#he better get permanently recruited or something

[gremlingottoosilly]

Konig x Bimbo reader who constantly leaves lipstick marks on them (he probably returns them back with bite marks-)

I add to this - Konig, who buys you the most pigmented and bright lipstick just so you could leave his hood stained with the shape of your kisses over and over. He was so grumpy about it at first - you're ruining the only nice shirts he has, you're ruining his face and neck with endless kisses, and he ends up covered in sticky lipgloss before he could even get out of the house...he hated it, really, you're too dumb to understand why would he be embarrassed about it, and you're ruining his public image of stone-cold guy! How is he going to yell at his soldiers when he has obvious kiss stains on his helmet?? Then it dawned on him - this is a trophy, just like everything else about you. He doesn't really thinks of you as his girlfriend at first, too adored and obsessed with you as this ditzy and dumb girlie he met randomly - but he is treating you like his precious pet, like an eye candy that he would show off to his recruits at any point if a reason provided. He makes your lips wrap around his gun, makes you clean it with your tongue - and you just love to kiss the barrel once it's cooled down, the traces of your glittery pink lipstick are almost better than the blood. You're kissing him good luck before any mission, and he would do anything to protect the lipstick stain on his neck - even if this means not cleaning this part till the end of the mission, where you could cover him with kisses again. You're so giggle and excited about it too, his little four-clover leaf charm...he will mark you too, don't worry - even if this means he'd make you tattoo the traces of his teeth on your shoulder as something more permanent. Don't worry, he would tattoo your lipstick mark too.

#cod #konig x reader #konig

[xxbottlecapx]

Outsider POV Steddie fic that came to me in a fever dream

Gareth notices the exact second Eddie realizes he is in love with Steve Harrington. 

Honestly, Gareth would have been very off putted by the idea of Steve being in their group, especially after whatever shit went down during the earthquake and manhunt that gave Eddie his scars, if not for the fact that every single time Gareth went to visit Eddie in the hospital, Steve was standing vigil at his door. 

Any hesitancy about Steve being a good person quickly plummeted after he watched Steve get in not one, not two, not three, but four fistfights with civilians dead set on breaking into a comatose Eddie’s room to “finish him off” even though, Gareth would come to find, Steve had some pretty severe stomach wounds as well.  

And now Gareth’s friend group included Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington, and of course the new gaggle of hellfire teenager recruits. Eddie, Jeff, Grant, and Gareth have always been rather solitary due to their status as outcasts, and now they had two absolutely terrifying jocks on their team. It was a bit surreal, and their friend group’s number was in the double digits. 

Of course, a lot has changed. 

Eddie had to use arm crutches now. Gareth wasn’t sure if they were permanent or if he would be able to walk without them with enough physical therapy. He had a large scar on his cheek too, and he was always absolutely terrified, even on the good days. It was just something in his eyes, always panicked, like he would get attacked at any time. If Gareth had been in his shoes, he would be the same way, so Gareth doesn’t judge him for it. 

That’s another reason why Gareth paid so close attention to Eddie’s… feelings… regarding former jock King Steve. Eddie was always more comfortable around Steve, like Steve’s presence soothed something in him that no one else could. 

Eddie never said he liked men. Even with the outcasts, that wasn’t necessarily a safe thing to talk about. Gareth knew something about secrets that could get you killed, though, as an intersex person himself. So he knew. Had figured it out rather quickly, back in seventh grade, and had subsequently laughed his ass off in private when he realized Eddie, for all his preaching about conformity, had a thing for jocks. 

Steve was different, though, than most of the jocks Eddie had feelings for. Eddie didn’t antagonize Steve, at least not in a way Steve didn’t not-so secretly like. Steve didn’t harass Eddie either, didn’t spew hatred at him the way other jocks tended to. Gareth had honestly thought that Eddie liking jocks who treated him like dirt was going to give him a complex or something.  Maybe it had. But Steve didn’t give into that stereotype. Steve treated Eddie softly, more so than anyone else ever had, and Gareth was pretty sure that even the clueless folk in the party were aware of that softness. Eddie needed it, especially now, when he always looked two seconds away from jumping in front of a moving vehicle just for some peace and quiet. 

When Gareth first met Eddie, he nicknamed him Twitchy, because Eddie was always nervous, shaky, he flinched at everything. When his hair grew out, he got better, and eventually the name faded. The urge was back now, but Gareth only ever gave into it in private. Their own little joke. 

It’s how he bonded with Robin, actually, who he found had nicknamed Steve Tiny, despite them being the same size. Tiny and Twitchy. Dynamic duo. 

For all Gareth’s talk about Eddie being in love with Steve, he was aware of the fact that Eddie didn’t know yet. 

Especially after the earthquake, Eddie wasn’t in touch with his emotions. He never had been, Gareth doesn’t think, but it was definitely worse now. There were things Gareth didn’t know, but he had watched Steve calm Eddie down from night terrors and random daytime flashbacks enough that he wouldn’t ask unless Eddie wanted to talk about it, and Gareth was pretty sure there was something stopping him. 

It was good for everyone to get out of Hawkins, especially with all the relief efforts. It could get exhausting to be around that much destruction, even if life was back to some form of semi-normalcy. That’s why when Robin had heard about a carnival a few towns over, all the proceeds meant to help with Hawkins’ hospital, they all decided they could take a day to go, kids included since most of their schoolwork as of current came from a packet that they turned in at the end of the week. 

It was a fun day, all in all. Sure, they were a bit limited on what they could do considering Eddie’s forearm crutches and Max’s wheelchair (Gareth didn’t know there would ever come a day where he would understand the people that hate gopher holes), but being out in the open air seemed to calm everyone’s constantly frazzled nerves, at least that’s what Gareth thought. 

It was unanimously decided that they wouldn’t stay after dark. Gareth knew he had it easy compared to some of the others in the group, but even he had nightmares about when Jason’s goons held him down and tried to break his hand. He did sprain two of Gareth’s fingers, but luckily they healed quickly. Gareth’s watched multiple of their new group members have meltdowns over flickering lights, which are much easier to notice at night. The dark wasn’t safe for any of them, some people still convinced Eddie was a murderer despite the official story of Henry Creel. Gareth says official because despite not knowing what actually happened, he remembers all of Eddie’s rants about not trusting the government, he’s seen the scars and the nightmares, and he knows it’s all dog water.

The sun was just starting to inch its way past the horizon, purple and orange splayed across the sky like ribbons, as they came upon their last activity. 

Face painting. 

Robin and Max had spent more than half the day trying to convince Steve to get matching flowers with them. Eventually, despite Gareth’s discomfort of the idea, he said he’d do it too, which led to the entire group (except Mike) agreeing to it. 

Steve was by far the most nervous of the bunch about the paint. Gareth liked Steve, with both his masculine and feminine traits. Gareth had always been too scared to be feminine, afraid that someone would figure him out. Gareth looked up to Steve in that way. He didn’t think Steve was aware of his more ‘feminine’ traits, and he’s sure if he pointed it out, it would make Steve stop, so he never did. It’s like Steve gravitated towards those things despite thinking he shouldn’t. Gareth respected the contrast of a guy who could pummel a man twice his height that also liked wearing lipgloss. 

Steve went last to get his face painted, the rest of the group roughhousing to the side. Jeff had Mike in a headlock, for whatever reason, and Max and Erica were urging them on, whisper-yelling fight fight fight as to not startle Steve. 

Robin was comforting Steve as the woman at the booth readied her supplies. She was going to mimic what she had done on Robin, a cute yet simple pink and yellow floral design on her cheekbones and crawling up the side of her eye. 

It became apparent pretty quickly that Steve’s nerves were on high alert. Maybe it was the kids, or just the remembrance of night’s oncoming torrent. Steve kept flinching away from the wet brush, though the wonderful lady manning the booth didn’t seem upset. She kept talking gently, her locs held together in a large bun, some paint on her face and quite a lot of paint in her hair. Gareth didn’t know how she had the patience. 

Gareth couldn’t hear what was being said, but Robin kept talking, her hand in Steve’s. She got him into a heated conversation, confusing the fuck out of Gareth, before he realized she was trying to distract him. As Robin ranted, Steve arguing occasionally, the woman running the stand began to slowly paint the side of Steve’s face. 

The woman finally finished, moving her colorful hands in a flourish, and Steve thanked her, albeit with a slightly red face when he figured out what was happening. 

Robin says something else as Steve gets out of the tiny purple chair set out for him and Steve throws his head back in laughter, the bright drawing on the side of his smiling face visible to Gareth. Gareth looks to his side to say something to Eddie, probably a mindless joke of some sort, and 

Oh, 

There it was. 

Eddie was looking at Steve like he had been punched in the gut, as though all the air had been ripped from him. Like Steve was the most beautiful thing in the world and just looking at him hurt. His hands were clutching his crutches so tightly his fists were turning white. Eddie’s mouth just barely hung open, as though he had forgotten to close it or just wasn’t aware enough of his body to do so, his wide eyes dilated in a way that would have made Gareth think he was on something if not for the fact that Eddie hasn’t even touched pot since he got out of the hospital. 

There was so much devotion in that look that it would have startled Gareth if he didn’t already know. 

Thank God no one else was watching, because Gareth knew everyone would figure it out in seconds if they saw the look on Eddie’s face right now. There was no denying it. 

Steve laughs again at something Robin said, and Eddie audibly gulps. 

Well, he’s finally figured it out, then, Gareth thinks. 

“Close your mouth.” Gareth whispers, bumping Eddie’s side as Robin and Steve wave to the artist and start walking towards them. It snaps Eddie out of the Steve-imposed trance, and he visibly shakes himself off, as though Steve’s impression on him had to be dealt away with by force. It would have been cute to see Eddie blushing so if it wasn’t also terrifying, Eddie’s eyes widening in horror now as he, upon just realizing he was probably in love with Steve, is also realizing that Gareth saw it. 

“It’s okay. I know. You’re okay.” Gareth whispered again, just so Eddie could hear. He put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, partially to stop him from trying to get away and partially because he knew touch comforted him.

 They would have to have a conversation about it later so that Eddie wasn’t scared Gareth would tell anyone. By not moving away from him, Gareth hoped he was able to make his message clear that Gareth was not judging. He had no reason to judge, especially considering his budding crush on Will Byers. 

Gareth sighed, trying to give Eddie an encouraging look that, luckily, did seem to calm him down a little, a shaky grimace making its way back to him.

Now all Gareth needed to do was find out how to tell Eddie that he was pretty sure Steve liked him back. 

Yes this is based off of that one Anne With an E scene. 

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #steveddie #eddie x steve #stranger things s4 #robin buckley #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things #outsider pov

[captain-mj]

Biblically accurate Ghost. Give.

Delivered! Hope you're the original person

Soap wasn’t sure when exactly he started to notice Ghost was… different. Besides the obvious stuff. Yeah, he moved quicker and quieter than average. That was normal for a person in the SAS. He had weird quirks. All normal honestly. He wasn’t the only person who never took off a mask. Half the Shadows didn’t. Several recruits had permanent medical masks. It was strange and he teased him, but it wasn’t exactly the strangest thing about him. 

Ghost’s back moved. Well, to be more accurate, his shirt rippled. Something slid and moved beneath it. When Soap pointed it out to Gaz, Gaz claimed it was the work of shadows. Though funnily enough, the two of them were never alone in the same room again. 

Price never gave anything away, but Soap started to pay attention and he noticed the way he tensed when Ghost first entered a room before relaxing on cue every time. If he had to have his back to someone, it was always Ghost. He did more dangerous things if Ghost was there. 

Soap had no idea what made him first get suspicious. Part of him wondered if he was working himself into a frenzy over nothing. If his desperation to be close to Ghost made him make conspiracy theories. 

But he knew what made him realize it was bigger than some quirks. It was when someone shot Price point blank and nothing happened. 

They all saw it. The person slipped by them and their bullets sprayed across where Price was. And nothing happened. 

Nothing. 

There were bullets by Price’s feet. No other explanation. 

Price had called it a miracle and then never acknowledged it again. When it got brought up, Price simply looked away. He said they shouldn’t question fate. 

It was strange. 

Then, Gaz broke his arm. It was so clearly broken. Snapped and hanging wrong. His fingers didn’t move. 

Soap got the stuff to wrap it. He felt the break in the bone. The two separate breaks in the bone. 

Ghost scoffed. “It’s nothing.” He stalked over. 

Gaz scowled. “Are you serious??”

Ghost grabbed his arm hard. And twisted. It looked painful. But Gaz didn’t flinch. He stopped and stared at his arm, slowly moving his fingers. 

Soap felt his arm. Nothing. Clean bone. Not a hint of any damage. 

He saw the look in Gaz’s eyes. 

“Just a sprain, Sergeant.” Ghost walked away from him and continued to guard them. 

Gaz started at Soap. Soap stared back. 

He checked the medical records of his team. They had far less than anyone else. Far far less. Not all of it could be blamed on them being better trained than the others. 

Soap waited for his moment. For the bullet to miss. The bone to heal. Or shrapnel to just miss his skin. 

This mission, the knife went through his ribs and punctured his lungs but there was no blood. No bleeding. He wasn’t drowning in his own blood. 

That didn’t stop the blow to his head. That he smashed to the ground at the same time as Ghost.

One of them stabbed Ghost with something. It looked like a blade but it was shaped weird. 

Ghost stopped fighting. Soap could hear the tiny, heart wrenching whimper the pain got out of him before Ghost quickly regained control of himself and shut up. His body looked broken. Laying there in a way that unsettled something in Soap’s chest. Big brown eyes stared right into Soap from that skull mask. 

Soap didn’t feel a thing. Even when the butt of the gun slammed into his temple. When he woke up, he didn’t even have a headache. There was a taste of blood in his mouth, but nothing else. 

He had been tied up pretty tight, but there were no guards. The chair was just wooden. Soap gritted his teeth and fell back, feeling the legs snap before it even hit the ground. 

How insulting. 

If Ghost was in a similar situation, that would explain the lack of guards. He probably killed them all. 

Soap found his gear on the table behind where he was sitting, just out of sight if he was still tied up. He grabbed his radio and tried calling out. 

It was a miracle he got a response from Price. 

“Bravo 6 this is Bravo 7-1.”

“Soap.” Price dropped the titles so Soap followed suit. “Where are you?”

“Facility of some kind. Don’t think I’ve been out too long so can’t be far from where we were. Haven’t seen Ghost yet. I’ll find him though.”

“You both got captured?” Price’s voice sounded rather worried. “Something happen?”

Soap sighed. “Just got the jump on us. One of them stabbed me. One of your little miracles happened.”

“That explains it.” Price responded, which was honestly just cryptic as all hell. “Find Ghost. We’ll be there soon.”

Soap frowned and put his tac vest back on. He tightened it and put one of the plates in it in case he ran into trouble. Everything was quiet. Very quiet. He found some people but they all were dazed. Barely reacted to him before he shot him. 

“Did you know?” One of them mumbled. 

Soap held the gun steady. “What?”

They didn’t attack him just grabbed their cross. “May God forgive me for my transgressions. I beg for forgiveness.”

Soap was unnerved. This soldier had set his gun to the side. 

He didn’t get a chance to stop them. Just watched their brains splatter against the wall. 

Soap continued on. Something was wrong. These weren’t shadows. They had a weird logo instead. 

As he searched further into the facility, more and more of them were normal. Immediately starting to fight back. One of them didn’t bother to shoot, aiming instead to bash his brains in. Soap stabbed him, watching blood that looked a little too dark splash everywhere. 

Maybe, with everything that had happened, he shouldn’t be as shocked. But opening the door to see Ghost was a nightmare. One of the liminal ones that leave you questioning reality for days afterward.

Soap almost left, not recognizing Ghost as… Ghost. There was a man with many thin blades, almost like spears, going in and out of his body with blooms of golden ichor. Through his hands, his torso and his…

His….

The wings. 

Three giant pairs, all bending and twisting oddly. Soap couldn’t be sure if it was because of the spears or if they naturally looked like that. 

Without his mask and the rest of his clothing, it took noticing the tattoos to realize who he was staring at. Ghost was kneeling, head down, arms stretched and twisted slightly, probably to keep him from trying to escape. It meant the spears tangled with the muscle instead of just going through it. 

“Simon?”

A slow hum. It echoed and reverberated around the room, starting borderline inaudible before coming increasingly loud. Right before it could reach the horrific crescendo, when Soap’s ears felt on the edge of bleeding and bursting, Ghost cut himself off and looked at him. 

Something black oozed from his eyes, staining his cheeks all the way down to his chest. Where he was run through, there was no red, just the stunning gold color of ichor. It did not puddle underneath him, instead it made intricate symbols on the floor. 

Even hurt and trapped, Ghost was ungodly gorgeous. Ethereal. That’s the word.

“Don’t be afraid.” Ghost said softly. Voice echoing and breaking and flitting around the room. 

“I’m not afraid of you.” Soap stepped a bit closer. He most certainly was. Thought not of Ghost. 

His wings were so big. They took up every bit of space in the room. The spears cut straight through them, breaking feathers and bones. Though, it appeared as if Ghost had healed around them somewhat, which might make removing them even harder.

“They’re very sharp. Be careful.” Ghost mumbled, his head falling back down. Soft ginger blond hair looked matted with gold ichor. 

Soap had been wrong Spear was not the best word. It was more like razer wire that had been yanked taut. He found a knife but it couldn’t cut through it and the pained sounds Ghost made from the vibrations was enough to make him stop. 

Instead, Soap found where each strand was being held, usually tied to one of the loops in the floor next to Ghost. Ghost sat as quietly and as still as he could. 

Soap’s thoughts wandered. He had an angel. An actual angel. Right here at his fingertips. His hand slid through the feathers, trying to find where a particularly nasty looking wire was cutting the flesh. 

Silk, egyptian cotton, velvet, none of the fanciest materials he could think of came close. It was softer than down. Warmer than sunlight. 

He found the wire and removed it. The slow process of pulling the wire through his wing and then letting it hang from the ceiling or wall or wherever the other side was. 

Mind numbing. The work was repetitive. That’s what he blamed on the fact that he was crying. 

The ones through Ghost’s… more human looking parts of his body were actually spears. He yanked them out as quickly as possible. Ghost clearly wouldn’t die from something as dumb as internal bleeding. 

Soap went to catch him but Ghost didn’t fall. Just stayed kneeling. With nothing to stop it, more blood poured from the wounds, gathering with the rest of it on the floor and continuing the intricate symbols. 

“Simon, you gotta get up.” 

Ghost tried. He pulled himself to his feet and then grabbed Soap hard. His tactical pants were soaked in red and gold. His chest exposed but so bloody he might as well be covered. But the main concern was his face. 

Soap checked his gear, trying to see if he had anything they could use. Anything at all. Ghost took advantage of the fact that he was distracted and buried his face in his shoulders. 

Soap paused in surprise, feeling warm breath against his skin. Shivers wracked Ghost’s body and Soap wondered if he was wrong and he could bleed out. 

“I got you, Simon. Being so tough for me.” Soap whispered nonsense to them. They were on an enemy base. Current whereabouts unknown. Price was looking but that could take ages. He didn’t need Ghost in fighting condition, but he did need him okay.

“Are you hurt?” Ghost asked softly. “I can heal you.” 

Soap shook his head. “Absolutely not. No. I’m fine. Just focus on you.” He pet his hair, trying not to grimace when the ichor stuck to his hand, shining against his skin. 

Ghost stayed quiet. 

Soap managed to find his clothing in a closet connected to the room. He helped Ghost get dressed, including his tac vest. Needed to keep him safe. 

Ghost watched him as he moved, head lolling any time he wasn’t focused. Even well dressed, he looked wrong. His wings were very visible. They were smushed instead of artfully disappearing. Then they just tore through everything. Stretching out and once again filling all the air in the room. Ghost’s tatters of a shirt just fall around his chest and arms. 

Soap stared at him and sighed. “Alright, can’t do that. No big deal! Just gotta get you out of here, okay?”

Ghost looked weary. He nodded along and grabbed Soap’s hand, but if he had his way, he’d just lay down and suffer the consequences. 

But Soap could never let him do that. He dragged him along and kept his gun out despite how empty the halls seemed. Full of dead people. Some clearly self inflicted and some clearly not. 

“I tend to have this effect on people.” Ghost joked, watching all the carnage with such emptiness. He didn’t care they died. The world was honestly better for it. 

Soap held him tight and got them outside. He started to speak into his radio again. “Price, come in. We’re outside of the building. Looks like we’re on a hill.”

“Closer to God.” Ghost mumbled, sinking back down into a kneel.

Price quickly replied. “We think we’ve located you. Should be there in less than 5. What did Ghost just say?”

Soap stared at the bloody wings. “You’ll see when you get here sir,”

Ghost stayed kneeling, head tilted back to look at the stars. Soap realized he was praying. Kinda. It wasn’t in english but it sound like prayer. 

His wounds stayed there though. Soap kept waiting for them to magically heal. He didn’t know why. But they didn’t stop bleeding. 

Ghost looked pale, but his hair had a faint glow. He got up when Price arrive. 

Price stared at him, blinking his eyes slowly. Gaz went to grab Soap before shuddering and stepping back. Ghost sank down further, smashing to the ground like a piece of china. 

Soap almost thought he would shatter. 

It was remarkable how easily they all just… ignored it. Price and Soap helped Ghost while Gaz kept watching, firing at anyone that got close. They left a thick trail of gold behind them, but it wasn’t something they wondered about very much. Just… needed to get Ghost to the heli. 

Soap had never been a religious man. But with Ghost right there, a glorious angel, though not nearly as scary as he was expecting. 

Nik stared at the giant wings and slowly raised his sunglasses. “Price, what the hell?”

Price stared at him. “I don’t… know. Just, just fucking fly.”

Nik got them in the air faster than the last time they were being shot at. 

Soap watched Ghost start to kneel again and he quickly grabbed him, pulling him into the seat instead. Ghost fell into his side. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Angelic. 

Soft lips stained gold. Giant white wings that were soaked. Wounds along his wings that still hadn’t healed. 

“What do you need?” Soap asked, feeling useless. He wanted to help him. 

Ghost looked at him, eyes so incredibly dark. “Can I sleep on your shoulder?”

“Yeah. Of course, Simon.” He pulled him so his head was resting on him. It surprised him how quickly he fell to sleep. Ghost shivered and Soap looked at Price who nodded and looked for more clothing. Without his balaclava and only half of a shirt, he looked small somehow. And cold. 

An angel. 

Simon Ghost Riley. 

A man whose hands were soaked in blood. 

A bloody angel. 

Soap shook his head before quickly stopping when Ghost moaned in pain. “Sorry, didn’t mean to jostle ya.” 

Ghost buried his face in Soap’s neck and dozed back off. He stared there for the majority of the trip, barely reacting when Price pulled a thick jacket around him. It just barely covered his wings, but it looked like it was the material instead of something underneath it. 

Gaz and Price took Ghost from Soap. It was because all of the adrenaline had left Soap, leaving him sore all over from being hit, but it didn’t feel that way. Ghost felt stolen from him. 

Nik followed, clearly invested. Soap had never noticed the crucifix around his neck. 

“Russian Orthodox. Haven’t followed in a while.” Nik explained. 

Soap wished he had his rosary. “Scottish Catholic. Also haven’t followed in a while. Kinda regret that now.” 

Nik nodded wordlessly and they all managed to go to Ghost’s room. Ghost was still clearly dazed, falling in and out of consciousness. He laid on the bed and pulled off his jacket, laying on his stomach. His skin had slowly started to stitch back together. 

Gaz carefully used the back of his hand to move one of the wings and they could see where the majority of the skin on his back had a weird glow with dozens of intricate symbols burned into him. The wings were not orderly and in two straight lines like one would expect. There was no symmetry that was discernible. Just chaotic placement. 

Soap looked over the wings again and realized they were not, in fact, three sets. Each wings was a slightly different size. They folded perfectly, blending together to look like a normal pair of wings on a bird. 

It was unsettling.

There were also… lines. Little spots among of the feathers were there were… wounds? Possibly? It was hard to tell. 

Price stared. “I always assumed he was just a lucky bastard. Or maybe that there was some demon deal he made that I didn’t know about. Not quite… this.”

“Demons don’t make deals.” Ghost croaked, eyes opening. His arms were folded to his chest. “Those things Soap killed were demons. The ones that bled black.”

Soap frowned. “You can shoot them to death?”

“Rather easily. Just like how they almost killed me with those spears…” Ghost went into his nightstand and grabbed his mask, slipping it on. 

Gaz stepped back a little. “What’s taking so long for you to heal?”

“Lot of damage. It hurts. I’m sorry.”

Soap frowned. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, but I damned you guys to hell.”

“What?”

“You know. Gazing upon an angel. Don’t exactly have to trust in god if you have proof.” Ghost shrugged. 

Panic rippled through the room for a solid minute. Gaz started to hyperventilate while Nik stared blankly at him for a solid moment. 

“Kidding. Kidding. I’ll pull some strings for you guys.”

Soap hit his shoulder. “Asshole.” 

Price tried to break the tension. “Thought angels were supposed to be scary looking, not making scary jokes.”

“You don’t think I’m scary looking?” 

Price hesitated. “No?”

Ghost paused what he was doing and looked at him. 

The things in his wings opened. 

Dozens. 

Hundreds. 

Maybe thousands of… eyes. 

All blinking and focusing their sole focus on Price. They vibrated in their sockets, spreading and narrowing and opening and closing and…

Price winced but didn’t back down. He stared at him until Ghost relaxed and put his wings back down. 

“Guess I’m not scary anymore.” Ghost stretched and flopped back down. “Can you guys leave me alone?”

Price left the moment it was asked of him. Gaz lingered, watching him until Nik tugged him away. 

Soap did not leave.

“Johnny…”

“Simon. I get why you wouldn’t tell me. Don’t worry. Are your wings heavy?”

“Yes.”

“What about your family and stuff? Was that real?”

“Yeah. Just made them human sounding is all.” Ghost relaxed again, unable to help himself in Soap’s presence. “If you want to touch them, you can. Just be careful of the eyes.” 

Soap took it. He ran his fingers through those soft feathers, watching beautiful brown eyes open up and look at him before closing again, wings leaning into the heavenly touch. 

“I’ll make sure when we get to heaven, you’re in mine.” Ghost mumbled. 

Soap felt a shiver. “Yeah?”

“Yes. God doesn’t watch there.” 

#johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #ghostsoap #soapghost #simon ghost riley #soap cod #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii

[mrsparrasblog]

I wont pay for your therapy after this🥲

Mrs. MacTavish

Scotland—Johnny's birthplace and the place where he would be laid down permanently. The three men closest to him, the men who saw him die, stood together with his ashes in their hands. It felt surreal for them; of course, they knew something like this could happen. They had all lost a great deal of friends, but this was different. This task force should have been invincible, they should have been better—too good to be killed. But here they were, only three of them.

"Who dares wins. Sleep easy, soldier."

"See you down range, brother. We take it from here."

"Rest in peace, Johnny."

The men spread his ashes; he was finally where he felt at home, at least that's what his friends, his brothers in duty, thought.

They sat together in a rundown pub, unsure how to grieve or how to throw a worthy wake. Price said he didn't have any family left, so they were all he had, and they still failed him.

An order of his favorite whiskey stood on the table they usually occupied.

"He'd love that, he loved this place," Gaz said, trying to reassure his brothers. He now needed to be the glue of the group, the job Soap had before.

"One time, he hit an officer when he was still a rookie. The officer touched a female civilian, and Soap knocked him out. He almost got kicked out of the military, but he didn't press charges—too embarrassing," Price said, earning a slight chuckle from Gaz. Ghost stayed still; he was frozen since the death of his best friend.

"He almost beat my record at the SAS. Made me proud when I saw him in the recruitment," Gaz told them.

"He was the best," Ghost said. His voice sounded monotone; if he didn't have this thick British accent, he would have sounded like a robot.

"He tried to enlist in the SAS several times at 16, lying about his age each time," Price chuckled at the thought of his best trainee.

"He was more than his accomplishments." The other two men looked confused at Ghost; they weren't as close, he knew him better than them.

"Of course, he was, son."

"He had a journal, always drawing each of us, calling us his family. But now, he is dead. We failed him," Ghost said, bringing Gaz and Price down from their attempts to cheer him up and to appreciate Soap's life accomplishments. But he was dead, and nothing would ever change that.

After a while of drinking without speaking a word, Laswell came in, looking at the group of guys sitting down next to them. "Holding a wake for him?" she asked, nipping at the shared whiskey.

"Spread his ashes," Ghost replied shortly.

"You did what?" Her voice was loud; they could see the look of panic on her face.

"What's wrong, Kate? He would love resting in the Highlands."

"Please tell me, John, you didn't spread the whole ash."

"Kate, what's wrong?" Price asked, and she only sighed.

"I'm torn between granting the wishes of a deceased person and betraying his wishes at the same time," Laswell said. The inner conflict was visible in the wrinkles around her eyes.

"Laswell, spit it out!" Ghost shouted at her, the normally calm soldier completely losing control of his emotions.

"His last wish was that someone specific get his body in case of his early demise."

"Bullshit, he had no family left," Gaz replied, confused. His brother wouldn't lie to him about his family.

"Who is this person?" Ghost asked, his expression full of hurt. He wasn't mad like Kyle about the possibility that Johnny lied to them; Johnny was always smarter than the rest of them. He couldn't entertain the possibility that one of his brothers or whoever this person was would die because of his enemies.

"Mrs. MacTavish," Kate muttered under her breath. She promised him before joining the task force that she wouldn't, under any circumstances, tell anyone about her.

"Like his mother?" Kyle asked, and Kate only shook her head.

"He was married?"

"For ten years," Kate sighed.

"I will personally tell her and apologize," Price said. He knew this was the least he could do for him.

"I will tell her," Ghost thought. He needed to do this for his best friend, especially making sure that whoever she was, she would never be found by Makarov and could live a safe civilian life.

"Count me in, Captain," Gaz said, determined to apologize to Soap's wife. Maybe if he had been better, faster, Makarov wouldn't have gotten Soap.

These three men were as different as they could have been; the only thing about them that all of them shared was the guilt.

A few days later

The last days were harder than usual for you; the pregnancy took a toll on you. The worst part was not hearing anything from your beloved Johnny for a long time. You were used to not hearing from him; you knew what you were getting into when you decided to marry him. But you never even thought about making him retire. You loved him since high school. How couldn't you? He was a charmer. He had been in love with you since you both were 6, starting elementary school.

He asked you at least every week if you wanted to marry him when you grew older. You always declined his advances. You were sure that you even hit him once for staring too long at you. He looked like an arrogant ass who could have anyone he wanted, but somehow, he never, not even for a second in his life, thought about another woman. So after some years, you decided to give him a chance, and you never regretted this decision once in your life.

The bell rang, and you were sure it must have been one of the neighbors asking if they could have milk or eggs from the farm. But before you could gather your pregnant body up, your six-year-old son ran up, opening the door. "Maybe it's Dad, Mommy!"

"James William MacTavish, how often did I tell you not to open the door?"

Your son was a spitting image of your Johnny. It got worse when he decided that he needed to cut himself a mohawk to look like his dad. You were so happy to see Johnny's reaction to the mohawk when he came back.

At the door stood three muscular, tall guys looking down at the little boy. As Kyle saw the spitting image of Johnny, he walked to the nearest trash can and threw up. It was too much for him. The thought of a wife was bad enough, but a son too.

You walked down and gathered your son who hugged your thigh. You looked at the men; one of them was a bit older with a funny beard, and the other one was blonde with a scared face.

When Price saw the visible baby bump, his heart broke. The thought of you not only having a son but also being pregnant gave him the rest; his guilt was eating him out.

"Mrs. MacTavish?"

"Yes?" you asked in confusion. They didn't seem like the villagers who wanted to buy something from the farm, nor the parents of your students.

"We need to talk about your husband."

"No," you knew what this meant; you knew it in your gut.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. MacTavish, but your husband died while protecting his country."

You always thought these films were dramatic, but it was nothing compared to what you felt right now. The pain was indescribable; you felt like someone pulled your ground from you, and you fell, completely in shock. Your tears slowly started to roll down, and you saw how the older man held the blonde one back from reaching out to you.

"No, my Johnny, he said he would always come back. He will come back, he will come back to us, he always will," you sobbed uncontrollably.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am."

From behind, Aiofe and Maeve ran down, our oldest, the twins. "Mom, are you okay?" All your three children sat down next to you, afraid that something happened to their mom.

That was the final straw as Ghost saw even more children, his best friend left behind a wife, three children, and a little one on the way. It should have been him.

You sobbed as you spoke to your children, "It's okay, Simon is just kicking hard in my belly, nothing is wrong with Mommy. I love you."

"We love you too, Mommy."

#johnny #soap x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soapghost #john mactavish #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #hurtful #tw death

[sweetlittlegingy]

Better Man

✦Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Better Man Universe

✦Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Single!Mother

✦Word Count: 6.7K

✦Warnings: Fluff, Angst, mentions of SA (previous relationship), self-hate, shitty schools, bullying, possible thoughts of suicide (on explicitly stated). Please let me know if I missed something.

✦A/n: Repost, the original is no longer showing up for me. I’m not sure what happened, if your seeing double I apologize.

✦Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

The incessant buzzing coming from your pocket continues, as you listen to Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates go over mission plans. Attentively listening and marking down any changes that need to be made to the paperwork.

As the admirals Administrative Service Manager, you held the responsibility of keeping all things “Top Gun” in order: including incoming pilots, flight schedules, and the newly permanent Dagger Squadron.

You subduedly shift silencing the buzzing, again focusing on Cyclone and Warlock.

“I want a new set of recruits coming in, with Maverick training them.” Cyclone gives you a pointed look. “I want him to be on board by the end of the week. You both, can go over applicates and find those best fitted.”

You silently nodded, jotting down that you need to draft a letter for Mav and get it to him before Wednesday. 

 “With the success of the Uranium Mission, DC is going to want to see what else the Dagger Squadron can do. I want them flying new drills and layouts every day. Draft up a few different sets of flight plans, get them on my desk by Wednesday morning.”

“Of course, sir. Two days will be more than enough time to draft up three or four, and I will have a handful more done by next Monday.” You trail off as your phone starts buzzing again.

Pausing to grab it while Cyclone and Warlock keep chatting, you realize that it’s Mathews school calling. Raising your hand in a silent gesture, you glance up and ask if you can be excused for a moment. To which Cyclone nods, signaling to the hallway.

Rising up, you not so slowly, make your way to the door and press answer. Miss Clarks voice rings through your phone, telling you once again that Mathew has been called to the office.

“Miss Benjamin, you need to come in. Principle Davis wants to talk to you immediately. Mathew is fine, though he has been placed in the corner and will not be allowed recess time.” She mutters harshly.

You slowly shake your head and lean up against the wall, “What happened?” you question. Waiting for a response that doesn’t come. “I know that Mathew is not the only child at fault here. So, I’m going to ask again, what happened?”

You know that your sweet Mathew would never hurt someone without probably cause, and even then, it’s unlikely. Though this is the first call you’ve received from the school, you’ve been in three other times for words with the principal. Discussing another upper-class student that had been picking on Mathew.

The same excuse being thrown in your face that, none of the teachers saw the bullying and that Mathew was lying. Though the last time, Mathew told you that the other boy had pushed him and scrapped his knees. Markings on his knees, you saw during bath time, that night confirmed that he had been pushed.

Each visit you had, the school ignored you and claimed you to be an overprotective mother.

“Mathew hit another boy, Miss Benjamin.”

The statement shocks you at first, but then you question why Mathew hit him.

“Well Mathew says that he was hit first, but no one saw it.”

“You’re telling me, that my son was hit, then defended himself, and you didn’t think to lead the conversation with that information.”

Pushing off the wall you start to make your way to your office. “I will be there in 20 minutes.” Grabbing your purse, leaving the paperwork knowing that you will be coming back to the office enviably.

“Also, Miss Clark,” your voice steadily rises. “Get my child out of the damn corner.” You all but yell before hanging up on the woman.

Stepping out of your office and running into Lt. Bradshaw, you bounce off him. He grabs your arms steadying you, as you apologize.

 “You okay there, Y/N” He questions quickly realizing how stressed you are.

You can feel the frustration seeping from your bones, tears lining your eyes. Working to steady your breathing, in any possible way to avoid crying.

A quick smile, that is in no way real, paints your lips, “Yes Bradley, I just need to go the Maty’s school.” Checking your purse, you make sure that you have your keys. “Can you do me a favor though?” Glancing up you see him intently listening, as if they would be orders from Commander Kazansky himself.

“I’m bringing Maty back here, I’ve got paperwork to finish, but I need someone to watch the munchkin.”

You pick at your nails, hating that you would have to ask for help. Though Amelia is still in class and Penny was deep cleaning the Hard Deck, so you had no one to ask.

“I know you guys are probably really busy, but could he hang out with you and Jake for a bit. He loves Uncle Roos, and I think that after today, getting to see the planes would cheer him up.” You add quietly that you understand if not, that you would figure it out.

“Y/N/N of course, I’m always available to hang with the little man. I’m free for the rest of the day actual.” He looks down sheepishly, “I was coming to tell you that a few of the plane’s radars were messing up, and that we would be down for a couple days.”

Taking a deep breathe, adding one more thing to your to-do list. You know that plane electronics can’t be helped, and that it should be a relatively easy fix. It just feels like so much more, added to your near melting brain.

You tell him that you’ll handle it, while walking together towards Cyclones office. Stepping in to get the two admirals’ attention, you let them know that you are taking your lunch now and will be back before one. They assure you that you are fine and that they trust you to get your job done, without them hounding on you.

Going to leave, Bradley follows you out. You head for your car, while he heads towards the east hanger. Though before he gets too far you, call back to him.

“B… Don’t tell Jake I was crying. Please… I don’t want to bother him.” You hold your hand up, blocking the glare of the sun on your face. “It was silly of me to cry anyway.”

The look he gives you clearly shows that he wants to comment on you saying that your emotions are silly, but he just nods an okay.

“Thanks B.” Thankful that he understands, you turn as he waves goodbye. Climbing in your car, for the 15-minute drive to Mathew’s school that will inevitably end in tears and a migraine.

Pulling up to the school, you wipe at your eyes. Trying to get the redness to go away, or at least look like you haven’t spent the last 15 minutes anger crying. The puffiness of your cheeks is a dead given away that something is wrong, though you hope that its subtle enough that Mathew won’t notice.

Your sweet baby was the most empathic and observant child you had even seen. A blessing and a curse to you both. In one way he was kind and loving and yet in another, much less helpful way, he noticed when anything hurt or upset you. Slowly becoming the protector of his momma, and carrying a load on his shoulders far heavier than any five-year-old should.

He was the light of your life and the only good thing that your ex gave you. Though you’d taken to claiming that your ex had no part in making Mathew. He was too kind to have any part of your ex in his DNA.

You were just thankful that he was the spitting image of you, and hadn’t been around his “father” long enough to pick up any traits. With your Y/H/C and the exact shade of skin tone, there was no denying he was your mini-me.

His eyes though, oddly enough were the exact same shade of green as Jakes. Something that everyone in your life liked to point out. Often making comments, that if they hadn’t known you like they did, “They would assume that Jake was the father.”

A thought that you wished had been true. Jake was wonderful with Mathew, and an amazing role model for him. Though you had only been official together for five months, Jake was always working to show you how much you both meant to him.

That alone was a hard enough concept to understand, when the only relationship you’d ever been in was the complete opposite.

Your ex-Adam had ruined your views on relationships, the five years you were together were some of the hardest you’d ever been through. Finally getting out just before Mathew turned three.

Adam had gotten handsy with you in front of Mathew, had pushed you to your breaking point and left you on the floor like an empty husk.

You still hate yourself for that night, because of you Mathew was in therapy once a week with nightmares. Recounting memories, that a then 2-and-a-half-year-old, shouldn’t remember.

It was your biggest regret, letting him see everything that happened.

The experience wasn’t something you talked about, finding that therapy only made it worse. Pushing the memories away and burying it in a hidden chest, at the back of your mind.

Gathering your purse, you move to get out of the car.

When you notice a missed call and text from Jake, “Hey darlin’ missing you. Rooster said you were picking up Maty early, everything okay?”

You quickly type back, that you just got to the school and would text him when you were back on base. Adding that you missed him as well, which caused a small smile to cross your lips.

Walking into the front doors, you immediately head to the office. Giving yourself a mini pep-talk in preparation for Principal Davis, and his ever-sexist comments.

Your eyes immediately go to Miss. Clark, who wears the lowest cut shirt that you’ve ever seen in an elementary school. Her head pops up from typing, as she hears the low click of your heels on the tile.

Your gaze is cast upon her, one that should put her 6-feet under.

“Where is Mathew?” You question, a harsh bite in your tone.

To which she studders out that they placed him in an extra room and told him to stay. The action should surprise you, but you’ve learned that this school clearly has lower morals and standards.

You walk straight passed her desk, without another word and push into the extra room. If it could even be called that, only the size of a “oversized” closet at best. The temperature change doesn’t go unnoticed.

There you see Maty, head resting on a table, as tiny shudders rack through his body. Rushing to his side, you softly go to cradle his small body. Falling to the floor on your knees, as a soft Momma falls from his lips.

Gently “shh”ing and rocking his body back and forth, like you did when he was a baby.  As he quiets down you look into his tear-stained face, and your heart breaks a bit more.

“Sweet bubba, it’s okay. I got you, it’s okay.” His tears slowly turn into gentle whimpers.

Not wanting to upset him anymore, but knowing that you have to ask him questions before you see Davis.

“Darling, what happened? Are you hurt?” your eyes gently rank over his form, noticing how he hold his tummy.

“They belly flopped me momma.”

Your questioning gaze is enough that Mathew pulls up his shirt and you see a bright red mark across his belly. Anger seeps from you and your struggle to hid it behind a smile. Not wanting him to see how upset you are.

Rising up you grab his backpack and carry Mathew out into the main office.

Your voice snaps across the office, stilling Miss Clarks typing fingers.

“Miss Clark, I am going to be checking Mathew out. I am also going to have a few words with Principal Davis, and I suggest you take Mathew out into the hallway to look at the new mural being painted.” Your tone leaves no room for suggestion.

You set Maty down and give him a little wink, pushing him to hallway as Miss Clark follows. You turn sharply and stare straight at the closed door that hasn’t moved once since you’d arrived. Pacing to the door you knock and walk in without waiting for an answer. If he wants to lack human decency with your child, then you can do the same.

Your sudden entrance startles the middle-aged man, jolting him from his chair and the nap he seemed to be taking.

His lingering eyes rake up and down your form, as a sleazy smile forms on his face. The look makes you shudder, awaking distant memories and feelings.

He gets up to make a move for you, “Miss Benjamin, I’m glad you could make it. Please sit.”

You state that you’d rather stand, though he doesn’t listen and makes a motion for you. His hand moves to your lower back, in an unwelcomed gesture. Brushing his hand off, you glare at the hand.

“You see Miss Benjamin, Mathew is a troubled boy and needs handled.”

The word “handled” makes your skin crawl as you listen.

“He doesn’t listen and clearly has no male role model, from the ringless finger I can see.” You bite your tongue as he moves to sit on his desk, directly in front of you.

“Now I think that we,” he motions to the both of you, “can work on this. Fix his attitude and make him into a child, someone would actually want. One that not picking fights for attention, especially ones with older children he can’t beat.” He finishes with a chuckle.

The steam must be rising from you, the anger that is completely incasing your body feels like you might set the whole world on fire.

As you rise from your chair, words laced with venom drip from your tongue ready to kill, meteorically and literally.

“You have no right to comment on my child and how he is raised. I think it best if you step off your damn high horse, before I knock you off it.” Your finger jabs at his chest. “You should be damn happy I’m not reporting you to the school board, for neglect and harassment.”

You stand up, ready to be out of his presence.

“Mathew will be pulled from the school; I’m absolutely done with you and everyone in this school.” Pulling the door open you look back at him, “If anything comes from the assault done to my son’s stomach, whether it be lasting pain or marks….. I will, fucking ruin you.”

With that you leave, shaking at the audacity of the man. How he touched you, insinuated that Mathew needed fixed, and most of all the absolute lack of care, that he should have had for both children in the situation.

The other child that Mathew hit was nowhere in sight and clearly didn’t get in trouble. You know that hitting isn’t the answer, but Mathew was defending himself against a bigger child. This whole situation was handled poorly, as it has been every other time you’ve came in for bullying. This was the final straw and you’re done.

You gasp as you make your way to grab Mathew from Miss Clark, barely able to keep the tears at bay. Gently buckling Maty up into his car seat, you place a kiss on his forehead as he wipes a tear from your cheek.

“Don’t be sad momma.”

You mutter an I love you and climb back into your seat, ready to never see that school again.

Your tears don’t go unnoticed by the three men as you pull back up to your office. Jake, Robert, and Bradley all exchange looks as you park and get out of the car. You avoid their gazes as you get Mathew out of the car.

“Uncle Roo, can we look at the planes?” Mathew yells to the men as he notices them, a massive smile forming, and his horrible day forgotten.

“Yeah buddy, all the planes. Bob even said he’d let you be Nat’s new WSO.” Bradley laughs and then gives a knowing look to Jake.

“Your Momma and Jake are gonna go pack up her work for the day, then get you a bag ready to have a sleep over with me.”

You go to comment, but Jake steps forward. Wrapping his arm around your waist, “Cyclone already knows darlin’. You and me are gonna work on flight plans at home, then have a nice relaxing night.” He finishes with a loving kiss on your cheek, that you can’t help but to lean into.

Your body relaxes in his embrace, dropping your shoulders you lean father into his touch. Craving it like a warm blanket, that you unwillingly want to admit, you need.

Mathew is bouncing at the thought of a sleepover and asks Bob if he is coming too, to which he replies of course. The trio goes to turn away, though not before Maty comes rushes back, giving you and Jake hugs.

“Love you momma. Love you Jake.” He says it so childlike that you can’t help, and be a tad envious. Jake quickly lifts Mathew and gives him tickle, telling him to listen to his uncles. Before setting him down and brushing a kiss onto the top of his head.

“I love you too, buddy.”

You watch as Maty walks off, relaxing knowing that he is feeling better and knowing that if he showed the slightest sign of discomfort Bradley would call. You rest your head gently against Jake’s chest, taking a few deep breathes and silently hold yourself together.

His arm slips from your waist, up to cradle the side of your face making you look into his eyes. A green so deep that you could get lost in, if you only let yourself.

“Darlin’”

You quietly shake your head in protest, knowing that it he asks you might break down.

The tears built around the edge of your eyes, and you quickly cast your face down. Unwilling to let him see you break.

 To be another hassle in his life.

A mess, that he would realize wasn’t worth the work.

Though he gently kisses your forehead, letting you be for now and pulls you towards the building.

Hands clasped tightly together, like he’s afraid to lose you through the cracks within your broken heart.

Jake stays by your side as you make your way through the building and to your office. Only letting go of your hand, so that you can grab your laptop and paperwork. You slowly pack everything that you need into a tote, your movements lagging.

Feeling completely drained and over the day. You can feel yourself pulling back into a shell, unsure how to function with another person right now.

You weren’t used to people helping when you had a hard day, or break down. Only that you weren’t supposed to show your emotions, because if you did it would end so much worse.

A screaming match, about how inconsiderate it was that you let your mood seep into other people’s lives. That if you could just fucking smile for once, then maybe people would like you.

The thought makes you look to Jake and give him a fake smile, in hopes that he doesn’t realize how much it hurts.

He notices but doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a reassuring kiss on the cheek and takes the tote from you, to carry out to the car.

“Where are your keys darlin’?”

He questions, replying before you can protest.

“I want to drive sweets, okay. I want to take care of you.”

Worry clouds your brain, but you’re too tired to make a fuss.

“Thank you” you say as you place them in his out reached hand.

“Always baby.” He states it so matter a factly that your heart flutters. The wink that follows, makes it skip a beat.

The drive home is fast, your wandering mind lost in thought. Jakes hand rests steady against your thigh, a gently rubbing motion to sooth you.

Walking up into your quaint little beach house, the final bit of anxiety leaves your body. Finding comfort in being home, in your safe space. Jake silently follows you up the steps and locks the door once you’re both inside.

Your body’s frozen; you stand quietly in the hallway, unsure of what to do. Jakes comes up to rest behind you, carefully wrapping you in his arms. Afraid that the slightest touch will send you spiraling.

“Why don’t you go take a nice shower sweets? Relax, decompress and I will make you some tea for after your done.”

You squeeze his hands in a silent thank you and head to the bathroom.

Your face looks tired and broken, and as you stare at your reflection, those tears that you worked so hard to hold in fall. You switch on the shower, to silence the sobs that are wreaking havoc upon your mind and body.

You shed your clothes and step into the burning water, in hopes to erase the feeling of Davis’ hands on you.

Memories of past and present blend together, making it difficult to ground yourself, to know that you’re safe.

Davis’ hand, becomes HIS hands on you. A ringing in your ears echoes a distant memory of the screams that were ripped from your body.

The incident today, shattered your tough girl façade. The box that you worked so hard to bury, ripped up, meant to consume everything in its path.

Both of their hand blending into one, pushing on the small of your back.

Down farther, suffocating and screaming out at the same time.

Your back crashes against the tile walls, as you slip to the floor. Memories flashing through your mind; the way you yelled stop and how you begged Maty to look away. His sweet baby eyes, watching as you were ripped apart.

You should have worked harder to make him stop.

To make sure Mathew couldn’t see or hear.

But you didn’t.

You failed him in that moment

And you hate yourself for it.

A sudden slam jolts you from your thoughts, and a worried Jake is standing there. Infront of the broken in door, chest heaving and wild-eyed. He falls to his knees as a broken sob, escapes your lips.

Climbing into the shower, fully clothed, to hold on to your trembling body. It’s only then that you notice the water is freezing and that you must have lost track of time.

He mutters sweet nothings into your ear, softly creasing your back. He shifts your body momentarily way from his chest, to turn of the stream of cold water. Shifting back, you clutch onto his shirt. Clinging to the warmth that radiates off him, and the feeling of safety that you can always find in his embrace.

Breathing in the familiar smell of jet fuel mixed with sandalwood and black pepper, your mind fights to regain clarity. That you are home, safe in Jakes arms.

Not caring what horrible outcome awaits you once you explain your panic attack.

Once he finally realizes out how damaged you are.

You won’t blame him, if you could get away from yourself you’d run too.

Though, for this moment you need him. To be able to savor this moment and memorize it for once you’ve lost it. Tuck it away deep within your soul, a memory that a one point he loved you.

He’s never said it, but you’d like to think that he does. At least loves the version of you that is still nice and shiny. He couldn’t ever love the one that’s real, broken, and damaged beyond repair. How could anyone love something so pitiful.

Pulling back, the words fall from your mouth before you can even think to stop them.

The harsh truth.

“I wasn’t enough Jake.” A gasp falls from your mouth, more tears crash down your face.

“I should have tried harder. To stop Adam. To protect Maty. To make the school listen.” Your head shakes in silent disappointment in yourself.

“I could have been better, for Maty, for you.”

“But I failed, and I’m just so tired of trying.”

Your head lays resting against Jake’s chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart. Trying to slow your gasping breaths. His hand rests on the back of your head, gently rocking the both of you.

“I’m so tired of doing it alone.” You pull away from him, to look in his eyes as you lay the truth of your relationship out.

“But it’s not your job and I can’t push that on you. You shouldn’t have to come in and take care of a child that isn’t yours.”

You can see Jake silently shaking his head, as tears start to fall from his eyes.

“I’m just so angry. At how broken and lonely I feel. How I’ve pushed you away, because I’m scared of losing you.” Words continue to fall from your lips, until Jake gentle grabs your face.

He takes a shuddered breath in, his voice cracking slightly.

“Y/F/N look at me.”

Your tear-stained eye stare at each other, a plea asking you to listen.

The hand cradling your face, settles your trembling lip. His other hand comes up to push your soaked hair out of your face. His body heat warms you, and his eyes show nothing but pure love and heartbreak. Like seeing you in so much pain is slowly breaking his heart too.

Your heart aches as you see the tears streaming down his face, gently you reach a shaking hand up to cup his cheek. His hand rises to cradle the one covering his cheek, both your foreheads fall together.

“Darlin’ let me make one thing clear, you and Mathew are the best damn thing that has ever happen to me. From the moment I met you, before we ever got together, I knew I wanted you.”

His words sound foreign to your ears, and you mind sits telling you that he’s lying. But his eyes, the green that you’re in love with, they hold such truth, and you chose to believe he’s not lying.

“Come on, let get you dressed, and we can talk.” He stands with ease, carrying your form as if you were as light as air. “I think we’re both gonna need that cup of tea to warm up. Unless you wanna share body heat, sweets.”

He gives you a wink and you can’t stop the girlish giggles that abrupt from you. The way that he can brighten your mood with the smallest gestures, still amazes you.

“There’s my girl.”

Dressed in fuzzy socks and one of Jake’s old navy shirts, you curl up on the couch as Jake reheats the water for your tea. He comes around the corner moments later with two cups of tea; chamomile for you, his momma always told him it was calming, and peppermint for him.

It reminded him of Christmas, the one-time when everyone in his family got along. The yearly tradition of opening one present on Christmas Eve at mid-night, then having a family dinner Christmas night. A joyous atmosphere filled the house, as his mother baked and sisters hand pick which Christmas records to play.

It was a tradition that he hoped to start with you and Mathew, creating your own rendition of the family Christmas.

The sweatpants hang low on his hips, your eyes roam over his torso slowly. Taking in each hard line and the tan skin, your eyes slowly make it up to his face and a cocky smile rests on his lips.

“Like what you see darlin’”

A blush covers your cheeks as you realize that you’ve been caught, once again.

“You’re just so pretty.” You reply, a matching blush covers his cheeks. Happy that you got the desired reaction out of him.

He settles into the seat beside you, handing you your tea, and brushing a gentle kiss against your brow. He pulls your covered feet to rest in his lap and covers you both up with a blanket.

He gently strokes your calf and takes a sip of tea, before asking you what happened today.

So, you start for the beginning. Telling him about your meeting this morning and how the school called. Relaying to him that they put Mathew in a freezing room and how he was just defending himself.

“It was that 2nd grader, Jake. The one that’s been picking on him, Thomas, Timmy…”

“Toby, Darlin’” Jake answers for you, causing your head to snap up in silent questioning.

“Maty, he brought him up to me the other day. I didn’t mention it, well because” he rubs the back of his neck and looks down sheepishly. “I may have told him… that if Toby touched him, they he was allowed to defend himself.”

A smile graces your face, realizing how much he carries about Mathew.

“Then I showed him how to throw a punch.”

With that a full laugh falls from your lips, surprising Jake completely. He was prepared to get his butt chewed, but here you are in a fit of laughter.

“I’m sorry..” You struggle to catch your breath. “It’s just, I’ve been wanting to knock that second grader on his ass sense he pushed Maty.”

Jake releases a blusterous laugh, shaking his head, and a teasing smile directed at you.

You sink farther into the couch and talk a large sip of your tea. Your body finally relaxing, causing your shoulders to drop and your legs to stretch farther into Jakes lap.

You continue on, telling him how Miss Clark wasn’t helpful and how your pretty positive the Principal Davis was sleeping before you barged into his office.

The pause you take to collect your thoughts and calm your racing mind, doesn’t go unnoticed. Though Jake patiently waits, giving you time, and when you’ve taken a few deep breaths Jake motions you to go on.

Blowing out a puff of air, you calm the rage that slowly rises in you from thinking about Principal Davis.

“He’s just horrible Jake. Every time I’ve came to him about Toby or the other boys, he called me overprotective, and said that Mathew is the child at fault.”

His hand remains on your calf, rubbing. You’re not sure if it’s to sooth you or him.

“Then he stood there and implied that he and I could “work together”” you motion quotations with your hands, “to fix the problem. That he clearly didn’t have a male role model, and my ringless finger was the proving point.”

His hand only stops for a moment when you say ringless, but it’s long enough that you notice his pause.  

“The man is so damn aggravating.”

You blow out a breath of air, moving the now partially dry hair that fell across your face. Jake reaches up and moves the strand behind your ear, his hand then falling to cress your cheek before you continue.

“He’s got entitlement issues and has no respect for personal space.” The words rush out of your mouth, before you realize how they might affect Jake.

“The way his hands felt… God, they just made my skin crawl. It was just too much.”

His hand stills on your leg completely and you can feel his body transform; from your soft and gentle Jake to Hangman, the man that had look death in the eyes and laughed.

You look up and his face is void of all emotions, but anger.

“Darlin’ I need you to be very clear with me.” his voice is laced with such venom, that you would be terrified of him, if you couldn’t still see the gentleness in his eyes.

“Are you telling me that Davis touched you?”

You nod, ashamed of the action “He only touched my lower back, and I shouldn’t make it into such a big deal, but it just felt wrong.”

Jake stares back at you with a hardness you’ve never seen.

“Y/N no one is ever, allowed to touch you without your permission. I don’t care what the circumstances are, or what you’ve been told in the past.” He blows out a shuddered breath.

“Baby I am not even allowed to touch you, without your permission.” Both his hands are now holding up your face, making sure you look at him. “Do you understand that?  

The tears that fill your eyes are answer enough.

He knew enough of your past, to know what little value you had for yourself.

Jake had woken up with Mathew on nights that he’d spent the night, the young boy crying out after a nightmare. In the beginning Jake just wanted to give you a break and let you sleep, but he soon realized that Maty needed the extra time with him as well. The little boy had opened up to Jake, telling him about his dreams and memories. Explaining that he couldn’t tell momma, because it made you cry.

Those nights lying awake with Mathew, while rubbing his back to sooth him and help him fall asleep, were some of Jakes most treasured moments. The need to take care Maty and be the stable father-figure in his life, continuously grew. To the point that Jake no longer saw a life without you and his little boy.

You didn’t have to explicitly tell Jake what you had went through, he knew enough and if you ever changed your mind, he would listen. Grateful that you wanted to share that part of you, but it wouldn’t be something he pushed.

No, he would just continuously keep working to show you your worth and how much he loved you. He hadn’t told you yet how much he loved you, to afraid to scare you off, but he knew that you were it for him the first time that he met you.

Papers strewn around the floor in your office, while you sat in the middle, contemplating different flight tracks and patterns. You hadn’t realized he’d come into your office, until he made a coughing sound to gain your attention.

You looked at him with such seriousness, mad at him for interrupting your work and when he asked you where the admiral was, you glanced at your watch before muttering “lunch” at him like he was a complete idiot.

He knew then that you were everything that he wanted; dedicated to your work, beautiful, and wouldn’t put up with his shit. Mathew was an added bonus, one that he wouldn’t change for all the money in the world.

“Darlin’, you and Mathew are the most precious and important people in my life. I will do anything and everything to make you realized how loved you are.”

You mouth dropped up, sitting in stunned silence.

“You love me? You love us?”

The look you give him, makes him chuckle and run a hand through his hair.

“Sweets you are one of the smartest women that I’ve ever met, but how in the world have you not seen that I have been, head over heels in love with you, since the first time we met?” His Texas accent rings clear in your ear. Laying on heavy whenever he calls you sweets.

“Jake, the first time we met was three and a half years ago. When I first started working on base?” The questioning tone you reply with is clear as day.

“Yeah, I know.”

“We just started dating 10 months ago though?”

“Yeah, I spent a year and a half trying to take you out.”

A hand comes to rub at the back of his neck, as he looks away shyly in a way you’d never seen. Gone was your cocky, self-assured pilot, in his place, a boy that looked worried about getting the girl in high school.

“You know how much the guys made fun of me? Told me I was whipped, and I didn’t even have the girl yet.”

A blush covers your cheeks, as you realize just how oblivious you’d been. Though you can’t help but smile, your heart filling with hope and possibility.

“You don’t need to say it back..”

You cut him off before he can finish, pulling him down into a kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck. You pour all of your pent-up emotions into the kiss, silently trying to communicate how much you love him.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to settle on his lap. As you pull away his hand settles on your cheek, eyes staring into the abyss that is your soul.

“Jacob Grant Seresin, I love you more than words can equivalate to. You are the man that I’ve wanted my whole, and never thought I was worthy of.”

More tears fall from your eyes, though these are pure happiness.

“Thank you for taking a chance on the mess that I am, and I’m sorry for making you wait for so long.” Your giggle at the end, breaks into full blown laughter as Jake tickles you. Pushing you down onto your back, he peppers kisses across your face.

“You should be darlin’, it was torture.” He gives you one last kiss “I’d do it a thousand time over though, as long as it for you.”

“My mess, my girl.”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

Later that night:

“Thank you for helping me with the flight plans, I really didn’t need Cyclone on my ass.” You kiss Jakes waiting lips as you climb in bed for the night.

“Course darlin’”

He gently pulls you back to rest against his chest, peppering kisses on the top of your head. You can’t help but to snuggle deeper into him and the blankets.

“Also, I talk to Rooster and he’s going to bring Mathew to base in the morning. I figured he could hang out with the team. Then if you can get off a bit earlier, we could go by the school on base.”

You go to ask what he was up to.

But he quickly answers, “I called Bob’s wife Lacy, she is a teacher at the school, and she said that their kindergarten teacher is amazing. Also, that they would love to have us come by, and see if it was a good fit.”

You can’t help but be amazed. Wondering how you could have been so clueless and not seen the love that this amazing man has for you and Mathew.

“I love you, that sounds perfect. Thank you.”

Jake moves to shut of the bedside lamp, giving you a sweet kiss. Your lips melting together perfectly. You can feel yourself falling into unconsciousness, your body grateful to finally relax and welcomes the darkness.

Though before you can drift out you feel Jake shift around, nuzzling into your neck as his arm wrap securely around your waist. His body heat encompasses you, causes you to relax even more. Soft kisses are placed on your neck, little ones that you can barley feel.

“Darlin’ don’t think that I forgot about that jackass Davis.”

You stiffen up only slightly, though Jake continues his kisses. Falling just at your jaw line, his hands slide under your shirt and cress your stomach. His gentleness reassures you, and you chose to focus his moments more than his words.

“I don’t want you worrying.”

He places a kiss behind your ear,

“I’m just gonna have a talk with him.”

One on your cheek,

“Make sure he knows that you are mine, even without a ring on your finger.”

A soft fleeting kiss on the lips, that has you chasing his mouth as he pulls away. A cheeky smile stares down at you, before he gently grabs your left hand and kisses your finger.

A silent promise.

When you fall asleep, you can’t help but dream about that promise.

#jake 'hangman' seresin #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin! stepdad #top gun hangman #hangman fanfic #hangman fluff #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun: maverick #hangman top gun #better man #sweetlittlegingy writes #gingy writes #gingy library

[cumikering]

Possessive best friend Soap x reader 2

2k | fluff, violence, swearing Prequel: how you and Soap met (Part 1) (Part 3/5)

You and Soap went to the same secondary school. You grew up watching the raucous group of boys at the canteen, the one with the mohawk seemingly the most prominent.

In sixth year, you shared the same class and finally got to know his name – John Mactavish, or Johnny for short. Like the typical teenager, he was boisterous with his pals, often getting chalks chucked at him by annoyed teachers when his pranks interrupted classes.

You, on the other hand, were quiet and studious. For your 16th birthday, in an attempt to make more friends, your mum forced you to bake something to give away to your classmates. You did so begrudgingly with your minimal baking skills, showing up the next day at school with two huge Tupperwares.

“Oi, are those brownies?” a voice called as you took your seat. It was Soap, nodding at the Tupperwares on your table.

“Yes,” you confirmed, a bit taken aback he talked to you.

He hopped off the table he sat on and approached you with a grin. “May I please have some?” He couldn’t contain his excitement - he loved brownies.

You chuckled. “Sure. I’m sharing them with everyone actually. It’s my birthday.”

“Oh, is it? Happy birthday to you!” He took the seat in front of you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, cracking open a Tupperware, the delicious smell hitting him right in the face.

He didn’t waste another second before grabbing a piece. He groaned as he savoured the first bite. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, it’s pure dead brilliant,” he said with wide eyes.

You laughed at his eagerness.

“Can I please have more?” he deadpanned.

You nodded.

“Thank you!” he took another piece. “Oi everyone! It’s my pal’s birthday. Come wish ‘em and get some mad brownies!”

Your gaze locked for a few seconds as your classmates came over with their wishes. He gave you a playful smile, the smile you eventually came to realise was almost a permanent embellishment on his face.

He’d noticed you early into the school year. You always listened to the teacher during lessons and only spoke when you were spoken to – not his favourite kind of student to befriend, but he was glad to have assisted you that day. Your grateful smile was all the reward he needed.

Soap started talking to you after that. Teasingly pestering you about baking more for him, sometimes asking you to join his table during recess. You flourished that year too, finally coming out of your shell, making more friends for yourself.

Joining Special Forces was all Soap could talk about ever since becoming friends with you, including his disappointment at his failed attempts to join by lying about his age. SAS finally accepted him when he turned 18 and you couldn’t be prouder of him.

In the sea of recruits, Soap stood out even without his mohawk. He had grown taller and much buffer, could also finally grow a stubble the past year. He looked dashing in his snug uniform. Sending him off was bittersweet, knowing he was stepping off into a completely different world, leaving you behind. When he pulled you into a tight embrace, you whole heartedly wished him the best, accepting it as the end of your friendship.

Soap didn’t think the same at all. While his friends came and go, you were the one who stood the test of time and remained in his life throughout the years. He always found the time to send you letters and silly doodles torn off his journal – you kept them all in a shoebox under your bed. In return, you sent him care packages filled with your baked goods and Irn Bru, his favourite fizzy.

It was hard not to fall for you when you were always there for him every step of the way, watching each other grow up. You were his home away from home. The few times a year he did visit, his attraction towards you grew stronger every time.

After you graduated uni, you thought you were crazy when you moved to where his base was. Sure, it was a bigger city with better opportunities, but there were obviously other cities to move to. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore - you wanted to be closer to him. Soap was ecstatic when he heard the news, bringing you everywhere he knew in the city, making sure you settled right in.

One evening as he took you to one of his favourite pubs, a police officer said something nasty about you as you passed his patrol car. You shrugged it off, but Soap picked up his pace walking you to the pub before excusing himself.

“Oi, you!” he challenged, his deep voice rumbling throughout the street as he stalked towards the officer.

He turned to Soap, eyes widening as he straightened up off the side of his car.

Soap got right up to the taller man’s face. “Aye, you. Get tae fuck!” He punched him square in the face, and the officer collapsed backwards onto his bonnet with a loud thud.

Soap blinked, not expecting him to get knocked out cold like that. Before he slid off to the ground, Soap grabbed him by the collar and chucked him in the backseat of his own vehicle. He almost got disciplinary action for the mindless stunt, but the officer didn’t press charges due to embarrassment. You were none the wiser, thinking he simply went to the loo because he came back just minutes after.

Months went by and despite spending a lot of time together, you started to lose hope of Soap seeing you romantically. If any, you felt a touch of resentment towards how oblivious he was. Inspired by some of your co-workers’ success, you tried online dating instead in hopes of finding someone who would return your feelings.

The first time he heard the series of Tinder pings off your phone, his brows furrowed. He looked up from his journal to see you smiling at your phone.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Hmm?” You hummed as your typing continued.

“Who are you talking to?” he pressed on.

You were too distracted to notice the edge in his voice. “Oh, it’s a guy from Tinder,” you chirped, still not looking up from the screen.

He scoffed. “Tinder? Since when did you get that desperate?”

Your smiled dropped. The remark hit too close to home. You weren’t desperate; you just felt like a fool, kind of, for waiting around for someone so long. It took you a few seconds to finally look up. He was back on his journal, his face resting on his hand.

Trust Soap to make insensitive comments and take jokes too far, and of course, trust him to be the fucking idiot who would be blind to his sins. You didn’t have the energy to explain yourself to someone who didn’t want to listen, so you let him be. And that was how the crack sneaked up between the two of you. The quieter you were, the more he pestered you, which in turn made you withdraw more.

Knowing how much fun you had on these dates, even when none were fruitful, made him overwhelmingly insecure. Soap didn’t like it one bit, feeling replaced by these vague men he knew couldn’t compare to him, his jealousy bubbling over. It only took one good date for some guy to take you away from him.

But by God, Soap was a fucking idiot with unchecked anger and a crippling fear of rejection who didn’t know how to articulate his feelings. So of course he started demanding you to tell him who you were meeting and where, for safety purposes he said. You knew he was right though, having heard of the horror stories of dates gone wrong, so you told him if he was in town, or your other friends if he wasn’t.

One day, you saw someone one too many times for his insecurities to rise again. He wasn’t supposed to stick his nose up in your business, but it was too easy for him. He only had to take the modest information you gave him to the tech department on base and the poor guy’s life record was at his disposal within a few minutes. It turned out the bloke was a petty scammer who used a fake name. Soap was absolutely thrilled to bits at the discovery.

In the middle of your next date, Soap waltzed into the pub. “Hey, you. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, hi Johnny.” You eyed him sideways. He knew you’d be there. “Ah, Nathan, this is my friend Johnny.”

He nodded at your date who offered a hand instead. His smile was too smug for Soap’s liking, so he grabbed his hand far firmer than necessary - the near invisible wince satisfied him.

“Nice to meet ya, pal. Please don’t mind me. I’m waiting for a friend.” He plopped down next to you.

Nathan stared at him. “If I’m honest, I’d rather not be interrupted on my date.”

It seemed like Soap got on his nerves with the handshake. Yes, Soap was a fucking menace and he knew it full well.

“Terribly sorry, mate, but he should be here soon.” He turned to you. “Remember Theo, the coppa? He just got a lead on a local scammer.”

You chuckled. “That seems like sensitive information. Don’t think you should be telling me.”

“Yeah, no, but I feel you need to know since the guy’s been going bonkers on Tinder.”

“Sorry mate, would appreciate it if you could just find your own table,” Nathan interjected, the smile gone.

“Assertive lad, I respect that.” He nodded, getting off his seat. “Sorry to bother. Guess I’ll just meet him elsewhere then.” Soap looked at Nathan dead in the eye. “Anyway, the bastard’s called Randy Wilson, so if you ever catch him, run the other way.” He caught the twitch of his right eye.

Soap left out the front door but rounded the place, leaning against the wall opposite the back door. Within 10 minutes, exactly like he’d predicted, the door swung open.

Soap uncrossed his arms, stomping towards your date with an amused grin. “Oi, Nathan! Any chance you know where I can find Randy fuckin’ Wilson? He owes me two dozen broken ribs.”

The asshole couldn’t hide his terror at the sight, smugness long gone.

“Ugh, saw the bloke out the back door,” Soap said moments later with a grimace.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” you replied. “A muppet for leaving me to pay for his drinks though.”

Soap paid for the bastard’s part of the tab before walking you home.

“Oh, Johnny? I know you’re not meeting fucking Theo. He lives on the other end of the city.” You gave him the side eye, an amused smile on your lips. “I know you were dead bored and just love to annoy me.”

He looked back with a shit eating grin.

“Can’t be mad at you this time though.” You huffed. “Guess he’s the jealous, alpha male kind of guy after all. He’s hot and he knows it. Probably controlling if we ever get serious. Wouldn’t have known if you didn’t show.” You shrugged. “Oh well, guess I dodged a bullet. But you’re not crashing any of my dates anymore, okay?” You poked the middle of his chest.

Little did you know, Soap started looking into every guy you were seeing – Randy was too much of a close call. Thankfully, he didn’t have to intervene because no one lasted more than two dates, but most importantly no one was dodgy.

Except for one other bastard.

Feedback and constructive criticism are welcomed

Unofficial taglist:

@sofasoap @ceilidho @thewizardarson @liyanahelena

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #soap cod #cod fanfic #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #cod mwii #johnny soap mactavish #soap #possessive soap #soap mactavish #cod fanart #call of duty mw2

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Title: Home is Where...

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Tags: Yandere!Shigaraki, non-consensual somnophilia, sex toys, anal fingering, handjobs, semi-public sex, crossdressing, forced feminization, domestic submission, abusive relationships, anal sex, dacryphilia, League as family. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Summary: A commission for @psi-neko , who wanted to see Yandere!Shigaraki, domestic submission, somnophilia, and more family moments with the League! 

The League has moved into a new safe house and Dabi is on lockdown after garnering too much attention from the police and heroes. He finds himself slowly but surely taking on more of the household chores, and that Shigaraki seems to be watching him at every moment. That's nothing to be worried about though, right? After all, the smell of rain that he keeps waking up to must just be his imagination, he always locks his door at night after all. 

Dabi is not entirely sure how they went from living on the streets to Shigaraki calling them all back to a quiet neighborhood in the suburbs. He really has no fucking clue how the boss somehow got a three-story house with four bedrooms and a finished basement, fully furnished with the utilities on. No idea if this was a safe house or something that AFO had before that he somehow managed to figure out was still safe prior to Kurogiri getting arrested or what, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth too much. Really, really not going to complain when, despite arriving last, he ends up with one of the bedrooms upstairs with Duster, Compress and Toga in the rooms on the second floor, and Twice and Spinner taking the basement. 

They all get settled in, making sure that the blinds are shut tight in every room. If they can just do their best to not draw any attention from the neighbors then they should be able to stay here a while. But once they've gotten the lay of the land they all end up back downstairs in the living room for a debriefing, first one they've all been around for at the same time since just after dealing with Overhaul. And everything is fine, he would dare say normal even. He's been out recruiting, Toga and Compress have been doing spy shit, Spinner and Twice have been trying to find anyone that might be able to reproduce the quirk erasing bullets for them. All the stuff they're supposed to be doing--

"For the next few weeks, you four can also start looking for recruits again, but anyone even remotely interested has to be vetted by myself or Dabi prior to any meet-ups, understood?" Shigaraki doesn't even glance in Twice's direction as he says it, but they all feel that slight sting. Yeah well, none of them are mad at Jin about that-- he didn't know how much of a psycho Overhaul was gonna be. But Magne is still gone, Compress is still permanently disabled. It still was something that hurt them and they're making do in the aftermath. Whatever. "Dabi, you'll be at base until further notice. You can help me coordinate and decrypt the files my teacher left behind." 

He blinks. "What? No, I'm in charge of recruitment, Giran said he had something interesting in Fukuoka--" 

Shigaraki levels him with flat red eyes, "No. You've drawn far too much attention to yourself in the past few weeks. You're the most recognizable of us and your quirk is the most obvious and easy to trace. You're on house arrest until things cool off." 

He is really about to start bitching in earnest, but then he notices that Shigaraki isn't even clawing at his neck anymore. Which means he is dead set on this and just as ready for this to be a physical fight as Dabi was gearing up for a verbal one. He grits his teeth and bites out, "Fine." Which is a lot less of a fight than he would have put up at the beginning. At least they have a whole house to hole up in. Better than the shitty bar or the shack they were using a few weeks ago. 

The others seem to let out the collective breath that they were holding and Compress speaks up next. "I can check on things in Fukuoka, if you'd like." Dabi waves him off. They can do whatever the fuck they want. He doubts it was anything that interesting anyway. 

They finish up the meeting and when that's done, there's a pause. Been a long time since they had somewhere safe and comfortable to stay. Takes all of ten minutes before they all start to break off to do their own things. Thinks Toga is going to take a bath, Compress heads towards the kitchen to make sure that the rest of them actually eat, Spinner and Duster start in on some game from the ancient console gathering dust under the TV with Twice cheering them on, and he makes his way up to his room. As annoying as being locked down is, he has been doing the most running around for the past few months, has barely had a place to sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. Can't exactly say that he's going to resent the opportunity to pass out for a solid eight hours in an actual bed. 

The others, very wisely, don't bother him once he shuts himself away for the night. 

///

Dabi learns three things very, very quickly once he is on house arrest. The first is that he is bored all of the time. He always bitched at the others for being sat around doing nothing when he popped back into base with updates, but he gets it now. There just isn't that much to do. He and Shigaraki work on trying to coordinate and run down leads based on what they still have from AFO, but that's a lot of putting out lines and waiting for a bite. They can't train with their quirks without drawing attention, and they can't leave the house. Thank god they have power and internet here at least because he's pretty sure he would be pulling out staples just for something to do otherwise. 

The second thing that becomes increasingly obvious is that the rest of his cohorts have never lived in a house like this, or if they did, they were never responsible for its upkeep. Spinner and Twice are so bluntly and obviously reclusive bachelors and they are always leaving dishes in the sink and laundry in the dryer. Pretty sure neither of them have ever touched a fucking vacuum in their lives either. Toga knows how to do chores and usually doesn't make too much of a mess, has gotten glimpses of her room and it's cluttered with as many cute things as she can get her hands on to make her space feel warm and homey, but generally clean. Compress, unsurprisingly, seems to know how to keep things in order, but he's not around as much since he has been traveling the most. Shigaraki, from what he can tell, also knows how to clean up after himself, but he definitely wasn't doing the majority of housework with Kurogiri or AFO. And Dabi is trying very, very hard not to care, or think about any of that. He lasts all of nine days. Gets up one morning and finds the sink piled high with dishes and mud tracked in from the back door and unfortunately cannot contain himself any longer. 

By the time the others are making their way downstairs he's vacuumed and scrubbed the floors, dusted everything from the baseboards to the ceiling fans, wiped down the counters and furniture with cleaner, cleaned the bathrooms, washed and put away the dishes, made breakfast, and written out a grocery list to plan for the rest of the week. There's definitely a confused, sleepy air hanging around the others as they come into the kitchen, an island at the center and dining area tucked off to the side before leading into the backyard, and find food laid out and waiting. 

"You... cooked?" And Spinner sounds genuinely baffled. 

"Yeah well, none of you fucking can." He snaps, Compress excluded, but he's not in a particularly charitable mood at the moment. 

"You cleaned too." And Shigaraki's tone is more considering. 

He sneers at them all. "Clearly none of you are capable of that either. If you make a mess on purpose I'll fucking incinerate you." Turns back to the sink to finish rinsing the cooking dishes and get those loaded into the dishwasher. "Food's getting cold." 

Really not expecting Toga to press along his back, catching him in a tight, warm hug that does something unforgivable to his chest, as she murmurs, "Thanks, Dabi." 

Genuinely glad he always sounds gruff with them when he mutters back, "Whatever, leech." 

So he takes over the household stuff, and that only alleviates his boredom about thirty percent of the time. Unfortunately, that does lead him to his third observation: Shigaraki seems to be always watching him. 

That's something he becomes aware of by inches. At first, he just noticed that he started seeing Shig at least once a day, then a little more often. He chalked that up to the fact that he started cooking most meals now that they weren't living off of convenience store food and cup noodles, but no. Whenever he was in one of the other rooms, Duster would wander in and find a reason to stay. Usually didn't make small talk with him, which he was perfectly happy to avoid, but he didn't know why the other man would keep getting into his space. Definitely didn't like how Shigaraki always seemed to be watching him with those sharp, creepy blood red eyes whenever he glanced up from whatever he was doing. Something about the look robbed him of the attitude he would have leveled at the others for staring. 

Maybe it was because Shigaraki never did it when the others were around, which left some kind of alarm bell ringing in the back of his mind. But their creepy boss hasn't done anything yet. Doesn't know how he would even bring it up without sounding insanely paranoid on top of his usual bitchiness. So Dabi doesn't say anything. 

Probably should have. 

///

Things come to a head one night after dinner. The others are still all out, might not come back for a day or two depending on any difficulties they might find traveling. He and Shig eat, they don't talk much, not usually in an uncomfortable way. More in a  not really knowing what to even talk about when it's just them that's not work, and they've already dealt with that today. So instead things are quiet as they eat. When they're finished, Dabi starts to clean up. The annoyance about doing the housework had worn off stunningly quickly in the wake of not having much to do. At least he can be useful while trapped in the house. And the cleaning, cooking, just... putting things in order, it taps into something in his head. Calms him down. Can't control how fast he's going to get to his revenge, hasn't been in control of most of what's happened to him for the past decade, but at least in this place, he's able to exercise some control over his situation. 

He's fucking glad they have a dishwasher though, because the seams across his palms are already not thrilled with how much he's been irritating them with scrubbing floors, and tubs, and surfaces. Lets out a soft hiss of breath as the hot water hits his seam and that one has just had it with his bullshit today. A thin trickle of blood goes pink and washes away with the water. He turns off the tap and is about to reach for a towel, but he's abruptly paused when Shigaraki is right in his space. His skin heats sharply as his panic spikes when the other man catches him with four fingers around his wrist. Duster acts as if he hasn't even noticed, like this is normal, before bringing the towel to his hand and gently drying his skin. He's careful not to pull at his staples any more than Dabi already has, but it's still so strange that Dabi can't relax. 

"I didn't realize you would be such a good homemaker." Definitely hasn't ever heard Shigaraki's voice low like that and it has his skin bristling. Especially when he tries to pull his hand back and Shig holds a little tighter, raised finger dropping just enough to keep him from giving a more insistent tug as his nervousness spikes. 

"...Better soldier, if you let me stop spinning my wheels." He tries to sound mostly unfazed, but he doesn't think he pulls it off. 

"No, I like having you right here, where I can see you. Where I know you're being so well-behaved for me." His mind goes unhelpfully blank when Shigaraki lifts his hand, dips his head, so he can press a soft kiss to his aching seam. Dabi bristles slightly. Tries to pull his hand back again, and that last deadly finger lowers a little more. He stills. Lets Duster press his palm briefly to his cheek before he straightens and lets go of him. It takes more restraint than he knew he had to not snatch his hand back from the space between them, to move slowly and deliberately, leaving the rest of the dishes and stepping around the other man who has practically trapped him between the sink and island. 

"Not sure what it says that you're turned on by housework, but I'm not interested, Duster." 

Sends something very cold through his gut when Shigaraki keeps watching him with those dissecting red eyes and the barest touch of a smile curling his lips. "You will be, firefly." He really does not like how sure the other man sounds and as soon as he's far enough away that he'd be able to set off his flames faster than he thinks Shigaraki could reach for him, he turns and heads swiftly back upstairs to his room. Throwing the lock into place isn't really that much of a reassurance when the whole door could be turned to dust in a few seconds, but that would be pretty hard for Shigaraki to explain to the others. Still has a hard time falling asleep that night. 

///

Shigaraki doesn't treat him any differently while they're working, but he is always watching him while he's in the common areas of the house, especially when he's cleaning or cooking. Doesn't try anything again, but those red eyes are following him into his sleep. 

The first dream happened after he finally managed to sleep the night Shigaraki cornered him in the kitchen. Had been so simple. Cool lips against his cheek through the dark, fingers trailing along his throat, down his chest, stopping as they drifted low on his stomach. And then nothing. He woke up the next morning foggy and confused, but didn't think too hard about it. Not until the same thing happened the next night. The lips in his dream trailed a little further along his jaw, the fingers starting on his thighs and working their way up. He did his best to ignore it, but when he swore that he was starting to come out of sleep with the smell of petrichor in his nose, the smell that follows Shigaraki around, he started to question if it was just paranoia and weird dreams. Still hasn't said anything though, doesn't know how he can even bring it up without stirring the pot in a way he really doesn't want to, especially when his door is always firmly locked when he comes to each morning. 

Wakes up this morning with the memory of lips pressing softly to his own and resolves that he's going to have to do something about these weird ass dreams before he loses any more of his mind. He gets dressed, though he's given up on his villain gear, sticking with casual clothes until he's allowed out of the house again, and heads to go get started on breakfast. Not expecting to nearly trip on a small brown box as he opens his door. Dabi pauses, nudges it with his toe, half expecting it to be some kind of prank. He would absolutely not put it past Toga to try to glitter bomb him-- but the box is light and inert against his socked foot. He picks it up and retreats over to the desk to get the scissors. 

When he gets it open he finds a pair of black rubber gloves inside. It's a gift that only serves to confuse him more. Isn't sure if it's an apology for being so weird the other night, or if Duster is just that level of inept that the whole situation came off so much creepier than he'd intended. 

Either way, his seams are a lot happier with him when he wears them as he's wiping down the counters after breakfast, and Duster looks a little self-satisfied as well. He doesn't thank the other man. An additional fee for being such a creep. 

///

Dabi is starting to think that there is a plot happening in the house, and paranoid or not, it definitely seems to be conspiring against him in particular. Because this is the second time in as many days that he's walked into a room and conversation has abruptly died. 

"What the fuck is going on?" Maybe a touch nastier than he usually is with them at this point, but he does not like how they all are suddenly pretending to be busy with their own things as he comes in to get started on dinner, the kitchen open to the living room. 

"Nothing!" Toga says too loud, too quick, too bright with a big smile full of fangs. Doesn't believe her for a second and she must know it. But she continues anyway, "What's for dinner?" 

"Fucking nothing unless you spill the beans, brat." 

"Oh, that's alright, Dabi." Compress says as he pushes off the couch, already undoing his cufflinks to roll his sleeves. "You've been doing so much of the domestic chores, why don't I handle dinner tonight?" 

And he really doesn't know what to do with the way that makes his chest kind of hurt a little. "Whatever, do what you want." Feels incredibly petulant when he turns his ass right back around and heads upstairs. Fine, if they don't want him to know whatever's going on, if they want to mock him for trying to find ways to occupy his time, then they can fend for their fucking selves. He drops onto his bed and figures he'll go down and eat after the others are finished. He hears Duster pass by his room and the door shut softly half an hour later. 

He wasn't even tired when he laid down, but in a matter of minutes his eyes are so heavy he couldn't keep them open if he wanted to. 

///

Cold hands on his body, cool lips against his neck, a weight settled over him. Dabi squirms in the dark, trying to shift away. Something in him knows that the sensations are wrong, that something is going on, but his mind is so thick and foggy he can't pay attention. The dream presses in closer. It pushes up his shirt to expose his chest and there are lips and fingers there too. Teasing little licks and tugs at his piercings that are making his skin go hotter. A lot hotter when there's pressure against his crotch. When after a few teasing strokes and squeezes, a hand is slipping into his pants. Oh. Dabi lets out a thin moan, forgetting the discomfort from before as he has good friction against his cock for the first time in ages. Can't even remember the last time he jacked off. Just knows that having a cool, firm touch against his overheated skin is sending his pleasure higher. The touches are firm and sure, they move against him and he lets himself be swept along by the sensations. His skin is nearly humming, everything feeling so much more intense in the blackness of his dream. Wonders if that's why he imagines the smell of petrichor again. 

"Shigaraki?" His tongue is so heavy, the word slurred so much that he barely thinks it can even count as a word in the first place. But the hand around his cock stills for a second, but then it's moving again, firmer, faster, and the lips are back at his neck. Makes everything feel so much better with an insistence that has him moaning and squirming again, his cock dripping against the phantom palm stroking him. Is teetering on the edge of his orgasm so soon. Is sent over the edge when teeth start at his neck, licking and sucking, and then biting hard enough that he's whimpering as that little flare of pain is enough. His orgasm feels so good as it washes over him. It leaves his muscles trembling softly as he settles again. As the teeth pull themselves from his skin and lips press another kiss there instead. 

The darkness feels much heavier again and the rest of his dream is blissfully empty. 

///

"Dabi?" Toga's voice coming through the door, accompanied by a knock. Fuck, he feels like he got hit by a train. Can't remember the last time he slept so hard. He starts to shift and is abruptly more awake than he was a moment ago because the inside of his sweatpants is soiled and sticky with old cum. His face burns and he glances at the door, overwhelmingly relieved that it's locked as she tries the handle gently.

He thinks he manages to sound annoyed instead of embarrassed when he snaps, "What, leech?" 

There's a slight pause, "We made breakfast, are you going to come down?" Breakfast? He glances over at the clock and blinks. Nine a.m. It was definitely barely after seven when he came in here last night. Doesn't know how that happened. Fuck, the others probably thought he was acting like even more of a mopey teenager than he was. 

"Yeah, I'll be down in a bit, brat." Anything to get her to leave so he can be mortified about the mess he's made of himself in private. Hears her footsteps going and gets out of bed, stripping out of his sweats and trying to clean up a bit with some tissues before he has to make his way to the bathroom. He thought he was in a coma during the embarrassing wet dream years, really didn't think he was going to have to deal with them now. Must have been more pent up than he thought to have such a weird dream. 

He's not really thinking that much when his hand moves to his neck, to where he remembers teeth. It's tender to the touch and the blood drains from his face. throws on clean clothes and heads to the bathroom. The mirror offers no insights, his skin too dark to see a bruise. Dabi tries to calm down. His door was locked, he'd unlocked it himself, heard it rattle soundly in place when Toga tried. Must have just slept weird and his dreams turned the ache into a sensation that went along with the rest of the dream. He tries to shake the uneasiness from his mind as he cleans up and gets ready for the day.

By the time he's made it downstairs, he can already hear the others all lively in the kitchen, food already on the table. 

"Yo, there you are, what happened to you last night, man?" Spinner greets from in front of the fridge, taking out the pitcher of orange juice. 

"I tried to knock last night and you didn't answer," Shigaraki says dryly, not even looking up from whatever game he's tapping away at on his phone. Shigaraki? Tries to shake himself quickly before heat can head to his face. Must have heard him through the door. Must have been why he'd thought of him--

"I put on a book," taken to listening to them while he's been working around the house with his headphones on. "And it literally bored me to sleep." Not really expecting a palpable release of tension to be banished from the room, but the others all seem to perk up, except Duster who looks completely nonplussed by the whole situation. 

"So you're not mad?" 

Definitely was last night, but that feels a million miles away now. "No, is that about to change abruptly?" 

"It depends on how you feel about puns, I guess," Spinner says, which instills no confidence in him as Toga rushes over to the table and pulls a flat box off of his chair, before bringing it back to him, nearly bouncing. 

"Open it!"

"We wanted to thank you for everything you've been doing for us over the past few weeks," Compress tells him more calmly as he hesitantly takes the box. Kind of wants to crawl out of his skin as he opens it under their watchful eyes. 

The ache in his chest goes so much sharper as he pulls the bundle of blue and black fabric from the box. An apron, messily died into a black and blue gradient, puffy paint messily declaring 'If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen!' on the front. Little blobs of blue paint frame the kanji on either side that he thinks are supposed to be flames. He doesn't say anything for an agonizingly long moment, doesn't know how to speak when his lungs feel like they've collapsed in on themselves. It takes him a second to look up and he finds that they're all watching him, an earnestness across their features that he thinks is going to tear him open at the seams. 

"You're all a bunch of fucking saps." But his voice is not as even as he'd like it to be. 

Says something about how well he's let them know him that none of them comment on it, instead letting him slip into his chair at the table and starting the usual chatter as they start to eat. They still leave to go out on their jobs, he's still on house arrest, but when he goes to clean up the mess from breakfast, he does it with his gloves and apron on. 

///

Things go back to normal, for everyone else. The others were apparently sneaking around the house and whispering because they were trying to figure out how to make the gift and were worried about him overhearing, but now that the cat is out of the bag, they're all back to normal. And Dabi is still having wet dreams like a horny teenager and he's absolutely fucking mortified about it. He's been sleeping so deeply, feeling hands all over him in the dark, stroking him and bringing him off, kisses pressed along his jaw, cheeks, and neck, fingers toying with his nipples, he feels so filthy every time he wakes up with cum staining the inside of his pajamas. Never had this happen before and what's worse is that every dream is full of indistinguishable heavy darkness and the smell of rain. Which means that he's dreaming about Shigaraki every time and he really doesn't know what to do about that. Only just started getting along with him for work things a few weeks ago, didn't think that would develop into anything else, but apparently, the other man had infected him with that kiss against his seams to have his subconscious so needy for him. 

Not that he's ever going to let Duster know that. 

The dreams become such a persistent and embarrassing routine over the next week that Dabi finally gives in and tries to cut them off. Fine, he's clearly more sexually frustrated than he thought he was, okay, so he deals with that. He honestly is more interested in going out and railing or getting railed than masturbating, but since he's still on lockdown, he settles for this. Digs out a packet of lube from the bottom of his duffle and gets on his bed. Tries to think about anything besides the dreams and his creepy boss, but the four-fingered touches keep coming to the forefront of his mind as he starts to stroke himself. By the time there are thin wisps of smoke coming out of his seams and he's dripping against his palm, Dabi has his knuckles pressed to his mouth, trying to muffle any sounds. Would be absolutely mortifying if, 

"Tomura," Shigaraki heard him gasping his name through the wall as Dabi stripes his hand with his cum. Mortifying enough as is. He cleans up, pulls his pajama bottoms back on, and hits the light, hoping that he's staved off the dreams for the night. If he can just avoid waking up in soiled sweats again, then he will accept this as a win. 

///

Hands on his body, rougher than before. They pull at his pajamas, never tugged at his clothes like this before, taking them off as lips move almost frantically across his jaw. Until they seal over his own. Definitely never done that before. Fingers on his jaw as soon as he's pulled away his sweats, pulling his mouth open so a tongue can push greedily inside. Dabi lets out a muffled sound, not sure what's happening why the dream is so much more than it usually is, jolting slightly when the hands go back to his thighs and spread them wide so that a solid weight can settle between them. Dabi feels more overwhelmed, more devoured by the touches than he has in any of the dreams before, the mouth barely leaving his long enough for him to breathe, and he starts to struggle, trying to escape the overwhelming sensations. It has the hands around his thighs tightening sharply, hard enough that it pulls at the staples there and sparks pain across his skin. 

He lets out a sharper gasp as his eyes open, trying to flinch away from the pressure. Shigaraki holds him still as he presses in to kiss him again. 

Dabi lets out a thin sound of shock as reality comes crashing in on him. Not wet dreams, not a dream, Shigaraki touching him, coming into his room-- Panic, fear, disgust, all spike so sharply in him as he reaches for his quirk, as he tries to get his sleep-heavy limbs coordinated enough to push him away, to light him on fire for touching him-- and his quirk doesn't react at all. His arms feel like noodles as he gets his hands against Shigaraki's chest. Can't put any force behind the movement. Tries to bite him, and it's barely a nip. 

Shigaraki pulls away after a moment, red eyes locking with his and dark with his lust. "There you are, firefly. Was hoping you would wake up for this." 

"G...et off," hard to speak too, fuck, everything feels heavy and hazy. Been sleeping so hard lately, fuck, not sleeping. Drugged. Doesn't know how Shigaraki has been doing it, but he must have been. Dabi is far too paranoid to sleep through someone sneaking into his room. 

"Oh sweetheart, why would I do that?" Dabi is choked with panic as he feels Shigaraki wrap four ungloved fingers around his half-hard cock, stroking him like he's already figured out every way to make him hot. Has, probably, in the week he's been molesting him in his sleep. "When you wanted me so badly earlier you couldn't even wait for me to come and see you, pretty boy." 

He tries to shake his head, tries to squirm away, can barely move at all. "S-stop," 

"Been waiting so long for you to show me that you were ready for more." Terror and anguish crash in on his chest when wet fingers start to rub against his hole, making him nearly whimper. 

"Don't!" Can't get as much force behind the word as he wants, but the more he tries to focus, the easier speech becomes. If he shouts--

"Shh, don't want the others to hear you, pretty thing." Duster sinks a finger inside of him and Dabi lets out a harsh pant. Can't move enough to fight him, can't use his quirk for some reason, if he has to scream for help then fine, anything to keep from being raped by his psychotic boss. The hand around his cock shifts to his thigh, Shigaraki starts to drum his fingers against the skin over his artery, a deliberate, threatening rhythm as his mouth trails along his cheek so he can murmur in his ear. "You wouldn't want them to come knocking and find you like this, would you? Pretty cock dripping and hole stretching so eagerly around my fingers, door locked, not even struggling? Do you really think they would believe you if you said you didn't want it?" He pushes in a second finger as he's speaking, rubbing and stretching, and then crooking-- Dabi lets out an involuntary moan, his eyes squeezing shut as Shigaraki rubs against his prostate and sends unwanted pleasure spilling out across his nerves. "When your body is so clearly desperate for my cock, sweetheart? Scream if you want, precious, happy to show off the cute sounds you always make when I'm touching you." Lips pressing softly and sweetly against his cheek as Dabi whimpers, words dying in his throat. The fingers keep tapping along his thigh. Prepared to kill or maim him if he tries anyway. 

He grits his teeth and swallows away any screams or further protests as Shigaraki keeps working him open. Gets him stretched and wet, his body forced pliant from whatever the other man dosed him with. And then he's shifting, pulling his cock free from his sleep pants and Dabi can't help it, lets out a weak sob. He doesn't think he's ever felt more helpless since he was a child as Shigaraki spreads lube over himself before resettling between his legs and pushing his thick head against his hole. Duster presses more soft kisses against his cheeks, under his eyes as the first drops of blood slip over his cheeks, shushing him gently. 

He cries harder as Shigaraki presses inside of his body. Wanted to be full like this a few hours ago, and his body keeps betraying him by feeling so good as he's stretched so full of Duster's cock. Bites as hard as he can at his lip, trying to chase away the pleasure dancing along his nerves, but Shigaraki must want it to feel good. Kisses him again and again, hands moving over his body, one returning to stroke his cock in time with his deliberate rolling thrusts that have him sinking in so deep and rubbing over his prostate each time he moves. A slow, deliberate, building rhythm that soaks his body in unwanted arousal even as his stomach curdles. Can't help the little breathless whimpers that keep sneaking out of him. 

"Perfect, baby, so pretty when you cry, feel so good," fucks him leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. "So glad you finally called for me, firefly. Didn't know how long I could keep waiting," more kisses, hands holding him a little tighter. "Told you that you would want it, can't wait to have you like this every night." 

Doesn't know if it's terror or shame that consumes him as Shigaraki keeps murmuring in his ear as he works them both steadily towards their climaxes. Just knows that by the time it's over he's been broken again in some new, fresh way he has no idea how to cope with. 

///

Dabi's not quite sure how it could even happen, but somehow he managed to pass out after that. Wakes up feeling foggy and a little sore, his gut hollow, and skin cleaner than it should be. And cuddled up against Shigaraki's chest, deadly hands petting softly over his skin and face pressed into his hair. Dabi tenses, reaching for his quirk--

"None of that, firefly." A burst of pain starts somewhere near his lower back, a spike of something numb and cold before agony creeps through him and he loses all of the breath in his lungs in a split second as he hears his skin crack. Dabi sharply drops his temperature again, doesn't dare try to reach for his flames again and the pain stops. The whole room is spinning as he realizes that Shigaraki just used Decay on him. Hands on his cheeks, forcing him to look up, and Dabi can't help the muted sound of terror that slips out of his lips to have him touching him there. Duster's eyes are warm, a soft smile on his lips, "Shh baby, it's alright, can you take a slow breath for me?"

Can he? Dabi forces himself to as Shigaraki rubs his thumb just under his eye, can feel four points of contact against his cheek. He manages to suck in a breath. 

"Good boy, out." He listens, trapped between deadly hands, until he's not hyperventilating anymore. But the pain still radiating out from his back is sharp and raw. "There." He holds very still as Shigaraki leans in and presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

"Shigaraki this is-- you can't do this," He doesn't know if he's ever heard his voice so thin and terrified. 

Shigaraki's voice has no right to be so soft as he pulls Dabi even closer until their foreheads are pressed together. "Why not? You came and found me, you decided to stay by my side, you've been so eager to show me how useful you can be. You've been practically begging for me to make you mine." One hand stays on his cheek, but the other wraps back around his waist, pulling their bodies even closer, and Dabi's panic spikes. "I was going to wait a little longer, until you came to me again, but last night, you were so needy, so desperate to be claimed, I couldn't leave you aching." Lips against his temple. "And now you don't have to worry about that again. Never going to be needy now that you're mine." 

"Shigaraki--" Words turning to ash in his throat as the hand trails down to his ass, swallowing hard and trembling, not sure if he's more terrified of the sting of Decay or if he's scared of him forcing his fingers inside dry. 

"Mine, Dabi, you understand that, don't you, sweetheart?" 

"Stop, Shig, please--" 

"Mine," Duster murmuring the words against his temple, "Because everyone knows you're with the League, because if you try to run, no one will help you. Because if you try to use your quirk," the hand moves up to his back again, pressing roughly enough on the wound that he cries out softly. "I'll have to use mine." Did it over one of his patches of scars, he realizes dizzily. Even if he told the others, if he tries to show them proof-- probably just looks like one of his staples tore loose. Anguish is building in his chest. "I don't want to do that. You're so beautiful, I don't want to have to punish you, but I will if you make me."

"Don't," Always thought Shigaraki was kind of creepy, but Dabi never expected to be scared of him. "Please, we can forget about this, I won't say anything--" Has had so many horrible things happen to him, what's one more? Can put this away, can hide it, and hold on until he finds an opportunity to burn Shigaraki out too. 

Shigaraki ignores him, "There are some rules that you'll have to follow now that you're mine, baby boy. And as long as you follow them," fingers digging into the wound again, making black spots burst across his vision, "I won't have to punish you again. Understand?" 

He really thinks he might vomit, but he forces himself to nod. 

"Good boy, we're going to go over them now," Shigaraki presses a soft kiss to his forehead. "On your hands and knees, baby." 

Dabi gives a weak sob even as he starts to move.

///

That was three weeks ago. Shigaraki made sure that he was settled into his ownership, made sure that he was used to his new routine and Dabi had a few more patches of Decay across his body from fighting at first. Stopped soon enough when he realized just how unhinged Shigaraki is, when he was made abundantly aware that if he kept struggling that he wouldn't even make it to a fight with his father. 

The others still come and go for their own jobs, Shigaraki still has him working on things he doesn't need to leave for, and... has him doing the housework. Mocked him for that before this started, but now it's become clear that's part of whatever delusion the other villain has constructed. That this is their home, not just a safe house, that Dabi is doing all of this as an act of service, of devotion. Makes him sick to his stomach because it kind of was before Shigaraki twisted it. Started cleaning just because he couldn't stand the mess, but then the others had been so surprised, so happy with it all. He'd started doing it for them. Thinks that's the only reason he doesn't hate it now as he keeps at it even when--

"Are you almost finished, baby?" Deadly hands catch him around his hips as Shigaraki's body presses along his spine. He doesn't even shiver anymore. Routine. 

"Yes, sir." Was cleaning up after prepping things for dinner. The others won't probably be back until late, just wanted to have things ready to throw in the oven once they came back. Routine to have Shigaraki peppering kisses along his neck, a hand slipping over his ass and making him all too aware of the plug keeping him ready to take the other man's cock whenever he wants him to. 

Routine to have him wake every morning, shower, prepare himself for the day, and then have to go into Shigaraki's room, get on his hands and knees, and let the other man open him up and slip the plug inside. Makes him wear it until they turn in for the night, only takes it out then. At first, he thought that would mean that Shigaraki would be using him every day, but he doesn't. Just wants the constant knowledge that he will again to sit on his nerves. He belongs to Duster, keeping him full of the plug is a reminder. 

But Sir does actually seem to want him right now. He can feel him pressing half-hard against him as his mouth moves over his skin, the other hand snaking around to slip under his apron and shirt to toy with the seam curving across his stomach. Dabi hates how quickly he's learned every place that can make him hot, how he always makes sure his need is so high against his will that by the time Sir's cock is buried inside of him, he can't do anything but sob and moan, his body betraying him when he rocks back to get more friction. He does his best not to squirm as his face starts to heat with his humiliation. 

"Please sir, just a few more minutes? I just want to keep things tidy for you." 

"Yeah, sweetheart?" But his mouth is more insistent against his neck. Sensitive there from his scars and none of his other partners ever touched him there because of them. Between that, the probing touches slowly drifting lower across his stomach, and Tomura grinding his cock against him, it has him close to trembling embarrassingly quickly as sour arousal starts to slip along his nerves. "Always being such a good girl," Dabi's humiliation spikes sharply, his face burning as he really does start to shake. Another thing of Shigaraki's. Likes to call him that, treat him like his little housewife. Makes Dabi disgusted with himself because it has his cock starting to harden. Worse because Duster chuckles against his skin, knows how hot that makes him too. "What if I want you to be a mess, precious?" 

The hand moves from his stomach up to his mouth and Dabi opens automatically. Knows that he's supposed to. Sir presses his fingers past his lips, has him lick at them. He's already wet, but he would rather have more than less when it comes to being split open around Sir's cock, so he licks at his cool skin until Tomura is satisfied. Is expecting the other man to make him bend over the island again and tug his sweats down so he can remove his plug and fuck him full, but instead his wet hand slips down his front, under his waistband. Dabi lets out a thready moan as he wraps his fingers insistently around his cock and starts to stroke and tease him. Doesn't know if this is better or worse, but Shigaraki doesn't always want to get off himself when he corners Dabi. Seems to take so much delight in making him 'feel good' like for every second of forced pleasure, Dabi isn't left sobbing just as long. Tomura's mouth goes back to his neck as he strokes him, his other hand slipping under his shirt to toy with the piercings through his nipples. Dabi tries to ignore everything else, just let it happen and then it will be over again. 

At least... at least Tomura's obsessions all just want him subservient, want him... enjoying himself if not happy. Doesn't seem to delight in any greater cruelty than making him cry. Doesn't seem to actually enjoy hurting him with his quirk when he misbehaves. It could be worse, it could be so much worse, he remembers how his mother used to not be able to walk, how her pale skin would be mottled with bruises over and over again until she finally got pregnant with Shoto. If he has to endure this, then he'd rather Shigaraki be obsessed with the idea of them as a happy couple rather than as a plaything to be used and ruined at his whim. 

"Tomura," Gasped out because he's starting to drip as the other man plays with his ladder, his mouth sucking a bruise no one will be able to see on the sensitive patch of skin just below his ear. 

"That's it, princess, show me how much you want it." 

Hard to make his shaking muscles comply, but he forces himself to start to move, fucking into Shigaraki's hand as his arousal creeps higher and higher. Will probably be over once he cums. Tomura will probably want him on his knees later before he takes out his plug. Tries to put that out of his mind. Friction is friction. 

He's so close when he hears the front door unlock and his veins are drenched with ice. He tries to twist away from Shigaraki. The others don't know about this. Doesn't want them to know. Doesn't know how he would tell them. What Shigaraki would do to them if they tried to stop what's happening? Duster is more than willing to use force to get what he wants, has let so many other members of the League be tossed aside if that would get him closer to his goals. Would he hurt them to keep him just like this?

Sir's hand moves faster over him, keeping his pleasure sharp as he hears Spinner enter the house with a loud, "Yo," in greeting. 

"If you track in mud," Dabi is almost proud of how little his voice shakes, how agitated he manages to sound instead of humiliated, "I'll kill you, gecko." Rain has been pattering against the roof all day. Must be soaked. He's dripping all over Tomura's hand. Dabi shoves his knuckles between his teeth to muffle any sounds as Duster twists at his piercings and sinks his teeth into the other side of his neck. Just hard enough. Learned that just the right spark of pain--

"Yeah, yeah, I'm taking off my boots." 

Dabi lets out a harsh pant and a muffled cry as Shigaraki rolls his hips against his, making his plug shift inside of him, and that does it. Spills all over his boxers and sweats, his legs wanting to drop out from under him. Can't let the unwanted pleasure of his orgasm shake through him for too long, realizes that he did exactly what Sir wanted and made a mess as he moves away from him, going over to wash his hands before helping him to put things away. Dabi is about to be absolutely mortified when their companion walks in before he realizes that his apron is hiding the wet spot from view. 

Spinner comes in and starts to give them an update about a potential group of recruits he's found and Dabi pretends to pay attention. Can't focus on anything but the cum drying against his skin. 

///

Dabi feels even more off than he has for the past few weeks by the time he gets up the next morning and makes his way to Shigaraki's room. He barely knocks, Duster always seems to know where he is, and at this point, he's absolutely positive that the whole house is bugged in some way or another, and Shigaraki's door is always unlocked for him in the morning anyway. He steps inside and abruptly realizes that Shigaraki's room must also be soundproof because Tomura is on the phone. He's still in his pajamas, his plug isn't waiting for him on the bed or nightstand, Shigaraki sitting at the desk tapping away at a tablet that Dabi hasn't seen before. 

"--press is extracting that information as we speak." Duster also has the box of quirk-erasing bullets on the table. "Once that's finished we'll be moving to a location closer to your main lab." Oh, talking to the monster maker. That's actually probably good news as far as their goals go. Means that they might be moving forward soon. Shigaraki glances up at him and waves him off. Never let any of them talk to the monster maker, clearly doesn't want him eavesdropping on this conversation. Dabi is more than happy to leave the room without the unwanted accessory. He starts back towards his room. None of the others are home this morning, as far as he's aware, and he might as well wait for Duster to finish his call before he starts on breakfast--

A recklessness surges through him. He gets dressed in his civilian clothes, doesn't dare try to grab his bag, doesn't take anything that would make it obvious that he's not coming back. If things are bugged then Shigaraki is likely to stop him if he sees even a trace of his intentions. He heads downstairs and writes a note, just says he's going to pick up a few things for later, even takes his phone with him. He'll ditch it on the street near the shop and hop a train. At least then if Duster can somehow track it, he might buy himself a little extra time. Dabi doesn't waste any more time and starts on his way. It's the first time he's been out of the house in... god, months? 

He makes his way as swiftly as he can in the direction he wants to go, but it's not raining for the first time in days, and even overcast, people are all over the streets, trying to soak up the fresh air while they can get it. It makes moving slow going and frustrating. Not going to be able to just slink along the main streets, too risking with so many people out and about. Going to have to take side streets and back alleys. Wouldn't normally be a problem but that slows his progress to a crawl. He was always planning on hopping a train in the seedier part of town but this is torture. Takes him an hour just to get into the commercial district. 

Really shouldn't be surprised that he's barely there when his phone chimes. Not surprising at all that it's Shigaraki's name that pops up with the alert. 

Duster: I didn't give you permission to leave. 

He takes a breath, tempted to ditch his phone right now and just sprint to the nearest train station. But Shigaraki didn't call him. Duster always calls them when he wants something. He doesn't like having anything written down in case one of them gets caught. Did he not call because he's already following him? Because Dabi would be able to tell he was moving and not in the house? Never seen Shigaraki text unless he was giving Kurogiri an extraction point--

The next text comes through with the name of the street he's on and Dabi's gut goes leaden. Should have known better. Duster never thought to lock him in the house, just told him to stay and he had because Dabi knew that getting away would be impossible. He takes a shaky breath and responds, 

Dabi: I just wanted to pick up something special for tonight. It's just going to be us, isn't it, sir?

Keeps going without a response. 

Dabi: I'm being careful, I promise I'll be home soon.

Duster: One hour, Dabi. 

Doesn't make an overt threat over the phone, but Dabi knows that he's in for hell if he doesn't make it on time. Has only been punished for small things, flinching away from his touch, trying to push him away, talking back. He doesn't want to know what Tomura will do to him if he's not perfect. 

His eyes scan the street a little franticly. Needs to find something to make his outing seem worth it, and he needs to do it quickly. 

///

It's honestly a miracle that it starts raining as he exits the grocery store. It means that people start to tuck themselves back inside and he's able to run and it just looks like he's trying to keep his shopping from getting too wet on his way to his destination. The rain is probably the only thing that keeps him from being late as he slips back into the house fifty-five minutes after Tomura's warning. He lets his quirk vent through his skin, his tension over the past almost-hour high enough that as soon as he loosens his hold on it, the water starts to evaporate from his clothes. He moves to get out of his boots and pauses at the array of shoes his are joining. 

"Dabi!" Toga's voice is bright from the living room. 

"Don't track in mud," Spinner mocks him from the same direction. He catches his breath, stops steaming, and hangs up his jacket before making his way in their direction with his bags. 

Sure enough, the rest of the League is there, Shigaraki included, all gathered around in the living room. Looks like someone brought back takeout for lunch. "Don't you all have jobs?" They weren't supposed to be here. His eyes flit to Duster's and Shigaraki is watching him, but doesn't say anything as he pivots and starts to head towards the kitchen. 

"Circumstances ended up bringing us all home a bit early." Compress remarks. 

"Aren't you happy to see us? Bah, he's never happy!" 

"What'd you get?" Toga asks as she bounces over from the living room to the island as he puts the bags down. Immediately reaches for the black bag that's clearly not from the grocery store and he reaches out and smacks her hand away reflexively, a few harmless sparks leaping off the back of his hand. 

"None of your business, leech." 

She sticks out her tongue as she moves to the other side of the island and he pulls the bag away and puts it beside the fridge so she can't grab for it again as he starts to unpack the groceries. 

"Sorry for not giving you more forewarning," Compress tells him more reasonably. 

Dabi can feel Shigaraki watching him. Knows that the longer that he waits to talk to him, the more trouble he'll be in. God, he's not even wearing his plug. He's going to be in so much trouble-- "You should be," Keeps turned fully towards the fridge and does his very best to not let his voice shake at all as he continues, "You're interrupting date night." Things go so quiet that he can hear every raindrop pattering against the window and then--

"Date night?!" 

"I told you! Shiggy's been smelling like love for months!" 

"There's no way-- I totally saw this coming!"

He feels his face heat, chances glancing at Duster while the others are getting so animated. Tomura is watching him, looks a little surprised himself, and then, his eyes go soft and warm. Maybe he is in love with him. Maybe whatever this fucked up thing he'd pushed on him is the only way he knew how to act on that. Doesn't exactly think that All For One or Kurogiri were teaching him any kind of sane form of affection. No excuse for what he's done, what Dabi knows he's going to keep making him do, but it's going to happen either way. An easier-to-look-at veneer is more for his sake than anything else. 

"You know it's been ages since we went to Giran's. What? We just saw him--" Spinner elbows Twice hard in his sternum to cut off his contradiction. 

"You're right dude, we should go over for poker night since we're all free for once." 

"Aw but--" Toga immediately whines, wanting to soak up any potential threads of romance like a sponge. 

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Jin why don't you give him a call?" Compress says pointedly. 

It's genuinely astounding how fast the others clear out, at that. And Dabi's gut turns at how... excited they are. Toga is beaming, hugs him and Shigaraki, Spinner gives Shig a thumbs up when he thinks Dabi won't notice. Happy for them, they make that abundantly clear before they're all gone again, willing to get soaked and head two districts over to go see Giran just to give them their privacy. Fuck, that would be so sweet of them if this were real. They're all gone in a matter of minutes and Dabi finishes putting the groceries away, sure that he's in for a punishment, and just waiting for it. 

He tries to keep his quirk from spiking his temperature with his panic when, as soon as it's quiet in the house again, Shigaraki is moving towards him with deliberate steps. Opens his mouth to apologize, to say anything as he turns to face him, anything to try and make what happens next not hurt as badly-- Dabi doesn't expect for Shigaraki to catch him around the waist and pull him in, pressing in for a kiss. He lets out a soft sound of surprise, but Shigaraki just takes that as an opportunity to lick deeply into his mouth, backing him against the edge of the counter and holding him there. Keeps kissing him like neither of them need to breathe. Until Dabi has his hands tangled in his hair and he's trying to gasp against his lips to just get a second of reprieve,

"Tomura," 

Duster kisses any other words out of his mouth. Keeps going until Dabi's dizzy and his body is a little too hot. Not sure if it's his quirk or not. Doesn't think Shigaraki has kissed him like this before. Dabi... isn't sure anyone has ever kissed him like this. Like they can't get enough of him, like the thought of a millimeter of space between them is unthinkable. When Shigaraki does finally pull away, Dabi is dazed and then gagged with his nerves when those red eyes are so warm and so close to him. Adoring. 

"I'm so proud of you, firefly." Knuckles running gently over his cheek. "I was beginning to think that you would never be ready to tell the others. Should have known you would surprise me. You always do." 

Doesn't even mention his leaving. Not even a whisper of threat in his tone that warns him of an oncoming punishment. Okay, that's good, okay. He can... play along. That's what he's been doing anyway, hasn't it? "Barely seen you all day, didn't want them to spoil tonight." 

"Yeah?" Tomura's tone is slightly amused as he presses a kiss to his cheek and along his jaw. "And what do you have planned for tonight, firefly?" 

Humiliation turns his gut into sour knots, but he makes himself mirror that sweet smile on the other man's face. "Can I surprise you? You've been," he tries to put whatever is left in him to protest away. He needs to stay alive long enough to fight his father, keeping the monster obsessed with him happy is the only way that's going to happen. And after that, it won't matter anymore. He just has to get there. Already planning on doing anything to make it. What's one more horror? "So good to me while I've been getting used to things. I want to show you how much I appreciate that." 

If anyone else had ever kissed him the way that Tomura does after hearing him say that, then Dabi thinks he might have doubted the end he'd been planning for himself. Because Shigaraki kisses him like he believes every drop of his affection is real. That this is love instead of something brutal and twisted. Dabi pretends for a second too, is breathless again by the time he's released. "Alright, precious. Do you need me to help with anything?" 

"No, sir. I just want to make things perfect for you, Tomura." Hesitates with bile in the back of his throat as his face heats with his shame. Duster sees his hesitation and waits, "You were busy this morning, will you," really thinks he's going to be sick but if he can avoid getting maimed--but he still can't bring himself to ask for the plug. "I want to be ready for after dinner." 

The next kiss has a little more heat in it as Shigaraki starts to steer him towards the stairs, "Of course, pretty boy, always happy to fill up your needy hole." 

"Thank you, sir." Hopes he mistakes the thinness in his voice for arousal as they start to move towards the stairs.

///

There's real work to do through the late afternoon, the others gave updates while they were here, the monster maker is interested in rekindling their working relationship. It's all good stuff for the League, movements towards their goals. But Dabi is only half paying attention. Is really using the bout of normalcy to meditate on everything that's going to happen as soon as they stop working. Feels like that time comes in minutes instead of hours, but eventually Dabi excuses himself to go get started on dinner. Shigaraki lets him go, eyes still way too affectionate as he does. He preps for the meal meticulously, making sure that everything is as perfect as he can get it, and loads the final dish into the oven to cook while he goes about tidying up the rest of the downstairs. 

The others came and went like a tornado which means that by the time he's finished cleaning it actually looks like he did something. But all too soon he's finished with that. Usually leaves prep dishes for after they've finished eating, but he isn't even sure they're going to get to eating tonight, certainly doesn't think he'll be able to delay the inevitable by claiming he needs to deal with them, so he might as well just take care of it all now. When everything is spotless and the smell of dinner is starting to waft around the house he stops dragging his feet and goes upstairs to get changed. 

The black bag wasn't from anywhere particularly scandalous, it's not like there was a fetish store right next to the grocer, but he did not know how he would explain the clothes he got from the modest boutique any more than the plug he's been wearing around. He thinks that he would almost rather pull his skin from his staples instead of slipping into the lace-edged navy panties and matching bra and the dress he'd managed to grab. It's probably a good thing that he's so thin and not too tall, or finding anything in the shop that would have fit him at all would have probably been an impossibility. As is, the A-line black cocktail dress probably wouldn't have fit his broader shoulders if he had picked anything with sleeves instead of straps, but the fabric is just thick enough to cover his bra and sit comfortably over his shoulders, trailing down into the fitted bodice and flared skirt. He looks at himself in the mirror and wants to puke. Doesn't know how Shigaraki could look at him and see a housewife, but this will likely not dissuade him from the notion. Whatever. As long as he doesn't say anything about it in front of the others. 

He forces himself to head back downstairs, giving a brief knock against Duster's door and calling, "Dinner should be ready in ten," before swiftly heading for the stairs. He puts his apron back on to keep his dress as tidy as everything else as he takes the chicken from the oven. Both it and the vegetables roasted alongside come out without any notable issues and he starts to plate things as he hears Tomura coming down the stairs. He is pulling the wine from the fridge when he comes into the room and doesn't force himself to acknowledge him a moment sooner than he has to. 

Really not expecting to find he's not the only one who's dressed up as Shigaraki picks up the plates off of the counter, wearing black dress pants and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled. Never seen him in anything besides his villain stuff and his sleepwear. Takes him a second of his brain trying to play catch up with how well this 'date night' excuse has gone to cover his escape attempt before he remembers, 

"You don't need to do that, sir. I'll get them--" 

"I know, precious, but your hands are already full. You've already done so much today, baby, come sit down." Pauses him to press a kiss to his cheek and Dabi picks up the wine glasses and follows him over to the table. Tomura pulls his chair out for him like he's a gentleman and not a monster. "You look beautiful, precious." 

He hates himself for how his face heats and how the blush doesn't feel as unhappy and humiliated as it did before. "Thank you, sir." 

Dinner is kind of a blur. He thought he would be playing the simpering housewife, and he is to a degree, but not as large of one as he thought. Shigaraki wants him docile and adoring, but he still wants him, and the conversation shifts easily from work to books he's been reading, to things the others have been getting up to, and all the like. It's calm. The food turned out well. Dabi forces himself to eat even though his stomach is still tight with his dread and finds himself wishing he could drink enough to numb what's going to happen when they're finished, but with how high his nerves are he's more likely just to burn off the alcohol and end up being hung over in half an hour. 

When they're finished eating, Dabi expects to be pushed along upstairs to get on his knees or roll over for the other villain, but Shigaraki helps him clear the table instead. He lets Dabi pull on his gloves and apron and start to wash the dishes, and to his surprise, Duster starts to dry them and put them away, the conversation continuing from the table. And for a split second, he feels it, sees it. The domesticity that could have been real if it had been allowed to bloom naturally. But it doesn't last long. Already mostly washed up before dinner, so soon enough Duster is putting away the last plate and Dabi is reluctantly taking off his apron and gloves again. Not a surprise when Shigaraki moves closer then, catching him with four fingers around his waist and he makes himself tilt his head to accept the kiss immediately. 

"Let's go upstairs, beautiful." 

"Okay," not like he really has a choice about that. 

Shigaraki laces most of their fingers together on one hand and he follows along up the stairs. Is in Duster's room all too soon, and that is a bit of a surprise. Unless he's putting in his plug, Shigaraki always fucks him in his room. Makes his sheets smell like sex that Dabi can't escape without doing laundry constantly, hasn't ever fucked him in his bed before. He shivers slightly when Duster's cool fingers catch the edge of his jaw. Still not used to the coolness of his skin, doesn't know if he ever will be. But he lets the other man kiss him, heat starting to build in it as he's pulled in even closer. 

He makes his hands work, reaching to start to undo the buttons on Tomura's shirt as the kiss deepens. He has to do this, has to survive. What's one more horror? Dabi forces himself to pretend. At least Shigaraki always wants it to feel good for both of them. At least he doesn't think he needs to be scared about being torn open and left bleeding on the sheets. He makes himself stop thinking. Anyone's hands on him, gently pushing him back until his legs hit the edge of the mattress. Someone else's shoulders he's pushing the fabric of their shirt over as he sinks onto the sheets. Doesn't work very well as he spreads his legs so that Duster can climb between them and it's a careful four-fingered touch that's just starting to push up the hem of his skirt. 

"So beautiful in this, baby girl. Didn't know you wanted to get dressed up like this." Mouth moving across his jaw to find the sensitive parts of his neck and send heat spilling out alongside his humiliation in his veins. 

"...I thought you would like it, sir." 

"I do, princess." Voice dripping with his affection and arousal as he finds the zipper running down his back. Dabi blushes hotly as he arches up, pressing more of their bodies together so that he can catch it and start to tug it down. Hates how good the coolness of Shigaraki's body feels against his heated skin as he does. Pulls the zipper low and then starts to slip the straps from his shoulders as he kisses along the same path his hands are traveling. "Do you want to dress like this for me again, sweetheart?" 

No. "Okay, but," his face is so hot as Duster pulls the bodice down his body and sees his bra. Red eyes darken and he can feel him hardening against his thigh. Mortifying how seeing that want, feeling it, is making his own start to spike nervously higher. "Just for you? I-- I don't want anyone else--" 

Tomura catches his lips in another more demanding kiss, swallows up his breath and words before he has him kicking away his dress as he settles back between his legs. Can't help the startled moan that slips out into the kiss as his hands move across his body and tease at his nipple piercings through the fabric cupping his chest. "That's fine, precious, I know you're shy. Can just be something for us." Eyes dragging over him and lingering half hard and already straining the soft fabric of his panties. "I'll have to get you some more things to wear. Will hardly be able to keep my hands off of you knowing you're dressed so cute under your other clothes." 

Lets that tangle up in equal parts arousal and misery as he realizes Tomura is going to keep him in panties as constantly as he keeps him full of his plug. But Sir is trying to make the arousal sit higher in his veins. Seems to want to work him up tonight and knows all of the places that he needs to touch to get that happening faster. Made worse by the constant press of the plug in him, and as his arousal grows, it makes his prostate more sensitive. Every little shift has it prodding against him more intensely and he can't help it when he squirms just wrong and it settles with a pressure firm enough to have a loud moan slipping from between his lips, his hips immediately jumping, wanting to get friction against his aching cock and back again against the plug. He whimpers when he feels how hard Tomura is too. 

"Ready for more, baby?" Lips pressing sweetly against his as fingers trail lower, until he's stroking him through his panties. Dabi's insides tighten unhappily, but that just puts more pressure inside of him, makes his nerves tingle with more of the unwanted pleasure. But he knows what he's supposed to say, 

"Please, sir?" Glad that Duster kisses him again, that he can pretend that he's just so needy for more that it's impatience that has a weak sob slipping from his lips as the sound of him undoing his belt is so loud in the quiet room. He doesn't have long before the last barrier between their skin is removed and he's trying to shift to get onto his hands and knees. Prefers that when Shigaraki does this. At least then he can hide his face against the pillows and sheets, can muffle some of his sobs, and save himself a little of the indignity he's being forced to endure. 

But Shigaraki stops him today, makes him settle with his head against the pillows, and his legs spread wide for him. One hand comes up to stroke his thumb across his cheek. Smears away one of the thin trickles of blood that have managed to sneak out from his eyes. "Stay like this, darling, I want to see you." The other hand moves to catch the base of his plug and Dabi wants to hide, wants to turn his face away as he lets out another moan as it drags along his slick, twitching walls as it's pulled free. "Always blush the prettiest pink when we make love." 

His whole body tenses before he can stop himself, his temperature spiking slightly with his distress. Doesn't know why that upsets him so much, already knew in the back of his mind that's what this was for Shigaraki. But hearing it makes a pain blossom inside of him that he doesn't know what to do with or even where it's come from. Hits him so hard that his distress is plain even through the delusion that Shigaraki has constructed for them apparently, because the next second he's pressing their foreheads together and shushing him gently. 

"It's alright, baby boy. I know you're not there yet. I can wait for you to be ready, as long as you know how much I love you, firefly." Tomura, thankfully, doesn't make him respond. Just gives him more sweet, soft kisses as he starts to press inside. Dabi throws himself into the way his nerves all lit up at being so much fuller, anything to distract him from the agony alight in his chest that he hadn't expected when he'd been resigning himself to the horrors he knew would be coming for him tonight. It's easier for him to suffuse his body with the shame that his reluctant pleasure gives him as Tomura moves inside of him, as his lips and hands move over his body than to accept anything else that is happening in his chest or head now. 

Tomura makes love to him, fucks him, uses him as a receptacle for his fantasies. Makes him fall apart again and again until he's barely conscious, and then pulls him close and keeps murmuring his affection against his hair and skin. It's a mercy when the blackness of sleep finally comes for him, even if that doesn't guarantee that Shigaraki won't use him again while his mind is quiet. 

///

When he wakes next it's to light pressing in against the curtains, blankets angled around his naked skin, and his face tucked tight against Duster's chest. Clinging to the other man in his sleep. His distress and disgust swell because the hands petting along his back are so light, not holding him here. Dabi tries to disentangle himself without getting dusted and startles when he feels a weight around his wrist and hears the tinkling sound of metal on metal. 

The suppression cuff is hooked around his left wrist when he pulls his hand into view. He tries automatically, stupidly, to bring his quirk to the surface of his skin, but it's like missing a step in the dark, leaves him fumbling and terrified. "Tomura?" 

Immediately gets a kiss pressed to the crown of his head before Duster catches his chained hand and laces most of their fingers together. "Last night was wonderful, sweetheart, I loved my surprise. But I told you that you had to stay put. You still deliberately disobeyed me." Brings their entwined knuckles to his lips so he can press a kiss there too. "So from now on you're going to come to my room when it's time for bed, and we're going to sleep like this until I can trust you to be good again." Never going to let him sleep in his own bed again, he knows instinctively. Going to keep him as close as possible until he's his docile, perfect pet, or at least until Dabi acts like it. 

"Yes, sir." His voice is barely his with how small it is. As far as punishments go, it could still be so much worse. Not like having a separate place to sleep ever protected him from Shigaraki in the first place. Doesn't put up any resistance when he catches his chin with two more fingers and tilts his head up to give him a kiss. 

"Good boy. Are you ready to get up, sweetheart? Not sure when the others will be home, want to make sure you're all ready for the day." 

///

They didn't need to rush, though Dabi was honestly more than happy to exchange the handcuff for the more familiar helplessness of his plug, because the others creep in around the mid-afternoon, poking their heads into the living room like they're afraid they're going to find them fucking on the island. Not that Shigaraki hasn't fucked him on the island before, but whatever. As soon as they see they're just sitting in the living room, finished with work stuff, and Dabi's just listening to one of his books while waiting for the laundry to finish as Duster taps away at one of his games, their trepidation quickly leaves and they pour into the room. 

"How was--" Spinner cuffs Toga across the back of her head and parries the immediate retaliation of one of her knives to cut off her question. 

"Welcome back," Duster says with some amusement. Dabi decides, for his sanity, he's going to ignore it all and pulls his headphones off of his ears. 

"You guys eat yet?" 

A round of negatives and he starts towards the kitchen. It's kind of a surprise that Compress follows him there as Toga definitely tries to get any details she can out of Shigaraki, and Twice and Spinner try to reign her in. At least Compress knows how to cook, and they start to make lunch in a mostly comfortable silence as the others grow more raucous in the room beyond. It's only when Twice has launched into a rambling story riddled with loud contradictions, that Mister catches his attention and speaks softly under the din. 

"Thank you for everything you've been doing, Dabi." 

He shrugs, "It's not a big deal, barely have anything to do while Duster has me on lockdown." Not expecting Compress to gently catch his elbow and he really hopes the leather of his gloves is thick enough that the older man doesn't feel his temperature spike with his fear. 

"It's a bigger deal than I think you know, Dabi." Still careful and soft, speaking quietly enough to not draw attention from the others even as his eyes stray back towards the living room. "I don't know what your family situation was like," and god fucking damn it, does Compress just seem to be finding every sore spot to poke at right now. Though thankfully he doesn't keep touching his arm when Dabi pulls away. "But it's clear that the others have never had a home before. I don't think any of them are even capable of telling you how much it means that you've been going out of your way to care for them, and the house, and to treat them like family. This fight will be long, drawn-out, and brutal, and for as much conviction as Shigaraki has, we already know that all of us may not survive to see the end of it. You showing them what it's like to have a home may be the only time they ever get to experience it at all." 

A lump swells in his throat. Toga snarking at Spinner. Twice is gesticulating wildly as he continues to tell his story to Shigaraki, his cheek resting against his knuckles and listening with a wry, amused affection that he never saw on him while they were in Kamino. A home. A family. Shigaraki raped me. The words are choking him. He could say them. He could turn to Compress right now and tell him, ask for help. Compress isn't like the others. He's older, more level-headed, definitely the most stable and mature. Compress would help if he thought he could. And Dabi would destroy the home the League has made here, found with each other. Sour every good memory they have in this house. Doesn't even want to think what Shigaraki will do in the wake of his delusion being broken. If he'll receive the brunt of his retaliation or if the League will. No. He swallows the lump, hides away the words. Locks them up deep inside where he's locked up his name. He's already going to burn one family to ashes. He's not going to do the same to the one he actually... likes. 

"God you're way too melodramatic, Mister." His voice sounds more level than he'd expected it to. Finishes getting things swiftly enough and then calls to the others, "Yo, food's ready."

They make their way into the kitchen, still lively as ever, Spinner's got some new game for them to play after they actually debrief. They get their food with scattered thanks and Dabi waits until most of them are headed towards the table before he catches Duster's sleeve between two fingers to pull him to a stop. Only manages to take a shaky little breath before he closes the space between them for the first time. Tomura stills, thinks he might have actually surprised the other man again. But then he curls a hand around the back of his neck and turns it softer and deeper than Dabi would have on his own. 

When he pulls back Dabi barely manages to breathe, "I love you." The words aren't for Shigaraki. Not now. Maybe someday he'll be able to pretend that they're real, pretend that he means them. But right now he says those words while looking at the monster who's taken more of him than he even thought he had left, and he whispers them for the friends who are whistling and mocking them from the other side of the room. He's only ever endured his suffering for hate before, and that left him half insane in his isolation before he found them. Maybe enduring this, knowing that they'll get to hold onto their happiness a little longer for each moment he does, will be easier with his love for them sitting in his chest and worn on the apron draped around his neck. 

Check out my pinned post for commission info!

#shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic commissions #rape tw #tw noncon #non con tw #tw rape #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #im not posting commissions to AO3 #so please drop a reply or ask if you end up liking it!

[buggaboizz]

Kwazii Ref Sheet +Character Details and Backstory!

Character Details!

Headshot:

He has a gold tooth, lol

Also, though he does wear an eye patch and has a scar there, he does in fact still have that eye. He wears it cause Calico Jack wore one.

Earrings:

I once read in someone else's headcannon that pirates would have a gold earring that said their home (like, in case they died away or smth) and I thought that was SO cool, so his say "Octopod" (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Fish Biscuit

I just needed something to fill the space, he does love fish biscuits tho

Bandana

It's a red bandana with gold stitching that once belonged to Calico Jack. It was given to Kwazii before Calico Jack left for the Amazon River. Ever since he has worn it on his tail as a piece of his long lost Grandfather.

Knife

It's the knife from his pirate days. It doesn't get much use nowdays, but he loves using it whenever he can.

Kwazii's Backstory

Kwazii's father left as soon as he was told she was pregnant. Luckily, Kwazii's mom wasn't alone in this as she had her dad, Calico Jack. Unfortunately, she didn't make it through child birth, so Calico Jack had to face this on his own.

Kwazii was raised mostly out on the sea, being a pirate and learning the ways of the water.

Kwazii was only 14 when Calico Jack set off for the Amazon River. He didn't want Kwazii coming as he knew it would be dangerous, but he promised he would come back to him. He left Kwazii with his bandanna, the only surviving piece of his grandfather.

Kwazii spent years searching for Calico Jack. Sailing across the seas, searching every dock and town, but he never found him. He did sometimes find Calico Jack's old crew, but they all said the same thing. They didn't know where he was or what happened to him, or even worse, that he was dead.

Kwazii was at a dock town when he got into a fight with some sailors. He was sitting in an alleyway, beaten and bruised, when someone walked up to him. Barnacles was in the Navy when his ship came to this place. He was just having a night on the town when he found Kwazii. Kwazii was just some beat up kid in an alley with no parents or family, so he took him in and fixed him up. Of course he couldn't stay long as he was in the Navy, but for that short moment in time, he was the family Kwazii needed.

Why did Kwazii Join The Octonauts?

Kwazii continued searching for Calico Jack, and continued getting the same results. Years past until at the age of 22 he found himself at a dock. He overheard some Seagulls talking about this group of people that went around the world's oceans and helped creatures in need. He learned more about these people, they were called The Octonauts.

He had decided that he had done enough searching, that he needed to make something of his life. He was wasting himself and his life just searching, so he decided to join. But, deep down inside, he still had hopes that maybe he'd find Calico Jack on his journeys with them.

When he had his interview, Captain Barnacles was out, so Dashi was doing it. They decided it would be good to have a pirate on the team. Who knows the sea better than a pirate? Plus, he was very passionate about it. So he was made a member of the team.

Later when Barnacles returned he went to meet their new recruit. They recognized each other as soon as they laid eyes on one another. It was a very happy reunion. Kwazii finally had the permanent family he needed.

Headcannons and Bits

-Kwazii plays the fiddle

-Him and Barnacles like to groom together

-Kwazii was named after his mother

-He LOVES getting pets and scratchies

-He sleeps in a hammock

-His fur coloring is based off a local stray cat named Pickles (they are very sweet)

-Kwazii uses A LOT of pirate slang

-Kwazii transitioned after Calico Jack had left, so he didn't know Kwazii was now a boy. But once he was back they did have a heart to heart talk about it (CJ loves and supports Kwazii no matter what) that was also the first time the team learned he was trans (only Peso knew, cause doctor things)

-You can point to ANY of his scars and he'll tell this crazy story of how he got it

-He LOVES snuggling

-He HATES licorice (but that's cannon)

#octonauts #art #octonauts fanart #redesign #kwazii #octonauts headcanon #headcanon #backstory #Kwazii has trauma #captain barnacles #cat #pirate #pirate things #calico jack

[marquisegallery]

An Angsty Bomb Rush Cyberfunk Headcanon (also spoilers): Despite what the cueball DOT EXE member says in game before trying to recruit him*, the death of the crew's leader affected him a lot more than he would like to admit.

* = (at least from the impression I got, he sounded very... not-bothered by it)

More rambling under the cut!

For ease of reading, I'll refer to the DOT EXE leader and cueball member with my headcanon names for them: 8-ball and Cueball respectively.

So basically, Cueball not coping well with 8-ball's death during the main game is what leads him to leave DOT EXE and be willing to join up with BRC in the post game. Maybe even throw in some particularly-not-handling-this-well in the form of Cueball outright making fun of 8-ball's death ("What a noob to get wasted like that LOL"). Which leads to the other DOT EXE members getting understandably mad at him for it, thus kicking him out.

(I would like to think they all can still reconcile later, hopefully after Cueball gets a better handle on his feelings and apologizes to the others for not coping with it very well. But I digress.)

Additionally, this got me thinking, "Wait, what if 8-ball survived that after all??" And I would think, no, Cueball and probably the other DOT EXE members would still be traumatized by what happened, at least to some degree.

I like to think that "full-cyber" people like DOT EXE (and by extension, anyone with a cyberhead) do have the option to "back up" their minds. If you can copy a mind from a flesh head into a cyberhead, like you would copying a large file from one computer to another, then you can probably make back-ups of them too.

But this is either very expensive, a very long process, or otherwise just very prohibitive for the general public to handle on their own. Only the richest people (or otherwise those who have the resources to set up and maintain their own equipment and servers for the back-ups) would be able to afford to do so regularly, if at all. Heck, maybe most people wouldn't bother, sort of like a philosophical or spiritual "I cheated death once already, so I think the next time I wouldn't mind if it's permanent" kind of way.

So if 8-ball ends up restored from a backup and a rebuilt body, there's still the possibility he might be missing, say, a month's worth of memories. Maybe even more than that, depending on how vigilant DOT EXE is about backing themselves up in case of emergencies.

Who knows, maybe that kind of thing ends up bothering Cueball way more than he would have expected. So again, he's not handling it well, maybe even this time making fun of 8-ball over what happened to his face, and then getting kicked out of the crew shortly after.

(Again, I would still like to imagine they all get to talk it over and reconcile later at least.)

Not to mention, the way I personally see it, someone being brought back to life doesn't erase the trauma of seeing them die in the first place, yeah? At worst, Cueball starts seeing 8-ball almost like a undead monster or something. He can't get the image of 8-ball just after getting shot out of his head, which is kinda what I was going for with the pic above, tbh.

Angst bonus, 8-ball refers to Cueball as his bro in game. I'm going to intentionally choose to interpret that as them being actual brothers, not just a bro-as-in-friend kind of way. Maximum angst, you see. 😈

#bomb rush cyberfunk #bomb rush cyberfunk headcanons #brc headcanons #bomb rush cyberfunk spoilers #brc spoilers #bomb rush cyberfunk dot exe #dot exe #brc dot exe #gather 'round and watch me be weird about headcanons I guess lol #also admittedly the drawing was meant to be a doodle with some gradients but I ended up cleaning it up more and adding more effects :u

[everydayyoulovemeless]

Fo4 Companions Favorite Settlements To Stay At

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » Slight spoilers in MacCready's

MacCready really likes the Finch Farm. It has always been a place of comfort for him. There's something about the family that lives there that almost reminds MacCready of the family he and his son are never likely to get. He hopes that one day when his son makes it to the Commonwealth that they could hang around the place for a little while longer, maybe even live there with them permanently.

Nick's always been fond of the Starlight Drive-In. Human Nick spent a lot of time in these types of theatres, so he's always felt weirdly connected to them. Nick also likes to stand behind the counter and serve drinks while all the other settlers gather around on the stools. It's just a naturally nostalgic place for him.

Cait has never been particularly excited to visit the settlements, they're all too open and the settlers are wayyy too in her face for her to have fun. That's why Hangman's Ally is the only one she ever agrees to go to. Not many settlers like living there, and it's almost invisible to the rest of the world.

Danse's favorite settlement to be at will always be the Boston Airport. There's nowhere he'd rather be than near his fellow soldiers—they're like his family.

Preston loves all the settlements you work on, but The Castle always wins. In his opinion, there's nothing better than the space, people, and artillery that the Castle holds. It's a natural place for any Minuteman to want to be in. He especially loves the history of it all. Looking back at old pre-war artifacts that have been scattered across the castle makes him feel so intrigued.

Codsworth loves sanctuary for sentimental reasons, but greygarden is a place he really feels at home. It's just him and all the other Mr. Handys, cleaning and gardening, his favorite things to do <3 (and sometimes they have really good gossip)

Piper spent a good while trying to solve the mystery in Jamaica Plain, and in doing so, set up her own little shack to call a temporary home. She made pretty good friends with the settlers who currently resided there and likes to visit every now and then to see the home she lived in for a week serve a different purpose.

Curie's very interested in all the ghost stories that surround the Croup Manor. She can't help but get excited at the thought of spending the night there or starting a little campfire just outside the place and going back and forth telling each other myths and legends.

Strong likes a lot of the settlements, but Sunshine Tidings Co-Op always makes him satisfied due to all the raider camps that are scattered nearby. Even Nuka-World's close. He can eat as many people as he wants down there, what more could he ask for?

Hancock loves supporting his fellow ghouls, so the Slog is a personal favorite of his. He always tries to help the group down there out as often as he can, especially security-wise. He wants to see this group prosper. It's refreshing to see others working toward the same goals as him.

Deacon, against Desdemona's wishes, turned the Taffington Boathouse into a frat house of sorts. He's always trying to recruit people but he's only managed to convince Tinker Tom to get on board. He's also the only one who knows what a frat house actually is so everyone just ignores him.

X6-88 hates them all. They're all too grimy for him to ever willingly be near. Although, if he had to pick, it'd be Covenant, only after he's killed everyone else in it. He'd much rather it be just the two of you in that semi-secure township. 

Dogmeat likes all of them, although Sanctuary and the Red Rocket Station are his favorites. Both settlements always hold such friendly people and tons of junk for him to play with!

Naturally, Old Longfellow prefers his cabin. He has the most detailed mental map of his little island—knows where all the traps are set and everything. Besides all his weapons and alcohol being stored there, why wouldn't it be his favorite?

Gage doesn't have much of an opinion on any of them, although, he thinks Hangman's Ally has the best cover. It doesn't matter to him though, everywhere's home if you can take it from the original residents.

#fo4 maccready #maccready #fo4 nick valentine #nick valentine #fo4 cait #paladin danse #fo4 danse #preston garvey #fo4 preston #fallout 4 #fo4 headcanons #fo4 fanfic #fo4 companions #fo4 fanfiction #codsworth #fo4 codsworth #piper wright #fo4 piper #fo4 hancock #fo4 deacon #fo4 x6 88 #x6 88 #fo4 strong #fo4 sole survivor #fo4 curie #dogmeat #fo4 old longfellow #old longfellow #porter gage #fo4 gage

[indeedcaptain]

Spirktober 2023, day 23: Married

HELLO HERE IS THE LAST CHAPTER OF ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS! Fluff, kisses, schmoop, weddings, etc.

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

“James Kirk, you are not getting married in sweatpants.” Winona stood, aghast and agape, in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Mom, we’re on shore leave. I didn’t even bring a uniform home, let alone a dress uniform. And they’re joggers.” 

“Absolutely not. I forbid it. Spock’s parents are going to think that you were raised in a barn.” 

“This is a farm! You did raise me in a barn!” 

Winona threw up her hands and turned her back on him in disgust, peering out through the window over the sink to see how George and Lieutenant Sulu were faring with the barn in question. Nyota sidled in beside him and watched James and his mother square off in the kitchen. 

“What did you intend to wear, Spock?” 

Spock crossed his arms over his chest. James’s t-shirt stretched across his shoulders. “My uniform.” 

She side-eyed him. “You brought your uniform on shore leave?”

“It is logical to be prepared,” he said stiffly. He did not add on the fact that he had not even considered the idea that he would have confessed to his feelings for the captain, let alone acted on, consummated, and committed permanently to those feelings, and brought the uniform in the case that he had to return to San Francisco earlier than planned to avoid discussing them at all. 

“That won’t do,” she said. Louder, she said, “Winona, I’ll take them out to get suits.”

“Nyota, as far as I can tell, you are the only sensible person on the whole crew,” Winona said, and James rolled his eyes. 

Nyota recruited McCoy to assist, shepherded James and Spock into the backseat of George’s truck, and drove them into downtown Riverside with only minimal grumbling from James.

☆☆☆

Suit shopping was a more complicated affair than Spock had imagined. He had not known that there was a human tradition about not seeing one’s future spouse in their wedding garments ahead of time, so Nyota had sent James and McCoy to one store before dragging them to another. He had allowed James to steer much of the planning process, as there had not been very much to plan, and now that he was being asked for his opinion he found that he did not know what he wanted. 

The events of the day, week, month had deviated so drastically from what he could have possibly imagined that he was having a difficult time imagining what came next. He could picture James in a suit easily: dashing, handsome, smiling, an image from several diplomatic missions that he had carefully ensconced in his memory. But he was unable to picture himself in the same attire. Despite the time they had spent over the past month talking, clearly communicating expectations and desires and plans for their shared future, he could not imagine himself in a human suit at the end of the aisle. Somewhere, deep in his mind, the remnant echoes of T’Pring’s disdain and her cruelty during the kal-if-fee iced over his joy.

He very much wanted to be married. He was less sure of how to want to have a wedding.

After the third suit Nyota brought to him evoked no reaction, she took the garment from his hands, laid it down, and sat down next to him. 

“This isn’t working for you,” she said. She sat close enough that he could feel the warmth of her arm against his. 

“I have never before thought about a wedding,” he said. “A human wedding was never an option for me.” She looped her arm through his and clasped her hands together. 

“What are you looking forward to most?” She asked. 

“Our bonding,” he said immediately. This answer he knew. “James has agreed to a mating bond--- I believe he desires it as much as I do. That is what I look forward to most.”

“That sounds beautiful, Spock,” she said quietly, and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Wait!” She pulled out her padd and searched for something. “I have a better idea. No suits.” She stood abruptly, hung the abandoned suit on the return rack and strode from the store. Spock followed her, bemused, as she called a thank-you to the clerk and flung the door open. 

Nyota followed the map on her padd until they arrived at a small, brick-fronted building. There was no discernable signage, but Nyota pushed the door open. There was a melodic tinkle from a bell above, and they stepped into a dusty room. 

There was only one person in the entirety of the store, and they sat on a stool behind the register, shrouded in the dim light. It wasn’t until Spock and Nyota approached and the shopkeeper turned that Spock was able to see that they were not human either, but Andorian. 

The woman smiled, and as she sat up straighter her antennae became more apparent. “Welcome to Secondhand Silks,” she said. Her face was lined with wrinkles, and her hands were dappled with dark blue age spots. “Is there anything I can help you find?” 

“Yes,” Nyota said confidently. “Anything from Vulcan?” The woman smiled, eyes and antennae flicking to Spock. “Of course,” she said, and she led them deeper into the store. 

☆☆☆

It was not logical to be nervous, especially in front of Nyota, and yet he felt a twinge of something in his abdomen as he dressed out of the changing room to face her and the mirror. 

Her eyes went wide. “You look beautiful,” she whispered, and she came to stand next to him as he beheld himself in the mirror. 

This garment was right, in a way that the suits had not been. It was traditionally Vulcan, in a way that the suits were not. It was deep green, and the front was beaded, and the collar was asymmetrical and created a line from his neck down the left side of his torso. Tails flowed down his thighs and draped against the trousers, which were the same deep green. It fit him as if it had been made for him.

“I would like this,” he said. “This is right.” 

“Yes,” Nyota said affectionately. “It is.” 

The Andorian woman wrapped it up and Nyota purchased it for him (“it’s a wedding gift, Spock, don’t fight me on this”) and by the time they met McCoy and James back at the truck the sense of overwhelm that had threatened him earlier was gone.  

☆☆☆

Apparently humans were not supposed to see each other the night before their weddings either, which Spock did not appreciate, but he had acquiesced when his mother and Winona teamed up to assert that it was important. For the first time since his first night in Iowa he laid in the bed in the guest room by himself. 

So much had changed since that first night. He remembered the way James had almost reached for him, and had not--- they had not been in the habit of touching each other then. He had been so prepared to keep his hands clasped behind his back for the entirety of the trip, to call James ‘captain’ the entire time, in order to maintain both his professional decorum and the privacy that had hidden his true feelings from James. And all of those shields were gone now. He was allowed to touch James and be touched, to accept the human comforts he had never expected to be offered, and he had discovered an entirely new side of James in the process: one that would allow himself to be cared for by Spock, held and cherished. 

He would accept one night apart in exchange for the promise of sharing a bed with James, wherever they may go, for the rest of their lives. 

☆☆☆

Some feat of engineering had been accomplished in the barn by George and Montgomery Scott, and when Spock walked in with his parents it was as though he had walked into a cloud of warmth and light. String lights swung between the ceiling beams. Amanda and Sarek walked one step ahead of him, hands gently in the ozh’esta, and he followed them: the Vulcan tradition symbolizing how a parent leads their child on a path of logic. As they entered, his friends stood to look at them, and over Sarek and Amanda’s shoulders he could see their smiles. 

They progressed down the aisle. His parents stepped to the side as they reached the front row of the folding chairs that George and Winona had hustled from somewhere, and he bent to accept a kiss on the cheek from his mother before continuing forward to stand beneath the chuppah that his mother had brought from Vulcan. It was the same one that she had used at her own wedding, and it had crossed over thousands and thousands of lightyears over thirty years to be hung in James’s parents’ barn today. Spock thought it was fitting for two such as they, who would spend more time on a spaceship together than they did on any single planet, to be married beneath such a spacefaring fabric.

Then James entered, and all other thoughts vanished. He wore a suit, and he was beautiful. He was accompanied by his parents, and he was beautiful. There was nothing else in the room but James, and the warm golden glow of his eyes and his smile and his hair, and he was beautiful. He glanced around at their friends, and he smiled at them as he saw them all, and then his gaze landed on Spock, waiting for him.

There you are, his eyes said. I’ve been looking for you. He walked with his parents down the aisle, and he kissed his mother and shook his father’s hand and kissed him too before depositing them in the chairs next to Spock’s own parents, and then he turned to meet Spock beneath the chuppah. 

“James,” Spock said quietly, taking his hand. “You are exquisite.”

“You look amazing,” James breathed. “I can’t believe we’re here.” Spock pulled him closer until they were chest-to-chest and wrapped one arm around James’s waist. 

“Are you ready, ashayam?” 

“Hell yes,” James said, and Spock heard a few of their friends laugh at his characteristic eagerness. Spock intertwined their fingers. 

“Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. We meet at the appointed place,” Spock said, and lifted his hand to James’s face. 

James breathed in deeply. “Parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched. I await you.” He tilted his head, allowing Spock access to his psi-points. 

Pressing slightly into James’s mind, Spock said, “I would bond with thee, ever, and always touching and touched.”

He felt James’s mental agreement even before James whispered the words back to him, and then they were both gone. 

Golden and midnight blue, twisting together, shimmering into a thousand million sparks until they were both standing before each other, no longer in the barn or on Earth but somewhere for just them. James looked around them. “It’s not usually so clear,” he said in wonder. 

“No,” Spock said, watching him, feeling James’s excitement through the air between them. “This is deeper than we have gone before.” 

“Dirty,” James said conversationally, and took Spock’s hand.  

“Are you prepared, James?” Spock asked. 

“I think I’ve been ready for this for a long time. I knew from the moment we met that you were important to me, and every day since then has just confirmed what I already knew.” He squeezed Spock’s hand. “Spock, I’m a better man when you are with me. Even before this trip, I would have done anything to keep you at my side. All I want for the rest of my life is for us to explore together.”

Spock squeezed his hand in return. “James, you have shown me the best of humanity, even when I could not accept it in myself. It was serving alongside you that I finally understood where I fit in the universe. There was and is nothing that could take me from you.”

James’s eyes shone with warmth and tears. “Bond us, Spock.” 

Spock raised his other hand to James’s face and placed his fingers on his psi points. “This may be uncomfortable,” he said. “Psi-null individuals frequently find deeper psychic connection to be difficult at first.” 

“I trust you,” James said, and he kept his eyes on Spock’s as Spock said, “Ever and always---” 

But he did not have time to finish the sentence before James’s mind was opening to accept him. The warmth of James, his optimism and joy, his love and affection and faith, flooded outwards, basking him in sunlight. 

“Touching and touched,” James said, and he raised a hand to Spock’s psi-points, mirroring the gesture on Spock’s face. As his fingers brushed the psi-points, the world around them exploded in light.

☆☆☆

For one second, Spock became aware of himself and James, still pressed against each other. His hands were both on James’s face, and as their friends and family watched James lifted his hand to Spock’s cheekbone. 

“Touching and touched,” he said, and his fingers found Spock’s psi-points. Psychic energy cracked between them, sparking. Then Spock’s hands, still around James’s face, began to glow. The glow, green like Vulcan blood, grew from his hands and flowed down his forearms to his shoulders, up to his own face and James’s hand. When they were both covered in the green glimmer, Spock felt it erupt between them: a permanent mental bond, deeper than anything he had ever felt. It was deeper than the childhood bond he had shared with T’Pring; it dove deeper into his mind than any healer or elder ever had; and it was anchored deeper within him than even his familial bonds with his parents. James’s eyes widened, reflecting the glow of the psychic energy. 

In Spock’s mind he felt every memory they shared flowing down the bond: the first day they met on the Enterprise, every away mission, every time they had put their bodies in between the other’s and danger, every vigil sat in Medbay, chess matches and meals, late nights of paperwork and condolence letters and a thousand of James’s easy smiles. Friends, brothers in arms, lovers. 

“T’hy’la,” Spock whispered, and James surged forward to kiss him. Under the chuppah, in front of their friends and family, James held his face in both his hands and kissed him as boldly as if they had been alone. Spock slid his hands into James’s hair and around his waist and kissed him back as the people who loved them most cheered. 

☆☆☆

The Kirk family farmhouse had never been so full of laughter and merriment as it was on that day. James remained glued to Spock’s side, with a glass of champagne in one hand and Spock’s hand in the other, basking in the celebration. Joanna hung off his waist and had demanded an introduction to Spock, and she had offered a terrible but endearing imitation of the ta’al and said that she liked his eyebrows.  

“I tried to teach her on the train ride up,” McCoy said gruffly, watching his daughter wind through the legs of the adults but somehow always manage to locate James. “Fine motor skills are still developing.” 

“Her attempt is deeply appreciated, doctor,” Spock said. “It was considerate of you.” 

“Yeah, well,” McCoy said. Spock waited, but the rest of the sentence was not forthcoming. He stood next to Spock and watched Nyota and Christine charm James’s parents and catch up with Captain Pike.

“Funny about them too,” he said eventually. “I told Christine not to pine after the bridge crew, Lord knows the lot of you are heartbreakers, but maybe I was wrong.” He glanced at Spock sideways. “Maybe I was wrong about all of you.” 

At another point, Captain Pike and Number One sidled up to Spock, and Una tapped her glass against his. 

“So this was the time-sensitive assignment Kirk pulled you off to when you bailed on me? Being wooed?” 

“It seems so, captain,” Spock said. “My apologies. I had intended to assist with your cadets, but James has a habit of deconstructing my schedules.” 

“No apologies necessary,” Pike said. He and Spock watched James, who had begrudgingly been separated from Spock to have a conversation with Sarek and Amanda across the room. Sarek had yet to indicate his approval or disapproval, but Amanda was beaming at him, taking both his hands in her own. “I can’t think of a single person who would be better for you, Spock. You balance each other.” 

“Thank you, captain,” Spock said, and he meant it. 

Over the course of the evening, their friends floated through the house and out to taxis that would take them to their hotels in Riverside proper. Winona had offered Sam’s bedroom to McCoy and his daughter with only a few tears shed, and McCoy had embraced her for it. Amanda and Sarek stayed in the guest bedroom, Spock rejoined James in his bedroom, and Nyota and Christine had been installed on the pullout couch in the living room. 

James sprawled on his bed, watching Spock carefully remove and fold his wedding garments. “I have one more thing for you,” he said, and he reached into the top drawer of his bedside table. 

“Is it more lubricant? That bottle must be nearly empty,” Spock said, placing his wedding garments onto the dresser and coming to lay beside James on the bed. James rolled his eyes at him and pulled out a small, black, velvet box. 

“Har, har,” he said. “No, it’s something else. I wasn’t sure, culturally, if this would work for you, but once I thought about it… I had to ask.” 

“I would appreciate anything you give me, James,” Spock said, but he beheld the small box curiously. “What is it?” 

James opened the box and held it out to him. Within were two metal bands. They were a silver-blue--- Spock estimated tritanium--- with a different metal inset in the middle that he could not identify by sight. 

“Wedding bands,” Spock said softly. “You want--- to display that we are married?” 

“Only if that’s alright with you,” James said. He pulled one out, with a slightly smaller diameter than the other. “If you want it, this is for you. Do Vulcans wear wedding rings?” 

“Vulcans do not,” Spock said, and before the flash of disappointment that he felt though the bond could appear on James’s face, he continued, “But I do.” He offered his hand to James, whose smile was as soft and loving as anything Spock had ever seen. James took his hand and slid the ring onto Spock’s finger. 

“I ordered these after the first night you slept in my bed,” James said quietly, running his finger over the band on Spock’s. “They’re tritanium--- like the Enterprise--- and meteorite. I always thought meteorites were a little romantic… that even though so much of space is just a vacuum, a tiny piece of something landed on a little planet somewhere and was noticed.” He looked up at Spock before looking down again, blushing slightly. “Like us. Even though we’re from different planets, we still found each other.” 

“James,” Spock said softly, and reached out to brush his other hand across his cheek. “Do not be embarrassed. I would be honored to wear your ring.” He pulled the other band out of the box and lifted James’s hand.

James’s breath caught in his throat as Spock slid the ring onto his finger. “You ordered these the night after we slept together for the first time?” Spock asked.

“Yes,” James whispered, and he threaded their fingers together so their rings clicked together gently. Spock pulled James to him and caught his lips with his own before pulling James down to lay on his chest. James laid his hand over Spock’s ribs, his ring laying over his heartbeat. 

“I still can’t believe you agreed to come with me,” James sighed after a few minutes, and drummed his fingers against Spock’s ribs. “You might have stayed in San Francisco and I would still be pining after you and all of this would be a distant dream.” 

“I never would have stayed,” Spock said. “The decision was made as soon as I saw you standing at my door. James, I would have followed you wherever you had asked.”

James propped himself up on his elbow, eyes searching Spock’s face. “Honestly?” 

“Honestly, captain,” Spock said. James laid back down. Spock pressed a kiss to the top of James’s head, just as James had to him on the first night they made love. 

“You haven’t called me captain in weeks,” James said. “I almost missed it.” 

“I will call you captain as frequently as you would like,” Spock said. “Captain.” 

“It’s our wedding day, Spock. Call me ‘husband’ or something.” 

“As you wish, Captain Husband.” 

As James’s laughter rumbled against his chest, James’s soft hair brushing the underside of his jaw, and James’s hand with its wedding band resting possessively against his heart, Spock closed his eyes. As he fell asleep with his bondmate in his arms and a wedding ring on his finger, he thought that he was going to be forever grateful for every plan of his that James had ever disrupted, because every disruption had led him here. 

#spock #spirk #kirk #tos #my writing #spirktober2023 #spirktober #k/s #kirk/spock #kirk/spock fan fic #k/s fan fic #space husbands #star trek fan fiction

[loveofdetail]

@sigilmint oh friend this comment made me so 😍

Short version: As far as in-game actions, really all you need to do is initiate his romance, betray the grove, roll to convince him to stay in the party, then continue his romance, roleplaying the situation however you want from there.

Long Version beneath the cut—this has a lot more to do with how my own out-of-game decisionmaking got me here, and how I interpret the macro-arc of my party/character.

My first bg3 campaign is a co-op game where we are mostly trying to do Good Route Things. Gale has been stuck in camp permanently because I was dead set on playing a wizard myself.

So I started my solo campaign with the vague notion of doing a Full On Evil Run. My character, Vuei, is a disillusioned and broken oathbreaker paladin. I was planning to romance Minthara because if she's only available in the evil route, might as well go all the way.

But I recruited Gale and immediately had a category 5 "Ohhh I can't not fuck him" moment.

Now, at the time I thought that betraying the grove would straight-up lock you out of his romance. Tbh I'm not sure why I thought this? But somehow that was the impression I'd gotten, so, I promptly jettisoned all my Evil Plans in favor under Get Under Gale's Robe ASAP.

I got all the way into Act 2 like this. Defeated and looted the whole goblin camp, made it to Last Light, all that.

Then one night I wanted to play but I was feeling too mentally wiped to make real progress and real decisions, so instead I loaded a save from right before saving the grove. I figured I would see what it was like, get to hear some Minthara dialogue, that would be that.

Instead I got one of the most immersive emotional rollercoasters a video game has ever given me.

I failed some rolls to deceive Minthara and started spinning a narrative where Vuei, who has recently lost everything and everyone they thought they valued, just... panics. Doesn't see a way out other than bending to Minthara's demands. Goes reflexively numb and nihilistic because apparently this is just the way the world works.

From there, the entire sequence from the combat itself, to Karlach (who was in my party) leaving me, to the reactions of various people at the party... it was just Moment after Heartwrenching Moment. I'm leaving some details out here because they really deserve to be experienced first-hand but at the end I was like. Staring at my ceiling processing all the implications for the characters.

Gale specifically delivers one of the Verbal Smackdowns of All Time to you afterward. You have to persuade him to stay.

But he does stay.

This was the point when I started getting the feeling that maybe his romance flag was still active? And the implications of THAT... my mind just ran wild with them. Who was this guy who would bitterly, righteously tell you that you're making him worse, then give you a second chance, secretly thinking maybe he's Not Actually So Different, then fall in love—ACTUAL love, not just 'I don't deserve better' resignation—with you despite it all?

I never reloaded my original save.

The game doesn't actually let you have any additional decompress-and-discuss dialogue after persuading him to stay, but in my imagination what I filled in was: a really painful heart to heart where Gale and Vuei agree Never Again. Where they are both at a loss as to how they can even go on from this. But they have to. So they will. At least they know the other feels just as guilty and ashamed as themself, and that counts for something.

It also made me think, why the pure black and white Evil Run/Good Run dichotomy? I really, REALLY latched on to the story structure of a party that makes One Huge Ruinous Fuckup at the very beginning that colors all their further attempts to Do Better, and that's how I RP'd going into act 2.

For instance: we couldn't rescue the tieflings but maybe we can extend the same grace to Minthara that we hope might be extended to ourselves.

In terms of game mechanics I actually took quite a hit here. Karlach took a bunch of great gear with her when she left (this may not happen in the current patch? unsure) and I decided my characters would not have it in them to go back to the goblin camp just to completionistly gobble up loot.

It felt like penance. The very beginning of the tangible consequences of the thing my character will regret most, for the rest of her life.

I felt closer to my remaining companions. Bound by atrocity. The last ones standing. By the gods it shouldn't have happened this way but after that we will NEVER doubt that we have each other's backs. I put Astarion in my party for the first time ever and this is when I began warming up to him as a character. Eventually when Shadowheart killed the Nightsong, it was like Vuei (and Gale) deeply disapproved but couldn't bear to cast judgement. The only thing to do is be there for her and hope she does better next time. We are all just hoping we'll do better next time.

The morning after our lowest point, we trudged resignedly to Rosymorn monastery. The stark, sublime grandeur of the landscape was a slap in the face. It was wrong that such beauty could still exist as though the world was indifferent to what we'd just done. It was wrong that we could literally climb above the ruins we made and in the distance they're just... another part of a breathtaking view. But here we are, standing on this cliff, somehow still able to feel wonder.

The new dawn imagery was both a lash and balm.

We carry on. We find a way.

OH ALSO I gave Gale Volo's eye and continued making Alterations to him as things progressed. Being vague because that's quite a bit further in but yeah, Gale Undergoing Changes is another big part of my vision here. It's All Connected.

#no joke the mountain pass will now probably always be my favorite location in the game #because i can't divorce it from the rawness of the very very beginning of a redemption(?) arc #i was at my lowest point and still saw beauty and that made it The Most Beautiful #bg3 #bg3 meta #kinda? #gale dekarios #i am shutting my eyes and deciding to stop editing this. it's a ramble but it is what it is #ppl say things like 'did we play the same game?' but if you RP hard enough to really CAN access secret galaxy brain timelines :P

[nostalgiachan]

I totally didn't realize I didn't post these guys after they were done almost a year ago, but we're back on the 100 OC Challenge train!

As always, new designs up top, old below, and character info below the cut.

#61: Sirno Idea: Queen of the BONE ZONE Story: Dragon Tavern

Sirno is easily the least developed of the Seekers, and quite possibly the least developed out of all of the Dragon Tavern characters period. Seriously, I never got her beyond "She's a Bone Lord," even with the 2016 redesigns. Luckily, the Idea Machine got chugging while I was working on this sketch.

Growing up, Sirno was a military brat; both of her parents were enlisted in the Deadlands military, and her father became a recruiter after his first tour through the swamps. Thanks to them moving between garrisons every few years, Sirno was frequently a new kid in town, so it was difficult for her to make friends and nearly impossible to keep them. On top of that, thanks to her permanent new-kid status, her offbeat looks, her imposing height even at a young age and her quiet nature, she was frequently the target of bullying; she particularly remembers kids either asking her out or trying to set up their friends with her as a joke. Eventually, once she reached adolescence, if anyone approached and asked her to "say something funny" or if she wanted to go to the ball that weekend, she'd cut the bullshit herself and whip the asker's ass.

Of course, all this did was turn the direct bullying into exclusion and get her kicked out of more than a few academies. But at the time, it made her feel a little better that she could kick the ass of anyone and anything.

By the time she was sixteen, she decided school was for losers and she wanted to join the military like her parents; she enlisted and soon went on a few tours through the swamps. About five years into service, it was determined she'd be a perfect candidate for Bone Lord training.

Bone Lords pilot ten-or-so foot tall constructs of bone and alchemically-treated gore, their bodies ensconced in the torso and connected to the construct via magical wire. This connection allows the pilot to control the construct through conscious thought alone, as though they are one organism.

Sirno took to the program with flying colors; when she was first interred into her armor, she felt as though she had finally become what she was always meant to be. When she wore her armor, she was no longer some lanky, awkward walking target for people to start shit with, a fragile creature of blood and meat and feeling; she was a towering, terrifying monstrosity, and any dumb enough not to treat her with the respect she was due would feel her might. The more time she spent in the suit, the more she wished she never had to take it off.

When the search for the Champions kicked into high gear, she jumped at the opportunity to see the world outside of the Deadlands and show new people she was not to be fucked with.

#62: Vermire Idea: Transing Your Gender Through Superior Alchemy™ Story: Dragon Tavern

19yo Nost wanted her own version of Gren from Cowboy Bebop and had no notion of transgender issues, so cut her a little slack on this one.

Vermire is the first of the Seekers of the Steel Empire, and was built around the fact that I accidentally set his gender to "female" when I meant to make him "male". Vermire is a sanctioned alchemist - in short, he can craft potions without getting branded as a heretic and put to the sword because what he's doing is definitely not magic, it's science. One day, he was trying to craft a potion to improve his eyesight so that he wouldn't need glasses anymore. He succeeded, but there was a serious side effect - the potion acted as a massive dose of estrogen and gave him curves. He was already a fairly androgynous looking man, and he didn't want to have to explain his downstairs mix-up, so he started presenting as sexually ambiguous, female leaning.

Over the years, as the Dragon Tavern characters sat in the box, I kept revisiting his character; in his first major revision, I got rid of the silly "comedic gender bender" aspects and turned his story into more of a commentary on male privilege and sexism. Vermire adopted a female presentation to protect himself while he searched for a cure, taking on the role of his own sister as his sudden development of a more feminine form would very likely be seen as heretical magic. However, while the quality of his alchemical work didn't change, the perception from his peers absolutely did; colleagues were far more harsh to his "sister", critiquing "her" work far more than they ever did his and overall treating "her" with much less respect.

Between his work being severely hamstringed by his sexist colleagues and the danger of his physical situation being potentially found out, Vermire was quite eager to take up the hunt for the Champions of the Steel Empire; it would be much easier to hide his body with heavy coats and field wear, and besides that, even in the rare chance some foreigner was to see his body, they probably wouldn't try to immediately execute him for it...right?

Overall, the gender story will need quite a bit more workshopping, especially to make it interesting, but not exploitative.

#63: Maer Idea: a very big steam powered giraffe what smokes The Steamest Punk Story: Dragon Tavern

Maer only slightly ranks above Sirno as least developed of the Seekers, and the worst part is I didn't have the big flash of inspiration to retool him like I did her. Thus, poor Maer's stuck in development hell at the moment.

What I do know about the fellow is he's a Steam Crafter, an engineer that builds steam-powered machinery. Steamworks are seen as the more reliable scientific field in the Steel Empire compared to Vermire's sanctioned alchemy and the "mad science" of the Outcast Engineers, being responsible for the Empire's rapid industrialization. In recent years, the reach of steam power has expanded to the military, and a subsect of crafters have gone to work building various walking suits and automata in the hopes of supplementing - and possibly replacing - the likes of the Cavaliers as defenders of the homeland.

Maer is part of that subsect, having been inspired to take up the sciences after learning about Paz's success as a young teen, though he wasn't fast-tracked to academy like she was. When he learns about the reward for Paz's capture, though he's still enrolled at the time, he packs up his primary automaton, Twiggy, and heads into the field, hoping to meet her for the first time and learn what the hell she's been up to.

And unfortunately, that's all I know about the man at present. We'll get there.

#NINTENDO64: Terinelle Idea: Badass old knight woman Story: Dragon Tavern

Terinelle, much like Arlein, was the subject of a massive overhaul back when I first redesigned these characters back in 2017; she was originally a much younger woman, like most of the other characters. But during the redesigns, I became much more interested in representing older characters, and in particular, older women; badass old men, after all, are pretty common, but badass old women, much less so. She also underwent an ethnic update, being changed from vague "anime" ethnicity to specifically inspired by Armenian women.

Terinelle is a Cavalier, the classic knight in shining armor atop a noble steed. When she first began her career fifty years prior, she was the lone knighted woman, fighting doubly hard as her compatriots to rise in the ranks; now, she stands among the upper echelon, and has inspired other young women to join the knighthood. Unfortunately, even now, she and those who joined in her wake still face discrimination from their male peers and superiors, and on top of that, younger knights tend to question her competency due to her age.

Of course, those brazen enough to attempt to duel her to increase their prestige or "put her in her place" quickly learn their lessons. See, among Cavaliers, rather than displaying their rank and prestige through medals or armor decoration, they display it through their hair; a Cavalier only cuts their hair if they are defeated in battle, with the cut-off locks becoming a trophy for the winner.

Terinelle has not cut her hair in fifty years.

After putting her boots to another whippersnapper's throat and it still doing little to shut up her detractors, Terinelle had finally had enough of Imperial society. She had pretty much everything she could possibly want - a rich estate, a loving husband, children she adored and a litter of grandchildren on the way - but she wanted to seek glory in new lands. So, when the call went out for people to seek out the Champions of the Steel Empire, she jumped at the opportunity. Sure, she would miss her family dearly, but surely, she wouldn't be gone for that long. There were only so many places those kids could be, right?

#my art #100 oc challenge #original characters #dragon tavern #fantasy art #traditional art #lore dump

[plague-of-insomnia]

WIP Wednesday: Bard’s Book of Murder

So the murder arc is by far my fave arc, and I recently rewatched it for the 10000th time. It’s the arc that made me fall for Bard, and I find him especially interesting as this is the first time we really get some insight into his character, and his relationship with Sebastian.

I’ve always wanted to write a “behind the scenes,” Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead kind of fic, showing the evolution of Seb and Bard’s relationship in canon, from when he’s recruited until the “here to collect our wages.”

But that’s a huge project, and I don’t have the spoons for it, but maybe I’ll tackle just the murder arc to start?

Here’s a tiny snippet:

Bard yawned as he tromped down the hallway of the servant’s quarters, the gloom barely parting in front of his candle as he went. Although nightmares didn’t grip him nearly as ruthlessly as they once did, every so often the horrors of his old life would tear him from sleep. Memories of holding more than one comrade in his arms as they breathed their last; of awakening, once again the sole survivor on yet another stained battlefield, like some kind of curse.

Even as cold and ruthless a boss as Sebastian could be, on occasion he’d taken pity on Bard and ordered him to get some rest—always with the assurance that it was only bc he couldn’t afford to have Bard making unnecessary mistakes bc of fatigue and sleep deprivation—but as the years passed, Bard had suspected that was the closest thing to affection the bastard could offer.

At least he’d managed enough sleep it was more like waking extra early than not sleeping at all, though he was still surprised when he made it to the basement floor to find Sebastian seated at the table they used for meals, several different books open before him, along with a quill, ink and a lamp.

As always, the man was never caught off guard, and Bard had barely made it a few more steps before Sebastian was slipping off his reading glasses and glancing over at the blond chef, his unusual eyes as unreadable as ever.

Without checking his watch, as if he knew the time instinctively, he murmured, “You’ve risen exceptionally early today.”

Bard leaned against the door jamb that separated the kitchen from the hall, rolling himself a cigarette. “And you’re either up awfully late, or early. One or the other. Even by your standards. Sometimes, I’d bet my last dollar you don’t sleep at all.”

Sebastian smiled. “Perhaps I don’t,” he said, not a hint of fatigue in his beautiful face, his distractingly long lashes fluttering. (Yeah, Bard had noticed how extraordinarily pretty Sebastian was. Certainly the best looking man Bard had ever seen, and one who had made Bard—ahem—painfully certain his occasional nocturnal habits with Terry has been more than a way to pass the long, lonely nights. Not that he’d ever done more than imagine Sebastian’s beautiful pale flesh beneath him as he satisfied himself with his hand before bed.)

Bard choked on a laugh as he finished sealing his cigarette with his tongue. “You may be as perfect and capable as they come, but in the end, you’re just as human as the rest of us.”

“Interesting coming from the so-called ‘Immortal Soldier,’” Sebastian hummed, clearly amused.

This was something that had changed between them. That first year, Bard had wondered what the hell he’d been thinking, moving halfway around the world to work as a fancy nobleman’s servant. The hours were shit, his boss had a stick permanently wedged in his ass, and he had far too much time to think. And remember shit better left buried.

But things began to shift.

Bard realized he and Sebastian, as opposite as they seemed, were actually not so different after all.

In the wee hours, after the others went to bed, or before they rose the next morning, Sebastian and Bard settled into a comfortable relationship, swapping barbs or working in companionable silence.

Although Bard still messed up his kitchen duties more than he liked to openly admit, when not giving him a stern talking to, Sebastian was a man of fewer words than Bard had originally assumed based on how longwinded he could be during one of his lectures. He was exceptionally clever—certainly smarter and better educated than Bard, by far—and he often wondered what kind of life Sebastian had come from to end up a servant. Even if he was no ordinary one, and his employer no mere spoiled noble. But in the years since arriving, no matter how many late night cups of whisky they shared or how many of the barriers between them fell away, not once had Sebastian ever spoken about his past in more than the vaguest of generalizations.

Even as tight lipped as Bard could be about his own tragedies, he’d still mentioned his wife and son during at least one of those quiet, late nights together.

I hope you enjoyed! Please Reblog, and let me know if you’d like more of this! 💕

#黒執事 #black butler #sebastian michaelis #bardroy #sebard #book of murder #wip wednesday #poi writes #bard #snippet

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

Have you noted how when it comes to Mai & Ty Lee, Azula has no qualms letting them know that in the long run, their voice doesn't matter. She think she knows what's better for them. However when it's Zuko, she also does think she knows what's better for him, that she knows what he wants deep inside, but it matters to her that this choice is not foisted upon him. She wants him to have freedom of choice, she wants the loyalty of the prince of the FN on its side/her brother on her side GENUINELY, not compulsorily. So like, does that mean Azula is classist towards her own friends because they're not royalty? Does she, in a way, have more respect for Zuko than she has for her friends?

While Zuko out-ranking both Mai and Ty Lee in Azula's mind because, instead of just being a noble like them, he is a royal like her, is indeed one of the reasons why she allowed him to choose, but it's not the only one (and even then we have moments like Azula not punishing Mai for explicitly disobeying her in The Drill, something very few people would get away with, nobility/royalty or not).

For starters, while at first Mai and Ty Lee didn't want to fully cut Azula out of their lives, they wanted to be able to decide how close she could get to them, how much influence she'd have over their lives - they wanted her as their friend, not as the princess they MUST obey. Mai and Ty Lee wanted to be able to leave, even if not permanently. Meanwhile, Zuko wanted to come back. Even after all the horrible things their family put him through, he still wanted to be part of it.

Of course Azula, the control-freak with severe abandonment issues, is going to offer a choice to the person that actively wants to return to their toxic cycle, not to the ones that are trying to break it. Of course she'll be more leanient with the person that is trying to be in her life and more hostile to the ones that are, in her eyes, pushing her away. And we see in the last few episodes that, when Zuko regreted his choice, any sympathy, compassion and respect she ever had for him was suppressed and she went for the "I'm going to celebrate becoming an only child" approach because Azula can't handle rejection.

There's also her loyalty to the Fire Nation, and more importantly to Ozai, to take into account as well. When she's reunited with Mai and Ty Lee in book 2, she's not demanding them to simply keep her company, she's recruiting them for a mission because she genuinely believes they're far more competent for the job than anyone else, and she's right. Ozai is canonically the person Azula loves the most in the whole world, and she takes her role as princess, and possible future Fire Lord, VERY seriously. She might care about her friends in her own way, but they're gonna have to understand that what they want is simply not as as important to her as what Ozai wants and what Azula believes is best for the Fire Nation - and if they want to turn their backs on her when she's doing right their country and Fire Lord, then they are forgetting their place and need to be reminded of it, and in fact should be thankful that is "allowing them to correct their behavior" instead of going labelling them as traitors right away.

And then there's Zuko. The banished prince that is likely never going to be allowed home again. The one that went against Azula for the Avatar - but not to help the Avatar. His intention is not to harm the Fire Nation, but to prove his loyalty to it. Sure, he's doing it by stealing a big opportunity from his sister and princess, but I think we all know Azula would do the same. By doing this he is also showing that he is no longer the "weak" child that cowered before a fight, because let's face it, Azula might understand what the pain of desperately trying to live up to impossible standards feels like, but she is yet to realize that Ozai is in the wrong for imposing said standards on them.

Zuko is not a disobedient ally/subordinate, he's an enemy that is showing he can be VERY useful, provided he is given what he wants. He also cannot and will not be intimidated - literally everytime Azula is posing any kind of threat to him during the entirity of book 2, Zuko ALWAYS goes straight into fight mode. That boy has, through sheer stubborness instead of cunning, put himself in a position in which Azula won't achieve anything by threatening him, and would actually have more to gain by working with him instead of against him.

Not to mention: making a mutually benefitial deal with an enemy and thus bringing them over to your side is a smart move and thus something to be proud of. Offering your enemy deal, having them reject it, and then you crush them like you would have done if the deal had never been offered is still pretty badass and means that, while you didn't win anything new, you didn't lose something you already had either. But failing to control your subordinates? That's humiliating because it proves you're not as scary/powerful as you thought.

And, at last, we have a fact that the lead writer, Aaron Ehasz, made explicit when he was talking about a possible Azula redemption if Avatar had gotten a fourth season: Zuko would have been the one guiding Azula through it because he's the person she loves the most after Ozai.

OF COURSE he gets perks Mai and Ty Lee didn't get. They matter to her, but not as much as Zuko. They're her friends, but he's her family. Considering the seeds for that redemption arc (that we unfortunatelly never got to see be even properly planned in detail), it makes sense that the people she had a more unequal relationship with would be the ones to turn away from her for their own sake, leading to her hitting rock bottom, while the one that was more on her level would eventually be the one that would have stood by her side after it all - giving her a second chance in book 4 in a direct parallel to second chance she gave him in book 2.

#azula meta #fire siblings #fire siblings meta

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Lost and Found

John Stoker hasn’t set foot in the Amarillo hunter agency since he walked out of it twenty-four years ago with his brother’s death a fresh, bleeding wound in his heart.

He’s come home to Amarillo itself since, for Dia de los Muertos at the ranch and visiting extended family in town, but he’s never once gone back inside the agency. Too many memories haunt its halls. Ones he doesn’t care to relive.

The memories at the ranch are the good ones.

He wishes he’d never seen Gabe in these halls.

Halls that, despite nearly a quarter-century, have barely changed.

The track lighting has been replaced with something that buzzes less and is probably more energy-efficient, the godawful 70s pinky-beige paint is now a more natural desert tan, and the floor tiles are now a faux-slate instead of a Jackson Pollock freckling. 

But the same awards cases line the walls, just with a few sections added on in a slightly paler wood framing. The names on the dark-burgundy-painted metal doors with their chicken-wire glass windows are still almost word for word the ones John recalls, although he’s pretty sure this is a new generation. He can only see a few where the white block letters of a different last name are visible under a layer of the burgundy. 

And the wall of the fallen is still visible down the side hall. Unfortunately, that has changed. Plenty. 

He walks past it, brushing his fingers against the plaque that has his brother’s name and date of death. A small replica of his Bowie knife is attached to the top of it, and his Saint Marcellus medal has been wound around it by its chain. A photo of him is set into the corner, probably his graduation because his hair is still just pushing the limits of regulation length. He’d grown it out as soon as he was allowed to on active duty. John rubs the worn medal between his fingers, then walks to the door at the end of the hall, that leads to the training room. 

He thinks there was some logic in putting the wall of the fallen on the way there. Reminds new recruits exactly what they’ve signed on for, and why they need to be at their very best in training.

For decades, he’d thought the last piece of Gabe he was ever going to get was going to be that plaque. 

And then Carmen called him from Amarillo’s holding station and informed him he has a niece he’d never met.

She’s done some sketchy things, apparently, and it was a while before he technically got permission to visit her, since she’d been in the middle of Amarillo’s takedown of the Morris Avengers, but the minute he was told it was possible, he’d packed a bag and hopped the first flight he could catch. 

The gym is still very much the same. Battered bleachers with a few more layers of flaking paint, worn mats, and the smell of sweat that’s probably permanently soaked into the cinderblock walls. Chanted steps of basic moves from an incoming class. And then the sparring ring, blocked off by sagging ropes, where students get one-on-one experience with seasoned instructors.

Judging by the tagboard on the wall, with name badges hung up under time slots, the person he’s here for is in that ring right now.

John moves past a row of students practicing a curved under-the-arm stake strike, to get a better view of the practice ring. He’s just in time to see one of the people in it take the other down with a smooth leg sweep.

The smaller of the two women pushes herself up off the mat, short dark braid swinging, a few strands escaping and falling around her face. She raises her fists again and steps back into the circle outlined in peeling tape.

This time, the instructor takes advantage of her student’s newfound focus on her feet and lunges for her less-guarded face. The blow staggers her back, but the student doesn’t go down. She stumbles, then catches herself, still inside the lines, and comes back with a one-two punch to the arm and shoulder that even John is impressed with. The instructor takes a couple steps back, and apparently it’s the lead her student was waiting for. She moves in with a striking blow, headed for the ribs, but overshoots it. The instructor whirls her around, pinning the student’s back to her chest, and leans her head toward the student’s neck. A fake bite, reminding her of the price of failure.

And then the student's head snaps back, hard, slamming bone into bone. The instructor loses her grip and stumbles back, out of the circle, catching herself on the ropes. The student turns to her with a feral grin, more hair tumbling into her eyes, face flushed.

“Not bad, Aguirre.” The instructor rubs her forehead above her eye. “Mistakes are inevitable. How you recover from them is what matters.” She looks up at the clock on the wall. “Okay, you’re out. Masterson, you’re up. Show me what you got.”

Sierra Aguirre steps out of the ring, pulling her stretched-out Amarillo Academy t-shirt up over the back of her head and grabbing a blue water bottle off a stool next to the ropes. She pops the top open with her teeth and takes a long drink.

The move is so Gabe it hurts. Momma was always scolding him about using his teeth to open anything and everything. 

“What are you looking at?” Sierra snaps suddenly. John hadn’t realized he was probably doing the creepy stare. “That was a fluke. I’ve been acing practicals when it matters.”

“I…uh…I wasn’t here to talk to you about your performance. I’m John Stoker. I’m your uncle.”

Her face changes, not to anything resembling open friendship, but at least to something that makes him feel a little less likely to be the next victim of her aggressive streak. “Carmen said to expect you at the house at breakfast. I got an off campus pass for the morning.” 

“Didn’t want to wait.” John shrugs. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” There’s a formal detachment in her voice, but that’s to be expected. The only family member she’s had much contact with is Carmen, and that’s because Carmen has been brokering the deal that kept her out of an off the books black site for vigilantes.

“Well, I gotta get back to class. I’ll see you when they let us out.” Sierra turns toward the mat with the group practice session, and John backs out of the room. 

He’s learned to be patient with people. Give them the time they need to open up to him. It would have been nice to have learned that before Maira dropped Robin on him, but better late than never.

He’s waiting with his car at the front gates when Sierra walks out, her hair now out of the braid, wet, and hanging down her back, and a loose academy sweatshirt having replaced the abused tee. She must have a nervous habit of twisting her hands into the front of her shirts. 

“Sweet ride. 67 Fastback with the performance mod package and dual exhausts.” She slides a hand over the paint as she steps in. “Cherry metal flake was a good choice.” 

“Nice to have someone in here who appreciates her finer qualities,” John says with a chuckle.

“Didn’t they tell you I was street racing before I was a vigilante?” Sierra asks. “I’ve been working on cars like this since I was old enough to hold wrenches. Learned from my mom.”

That would explain how Gabe met her. He’d worked a lot of contacts in the underground racing scene, gathering intel on vampire infiltration of it. 

At least cars gives them something non-volatile to talk about on the way to the ranch. John’s still trying to gauge how Sierra feels about hunters. Kira was perfectly happy to fold into an existing structure when her actions put her on Chimera’s radar, but she’d become a vigilante before there was much information, if any, about hunters existing as an organized force. These days, and especially in hunter towns like Amarillo, becoming a vigilante is more likely to be a deliberate rejection of hunter values and ideals. Vigilantes used to be a more mixed bag. Some were just out to kill as many vamps as possible, but a lot were people who’d been hurt or had family members who had been impacted by vampires, and were looking for justice the only way they knew how.

But Sierra had Gabe’s journals. She had to have known there was a legal way to fight the things that killed him. And chose not to take it until she was backed into a corner with nowhere left to run. 

It’s not like John can judge too harshly. He’d been so fixated on blaming the fae for what happened that night he almost got Robin killed. He’s made mistakes there’s no undoing too. But he can’t be sure if Sierra’s all in with this, or just going along with the training and recruitment because it’s better than the alternative. 

Hopefully, getting to know her family will help with that. 

John parks outside the ranch house. Carmen’s car is already here, the Barracuda’s blue paint gleaming in the first hints of morning light. She’s waiting on the porch with Momma and Dad, the three of them leaning on the railing.

Sierra steps out of the car without any apparent hesitation or nervousness. John is getting the feeling she’s not the sort to second-guess much, or to spend a lot of time on the what-ifs. He was always that person in their family, which is why he has the record for bones broken, but Gabe was always the people person. The kid who wandered off in supermarkets because he was saying hi to a total stranger. 

Sierra walks up the steps and leans against a porch post herself. “So you guys are my grandparents, huh?”

Momma and Dad both look a little misty-eyed, but they’re also clearly reading the coolness in the situation that has nothing to do with the desert morning. “Yes. I’m Sonora Morgan-Stoker, and this is my husband Stephen,” Momma says, holding out a hand the way should would to any new cadet she was meeting. Technically, both she and Dad are retired, but Dad still works with the communications staff in an advisory role, and Momma speaks at graduations and teaches some of the advanced undercover classes. 

“It’s nice to meet you both.” Sierra takes the offered hand. Dad clearly wants to hug her, but is holding back. 

It’s odd, seeing her here, with their family. John used to think about what it would have been like if Gabe had had kids, but he’d always pictured some curly-headed big-eyed boy like his little brother, scooting around with toy cars in the sandbox, pounding herbs in Abuela Rosa’s pestle, sitting on Momma’s lap and watching with rapt attention while Dad read Dracula every October. 

The truth was, he’d wished Gabe had a kid because he’d wanted to get a piece of his brother back. To make up for the mistakes he’d made the last time around.

Sierra isn’t his brother. Not even close. 

But she is family. 

“I’m starving, are we going to eat?” Carmen asks, breaking the awkward tension. She’s always been good at that. The diplomatic one. 

“First things first,” Momma says, stepping off the porch. “Sierra, there’s something in the barn I think you need to see.”

John’s heart hits his shoes and then soars right back up.

The car.

The black-tarp-covered hulk that’s been in the back of the barn for almost twenty-five years. 

No one has touched it since Gabe died. 

He follows the rest of his family to the barn, helping Dad pull open the big doors, walking past the listing hayrake and the old corn sheller to the corner.

Momma pulls the light string hanging overhead, and a single bare bulb clicks on, picking out the dust-coated tarped outline.

“I’ve heard you’re a pretty good mechanic and driver,” Momma says. “I think your dad would have wanted you to have this.” 

Carmen grabs a corner of the tarp with her good hand and pulls it down to the floor.

The car’s in rough shape. The barn cats have kept mice out of the wires, but all four tires are flat and dry-rotted, the paint is dusty despite the tarp cover, and one of the windows is cracked from where someone backing some equipment in forgot the auger was still sticking out.

Sierra freezes.

“How did a 1967 Yenko Camaro get all the way out here?”

Momma smiles, a genuine, unforced one this time. “Your dad found it in a wrecker’s lot. Someone from the east coast took his fancy new car for a Route 66 road trip and then got in a pileup. He junked the car rather than fix it, and Gabe got it for a song.”

“Holy shit. This is Tony Romano’s dream car but he said he’d need to win the lottery to even think about affording one.” She wipes dust off the headlights and runs a finger gently over the silver paint. “You hung onto it all this time?”

John remembers spending hours with Gabe out here, spraying body panels over the cardboard box their new refrigerator had come in that year. The car had come to them bright white, but Gabe had opted for something a little less, in his words, ‘totally boring’. 

“Wasn’t ours to sell,” Carmen says. 

Sierra looks up, and just for a moment, the warm light in her eyes is pure Gabe.

“You guys really are one close family, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And we want you to be part of it,” Stephen says. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to know you a lot sooner. But we’d all love to make up for lost time.”

“You know I’m not him, right? I’m never going to be him.” John wonders how often Sierra’s gotten hit with the whole family legacy thing at Amarillo. It’s kind of inevitable. She’s probably already tired of being expected to live up to her dad’s name, and assumed his family would have the same mindset. She wasn’t wrong about me at least. And it might take some time to separate the real her from what I always imagined Gabe’s kids would be. But we’ll get there.

“Oh honey, if any family knows what it means to be held to expectations based on who you’re related to, it’s us,” Momma says. “We’re not asking you to be.”

“I think I can live with that.” Sierra crouches down and inspects the lugnuts. “I do wish I could have met him. He had a hell of a taste in cars.”

Just for a second, John could swear there’s an electric crackle in the barn, like the air before a storm, and the ghost of a hand resting on his shoulder.

Maybe Gabe has never been so far away, after all. 

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday11 #time loop #sort of #john stoker #sierra aguirre-stoker #this fic was basically an excuse for me to look up classic muscle car specs