#gone and torn a muscle in my shoulder so writing has been slow going

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Torn

. . . . .

Rating: General

Words: 996

Summary: Following the death of his buir, eighteen-year-old Din sets course for the stars; Paz tries to talk some sense into his little brother. (Part of the Lift a Sail series)

. . . . .

“What are you doing?”

With his head and his arms jammed up into the cavity that housed the ‘Crest’s port landing gear, Din didn’t answer; he didn’t need to—Paz wasn’t asking for a lesson on starship maintenance (certainly not in that tone…)

Ignoring his unsolicited company, Din continued tightening the bolts on a hinge mechanism, taking his sweet time with it. When done, he held the position and craned his neck, struggling to angle his helmet enough to check the ground.

He could just see the toes of Paz’s boots, stationed mere paces away and not budging.

There was no waiting him out.

Din extricated himself from the ship’s innards and turned the other way, heading straight for the rag lying on the stern ramp landing. The helmet relayed the sound of footsteps, following without hurry, something restrained in the way he shifted his weight for each step—something controlled, not tentative.

Allowing his defiance to crack under a pretence of nonchalance, Din glanced at Paz, his helmet swivelling a lazy notch. He only got a glimpse but his cousin looked exactly how he sounded: unimpressed and confrontational.

“Lindy send you?” Din asked as he methodically wiped the wrench of nonexistent grease.

“You’re leaving,” Paz said: a statement, cut and dry, but Din heard the question wrapping through it—the question and the disappointment.

He tossed a nod over his shoulder. “Beroya Bera is ill. Alor said I can take over for her.”

“You don’t have training.”

“I have training.”

“Not as a beroya.”

Din shrugged and dropped the rag.

Rounding the ramp, he tossed the wrench back to the fold in the toolbox he had left on the other side of the landing. The ramp wasn’t the strongest barrier but Paz didn’t chase him around it, rather just stood there, arms folding over the barrel of his chest.

“Hunting is not the same as scouting.”

“Close enough,” Din said and drowned out any further commentary by rummaging through the box for something he hadn’t decided he needed yet, the clattering and rattling of the old tools becoming the only sound.

There wasn’t much left for him to repair or realign or rotate; Jai always kept the ship in peak condition (as “peak” as the old freighter could manage, anyway), and he had given it a full tune-up just before—

“You’re not doing this,” Paz said. His voice, though not raised, boomed in the hangar; had there been any other occupants besides themselves, their helmets would’ve turned—Paz had not only the voice but the kind of presence that could draw attention without obsene volume.

“Lindy or Ados. One of them told you I was here,” Din said, picking out the same wrench he had just returned and turning, almost spinning, and heading to the starboard landing gear. He had already checked it over but, suddenly, he had to do it again.

“The ceremony is a month away,” Paz called after him, refusing to trail after him like some pet.

“Then I’ll miss it,” Din said, bending around the leg stabilizing the ship, twisting and contorting to get a full view of the mechanisms in the limited line of his visor.

“No. You will not. You’ve trained for four years to get to this. You’ve worked hard, your instructors have worked hard; you are not going to leave before you see this through. What would your buir say?”

Din stopped.

His hands—one holding the wrench, one steadying him on the ship—hardened into fists. He straightened up but his visor angled down to the duracrete beneath his boots, grease stains blooming into violent scorch marks.

What did this?

It was a new weapon; a prototype, unlike anything we had ever seen before.

It charged up in a moment, shot something like lightning that burst far across the field and reached straight for the beskar.

The scouting party didn’t stand a chance.

I’m sorry, ad…

“He’s not saying anything anymore.”

“Din,” Paz said, imploringly, his voice coming closer. “You’re grieving. I understand; everyone does. But this is irresponsible, vod’ika.”

Din shook his head. “We’re not brothers.”

“Yes, we are,” Paz asserted, sounding both hurt and certain.

“No, we’re not!” Din heard himself shout as he rounded on Paz, everything inside him turning rigid and sharp and heated. “Jai is dead! Nothing ties us to each other anymore!”

His words rang through the cavern of the hangar, striking the metal and the duracrete and the vacant space between. The silence that followed shot louder and hung heavier than anything physical ever could.

Numbing damnation struck Din on a delay. Suddenly, he was very aware of the wrench still clutched in his fist. He wanted to drop it… he also wanted to throw it.

Paz didn’t budge.

Then his hands came up, slowly, predictably, reaching for his helmet.

At the hiss of the seal slackening, Din shut his eyes.

“Aliit ori’shya tal’din,” Paz declared, voice still booming, filling the space but soft and natural now. “You are Mandalorian, so you will always be my brother.”

Din scoffed; it cut through his vocoder harsher than his heart meant but his pride liked the sound. “Lindy did send you.”

“She didn’t. I knew you’d be getting ready to do something stupid and I knew you’d start here.”

“Move,” Din bit out as he brushed past him, his head down.

“Din—”

“I mean it.” He climbed the ramp in long, loud strides, dropping the wrench in the box as he went. It missed and clattered on the floor; he didn’t even glance at it. “If you stay there, you’ll get knocked on your kr—”

“Din!” Paz shouted.

He paused, waiting for the lecture on his language.

What he got instead was worse.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He punched the button to close the ramp with a locked fist, heard the mechanisms and gears whir and grind but didn’t turn around to watch.

“I know what I’m doing.”

#gone and torn a muscle in my shoulder so writing has been slow going #please accept this messy little oneshot #the mandalorian #din djarin #paz vizsla #din djarin’s buir #mandalorian fic #mandalorian oneshot #fic #fanfiction #oneshot #lift a sail #my writing

[cloudycleric]

the first chapter of the wee little fic im starting to write below the cut

warning it is a wee bit angsty

The air was cold. Pieces of snow fell all around him.

And though Mike Wheeler had never been to the Upside Down, he knew that this was it.

Immediately he jumped out of his bed, kicking off the sheets—which were now rotting into a black mold— grabbed some old shoes and a coat, and left the house. Everything was in shades of blue and black, though things were left like his family was living in the house, everywhere he looked he felt a sense of cold, lifeless decay. He was going to throw up.

There has to be someone around, he thought. Someone who’s been here before? Or is it just me?

Suddenly, there was a light blue light that flickered in a house across from Mike’s, and all he could feel was a sense of looming dread. He needed to run. It was no longer safe here.

He started running towards the exit of the cul-de-sac that he lived in, having to hastily jump over strange vine-like plants(?) that grew all over the ground, even the houses and various other objects connected to the ground. Though Mike was putting in all of his might to run, he found himself slowing down. Shit, I’m dehydrated, he thought. I should have grabbed my bike.

Suddenly, he heard a call from the end of the street. He saw a dark figure, eerily standing in front of the forest, and though this should have been a red flag for Mike, he did not feel threatened by the presence. He did not consider that maybe this shadowy figure was a predator, and that he was the prey. “MIKE!” it screamed out. “MIKE! YOU’VE GOT TO HELP ME, MIKE!”

It was Will.

The scream of the voice was enough to let his body speed up again. If he had taken just a couple seconds to think about if this was a trap, to look behind him and see if anything from the house with the light on was following him, maybe he would have been able to—

“WILL!” He finally caught up to him. He could see his best friend crystal clear—his hair, slightly wet from what Mike could only assume was sweat, or something worse, the way his chest rose and flattened at a quickened pace, and the amount of blood that was coming out of his mouth and his forehead. The red was everywhere, it was all over his face, it was the only thing that Will could seemingly get out of his mouth, it was starting to pour onto the ground, and Will down, face first onto the road. Mike tried to catch Will, but it was like his muscles were moving in slow motion. “Will! Will! What happened? What’s going on? Will!”

Mike crouched down to lift Will off the ground, to make sure that he was still conscious after taking a pretty hard hit from the ground. Even the back of his shirt was stained with blood, and the bottom of his pants had sticky residue all over it, like Will had gone walking in a disgusting pond. He tried to turn Will over, he knew he was still conscious by now—his arms and his hands were trembling, bruised, slightly covered in bloody streaks from when he tried to wipe the blood off of his forehead—but it was almost as if Will weighed five-hundred pounds. He could not find the strength to get him off the ground, and so Mike began to cry, making his vision foggy.

“WILL!” Mike screamed into his ears, and finally, after thinking enough about turning Will over, wishing for the power to see if his friend was all right, he finally turned him over.

Will was still covered in blood, at this point his entire shirt and most of his pants had been soaked in the dark red liquid. Moving to his face, it was almost completely red, scratched, bruised. It looked as if parts of his forehead had been torn off from the fall. Especially his mouth, and his teeth, they were dyed unnatural shades of reds and browns. And then, quickly, Mike could taste the blood in his mouth, too. Will’s eyes were half closed as he turned over. “Mike,” he mumbled hoarsely. “Mike, I’m so sorry.”

“Will! Will! Sorry for what?” He grabbed Will’s shoulders. “Sorry for what? I’m the one that should be sorry—we need to get you help Will, we need to-”

Will’s eyes gently closed, showing a tear run through the blood that covered his face, it reminded Mike of how Will would use watercolors sometimes and how they would mix in large droplets of water. It reminded Mike of when Will was happy, not when he was dying in front of him in the place he hated most. But that didn’t matter—it was almost as if the whole world had gone silent, as if they weren’t even in the Upside Down anymore. Will slowly stopped breathing, Mike furiously sobbing over his body, holding his hands, which gave a light and shaky squeeze when he first started holding them, but started slowly disappearing from his grasp. “Will, nonono, please, come back, Will, you’ve got to stay here with me-”— The blood that covered him started drying, turning gruesome brownish colors, and the vines started to grow over his body. They're taking him! He thought. They just killed him and now they’re taking Will’s fucking body!

He struggled, pulling at the vines, trying to get them off of Will’s lifeless body. At first they were easy to get rid of, but slowly they became more and more powerful, eventually crawling around Mike’s ankles, dragging him into the abyss as well. The flood of the vines was growing, eventually to the point where Mike couldn’t see the ground anymore. His entire body felt cold, sticky, gorey even. It started to surround his legs, then his stomach, then his chest, until it climbed to the top of Mike’s head and he could no longer see. He could not breathe either, his brain slowly growing tired, his thoughts dissipating. He could only think about Will, about how this was all an elaborate trap of some sort. The Will he had found was in fact the real Will, he could tell by the care and love in his eyes, the way he screamed for Mike. But something had gotten to Will before Mike did. Perhaps the vines had taken over him, but kept him alive, knowing that Mike would become vulnerable at the sight of his death? The vines had shown Mike what he truly wanted, what they knew he truly wanted, and smashed and beaten and tortured it right in front of his very two eyes, knowing that if the vines wouldn’t kill him, Will’s death might just do the trick. If he had not fought back, they would have left him alone, letting him cry himself to sleep, till eventually he got hypothermia.

He could feel the vines getting tighter, he could no longer get an oxygen, he knew he was about to succumb to the—

He took a quick breath springing forward from his bed. Mike’s face was covered in tears, as was his pillow, his body drenched in sweat. It took him a few seconds to realize, but eventually, he was able to see that he was just in his bedroom—his real bedroom, not in the Upside Down—and that he had just had a nightmare. Nothing bad had happened, he was safe in the comfort of his own bed. He should’ve calmed down then, realizing that what he had just seen was a figment of his imagination, but he couldn’t. His breathing was still quickened, his senses heightened.

He tried to remind himself that everything was fine, that Will was alright. But he couldn’t be sure of anything now. Once they returned to Hawkins from California, it looked as if a gigantic evil was slowly engulfing the town, taking it over. They had repaired Hopper’s cabin, where El was now staying, preparing to fight Vecna, the latest of the town’s troubles. No—troubles wasn’t the right word. It was more of a demon.

And after what Will had gone through a couple years back, Mike couldn’t be sure if what he had was a dream or some form of astral projecting, or whatever other hippie shit you might want to say it was. The only thing he could do, the only thing that would register in his mind was Will.

But, as the night was still young, he didn’t have the willpower to get up and see him. He finally felt his eyes become more and more droopy, and he laid his back down on the bed, drifting back into a cold sleep.

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#byler #byler fic #my writing

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

#mothskier #mothman jaskier #cryptid jaskier #creature jaskier #witcher geralt #the witcher netflix #geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fic #geraskier fluff #bouncey's endless getting together fics #bouncey's endless au collection #LYSSA WHY #WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME #art and fic #collab sorta #prompt fill #geraskier prompt fill #bouncey answers #ahhhhhhhh #mothskier!!!!

[mikkomacko]

Ok thanks. What do you think about Stucky comforting reader for some reason?

A/n: Hiii. I hope this is ok! My first time writing stucky x reader but it was cool. I might just have to do an expanded Stucky fic 👀

~

It's well known throughout the Avengers that y/n is the kryptonite to every super soldier. At least she is to the two super soldiers they know, because only she can turn Steve and Bucky into overbearing boyfriends.

"Sam, do you have eyes on y/n and Nat?"

Steve grunts, kicking his attacker square in the chest and sending the man to the pavement. Bucky's follows closely behind, the former soldier slamming his own attacker into the ground so hard it cracks under his spine. Both lie there in a heap of sweat and blood.

"Sam?" Bucky asks angrily when they receive no response. Behind them, Wands and Tony shift through the rubble and debris of the two buildings that had been attacked, blown to pieces by the terrorist group in front of them. With civilian casualties high, y/n and Nat had taken up the job of evacuating everyone within the threatened area. But it's been too long since he's heard anything from the two through their comms.

"I've got sights on Nat but y/n is no where to be seen."

Another fly over from Sam, this time closer to the ground but still nothing certain on the missing Avenger. "I've got heat signatures in a damaged office building over here but I can't tell if it's her or not."

Steve and Bucky share a look, concerned for their girl as always, and begin heading over to the building.

"Romanoff you better fucking answer!" Bucky spits into his comms, boots crunching in the rubble under his feet.

A static breaks through, followed by the breathless voice of Natasha. "You're not the only one fighting terrorists Barnes," she bites back. "I cleared the west blocks, lost y/n when she went east. I'm guessing her comms are down."

"Was she evacuating the buildings?" Steve asks, approaching the block y/n is supposedly on.

"Think so. The one closest to you guys. She was worried it'd come down from the blast."

Steve and Bucky pick up the pace, relief flooding through them when a group of civilians rushes out of the building y/n was clearing.

"Is anyone still inside?" Steve asks them, while Bucky cranes his head up to look through the shattered windows. Before any of the survivors can answer, the building behind to rumble, the boom of an explosion going off cutting off whatever answer was being given.

Immediately shielding the civilians, Steve looks up in horror just in time to see the building split into two crumpled pieces, the top half collapsing into the building next to it.

~

There's a ringing in her ears, throbbing in her head and the taste of iron floods her mouth. Groaning, she lifts herself up enough to find that she's braced against a column, smoke and dust clouding her vision but she knows that something is off. The world around her has tilted, leaving the walls as the ground beneath her feet.

An explosion, she concludes, racking her brain for what she'd been doing when the bomb went off. A civilian, she remembers, the last one on the top floor, a young intern frozen in fear as battle rang out around him. Forgetting that she lost her comms in a fight earlier, she reaches for ear to call for backup. Instead, she's met with slick, warm blood and a tender skull.

Grey, the boy's name had been Grey. He'd told her during her attempt to guide him out from under his desk.

"I promise I can get you outta here Grey." She had sworn, and she intends to fulfill that. Unsteadily, she rides to her feet, balancing herself on the rubble around her.

"Grey?" She calls out, voice rough. "Grey if you're here I need a noise, a movement, something!"

She strains her eyes, searching through the mess of grey and charred black. Finally, a flash of ash ridden green, the color he'd been wearing. She watches as he rises to his knees, a gash on his forehead and blood dripping from his ears too.

Quick but careful, she makes her way through destroyed desks and crumpled walls until she's close enough to see how utterly screwed Grey is. A window. He's balanced on a cracked window, one surrounding by other empty window panes.

The boy trembles, helpless as his terrified eyes find hers. She burries her panic, doing her best to appear calm and confident.

"It's ok," she comforts, "I just need you stay very still ok? Let me come to you."

Grey nods, lip wavering in fear. Y/n takes a deep breath, hesitantly stepping onto the panel between two broken windows. When it holds her weight easily, she continues.

"Its breaking," Grey says weakly, peering down the splintering window at the street below them. Y/n doesn't get a good look, but she thinks she can make out two familiar men below. Steve and Bucky. Relief floods through her. They'll send Sam, she just needs to get Grey off that window.

"Don't look down," she instructs, "look at me. Keep your eyes on me."

He complies, tear filled eyes meeting hers again. It's a slow progress, checking the beams to find which ones she can walk on. She does her best to distract Grey, telling him of Sam and the boys below, how she knows they'll be up soon to help. Until then, he's gotta trust her.

"I do," he swears, "I trust you."

And there's relief when she gets a window away from him, prepared to quickly tug him to safety after she steadies her feet. But then the ripped half of the building is quivering, dropping a few feet down and the window is breaking before she gets enough time to grab him.

Panicked, she throws herself out of the window after him, left hand gripping the window pane while the right locks around his wrist. The pull in her shoulder is almost paralyzing as his weight comes to an abrupt stop. She's fairly certain it's dislocated or at the least something's torn, but the adrenaline in her veins keeps her grip strong.

"Y/n!"

Her feet dangle wildly, Grey squeezing her hand for dear life as he hangs 60 feet above ground. Steve and Bucky call out for her, something she doesn't quite pick up because she's too busy trying to calm Grey's hyperventilating body. He's wiggling, panicking, legs swinging in a frenzy like they're trying to find solid ground.

"Grey I need you to stop, if you keep moving I'll slip." As if proving her point, the sweat on her palm becomes slippery. He listens, for the most part, but he can't help the way his body quivers and shakes with cries.

"Sam's grounded!" Steve shouts from below, a panic in his voice she's not used to. "Hang on sweetheart, Stark is coming!"

She doesn't answer, can't answer because her muscles and tendons are screaming and burning, begging her to let go, and the fingers in Grey's hold have gone numb. A few more seconds, painfully long seconds, and the sound of the Iron Man suit floods her ears. Another brief moment of relief, one that also doesn't last because Grey has lost his grip and before she can even think of instructing to him to just hold on for one more second, she loses her grip on the boy and his scream overpowers Tony's thrusters as he falls to the pavement below.

~

Tony got her down safely. Caught her mid fall after she'd jumped after Grey in a weak attempt to save him. By the time her feet touch the ground, she's bolting, heading for the backside of the building where the body of the boy sits. The weak swing of her shoulder and the limp in her right leg slows her down, enough for Bucky to easily catch up to her and halt her. She fights his hold, desperate as he shushes and calms her.

Steve follows closely behind, assisting Bucky in taking care of their girl. Somehow, through a haze they get her to the Quinjet, both working on cleaning up her wounds during the painfully silent flight home. Y/n remains dazed and quiet as they take her to her bedroom, getting her in the shower, bandaged and dressed. Bucky is brushing out her wet hair on the edge of the bed while Steve fluffs the pillows when she finally speaks.

"I had him," she says, voice wavering. "I just needed a few more seconds. If I had held on-"

"Don't do that doll," Bucky interrupts sternly, pulling her into his lap. "don't think about the what ifs, you saved so many lives today. You did what you were supposed to."

She doesn't say anything but they know her well enough to know that she still doesn't believe them. Steve moves to sit next to them, wrapping one arm around her and one around Bucky.

"This job doesn't come without casualties sweetheart, we all know that. You stopped as many as you could and we're so proud of you for that."

His words bring her to tears, painful, heart cutting sobs that force both super soldiers to bite back their own tears. They hold her even tighter, soothing her with kisses and promises of making it better, of assuring her that it won't always hurt.

And once she's all cried out, puffy eyes and bones like cooked noodles, they tuck her into the middle of the bed, sandwiching her between their strong, warm bodies. Somewhere safe and comforting, where she can rest knowing they've got her and they won't be letting go anytime soon.

#bucky barnes blurb #stucky blurb #Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers #stucky x reader

[warped-stem]

so. my post about writing this at 3 am fighting off melatonin got exactly 2 notes. enjoy my sleepy angst :)

warnings for mentions of mutilation, vomit, and torture. wordcount 1.6k

--

When Sapnap goes to visit Dream again, he notices something off about Sam. He's flightier, less talkative. He barely meets Sapnap's eye the entire walk through the prison. When they finally get to the main cell, Sam warns him that Dream might not talk again. Sapnap nods in understanding, remembering the last time he saw him. 

He isn't expecting Dream, once someone who stood tall and proud, whose presence demanded all of the attention in the room, to be curled into a shaking ball in the corner next to his chest. The shaking gets worse the closer the platform comes to the cell, and Sapnap can see the way Dream's jumpsuit is torn, the way there's blood staining parts that should by no means be bloodstained. Dream doesn't look up when Sapnap steps foot onto the obsidian, doesn't look up when the Netherite barrier drops, continues to not look up until Sapnap's hesitant voice bounces off the walls. 

"Dream?" 

This finally gets his attention, his head snapping up and dull green eyes meeting sparking red. Now Sapnap can take in the details that were hidden in Dream's arms. How his cheeks are hollow, how new scars trail across his face, some wounds barely healed from the poor environment. 

Sapnap takes a step toward Dream, and his heart stops in his chest at the way Dream violently tries to sink into the wall behind him. So, Sapnap sits on the floor where he stands, keeping his eyes on the crumpled, shivering form of the once most powerful man on the server -- of his friend. 

He doesn't move, even as Dream stops trembling again and looks back up, waiting for force that will never come. Slowly, once it seems Dream realizes Sapnap doesn't want to hurt him, he starts to unfurl from himself. His arms and legs are lacking the muscle mass Sapnap knew he once possessed, and the skin that's exposed is covered in dirt and blood and poorly healed injuries. It makes Sapnap sick to think about the damage he can't see, what's covered by layers of fabric, or worse, what's covered by skin and muscle. 

It takes the better part of an hour for Dream to speak up, and Sapnap's heart splinters. 

"What d'you want?" He sounds like he hasn't had anything to drink in months, his voice creaky and dry. His words, however few, are slurred and misshapen. It takes a second for the reason to click in Sapnap's head, having heard one of his own fiances have to adjust to his new speech impediment and lack of teeth on his own time. It makes his stomach churn. 

"I wanted to see you. Check in on you, y'know? See how you're holding up." His voice is softer than he intended for it to be, more somber. 

Dream looks like he doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't. He just lets his body slump against the wall, bringing his legs back up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees. It’s as he's staring off into middle space that Sapnap realizes one last thing about the way Dream looks, and it genuinely makes him want to throw up, or scream, or cry. Probably all three at once, if possible. 

Several of Dream's fingers were reduced to stumps. 

The entirety of his right pinky was gone, and he was missing about half of his right ring finger. The other three remained intact, but it was obvious he'll never be able to hold an axe again. His left hand was worse off. His ring finger was gone, and the pinky was cut down to the second knuckle, almost in a sick reverse of his right hand. He was also missing the tip of his middle and pointer fingers, his thumb spared yet again. 

Sapnap chokes back a sob and has to turn away to keep his composure, forcing his tears and vomit back down. It takes him a few to steady his breathing and look back to Dream, only to find Dream looking at him first. 

"What happened to you?" Sapnap sounded even more broken, a quiet plea slipping into his words. He wanted nothing more than to hold Dream like he did when they were younger, before all of the war and strife and bloodshed. Back when they were allowed to call each other brothers.  

"Someone wanted information. I didn't give it up right away and he got violent." Dream tries to shrug, but the tremble in his shoulders makes it look more like a sick, shuddering laugh. Sapnap reluctantly notes that his earlier suspicions were correct, that Dream is now missing several of his teeth.

The temperature in the lava-covered room spikes as Sapnap's temper flares for a moment, before calming right back down into another unsettled roll of his gut. 

"Who?" His response is choked, and he doesn't think he wants to know the answer. 

Dream shakes his head frantically, tensing back up. The answer would destroy Sapnap, and Dream doesn't want that, so he keeps his mouth shut and his head down. 

Sapnap wants names, though, and he's not leaving without one. He makes up his mind right then and there that there's something fucked up going on in Pandora's Vault, and he wants to get to the bottom of it. Even if Dream grew into a monster, he knew that no one deserved whatever physical abuse Dream's been going through. 

"Is it Sam? Has he been doing this to you?" His voice shakes with fury, with sadness. Dream shakes his head again in response, before briefly shrugging.

"If it's not Sam, then he's at least letting this happen to you. Who the fuck would he let in here with- with whatever can do that much damage?" 

"You don't wanna know, Sap." The 's' is whistled through the holes in his grimace, and he still refuses to meet Sapnap's eyes. 

"I do. I need to know. I can't let them keep doing this to you." There's a few suspects running through his mind, but none of them beg for the anonymity Dream's allowing them. 

Techno wouldn't torture someone, he's not that cold-hearted, and he'd have nothing to gain from repeatedly hurting Dream. Bad could easily do this damage, but even as he's controlled by the Egg, Sapnap knows he'd never lay a finger on Dream. Wilbur and Schlatt are dead, and Ghostbur wouldn't hurt a fly. Tommy'd pussy out before doing any serious damage, and even then, the kid was so heavily traumatized by Dream that all it would take for him to back down would be a threatening smile. He also can't see Ranboo hurting anyone intentionally, or Fundy coming back from wherever he'd run off to just to hurt Dream. Nearly everyone else was left untouched by Dream's influence. Foolish barely knew him, Connor was almost completely clueless, and Puffy thought that Dream didn't deserve to see her. Everyone else was too caught up in their own business to care, so that only really left a few possible people.

Sam, Ant, Punz, and Sapnap's least favorite answer, Quackity. 

Dream already said it wasn't Sam, Ant was too busy with the Egg, and Punz was too apathetic to really care about what Dream had done to be motivated enough to mutilate one of his friends like this. That meant-

"Quackity. Is- is Quackity hurting you?" Sapnap's voice is far away, even to his own ears. He barely caught Dream's slow, shallow nod before he hides his face back in his knees. 

It made sense, unfortunately. He hasn't seen Quackity in a while, spending most of his time building Kinoko Kingdom with Karl and George. It only really just hit him that they abandoned El Rapids to hastily move to the flower forest on the outer edge of the Dream SMP, leaving Quackity alone. No one had really heard from him in a long while, and Sapnap hadn't thought to keep tabs on him, trusting his fiance to keep out of trouble.

Apparently, that was too much to ask. Sapnap knew how ruthless Quackity could be when he wanted something bad enough, knew that he was an unstoppable force. 

Dream's ragged breathing snaps Sapnap out of his thoughts, bringing his attention back to the present. Dream hadn't stopped shaking, but at least he was now looking at Sapnap again, gauging his reaction. Based on his breathing, he found something he didn't like. 

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Pandas." His voice shook, tears threatening to spill out of dead eyes.

Sapnap doesn't respond, only standing. His shoulders slumped and his fists shaking at his sides. He takes a few strides across the cell before dropping down to his knees next to Dream, wrapping his arms around him. 

They sit there like that for a while, crying and shaking. Dream was far too light for Sapnap's comfort, but that just made him hold on harder. Dream even snaked his arms around Sapnap's back in return, the dull nubs of his fingers trying to grip as much of his shirt as they could. Sapnap sobs.

He pulls back first, after both of them had spent all of their tears. 

"I'm getting you out of here. Fuck what I said about taking your last life, you don't fucking deserve this." Sapnap knows his voice is rough, but the intense set of his eyes gives Dream enough reassurance to let go. 

Sapnap stands, leaving Dream on the ground, and calls for Sam to let him out. He doesn't step away from Dream until he has to, and he makes a silent promise to make sure someone pays for this.  

He ignores Sam the entire trip back through the prison, and his first thought after stepping back into sunlight is find Quackity.

#dreamwastaken #sapnap #dsmp #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #warped warbles #dsmp spoilers #dream smp spoilers #i don't know how to trigger tag this #uhhh basically dream's missing parts of 6 of his fingers if not the full finger #also i don't know how to tag this in general #im gonna need a fic tag now arent i??? #warped writes #there we go #thanks to the literal 2 people who liked my post abt this here you go BDJSVDHA #also peep that lil headcanon about sapnap in there with the temperature thing :) #and excuse literally All of this i was so fuckin tired

[local-spoon-does-a-thing]

What about Doomguy with a stoic reader?

(I love your writing btw!)

A/N: Thank you for the compliment! And I apologize for the delay. Also note: this DG may be slightly different than how I wrote him in the previous fics. But I'll still do my best to make him enjoyable. Hope you like it!

Doomguy with a stoic reader

First impression of you: you're a serious person. And he's a serious person too. Perfect match, right?

Actually, yeah. Very right

Though at first, the awkward silences will get to him. But as time passes by, he'll start to get used to them and he begins to appreciate the fact that he doesn't have to force himself to make up a conversation

To say that this man has endured a lot of things in the past is an understatement so there's not much he wants to talk about

Plus after having almost no human contact for many years, it's safe to say that his socializing skills are off his game

Doesn't mean that he won't try to talk to you and get to know you. That's what the beginning of a friendship is about.

Despite your serious nature, he would very much appreciate it if he wasn't the only one to spark up conversation. He doesn't want to feel like he's in a one-sided situation.

He enjoys deep conversations or just anything that can get him immersed into something. Sure, he asks dumb shower questions like, "Do you think turtles can't have sleepovers because their home is attached to their back?" But, he prefers conversations that have full honesty and have the time speed by.

Once you guys develop a closer friendship, he begins to pick up on your body language since you don't express much emotions on your face. He becomes more observant on the little things and how your eyes lingere on a particular something when you get interested. The way your calm but hardened features soften once you're comfortable. Your posture, your movements, he'll start taking notes. You show more emotion than you realize. After all, actions speak louder than words.

During missions, he'll be floored by how you manage to stay calm as demon blood gets splattered on your armored suit. The quiet but deadly type. Meanwhile, he's raging through Hell's troops with barbaric rage and calculated fury. You're the cold to his hot.

However, the first time your calm demeanor broke was when the Doom Slayer got himself gravely injured. A possessed soldier managed to shot him in the calf a few times, almost got stomped on by a pinky, and was hit by a mancubus. Luckily, you were there to save the day.

When the both of you were brought back to the fortress, he was immediately taken to the medical bay as VEGA went to check up on him and dress his injuries. You never left his side.

Exhausted, he laid on his back and barely moved a muscle. He had a couple of cracked ribs, a torn calf, and a dislocated shoulder. The Slayer may be immortal, but he wasn't invincible. But after who knows how much time has passed, he finally moved his head to turn to you, who had been sitting beside him in a chair.

Boy, he was not prepared to see that devastated look on your face. You remained in your dirtied suit, indicating that you never left his side. Your hair was a mess, almost like a bird's nest. Your eyes were pink and swollen from all the crying even though VEGA gave you reassurance that he was going to be alright.

Doomguy noticed that you were in deep thought, too deep to realize that he finally noticed you. He went to reach out of you, but of course, he just had to reach out with his injuried shoulder. His pained grunt snapped you back to reality and after a moment of silent shock, all of your worries spilled.

You heavily scolded at him for not being careful enough, told him about the injuries he gained, and finally, you told him about how worried you were. Throughout the whole rant, he didn't say anything but just stared at you with guilt and heartbroken eyes.

No one would've forsaw this coming, but this lead to the confession. Neither of you didn't want to feel the regret of not telling your true feelings before the other was gone. He cared about you and you cared about him. And so, the relationship started.

Things will start out slow. There will be much more physical contact but it's subtle. The touches will stay for an extra second, he gives you more compliments but makes sure to not overwhelm you with them, and his respect for you grows.

Unless you're comfortable with it or don't mind it, he won't tease about your more emotional moments. Eh, 99% of the time. He knows that those kind of moments are when you're at your more vulnerable side and he respects that. But he won't let you go without a little stupid, "Aww, you cared about me?" He's still a teasing bastard.

Will cherish your soft side. It's not like he doesn't like your stoic side, it's just that it isn't often that he gets to see you without a hardened look.

As more time passes by and you two get even closer, he'll start to open up about his past, especially Daisy. A bonus thing that he can appreciate about you is that you don't look at him like a kicked puppy. He's still the same man you've known for a long while now, so why does something out of anyone's control have to change someone's perspective? He will love you even more if you're willing to help him cope with his baggage and problems.

#doom eternal #doom slayer #doom 2016 #doomguy #doomguy x reader #doom slayer x reader #x reader #fanfiction #this feels more of a oneshot than a headcanon #oh well still headcanon #headcanon

[feliix]

Mine ✦ JHS (18+)

✦  Pairing: Werewolf!Hoseok x Reader ✦ Word count: 3.6k ✦  Rating: M  

✦  Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship!au, werewolf!au

✦  Summary: It’s your boyfriend Hoseok’s first time in heat, and as much as you’ve prepared yourself for this moment you’d never expect it to go like this.

✦  Warnings: explicit smut, heat sex, unprotected sex, fingering, dom!hoseok, oral: female receiving, dirty talk, rough sex, impregnation kink, breeding kink, hobi is possessive af, knotting, creampie, marking, blood play, praise kink, aftercare,

✦ Requested by this anon ‘Hoseok x reader werewolf alpha heat with human mate? First time experiencing his heat and his knot?’ this anon: ‘May I request for the drinks and Drabbles, Hobi + cocktail. (Lmfao this is gonna be a lot, you don’t need to do all, whatever you feel inspired by {love you}; dom Hobi, spanking, creampie, fingering, toys, pet names)’ and sweet beanie @jintobean​‘ahem. pls might i order some hot coco hoseok it can have some nsfw idc i just need my heart to burst pls and thank’

✦  A/N: another episode of i try to write a drabble but it turns into a oneshot :)))) tagging my bby @hobiance​ for the much needed encouragement and werewolf hobi love♡ also this is my first actual werewolf smut please be nice and beta read by the wonderful, amazing and life saving @ally-127​

✦ Written for the BHQ Drinks and Drabbles game hosted by @bangtan-dreamland​ 

read part two here 

You had no idea what you were anticipating as you got home from work today. Before you had left Hobi was acting stranger than normal. His temper was short, his motions were labored, and he wasn't himself. It didn’t take long for you to realize something was wrong, and before you had even gone on lunch you received a text from your boyfriend.

Hobi: I don’t want you to be alarmed, but I think I’m in heat

There was no time to think about the next course of action, it was clear what you had to do. The next thing you knew you were in your bosses office, telling her that you were beginning to feel ill and that you’d be taking the rest of the day off.

He could smell that you were home before you had even walked through your front door. Hobi’s senses were mad, higher than he had ever experienced before. 

To put it lightly, you were worried. You had never experienced a werewolf in heat before, only heard about it from the older boys and their girlfriends in passing. But now there was no time to ask questions. Hobi was in heat and you’d have to figure it out together.

Muffled moans traveled throughout the apartment as Hobi ached in pain in your bedroom. Concern immediately flooded your system, not knowing if you should rush over to check on him or take things slow. The groaning only gets louder as you approach the bedroom door, pressing your ear up to the door to try and make out the slur of words coming from his mouth.

“Y/N?” He nearly cries as he senses your presence, the smell of you awakening senses he didn’t even know he had. 

Slowly, you turn the handle of the door to reveal yourself to him.

He’s in pain, lying in a pool of his own sweat as a dewy sheen glistens over his body. The only thing covering him is a pair of cotton underwear. They were the only thing soft and breathable enough that he could stand to have on his body, unlike the other clothes torn into shreds that he ripped off earlier. Hopefully he can hold back from treating yours in the same way – you really like the blouse you have on today.

As you see him curled up on the bed you can’t help but become worried for his current state. His face is scrunched in agony, soft groans leaving his lips between each labored breath. Slowly, you make your way over to him, careful not to move too quickly and startle his instincts.

You can only imagine the pain he's gone through over the past few hours. Knowing he's broken every bone in his body to turn, over and over again. Finally that part was over for now, but the everlasting ache of his muscles is still no match for his oncoming heat.

“It hurts,” he moans as his arms cup his sides roughly, rocking back and forth in attempts to relieve some of the pain. You can feel the heat radiating off his body from a foot away.

Instinctively, your hand reaches out to stroke his arm, the hairs standing up as his body shivers in a cold sweat. And then you notice it. The way his nostrils flare and exhale thickly as his eyes begin to glow an amber and gold hue. Your touch comforted him yet riled him up all at once, his wolf wholly and completely awake now that your skin was on his.

His eyes lock on you intently, a deep message hidden behind in his stare – almost like he was going to swallow you whole. You know what he needed. By the bulge in his pants to the look in his eyes you can tell it's you he wants – the only thing he needs at this moment, and you are ready for it.

You already know what you were getting yourself into when you began dating a wolf. It was only a matter of time before your sex life did a 180, and no, you weren’t entirely sure what to expect but today was the day that you’d finally understand what this was all about.

Like a second wind had taken over him, Hobi sits up in the bed, his posture firm and his muscles straining as he holds himself from grabbing you by the waist and mounting you at that moment. He’s waiting for reassurance from you, holding onto every ounce of strength he has before moving an inch.

And so you reach out to him again, bending at the waist as you place your arms on his shoulders, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “I’m ready,” is all you have to say for him to know, and then he’s scooping you up with his supernatural strength to lay you on the bed.

Without missing a beat, Hobi’s fingers are looping through the sides of your underwear and ripping them down your legs. Surprisingly, you are a lot less nervous than you had expected to be. Maybe because you know how much pain he is in from holding himself back, and all you want is to finally satisfy his wolf that has been eating away at him for so long.

Your sweet scent fills his nostrils as he moves closer to your cunt. Closing his eyes, he basks in your scent – your scent overtaking him stronger than ever before. With deep inhale, he nestles his nose against your core, admiring the way you smelled before extending his tongue to lap at your slit. Immediately, your body jerks in reaction to his touch, the sensitivity of your clit being tested by his quick and frivolous motions.

“Tastes so good,” he mumbles against your inner thigh, making your body jerk at the vibration of his lips. His ministrations are much more impactful than before; this time he's hungry for it, dying to satisfy an itch that was nearly impossible to scratch.

Soon his hands are prying your legs as far apart as they could go, shoving his face into your center and devouring any juices that slipped past your entrance. Even though you had done this a hundred times, it felt different. He was driven by hunger, his actions quick and frivolous to ready you for his length. It was different but it was intentional; his sole purpose backing each and every flick of his tongue.

Moans pass his lips as they wrap around your clit, sucking harshly. Involuntarily your hips buck towards him, unable to control your own actions from the pleasure his mouth is bringing you. You can tell that he likes it by the way his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue flicks past your entrance and into your velvety walls.

A string of curses leave your lips as your body is rendered immobile, unable to move from the way he’s holding your legs to the bed. He’s ravenous – his nose pressing roughly into your clit as his tongue explores your sex. As much as he wants to be gentle he can’t; his wolf sending each of his senses into overdrive with each drip of arousal that lands on his tongue.

He’s moving so quickly that you can’t subdue your quickly approaching high. Any tug at his hair only makes him move faster, bringing you closer and closer to ecstasy at an alarming rate.

“Hobi,” you cry out, “I’m gonna cum if you keep at it like that.”

He doesn’t respond to you with words, only squeezes your thighs to acknowledge you. He’s too busy devouring your pussy to come up for air. Your words only make him move faster and more desperately, your high coming to a peak as he flattens his tongue across your slit. You take a quick glimpse of his amber eyes before he squeezes them shut, feverishly indulging in your release, licking it up as if his life depended on it.

By now a layer of perspiration has coated your body, the silky fabric of your blouse sticking to your skin. But Hobi isn’t done – things are just getting started.

Retreating from his spot between your legs, he sits back on his heels, wiping any left over arousal coating his chin with the back of his hand. He’s still hungry – the squint of his eyes and the determined look on his face told you so. Heat coursed through your veins as you waited for him to make his next move. He was trying to be patient, trying to let you recover for a moment before he got back to business, but you knew what he wanted.

In the interest of time you remove your own shirt, sitting up on the bed to throw the garment to the side and unclip your bra. His hungry eyes take in your nude figure as he moves forward to push you back onto the mattress. Your body relaxes as his lips connect to a sweet spot on your neck, sucking on it harshly, sure to leave a mark for tomorrow.

You arch your back in response as his lips begin to trail down your chest. A line of wet kisses is left behind as he makes his way down to one of your breasts, taking it in his mouth and circling the sensitive bud with his tongue. His teeth brush gently across your nipple, the sensation of his growing canines scraping against it breaking goosebumps against your skin.

Every day since he first turned has been leading up to this moment. Waiting out each passing moment for a sign of carnal instincts to over take him. Over the past few days you’d just brushed off his overly clingy demeanor, assuming it was just him growing into himself as a wolf. His suspicious and on-edge behavior went completely overlooked. You didn’t expect Hobi’s first heat to come on so soon after turning, but alas, here you were.

Hobi’s hands grab a hold of your hips, flipping you over so that you're laying with your chest pushed flush against the mattress, legs bent and the knees with your ass on full display. Your smell consumes him; all that he can think about is the taste of your arousal on his lips and how badly he needs to be inside you now.

His long digits trace your slit as arousal floods from your entrance, coating your slick on his fingertips. Anticipation pangs at your chest as you wait for his next move. You can only imagine the restraint he is holding onto at this moment. Everything in him wants to drive his hardened member into you, but he knows that your human body is not meant to handle what is coming for you.

Hobi’s eye’s screw shut as he brings a finger up to his mouth, basking in the taste of you. A wanton moan erupts from his lips at the taste – so perfectly sweet he would never be able to get enough.

Dire thoughts rush through your mind as you rest on your elbows, face turned to the side to try and see Hobi out of your peripheral vision. His pupils are completely blown, eyes focused only on your center as his chest heaves in anticipation. He’s sizing you up, wondering if you’d be able to accommodate his new size. It worries him deeply, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he knew once he started he wouldn’t be able to control himself like he normally could. You needed to do something, say something to help settle the internal warfare consuming his mind.

“I’m ready, Hoseok.”

His hand is quick to line himself up with your entrance, grasping onto your hips with such pressure that it is sure to leave bruises tomorrow. Sharp fingernails dig into your skin as his tip meets your entrance. It’s fiery and red, inflamed from how hard he is. The precum that leaks from his tip coats your slit, combining with the wetness dripping down your thighs to create a delicious mixture.

One last reassuring squeeze of your side is all he gives before pushing into you ruggedly. A sharp gasp leaves your lips as he makes his way into your core, surprised at this new sensation. His size is bigger than you’d ever taken before, so much thicker and longer than his normal length. It’s a lot to take in at once, and he’s trying his best to let you relax as your body adjusts to his size.

“You can move,” you say, lip caught between your teeth as your walls stretch further around him.

With your fists grasping for the sheets, Hobi begins thrusting his hips slowly  into you– holding out a second each time he bottoms out to let you breathe. His nails only dig into your sides further, the only thing giving him a grip onto reality to hold back his animalistic instincts.

Deep grunts leave his mouth as he tries to hold himself back, but he can feel his humanity slipping further and further away with each clench of your pussy.

“Can’t hold back much longer,” he bares his teeth, canines prominent in his bite, “need to breed you now.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as his words meet your ears. 

You’d never had serious baby talk before let alone tried for one. It was his primal instincts talking, you were sure of it. But even if it wasn't there was no turning back now. He was losing control and he was losing it quickly.

Quickly, his hips snap into yours, his muscles flexing as he holds your body steady, fucking into you deeply. Breath is sucked out of you as his pace increases; stars forming at the back of your eyelids as you squeeze them shut, mouth salivating at the increasing pleasure bestowing upon you. His length is a lot to get used to, but the everlasting pressure against your g-spot was making the pain melt away.

Hobi thrusts in and out of your effortlessly, your abundance of arousal coating his cock and making it easy for him to slide in and out of your velvety walls. With each thrust he bottoms out, and it becomes difficult for you to remain upright. Limbs shaking from pleasure, your elbows begin to give way, landing you flat against the mattress.

Your mouth opens, but the only thing able to escape is a silent scream, too immersed in the feeling of him battering your walls to make a sound. A loud leaves you lips as he pulls you back up, his arms wrapping around your waist to use all his strength to hold you in position. His chest is pressed flush against your back, the heat radiating off his body soothing you as his mouth meets your ear. A quick nip is placed on your earlobe as he catches it between his canines. It doesn’t hurt like you’d expect it too, or maybe you’re too caught up in his throbbing shaft plunging into you to notice if it does.

“Taking me so well.”

His praise quickly soothes your nerves, helping you relax into him as he holds your body close, closer than you had ever felt to him before. His tip is repeatedly hitting against the sensitive spot deep inside of you, you know he’s not ready to let up just yet, but you’re too on edge to hold on.

“Hobi I-I’m gonna–”

“I can smell it,” he groans, mouth meeting your neck as he sucks harshly on it. You can feel his canines scraping against your soft skin, itching to break the flesh and claim you. It’s what he’d always wanted – having you here like this just makes it all the more enticing.

A string of cuss words fall from your lips as your eyes clamp shut, relishing in your release as your pussy spasms around his cock. His movements don’t slow either – his pace is still erratic, plummeting into you at an ungodly rate.

Feeling your release over him only makes him thrust harder, deeper. It sends him into a full blown frenzy, unable to keep himself from chasing his high. “Smells so sweet, need to make you mine.”

You knew what this means. You knew you already were his, just not in that way yet. He was holding onto every last ounce of strength to stop himself from biting, from sinking his teeth into your precious skin and claiming you as his mate. It was painful for him to keep at it like this, and you didn’t have any second thoughts before saying it.

“Do it, Hoseok,” the words slip between cries, still shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, “claim me.”

So he does.

His eyes slam shut as his mouth finds the crook of your neck, breaking the flesh as his canines sink into your skin. Screams blow past your lips as blood begins to trickle from the wound on your shoulder. Your chest tightens in pain, praying for the awful sensation to but cut short and pleasure to take over. Relief takes over once his tongue meets the small incisions made on your skin, his saliva filling the holes and alleviating the wounds as he licks up the blood.

“Mine.”

Your heart flutters at his claim, having never felt as close to him than you do right now. Firecrackers lit through your veins, the connection between you and Hoseok binding to eternity and you couldn’t be happier. It felt like you were floating on thin air. Your body is unable to focus on any pain right now, you’re too blissed out from the shock of him claiming you to notice how his cock is beginning to swell inside of you.

Cum shoots out of his member, filling you up to the brim until your abdomen begins to feel heavy and swell. That floating feeling quickly begins to fade as his orgasm keeps coming and coming, no inch of your insides gone untouched by his seed. It seems like it's never going to end, and you can feel the pressure from his release building and building inside of you. Your sensitive walls stretch as his cock expands; knotting to plug you up and make sure none of his cum drips out.

“Hobi,” you whine, tears spilling from your eyes as his cock continues to inflate inside of you, “Hobi it hurts.”

“Its almost over baby,” he comforts you, stroking your hair before guiding you onto your side, laying behind you. After such a rough round, his familiar touch eases your pain. The light kisses he places along your spine lets you sink back into him, focusing on the feeling of his soft lips instead of the balloon sized cock stretching your vagina. Gentle hands trace circles up and down your arms as you listen to the sound of his calming breath. His chest heaves as he tries to come down from the adrenaline rush.

Soft kisses soon turn into small licks running over the length of your back as you lay there, still speared on his cock. Now that his animalistic needs were met, it was all about you.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning you up,” he answers calmly, his lupine senses finding nothing strange with this new method of aftercare. You’re too immersed in your thoughts to question him any further; if this is what his wolf was telling him to do then so be it.

As Hobi’s knot begins to subdue he doesn’t let go. His tongue soothes over the spot of his mark, now forming into a dark scar to let everyone know you were his. Its crazy how just one bite felt like it could change the entire dynamic of your relationship. You were his now, and he was yours. Forever.

“Hobi?”

“Mmm,” he mumbles, refraining from letting his mouth leave your skin.

“Did you mean that thing you said,” your lip worries between your teeth before you can finish your question, wondering if he even remembers anything that happened or if his wolf took everything over.

“What thing?”

“The thing about breeding me?” Your eyes slam shut to brace yourself from the answer.

“Yes,” he sighs out nonchalantly, like he isn’t admitting that his intentions were to get you pregnant.

“Yes?”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he presses a chaste kiss between your shoulder blades before pulling out. A small whimper leaves your lips at the loss of contact, not sure if you were relieved that he was no longer inside you or not. “Of course I want you to have my pups.”

Butterflies flutter in your tummy as a smile stretches across your face. All you want to do right now is to turn around and kiss him, so you do. His face is just as bright as yours when you meet his eyes. His hair is messy and his skin is shining with perspiration, but he looks beautiful. He welcomes your kiss like he’s been waiting for it all day. Mouth chasing after your lips, capturing them in a quick kiss before pulling away.

It's the first time he’s seen your eyes since you’ve gotten home, and even then he couldn’t appreciate them like he could now. There's a different glow that he didn’t notice before. Maybe it's because he’s bound to you now, willing to do anything and everything for you.

“I love you,” you sigh, pressing your palm to his cheek. He looks so innocent now, the amber in his eyes now faded back to the chocolatey brown color you love so much.

“And I love that you’re mine.”

‘Mine’ is copyright 2020 @parksfilter​, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

#ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #smutcentralnet #btswriterscollective #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #bangtanshadowfamily #kpopuniversenet #bhqdrabbles #hoseok x reader #werewolf bts #werewolf hoseok #hoseok smut

[hoe-doroki]

flotsam, jetsam, lagan, and derelict

A response to this ask:

Reader having a silent mental breakdown and trying to hide it with Bakugo and iida!( bakugo’s fine if not iida)

warning: detailed descriptions of panic attack, self-loathing

pairing: Iida x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 1.5k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Your ship was a sturdy one—or so you’d always thought. You weren’t naïve enough to realize that your ship didn’t have a number of holes in it, depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts to name a few. Sometimes they broke through planks, splintering the wood in moments of tension or grief, maybe separately or maybe all at once creating a fall hazard yawning open on your deck. Sometimes they were quieter, bits mold spore collecting on the framing or rust on the sheet metal, leaving you mysteriously enfeebled until you stumbled across an infestation of the stuff and knew what had happened. In either scenario, you’d scramble for more wood, more steel, the sturdiest you could find to rebuild the rotted out sections of your boat. And almost always you could rebuild, restore before you began to sink.

But that was all for naught if the person doing the fixing—the captain—couldn’t steer.

You weren’t sure if it was the slow decay sneaking up on you again or if there’d been some greater break today, but your boat wasn’t just in disrepair—it was crashing. You were hitting rocks that were saying that you weren’t good enough. That you never had been good enough and would never be enough. It was something that you heard every day of the sound of the waves, but today it was thunderous. Deafening. The noise was screaming in your head and you were screaming back—you weren’t sure for what. Did you want salvation or did you want cessation?

“Y/N?”

You blinked your living room back into existence. There was a show on the TV, you had no idea which on what program. Iida had chosen it. Maybe your eyes had been on the screen, but they’d been unseeing, your ears plugged with water, locking you in with your thoughts.

“Are you cold?”

You weren’t. In fact, you were sweating—your hands, your armpits, the back of your neck. As steadily as you could, you shook your head, working hard to keep your face placid. Your boyfriend was sharp and he’d notice if your face exposed your inner turmoil.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice pressing. “You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t felt the tremble that he’d spotted immediately—it was just another way that your body was betraying you. “Mhmm,” you intoned, trying to act as though your attention was rapt on the TV as you shoved your damp hands under your thigh.

“Then are you sick?” Iida asked as he leaned forward to get a better look at you.

Your façade began to break. Your breathing was getting heavier and you didn’t feel the usual comfort you did when your boyfriend was this close, giving you his attention. You felt splayed, quartered, and scrutinized while you just wanted to be able to board yourself up somewhere small and hidden.

“Please, Iida,” you whispered, looking down at your lap. “Please just watch your show.”

“Watch my—” Iida grabbed the remote and turned off the TV promptly, giving you even more of his attention. “Y/N, I insist you tell me what’s wrong.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes tight as they too began to feel hot. “Nothing.”

The word came out so quiet while everything inside was still crashing, shouting. You weren’t good enough and now you were a liar too. You couldn’t even have a movie night without devolving into a shaking, sweaty mess. You couldn’t steer your boat without leaving flotsam and jetsam, lagan and derelict in your wake, portending a shipwreck.

“This doesn’t look like nothing,” Iida said, putting a hand to your shoulder.

The trembling had vibrated up your whole arm and uneven gasping was rattling your chest. Every effort you put into stamping it out, rebuilding your mask with eyes a little too wide, lips a little too quivery was torn out of your hands. Your grip was failing.

“Okay, stay right here,” Iida said, pushing off the couch. “I will procure a paper bag.”

Iida was back in a flash—had he used his quirk or were you just that far gone?—unfolding a paper bag and holding it in front of you.

“Breathe into it.”

But you were frozen. Your hands had gone numb under your thighs, the trembles now feeling like the rattling of a skeleton’s bones. No flesh, no muscle, no life—just shaking and air forcing itself into your body only to squeeze right out, rejected before it could find your blood, your marrow.

Iida held the bag to your mouth and pressed a large hand to the back of your neck, trying to settle your heaving, your capsizing. Your blood felt light, carbonated as tingles spread through your whole body. They felt like bugs or tiny splinters trying to find something vital and fleshy to sink into and ruin.

But you could also feel Iida’s hand stroking up and down your neck, the top of your back. Slowly, you began to hear him say, “Breathe, breathe, breathe.” Eventually, you remembered what the word meant as you grabbed hold of the wheel again, and steer away from some of the rocks.

You didn’t know how much time passed. It felt like forever and nothing more than a second frozen in time. What did time matter when you were this detached, this unmoored?

“What was that?” Iida asked as he pulled your bloodless hands out from under your thighs, rubbing them in his. “God, Y/N, that was terrifying. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I—” you tried, but the word was all breath. You swallowed thickly and tried again, still nothing more than a whisper. “I never say anything.”

Your boyfriend stared at you, open mouthed. “This has happened before?”

You looked down, shame putting distance between you and his blue eyes. “A few times but…the lead up happens…sometimes. It just doesn’t…it’s not like I know when it’s going to end up like this versus when it’s going to be normal.”

“Hold on a second,” Iida said a hand chopping in front of you. “What do you mean by normal?”

“Just…” You shook your head, hearing you’re not good enough and why are you even bothering him smack from side to side as you did. “Thoughts. About myself. Usually I can handle them.”

“This is handling it?”

“No!” you said, frustration and pique spilling out of you. “This is obviously not handling it! Usually I can just navigate through it and live another day.”

“Okay, okay…” Iida said, voice quieting as he seemed to realize that he was pushing you towards a gangplank that was already in reach. “Is there anything that I can do?”

A million thoughts popped into your head of the things you wanted. You wanted to be held, reassured, given water, touched, loved. But the language for that dried up on your tongue and the only thing that made it out was, “No.”

Iida sat with that for a second, sharp brows angling in on each other. Then he sat back, looking determined. “An insurmountable challenge only looks that way because you have not yet seen the finish line,” he declared. “There’s always something we can do.”

“We?” you asked, risking a glance up at him.

“We,” Iida repeated confidently. “You and I, we make a we. And if you think I’ll let this happen again, without trying to do something about it, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

“But…”

You shook your head again, wishing that the simple language that Iida used, the simple vision of your problems that he seemed to have was anywhere near the truth. You’d only let him see the shiny hull, the exterior you’d worked so hard to polish over the years. He knew nothing of your many layers of disrepair, the self-loathing that had, in fact, kicked in the very floorboards you stood on, until there was very little ground at all.

“I never know when it’s coming. It just happens and I have to be ready for it all the time.” Tears welled in your eyes and you tried to blink them away. “It’s so exhausting.”

“So let me help,” Iida said as he brushed his tears away.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered.

Iida looked at you, eyes sad but smile warm. Then he lifted you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you. Deep voice muffled in your neck, tickling behind your ear, he said, “Does this help?”

It took a second. Your body was tense, wanting to reject the comfort in favor of more pain. Wanting to let you hate yourself because it was what was familiar and, even in the coarse hold of self-loathing, the familiar felt safe. Like you’d fallen for your captive and you were trapped playing both roles.

But he kept holding you, rubbing your back and breathing in a slow, even tempo. You could feel your sailor’s knots relax your contours falling against his as the pressure of his broad body grounded you. “Yes,” you breathed. “It does.”

“Good,” Iida said, adjusting so that you were just that much closer. “Then it’s a place to start.”

#iida x reader #ida x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

[mego42]

ahem more dirty talk a la now use both hands, maybe in a car hmmmm

well, it’s not in a car but it is in front of a mirror. please enjoy this context-free drabble thing I wrote instead of working on song edits OOPS

send me a fic you’d wish i’d write and maybe (though probs not, this was a one off and I didn’t even follow directions) i’ll write you a snippet

“Nuh uh, you gotta keep watching, ma.”

Beth blinks her eyes open, slow and sticky, rolling her head from where it’s dropped back against his shoulder so she can see them, unobstructed in the full-length mirror in front of her. 

Her skin’s flushed all over her body, a whole spectrum ranging from the dainty pink in her flushed cheeks to a darker blush of her pebbled nipples to the furious red where the delicate skin of her inner thighs has been scraped nearly raw by his beard. She can see her trembling muscles in her wide-spread legs, can feel the sweet, aching burn in them as she bites her lip and keeps up the smooth, rolling rhythm, her eyes fixed once more on the way the deep rose of her cunt swallows his cock.

“You see that,” Rio says, and Beth sees the shiver that races through her body at the deep rumble of his voice right in her ear. “You see how good you take my cock.”

He has his chin hooked over her shoulder, watching the show, his own eyes dark and hooded, intent on the sight of the two of them moving together. They’re perched on the end of Beth’s bed, facing the mirror she’d bought when she’d finished filling out her house. He’s got his hands hooked under her thighs, his long, elegant fingers digging into her soft skin, holding her legs wide and also helping her move, lifting her up and letting her down when it’s too much for her, and she falls back against him.

He won’t let her close her eyes, though. 

“Look at your pretty pink cunt, split open around me.” He pushes her up, higher until only the tip’s inside her, and she clenches, aching at the lack of him.

Beth makes a wordless, gasping, and guttural sound in the back of her throat, and she sees his teeth gleam as he grins wide.

“Patience, mami,” Rio croons, pressing his face against hers, stubble scratching lightly against her jaw. “It’s better if you wait for it.”

He holds her there, balanced on her tip-toes, her hands fluttering from her knees to her hips, to tangle in the sheets bunched up around them, and she tugs, trying to pull herself down, but his grip’s unyielding, the force of him unmovable.

“You want it?”

The noise Beth makes is more of a sob than anything else. She figures it gets the sentiment across, but Rio tsks, shaking his head, his smile going sly.

“Need to hear you say it.”

It’s habit that has her setting her jaw and biting her tongue, and there are his teeth again, flashing in response.

He bucks his hips a little, enough that she feels him slide deeper, and then he’s gone, only just barely inside her at all this time.

“Say you want my cock, Elizabeth,” he says, burying his face in her neck, his breath warm on her collarbone.

He peeks out from under her hair, and they both watch as he shifts his grip, running a finger along the lips of her cunt and they can both see the wetness gathered on the tip of it when he pulls it away. 

“We both know you do.”

Beth rolls her hips, taking advantage of the change in his hold to push herself back down on him. He laughs, biting lightly on her shoulder, then lifts her legs further up, draping them over his so his knees hold her open, angling his own hips, so he slides nearly all the way out again.

Beth’s breath hisses out between her teeth, so sharp it’s almost a whine at the new position. Her feet are off the ground, and all she can do is rock back and forth, and she does, close to weeping at the not enough friction of the movement.

“All you gotta do is say it, Elizabeth, and I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk right for the rest of the weekend.”

That pleased, sly smile is back as he takes advantage of not having to hold her up with his hands anymore. One comes up, cupping her breast, and she gasps at the sight and sensation of his fingers pinching her nipple. The other runs down over her thigh, resting heavily just over her cunt, holding her to him. He spreads his fingers and his pinky brushes over her clit, and she jerks and dances as electric sparks race up her spine. 

“Please.” 

It comes out so raw and torn; Beth doesn’t even recognize her voice at first. 

“Please what?” He draws a circle around her clit, scraping his fingernail ever so lightly along the side of it, and for a second, Beth’s vision goes white.

“Please fuck me,” she whispers.

He grins, bright and victorious, shifting his hold, so he has her by the waist.

“Okay.”

#fic wishlist meme #i woke up and said i'm feeling smutty i guess #i'm gonna go drink some coffee now and turn my brain on so i can actually do edits #listen the likelihood of dirty talk featuring in my brio fic is fairly high #it just fits them idk #my fic #shut up meg

[lemonpepperhawks]

Castaways

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: After a freak storm, you find yourself shipwrecked on a deserted island with Pro Hero, Keigo Takami. While you work hard to get rescued, you realize too late that all may not be as it seems.

Themes/Warnings: Smut; Yandere!Hawks; Noncon; Bit of a slow burn; This is my first time writing smut so I can’t guarantee it will be good, but I like to think I can at least tell a good story lol

It was a beautiful day to be on the water. The weather report said there would be rain, but the only clouds you could see were far off on the horizon. You stretched out on the bow of the boat, letting the warm sun soak into your pores.

You closed your eyes, reflecting for a moment. At first you had thought a private boat ride was a bit... much, for a first date. But being here in the moment, you couldn’t have had a care in the world if you’d tried. You felt utterly at ease, with the caress of the sun above and the gentle rock of the waves below.

“Order up,” came a voice beside you.

You opened your eyes to see your date, Keigo, standing above you with a drink in each hand. One large wing stretched out behind him, blocking the sun so you didn’t have to squint. He passed you a glass and took a seat on the bow beside you. Lounging side by side, you both sipped your drinks and looked out over the ocean.

“You know,” you began, “I thought you were a little crazy when you asked me out here. On a boat, in the middle of nowhere.” You chuckled. “But I’m really glad I came.”

“Bet you’re also glad I’m not secretly an axe murderer,” Keigo joked, tossing back the rest of his drink. “Refill?”

You looked down at your own almost-empty drink and shook your head. You were feeling unusually drowsy from the combination of alcohol and warm sunshine, and what you honestly wanted was a nice nap.

Somehow, Keigo seemed to pick up on this and scooted closer to you, twisting his finger through a strand of your hair.

“You look so peaceful,” He mused. “You can go to sleep if you want.” “Noooo,” you protested weakly, a small smile on your lips. “I don’t want to fall asleep on you during our first date. I really am having a good time.”

Keigo let out a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, you falling asleep on me would fulfill... several fantasies. And don’t worry, I’ll protect ya from any sharks.”

With this, he swept you into his arms and planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. Normally, this would be far from anything you’d do on a first date - but your head felt so heavy, and the combination of rocking waves and the soft, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat had you falling asleep in seconds, smile still spread across your lips.

☙

You awoke suddenly. You had no idea how much time had passed, but you were immediately aware that several things had changed. First, you were no longer out on the bow of the boat. Instead, you lay inside the boat’s cabin with a towel wrapped around your shoulders. Secondly, you noticed that your hair was damp and dripping onto the planks below you. And finally you found the reason for all this: there was a storm raging outside. 

“Oh!” shouted Keigo, noticing you wake. “I’m sorry, I had to move us inside. This storm sprung up so suddenly; there wasn’t even a cloud and then-”

“Keigo?” you muttered. Your body felt heavy and groggy as you came out of your sleep. You still weren’t alert enough to comprehend what was happening.

“Don’t worry,” assured Keigo. He turned around from his place at the ship’s wheel to face you with a smile, the same easygoing one he always seemed to have. “Lucky for you, I am a master of not only land and air, but also sea. We’re perfectly-”

A loud thud shook the boat as something hit the left window, hard.

“-safe.”

That noise had finished waking you up, and now you were on your feet, stumbling as the boat rocked violently. You made your way over to Keigo at the helm, tripping over your own two feet like a drunk, and gripped onto one of his arms for support. Looking out the windshield, you could see the full force of the squall. Wind slammed the rain back and forth like a whip, severely limiting visibility. You looked up at Keigo, who was focused straight ahead, his eyes seeming to try to pierce through the storm.

“Look, there!” he exclaimed. “There’s an island ahead and to the right.”

You squinted, but couldn’t see anything yourself. 

“Should I steer us over?”

“I think so,” you agreed. The boat seemed sturdy, but it was small. Just a simple vessel meant for trips of no more than a day or two of light sailing. You didn’t like the thought of being out on the open water during a heavy storm like this.

Without another word, Keigo steered the boat in the direction of the island. The motor sputtered, but stayed running. Slowly, you became able to see the outlines of cliffs and trees through the downpour. There didn’t seem to be any dock, so you guessed this was going to be a beach landing and hoped Keigo knew what he was doing.

Suddenly, a huge shudder went through the boat, knocking you off your feet. Without taking his eyes off the storm, Keigo reached out and caught you with one of his strong wings.

“Hold on,” he commanded steadily, tucking you closer to him.

With terror, you realized that your feet were getting wet. Water was starting to seep into the cabin. You looked back to see a large hole in the boat’s hull, and were about to tell Keigo when another spasm rocked the boat. This time even Keigo lost his footing for a moment.

“Rocks,” he explained quickly. “We’re hitting the rocks.”

His voice was calm, but looking up you could see a hint of panic in his eyes. The wind was whipping furiously, and it felt like the boat might capsize at any moment. The shore was tantalizingly close, but you felt in danger of being swept away before you could reach its safety.

Keigo took his eyes away from the storm for a second, to look at you reassuringly. He gave you a smile and opened his mouth to say something, almost shouting against the sound of the wind.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fi-”

And then, all at once, there was a crash, a jolt, and you felt yourself and Keigo being thrown through the windshield and into darkness.

☙

You found yourself waking up again, this time on the soft sand of a beach. The sky was dark, but clear - thank goodness. Looking to your left, you saw a small campfire, and beyond it, Keigo.

“Good evening, sleepyhead,” he said lightly. “Had me worried for a bit.”

You looked down at yourself, making sure you were all in one piece. Amazingly, there was not a scratch on you. Your muscles were a bit sore, but that was it. Nothing hurt, nothing bled.

Looking back at Keigo, you noticed that the same could not be said about him. He was covered in bruises on his arms and legs, and he had a cut running across one of his cheeks that was still freely bleeding.

He must have noticed your look of surprise, because he said, “Don’t worry, I was just about to clean myself up.” He patted a first aid kit at his feet. “Just wanted to make sure we had some warmth first. It’s getting to be night.”

He looked up and out over the sea, and you followed his gaze to marvel at the stars. You had never seen so many. Being far away from any light pollution, the sky looked like a swirling, winding map of light. And there were so many colors in the sky; it was unbelievable. Casting your gaze downward, you landed on the washed-up wreckage of the ship. It was a miracle that it looked to be mostly in one piece. 

“Keigo, what happened?”

“Well,” he said, rummaging through the first aid kit. “I’m sure you noticed the storm.”

Even in a situation like this, he was lighthearted and joking. Part of you found it a little appalling, but part of you wished you could be more like him - more able to quell the rising panic in your chest. 

“It really did come out of nowhere,” he continued. “Never seen anything like it. And it was gone just as soon as it came.”

It was both alarming and astonishing that such a short storm could cause so much destruction. You stared numbly into the campfire as he went on.

“Luckily you’re safe, and that’s what matters.”

You looked up, and Keigo was staring back at you intently. You could tell he meant it. Even though his own body was battered, it was more important to him that you were safe. You supposed that was part of what being a Pro Hero was all about, but it still sent a shiver down your spine to think that he cared for you that deeply, even if only in a professional capacity. He returned his attention to his injuries, dabbing something on his scraped arms. You moved over to help.

“Thanks,” he laughed. “I’ve had worse, but it never hurts to have a pretty girl taking care of ya.”

He winked. Okay, maybe the care and concern extended a little beyond professionalism. 

“Anyway, I took stock of the boat while you were knocked out,” he resumed. “And we have enough supplies to last a few weeks. Which is good, since it looks like we may not be going anywhere soon.”

“Wait, a few weeks?” you interrupted. “Can’t you just, like, fly us out of here?”

“Well, about that...” Keigo mumbled as he turned his back to you.

Where once there had been two brilliant red wings, now there were little more than stubs with feathers protruding from his back.

“It was a pretty rough landing,” he explained. “A lot of my feathers were torn off and swept away while we were in the water. And on top of that, most got mangled anyway when we were thrown out the window. Honestly, I probably couldn’t even get myself off the ground right now.”

At this point, Keigo looked to you and noticed that you were on the verge of tears.

“Hey, don’t worry though.” He took your hand and clasped his fingers around it tightly. “I promise, I’ll take care of you here. You’ll always be safe with me.” You looked up into his soft, golden eyes. His smile beamed back at you as he opened his mouth to add:

“And hey, what a first date this has turned out to be!”

☙

It undoubtedly was turning out to be quite the “first date.” It only took a few days until you had somewhat settled into a routine. There was a lot of free time, but it allowed you and Keigo to get to know each other and work on projects to make your lives easier on the island.

Keigo had insisted on making identical shelters for the two of you, side-by-side. 

“So I can keep a better eye on you,” he explained cheerfully.

At first he had wanted the two of you to share a single lean-to and bed of leaves, but you insisted that you were more comfortable being at least a little ways apart, and eventually he relented. 

“I get it,” he teased, “not ‘that kind of girl.’ But you know I just want to look out for you, chickadee.”

What exactly there was to look out for, you weren’t sure. You had both circled the island several times - it wasn’t that large, and could be walked in a few hours - and the place was completely deserted. Your only fellow inhabitants were a large population of wild chickens, much to Keigo’s delight. Every morning before you woke, he would wander off into one of the more forested areas. And by the time you were awake, he would be wandering back with fresh meat. You didn’t particularly like thinking about where it came from, but you were grateful for the food.

And chickens weren’t all the island had to offer. There were also delicious fruits and wild carrots, which you had stumbled on while clearing some weeds from around your campsite. There was even a spring of fresh water only a ten minute walk from the beach. It was almost the perfect island to be stranded on. And all of this, along with the nonperishable food from the boat, ensured that you were both well fed and hydrated.

Once, you had asked Keigo about the food. Why there was so much on board for just a day trip. He shrugged.

“Better to be prepared and not need it than to need it and not be prepared.”

☙

While there were certainly worse people to be stranded with than your handsome date, you were still looking forward to being rescued. The whole situation was overwhelming, and, although Keigo was doing a great job at playing survivalist and keeping you warm and fed, it made you uncomfortable to be in such a committed situation with someone you had only been on one date with.

Granted, the one date had now turned into a two-week-long stay on a deserted island, but nonetheless you were hoping to get back to civilization so that the two of you could pursue a more normal, less stressful and intense relationship.

Keigo himself seemed unaffected by stress as far as you could see. The first morning on the island, you had asked him how long it would take for his wings to grow back.

“Last time I got this beat up?” he considered. “It took a few months.”

That was not the answer you had been hoping to hear, but it did inspire you to branch out and think of other creative ways to speed up your rescue.

The first thought was obviously your cell phone. However, one look at the glitching screen told you that your phone had been destroyed by the impromptu swim during your arrival. Keigo’s was the same way.

You then turned your attention to making a good old fashioned “SOS” sign out of rocks, which Keigo helped with. You didn’t have much hope for it - you had seen no planes or other boats since being marooned, and you didn’t even have an idea of where the island was in relation to any populated areas.

“Won’t people start looking for you?” you asked Keigo hopefully as you both worked on the sign.

“Eventually,” Keigo agreed. “But honestly, my friends are used to me disappearing on missions without notice. It could be awhile before they realize something is up.”

You, unfortunately, were the same way. A loner. No close friends who would be suspicious of you dropping off the face of the Earth for a few weeks. Of course your presence would be missed at work, but of course you hadn’t told anyone at the office that you would be on a boat,in the middle of nowhere, with the No. 2 Pro Hero for fear of the gossip that would spread. They wouldn’t even know where to start looking for you. 

The two of you really might as well have fallen off the face of the Earth. 

A few days after the completion of your SOS sign, you had an epiphany. The body of the ship was still on the beach, and ships had radios. Even small ones like this. The ship itself might be beyond repair, but the radio could still be functional. You sifted through the rubble to get to the cabin, which was surprisingly intact. 

Keigo wandered up behind you as you went over to the radio. It was rare for you two not to be in each others’ line of sight these days.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“I just remembered, we can use the radio to get out of here!” you responded excitedly.

Keigo said nothing. You flicked on the radio and were delighted to see the small green light on its casing come to life. You held the receiver up to your ear, and were greeted by silence. You flipped to another channel. Silence. And another. More silence. Your heart sinking, you went through the channels one by one, and were rewarded with nothing. 

Keigo came up to put an arm around your waist. “No luck?” he asked calmly.

“I don’t understand,” you sobbed. “How can this be? The light is on; it should be working. There’s not even static!”

“Let’s not wear out the battery,” Keigo suggested, reaching past you to flick the radio off. 

The green light, and your hopes of rescue, blinked out.

“Maybe I could fix it,” you mused, brightening a little.

“Maybe,” Keigo agreed, giving you a squeeze. “I think I have some tools in here somewhere.”

☙

The days drew on, and you began to feel stagnated. You hadn’t made any progress toward being rescued. Despite several weeks passing, Keigo’s wings did not look any fuller. The bruises and scar across his face had healed nicely, but his wings remained bare. You had no idea how their growth worked, but you had been hoping that by now he might be able to fly himself - even if it meant leaving you on the island alone, he could at least scout for a rescue ship during the day, or perhaps even fly back to civilization and tell them where to find you.

Keigo, however, had grown increasingly reluctant to leave your side. You supposed the isolation was getting to him and making him clingy. You were his only company after all. And besides, it was kind of cute, having an otherwise confident and laid-back man follow you around like a puppy dog. You could tell he was infatuated with you, and you couldn’t deny that you had been developing stronger feelings for him as well. It was hard not to when he spent most of the day in just his cargo shorts, sweat glistening on his muscled back.

Still, you insisted on keeping your separate sleeping arrangements. Keigo pouted about it, but seemed to understand that you weren’t ready for that yet. 

Aside from your daily chores of sleeping and eating, you spent most of your time cleaning up around the campsite, playing games to pass the time - you were both pros at Rock Checkers by this point - and just talking to each other. You enjoyed hearing about all of Keigo’s exploits as a hero, and he seemed just as interested in the details of your average civilian life. You had spent so much time together at this point; it was impossible not to grow close, and maybe even a little dependent. You couldn’t blame Keigo - you liked having him around too.

Occasionally, Keigo would disappear into the dense forest during the afternoons, and you would be left with free time to work on tinkering with the radio. On one such occasion, before leaving,  he gave you a playful warning.

“You stay right there while I’m gone, chickadee. You never know what big scary monster you might run into in these woods.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just you in those woods, Keigo,” you returned, laughing. 

Keigo just smirked and disappeared into the trees.

☙

Later that same afternoon, you sat hunched over the radio. Not only did Keigo have a toolbox stowed in the ship’s cabin, but the radio operation manual as well. These resources had proved to be very helpful in taking the radio apart, but not too helpful in actually getting it to work. You were beginning to grow frustrated when a voice behind you startled you.

“Hey!” called Keigo. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turned to see his messy mop of blond hair poking through the doorway behind you.

“Come here,” he said excitedly. “I have something to show you!”

“Hang on just a minute, Keigo,” you responded. “I think I’m close to a breakthrough here. The manual says there should be a green wire right here-” you pointed to a terminal node on the radio “-but I can’t see one. It must have been knocked loose. If I can just find that, we should be able to-”

“Aw, come onnnnnn” whined Keigo. “It’s getting dark out, and you’ve been working too hard. This can wait until tomorrow. I have something I really want to show youuuu.”

You sighed. He could be immature at times, but his childlike excitement was also something that drew you. You couldn’t resist the excited light in his eyes. 

“Okay,” you relented, putting your tools and loose parts away. “If you’re so eager, I guess we’d better get going.”

Practically skipping, Keigo dragged you into the woods. You had not explored much of this part of the island, seeing as it was in the opposite direction from the fresh water source. You hadn’t really had the interest or need to.

“Close your eyes,” Keigo commanded giddily.

You must have been getting close to whatever the surprise was. After a few minutes of guiding you through the trees, Keigo put his hands on your shoulders to stop you. He put something rough into your hands. 

“This is a rope ladder. Climb up and I’ll let you know when you’re getting close to the top.”

You smiled a little to yourself as you started up.

“And don’t worry, I’ll catch you if you slip,” he added. 

At the top, Keigo made you keep your eyes closed until he could scramble up to join you. You had expected to be in a tree, but beneath your feet it felt like solid ground. You guessed that this, whatever this was, was what Keigo had been working on during the times he disappeared into the woods. 

“Okay,” said Keigo, a little out of breath as he came up behind you. “Go ahead and open your eyes.”

You opened your eyes and gasped as Keigo wrapped his arms around you. You were in the trees, their leaves surrounding you on all sides. Actually, you realized, you were between several trees, standing on a firm platform of vines and leaves suspended within their branches. The trunk of one rose up through the center of the floor like a giant column. Peering beyond it, you had a magnificent view of the ocean and sky, where the sunset was just disappearing, giving way to night.

“You like it, baby?” Keigo whispered in your ear. “I built this just for us.”

“It’s - wow it’s - definitely impressive,” you stuttered. 

You had the sudden and overwhelming feeling that you were perched in a nest. A nest belonging to a very large, very strong bird.

Keigo nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.

“I know you’ve been feeling shy, chickadee, so I wanted to make our first time extra special.”

“You wha-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Keigo spun you around and planted a kiss on your lips, silencing them. One hand was in your hair and the other around your waist, pressing you fully against him. His mouth moved with desperation, trying to force yours to open further. 

“I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” Keigo panted, lowering you both to the floor. “And I know you have too. I see the way you look at me, baby.”

Keigo’s own eyes blazed with hunger, his smile beaming above you. In the dying light, his skin seemed to glow, taking on an unearthly sheen. You were speechless, and unsure of what to say even if you could find your voice.

Keigo started to lift your tattered shirt, and that snapped you back to reality.

“Please, wait,” you begged, grabbing at his hands.

“You don’t need to be shy anymore,” Keigo insisted, pushing away your hands. He reached beneath your shirt to squeeze one of your breasts. “I love you and I’m going to take care of you. Always. Please, please just let me make you feel good!”

“Keigo, STOP!” you demanded.

He stopped, and pulled his hands away from you slightly.

“Keigo, I- you’ve been so nice to me,” you started. “But I’m sorry, I’m just not ready for this. This is all so intense and I- I just want to go home so we can have a normal relationship instead of being stuck on a fucking deserted island!”

Keigo backed off from you, looking hurt and dejected. You were almost in tears, and your voice hitched as you spoke.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I think… maybe it would be best if you slept here tonight and I went back to the campsite.”

Keigo made no response. Unsure of yourself, you stood up and made your way over to the rope ladder. His silence persisted as you lowered yourself down and started back in the direction of the campsite.

☙

Eventually, you found your way back to camp. It was fully dark by the time you reached the side-by-side lean-tos, and you flopped down in one of them, eyes blurred from crying.

You didn’t know what had happened back there. Keigo had been nothing but sweet and generous throughout all of this. Even his treehouse, while a bit presumptuous and misguided, was a sweet testament to his feelings for you. You just weren’t prepared for how fast things were moving. 

Maybe you had overreacted. It was too dark at this point to try and find your way back to Keigo, but in the morning you would find him and explain things. That you had feelings for him, but wanted to focus on getting out of here before pursuing anything more.

You leaned back and closed your eyes. You had half expected Keigo to follow you, but it seemed he hadn’t and was going to spend the night apart as you requested. Uneasily, you drifted to sleep.

☙

You were prodded awake in the middle of the night by a stabbing sensation in your shoulder. Groggily, you propped yourself up and felt behind you for whatever loose twig was the culprit. As you did, you realized with some amusement that you had fallen asleep on Keigo’s bed. He always took the left lean-to and you took the right. It had become a sort of unspoken rule, like a couple who each has “their side” of the bed.

You felt a pang of regret thinking this. If only Keigo hadn’t come on so strong. The truth was that you did want what he wanted. You wanted to be with him. But the stress of your situation and the intensity with which he tried to seduce you had been too much. You hoped you could work things out in the morning.

“Such an idiot,” you muttered. “Hope I didn’t ruin our chances for good.”

Finally, your fingers located the thing that had been poking you. It was oddly smooth, and, as you saw lifting it out of the pile of bedding, not a twig at all. 

You held it up to the moonlight in disbelief: a little green wire. 

Your stomach dropped. Swiftly and silently, you stalked toward the wrecked ship, needing to be sure. By the light of the moon, you quietly opened the casing of the radio, found the node with the missing connection, and slipped the green wire in. It reached perfectly to the node on the other side.

You tried not to let the panic set in. But something was very wrong. You felt the need to get out of there, away from the confined space of the ship.

Tumbling into open air, you began to pace on the wet sand, away from the boat and the campsite. Your thoughts were a whirlwind. Why would Keigo keep that wire from you? Why would he have it in the first place? The answer was obvious, but you didn’t want to believe it. You had been walking aimlessly for at least ten minutes, frightened and confused.

Suddenly, your foot hit something sharp in the sand.

☙

You fell to your hands and knees on the beach, and immediately scrambled around to see what had pricked you. There was a sharp point sticking out from the packed sand, and you dug around to reveal the object.

It was a feather. 

Brilliantly red even in the glow of night, and far too big to belong to any normal bird. Tears welled up in your eyes. You continued to dig and uncovered another, then another. Soon you had unearthed a pit filled with the things.

“Enjoying your night without me, chickadee?”

One of the feathers zipped past you, toward the sound of the voice. 

Trembling, you turned to face him as plumes of feathers swirled around you. One by one, they found their way to Keigo, and his wings began to reconstruct themselves in front of your eyes. Keigo’s hands were stuffed in his pockets as he looked down on you.

“Glad I don’t have to keep secrets anymore,” he said flatly. “I was really beginning to miss having these.”

His wings were stretched out to their full length, making his presence impossible to ignore and extremely intimidating. He relaxed them slightly and sighed. 

“Keigo, you- you knew this whole time,” you spat. “The radio, the feathers, the food - this whole island!”

The man in front of you said nothing.

“Why?” you asked weakly. “Why would you do this?”

“What? Is it so bad to want some time with you?” Keigo shot back suddenly. “I told you, you had nothing to worry about. I love you. I can take care of you here.”

With this, he flew toward you at frightening speed. Before you had time to attempt an escape, he was on top of you. Pressing you down into the wet sand with the full weight of his body.

“Why can’t you just be appreciative? I did all this for you. Just to be with you!”

“You could have killed me!” you screamed into his face. “You weren’t keeping me safe! You could have killed me!”

At your words, Keigo’s expression darkened drastically. He was frowning at you, and you had never seen him like that before. No, not just frowning, but scowling. 

Your shirt was torn off before you could even register what was happening. 

“You said it yourself,” remarked Keigo, towering above you as he kept you pinned with his legs. A smile was creeping back on his lips. “I’ve been so nice to you. But I think I’ve been too nice. I think it’s time for me to take what I want.”

Keigo grabbed at the rest of your clothes and dragged them off of you, leaving you exposed beneath him. Then he undid his own pants and let himself spring free.

Slowly, all while looking down at his captive, Keigo used a hand to pump his throbbing cock. Reaching, he took one of your hands and wrapped it around his length, holding it there as he leaned down to bring his face right against yours.

“This is exactly what you want, you little tease,” he whispered harshly. With his other hand, he plunged two fingers inside you, feeling as your walls became slick and clenched around him.  “I know you do.”

Smiling wide, Keigo straightened up. With his hands, he pushed your arms to either side of your head and pressed them against the sand. With his tongue, he trailed up and along your body from hip to breast, making you squirm. He was marking you as his, showing that he owned and could do whatever he wanted with you.

“Keigo, stop!” you cried once again, trying to look anywhere but up at him.

“No,” he growled. “This time, I won’t.”

He slammed his cock straight into your core, making you cry out in shock and pain. 

“Quiet, baby. Wouldn’t want anyone to hear us!” Keigo taunted.

He thrust into you again, this time only eliciting a whimper. Keigo’s own unrestrained grunts and moans mixed with the sound of the waves against the beach as he continued at his frantic pace. After a few minutes, he regained his composure and looked down, where you were trying to shrink into the sand beneath him.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Keigo crooned. “You know I really do love you, and I promised I’d make you feel good, too.”

Using a wing to continue holding your arm in place, Keigo brought one of his hands up to his mouth and gave two fingers a scandalous lick. He never stopped looking down at you as he did so, an amused little look flashing across his face as you shivered at the sight. He brought the hand down between your legs, and began to rub slow circles around your clit, his saliva mixing with the wetness that already coated you. Involuntarily, you let out a moan.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he coaxed. He began to pump his cock in and out of you again, slowly this time. “Show me how much you want this.”

Not letting up, Keigo leaned down to use his mouth on you as well, biting and licking at your collar bones. He picked up his pace steadily. Your hands remained pinned, and all you could do was writhe under the onslaught of his touch. 

His fingers were rough, and they grazed your clit relentlessly, sending shocks up your sides. You could feel a coil winding deep in your stomach, and despite yourself, you were desperate for a release. Keigo could feel you tightening around him as he neared his own climax.

Forgetting the restraints, Keigo shot up and pulled you with him, continuing to pound into you while on his knees. With your hips raised in the air, Keigo kept the pressure of his fingers on your most sensitive spot, sending you past the point of no return.

As he felt your walls clenching, he growled into the night:

“Tell me who makes you feel this fucking good!”

“K-Keigo!” you screamed, your body convulsing as you reached your climax.

“That’s right,” he grunted, slamming you both down into the sand again. “And it’s because you’re mine. All. Mine.”

At these words, you felt his cum gushing into you, making you flush from head to toe. He held his arms around you tightly as he rode out his own high, moaning in a gravelly, guttural voice.

The night was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of heavy breaths and crashing waves to echo off the beach as Keigo remained poised above you.

Finally, as his panting slowed, Keigo spoke.

“We should probably get comfortable, chickadee. It might be a long while before they find us.”

#hawks smut #hawks x reader #yandere hawks #bnha x reader #smut #keigo takami x reader #yandere keigo takami #bnha hawks #bnha smut

[typinggently]

I have never watched that show. How much background info I should look up to enjoy your Sam x Dean fiction?

Dearest, that’s so sweet ahhh 🥺🥺 Honestly, I’m so honoured that you’re willing to dive into unknown waters for me 🌹🌹🌹 I wrote up a short introduction! ✨

The basics are as follows: Sam and Dean are the sons of John and Mary Winchester, with Dean being 4 years older. After Mary’s supernatural death when Dean is 5, John sweeps his children into his car and leaves the burning corpse of their normal life behind, with a sweltering pain inside of him. Driven by fear for his sons and the burning need for revenge, John raises his sons as hunters and in motel rooms. There is, and that is crucial, no resemblance of a normal life for any of them after Mary’s death.

If we’re speaking in very basic terms, Dean is the daredevil womanising Marlboro Man, complete with muscle car and leather jacket, and Sam is the more soft-spoken smart one who eats salad and has glossy-soft hair. (However, of course, Dean is fiercely family-oriented, protective, good with children. Sam started out with a rebellious streak and is still capable of great violence when he doesn’t keep himself in check. Also Dean’s the type to gaze dreamily into his girl’s eyes and hold her hand as she rides him and Sam’s one night stands are mostly of the ‘rip off your shirt and hit it from behind’ kind.)

~🖤~

Considering there are 15 seasons to choose from, people have (naturally) picked up certain elements that they find most enjoyable. There’s a good deal of people who watch it as a (romantic) comedy.

I personally enjoy the American gothic horror, the way those two are entangled beyond comprehension and, at times, indistinguishable from the monsters they hunt. Even if my fics have different topics or are lighthearted and honey-dripping, the base note is always this: their relationship, due to nature and nurture, is incredibly obsessive. Their world has been reduced to the two of them in the confines of the car or the ever-changing motel rooms, ever since they were little. Dean’s purpose in life was to protect and care for Sam, Sam’s purpose in life was to let that happen. There’s some resentment in that, sometimes you can feel them rebelling against this tangled, claustrophobic mess, but even if they fight and snarl and break up, they always return to one another and heal those cuts in their bond, which, in essence, only means that they settle back into their entangled, Janus-like double soul.

~🖤~

I’ll give you a brief summary of the first five seasons (the core of the show, at least to me), just to illustrate my point. Despite all else that happens, I think that is the foundation of the show, and thus, probably all you need to know to understand what I have in mind while I write.

🔥.1.🔥

The story begins with Sam at college, trying to establish a life away from the road and, in essence, Dean. That attempt of normality burns on the ceiling in the person of his girlfriend Jessica, repeat performance of when his mother’s body lit up his room 21 years ago. Dean picks him up and he goes back to the car, to the life he tried to leave behind, and, essentially, to Dean. They follow a trail of breadcrumbs and coordinates John leaves them to eventually get back to him. They find John, find the demon that killed Mary, and, as the turn of a new chapter is right at their fingertips, get bulldozed by a truck.

🪦.2.🪦

Season two has Dean dying. John can’t let that happen, so he finds the demon responsible for taking everything (his wife, his life, his son) from him to trade his own soul and the only thing that could kill said demon for Dean. John dies, Dean lives, and has to live with that guilt. Just like John, he turns to hunt down the demon responsible for taking everything (his mother, his life, his father). Sam starts having visions, a power grows inside of him that he can’t begin to understand and is incredibly frightened by. The demon sweeps in to steal him away, and Dean comes just in time to catch Sam, powerful and dying, in his arms. Just like John, Dean goes to trade his life. He’s promised one year on Earth, eternity in hell after. Reunited, revived, they find the demon responsible for taking everything and with the help of their father’s soul, kill him. John goes to heaven, Sam goes on living, Dean knows he’s going to hell.

⏳.3.⏳

In season three, Sam lives and has to live with what Dean did. He desperately tries to find a cure, a solution, anything. He finds Ruby, instead, a demon who promises him all three. It doesn’t work, the overly-powerful demon Lilith who was promised Dean after one year, comes and gets him. Sam watches helplessly as Dean is torn apart, then holds him, warm but cooling, in his arms.

🩸.4.🩸

Season four finds Dean finding himself breathing underground. He digs himself out of his own grave and finds Sam and has to find out that Ruby found him first. It’s now that we learn who found Dean and raised him out of hell: Castiel, unkillable, unfathomable, unbelievable. Dean, who never believed in God, now has to learn that there’s a biblical plan laid out for Sam and him. Meanwhile, Castiel, who always believed and is starting to doubt, tries to find God, who’s responsible for it all, but vanished. Meanwhile, Sam is drawn closer and closer to Ruby, by Ruby. While Castiel raised Dean out of hell, Ruby found Sam on Earth and wrapped herself around him, offering a shoulder to cry on and a wrist to drink from. Sam, who wasn’t strong enough to save Dean, quickly gets addicted to demon blood, which makes him stronger than humanely possible — and, in Dean’s eyes, less human. He falls for Ruby and falls for her scheme, which leads to him breaking the seal that kept Lucifer contained, starting what will lead to the end of everything. Ruby’s life ends with Sam’s arms wrapped around her, holding her still as Dean sinks her own knife into her.

⌛️.5.⌛️

Season five leads to the end of the world, with Heaven and Hell trying to convince Sam and Dean to follow the plan written for them: Sam is destined to be Lucifer’s vessel, give over his body to him, while Dean is meant to do the same for Michael. They are meant to fight and kill each other, and thus decide the fate of everything, heaven, hell and earth. They refuse. Dean refuses to let Michael enter and use him, forcing heaven to manipulate their half-brother Adam to step into his big brother’s shoes. Sam invites Lucifer in, but refuses to do as he’s told and breaks the Devil’s hold over him to sacrifice himself and Adam and save everything. It ends with Sam, Adam, Michael and Lucifer trapped for eternity in the cage Sam broke the seal of, and Dean, on Earth. Alone.

(Not quite, of course. Following Sam’s wish, he finds a life for himself, a woman and a child that isn’t his but close enough that Dean can pretend. Outside, in the dark, Sam watches.)

~🖤~

Voilà, that’s it. Sam and Dean kill and die for each other, sell their souls and humanity to save one another or repent for the fact that they couldn’t. There are many, many other stories interwoven there, for example the story of the amulet Sam was meant to gift their father when he was little, for protection. When John doesn’t show up to receive the gift, he gives it to Dean. For decades, the amulet is kept right against his heart, until it stops beating and Sam takes it off, to keep it warm and safe against his own chest. When Dean returns from hell, Sam, who was never able to believe that Dean was really gone, gives it back. Its journey ends where it began, in a motel room with Sam and Dean, when Dean, who finds his faith and hope to save them and the Earth crushed, takes it off and throws it away.

(And a quick look at s6: Dean has the orange juice for breakfast, scent of freshly cut grass life Sam wanted for him for one year, until Sam comes to collect him again. After spending an eternity in the cage with Lucifer (and Adam and Michael, who presumably sat in their corner and made out while Sam was being skinned like Marsyas), Sam was lifted out (by Castiel), but lost his soul and the memories of his torment in the process. What does it mean for one to lose one’s soul, what happens to that person? Sam stops sleeping, he stops caring what other people think, he stops caring for other people in general. He’s an incredibly efficient hunter and spends most of his (limitless, sleepless) time hunting, exercising, or having sex. Despite this empty, cold shell his brother has been reduced to, Dean drops his life of dinner at eight and slow morning sex to join Sam, and gets broken up with over the phone for being too attached to Sam.)

~🖤~

This got quite long after all, but I hope this got the idea across! Those two are very fascinating characters and I love them dearly. Twisted little clowns.

#this got long even though I tried to be brief u.u #clown boys #wincest

[perlen-gold]

Storm Night

“I am not good at talking about how I feel.” said Fenris once.

Ordinarily it is not the rain that arouses Hawke. He was not awake to witness the birth of the storm, far away from the shallow piers of Kirkwall, across the heaving and hungry sea. After hours of silent hunting, dark and looming clouds have entrapped the aspiring stone buildings of men.

The rain gushes down in endless silvery streams, chasing any four-legged or upright stranglers mercilessly into desperate shelter. Violently, a myriad of furious drops besiege the quivering glass in the windows, its irate cadence ceaselessly drowning out the occasional crackling of the fireplace. For a brief moment the bed room is plunged in an uncanny flash of dazzling light. The columns of the four-poster bed flinch, ghosts briefly awaken upon the seashell white bed sheet. Above gloomy curtains shudder in trepidation as the searing white lightning strikes once, twice, thrice. The skies over Kirkwall are illuminated in wraithlike shadows full of clouded hunters and rumbling beasts, washed over by the piercing of light, and felled in forlorn battle by thunder and bolt.

In the blink of an eye, Hawke’s eye, amber-colored and wide awake, the short-tempered light disperses into the night.

The smell of fresh, hard rain mixed with the herb burn of the dance in the fireside that shelters the bedroom under-fire from the feud outside is nearly palpable. Once more the keen blade of light strikes and transforms the hunters into warriors and the warriors into tombs for the fallen and demised, cleaving through the stormy night.

That which usually rudely awakes Hawke from sleep is neither hunter nor tomb; a kick, unexpected and painful in the lulling reverie of slumber; a sudden stroke hitting some uncovered part of his body that leaves his knee, his thigh, his shoulder, his ribs a bruised mark as purple as ripe plums; an entangling wrench yanking imprisoning feather and fabric away; and sounds, sounds, sounds, muffled, leashed, involuntary, sounds seared in Hawke’s mind.

This night is different, though.

When he wakes up, thunder forces his eyelids fly open. He lies still and he knows something is wrong.

He looks around, searches. That which wakes him this night is the slashing of the relentless rain and the cold spot on the soft mattress beside Hawke.

After a short moment of blessed silence as the storm outside gathers its strength for the next oncoming assault, Hawke sits up and swings his feet to the dry carpeted floor. It is this bare patch on the bed beside him, bereft of any body’s warmth, that has imprinted itself upon his dormant consciousness.

On bare feet he walks out of the room, along the ghostly dark corridor.  Beyond the stalwart stone walls of the Amell estate dark and light continue to lash out at each other as sundered lovers. Listening to the weeping skies Hawke remembers Carver’s wide-stricken eyes and how he swallowed his own boyhood tears for his brother’s and sister’s sake during a similar night. So big a house sunken in a darkness so impenetrable, it is impossible for Hawke to judge whether he has been roused in the middle of the night or at the cusp of dawn and day.

Wrapped in the clattering sound of the endless rain he passes the stairs, two closed doors, the kitchen till a flicker of faintly orange light piques his interest hidden amidst shelves of books.

In bad nights, Hawke will resolutely grip Fenris shoulders in order to shake him awake from his violent thrashing. In good nights, observing his twitching jaw muscles, Hawke wraps his arms around Fenris’waist, cradling him, bringing him close to his chest so he can breath softly into his ear, easing him out of his sleep just to the verge of awakening.

On those nights that are worst, Hawke will wake to a cold bed and find Fenris swigging down abundant-flavored wine from dark bottles. During these nights, Hawke joins him. They drink, they talk about other things while Hawke laughs and smiles and mounts guard over the distant look in Fenris’ wakeful eyes. Then, occasionally, out of the blue, Fenris might blurt out some mutinous memento, granted by his former life under the unyielding Tevinter sun, that leaves Hawke unsmiling and Fenris with bitterness or – worse still – with a callous shrug.

“And here I thought you hated reading.”

In this particular night Hawke finds Fenris hunched over a book in the lone flame of a single candle. He could illume the lamps and torches in the library without so much as a flicker of his fingers but he refrains from doing so. Instead, he pulls up a plain wooden chair and sits opposite Fenris, elbow on the abraded tabletop, one side of his scratchy face in his hand.

“Why?” Fenris retorts brusquely.

Hawke cannot help but smile in remembrance.

“Because last time I tried to teach you, you ended up flinging my poor book aside with the result that it was crouching in a corner quivering from spine to edge. I have not seen it since. It is probably in hiding by now.”

Fenris’ even brow patterns into struggling concentration.

“It is easy enough for you to taunt. I expected you were going to teach me reading but the sole thing you do is unnerve me with your constant correcting and scoffing.”

“And here I thought you liked my dallying.”

On other nights Fenris might look at him, his eyes alight with that dark spring green glare that there dwells perpetually, till a sudden smile flickers across his curling lips. Tonight, he does not give in to his bait, though. There is an edge in Fenris’ voice that is not often prevalent, not when they are quite alone like this. Hawke strains towards it without Fenris’ notice.

The drum of tempest-tossed rain falls upon their ears. Hawke feels his smile grow softer.  

“Maybe you are just a dreadful student.”

“Maybe you are just a dreadful teacher, Hawke.”

A chuckle rises from Hawke’s chest, light and amused.

“I probably am.”

He can see Fenris’ skin is still damp on the undersides of his arms and the nape of his neck.

The deluging torrent is not as loud here but its unyielding tremor splashing the rooftop unforgettable.

Fenris leans back, his elbows raised, his hands abruptly restless on his thighs. With a sweep of the flickering candle flame all his riposting ire seems gone all of a sudden.

“I was a fool to believe I could learn a skill like this.”

Fenris does not raise his gaze when Hawke stands and comes round the table. He draws his chair to Fenris’ side, sitting next to him. Thunder anew rumbles in the invisible night as Hawke clasps Fenris’ right hand. He does so gingerly, with the slightest hint of tarrying deference just before their fingers touch as if to see whether Fenris’ hand will move away, ever so slightly.

After dipping it into blue-black ink he threads a gray-blue quill between Fenris’ almond-colored fingers (a griffon plume, ostensible, when it was actually taken out of a phoenix’ reluctant plumage.)

With great care, slowly, deliberately, the feather tip scratches in high curves and narrow prongs over the mottled sheet of parchment. The scraping sound seems to echo among the endless shelves of books even under the voices of the thunderstorm. Long after the scratching has stopped Fenris keeps staring at the straight arcs and meandering lines in blue-black colors. Brows lowered in reflective toil his fingertips brush over the barely dried lines, smearing them at the outer edges.

“What does it say?” requests he.

Indicatively Hawke’s index finger passes from inky character to character, pronouncing each consonant and vowel with great care. Once he has reached the final letter, the last shred of reluctance is brushed away of Fenris’ expression.  Superseded by a diffident smile that he is not yet poised to evince.

“Show me yours.” he asks, half plea, half demand.

Once more Hawke guides his hand over the torn piece of parchment, tip grazing, ink fanning out as a peacock indigo feathers.

“H,” he pronounces softly but sumptuously, “A. W …”

Again, Fenris gazes at the finished name for quite a long time before he begins writing it down slowly, painstakingly, yet perfectly, unaided. Twice he then writes his own name before switching the quill from his right to his left hand. Gradually, the letters, first bristle, become more fluid with increasing pace.

Arms folded, Hawke leans back and watches Fenris practice. First copying down the portrait of their names, secondly each letter individually, then rearranging them hesitantly and strained-eyed until new words are being born, the characters pronounced meaning suddenly becoming easier with each line. Soon there is not an inch of crammed parchment left to pen on and Hawke produces a whole new sheet from his writing desk while the storm outside howls and prowls with strenuous menace.

Quite abruptly the ink-gleaming letters, bearing a childlike quality, loose their fierce focus. The subsequent line swerves out of line, then steadies, but the next does, too, and the one after that. Then the trembling begins.

At first it is only his hand, though Fenris keeps writing, writing their names, teeth gritted.

Mere seconds later the shaking has befallen his fingers, his legs, his shoulders hunched into his chest. His whole frame shudders under the shivering grip, as iron as his own grip on the quill.

Hawke has stood up.

Soon Fenris’ clammy hand cannot clutch the quill anymore. It falls, twisting itself out of his quavering grasp, dark spots of ink spraying everyway.

Few futile attempts later he stops altogether.

Hawke is standing behind his chair when it starts. With slow movements he wraps his arms loosely around his shoulders. He does not count the minutes, muss less the seconds.

Somewhen and somewhere Hawke feels Fenris startlingly cold hand on the side of his face, fingers cradling his charcoal black beard.

Rivulets of time run by.

Then Fenris picks the quill up again.

Leaning into the gentle touch Hawke lowers his weary head and rests his chin atop the crown of Fenris’ head, char stubbles shaving ebony shocks of white hair. By experience, Hawke knows better than to waste any words on that which has just happened.

So silence remains.

As Fenris finishes his next word it gives the impression of an even more childish scrawling.

Softly Hawke reads the letters aloud, feeling the fine strands of pearly white hair rubbing between his beard. “Garrett” Then, quieter, “where did you pick that one up?”

“It was stitched onto the insides of one of your shirts you gave me.”

Hawke feels a smile capturing his lips, first small, then warm and filling.

“Fenris?”

“Yes.”

“Come”, he whispers and takes his hand into his, the one that has the scarlet scarf slung about its wrist, leading him back to the warm shelter of the room of their bedroom.

Beyond the drop-gleaming windows the undying rain has lost its edge and grown somewhat quieter, enough to transmute into a deceiving semblance of repose. Back in the wide four-poster bed  they arrange for sleep in the same fashion they adopt each evening, night after night. Hawke lies on his back in the not-so-exact middle of the soft mattress, Fenris at his side, half-spread, half-outflung across Hawke’s chest, one long sharp-ended ear bedded against Hawke’s shoulder, collarbone, heart. As twisted as they might move during sleep – entangled into the warm blankets so one of them has to yank it back from under the other’s body – warped and tousled, on their sides, backs, sprawled on their stomachs – Hawke’s nose may be pitched by Fenris adamant fingers to stop his occasional but insistent snoring, his limps loose with sleep – however slumber may let them wander apart, this is the irrevocable way they settle for sleep.

Fenris’ ear near Hawke’s heart where he can harken its steady, willful beat.

Hawke knows Fenris can hear its wordless, confessing avowals for he can hear Fenris’ equally, a little  arrhythmic heartbeat through his hand on the elf’s back, the answer creeping up the arm he has slung around him.

“I am not good at talking about how I feel.” said Fenris once.

This ineptness is an inevitable part of the man beside him as is the color of his eye or skin and Fenris can no more shed it than he could change the length of his limps or stop the breathing in his lungs.

“I like this.”

“What? This?” Hawke pulls him closer in merriment.

“I like this kind of weather.”

Astonished Hawke listens to the rataplan of the rain. No lightening forks the dark martial skies outside anymore save for a distant rumbling afar.

“Bethany,” Hawke remembers, still startled, “liked storms, too.”

Suddenly, Fenris straightens up and with one swift, vigorous motion he pulls Hawke out of the sheets intentionally.

Out of the bedroom into the hall he is dragged by the elf whose strength is as unsettling as ever. Hawke, no weakling himself and impressively built, once probed the silver-bladed sword (Fenris cherished nearly as much as Varric did Bianca) for several minutes and strained to fathom how Fenris could bear running around with it all day long without having his tendons and ligaments reattached afterwards. How he commiserates and dotes on this brutality of his.

“Oh,” Hawke groans, irony and grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I am not going to like this.”

Down the shadowy stairs, through the unlit foyer, up to the storm-pondered font gate and, in an instant, gushes of rain and wind wash over their faces.  

The moment they leave the safety of the house Fenris opens his grasp on Hawke’s hand but the impulse of his powerful motion propels Hawke forward right into the battle ground of the storm. Before he can blink he is soaked to the skin.

Side by side they stand in the sheath of glassy rain, barefooted, barely closed.

Before them the skies are ashore with waves of gloomy clouds. The ever-raging warrior thunder, lightening his merciless blazing blade, is aloud with booming vengeance here and fighting the skies and the earths alike.

A stroke of electrifying light from afar paints the streets and walls of Kirkwall in sharp relieve, a miniscule, insignificant thorp cowering at the feet of blue and gray and black mountains awash by breaking, spuming , spraying waves of stormy sea.

Water streams down the sides of Hawke’s face, filling the tiny spaces between his seeping beard stubbles. Angry winds gush and billow.

Endless rivulets of rain, sapid with the aroma of the wounded skies, flow in streams along the inside of Hawke’s palms, cascade forward from his slack fingertips.  

Hawke closes his eyes.

In he breathes the taste of the thunder and the light, inhaling the raining waters.

All four of their naked, bare feet are engulfed by ankle-deep flows of water.

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke exclaims in a sudden mad fit of laughter, “how can you stand this all day long?”

Since there is no answer, lost in the grace of nature, Hawke finally opens his eyes.

Fenris’ face is only a blur in the embrace of the rains. Winds tear at the strangely pearly white hair glued to his cheeks. Innumerable drops of gleaming water are falling upon the cobbled streets from his naked arms, his pointed ears, the tip of his nose.

So fierce are the winds that their sheer physical strength all but overthrows them – even so, Fenris’ slender shape towers among them indomitable.  His elven face may be blurred by the spray of the gush and rain, his deep green emerald eyes, however, glitter with the rage of the roaring warrior and his blazing blade.

Once again the skies are cast alight and Fenris face flashed, his eyes lit as by a fire within.

Sometimes Hawke wishes he would simply start crying.

He is stepping towards Hawke.

Hawke is giving him a wet smile that he cannot hear through the chaos. His eyes are fixed with studying one single silver bead among a plethora which is running down along his curved neck and disperses wetly into his the well of his collarbone.

“We will both be stone-cold dead by the end of the night.”  

Thirst-ridden Fenris’ eyes blazing virid eyes find his, and his hard mouth, arms entwining around Hawke’s neck, finds his and is pressing against his lips tasting of rain and the aroma of his caramel-shaded skin. Hawke grasps him, savors him not heeding the chatty gossip that might burst from a prying eye behind the dark rain-stained windows around them – who would anyway?

“I am not good at talking about how I feel.” said Fenris once.

In the peach-colored rays of morning light when the horizon will be skewed with skeins of tangerine, Hawke will sleepily wave away Orana’s considerate knock at the door and her regardful eyes peering from behind the bedroom door announcing that breakfast is ready, and Hawke will feel inclined, as ever, to cover Fenris’ long elven ears lest he might give him that glare that brings Hawke to consider a tremendous pay raise each time he does so. Soon, Orana will be wealthier than half of his Hightown neighbors.

For now, however, they trip and splash back inside leaving wet footmarks all over the floor and carpets. Long after drying each other with nowhere near enough towels, the window aglow with firelight reviving honey and daffodil and gold beads, they fall back to sleep, hearts pounding, skins resting, as they always do.

There might and will be many a nightmare in the gloomy nights to come.

But for now, for the remaining fragment of this one short, storm-shaken night, Fenris eases peacefully in his arms.

#fenhawke #hawris #m!fenhawke #fenris #hawke #garrett hawke #a fragment of a still incomplete fanfiction of mine #which I've been writing for aeons as I'm so slow #and I'm too overcome with nerves to upload it #so just ignore this :) #my writing

[andawaywego]

👋 Your fic is soooo good!!! I’d love to see one where Jamie acts a little jealous of Dani’s past relationship with Eddie which leads to a big conversation about how Dani was never into him ‘like that’ but she tried because heteronormativity.

you are so sweet! here you go! i hope it lives up to what you wanted. thanks for the prompt! i love writing for these two.

...

It doesn’t seem right, how heavy the frame is in her hand. It should be lighter, somehow. But instead, it weighs heavily on her wrist, makes the muscles ache from the strain of it. Jamie wonders if it has nothing to do with the picture’s physical state at all, and all to do with how absolutely fucking devastating and important it is.

And it’s early, still. Not even 8 o’clock, really, and Dani is in the kitchen ruining two mugs of tea for them both while Jamie starts on some of the boxes that make up the maze they’ve been stumbling through for the last week—since they signed the year-long lease on the studio apartment above the shop.

There hadn’t been any rhyme or reason to picking this box. It was just the nearest one, on the top of the pile by their new mattress. And now she’s sort of wishing she’d picked another.

It’s one of the ones Dani’s mother sent from home—full of things from Dani’s old apartment that she’d left behind when she moved to England—and, really, it’s Dani’s job to be going through this.

Jamie really should have saved herself the effort.

The frame is covered in dust. Jamie runs her thumb along the glass and reveals Dani’s smiling face first, and then Edmund’s. He looks different than how Jamie has been picturing him since she first learned of his existence.

Dani was so torn up, so ashamed about the whole thing—with the added bonus of seeing him around every goddamn corner—that Jamie hadn’t been expecting him to have such kind eyes. Happy and bright behind his glasses. Messy hair and a turtleneck as he and Dani sit on the grass of what looks like a university quad. One of his arms is slung around Dani’s shoulders, pulling her close, and she clutches him just as tightly, that same brilliant gladness reflected in her own expression as in his.

“Okay, I only did two minutes this time, so maybe it won’t taste as burnt,” Dani says as she weaves her way over, two steaming mugs held in her hands. She offers one to Jamie, who finally looks up from the photo to take it.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she teases, speaking past that sharp wedge of something that’s in her lungs. When she blinks, the happy white of Edmund’s smile flashes in the darkness behind her eyelids.

Dani glances down at the photograph and they’re so close—their arms brushing—that Jamie can feel it when everything inside of Dani stops. Her breathing changes.

Jamie winces and sets the photo back in the box with Dani’s old yearbooks and records. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “Your mom sent it.”

She can see the way Dani’s throat bobs as she swallows, then shakes her head. “No, it’s okay,” she says. “You’d think I’d be better at this by now.”

Jamie shakes her head. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be. Things like these don’t get a quick fix, no matter how much we want one.”

Dani nods, breathing in shakily, and sets her mug down on the nearest tower of boxes so she can rub her face with her hands. Jamie sets her own mug down and wraps her hands around Dani’s upper arms, rubbing the smooth skin revealed by the tank top she’s wearing.

“You look happy in it,” Jamie says, and she hopes like hell that whatever bitter twinge might be in her voice goes unnoticed.

She knows what that emotion is, digging its claws into her veins, and she tries to blink it away. Even though she’s solved the mystery of Dani’s difficult romantic history, it takes a lot of willpower to look emotionless and steady. The last thing she wants is to take over Dani’s necessary grief and turn it sour by her own unmitigated envy.

Because there’s nothing to be jealous of. Not really. Edmund was someone Dani grew up with, was friends with, and loved in her own right. And now he’s gone and it isn’t as if it’s not possible to love again after something like that.

She spent the night before with Dani’s mouth against her neck, hand between her legs, and she has for the past three weeks—since they left Bly—and so there’s nothing to envy or long for. She has it already.

But, as she has every time he’s come up in the conversation, the reminder that Dani was once engaged to someone else—something that Jamie can never really give her—has left her feeling unbalanced and more than a little unsure.

“We were,” Dani whispers, leaning her forehead against Jamie’s, her eyes closed.

“I’m so sorry, Dani,” Jamie says, just as softly. “I didn’t mean to...I know you loved him. Love him, maybe. I didn’t want to upset you.”

With her arms wrapped tightly around the other woman, Jamie looks out at the window behind her, out to the bright-sky morning, and the clouds scattered across it. The studio is bathed in clear, white light, plants Jamie’s collected on their slow journey to America displayed on the counter by the stove, hung from a hook in the ceiling, gathering light and shifting and swaying as the oscillating fan in the kitchen clicks back and forth, waving cool air over Jamie’s suddenly-fevered skin.

Dani pulls away, reaches out for the picture and pulls it back out of the box. Looks down at it. Wistfully. Guiltily. She runs her finger—the pale tip of her forefinger, her rounded and trimmed nail—across where Jamie knows is Edmund’s face. They’re still pressed together, and Jamie can feel the warm and soft heat of Dani against her; can smell the floral shampoo she bought at that supermarket in Maine two weeks back on her hair. It’s in Jamie’s hair, too, she knows, but there is something to the clean scent of Dani’s skin. Jamie remembers the taste of it on her tongue and, for a moment, entertains the idea of leaning forward and kissing Dani right there, in the curve of her neck.

“I did love him,” says Dani. Jamie tilts her head, trying to get a look at the picture again. Her eyes trace the handsome lines of Edmund’s face with a guilty twist in her stomach. “Not the way he wanted me too. But...love all the same.”

Jamie isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say to that. She settles on, “Oh.”

Dani looks up at her, eyes filled with tears that Jamie knows won’t fall. Not right now. “But he was my best friend and I thought—” She swallows, shakes her head, and fixes her eyes on a point over Jamie’s shoulder. “I thought that there was something wrong with me. That I would...grow into feeling…that way about him. Loving him the right way.”

Jamie frowns, taking in Dani’s expression. Reaching up, she cups Dani’s jaw and Dani leans into the touch. And Dani meets her eyes—oh, there it is, there’s her girl—and her expression is so much softer than it was just seconds before.

“But...I didn’t,” she admits. “As happy as I was when we were around each other, when were...being best friends...it doesn’t even begin to compare to how I feel when I’m with you.”

She says this and Jamie’s eyes feel hot and itchy, so she blinks. Swallows. Tries to think of a good response to that but—Dani pulls back a little and kisses her forehead. She can hear the frame drop back into the box, but she can’t see it because she’s too busy fisting the material of Dani’s tank top in her hands and pulling her closer.

“And maybe I should feel...guilty about that,” Dani says next, her lips moving against Jamie’s skin where they’re still pressed. “But it’s hard to feel anything but crazy about you these days.”

She shifts a little and Jamie pulls back just long enough to lean in and press a hard kiss to Dani’s surprised, pursed lips.

And, the thing is—

There’s no hesitation. Dani’s hands grip at Jamie’s hips, pulling her in and making Jamie’s heart feel like it’s been turned inside out—like there is nothing beyond the two of them—right now, right here, for as long as they can be which is—

“I’m pretty crazy about you too, Poppins,” Jamie whispers against the line of Dani’s laugh. And then she kisses her again and Dani kisses her back and—

They lose a good portion of the morning after that, tangled up on their mattress together, reassuring one another with each touch, each kiss, each sigh, that they’re both here. All in.

In the end, the photograph goes in a different box—a shoe box, at the back of the closet in their bedroom. Not forgotten, no, but secured and remembered.

Jamie can live with that. As it turns out—with Dani around—she can live with a lot of things.

#the haunting of bly manor #jamie/dani #dani/jamie #jamie and dani #andawaywego fanfic #send me prompts lads! #prompt #damie prompt

[pleasancies]

Look At Me

wordcount : 1k+

content : hand injury, caretaker turned whumper, reluctant whumper (?), bleeding, hero whumper, faux affectionate whumper, wound agitation

I'm not exactly sure what kind of whumper I'm writing here. She actually doesn't mind hurting whumpee to get what she wants but she has this surface level reluctance that will always be handwaved away by her own mental gymnastics. If anyone knows the exact tag for this kind of whumper please tell me. Tagging : @whumpmasinjuly

***

Part 1

They are fucked. Sympath had tortured an innocent man. His blood flowed to Andrea's feet. Sympath had cut his hands with pain in mind. A full recovery would take months, maybe a staggering amount of hospital bills. Even so a portion of Kyle's dexterity will never be back. The public won't react well to this. Their hard work and reputation is in shambles.

Andrea turns her back from her mentor. The one who build her career, now had ruined it. She blinked away her tears as she came back with the medical kit. She lightly taps Kyle's shoulder, getting only a flinch as a response. From the corner of her eye, she saw Sympath's foot striding to the exit.

Good. This will make things easier.

"Kyle, look at me. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The man doesn't budge. He grew more tense, irritating the deep cuts on his hands. Kyle hissed in pain.

"Sympath's gone. Come on, let me help you."

She heard a shudder. Then Kyle looked up to him. Embarrasment clouding his cheeks.

"Don't be embarrased. You've been tortured. Hurts doesn't it?"

The man look away, muttering in agreement.

Andrea leaned closer. She took his arms. The sight of his hands was enough to make a grown man squirm. It wasn't just skin. Fine muscles were torn. Blood was soaking into his pants. He would need more than stitches.

Kyle grit his teeth as she poured clean water over his arm. His eyes were bloodshot and his face were puffy from crying. Andrea could see him trying to look nonchalant while she put pressure on his hands.

She brings his hand up, "Keep your hands above your heart. It'll slow the bleeding. Can you stand up?"

Kyle said yes. He stood, and his legs wobbled. He tried to hold on to the walls for balance, but his hands burst with nauseating pain. Andrea steadied him by the shoulders, much to his chagrin.

"Don't act so tough, Kyle. It's okay."

"I'm sorry. It's just, I should've tough it out. Act manly, you know? I froze back there like a chicken."

Andrea rolled her eyes. It's gonna be a long walk to her car. "It's fine."

"You hit your mentor with a chair for me. Thank you."

"I got no choice," Andrea said. Her voice was quiet. Heavy air weighing down her chest

"You weirdly remind me of my sister. She doesn't look like you of course, it's the body language."

Andrea didn't say anything. But her eyes were intently studying Kyle's battered face.

When they got to the car, Andrea realized she had forgotten her car keys. She went back to her office, finding Sympath holding on to it.

"Andrea. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"I know. It's been a hard month. But we went too far. Kyle might not be able to use his right hand ever again! I don't know what to do but to help him. What if he decides to sue us?"

"We could fix this," Sympath reached Andrea's face. "Look at me. Calm down. You're nice to him. That's good. You can gently coax him to stay quiet."

"He's hurt pretty bad."

"Try. You know the alternative is much brutal than this."

Kyle looked visibly relaxed around her. He didn't even notice her watching his interrogation until she yelled at Sympath to stop. To him, she just saved his ass. Andrea suspect he was even attracted to her. All the more reason for him to say yes.

They were halfway to the hospital when she asked the favor.

"Kyle, can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

"Don't tell anyone about Sympath's behavior tonight."

Kyle was stunned. Blood drenched through the bandages.

"No, I can't do that. He tortured me, Andrea."

"But he's a hero. He was just stressed. You have to understand our town is in danger, he's desperate!"

"That's not an excuse!"

Andrea slammed the brakes. She raised her hand, and the realization she'd slapped him came after the faint sting on her hands.

"What do you want?" She choked, "Money? Connections? Contacts? I can give you that."

Kyle shook his head, "This isn't about money! God, how many people have you bribed this way?"

Andrea starts the car. White hot tears streamed down her face.

"Andrea! Look at me. Look at what he did to me! Even villains don't deserve this. He's a fucking monster, you can't let him get away." Kyle shoves his injured arm to Andrea's lap. It didn't land him another slap, no, the heroine pulled his wrist, squeezed his palm into a bloodied fist. It was late. Nobody heard Kyle or even see him half-crouching under the dashboard.

"He did it for a reason. None of you civilians will understand the kind shit we had to go through. The hard choices we make is why this city has a semblance of civility!"

Kyle groaned. Fucking bullshit. She's not his sister's therapist and she's sure as shit not his sixth grade english teacher. Andrea twist up his hands even further. He writhed under her, his vision blurring as the wound gape even wider.

"You fucking piece of shit!" Andrea spat. She went on, yelling all sort of abuse. She screamed until her throat were hoarse. Kyle making himself smaller underneath her.

"Look at what you did to us," She took on a tearful note. Her breath ragged from all the profanities she hurled a second ago. "You can't do this to me. I've worked so hard, if you tell anyone all of that is gone to waste."

Andrea wailed, mouthing sorry over and over. Yet her hands reached Kyle's chin, so close from grabbing his neck outright. She lift his face, letting him see the anguished face she wore. "Look at me. I'm begging you. Sympath is a drastic man. This isn't the worst he could do. Please, just shut up. Don't tell the media about this, okay? Don't ruin our career."

Kyle nods, as if he has any choice.

Part 3

#wijday9 #whumpmasinjuly #whump drabble #hero whumper #hand injury #reluctant whumper #bleeding #faux affectionate whumper #wound agitation

[juliafied]

"Sharing a dessert" with Fenhawke please? <3

Thanks for the prompt!! @pedlimwen​ asked me for this one too, so obviously y’all have spoken and I gotta do it! I’m also trying to practice present tense for my writing, so I gave it a shot here. 

ALSO, sorry this is so angsty, for a prompt that seems like it should just be wholesome fluffy fun, this got way too deep...

@dadrunkwriting | AO3

--

It is a curious thing, for Fenris, to be escorting Hawke home. The usually taut muscles of her arms that he often catches himself admiring in battle are soft as candlewax, and almost as warm, as she melts against his side in the long walk up the Hightown stairs. Eyes that usually gleam with a hunter’s aquiline sharpness are now soft and framed with dusky eyelashes; somehow, she has wrapped her arms around his right shoulder, and, knees slightly buckled, is beaming up at him.

“Fenris,” she slurs, corner of her mouth upturned in the way he likes so well. He turns away to smile.

“Mmm.”

“Fenris,” she repeats, elongating the second syllable of his name, and stops afterwards to giggle at herself. “Fenris, you know what would be really good right now?”

An end to these Maker-damned stairs, he thinks, but instead replies, “What?”

“There’s this place—” and at that, in one swift movement, she lets go of his shoulder, turns, and lands her ass quite hard on the step ahead of them. “Ouch,” she whispers softly, so sweetly that he chuckles and cannot stop his heart from swelling. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, sitting down next to her, albeit more gracefully.

“Yeah,” she says, and reproachfully adds, “you know, I’ve had almost an entire bottle of wine.”

Fenris knows. She’s been Champion for all of three weeks, and that means even the burden of working life has not yet made the stingy patrons of the Hanged Man forget to toast Hawke, the city’s saviour. Besides, Fenris knows a thing or two about disinfecting wounds, physical or otherwise, with the harsh sting of alcohol. But he is not a hypocrite, so he helps in the only way he knows how, by staying at her side while the bartender pours another, long past when she should have gone home.

“Good thing, too, otherwise that would have hurt a lot more.”

She leans back to laugh again and Fenris deftly catches her arm to prevent her from dashing the back of her head on the step above. “Good thing I’ve got plenty to cushion my fall.”

Fenris does not want to think about the truth in that, and blinks hard before refocusing.

“You were talking about some place.”

“Oh yeah! Fenris, they have cakes. And crepes, and stuff. Have you ever had a crepe?”

“I cannot say that I have, no.”

A dramatic gasp from Hawke as her eyes open wide, and she pushes, precariously, up from his shoulder to stand. “We gotta go. It’s in Lowtown, and it’s open late!”

Before he can protest, she is flying down the stairs, undone hair streaming behind her, and it is a wonder that she does not fall. He sighs, and looks up: they are squarely in the middle of the massive stairway. So be it, though — Hawke wants crepes.

The shop is indeed open, despite the late hour, and impressively, Hawke manages to order for them. They sit on the stoop of the house next to the creperie, and Hawke contentedly licks the caramel that has run down her fingers. It is in a sort of cone shape, and Fenris can see it is stuffed with some kind of fruit, sprinkled with cinnamon. He smiles at the familiarity of the smell, remembering the apples that Leda had always baked for Satinalia, back in Minrathous. He wonders whether she still does so, now.

Hawke has already torn into the crepe, drunkenness the cousin of impatience, but rather sheepishly brandishes the cornet at him once she sees him looking.

“It’s the apple pie one,” she mumbles, mouth still full. “Caramel drizzle. You like apples, right?”

He’s touched that she noticed, let alone that she remembers in her drunken haze. He smiles.

“Yes.”

The crepe is good. The dough is lightly sweet, filling gooey and warm, and the cinnamon is of surprisingly good quality. He takes one delicate bite, and then another one. Hawke pouts, and he offers her the crepe. Instead of taking it from his hand, she takes a bite directly and looks altogether too pleased with the colour that fills his cheeks.

“So good,” she says, and leans her shoulder against Fenris’ own. The smile fades from her face as she chews. It is replaced by something nostalgic and melancholy, a sigh and raised eyebrows, and she does not meet his eye.

“Y’know,” she starts, and Fenris is alarmed at the wetness in her eyes, “Mother really liked this place. It might be open late, but we used to go a lot after the weekend market.”

There is nothing to say, so he doesn’t say anything. His hand, though, comes to rest on her lower back as if of its own accord; he is relieved when she seems to relax into the gesture.

“I know..” Hawke trails off, letting out a slow breath. She sounds more lucid than she has all evening, though she still stumbles over her words. “I know what this looks like. To you, to everyone. I can... Varric keeps giving me these looks. I just... I don’t know how to stop.”

The crepe is forgotten in his hand, though he does vaguely notice the caramel sauce dripping on him. 

“Stop what, Hawke?” he asks, softly.

Another laboured sigh, and now she leans the side of her head against his, too. She is so close that he can feel her breath, curiously smelling like mulled wine thanks to the cinnamon of the crepe.

“This. I just thought... if I can’t keep my mother safe... I couldn’t keep Carver safe, Da... there was nothing I could do. And then—” She hiccups. “Then, this thing with the Arishok, and you said I could duel him, and...”

She looks up at him, tears wetting those dusty eyelashes, grey eyes filled with the kind of sorrow Fenris knew one could drown in.

“I felt like I didn’t deserve to be safe either.”

When he realizes what she is saying, he is first filled with regret, then heartbreak on her behalf, and finally, horror at his own actions. How did he not see her grief, her pain? Her two daggers against a two-handed sword and a greataxe? How could he have suggsted the duel in the first place? 

“No,” she gasps, her eyes filling with horror in turn, and gently places a hand on Fenris’ knee. “It’s not your fault. I hid it really well, I didn’t want anyone to know, I... I’m just like this. I don’t know why, but I am. I swear.”

This does not make him feel any better.

When he finally speaks, he is surprised that his voice is rough.

“Hawke,” he starts, his words a little strangled, “you do deserve to be safe. And if you can’t believe that for now, I’ll believe it for you.”

It seems that Hawke now doesn’t know what to say, either, and they stare at each other for awhile, before she whispers a soft, “Thanks.”

And, because she is still drunk and it is still the middle of the night, she takes her hand off his knee and declares, “Now, give me that crepe.”

#dadwc #prompt fill #fenhawke #fenris x hawke #julia writes

[infinitegalahad]

I’ll Make A Man Out Of You (Ch.1)

Summary: To save your ailing brother from the war, you disguise yourself as a man to fight in the war. There you met Eugene Roe, a Cajun medic. The two of you grow close to each other, but at what cost? A story of bravery, the harshness of war, bravery, friendship, and love.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: N/a

A/N: I do NOT know how the hell I wrote this and how it turned out this long. What started as a dream escalated into a google doc of 10k words. I apologize in advance; this is my first BoB fic and not beta-read. I decided to show some good old love for my Eugene boy by not doing my schoolwork and writing this mess. I hope to finish this fic by the end of the year (or month even). The other chapters won't be as long. Hope you Enjoy! ;)

It all started with a damned flyer.

Your thumb played with the scrunched edge. In bolded blue and the red letters it read,

"I want YOU for The U.S. Army. Enlist NOW!"

Uncle Sam, an American figure, pointed in your face. A small smile appeared on your face as it reminded you of your twin brother, Jack.

-----

You'll never forget the day of December 7th. Your mother had woken you and your brother up. Pearl Harbor had just been bombed. Even when the world felt like it was falling apart, your parents sent you to school. Jack and his friends wouldn't shut up about it. Every class you had, whether it was physics or Algebra two, talked about the bombings. America didn't intervene in the war with Europe. One of the girls in your Algebra class Nancy, was talking with her clique.

"There's no way they can do it!" A girl cried, "They can't send our men over!"

Nancy twirled a pencil in her fingers, "They can! The Japs declared war on us. My brothers are too young, but I'm sure my dad's gonna enlist. Every man has gotta do so."

Nancy had a point. It was so bizarre to you that the war had come to your shores now. You knew once you got home, your parents wouldn't stop talking about the war. After all, it was history in the making. The bell had rung, and you grabbed your books, heading out the door to meet up with Jack and his friends. Your twin brother and you were close to anything in the world. Jack was your best friend. Sure, at times, he could be a doofus, but he was everything to you. The two of you were only inseparable. You and Jack met up in the hallway, along with his friends Frank and Harry. Frank and Harry couldn't shut up about how excited they were to fight the Japanese. Frank said he was gonna make sure to bring his swiss blade with him, just in case.

The minute you walked out of the school building, posters were being shoved into your face. It was all too much to take in at once. Men dressed in green uniforms flooded the school and town. Picking up the posters, you noticed that they were drafting signs in colorful colors. They ranged, saying, "Want Action? Join the U.S. Marine Corps" or "Smack 'Em Down! Fly High With The U.S. Marines". Pearl Harbor had been bombed only eight hours ago, and draft posters were already in your small town. Jack dragged you back home as you ran into the house. Your father and mother, who were usually keeping the cows milked and crops growing, were glued to the small T.V. screen. Your father had left a newspaper on the couch. Reading the headline, your heart dropped.

"U.S. DECLARES WAR ON JAPAN"

Not even a day had gone by, and now there was a war and an apparent draft.

------

A week had gone by, and your little town in Vermont had gone wild. All of the boys and young men in the city were currently enlisting left and right. It was the non-stop talk. The boys raved about the pacific and killed Hitler while the girls cried, scared they wouldn't get married after high school. Just like anyone else, the war made your anxiety rise.

Jack and you were both born with Polio. Thankfully your Polio hadn't been severe, and with years of therapy, you had managed to live somewhat everyday life. On the other hand, Jack wasn't the luckiest. Polio had taken his teenage years away from him. Two years ago, he had to stop playing all sports and start using a cane. He was like an old man stuck in an eighteen-year old's body. Polio refused to bring down his spirits. As a child, Jack had been fascinated with war. Your father was a war hero himself. Jack felt like it was his duty to carry the family legacy. Even with protest, Jack was enlisted and was set to be drafted.

As each day went on, the fights between Jack and your parents escalated. Jack's Polio was getting worse each year. He tried to walk with his brace instead of a cane, which ended miserably. It pained Jack since all he wanted to do was fight., but there was no way he couldn't. He would make it to training camp and probably hurt himself in the process. As his sister and closest friend, you couldn't let him do this to himself.

Jack kicked the door open with his cane as he walked down the dirt path. He had just gotten into another fight with your parents, but it was worse. More yelling, crying, and anger. You followed after him, trailing behind him.

"Jack, please," You begged on the verge of tears yourself, "Listen to them! Dad says, you won't last!"

"I don't care what that man has to say," He barked back as he continued to walk faster, "I'm goin'. Every man has to fight for our country. Dad's too old to go. I ain't havin' those krauts rome around."

It was either Jack or your ailing father. Your father was a hard worker but was slowing down with age. He would die within the next few years, and the last thing you wanted for him was to die a cruel and brutal death.

You walked up to his back and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. "You'll die!"

"WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH?" His voice rang as he pushed you back with his cane. Jack was too aggressive, causing you to fall onto the dirt ground. You could feel the scraps and blood form on the palms of your hands. "YOU'RE A WOMAN! YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THIS! YOUR SUPPOSE TO GET MARRIED AND HAVE KIDS! JUST LET ME DIE FIGHTING FOR OUR COUNTRY!"

It had hit Jack like a slap in the face. He had not only yelled but just pushed his best friend to the ground like a bully. Tears formed at your eyes as you bit your lip, crawling back. Regret was plastered on his face as he walked forward. You didn't bother to listen to him as you crawled back, running back into the house.

Your mother stood on the porch, opening her arms for comfort. The last thing you wanted to do was talk to people. Covering your eyes, you ran into the house and up the stairs to your bedroom. The door slammed behind you as tears streamed down your face.

------

For hours you sat on your bed, looking out at the Vermont night. The moon shined bright as the stars twinkle over the sky. The trees rustled the leaves as Fall transitioned into Winter. Outside of the window, you could hear the conversation that happened with your parents and brother. Instead of a fight, it was a calm conversation. Jack still held his ground. At this point, he had been begging to fight. Your mother protested, but your father shook his head and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him and saying, "Good luck, soldier." Jack walked back into the house. He stood at your door and contemplated apologizing but returned to his room.

Your poor mother stood there with her hands covering her face, sobbing. Your father tried to console her in the act of kindness, but she simply shrugged him off and ran into the house. He simply stood there with his arms by his side in defeat. Your family was being torn apart.

Forcing yourself to get out of bed, you walked to light a candle in your darkroom. Upon lighting it, it exposed all of the nostalgia from your childhood when you were simply a little girl. All the trophies, the signed baseball, jewelry handed down from your mother, and photos. Photos of your family. Pictures of you were your father on a tractor, your 6th birthday when you and your brother threw a pie at each other, and the most recent photo of you and your brother, arm in arm, at a football game. Picking it up, a small formed of your face. The thought of losing him and your father drove you mad. Your father had raised you like a son; learning how your bills, shoot a gun, and so much more. As much as your mother hated it, your father accepted that you weren't the girl that was gonna get married.

A small tear dropped onto the photo. It scrunched up in your hands as your thoughts began to race. You were anxious and apprehensive; it seemed like a reach. Like a plot out of a movie. Your family and friends had told you how you looked like the female version of Jack. You were Jack, but just with long hair. Your mother never let you cut it, saying it was so beautiful. You pulled your hair back and looked in the mirror to see yourself with short hair.

You were Jack.

You were independent and fiery.

No man was going to control your life.

-----

Herbert Sobel was one of the worst people you had ever met in your life.

He was brutal and cold. There wasn't a day that went by without him screaming at a trainee. He was infamous for taking away weekend passes and forcing the whole company to run Curahee. One creased pant or slouched shoulders and boom-weekend pass revoked. Curahee occurred three times a week and made the entire company muscled and sore. The only good thing about Sobel was George Luz's jokes. Your bed was placed right next to his. As you would hide under the covers, he would always crack a fantastic impression of him. The whole company would conceal their laughter.

"Private Y/l/n, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper?" Sobel walked in front of you, towering over your smaller frame.

Standing tall with your weapon in your hand, "No, sir."

"Then explain the creases at the bottom,"

"No excuse, sir,"

"Volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing, Y/l/n, but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here," Sobel walked ahead to go ruin someone's else day. "Your weekend pass has been revoked."

Your grasp tightened on your gun as you bit your lip. Anger ran in your hands, but one wrong move, and it would all be over. Last week, Sobel had taken your weekend pass as well.

But by far, you were positive Sobel hated you the most.

The first time you ran Curahee, you were the last person. Your average was about thirty minutes. You weren't as quick as Perconte or muscled as Bull. Sure, you had been the top runner on your cross country team, but Curahee was definitely a challenge. You were a short and scrawny teenage girl disguised as a boy.

Crawling up the dirt hill, you ran up and touched the stone. Sobel stood there with disgust on his face.

"Y/l/n," He spat, looking down at the timer. It was read thirty-two minutes, "Last as usual. Six miles back."

You ran back down the hill. Sweat ran down your face as your sticky clothes stuck to your body. The P.T. uniform for runs was a risk. It showed most of your skin and was unfortunately tight. The bandages wrapped around your chest, pained your chest and back. As much you wanted to stop, Sobel was watching you from a distance. You pushed forward as you saw the camp in the distance, the hot Georgia sun setting into the orange sky.

-----

It was another training day. You and the easy company men piled out of your shitty dormitory and lined up against the lawn. In front of you were a tall tree and an arrow on top. Everyone speculated to what it could be. Even the smart Dick Winters couldn't figure it out. Perconte predicted it was "one hell of an exercise," and which he was right.

Sobel had instructed each member of the easy company to climb up the pillar and archive the arrow. It was like a climbing Curahee. Every single person. Even the training medics had to participate.

To make it even harder, Sobel stated that every climber would have to hold two kettlebells. Everybody held back their groans. Bull was the first to go and fell right on his ass. The next was Leibgott, who tried to wrap them around and jump up, but also tumbled down. Each man took a turn, but who all fail miserably. If you failed, you would be forced to rerun Curahee and additional insulting comments from Sobel.

Leibgott held his ass as he walked by you. You made eye-contact with him as he threw the weights into your arms.

"What are you lookin' at, boney?"

Not wanting to fight, you wrapped the ribbon's weights around your hands and pushed yourself up. It felt bulky and uncomfortable as you tried to climb. You ended up like a lot of members in easy company, falling flat on your ass. Not even ten seconds, and you had failed.

"Y/l/n, your the most pathetic and spineless paratrooper I've ever seen," He hissed. Snapping out of the pain, you pushed yourself up and began to run towards the infamous hill. You were smart and knew the drill. How the hell were you going to make it?

-----

Not only were you Sobel punching bag, but seemingly the whole company. You knew people hated you when the infamous George Luz would make an impression of you. He and friends would snick at it, with Bull telling them all to shut up. In the first few weeks in training, you observed the company and how they interacted. Growing up, you were a tomboy who spent most of your time with your brother and his friends. They treated like you were one of the boys and no different from them. Playful punches, snarky remarks, and not taking daily showers seemed to be the norm. You had talked to a few members and was friendly with some but not with others.

Following your brother and his actions, you approached Liebgott and playfully punched him in the shoulder as a greeting. It turned out Liebgott didn't like people, especially you. Him, Toye, and Guarnere (his nickname made you smirk) looked at you with daggers in your eyes. You already knew what was coming. You stepped back and shut your eyes tight, praying it would pass it.

The next thing you knew, you were in the infamy with a developing black eye. Liebgott was lanky and small but certainly packed a punch. Sobel had broken up the fight, took another weekend pass away, and another run-up Curahee. As you were escorted out, Luz joked that you were Sobel's favorite punching bag. That man was painfully right.

A nurse came back and gave you an icepack. She told you that Liebgott had punched you so hard that your eye was going to be swollen shut for the next few days. Liebgott really did hate you. The nurse gave you an icepack and said she would grab some medication to help with the pain. You sat there as you held up the icepack to your battered eye. A sigh escaped your lips as you gently shook your legs backward.

How the hell were you going to get through this? You didn't know if you could make it another year. Whatever you touched died, whether it be people or your dignity. Sobel and the whole entire company hated you. Even if you wanted to give up, you couldn't. You were doing this for your brother and father. Honor your father, who fought an unimaginable war. Be the man he wanted you to be.

A loud and frustrated sigh interrupted your thoughts. Looking up, you noticed a man throw down a bandage. The dummy beneath him was covered in countless rolls of bandages. He sat back and leaned onto a pole, putting his hands on his face.

You squeezed the icepack in your hands as water dripped all over your hands. You knew Sobel's wrath all too well. Being frustrated and not knowing what the next step was. It reminded you of history class. Someone would get frustrated with reading or word, and you'd scot next to them, offering help. You considered yourself a person who kept to themselves. All the girls in your grade would get invited to parties and sleepovers, but you never did. You felt like nobody noticed you existed. Whenever you spoke or did anything out of your comfort zone, it caused chaos. You felt like a spectre in the crowd. Nobody ever noticed you.

Pushing yourself from the hard rock bed, you walked into the other room and bent down to the dummy. The training medic revealed his face. His face was red, sweaty, and stressed. He didn't speak any word as your y/e/c met with his dark blue eyes. The Georgia sun was beginning to set, and a light shined on his eyes, making them appear royal blue. His eyes reminded you of the lake behind your house. In the summers, you and your brother would sneak to the lake at sunset, hitting you with nostalgia. You relaxed your shoulders, feeling content for the first time in a year.

You held up a bandage, asking in a soft voice, "You want help?"

The blue-eyed man nodded in response. He fixed his posture and leaned forward to watch your demonstration. He had pink skin and thick black hair. His jaw was sharp, looking like it could give a papercut. Your mother was a retired veterinarian. Before you enrolled in school, your mother brought you to her workplace. Your little mind somehow remembered everything from her job.

You weren't the best at conversation, feeling frightened to talk considering all of your horrible experiences. "Um, you put the gauze here," You explained with a low voice as you held the gauze down and wrapped the bandage from top to bottom. Once the two pieces met in the middle, you grabbed them tightly and knotted them. "Tie it like a shoelace, tight but not suffocating tight."

He followed your every move and replicated it on the other arm. Whatever you had done, it had worked. Your hands moved quickly, making it seem so simple/ He struggled to hold the gauze down as he tied. You aided him by holding the gauze down as he finished knotting. His hand brushed up against yours. His cheeks grew red as he looked down, focusing on the task. There was definitely room for improvement, but it worked.

You looked up at him with a subtle smile on your face, "Looks better."

"Thanks," He rubbed the back of his neck. His accent was thick. It took you a second to decipher what he had just said. Whatever his accent was sounded southern. The closer you were to him, he looked familiar, but you couldn't put the finger on him.

There was a peaceful silence before you broke it, "What's your name?"

"Eugene, you?"

"Y/n," You replied as the empty bandage rolled slid between your fingers. That wasn't really your name, it was your brothers, but it had grown onto you.

Eugene's eyes scanned your body as his cheeks grew heated. He had been having a horrible day with the Georgia heat and lack of nurses available. He thought choosing a job as a medic would be easy since he was agile, but it proved to be a task. The only medical training he had was from boy scouts, and he hadn't attended a meeting in years.

A smile curved on his lips, and looked at you, "Y/n," He repeated your name. Something was soothing about his accent. He reminded you of an iceberg, slowly melting. "What happened to your eye?"

"I got punched by Leibgott," You nodded your head. Eugene was the first person that treated you like a human. He didn't make fun of you, and It was refreshing. He didn't laugh or make a mean remark. All he did was sit there and listen.

A nurse popped her head into the room and gave you the pain medication. She told you that Sobel needed you back at training. You looked out the window and saw the easy company men climbing up the tree and all failing.

You stood up and swallowed the meds. Before you left, you looked back and waved to Eugene. "Bye, Eugene."

He seemed caught off guard and tilted his head up, "Bye, y/n."

For the time in a year, you felt like you could actually breathe and smile. Smile about Eugene's smile.

-----

From that day forward, Eugene had become your friend. You returned to the infirmary and stumbled upon him. What started off with helping him become a better medic formed into a friendship. Eugene was the only person you felt comfortable with within the whole camp. Sure, Dick Winters and Bull treated you with kindness, but he treated you like a human being with Eugene.

The two of you would share cigarettes, stolen chocolate, and thousands of little stories. Eugene wasn't a man of many words. He was someone who observed. Whenever you ranted, even if it was about the dumbest thing, he could sit and listen. It turned out Eugene lived in your bunk. The man was silent as a mouse and, like you, kept to himself. Unlike you, he avoided trouble. Somehow, you always ended up in it.

Eugene helped you with your black eye. He offered you a bunch of little tricks on how to make it better. Eugene used his hands a lot and usually held a compress to your face as you relaxed. He gave you some anti-swelling medication along with some fruits he snuck that apparently helped "heal" the pain.

"Jack, where you from?" He asked you one night. The two of you couldn't sleep. George Luz was a horrible bunkmate and couldn't resist snoring. Eugene had tip-toed to your bed and held up a pack of cigarettes. The two of you made gestures that only you and Eugene understood. Slipping out of bed, the two of you ran behind the camp to smoke. You laid right next to Eugene as cigarettes hung from your lips, looking into the stary sky.

Typically, you initiated a lot of the conversation. But tonight, it was different. Eugene turned his body over to you, watching his every move. He wasn't much older than you, about two years. He hated when you smoked, feeling guilty that he had gotten you on such a bad habit. You grew up with parents who smoked, so it wasn't anything new. Cigarettes calmed your anxiety.

"Vermont. Stowe, it's near the Candian border," You said as a smoke puff escaped your mouth, "You?"

"Louisiana. Bayou Chene, you know it?"

"No idea," You chuckled as you threw your finished cigarette to the side. You scrambled through your pocket and placed a cigarette in your mouth but couldn't find your damned lighter. You probably left it at your bunk.

Eugene scooted closer. It took you back as you tuned your face towards his. His face leaned into yours as the tip of your cigarettes caressed. Eugene's cigarette light you as smoke emerged from your mouth. Your faces were so close as his dark blue eyes burned into your soul. At first, Eugene seemed distant. You thought he hated you because everyone did. But to the best of ability, he proved that he didn't hate you. He was like a shy plant that you were watering. Each day Eugene blossomed as you got to know him more. Your cheeks grew as your fingers grasped against the grass. You could get lost in Eugene's big blue eyes. Swim into oblivion and never come back.

No, you couldn't. You were Private y/n y/l/n, not y/n.

You let out a fake cough, and Eugene noticed, backing up to the spot he once was in. You laid as a cigarette dragged on your lips, looking at the starry sky. Eugene was the only person that treated you with kindness. You could let your guard down in front of him. Your voice was soft whenever you were around him, relaxed shoulders, and your daily serotonin simply being delivered by his mere presence. His Cajun accent made you weak. You could listen to it for hours on end; it was like a sweet lullaby. It seemed like you two had found something in each other that you seemingly couldn't find with the rest of the company.

Eugene had turned his head to look back at you and see how relaxed you were. He was at a loss for words. Seeing you calm made him calm. He had seen you cry, run, and almost every emotion in such a short amount of time. Eugene considered himself to be a loner, but what he felt was his friend.

"Vermont's got a lot of snow, doesn't it?"

You turned and met with his face once again, smiling, "Lots of it in the winter."

"I've never seen it before, 's tew hot down there." Eugene mumbled, "I hate the heat."

"You should come to Stowe, y' know, after the kraut's surrender," You offered as you took the cigarette out of your mouth and waved it around. "I'll take you skiing."

It was a forward move, but Eugene was your friend, after all. Nothing more than just a friend. He tilted his head, "I can't ski 'doe."

"I'll teach you. You'll see how fun it is," You explained, shifting yourself up as you put your chin in your palm. The stars twinkled in Eugene's eyes.

"Ok?"

"Ok."

Eugene grabbed your hand, and you shook it back. His much larger hand-squeezed yours before sliding away. It took you by surprise. Before Sobel could take out another weekend pass, the two of you ushered back to the camp.

It was a deal.

-----

Sobel had once again decided to ruin the company's day by calling them back into the dorm. Nobody knew exactly why, which made the whole situation even worse. Piling into the dorm, Sobel stood in front of your bed, revealing a big bloodstain. He questioned all of the men on it before you came forward and admitted it was you. The makeshift pad you had made apparently didn't work.

"Give me a good reason to why you bled the bed, Private y/l/n," Sobel demanded as he stood in front of you.

Your eyes looked at the bed as you scrambled to find a good excuse. Of course, your period had to act up today. Your hands rested on your back as your fingers fiddled with each other.

"I had a scab on my leg, and I picked it in the night, sir." You muttered low, not wanting the other men to hear.

Sobel knew what you said, but after all, you were his punching back.

"Private, repeat yourself. Louder this time."

"I had a scab on the back of my leg, and I was picking at it, sir." You repeated, louder. Some of the men held back their snickers. You knew Liebgott was getting a kick out of this. Eugene looked at the stain and then you, pity in his big blue eyes.

Sobel walked past you, "Private y/l/n, do you wet the bed at night?"

Sobel's face looked so punchable at the moment. These men held in their laughter as you tried to find your words to respond. What was a good excuse for your period? Your father always taught you to be honest (even though you had been lying for a whole year).

"I...did, sir." You admitted.

Sobel huffed under his breath, "This isn't sleepaway camp. You will run up Curahee, and I expect to see you up there in fifteen minutes. In gear."

Not only did you have to run in 90-degree weather, but in heavy gear that made you look like a child in pajamas. The rest of the men piled out of the dorm for dinner. Perconte gave you a sympathetic look. He always seemed to do that whenever Sobel had tortured you once more. The last person who left the room, Eugene looked at you. You didn't even need to speak; his eyes screamed pity. Eugene knew you didn't pee the bed.

-----

You had run Curahee thousands of times, but today it had been hell. It was hot and sticky, the sun was setting, and you had heavy (and smelly) gear dragging you down. The rifle that hanged from your hands was dragging you down, and your whole body was aching with pain. The only thing you wanted to do in the world was punch Sobel's stupid nose off and sob. You had cried silently but hadn't sobbed. You were never alone in this company. You weren't sure how much longer you would be able to last. You felt alone, scared, and a pathetic excuse for a paratrooper.  

Footsteps rumbled behind you. They got louder as you could eventually hear the clanging of dog tags. Stopping your sniffling, you turned to your right and saw Eugene. It was starting to get dark and humid outside, so you assumed it was a hallucination, but it wasn't. Eugene was right next to you, dressed in all his gear as he ran right beside you.

"Shit, Gene?" You said, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

"Hey 'dere y/n," He replied, looking up and down your body. He saw your physical and emotional exhaustion, "You doin' okay?"

Emotions made you seem weak, and everybody perceived you as soft. Subtly sniffling, you turned and stored your sadness away once more. "Yeah, 'm fine," You quirked an eyebrow, "Now what in the hell are you doin' here?"

As Eugene ran beside you, his shoulder bumped against yours a little. It was a minor detail that made your cheeks grow red, "Thought you'd like some company... y' know since we're a company."

A small snort escaped your mouth as you guys ran. Did he run through hell just for you? No one that really ever done that before. Eugene and you had grown so close to each other in such a short amount of time. It was the little things that proved Eugene was your friend. "Gene, Sobel's gonna take away your weekend pass,"

"'S not like I got anythin' better to be doin' with my time," Eugene said as sweat dripped down his face. His helmet was too big for his head and tilted. "Rather be with you 'den anythin' else."

Right then in there, you would've dropped to the ground. You had to be hallucinating. With the heat and impending night, your head was spinning right now. Maybe Eugene was too friendly, or perhaps he was flirting with you. Whenever you were about to cry in your sleep, a thought of Eugene would pop up. A smile would appear on your face. Just thinking about seeing him, bringing you a small dose of serotonin.

"Even if it means running through hell and having Sobel scream in your face?"

Eugene looked and you and nodded. He was a true friend, loyal, and kind.

You laughed as the two of you turned the corner. Sobel was on top of the dreadful hill, squinting his eyes as he saw you and Eugene. Sobel usually looked unhappy, but he was prepared to give you and Eugene another standoffish remark.

You groaned under your breath at Sobel's far presence, "You sure you wanted to do this?"

"'S worth it, y/n." Eugene said, "Rather be 'ere."

Those words stuck with you the three miles up and the three miles down.

-----

Once you arrived back at camp, the sun had already gone down. It was already eight. On your run down, you had fallen. It was caused by your cramps and dehydration. Eugene practically dragged (and somewhat carried) you back to camp. Sobel was not impressed whatsoever. The men of the easy company saw you being removed to the infirmary. The nurses kept a close eye on you and shoved water down your throat.

One of them gave you a pat on the back and told you to return to the dormitory. You were exhausted as you walked outside into the night. All you wanted to do was crawl into that stonecold bed and doze off about Eugene.

"Private y/l/n," A familiar voice called. You turned and straightened your position. There Sobel stood, looking angered at your presence, as usual.

"Sir," Is all you could respond with. Sobel had triggered your flight or fight response.

"I'm concerned with your wellbeing in the camp," Sobel began to explain. Whatever he was going to say, you knew it wasn't good, "You've been with easy company for almost a year now, and you've shown little to no change. Your disobedient, spineless, and unable to complete simple tasks. I firmly believe you will not ever be prepared for combat,"

"Permission to speak, sir," You tried not to interrupt him.

"Denied, I'm not finished," He coldly spoke, "You're unsuited for the rage of war. I would not trust you with a man, let alone a weapon. You don't belong in easy company, or any company for that matter. You're done here."

Words were unfathomable. A year of pure pain, and it was all for nothing. You were a soldier and couldn't act out of line. All you could do was stand there and hold in your tears and anger.

"Your father was a commander y/f/n y/l/n, correct?"

"Yes, sir," You said, low as words choked in your throat. Your father was a commander in world war one. He was a short-order than you and had a position similar to Sobel's. Like your brother, he was unwell to fight. He was aging and slowing down every day.

"I would trust Captain y/ln in combat, but not private y/l/n," He sneered with venom in his voice. He began to walk past you, "Go home, you're through."

He had stabbed your heart. You looked like a disappointment in front of him and your father. Sobel had proved that you were nothing but useless. You simply stood there as you relaxed your shoulders, feeling a small tear stream down your cheek. As much as tears begged to come out of you're eyes, you couldn't let them bring you down. Looking inside, Eugene was right there. He had seen and heard everything Sobel had said. Typically Eugene looked emotionless, but his face felt your pain. All you did at that moment was turn your heel and walk back.

"Voleunting for the parachute infantry is one thing, Y/l/n, but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here."

"Y/l/n, you're the most pathetic and spineless paratrooper I've ever seen,"

"Go home; you're through."

"You don't belong in easy company, or any company for that matter. You're done here."

All Sobel saw you were is disobedient, spineless, and unable to complete simple tasks. It was his words and not yours. They filled you with rage, frustration, and dejection. Within the past year, you had proven you were nothing but a fool. Maybe it was for the better. You wouldn't even trust yourself in combat. Sobel had made sure you hated yourself even more than you already did. If you weren't a good housewife, then there was no way in hell you were going to be a paratrooper.

Walking back to the dorm, you noticed that damned pillar. It reached high into the sky, reflecting the moonlight. The drill, even though nobody could do it, was still used by Sobel. Months had gone by, and no man in the company had been able to climb it. With the heat and weights, it was near impossible. Regardless, Sobel still tortured the company. What the hell did it even have to do with being a paratrooper.

Almost every time, you fell right on your ass with Sobel screaming in your ear and Liebgott snickering. But you were alone with your thoughts running through your head. Sobel's words that left a permeant mark on you. It was like a dark vein had wrapped around your limbs, dragging you into the ground as you struggled to fight. All you wanted to do was give up and succumb to the darkness you knew all too well.

But you weren't going to succumb tonight or ever.

You grabbed the kettlebells and jumped on the pole, only to fall onto your butt again. It hurt, and you were tired, but the pure rage was driving you. You would push yourself back up, and no matter how many times you well, you repeated. You weren't going to be considered weak and pushed away. All you knew at the moment was that you weren't going to leave this camp without a fight.

After hundreds of times of falling, you noticed a small detail. The kettlebells weighed the same and were meant to drag you down. But if you wrapped your whole body around the pole and simply pushed like your life had depended on it, then maybe it could work. Perhaps you could rub the fact that you weren't disobedient or spineless to Sobel.

Stepping back and running towards the pillar, you jumped up and wrapped your arms and legs around it. You slipped but yourself up. It was an uncomfortable position, but you had just made progress. The weights were dragging you down, but all you do was fight and push like your life had depended on it.

Dawn was arriving as the sky turned into a pinkish-blue hue. The sun slowly came over the hills as it shined upon the camp. Sobel wanted men at the crack of drawn. They had woken up to you halfway through climbing up Sobel's most challenging task. Most of them were in shock, considering that it had been out of all of the people, you. he one that George Luz had labeled as "Sobel's Punching Bag." Not Spiers or Winters, but you.

"Can you believe what I'm seeing?" Luz looked up, crossing his arms.

"Sobel beat them up, I bet money," Perconte said.

"Maybe Bones finally gained some muscle from all that damn runnin," Toye added.

"You idiots, it's none of 'dat." Guarnere interrupted, frustrated at his friends, "It's crack, for sure."

All the men in easy company looked at Guarnere, horrified, and confused. Guarnere didn't know why they all looked so shocked. He was confident he was right.

"Oh, come on, you kidding me?" Liebgott smirked as he looked at you climb. You were halfway there but slipping down. "Bones can't make it through Curahee through dyin, watch 'em fall, and break 'dere back."

Winters, being the mature one, had started cheering like an enthusiastic dad at a football. He knew there was some hidden talent in you. Slowly, all of the men began to cheer and whistle, even Liebgott. You noticed their cheers as you pulled up. The sun was starting to blind you, but it wasn't time to give you. A few more pushes, and you would be at the top.

Eugene had seen you storm out. He could feel your pain from a mile away. Seeing a small tear stream down your cheek made him feel human again. Toccoa had ripped his emotions away from you. You were the only thing that reminded him that there was right in the world. Not wanting to interrupt you, Eugene watched you from a distance. The way you screamed in frustration and fell. He knew it was creepy, but he had been cheering on for you. When you had managed to begin climbing, he smiled—a genuine, happy smile.

"allez, poussez juste…" Eugene muttered as he fidgeted with his fingers. You were so close to defeating Sobel's challenge.

Eugene knew you could do it.

There you sat, looking down at all the men who cheered you on. The breeze flew through your short hair, which was slowly starting to grow out. You smiled as you looked down, waving to all the men causing a commotion. It was like a miracle had happened.

Sobel had heard all of the commotions and walked back to the camp. Much to his surprise, he saw you, sitting on top of the pilar as you waved down to the men. You were like a god on a pedestal waving to your followers. That's not what you viewed yourself as, but you felt respected for once. Heck, even Liebgott cheered for you. You saw Eugene and smiled at him, giving him a small wave. He waved back, a smile on his face as well.

Maybe you were cut out to be a paratrooper.

-----

It was like a rebirth had occurred. No longer were you the weak link of the chain. It took time, but you rose above your piers and gained their respect. Sobel, impressed and shocked, had given you a second chance. You proved to him and your company that you were worthy of being a paratrooper. Sobel was still horrible to you, but it didn't matter. Whatever he threw at you, you and the company would complete it. No matter the runs up Curahee or twelve-mile marches, easy company persisted.

Jumping out of a moving plane, you and the company were officially paratroopers. After almost two years of living hell, you had somehow managed to do it. You had no idea how you did, but you had done it. Maybe it was Eugene's silent encouragement or the company's respect, or even Sobel's nasty remarks.

You were a paratrooper now. You hoped your father was proud of you.

-----

The night of the jump, the company had discovered a lake behind Camp Toccoa. You and Eugene had known about it for years, considering it your safe haven. You would even travel there yourself to take a dip in the lake where you were y/n, not Jack. It was another humid night in Georgia, so a nice drop wouldn't hurt. As long as you kept yourself hidden, you considered it to be safe.

Throwing off your gear, you took a dive into the water. It was cold but refreshed your body. You laid on your back as you shut your eyes, enjoying the water rush against your body. The only visible part of your body was your head and toes. There you could wash your body and be alone, away from all the discord. You washed your body and hair, feeling clean for the first time in a long time. Instead of smelling like dirt, you smelt like vanilla. Being a man had its perks but also its cons. You didn't even want to get started on male hygiene. Eugene would have been excellent company, but it was too risque. Two years into training, and the last thing you needed was your identity being discovered. Being a man took time to adapt to. You thought since you had hung out with your brother and his friends, it wouldn't be challenging, but you had been proven wrong. But there was no point in looking at the past. Now the men treated you like one. Even Liebgott respected you. He called you by your name instead of "Bones." It was the bare necessities, but it felt nice to be treated somewhat like a person.

The peace had been interrupted by a wave drowning your face. Freaking out, your body flipped as you turned your head to find the commotion. In the distance were a few easy company men diving into the water and swimming close to your location. Mentally cursing, you began to swim back to your area and get the hell out of there.

"Hey! Jack Rabbit!" A deep and rough voice Philly voice called. It was none other than the infamous Guarnere. Instead of Bones, your new nickname was Jack Rabbit. It was because you were fast in the line of action.

Turning around, you saw Liebgott, Webster, Toye, Guarnere, and Luz. They were all butt naked and proud. It made you cringe instead. Two years living with guys, and you still refused to be around them, nude.

You flashed a smile and waved as your head was the only thing that emerged from the water. "Um..hey guys! I didn't even know you were here!"

Liebgott, Luz, and Webster all had their eyes on you, like prey on a predator. Guarnere and Toye could be anywhere. Their glares, which were meant to be friendly, burned into your soul. It made you feel uncomfortable. The water felt like it was on fire. Your only priority was to get out.

"So now I'm clean, and I'm gonna go" You flashed a smile as you waved, kicking quickly under the water, "Bye!"

"Oh, come on!" Liebgott said as he saw on his back right next to you. A leaf thankful covered up his privates. He was less than an inch away from you. You descended into the water as your hands wrapped around your chest.

"I know I punched ya', and was mean to ya'-"

Webster interrupted as he laid on his back, looking at the sky, "Practically harassed and assaulted Jack Rabbit until he-"

"Shut ya' trap, college boy," Liebgott turned around and flicked water in Webster's face to disrupt his peaceful mediation, "Anyways, listen, I know we're all to jerks to you before, but let's start over."

He was right up your face as he held out his hand, a dumb smirk on his face, "Joe Liebgott."

You let out a nervous chuckle and shook his hand briefly, "Nice to meet ya…"

As you backed up in the water, you ran right into George Luz, who looked as jolly as ever. Even in the water, he still had a cigarette in his mouth, "George Luz, but you can call me Luz."

"Will do, Luz!" You had to go. Your heart rate was gonna drag you into the bottom of your lake.

"And I am Guarnere," A raspy voice called. You all looked up to see a naked (and confident) Guarnere stand on a rock, a full display of his genitalia. Your cheeks flushed red as your hand hid from the grotesque view, "King of the rock! And 'deres nothin' you girls can do about it!"

Toye happened to be on the rock and pushed Guarnere, knocking a block off his big ego. He sighed as he stood on the rock, his member also loud and proud in the night. "I think Jack Rabbit's already been traumatized enough tonight,"

"You call 'Ol Gonorrhea king of the rock?" Luz snorted as his arm wrapped around your shoulder, "I think me and Jack Rabbit can take you up that offer!"

Sliding under Luz, you began to swim away as you said, "I actually really don't wanna take up that offer."

'Oh, come on!" Luz swam close to you as he grabbed your arm, dragging you back, "Don't be such a gi-ow! Something just bit me!"

All you needed was a good excuse, "Must've been a..um...water snake!"

Luz turned to you, horror on his face. "Snake? SNAKE?" He screeched like a little girl, along with all of the other men as they swam for the rock. Toye looked at all of them, disappointment in their faces. Guarnere put on a stern face and claimed nothing in the water much to everyone's hysteria. It was your chance to escape. Swimming to the nearest (and most secluded) part of the land, you crawled out of the water and hid by a shrub. Once their voices began to disappear, you let out a sigh of relief.

"I never wanna see a naked man ever again…" You groaned as the imagine haunted your break. That was certainly a close call. Shaking them out, you looked around. Wherever you had swum to was unfamiliar, full of shrubs and twigs. The moonlight illuminated the lake as the stars twinkled in the sky. You were freezing and wanted to put your clothes back on now that you actually smelled decent for the first time in a while. Not having any cover meant walking back in with thorns scraping against your thigh. After that experience, you did not want to ever experience that again or see Guarnere brag about his member's size.

You began to recognize the area where you had left all of your gear. There were no voices or noises except for grasshoppers' sounds, and the wind brustling against the trees. The coast seemed clear.

Stepping out of the bush, your eyes saw your clothes on the rock. Shaking a few leaves from your hair, you let out a relieved sigh as you walked to the rock, not aware that someone had been watching you.

Picking up a towel, you noticed a figure in the corner of your eye. It seemed like a flash. As your head turned to look, the towel dropped from your hands as your heart dropped into your stomach.

It was Eugene.

He had seen you nude. Your breasts and female part-everything. He was just in much as a shock as you were. Both of you were frozen in place. Eugene's cheeks and nose flustered red as he looked down at your body. It had been a long time since he had seen a woman. He knew he shouldn't have looked, but it was so much to take in at once. It came as a shock to him and you.

You threw up your hands, at a loss of words, "Wait, I can explain...all of this!"

"Y-you're...a girl," Eugene murmured. He seemed shocked but not mortified.

As you created a mental response, Eugene and you heard the rumbling of a jeep. It was none other than Sobel. He most likely found out the company ditched camp to go swim in the lake, resulting in everyone losing their weekend pass. You could see the jeep in the distance park right beside a rock that hid you and Eugene. The door to the jeep slammed shut, signaling that Sobel was on a mission to bust whoever was at the lake.

You were naked, a woman, and frozen in fear. This all had to be some nightmare.

"'ere, c'mon," Eugene walked over and grabbed your hand, pulling you into a shrub. There was not a lot of room, so you were practically sitting on Eugene. It was an awkward and uncomfortable situation considering that you were butt naked. Your legs peered out of the bush, and Eugene gently grabbed your waist, pulling you back, so you were completely hidden.

It was too dark to see anything, but you could hear footsteps and Sobel yell at the men in the lake. You could listen to the splashing of water, and Sobel grabbed something (you assumed your clothes) and storming back into his jeep. Once it jumpstarted, you let out a sigh of relief, but you weren't in the clear still. Your body had melted into Eugene's, his hand on your waist and chest. His breath was heavy against your neck. He hadn't smelt something good in weeks, familiar with the smell of dirt—your buzzed hair smelt like lavender and your body, vanilla. Not to mention your y/s/c skin was glossy and smooth.

Eugene's calloused hand rested not too far from your breast. It weighed on it, right next to your nipple. Once you realized, you were in absolute horror.

The next thing Eugene knew was that he had your foot kicked into his face as he tumbled out of the bush. You stood there were your hands wrapped around your chest, mortified and embarrassed.

"You Pervert!" You snarled, stepping back. Sobel had taken your clothes as you cursed. Just when things seemed like they were going good, they were all going down. "I trusted you, and this is what happens? You stalk me and grab my chest and…" A disgusted groan escaped your lip.s You couldn't even finish your sentence without wanting to throw up.

Eugene crawled back to rock as he wiped the blood trickling from his nose. He rose his eyebrows and shook his head, "No, 'dats not why I came, Jack. I came because-"

"Because you wanted to see me naked?"

"No, I…" The Cajun looked embarrassed to admit it. Letting out a massive sign, he pushed himself to stand. A bruise was already forming on his nose, "Saw all 'da boys headin' to the lake. The one we discovered before any of 'dem did. I was tryin' to look for you, but you weren't 'dere, so I came 'ere and... you're a woman."

The heat grew on your cheeks. You didn't have any clothes and felt exposed. You were too embarrassed to see Eugene was blushing himself.

Eugene had known you for two whole years and felt like he knew almost everything about you, but this hit him like a train. He was feeling so many emotions at once; surprise, disbelief, and amazement. Something about this situation made his heart jitter. He had no idea how to describe it. Seeing you so vulnerable and shivering caused him to slowly walk over and take off his olive green chore jacket, throwing aside over your shoulder.

You backed up, startled. You had gone two years without anyone knowing; now it was over. A small thank you escaped your lips as you pulled the other jacket around it. It was huge on your body and just smelled like Eugene. You now felt horrible. He was too much of a kind person to want to grope you. In fact, he had saved you from being discovered.

"Why'd you come here?" You asked as you pulled the jacket tighter to your body.

He hesitated to respond as he rubbed the back of his neck but eventually let loose. "Because I wanted to find you. Not to discover...y'know. Thought you'd be 'ere."

"I'm sorry about punching you; I thought you…"

"Sobel was gonna see your legs; I didn't want him to see you."

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at Eugene. If It had been any other soldier, you were sure they would turn you in. But with Eugene, it seemed like he wanted to help you. "Wait...but...why?"

"Well, you were naked...and a woman. Plus, it's Sobel," Eugene explained. He did have a point with Sobel.

Eugene didn't fully answer your question. "But why did you really hide me? You could've just sent me home".

"Why would I wanna ever do that?" Eugene perplexed, "Listen, y/n, for two years, you hid as a man. You trained, and now you're a paratrooper and Imma medic. I don't know how the hell you pulled it off, but you did. When I first saw you, there was...somethin' off. You were the tinier 'den all of them. When I saw the stain on your bed...I figured it out. I can't believe it's true…"

A huff escaped your lips, and you buried your hands in your face, "That means they all know…"

"Y/n, no offense…but 'dose guys don't have a brain to notice 'dat you were a girl. They would only believe you if you showed them you were. Guess I'm 'da only one who knows."

"How else could you tell I was a girl?" You were intrigued that Eugene knew. Half of the company men were so distracted that they most likely didn't bother about your appearance, except when Liebgott would make fun of you for being the smallest person in the company.

"Well... you're a kind person."

You removed your hands from your face, perplexed by his answer. He saw your confusion and proceeded to explain.

"You're one of the nicest and most empathetic people in the company. 'Dat's kinda how I figured. War is a brutal place. 'Da whole company is full of men who cheat, steal, and lie. But you y/n, ain't nothin like that. You're a good and strong person who cares 'bout other people. A gift from GodGod."

You smiled as your cheeks turned pink. Eugene's words were raw and the truth.

"But you know...it's over for me." You sighed as you began to walk past him, "I'm in the doghouse now."

Eugene grabbed your hand, causing you to stop. He looked at you with his big blue eyes. He didn't even need to speak words as his eyes burned into your soul. Eugene made your body weak as the tension left your body. He gave your hand a little squeeze.

"No, let me help you."

"With what?"

"Being a man," Eugene said, "I'll help you with whatever you need. Bandages, binders, products for y' know...you. If you wanna pass without worryin', then let me 'elp you. Please."

You liked the idea of it but yearned for why Eugene desperately wanted to help you. "Why do you wanna help a woman?"

"It ain't 'cause you're a woman; it's because you're a fighter. Two years of training, and you finally are a Paratrooper. I don't wanna let all your hard work go to waste," He replied, "Plus, I'd miss havin' you 'round."

You shook your head as you chuckled. Eugene was serious but lighthearted, in which he was only around you. The two of you were so vulnerable around each other, letting downsides you would never let the world see. He subtle smiled as you let go of his hand.

"Why'd you do it?"

The two of you walked in the dark forest, side by side. You began to talk about your long journey to where you stood. "My brother had Polio, and my dad was too old. I didn't wanna see them get hurt...so I took my brother's place."

"That's what angels do, y' know? That's very brave," Eugene complimented.

He kept referring to you as an angel, and you couldn't tell if it was subtle flirting or him just being nice to you. You bumped into his shoulder, smiling, "I don't consider it brave. I just wanted to make sure they were ok."

Eugene looked up at the sky and then at you. Looking at you made him feel at ease. He could stare at you for hours on end.

"You gotta promise me somethin' tho'."

Your full attention was on him, waiting to spill.

"Promise me you won't get hurt or do anythin' dumb. Stay by me when you can. I just... I don't know if I could handle you getting hurt," Eugene admitted as his voice croaked. You were the last person he wanted to lose. The one real person that he cared deeply about.

"I'll try, but please…" You squeezed the rim of his jacket, "Don't treat me any differently because I'm a woman. I'm a man to you, and nothing different. Can you promise me that, Gene?"

You stood there and held out your hand to shake on it. Eugene stopped walking and noticed. His mind was racing with thoughts. So many ideas were going through his head. It had already been a night full of surprises. But if you wished it, it was his command. Eugene's hand once again met with yours as you firmly shook hands. The two of you continued walking as Eugene looked down at you, not knowing what to say once again. But the two had created a language that you would only understand.

"Ok?" Eugene cooed in his thick drawl.

You looked at him and nodded with reassurance, "Ok."

"What's your real name, by the way? Not your brother's name, but your name."

"Y/n." You said. You hadn't said that in years.

"Y/n, y/n…" Eugene repeated your name under his breath. It was different, and he liked others. He knew it was his job not to grow close to you, but it was becoming harder now that you were a woman and his closest friend. But he snapped out of his worry and smiled down at you. "Nice to meet you, y/n."

"Nice to meet you as well, Gene."

Eugene and you walked back to camp. He had gotten you a fresh pair of clothes, and the two of you sat outside of the medical center, sharing a pack of cigarettes as you watched the sunrise into the Toccoa sky. You and Eugene agreed to make it seem like this was a normal situation, and nothing had changed. But now that Eugene knew about the real y/n, everything had changed.

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