near the front door waiting for you. He lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. He was more nervous for this than he was the job itself.
“You got a drug problem?” Lemon asked in an unusually serious tone, his eyes were focused on his phone missing the way Tan’s face twisted up.
“Not at all.” He answered easily.
“You are either are back on the stuff, or you just paid 50K off your payout for….” His voice trailed off and his hand waved indicating the Tan should finish the sentence.
A black hellcat pulled up infront of the door and Tand picked up the brief case motioning for them to go.
“Dibs on shot gun.” He blurted quickly like they used to when they were kids. Lemon gave him a look that reminded him that nothing was ever lost on him. He knew that after this ride home there would be a full investigation on you, string lines connecting all the information to which Thomas the Train you would be.
He gave Lemon a stern “dont fuck this up for me” type of look and Lemon gave him a brotherly smile. They got into the car and your appearance hit him full force.
You were in your PJ’s and your hair was pulled up into a messy blob on the top of your head. A pink fluffy bathrobe encasing your slender frame.
“Howdy.”You said in a chipper voice pulling away form the curb the second the door shut. The cab of the car smelled like mint and settled into the space whishing this was a normal thing. Like they were all coming back from a party or had run to the shops for late night snacks.
“Did we catch you at a bad time?” Lemon asked eyeing her robe.
“Well, I was made an offer I couldn't refuse.” She smiled.
“It’s-” Tan started but Lemon cut him off.
“Is that so?” He said turning his gaze towards Tan.
Tan swore your cheeks got pinker at the accusation. He wanted more than anything to turn around and slap Lemon.
“Well, it’s nothing for peace of mind. Best driver there is. 95% of missions fail when leaving the site.” Tan had made that up.
“It’s an honor.” You smirked and his heart sped up. There was a moment of heavy silence and you turned the radio up. This was enough to buy him some time. He just paid 50K for a chance to ask her for a… what? A phone number? A date? Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair and looked out of the tinted glass. The city was a blur and his body gave into the familiar lurches of your fast driving. You were a part of this world, in enough danger without him so it’s not like he would be ruining your life. You always laughed at his jokes, you touched his arm that one time-
“It’s the eye of the tiger.” You sang along with the song on the radio pulling him away from his misery.
“Damn! Okay, girl.” Lemon said and he wished he could respond in some other way than to just look at you.
“Come on everyone knows this song.” You said batting a hand in the air, as you hurled the car around a corner.
“Not everyone can sing it like that.” Tan said grabbing the “oh shit handle” in the door as his body slid to the side.
“Shut up.”
“No seriously, find something harder then,” Lemon said from the backseat.
“What?” You were blushing now and focusing on the road more than you normally did. Tan reached out to the dial on the car and waited a moment for you to bat his hand away. But your hands stayed on the wheel. He spun the dial and it landed on a Christmas station.
“YES” Lemon boomed from the backseat. You let out a laugh as the sounds of Christmas by Mariah Carey filled the small car.
“Isn’t it a bit early?” You groaned and Tan felt it ripple through his body.
“Nonsense. The best part about Halloween is when it ends.” lemon said causing you to laugh.
“You boys better sing with me then.” Your eyes glanced at him and he would have done anything in that moment. You started to sing like an angel and he and Lemon mumbled along.
Sadly the ride was coming to an end as they approached the drop-off location. Lemon gave you a pat on the shoulder.
“Thanks, love. Get home safe.” He slid out of the car before you could respond. Your eyes moved to Tan’s and he knew this was his chance.
“Want to get a drink?” Your eyes went wide and a thick flush covered your cheeks.
“Maybe not like this.” You said gesturing to your PJs and he felt stupid for asking. “Unless you mind my place? The owner is pretty lax about the dress code.”
“Is that so?” He said cocking an eyebrow. You both held each other's gaze for a moment till Lemon tapped on the glass. Without breaking eye contact he lowered the window and handed the case to Lemon.
“Oi, go easy on him.” Lemon winked at you before heading up the stairs.
“My place it is then.” You smiled and reached across to lace your fingers in his.
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ok its 4am on saturday but i was just possessed by a demon who forced a fic idea into the crevices of my brain and made me start writing before i could sleep so in the true spirit of fuck it, here's my fuck it friday ! thank u for the tags <3 @eddiebabygirldiaz @jeeyuns @try-set-me-on-fire
(again, its 4am and this is straight from my notes app. if there are mistakes, well, fork in the kitchen)
it's been three days since maddie and chimney exchanged their life-altering vows under flourescent hospital lights.
bobby and athena's backyard is lit up with fairy lights and lanterns, littered with wildflower-stuffed mason jars and leftover confetti. buck thought the original wedding venue was beautiful, sure, but it's got nothing on this.
maybe that's because, this time, it's just their little family -- buck's parents already flew home with a half-baked excuse -- and there's no pressure to get it right after getting it so, so wrong. athena helped maddie hem her dress where it got ripped down the middle of the train (much to josh's dismay) so it sits just above her ankles. and buck -- begrudgingly helped by chris -- bedazzled chim's boot with the eclectic selection of rhinestones that were available at the dollar store this morning.
chim's a little unsteady on his feet as he sways with maddie on the dew-soaked spring grass, etta james crooning from a speaker somewhere, but if buck could hear his heartbeat, he knows it would be beating sure and steady, in tandem with maddie's. they both have tears in the eyes and eyes for nobody but each other and buck's heart is just about fit to burst.
it's absolutely perfect.
an hour ago, bobby had pulled him into the bathroom to fix buck's tie and tell him that he was proud of him. fifty-six minutes ago, buck had walked maddie through the glass doors onto the patio while jee waddled ahead, flowers petals spilling in clumps from her tiny hands in an attempt to throw them. maddie had forgone the charade and swooped chimney in for a kiss right away, cradling his neck when she dipped him, just a little, a pink blush flooding his cheeks. tommy didn't come in a helicopter this time, but he still swooped in with that impeccable timing to open the car door for buck, like a goddamn high schooler at prom. an hour and a half ago, he held buck's hand as they entered the house and buck tried not to think too much about how sweaty his palms were getting. twenty one minutes ago, he placed a fresh beer in buck's hands before buck had even realized he'd finished his last one. twenty minutes ago, buck had kissed him on the cheek in thanks, easy as anything, and snaked an arm around his waist. and now? now he's dancing with tommy -- beautiful, sweet, charming tommy -- at his sisters wedding, and it's absolutely fucking perfect.
except buck can't even look at his best friend.
again its not friday anymore + i have no idea who's done this so i'm just gonna tag the besties! consider this a share anything u want/seven sentence sunday/i love u tag!
@usereddie @chronicowboy @shitouttabuck @911onabc @ilostyou @goldenbcnes @exhuastedpigeon @canonbibuck @diazly @evankinard @buckttommy
#ig this counts as spec but not really i just had a VISION#when i say possessed i literally mean i was abt to fall asleep and this started playing like a movie in my head and then i was wide awake#my fic#abby is making
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Worth the Wait
hi bbs! okay well, after my last fic was so well received, I obviously said to myself, “self, that went great. let’s stop while we’re ahead, shall we?”
self is a v bad listener. much like reader in tonight’s offerings.
without further ado, I give you, yet-more-steve-harrington-baby-fever-nonsense. no apologies whatsoever to those of you who follow me. you had to have known what you were signing up for.
read on for a lil blurb? oneshot? of Steve scolding pregnant and on bed rest! reader. see that GIF up there? that’s the effects of you wearing poor Steeb out with all your rebellious nonsense. (warnings for high-risk pregnancy.) as always, love you for reading, babes.
---
“Y/N.” Steve was glaring at you from the doorway with his hands on his hips.
“what, Steve?”
“you know ‘what.’”
you glanced down at your watch. “it’s only been fifty-eight-min-oooop!”
before you could even finish the sentence, Steve had already scooped you up, bridal style, into his arms. “ooof” you huffed, catching your breath was a lot harder now that you’d entered your third trimester, and Steve hadn’t made it any easier by catching you off guard.
“we’ve talked about this babe,” he tutted at you as he carried you out of the baby’s room (where you’d just been occupied painting the walls a cool lavender) and through the hallway of your little house. “you are on modified bed rest and your hour is up, young lady.”
“oh Steve, come on, I feel fine!” you protested, waving your wet paintbrush haphazardly through the air and kicking your legs just enough to give him a slightly harder time of it.
reaching the couch, Steve carefully deposited you onto the cushions, looking for all the world like an exasperated mother hen. he raised a skeptical eyebrow at you, trying to figure out whether to tease or reprimand. the woman he cared about more than anyone else in the world was carrying his baby, and while he’d never been happier, he’d also never been more worried about anyone in his life, especially once your pregnancy was deemed “high risk.”
Steve sighed, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek in his palm. “you know your doctor said you have to take it easier now, and sixty minutes of standing and painting the nursery is all you’re allowed, sweet pea.”
“stupid incompetent cervix,” you frowned, crossing your arms above your belly. as much as you wanted to pout about it, you knew Steve was right. and though you didn’t want to admit it, you actually had been losing steam already.
“I know, babe. it sucks. but this will be over so soon,” he reassured you as he pried the paintbrush out of your hand, rested it carefully on the coffee table, and eased himself behind you so that your back rested snug against his chest. he’d been obsessed with sitting like this ever since you started showing, all the easier to rest his big warm hands on either side of your bump. the bigger you’d gotten, the less willing he’d been to takes his eyes or hands off of that lovely round belly you’d been working so hard on… and the more you’d appreciated a good belly rub.
you breathed slowly together, both of your hands feeling the baby move within you—Steve catching his breath from carrying you, you catching your breath from carrying your daughter. all those pre-birthing classes were good for something, at least.
it was no surprise to you that Steve had already proven to be an incredible birthing partner, pouring over the pregnancy books that you lacked the focus to read because every time you sat down baby was tap-dancing against your bladder. he diligently made sure you took your prenatal vitamins every morning, fed you small snacks periodically so your stomach wouldn’t get upset by heavy meals, and—best of all—asked Joyce to help him find the best pregnancy pillow for you once your belly got so big that sleep became impossible. you almost cried the first night he brought it to you and helped you position yourself so that it relieved all the strain on your hips and ankles. god, you loved that pillow. but you loved Steve even more.
you sighed a bit, throwing your breathing cycle out of sync with Steve’s. you could immediately feel him tense behind you. alert to whatever you might need next.
“you’re so wonderful, Steve,” you hummed, nuzzling sideways into his chest as you were overcome with all of the memories you had of Steve holding you through your pregnancy. “we’re both lucky to have you.”
“me? I’m just trying to keep up, Y/N. you’re the one doing something amazing, love,” he said as he rubbed your back. “you’re making such a good home for baby girl. I know it’s not been easy, but you’re doing so well.” he looked down at you, realizing your eyes were getting heavy, and you had shifted onto your side, the only position you could comfortably sleep in. “I think someone’s too tired to do much painting now anyway,” he teased softly, not sure if you were even awake enough to respond.
“you better not finish that nursery without me, Harrington,” you mumbled, already having accepted that a nap was in your future.
“okay babe, I’ll wait for you,” he smiled, kissing your forehead and pulling a blanket over you both. it would take weeks to paint the nursery in one-hour increments, but what did he care? Steve had all the patience in the world, where you were concerned. It was always worth the wait.
#steve harrington x pregnant reader#steve harrington x pregnant!reader#pregnant reader#stranger things#steve harrington#dad!steve harrington#dad!steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x one shot#pregnancy
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Slowburn
Fic O'Ween Day 12: Goosebumps, with part five of the firefighter/ EMT AU! Coops, Leo, and Layla belong to @lumosinlove, fest header belong to @noots-fic-fests!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
TW extremely brief mention of bodily fluids (one sentence at the beginning)
Five hours and forty-four minutes. He had been bled on, puked on, grabbed, yelled at, and nearly toppled. His only spare pair of pants was now bound up in a plastic bag. Miracle of miracles, Sirius’ shirt was the only thing that hadn’t been damaged in the miserable afternoon. It made a great undershirt. It would also need to be washed at least four times before he could even dream of returning it.
Layla stared at a spot above his shoulder in the opposite jumpseat. One side of her eyeliner had been completely smudged away; the other, smeared sideways to her temple in a smoky trail.
“Nice job today.”
“Thanks.”
“That was a lot.” Layla nodded mutely. His heart pulled for her, a little bit. Even if their cases had been run-of-the-mill, nearly six hours of back-to-back calls would wear anyone down. He nudged the tip of her shoe with his own. “You’re learning fast. I saw some good work out there.”
“I’m…” She blinked slowly, then shook her head. “Wow, I think I fell asleep sitting up for a minute.”
“It happens.” In time, she’d learn to sleep wherever she could catch it. “When does your shift end?”
“Seven.”
“Almost done, then.”
“Mmm.”
The ambulance went over a bump, rattling the near-empty shelves and bashing Remus’ tailbone against the back ledge. “Sorry!” Leo called through the small window to the cab.
He had mostly given up hope that he’d see Sirius in the next twelve hours. His shift wasn’t over until midnight, and Sirius’ started at six the next morning. If he made time between his dentist appointment and calling his parents, he might be able to stop by in the afternoon, but it would be a stretch if he wanted to get any laundry done. And, Christ, that was a chore he couldn’t delay for another week. He liked those pants. More importantly, he now knew just how much Sirius liked them.
Something stirred in his belly at the thought. Warm hands cupping his ass and sliding over his flanks with astonishing care. Sirius had felt him up enough that he could probably make a Model Magic version of Remus’ body on touch alone—and wasn’t that a thing to picture. Somewhere between rounds two and three, Remus remembered kissing the backs of Sirius’ thighs. Pale skin and dark hair above the bare, sensitive bend of his knees. They slotted so well in his palms. Sirius had looked like glory itself when he peeked over his shoulder to look.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Remus jumped. “What? Nothing. Sorry, nothing, why?”
“You’re all frowny.”
Thank god for that. “Just…the day.”
A vague and reliable excuse. Layla snorted. “Tell me about it.”
There will never be a day when I tell you about this. Remus hoped his laugh didn’t come out too strained. “Seriously.”
They took the next turn a little wider, sending their final two ointment boxes sliding out of place. He fixed them blindly while the city center rolled past through the back windows. Did Sirius still have scratch marks on his upper thighs?
Another bump knocked the thought from his head. “We’re home,” Leo singsonged from the driver’s seat. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the showers, wondering why I chose this life path.”
“Mood,” Layla mumbled.
“I’m also Grubhubbing a sundae, and you can’t stop me.”
One of the last functioning neurons in Remus’ head lit up. “Get me one.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Get your own.”
“I’m your boss.”
“You make more money than me.”
“Yes, let me flaunt my extra fifty cents an hour,” he countered dryly. “Every night, I rub my quarters together, just to flex on you. That beautiful sound of a handful of nickels.”
“…I’ll see what they have.”
“Good rookie.”
He didn’t wait for the ambulance to stop before opening the doors. The familiar ka-chunk of the lock coming free was music to his ears—a sweet, sweet anthem of freedom, the promise of a lukewarm cup of coffee and a maybe-stale donut from the break room.
And Sirius.
Sirius, sitting on one of his packed and labeled inventory bins.
Remus stared.
“Remus?”
“Go ahead,” he said absently. “I’ll catch up.”
Layla hopped out with a groan. Six hours was a long time to be up and down. Remus was sure his feet would ache the same when he stood. If he stood. Sirius’ hair stuck up at the back, like he’d been running his hands through it.
Remus loved when he did that.
He just. He really did like him, quite a lot.
Keep me.
What had he been thinking? Six hours was a long time to wait. He had told Sirius he’d be right back. It was his day off; why hadn’t he left after it was clear Remus wouldn’t return?
He supposed he could ask the same question about that morning. God, could it really only have been a few hours since he felt Sirius’ bare chest against his own? They had practically been spooning with how tight they were tangled in each other when he woke. Remus hardly remembered falling asleep, only aware of the pleasant ache in his muscles and the humming pleasure in his belly. Pure satisfaction. Pure comfort, at having Sirius hold him like more than a friend.
He watched Leo wander off. Sirius didn’t seem to have noticed. He didn’t so much as flinch when Remus stumbled off the rig and beelined for him, not until Remus stopped in front of him, unsure what to say. I want you I like you I’m sorry please kiss me again, I still get goosebumps thinking about the way your mouth tastes with adrenaline.
Sirius blinked up at him, full lips and glossy lashes. His bone structure was fucking criminal. “You’re back,” he said, so soft and sweet and genuinely happy that Remus’ stomach flopped over itself. Sirius stood, tucking his phone into his pocket without a second glance at it. He was just—big. And tall. And gorgeous. Remus now knew precisely how solid his chest was, and how nice it was to kiss. “Did you have a good day?”
Remus stepped forward and planted his face directly into that chest.
“Oh,” Sirius laughed. It vibrated against his forehead; he closed his eyes. Arms came up around him, hands settling at his nape and the small of his back. He knew he smelled awful. Sirius didn’t seem to care as a tentative kiss nestled on the top of his head and melted Remus’ insides out his throbbing feet.
He sighed. Sirius smelled all warm and spicy. Detergent, cologne, or simply the way he was? Remus couldn’t wait to find out. “This is nice.”
“Yeah.” The delight was back. Sirius pushed the breath from his lungs on a squeeze. “Yeah, it is. I like this.”
“I’m gonna kiss you,” Remus mumbled. “Gonna kiss you so good. Just…two seconds.”
“You can kiss me whenever you want.”
“Two seconds.” It was so dark in his new haven. Sirius’ lungs moved calmly, steadily. His heart rate was a little fast, but nothing to worry about. Remus let his ears go foggy and pressed closer, nuzzling into the space between his collarbones.
Sirius kissed the top of his head again, less hesitant this time, before resting his chin there. “Long day?” he asked after several seconds. Remus hummed. “Sounded like you guys didn’t get much of a break.”
“Mhmm.” He turned his head to the side and rubbed his cheek over Sirius’ sternum. He couldn’t count the number of times they had sat together on the couch or at the table or in the window seat, legs intertwined while they worked through their days. Separate snacks at first, then a single bowl to share once they knew each other’s favorites. It had been nice, to have someone there. Someone to talk to, someone to listen, someone who understood.
But this…this was so much better.
Sirius’ thumb stroked a short path along his spine. It zinged all the way into the base of Remus’ skull. “I sweated through your shirt,” he muttered, pushing his head further beneath Sirius’ chin. “After I stole it from you by accident. Sorry. I’ll wash it.”
He felt Sirius’ smile on his temple. “Keep it. Looks better on you.”
“Think I left mine at your place.”
“Guess you’ll just have to come back and get it,” Sirius whispered playfully. Remus couldn’t help a grin, raising his head despite the pounding drowsiness behind his eye—he had barely opened his mouth to retort when there were lips brushing his own, a wordless request. He granted it easily.
This was different than the rushed promise on the ambulance. Different than last night’s smoky, need-fueled passion. He let Sirius lead, tender and questioning, then pushed into it a little more. Have it, he tried to say. Take it all, it’s been yours for a while. The words may not work, but he was willing to bet Sirius would understand anyway. His lower lip was chapped on one side when Remus ran his tongue along the seam, giddy and dizzy with the kiss-buzz of chasteness.
“Hmm.”
That was good. It was all good, if Sirius would keep making noises like that. He brought his hands up to rest on narrow hips (marked with a tiny scar just above his thigh, which Remus was so fucking glad he knew now) and gave a little more, pushed a little harder. Sirius’ hand cupped his jaw and the right side of Remus’ brain powered down.
“Hm—wait, wait.”
His attempt to lick forward into Sirius’ mouth was stymied by sudden distance between them. Not far—he could still pick out each fleck of quicksilver in Sirius’ unfocused eyes—but far enough to be frustrating for the part of him that was enjoying turning his thoughts off. Remus went up on his toes for more, but Sirius pulled away. “What?” he whispered, though they were alone. “Did you—are you mad at me?”
“No,” Sirius said hurriedly. His hands soothed down Remus’ sides in a long drag that sent tingles through each cell. “God, no, I’m trying to—” His cheeks went a touch pink as he glanced around them and coughed lightly. “Uh, I’m trying to calm down.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Remus hadn’t even thought about that. He was pretty sure he was too tired for his body to consider arousal, aside from the inevitable spike of desire for a soft place to land for two to eight hours. Sirius’ mouth was so nice, his body so warm, that it was all too tempting to get lost in it.
Sirius’ tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. Well. Remus supposed he might be able to feel something other than pure exhaustion, if he tried. “What time do you get off?”
“Whenever you want me to,” Remus answered immediately, then felt himself redden at the arch of Sirius’ brows. “Fuck—sorry. Midnight. My shift’s done at midnight.”
The fingertips on his back had become an extraordinary distraction. Sirius looked almost shy, so at odds with the animated boy he knew against this backdrop that Remus wanted to memorize every inch of it. “Can I…” Sirius began, then trailed off as his blush darkened. His thumbs hooked around Remus’ hipbones and paused there, lingering on bare skin. “Can I maybe take you to dinner? Or a diner?”
“At midnight?”
“I know a couple places.”
Remus frowned. “You have work tomorrow.”
Sirius gave a sheepish half-shrug. “We could nap together. Today, I mean. If you want.”
“I smell horrible.”
“You smell fine.”
“I’m soaked in dry sweat.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I—” That was it for excuses. That was all he had. Every defense against Sirius was dust in the wind. He smiled, and stood on his toes again to kiss one scruffy cheek. “Yeah, sounds good. Let me wash my face and grab some water. I’ll meet you in the bunks.”
Sirius’ eyes crinkled, and Remus fell for him all over again. “I’ll be waiting.”
#remus lupin#sirius black#coops#leo knut#layla#sweater weather#vaincre#coast to coast#lumosinlove#my fic#fanfic#firefighter/ emt au#fic o’ween 2023#fluff
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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic
You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever.
But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11
Chapter 12 Chapter 13
Chapter 3
There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. Except now you know damn well that the thing that’s wrong with it isn’t the house itself – it’s what’s in it. What was put in it. What’s stuck in it. “In most hauntings, ghosts are summoned from the world between by conjurers, whether they like it or not,” Aizawa says. “These ghosts are bound unwillingly to specific locations and left to haunt them as they see fit. Eri was this type of ghost.”
“So’s Himiko,” Jin says. He pauses. “I think.”
“So was Magne,” Spinner adds. “She didn’t like it here.”
“Can’t she go back?” you ask.
Aizawa shakes his head. “Once a ghost has been summoned and bound, there’s only one way out,” he says – but he doesn’t tell you what that way is. Of course. “As I said, in most cases, the ghosts are bound to their haunts unwillingly. The ghosts who came willingly are the ones to be scared of.”
You’re smart enough to catch the implication. Most of the ghosts in the neighborhood didn’t want to be here. “You think Tomura did.”
“A ghost of his strength could have resisted the summons, and killed the conjurer who made it,” Aizawa says. “Your ghost is here because he chose to be.”
“Which is way we brought you to old man Aizawa,” Jin says. Aizawa, who’s not actually that old, rolls his eyes. “He’s got one of those, too.”
Not Eri. It’s not Eri, and Shinsou’s not a ghost, so – “Your husband’s a ghost?”
“He was a ghost,” Aizawa corrects. He looks even more tired than before. “I suppose it’ll be easiest to tell you what happened. It’ll cut down on the useless questions you’ll undoubtedly ask. My husband Hizashi was summoned form the world between two hundred and nineteen years ago, to haunt an opera house that was being built –”
Aizawa’s husband was a very powerful ghost, he says. He could have resisted the summons, but he didn’t, and he spent a hundred and fifty years terrorizing the opera house and everyone who set foot in it before the last person who owned it burnt it to the ground on purpose. “That was a mistake,” Aizawa says. “Destroying a haunt releases the ghost to wander. Releasing a ghost like Hizashi is – unwise.”
“Look up the opera ghost murders,” Spinner stage-whispers. You glance back at him. “Let’s just say Hizashi spent a lot of time embodied.”
Tomura’s words flash through your head: I can’t get it from you or the dog. You’d die. You stare at Aizawa. “Your husband killed people?”
“People who deserved it. Or people he felt deserved it,” Aizawa says. His voice is flat. “Ghosts aren’t human. They don’t think like humans do. Their sense of right and wrong is accordingly – skewed.”
“Sometimes Papa killed people who hurt other people,” Eri says. “Sometimes he killed people who were mean to their waiters. But that was before he met Dad.”
You’re still stuck a few sentences back, slowly piecing something together. “The energy doesn’t last long when they’re – embodied,” you say, stumbling on the word. “Your ghosts are just killing people all the time?”
“No,” Aizawa says shortly. “The ghosts in this neighborhood, excepting yours, are former ghosts. They no longer have that power.”
“We’re people now. We don’t need it,” Eri explains to you. She looks back to Aizawa. “Tell how you met Papa!”
Aizawa sighs. “My current job is as an author. Prior to this, I was an investigative journalist. My specialty was exposés, and I often took risks to ensure the truth came to light. During this time, unbeknownst to me, I caught Hizashi’s attention. He began watching me, following me – helping me, although our definitions of helpfulness diverged more often than not. His word for it was ‘haunting’.”
That’s Tomura’s word for it, too. A shiver runs down your spine. “On my last assignment, I was investigating corruption in the police force,” Aizawa says. “While I discovered plenty of it, I also discovered something worse – a serial murderer, using his role in law enforcement to conceal his crimes. I knew that no one would believe me unless I brought them incontrovertible proof. I took appropriate precautions, or so I thought, then confronted him to force a confession.”
“And it didn’t work,” you guess.
Aizawa’s fingers trace a scar under his right eye in a movement that almost looks unconscious. “It didn’t go as planned,” he says. “I was badly injured. If Hizashi hadn’t intervened, I would have been killed. As it was, I fell unconscious. When I woke up in the hospital three days later, Hizashi was there. Alive.”
“Not a ghost anymore,” you clarify. Aizawa nods. “How?”
“Ghosts can embody themselves permanently if they kill someone and take the complete measure of their life-force,” Aizawa says. “That’s what Hizashi did, and Eri. That’s what they all did.”
Eri killed someone. You glance at her, more than a little creeped out, and find her smiling a gap-toothed smile. “I had to,” she says. Her pupils open and shut again. “She was hurting Hitoshi. She made him cry.”
“Did you mean it?” you ask lamely.
“To be people?” Eri frowns for a moment. “I must have. Or it wouldn’t have worked.”
“The embodiment thing doesn’t just happen,” Jin says. “They don’t just trip and fall – like, whoops, I’m embodied now! They have to want it.”
“They have to want it more than they want anything else,” Aizawa says. “More than they’ve ever wanted anything else in all their existence. It’s not something that happens often.”
“Which is a good thing,” Spinner puts in. “Because once you’ve got one, you’ve got it for life.”
So every ghost – former ghost – in the neighborhood had at least a split second where they wanted to be human. “If a ghost who was summoned unwillingly becomes human, their contract with the conjurer who summoned them is broken,” Aizawa says. “The conjurers often come back to exact punishment, and while a ghost in this world has significant power, most permanently embodied ghosts have roughly the same power as a human.”
“Papa’s strong,” Eri argues.
“I said ‘most’,” Aizawa reminds her. “When Eri’s conjurer came for her, Hizashi’s residual abilities allowed us to defeat him. But Hizashi’s conjurer, should he reappear, would pose a significant threat. Every family in this neighborhood is under a similar threat.”
“Which is why we’re all here,” Spinner says. “The ghost in your house is so strong that his presence hides the rest of us completely. If Atsuhiro’s conjurer or Himiko’s or Hizashi’s looked here for them, they wouldn’t be able to find them. All they’d see is your ghost.”
“That’s why we all want to meet him so bad,” Jin says. “He’s the boss! The baddest guy around! And we owe him, see? If not for him, they’d find us, easy.”
You look at their faces, Eri and Jin and Spinner. They all look pretty enthusiastic at the prospect of your ghost. Nothing like the way you feel when you think about him, some weird mix of gratefulness and comfort and confusion and fear. You look away from them, to Aizawa. He doesn’t look sad, exactly. Not resigned, either. But when he looks at you, you get the sense that he understands it. He’s been where you are, or somewhere like it, and suddenly you’re intensely grateful to Jin for bringing you here. You aren’t crazy for having mixed feelings about your ghost. Aizawa had them, maybe still has them, too.
“This information, while interesting, is ultimately irrelevant to you,” Aizawa says. You didn’t want to say it, but he’s right. “I imagine you’re more interested in how to handle your interactions with – Tomura, was it?”
You nod. “He hasn’t hurt me. I don’t think he wants to hurt me. But I don’t think he knows what he wants.”
“That’s likely. For all his power, he doesn’t seem to have much experience actually haunting anyone,” Aizawa says. “The fact that the house stood empty for so long suggests that he’s selective, and the actions he’s taken suggest that he has an interest in keeping you appeased. That gives you leverage.”
“You kind of need that,” Spinner says. “Like Aizawa said, they don’t get right and wrong like we do. Magne thought all kinds of shit was okay at first. It gets better if they’re embodied, but since yours isn’t gonna do that, you’ll have to explain a lot.”
“Frame the situation in terms of how the action you want the ghost to take will benefit the ghost,” Aizawa says. “For instance, if you want privacy, explain how respecting your privacy will increase your comfort in the house and make you more likely to stay there. Avoid asking him to do things.”
“Like asking him not to stare at me while I sleep?”
“No,” Aizawa says. “Avoid asking him to undertake tasks for you. The means he’ll use to achieve them will likely be unpleasant.”
You think of the coyote. All you needed was for it to leave, but Tomura basically tore its head off. “I don’t need him to do anything,” you say. “Just to leave me alone.”
“Sorry, sister. That’s not happening,” Jin says, and your heart sinks. “That house has been empty ever since we moved in. He’s been waiting for somebody to haunt this whole time, and he picked you. You’re his now. He told Himiko so.”
“Magne said she got the same vibe,” Spinner adds. “It’s not so bad, having a ghost. Think of it like having a really good roommate, or a best friend –”
“Or the coolest little sister ever,” Jin adds, grinning. “All the best people I know used to be dead!”
“I’m not dead! Take that back,” Eri protests. “I’m just your kind of alive now. And it’s the best kind of alive. There are flavors. And tastes –”
Spinner asks Eri what kind of tastes she likes best, and that sets all three of them off. You look back at Aizawa, who’s studying you with that same flat look in his eyes. “I don’t think mine wants a best friend,” you say.
“Mine didn’t,” Aizawa says. You wonder how he ended up married to his ghost, raising kids with his ghost. If that was really what he wanted. If he ever had a choice. “I don’t think so, either.”
When you head back to your house, it’s with an armful of books and a low, heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Phantom greets you cheerfully the instant you latch the gate behind you. You wonder how she got out when you know you left her inside, but the answer comes to you almost ahead of the question. Tomura must have let her out. He’s watched the whole process play out hundreds of times by now – Phantom going to the door, aiming sad looks your way, crying until you open it – and he did exactly what you do. You remember Aizawa’s admonition against asking Tomura to do things. You didn’t ask for this, and he did it anyway.
He materializes the instant you close the front door. “Where did you go? You were gone for hours.”
“I went to see the neighbors,” you say. His eyes flash. “To ask them about you.”
Now he looks confused. “Why didn’t you ask me about me?”
“Because you might lie, and I needed the truth.” You wait to see if Tomura will argue, but he doesn’t. “They had a lot to say.”
“What did they say about me?”
“They said you’re strong,” you say. Tomura goes from suspicious to proud of himself in about two seconds flat. “That’s why they moved here. You’re so strong that you can hide them from the people who summoned them.”
“It’s their fault they need to hide. They embodied themselves, like idiots.” Tomura at least sounds like he’s against permanent embodiment, which is a relief for you. “They can stay. I don’t care. As long as you stay.”
“I can stay,” you allow. You think of what Aizawa said and give one of his negotiating tactics a try. “I’ll be a lot more comfortable staying here if you give me some space.”
“Space,” Tomura repeats. “What kind of space?”
“When I’m in the bathroom. Humans like being alone in there,” you say. He nods. “And at night when I’m sleeping. We like to be alone then, too.”
“Not everybody,” Tomura argues. “In those movies –”
“I’m not going to watch any more movies if you keep getting dumb ideas from them.” You ignore the affronted sound Tomura makes. “Life isn’t like movies. I like to be alone when I’m sleeping.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Do you sleep?” You should have asked Aizawa about things like that.
“I don’t sleep. Sleeping is for humans,” Tomura says. You raise your eyebrows and he scowls. “It sounds nice when you sleep. I can’t hear it if I’m not in your room.”
“What sounds nice?” You’re not a sleep-talker, and nobody’s ever told you that you snore. “What kind of noises am I making? Are they weird?”
“I don’t know,” Tomura snaps. “I don’t know what noises humans are supposed to make when they’re sleeping. They don’t sound weird to me. They’re just – nice.”
You decide to set up your phone to record tonight, just to figure out what kind of sounds you’re making. And then you’ll buy a white-noise machine so this doesn’t happen again. This isn’t working. Maybe you need to try something else. “I’m not fun to hang out with when I’m sleeping,” you say. “Why don’t we hang out more when I’m awake and I can talk to you?”
His red eyes light up. Part of you wants to call his excitement childish, but you’ve felt that way as an adult. Aizawa says that ghosts materialize or embody or whatever you’re supposed to call it at the equivalent human age. Tomura’s an adult by ghost standards. You have to interact with him like one. “Well?”
“I need more life,” Tomura says. “I killed all your mushrooms in the front yard. Find me something else and I’ll – hang out with you. You are boring when you sleep.”
“I’ll find something,” you say. You can see that Tomura’s starting to fade, and you move to end the conversation before he can freak out again. “Thanks for letting Phantom out. I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon,” Tomura says. He doesn’t look happy, but he’s not angry. As long as he’s not throwing a fit, you’ll take it.
Once he’s faded completely, you take out your phone and text the newly formed group chat that has the numbers of every human in the neighborhood old enough to have a phone. Jin’s renamed it eight times already. Right now it’s “ghost friends anonymous”. You text it with a request: If you all catch bugs in your houses, bring them to my house. I need them.
So you can talk to him? Keigo texts back first. Wish I’d thought of that when it was me. No problem. Bug buffet coming right up.
Shinsou responds next. Can we leave them on your porch? Dad says not to go up there.
You’ve got my permission, you say, even though you and everybody else knows it’s not your permission that counts. And his, once I tell him what they’re for.
The cold spot settles around your shoulders and you startled badly. You’ve walked through Tomura by accident before, and he must not have liked it, either, because he stays out of your way when you’re on the move. But he’s here now, not sinking through you but wrapped around you. “Don’t,” you say aloud. “I’ll get a chill.”
Tomura stays there a moment longer, probably just to prove he can. Then he slips away, leaving you with the worst case of goosebumps you’ve ever had and a feeling you don’t like in the pit of your stomach. You’ve got a ghost in your house – fine. It’s not being a ghost that makes him an asshole.
Tomura’s an asshole, but he must want to hang out with you more than he wants to spy on you, because the bathroom’s empty except for you when you shower before bed. And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in an empty room.
Your bug idea works out pretty well. Every day you find at least five or six jars on your porch with holes drilled into the lids and spiders or ants or wasps rattling around inside, trying to escape. Two jars of bugs buys Tomura five minutes of complete materialization, but he’s starting to get smart about things, only materializing what he needs for a given interaction. A pair of hands to throw the ball for Phantom. His head and shoulders when he’s talking to you. His whole body, barely visible, when the neighbors come over to the house to drop off the day’s catch.
The first ones to come by are Jin and Himiko, and Himiko shrieks in excitement when she sees Tomura’s shadow on the front porch. “It’s you!” she squeals. “You’re so cute!”
“I’m not cute,” Tomura says, disgusted. Then he looks at you. “What’s cute?”
“Not you,” you say, and he breathes a sigh of relief. Even though he can’t breathe. It’s weird-looking for sure. “Jin, Himiko, this is Tomura. He’s, uh –”
“The boss!” Jin flashes a double thumbs-up. “The king of the neighborhood! Frankly, my dude, you terrify me.”
Jin’s mood switches stopped being weird to you a long time ago, but Tomura’s not used to him yet. “What’s wrong with it?” he mutters.
“Nothing’s wrong with him! Don’t make fun of my humans,” Himiko says. She smiles with her sharp teeth and ghost-blinks a few times. “I don’t make fun of your human. Even though she wears the same shirt three times a week.”
“It’s my favorite shirt,” you protest. “It’s comfy. And I wash it in between.”
“My human wears what it wants to wear,” Tomura says. You don’t have the heart to correct him on the pronouns.
And you don’t have to – somebody else does it for you, when Shinsou stops by with a bug delivery two afternoons later. He’s not alone, but it’s not Aizawa with him. It’s a blond man with a tiny mustache and bright green eyes, and he’s standing as far away from Shinsou as humanly possible without letting go of Shinsou’s hand. “I admire the ingenuity, but this is gross,” he says, projecting his voice ridiculously loud with seemingly no effort. Then he looks up at you and smiles. “Hey there. Shou’s told me all about you. The name’s Hizashi.”
“Aizawa told me about you, too.” You’ve met almost all the ghosts in the neighborhood already, but this is your first time seeing Hizashi, and something about him makes you nervous. Maybe it’s just what you know about his backstory, or maybe you’re worried he’s going to come up here and give Tomura ideas about things he can do with his human. “Tomura, this is Hizashi. He lives up the street.”
“I know who he is,” Tomura says. He’s more visible now than he was a second ago. “Back off. You’re scaring it.”
“It?” Hizashi repeats. “Most humans don’t go by ‘it’, friend. That’s a she. Your human’s a woman.”
“Huh?” Tomura looks at you, looks you up and down in a way that makes you really uncomfortable. “How can you tell?”
“You could ask,” Hizashi says, unruffled. He turns his attention to Shinsou. “You’re sure you have to go up there? Spooky McScarface doesn’t look too friendly.”
“I don’t touch other people’s humans,” Tomura says. He studies Shinsou as Shinsou comes up to the porch and sets his jar down on the first step. “Which kind are you?”
“I’m a guy,” Shinsou says. Tomura keeps staring at him. “The opposite of a girl. Not a girl. Most humans are guys or girls. Men or women. I’m a guy. Your human’s a girl.”
“Whatever,” Tomura says. Shinsou sets down the bugs and backs away toward the front gate. You’d elbow Tomura if he was embodied. When you elbow him anyway, your elbow goes numb from the cold. “I’m supposed to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Hizashi says. He yanks Shinsou back through the gate and hurries him up the street. “We’ll be back! Enjoy your worms.”
They’ve given you a lot of worms. “This is great,” you say. “Maybe we can get through a whole movie on these. What do you think?”
You glance at Tomura and find him mostly dematerialized, lost in thought. “You’re a girl,” he says. You nod. “What am I?”
“Whatever you want to be, I guess,” you say. “You look like a guy, though. Your voice sounds like a guy’s voice, and you don’t have – um –”
You gesture at your breasts, which is a mistake. Now he’s looking at them. “Would you rather be a girl?”
“No,” Tomura says decisively. “I don’t like girls that much.”
Tomura’s understanding of gender probably still has a couple of big holes in it, but you decide to steer off the topic for now and count yourself lucky that it wasn’t worse. It’s not until you’re trying to fall asleep in your still-empty room that you realize what Tomura actually said – that he doesn’t like girls enough to want to be one, not that he doesn’t like girls at all. You thought you were off the hook. It turns out your ghost is straight.
You text Aizawa in a fit of pique. Your husband taught my ghost how to like girls.
Your ghost already liked girls. Now he has words to explain it. Aizawa’s typing bubble appears, then vanishes. Trust me, it helps.
You’re not all that sure that it does, but after a week or so of normal behavior from Tomura, you decide that it’s probably not a disaster. Whatever Hizashi told him, it’s not anywhere as bad as what Tomura’s getting out of the movies he watches with you.
You’ve been trying to be careful about what you show him, but you learn pretty quickly that he can get something weird out of whatever he watches. Tomura is shockingly observant, picking up on stuff that even you don’t notice, but he almost invariably draws the wrong conclusions about whatever he’s caught on to. That’s fine when you’re watching sci-fi. Not fine when you’re watching a romcom.
“No,” you say to Tomura for the fifth time. You feel like you’re talking to Phantom. “That’s not good. He shouldn’t be doing that.”
“Why not? He wants to protect her and she’s being stupid.”
You agree she’s being stupid, but – “He’s scaring her,” you say. Tomura blinks. He doesn’t blink like the embodied ghosts do. He blinks like a human does. “It’s scary for someone to grab you, or to block you in a corner and not let you leave. People who care about you don’t scare you.”
Tomura’s quiet for a little bit. You’re just picking up the remote to unpause the movie when he speaks again. “Do I scare you?”
“Right now? No.”
“So you’ve been scared of me before,” Tomura says. Sometimes you can get away with lying to him, but not right now. You keep quiet, and he takes it how you meant it. And he’s pissed. “Why would you be scared of me? I didn’t do anything to you. I helped you –”
“Humans are scared of things we don’t understand,” you say. Tomura studies you, scratching the side of his neck. He’s not materialized enough for it to show, which is good. You hate seeing the scrapes appear. “It’s normal.”
“The others say their humans weren’t ever scared of them.”
“Their humans were kids,” you say. “I’m not.”
You haven’t run your theory by Aizawa yet, but you’re still pretty sure you’re right. Jin, Shinsou, and Spinner were all kids when they met their ghosts, and their ghosts were there for them when nobody else was. You’ve heard the stories of how they met in bits and pieces, but you know Himiko protected Jin and Jin’s siblings from their abusive dad – and killed him to embody herself when he took it too far. Eri told you what she did to the foster sibling who hurt Shinsou. Spinner hasn’t told you how he met his ghost yet, but you feel like it’s probably something similar. They were all kids, and their ghosts were their best friends before they became human. They didn’t think about it any more than that.
You and Aizawa were older. You can’t speak to whatever brought Aizawa to Hizashi’s attention, but you went out of your way to make sure your house wasn’t haunted and wound up with a seriously haunted house anyway. When Tomura killed the coyote to protect you and Phantom, you were grateful, and you said so – but your next thought was about how easily that same violence could be turned against you. You’re an adult. You don’t trust easily. Of course you’re wary of the insanely powerful ghost in your house. Who wouldn’t be?
Tomura’s still studying you. “How do I make you – not?”
“You can’t make me do anything,” you say. Tomura rolls his eyes. “Don’t do that. You asked.”
“And you didn’t answer. How do I make you stop being scared of me?”
“You can’t,” you say, which is probably the stupidest answer you’ve given to any question ever, even if it’s true. “Why do you want me not to be scared of you? You’re supposed to be haunting me. Don’t you want to act like a ghost?”
Tomura vanishes, which is about as close to a fuck-you as it gets. You resign yourself to a rough night and settle in for the rest of the movie. In retrospect, daring your ghost to actually haunt you was a really bad idea.
You haven’t shown Tomura any horror movies, but you watched a few before you knew he was watching them with you, and over the next few hours, he pulls every trick he must have seen in them. The lights flicker. The house fills itself with weird sounds, creaks and screeches and moans, and the hallways warp before your eyes as you try to walk through them. If you had to guess, you’d say Tomura wants you to beg him to stop, but you’re not going to do that. You brush your teeth, ignoring the way the water from the faucet runs read and the creepy shadow behind the shower door. You check your closet, ignoring the pair of feet very obviously sticking out below the racks of clothes, and pick up your feet to avoid the hands that grasp at your ankles as you try to get into bed. Then your bed starts to rattle, like he’s grabbed it by the post and started shaking it around.
And that, of all things, is what makes you lose patience. “You suck at haunting things.”
Tomura’s voice issues from beneath the bed. “Maybe you just suck at being haunted.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” You suck at all of this, and all the time you spend trying to solve your ghost problem has been sapping your focus at work. Mr. Yagi’s nice about it, but he can’t be nice forever. “I didn’t ask for this. You did.”
Your bed rattles again, harder than before, then goes still. “No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie. I know how this works. A ghost as strong as you –”
“I wasn’t always strong.” A scratching sound emanates from beneath the bed. Not only is Tomura still down there, he’s materialized fully enough that you can hear him scratching his neck. Why would he waste that kind of energy? “I didn’t want to come here. Master made me. I couldn’t get back.”
Master – his conjurer. It must be. But Aizawa says that ghosts are strong or weak, that their powers don’t grow or increase, and all the former ghosts agree. If Tomura started out weak enough to be summoned unwillingly, how did he get strong enough to hide an entire neighborhood of former ghosts? “I don’t understand.”
“So I bet you’re extra scared now.”
Tomura’s voice is bitter, mocking. But you can still hear the scratching, and before you can think better of it, you sit up and slide off your bed. When you’re lying flat on the floor, you can see into the darkness beneath the bed and make out Tomura’s red eyes, his pale skin, the scraped-raw spots on the side of his neck. “Hey, don’t do that,” you say quietly, and he scoffs. “It looks like it hurts.”
“Things don’t hurt. There’s feelings or not-feelings. I don’t care either way.”
“If you don’t care either way, then stop,” you say. Tomura scoffs again. “I’ll prove it’s different. Hold your hand out.”
He holds out the hand he’s not scratching with, like an asshole, but maybe you can use that. If he’s still scratching, the contrast will be obvious. You reach for Tomura’s hand with both of yours and hold it still. Part of you is expecting your hands to sink through and meet in the middle, but Tomura’s hand is real enough to touch. His skin is rough and ice-cold.
Tomura stops scratching the instant your hands enclose his. You’re tempted to call attention to it and gloat over being right, but it feels like it would be the wrong thing to do. It’s banter, and this doesn’t feel like banter. It feels like something else. You don’t think too hard about what that something is.
Tomura’s not thinking about it, either, but that’s because Tomura’s an asshole. “It only feels different because your hands aren’t moving.”
“You want me to move my hands? Fine.” You turn Tomura’s hand over and run the pads of your fingers lightly over his palm, noting as you do that his palm is completely unlined. He doesn’t have fingerprints, either. You notice that when you trace the length of one of his fingers, and then the next, and the next after that. But if you ignore that, and you ignore the cold, Tomura’s hand is just a hand. You match your palm to his, then run your fingers down the length of his all at once. It’s just a hand. It could be anyone’s.
Tomura yanks his hand free of yours and vanishes for the second time tonight, leaving you sprawled out on the floor of your room, staring into the now-empty space under your bed. It occurs to you to be embarrassed, but this isn’t even close to the dumbest thing you’ve done because of the ghost in your house. You lay there for a second, wondering how long it’ll take for Tomura to get whatever stupid thing he’s doing out of his system, and then climb back up into bed.
Tomura’s sitting there, cross-legged, both hands up over his face. “What was that?” he asks. Usually when he asks you questions like that, it’s a demand, but it sounds different this time. “Why did you do that to me?”
“I was proving a point.” Were you, though? Suddenly you aren’t sure. “Get off my bed.”
“Never do that again,” Tomura says. His shoulders are rising and falling fast, like he’s breathing hard. “Never! I don’t want to feel like this!”
“Like what?” you ask, but now he’s fading – not dematerializing, fading. He’s run out of energy, and he won’t be back tonight, unless he changes his mind and decides you and Phantom are fair game as far as living batteries go. “Fine. You started this. Don’t play your stupid games with me anymore.
The lights flicker on, then off, then on again. You roll over, press your face into your pillow, and fall asleep.
#lovhalloweenhorror#shigaraki tomura x reader#tomura shigaraki x reader#shigaraki x reader#x reader#reader insert#shigaraki tomura#ghost story#loser nerd ghost boyfriend
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as someone who also hates (!!!) the editing process do you perhaps have any tips to share? 😿
you 🤝 me
im not sure how helpful these tips will be to you, but here's my two cents:
so you finished your first draft. yay you have a draft! a messy, incomplete one? aren't they all! feel free to coast on finishing for at least twenty-four hours. you want to vibe in the still writing, not editing phase. otherwise i (at least) start feeling discouraged and overwhelmed, instead of pleased that at least i have a starting point.
try to think about the goals of the editing process before you even open the doc. for some fic, it can just be a general spelling & grammar & removing repetition & fixing weird errors check (what's a weird error? one time in a first draft a character finished her beer three times in six paragraphs. that's a weird error). for others, you may need to check that the vibes feel right, or the pacing seems appropriate, or the world building is internally consistent. write down your goals in a notes app note or a comment! that way when you go in, you aren't overwhelmed; you know what you're trying to do
as you do a first pass, don't be afraid to leave shit for later. i constantly highlight sentences or paragraphs or half a scene and leave a comment like, "fix somehow" and then move on. often the way to make it better will strike me ten or twenty or fifty pages later. it's better to have momentum than get stuck on one frustrating sentence.
at some point, you have to stop word smithing. not because every sentence is perfect, but because you're going to annoy yourself if you keep trying to figure out why something doesn't flow right. done is better than good, and if you are planning on using a beta, they might be able to pinpoint the issue
don't be afraid to cut things. put them in a comment and keep it to the side if you don't want to lose the words. half the time you don't need them!
you've finished a first pass! this is generally when i call in a beta for anything over 5k. tell them what you're looking for when they read it over! this time, im probably going to ask things about pacing, relationship development, world building, if there are any moments where something comes across weird and not in a way i intended. sometimes, it's just line editing. you'll know what you need.
you've addressed their edits! my last and final process is something my pal ohtemporas suggested: use ctrl f and look for "filler words" - words that make your sentences less direct and immediate. things like "just," "a little," "still," "feels like". it's going to be mortifying. you don't have to cut them all, either!!!! but you'll be amazed what it does to make you really think about what you're trying to convey
at some point, you just gotta be done. this is fic. it will never be perfect. it doesn't have to be! go forth and hit publish
i hope this is at all helpful!!!! and you don't have to do all of it!!!!! at the heart of it, this is fic, and community, and stuff we do for love (and comments). it's nice to check for spelling and grammar errors (or at least i think so!), but anything else is gravy.
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Game On! 🎮
This was 1000% self-indulgent, and I love it.
Ler: Leo
Lee: Donnie
Summary: Donnie's gone game-crazy. Leo decides to play his own, with a tickley twist.
Warnings: light swearing. This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!
Tucked up in his lab, Donnie tapped away on his phone. He had gotten a new game, "Turtle Tapper", and he was addicted. He hadn't slept much the night before, too focused on beating the game. When he didn't show up for dinner, Leo called it and went to check on him.
He slipped in, bypassing the normal security systems. He must've forgotten to turn them on.
When he looked at Donnie, he got very concerned, very quick. His eyes had deeper bags then normal, and stray food/trash was littered about the room. His eyes were bloodshot to the center. Memories of The Purple Game filled his mind.
"Donnie, you missed breakfast, and you're about to miss dinner. Vamonos, hermano!" He tried tugging Dee's arm away, but a mechanical claw smacked his hand. "No Nardo this is important now leave me!" The entire sentence was rushed, as if every second spent talking was one wasted.
That wasn't gonna slide. One hand went for his goggles, distracting the claw, while the other snatched his phone. Leo ran for his life, bolting out of the room. Behind him, a pissed-off Donnie was hot on his heels, battle shell abandoned for speed.
Leon tore through the kitchen, disrupting the peaceful dinner. As he ducked into the living room, he heard Raph yell, "No broken bones!".
Using his sword, he made a portal to Mikey's room an tossed the phone in. On the other side, the phone landed safely in a blanket pile, hidden. When his purple brother entered the room, he held up his hands, smirking.
Putting two and two together, the flung himself at Leo, knocking them both onto the ground. Leo, having more upper body strength, had Donnie pinned and straddled pretty quickly. He situated them on Raph's beanbag, cushioning his soft shell.
"Nardo, you have three seconds-" Leo cut him off, an extremely smug look on his face. "Actually, I've got the upper hand, Don-Tron." After some thrashing around, Dee came to the shocking conclusion that his brother was right.
"Let's play a game. You have to guess where your phone is in three tries. Fail and suffer the consequences."
Leo's game was stacked against him. Anywhere in the lair is a lot of spaces, and he only had three guesses. Escaping was not a feasible option.
"Fine. Is it in the kitchen?" He could've tossed it in during their chase. His twin shook his head. "Noooooope! Two guesses left!"
Where's a Leo spot to put something? It wouldn't be in his own room, too predictable. He would, however, hide it in his room/lab, just for the irony. "Is it in my room?"
He made a comical buzzer noise. "Eeeeeeee! Strike two, brother! Can he do it folks? Not likely!" Now he was just being annoying.
Okay, come on. If he were Leo, where would he hide it? Somewhere he wouldn't think to look, like his brother's room! Fifty-fifty shot on which one. Maybe Raph, he has a lot of stuffies to hide it in.
"Raph's room!" The look on Leo's face was as mischievous as ever. "Sorry, but that's incorrect! As our all-time loser, you now have to endure our penalty!" Gosh, he was so haughty! He just hoped the dumb penalty was short.
The blue-themed turtle held his hand up, pretending it was a person. "Tell him what he's won, folks!" The hand 'spoke' in a dumb, high-pitched voice. "A session of brotherly bonding, via tickles!"
Dee's eyes widened, and he twisted and kicked, trying to get out from under Leo. He failed, Leo smirking and cracking his knuckles as he watched. "Nardo, I swear I will murder you in your sleep! Get off!"
"Tempting, but nah." He scratched and skittered across his sides, Donnie ending his protests with a strangled gasp. Pushing Leo's arms away wasn't working. Stubborn till the end, he held in his reaction, making Leo work for it.
"Come oooon, DonTon! You know you wanna laugh! It would be a lot easier if you just let it out~" The teasing was working, a few titters escaping the genius. Still, for the most part, he held strong.
Leo shook his head. "I didn't wanna do this, but desperate times call for desperate measures." While one hand scooped up Donnie's arms, the other attacked his armpits. The dam burst, bright laughter erupting from the purple-themed turtle.
"GAHAHAHA! NAHAHARDO GEHET OHOHOF!" Going for a bad spot right away was a Leo special. He didn't really have a reason, other than being a little shit. He dug into the sensitive area, driving his twin up the wall.
"LEHEHEO! CEHEASE YOHOUR NONSEHENSE AT OHONCE!" He was obviously ignored, the slider continuing his torment. The genius kicked out, trying to dilute the crazy ticklish feelings.
Not wanting to wear him out so fast, Leo switched to scribbling on his plastron. Don's arms came crashing down, too tired to do anything more than grab his brother's wrists. Bubbly giggles greeted Leo, with not so sweet words behind them.
"Fuhuhuck ohohoff you duhumb duhuhumb!"
Leo gasped, getting his drama-queen on. "So rude! I go out of my way to take care of you, and this is the thanks I get?" "Yohour lihihihiterally tohorturing me!"
Finally, he got back on track. "If you eat dinner AND take some melatonin, I'll quit." Donnie made a noise like a strangled squeak. "Scohoff! Thihihis ihis tyrahahahanny!"
Leo sighed, expecting the snarky denial. "Thought you would say something like that. Time to die, Othello."
Flipping him over, Leo scribbled across his soft shell. Not wanting to hurt his bro, the touch was light and soft. That ultimately made things worse, the gentle tickling driving Donnie to hysterics. "NAHAHAHAHOHO! I CAHAHA- NAHAHARDOHO!"
He shrugged. "You had your chance. Now suffer, shadow the edge-hog." Leo traced little shapes, invisible smiley faces and stars covering his shell. For once, there were no thoughts in the soft shell's mind besides 'Holly truffle mac n' cheese it tickles!'
Raph peeked his head in the room. "Don't kill him, Leo!" He got a thumbs up, chuckling and shaking his head as he left.
Seeing Don reaching his limits, Leo gave him another shot at mercy. "Promise you'll eat and sleep? And by sleep, I mean at least seven hours."
"IHIHI PRHOHOMIHISE! PLEHEASE STAHAHAHAP!" Satisfied, he stopped his torment, switching to rubbing away the phantom tickles.
"Now was that so hard?" Donnie kicked him, earning a quick tazer to the side. When he regained his breath, Don drug himself to the kitchen, earning head pats from Raph and a few laughs from Mikey. Leo just smirked.
Leon: 1, Donnie: 0
#rottmnt#lee!donnie#ler!leo#ticklish!donnie#rottmnt tickle#sfw tickling community#tickle fic#tickle#ticklish!donatello#lee!donatello#rottmnt fic#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt donnie#rottmnt leo
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can I request shy reader who doesn’t really know how to say I love you and really wants to but she’s anxious and awkward and Peter says it all the time and she’s afraid that she’s not living up to his expectations?
that’s a lot but I’m just really feeling like I could use some Peter comfort after a long day of attempting to handle my feelings and live up to what i think other people deserve from me (which is way more than reality)
love you jade, all your fics make me feel so seen and not alone. they made me okay with a lot of things I’m super insecure about, mentally and physically and gives me a lot of comfort <3
hi I’m sorry I went a little low on the comfort part but I promise Peter is very understanding lmao ! ILY anon and I’m so happy to have you, please know the only persons expectations u need to live upto are ur own (and even then its not too high stales as long as ur happy)))!
"I love you," Peter says.
You smile and reach for his wrist, rubbing your thumb over the fine hairs there. You hope it says I love you back but somehow you know it's not the same. You want to say it aloud; you do love him, you just can't make yourself. The words feel foreign.
Ever patient, Peter pulls you towards him and dots a quick kiss in your hair.
"Alright, see you later honeybee," he says warmly. You let his wrist go slowly as he pulls away, watching his back retreat up the steps of the ESU library.
It's about two minutes before you realise you're still standing there.
It doesn't feel fair. You know that you love him, and maybe he knows that you do – but he deserves to be told. Of course he does. You start up the steps before you've formulated a plan, through the double doors, up a flight of stairs to the quiet computer lab.
Peter's thankfully right by the door. There's not many people, only one without headphones. You clear your throat and Peter looks up. He's pleased and then concerned.
"Everything okay?" he asks quickly. "Y/N?"
You didn't plan ahead. You stand there in the doorway, take a hesitant step toward him. Breathing too fast to be casual.
"Peter," you say, very quietly.
"Yeah, what is it?" he asks.
He holds his hands out, twisting his chair towards you. You falter. If he gets his hands on you you're ability to speak will diminish by at least fifty percent and you need all guns blazing for this one.
"You're freaking me out," he says.
"I have to tell you," you start, and then stop. You worry you sound like you're gonna break up with him. Or that you have a secret family. It's awful. It doesn't sound like a proclamation of love. "Uh, I mean. Okay, I'll start again. I want to tell you, and I find it so hard but that's not because you don't make it easy to… to love you." You're mumbling, looking anywhere but his face. The last sentence is a slip up, you don't mean to say it like that.
You take a shuddering breath. Your hands are shaking you're so nervous, so awkward, so afraid of embarrassing yourself that you've managed it thrice.
You step into the reach of his hands and glance around to make sure no one's listening to your display of ineptitude.
Peter takes your forearms into his hands, slides them down until he's clutching your elbows.
You chance a glance at his face, find his lips determined in a flat line but his eyes betray his amusement, his fondness.
"I love you." You feel sorry for how strange it sounds.
"I know that," he whispers. He smiles so wide you think he might split his lip. His lips press together again like he's trying to contain himself, looking up at you with bright eyes. "C'mon, I know. Don't have to work yourself up so much over that."
"No, I do, 'cos you always tell me and I never tell you, and you should know because you're the best thing in my whole world," you whisper, incensed; angry with yourself in the depth of his kindness.
"Honey," he says softly, "you're fine. You don't have to force yourself." Then, with a huge smirk, "It is awesome to be told, of course, but I already knew. So don't worry about it."
You reach down to hug him and he receives you eagerly, a bone crushing, excited hug. Suddenly, the adrenaline of telling him hits you. "I love you," you tell him again.
His arms crush you impossibly tighter. "I love you too. You're your own worst enemy, you know that? Don't stress so much."
You let out an annoyed, grievous sigh, mouth pressed to his cheek.
"You come all the way up here to tell me that? Or, let me guess, you want to practice linear equations with me?" he asks teasingly as you pull away, wagging his eyebrows.
"No…" you moan, digging your face back into his neck. He chuckles and pats your back.
"Poor girl. They get easier, I swear,” he says gently. You're not sure if he means proclamations of love or linear equations, but both feel like a lie.
#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter parker imagine#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm! peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#peter parker oneshot#peter parker blurb#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x y/n#spiderman x you#spiderman fanfiction
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The Eras | Bucky Barnes x Reader
Hi! This is a short, silly little thing about the Ticketmaster fiasco the other day. If you were in that queue all day, I feel your pain. Seven hours of queuing for Houston. I know this fic is niche but I simply do not care <3 also, lemme know if you got tickets! And what you plan to wear to the show!
What’s your favorite track from Midnights?
Warnings: Ticketmaster
“Any luck?” Bucky asked on the other end of the phone.
“Nope… still two thousand plus people ahead of me.” You poked at your sad lunch salad with your plastic fork, eyes glued to your laptop. “At least my boss is trying to get tickets too, that way I won’t get in trouble for getting nothing done today.”
Bucky let out a loud laugh, “I love that for you. And your boss. Is there-”
“It’s PAUSED?” you nearly threw your lunch across the room. “The queue is PAUSED!”
Bucky wasn’t accustomed to this new way of doing things. If he wanted to go to a show back in his day, he simply bought tickets at the venue. But this was a whole new beast. You had a plan, a strategy. The group text with Wanda and Nat fired constantly in the days leading up to the presale, turning your phone into a war room.
“What? Why is it paused?”
“It says it ‘should be back up and running shortly’,” you sighed, “and that to keep my place in line, I can’t refresh or close my browser.” The disappointed groan that pushed its way out of your throat broke Bucky’s heart. He heard you clicking and typing on the other end of the line, no doubt conferring with the group text.
“This kind of seems like a disaster…” He didn’t want to make things any worse than they already were, but he hated when you were upset. You’d looked forward to this- gotten your presale code, received boosts. And yet, you sat in a paused queue with no end in sight.
“Oh, it is. Ticketmaster is the worst.” You gave a harsh stab with your plastic fork and speared a piece of romaine, punctuating your sentence. “It’s owned by this company Live Nation- it’s basically a monopoly.”
“But you’re guaranteed tickets, right?” he asked, sounding almost on edge. “Cause you got the code thingy? That’s how this works, right? The code ensures that you get the tickets?”
“Nope. That’s just to get into the presale, but they don’t require a code to get in the queue, so… I’m not sure there’s even a point to those codes.”
Bucky rolled his eyes at the inefficient and deeply flawed system. “Oh. That’s… really annoying. And confusing. They should explain the rules better.”
You gave him a laugh, “yeah, well, all they care about is making money.”
Bucky could practically see you- sitting at your desk, shoulders slumped, lunch half eaten, computer stuck in a paused queue. “I’m sorry, doll.”
You made a few more stabs at your wilted lettuce before giving it up all together. “And apparently ticket prices are nuts. Like, floor seats are selling for over a thousand dollars. My friend got seats in section C for the Dallas show, and he paid a thousand and twenty-eight dollars for each of them.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah…” you let out a sigh. “I’m so disappointed. I mean, I saw on Twitter that even nosebleeds are in the two-fifty range now. I know there’s way worse things in the world, but I was really looking forward to this- I’ve been saving for such a long time. I thought I was gonna get to see her in person, you know?” Bucky could hear the frown in your voice. “But between the queue and the prices, I just don’t think it’s gonna happen.”
“You never know, doll,” Bucky did his best to lighten the mood. “Don’t give up. Just keep the queue open on your computer and try to focus on other things, okay?”
You agreed to his terms and the two of you hung up, leaving you alone with your Ticketmaster nightmare.
That evening, Bucky waited by the door for you to come home. He stood so close, in fact, that you almost hit him with it. “Hey, baby! How was your day?” He was nearly vibrating with a strange energy you’d never seen from him before.
“It was terrible…” you sighed. “I was in the queue for seven hours. And when I finally got to the presale, tickets were unfathomably expensive. Even if I could afford them, every seat I picked disappeared. I got constant error notices and never even got one single ticket into my cart. It sucked.”
Bucky gave you a tight squeeze, so tight you could hardly breathe. “That’s terrible, doll. I’m so sorry you didn’t get tickets…” He released you suddenly, allowing your chest to expand. “But I’m actually glad you didn’t buy any.”
His words came as a surprise. He was always supportive, no matter how silly your venture. He knew how badly you wanted to go to the concert- why he celebrated your defeat was unknown.
“Oh. That’s…. ouch, Buck. I know I’m kind of annoying about how much I love her music, but-”
“No, no- I’m happy you didn’t get any,” he said, “because I got them for you.”
His words didn’t register. You stared at him, mouth agape, as the gears in your mind spun into overdrive. “I don’t… what? How?”
“He might be an ass, but Tony’s good for some stuff,” Bucky laughed. “I asked him to help me- and he said no. We both know he hates my guts. But when I said it was for you, he immediately agreed.”
“You asked Tony?” Bucky didn’t speak to Tony. Ever. Not since Siberia. But he’d broken his sworn vow against Tony. Just for you.
Bucky retrieved his laptop from the kitchen table, “I signed up last week just in case you didn’t get verified. But you did… and then I got a text late last night with a presale code. So, I thought I’d hop on the presale too just in case you couldn’t get tickets.” He turned the computer your way and showed you the screen, “according to this, my account is still stuck in the queue…”
You eyed the screen and saw the long line you stared at all day, “but if you’re still in the queue, how did you-”
Bucky scoffed, “Ticketmaster is no match for Stark tech, sweetheart. Tony found a way around the queue, grabbed three floor seats, and got outta there. Used some of that Iron Man money for good.” He shut the computer and tucked it under his arm, “and now, there are three floor seats linked to your account. You got the VIP package, preferred parking- all the bells and whistles.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Oh, and Stark told me to tell you…” he opened his computer once again and found an email from Tony. “And I quote: You’re too good for this idiot, but at least he’s resourceful. Have a great time at the show, kid.”
You launched yourself into Bucky’s arms, almost sending his laptop clattering to the floor. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh my god, Buck. You’re amazing- you’re the best!”
Bucky, always humble, did his best to duck your praises. “Well, Tony’s the one who got ‘em. I just called him and-”
“But it was your idea! And you entered for the presale just in case- you sat in the queue all day!”
Bucky’s cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink. “I just wanted you to see your girl. I know Taylor’s you’re favorite.”
“No, you’re my favorite,” you said, dropping a deep kiss to his lips. “Oh- I have to call Wanda! And Nat! And- wait, you didn’t ask Tony to get a ticket for you?”
Bucky shook his head, “Doll, this is your thing with your friends. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep an eye on me all night; I want you to give all your attention to Taylor-” He laughed his own words, “as though I have to tell you to give her your attention.”
He dotted kisses all over your face and chuckled as you thanked him time and time again. “You’re more than welcome. All I ever want is for you to be happy, sweetheart. Go call your friends and let ‘em know.”
You rifled through your bag and found your phone, an unstoppable smile plastered across your face all the while. But before you could run off to tell Nat and Wanda the good news, you took Bucky’s face in your hands.
“Just so you know, Buck, this is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. I mean, getting the tickets is amazing. But signing up for the code just in case, sitting in the queue for me- you’re so sweet.” He blushed once again, still not used to your praise. “And obviously, it helps that you were able to get me floor seats, but I’d be just as appreciative if I came home to no tickets. Cause floor seats or no floor seats, you’re all I want.”
“Well I guess you’re lucky then,” he laughed, “cause you got me and floor seats.”
“Truly, what else could a girl want?” you asked.
“Backstage passes?”
“Yeah, you know I was incredibly grateful and touched that you did this for me-” you joked. “But no backstage passes? Lame.”
Bucky rolled his eyes at you and swatted you on the ass, banishing you to go call your friends.
He’d done a lot of bad in his life. Even if it wasn’t his fault, he’d hurt people. But knowing that he’d done something so meaningful for you eased his mind.
All he wanted for the rest of his days was to see you smile like that. He didn’t care if he had to team up with Tony every week and get you exorbitantly priced concert tickets- he’d do it. He’d do anything for you.
————————————-
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Silence
pairing: Clove Kentwell x fem!reader
summary: There has to be more to life than this endless cycle of violence and death. Otherwise, what's the point?
warnings: out of character, violence, mentions of death and torture
word count: 3k
author’s note: It’s completely my take on Clove’s future if she won the Games years before Katniss and lived long enough to see the Second Rebellion. In my head, she would grow to hate the Capitol as much as most victors do. As for the fic, I wrote a more certain ending for this one but was not sure whether it fits here. If you are interested in reading a so-called part 2, let me know. Enjoy!
Silence. The thing that has followed Clove the most since her victory. It was everywhere—exhausting, haunting, and almost inevitable. Her mother calls it peace, but she doesn't seem to understand much of Clove's life. There has to be more to life than this endless cycle of violence and death. Otherwise, what's the point?
Silence is yet again her only companion in an empty office. She has been there countless times but never received a punishment. It is almost interesting; to see how things work from the other side, although her body aches in alarming waiting.
The office feels lifeless, and Clove thinks it has something to do with the lack of decor. It's as if the space is designed to be temporary, as if no one is meant to stay here for long. Clove wonders if this is intentional or simply a byproduct of the job's demands. Either way, it adds to the sense of isolation that she feels. She tries to push these thoughts aside, but her mind keeps drifting back to the emptiness around her. She wonders how long she can keep up this charade of normalcy before it all becomes too much to bear.
The door finally opens, and the man in his usual white uniform enters the room. Clove doesn't stand up, although the protocol says she should. What's the point of formalities?
The man recognizes her. While District 2 has a lot more victors than others, they can still be counted on ten fingers. The soldier's face twists, his mouth curving in a slight O-shape.
''Kentwell?'' he barks.
Clove nods, almost curious about his following actions. Undoubtedly, the whip doesn't discriminate between the golden stars of Panem and commoners. However, they live in separate areas, earn more money, and wear different clothes for a reason. The Capitol's goal is to divide the district from within, diverting their attention from the real threat. She knows that now.
''I'll make a call.''
The man leaves as rapidly as he came, - the door closes behind him with a loud thud. The walls here are paper-thin. Does the Capitol not trust its guard dogs? Although it has its perks, she must admit - Clove can hear the call better than her heartbeat.
''Report.''
''Ma'am, I have case fifty-eight.''
Clove knew exactly what that meant. She braced herself for the inevitable order that would follow.
''And do I need to remind you what to do in such cases?''
''No, ma'am. But I thought it was better to report: we have a victor.''
There was a moment of silence before the female voice spoke again.
''Lessen the whipping.''
''But ma'am, the protocol states that...''
''Roundtree, execute.''
''Yes, ma'am.''
Clove hears the man take hurried steps back to the office but doesn't pay him much attention. Her sentence, while not as harsh as it should be, remains. Clove's stomach turns in dread; this time, she gets what she deserves for not being careful enough.
-
The party is at its peak when Clove shows up. Her movements are slower than usual; while the wounds are not bleeding anymore, they still ached. The dress stylists gave her barely covered white bandages—if you looked long enough, you could put two plus two together.
The mayor's house is crowded with important people from the district's elite. Those people look idiotic in a pitiful attempt to mimic Capitol's people. It's almost funny how they think they are closer to them than their people here. The real power lies with those who control the resources and manipulate the masses for their own gain. Clove can't help but feel a sense of disgust at how easily these people are fooled into thinking that they are part of something greater, when in reality they are just being used for someone else's benefit.
''Miss Kentwell!''
The mayor's face is a little red, likely from the heat or the amount of alcohol he consumed. The man is near sixty, although Clove is not entirely sure; they say work like this ages people quicker. His face, framed by odd round glasses, expresses nothing but delight. If Clove had to guess, she would assume he doesn't know about her small rebellion yet or doesn't bother remembering it.
''I believe you haven't met Miss Y/L/N before; she isn't a big fan of our smallish dinners. A woman of work, you see.'' The man throws up his hands as if it were a ridiculous idea. ''But what can be better than this, am I right?''
Clove agrees, chuckling into her glass. The mayor seems not to notice her obvious sarcasm, happy to prove his point. The woman beside him, however, doesn't miss it; her piercing eyes are riveted to Clove, examining her.
''What do you say if I get you, ladies, something to drink?''
The mayor breaks the silence settled between them, and Clove opens her mouth to disagree—her glass is half full anyway, but the woman is quicker.
''Sounds wonderful, Fellord.''
If she wasn't curious about the woman before, she definitely is now. Not a lot of people consider themselves good friends with the mayor, and, for sure, not people her age—the woman looks a few years older than Clove.
''I would ask you to dance, Miss Kentwell, but, unfortunately, I am the proud owner of two left feet.''
The woman smiles, and Clove thinks she has heard this voice before. Perhaps she works at the mayor's office.
"Well, that makes two of us, Miss Y/L/N.''
''Oh, call me Y/N. I can't have such a beautiful woman think I am a prune, can I?'''
''That would be a catastrophe indeed.''
Clove likes the woman. She doesn't look as posh as most people here; her dress is much simpler, and her neck doesn't bear the burden of a hundred pearls. She is quite captivating, too. Something about her stance and confidence make Clove's brain a little cloudy.
''Here come the drinks.'' The mayor is yet again near them, holding two stemwares with bubbling liquid. ''Miss Y/L/N, I am afraid I have to steal you; there is a line of people I absolutely need to introduce you to. Miss Kentwell.'' he nods, passing her a glass.
The woman left, leaving nothing but a fling of curiosity in Clove's mind and a pleasant warmth in her body. While taking a woman as a lover wasn't unusual in the Capitol, here it would raise some eyebrows.
Clove's eyes fell on the glass left behind by the woman. It was half-full, the condensation on its surface glistening in the dim light of the room. She couldn't help but wonder who this woman was and what her story might be. Yet Clove has more important things on her mind now. She needed to focus on her mission, gather information, and make connections that would help the rebellion.
-
It's 4 in the morning when Clove makes her way into the kitchen; nightmares keep her sleepless most nights. The day is already breaking, slowly painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The district is long awake; workers are just now returning from the night shift in the Nut. Clove sees their small, dark figures coming down a broad path. It is too far to make out the faces, although it's not hard to predict how tired and dirty they look.
The Capitol doesn't pay half what their labour is worth—not enough money to feed a grown man, let alone a family. Clove hears the talks in pubs—people are angry, and rightly so. The discontent is growing, but not as quickly as she would like it to.
But Plutarch believes that the time for revolution has come, and Clove can't help but feel a glimmer of hope. She knows that the 75th Games are fast approaching, and with them, the potential for change. Though she also knows that change won't come easily. The Capitol will fight tooth and nail to maintain their power, and it won't be long before they realize what Plutarch is planning.
Clove can only wish that he's right about the people being ready to rise. As she watches the sun set over District 2, she can't help but wonder what the future holds. Will they succeed in overthrowing the Capitol? Only time will tell, but one thing is certain: Clove is ready to fight.
Maybe it's the reason for her sentiments now—she had never felt this way before. Clove had dated in middle school, but it was nothing serious. And since then, she had only had a few hookups—nothing that made her heart race like this. It was almost embarrassing to admit to herself that she was blushing at the thought of someone she barely knew.
Clove sighs, gathering her thoughts. It is time she got going; the revolution won't plan itself.
-
A few gunshots are heard somewhere nearby. Clove is running for her life through the narrow streets of the slums. She feels her legs burning with heat and a sharp pain aches in her calves. Was disobeying Lime's orders and attending the worker's gathering stupidheat,? Sure. She wishes she had never done it, but it's too late for regrets now.
Clove has run far enough to be out of peacekeepers' reach for now. The fire in her lungs is almost unbearable, and her heart is high on adrenalin. The shouts of the less fortunate are loud and clear; if she closes her eyes, it's like she is back at the arena.
She had escaped death once again, and it was starting to feel like a blessing and a curse all at once. Fate seemed to be playing a cruel game with her. As Clove caught her breath, she knew that she needed to move quickly before anyone came searching for her. The home was the safest place for her right now, and she needed to make it there without being seen.
She straightens up, lifting her eyes off the dusty ground.
Looking right at her are two pairs of eyes.
Peacekeepers.
Caught.
Clove feels the air leave her lungs. Her mind races with regret and fear as she realizes that this is the end. She had always known that being a rebel was a death sentence, but she never thought it would end like this. Clove had been so careful, but now it seemed that all her efforts had been in vain. The peacekeepers stood before her, their eyes cold and unfeeling as they trained their weapons on her.
The gunshot fires faster than she has time to react. The foul ground colours are red with blood, contrasting with a white uniform on the still warm, dead body.
The pair of unfazed, cold eyes sent shivers down her spine. Clove finally recognizes her saviour. Y/N. She is also in a white uniform, slightly tinted with blood. She speaks into her radio calmly: ''Soldier 237 is eliminated. The subject is armed. The perimeter is clear. End of report.'' before turning on her feet and leaving in the opposite direction.
Clove takes a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looks down at her hands, still shaking from the intense encounter. She is alive.
As Clove starts to wander away, she can't help but feel grateful for her saviour. Why did Y/N shoot her partner and not her? Was it because of one conversation a few months ago? Ridiculous. Her mind races with questions, but Clove knows that she may never get the answers.
-
They didn't come for her. Clove waited for interrogation or a gun to her head at night—nothing. Lyme was furious with her, of course, but Clove still managed to grab a few pieces of information vital to the planning.
Clove has looked at death's face many times, but she hasn't been so shaken in forever. Perhaps she is getting older, or the impact of betrayal was big enough to darken her mood.
It wasn't even a betrayal to begin with; she has to remind herself that Y/N promised her nothing. Hell, they spoke once or twice, and she was already head over heels. Clove is losing her grip, or maybe she is just tired of not allowing herself to feel anything, but it still hurts more than she would like to admit.
Y/N was an enemy—a serious one. Clove's heart surely knows whom to go for. It would be easier for her to convince herself to hate the woman if she let her partner shoot her. But no, Y/N saved her not once but twice already—she was the voice on the phone. Then she is not just an ordinary soldier; she is someone of higher rank. Someone who can have her dead in a matter of seconds and, for some reason, doesn't.
Clove feels as if her head is ready to explode; the Games have already started. It's only a matter of time before the rebellion begins. Before then, they have to plan a lot. Lyme had gotten the message from District 13: they are ready. Clove isn't sure if she is, but there is no turning back now. The rebellion was coming, and it was only a matter of time before everything exploded into chaos.
-
The dim light above cast eerie shadows on the blueprints. The silence in the room was suffocating. Their recent mission failed; the rebels lost a lot of their people and weapons. The revolution raged in all parts of Panem; however, the power of authority in District 2 remained strong.
Clove was low. Besides a few wounds gained on their last mission, she lost a few good soldiers. Those past months were nothing but agony; the constant lack of food and medical care destroyed the rebellious spirit better than any propaganda. Clove doesn't want to admit it, but she is scared. Lyme is too, and that kills Clove from within. The only person who seemed to know something is lost too.
Now, at the meeting of commanders, no one speaks a word. They know that they cannot afford to make any mistakes or take unnecessary risks. The faint knock disturbs the silence. The soldiers look at one another at a loss; their team is already here. The knock grows louder, and the commanders exchange wary glances. They know that they must proceed with caution.
Clove stands up from her seat, grabbing the nearest gun. The door creaks open, and while the lighting isn't helping to make out the face, Clove still does—it's Y/N. Years of training kick in. Her fingers wrap tightly around the trigger of the loaded gun, and she feels a rush of adrenaline as she raises it to point directly between the woman's eyes.
''Drop the gun,'' Lyme commands.
Clove isn't sure if she heard the woman right. It's their enemy she is holding at gunpoint—the reason for their losses.
''Lyme, she is a -'' Clove starts.
''I know who she is. She is on our side. Lower the gun.''
Clove hesitates for a moment, unsure of whether to trust Lyme's words or not. But as she looks into Y/N's eyes, she sees a glimmer of distress that she can relate to. With a deep breath, Clove lowers her gun and steps aside to let Y/N in.
The woman rolls her eyes. ''Finally. I don't have all the time in the world.'' She takes a few first-aid kits out of her bag. ''All I could sneak out without drawing too much attention.''
Lyme nods. ''Commanders, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She was recommended by Plutarch as a valuable soldier.''
Y/N looks around. ''Shall we start?''
The meeting lasted for almost four hours and only ended because of Y/N's departure; they couldn't afford to blow up her cover that foolishly. The woman brought many new points to the plan; having someone who knows the system from within made an enormous difference.
And while a lot became clear after the gathering, Clove found herself even more confused. So as the last person left the room, Clove approached Lyme with a furrowed brow.
"You don't trust her," Lyme stated.
''Clearly. The thing is, why do you trust her?''
Lyme looked at her calmly. ''I don't. When the rebellion was in planning, Plutarch introduced me to her. We've worked together since.''
''How do we know she doesn't betray us at any given chance?''
''She didn't before.'' Lyme shrugged. ''Or did you forget the time she saved your ass?''
As Clove sat there, staring at her friend, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her guilt bearing down on her. She knew it was wrong to hide such a vital piece of information, but she was too ashamed to admit her mistakes. It wasn't just the fear of being judged that held her back; it was the fear of losing everything she had worked so hard for.
''Look, I know it's hard, and frankly, that Plutarch man is slimy, to say the least. But it's all we've got.''
Clove nods. Lyme had always been honest with her, and she had no reason to doubt her now. ''Okay. But I'll keep an eye on her.''
-
The attack was successful, finally. Clove loosens up a little; a light of hope sparkles in the rebels' eyes once again. More people have joined the resistance since Y/N's addition to the commanders' board. The woman is bright, Clove must admit—she is a trained officer after all.
Lyme has them work together most of the time. Y/N renders an account of the peacekeepers' tactic and plans one to counter. It's hard work—if she makes it too easy, she will be under suspicion; if she doesn't, rebels lose people. Clove is there to report recourses and check for mistakes; after hours of work, it's easy to make one.
''That's it,'' Y/N announces, ''Those are the exists, the ones marked with red—the weakest points.''
Clove nods, taking a seat next to her on a tiny piece of wood—an improvised chair and desk. She feels Y/N tiredly stretch next to her. The handwriting is small and uneven, but understandable enough. ''Good,'' she mutters under her breath.
''The Nut won't be easy to take; you have to know that. I have fifteen people making the decisions there; I can't go against their commands.''
''I know.'' Clove feels the ache in her chest growing. Why can't things be easy for once? When Y/N steps out of this forgotten factory, she is a peacekeeper. And if she had the order to kill her, she would.
''The sun is almost up. I have to go.'' Y/N stands up, and Clove feels the cold touch her skin. She wants to say something to make her turn and listen, but she knows deep down that it wouldn't have made a difference. Clove watches the woman look around before disappearing in the morning fog. If only they had more time.
-
The Nut was invincible, just like Y/N had predicted. They've already tried four times. Nothing. A crushing defeat each time. Their miserable position even earned them guests—the Mockingjay and her famous squad.
Clove listens to their discretions, not too attentively—what do these people know about her home? Was a seventeen-year-old speech supposed to make workers turn their backs on the system they had been under for 75 years?
She shares a look with Y/N; she is also not impressed. As the conversation progresses, Clove finds the situation they are in dreadful—after executing the plan, most of the workers will be dead. She knows her people well; they won't surrender to someone who just bombed them. It's common sense.
''I'll check the weapons for tomorrow.'' Y/N stands up. She is angry.
''Alone? How do we know you won't purposefully ruin them?'' one of the newcomers asks.
Y/N opens her mouth to say something, but Clove is quicker. ''I'll make sure of that.''
-
The walk to the armoury is silent; Y/N is fuming. She goes over the guns and bullets, the weapons in her hands changing faster than Clove blinks.
''I'll try to save as much as I can," she finally says.
''What?''
''The people. I'll command them to surrender.''
Y/N's words hang in the air, and for a moment, there is silence.
Clove feels a lump form in her throat as she realizes the gravity of what Y/N has just said.
''But they will kill you then.''
''Earlier than you can say cheese," Y/N chuckles. ''But I'm dead anyway.''
''I'm afraid we both are.''
They look at each other for a moment.
''Fuck it then.''
Y/N shortens the distance between them in a few quick steps, her body pressing Clove against the cold wall. The closeness of their bodies sends shivers down Clove's spine. The kiss is hungry, almost heated. Clove feels her cheeks burn, and blood rushes through her veins. It's hard to focus on anything Y/N is doing to her; it feels too good.
''Fuck me.'' Clove's voice is hoarse with desire, and she doesn't immediately realize that the words have left her mouth until she hears a familiar chuckle.
''Right here?'' Y/N raises her eyebrow, her lips a hot, soft, rosy mess.
Clove nods almost too quickly, but she is far from caring; she wants those lips on her body again.
"You don't have to ask twice."
Their lips met again in a passionate embrace. Clove moans softly as Y/N's hands roam over her body, exploring every inch of her skin. The intensity of their desire is almost overwhelming, but she doesn't want it to end. Tomorrow, the world will burn; they have a few hours before then.
-
Y/N left at dawn, as she had all those times before. Except for this one, Clove couldn't hold her tears for long; small, almost invisible droplets ran down her cheeks when she returned to her troop. Lyme threw her a meaningful glance, and Clove shook her head. She is fine. For the first time, Clove felt at peace with the silence around her.
#thg#hunger games#clove kentwell#district two#wlw#imagine#au#clove kentwell x reade#clove kentwell x y/n#clove kentwell x you#i love women
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*singy-songy voice* I have a snippet!
This one is @cricketmilks fault. I told 'em I wished the soul marks fics hadn't gone out of favor, I'd love to read a Sahejul one. I was immediately informed that it was of utmost necessity that I write one and keep it alive. So here we are 🤷🏻♀️
I mean, how could I say no?? 😘
He was nigh on seventy years old and goddamn dead for nearly fifty of them when she marked him.
A sharp, searing pain rips across his skin, just under his collarbone, yanking him fully out of sleep with an instinctively strangled yelp. All three of his eyes are flown wide, darting around the room, his entire body shaking with tension, fear, dread a thick, nauseating mass in the pit of his stomach. Pain still traps the breath in his lungs, and his heart threatens to obliterate his ribcage with fight-or-flight response.
He quickly determines there is no threat in either the corporeal realm or the spiritual one, and flops back on his pillow. He drags in a full, long breath, lids dropping over his eyes in relief. Residual terror leaves him jittery, and his heart still races ninety-to-nothing. It'll take a few minutes to come back down, but he knows he's in for a rough night; there's hardly ever a night during which he only has one episode like this.
PTSD is a sorry bastard. He won’t ever sleep so deep that flashbacks of captivity in Aspett clear back to his childhood won’t tear him awake and shivering, drenched in sweat, eyes wildly thrown in every corner, looking for threats. He won’t ever be able to mindlessly tune out the sound of footsteps approaching his quarters, or not try to identify who they belong to, and what kind of mood they might be in. He won’t ever really be able to feel unexpected touch without expecting excruciating pain to follow it, and he won’t ever be able to tolerate expected touch for long without experiencing a sharp jag of anxiety.
Fuck, he hates this; even now, over four decades later, that shit can still shred him to ribbons.
He draws a curtain back from his bed, and turns on the lantern hanging from the ceiling. Pulling back the collar of his shirt, he awkwardly tucks in his chin to look down where the pain still burns.
And he freezes statue-still.
He can’t fucking breathe.
He could swear his heart sputters, then skips a little too long for even his dead self to be comfortable with.
There, along the line of his collarbone, flashes a near unintelligible chicken-scratch of a script in gold across his deep-toned skin.
Well, he’s assuming it’s unintelligible; it is definitely shitty penmanship, but to be fair, he is trying to read it upside down.
“Holy shit,” he barely hisses, shock washing him numb clear down into his bones. “No goddamn way,” he mutters, immediately kicking off the covers. He swings himself over the edge of the bed and drops to the floor in a fluid motion, his landing quietened with skill and a thick rug stretched out from under his bunk. Long-legged strides see him in the bathroom, shirt already yanked off, lanterns lit, and wide hands white-knuckling the edges of the sink while he stares at his chest in the mirror.
It’s chicken-scratch if he’s ever seen it, the sentence, if one wanted to call it that, scribbling out impatiently over his flesh, irritation and no small amount of fear evident in every scrawled loop of a damn letter, but it’s not unintelligible.
He can read every bit of that shit just fine.
'AAARGH! Wha—? Who are you?!'
“Motherfucker,” he swears savagely under his breath, unable to tear his eyes off those words, reading them and re-reading them, over and over. Anger, gods, how he's angry over this, frustration, and fuck him anyway, hope, sizzles up relentlessly, mercilessly, and he's fully helpless to do anything about it except just feel it swell up in him and continue to keep re-reading those words.
“The hell am I supposed to do with a soul mark now?” He hisses through gritted teeth at his reflection, a finger already up and lightly tracing the first words the supposed love of his stupid life will scream at him, from the looks of things.
The next realization hits him, and it’s kind of devastating. She was only just born, whatever first words he’ll say to her zipped across her body somewhere, only where her words are gold, his will be in silver.
She’s going to grow up, knowing her soulmate already is dead.
Because he is.
And the only way to be with him is if she's dead as a doornail and fully trapped with him on this godforsaken circus he calls life.
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