#he wants to be domestic so fuckin bad...always so far but out of reach...

[umhuhwellthen]

Had a realization while mopping the kitchen,

Jotaro is all three of his parents child, because listen

Usagi:

He looks like a carbon copy of the guy and acts similarly to him, same drive, same temper, everyone points these two things out

Kenichi:

I like to make the cuck joke as much as anyone else but let's not forget that he and Jotaro have a real father-son relationship!!!! Jotaro calls him father and loves him like one!!! Kenichi knows Jotaro isn't his and his rival is his sire but doesn't care and loves and raises him anyway!!!! Also I'm pretty sure that Kenichi is always/mostly wearing purple in colored comic issues and what is Jotaro wearing???? Purple!!!!! The symbolism????? Because Usagi may be Jotaro's biodad but he is not the man that raised him, fed him, clothed him, Jotaro is wearing Kenichi's colors!!!! Because he is as much Kenichi's son as Usagi's!!!

Mariko:

obviously he has her ears and nose but also! May be grasping at straws but! His clothes have a pattern like she does and(correct me if I'm wrong) Kenichi doesn't! Kenichi's are plain with only the reigning Lord of the lands Mon and Mariko's and Jotaro's has a design! Similar in how they both love Kenichi but they also love Usagi! Jotaro wants a father-son relationship with Usagi but not at the cost of one with Kenichi! Mariko has affections for both Kenichi and Usagi but it's pretty obvious her feelings for Usagi run deeper than for Kenichi, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love him! Because for all that she loves Usagi, he didn't love her enough to stay and Kenichi did. Even though Kenichi had to leave the Dogora school in shame he still could've been a retainer to a lord like Usagi but instead he stayed! This man raised her child knowing damn well how he came to be and didn't care! Married her knowing she could never return his feelings with the same fervor!

Jotaro loves his parents and wants to respect all their wishes! This poor fucking kid...

#usagi yojimbo #miyamoto usagi #jotaro #jotaro usagi yojimbo #mariko #mariko usagi yojimbo #kenichi #kenichi usagi yojimbo #anyome remeber tomoe ame's evil halfsister/cousin? how she was raised by a father that knew how she was born and hated her for it? #talented with a blade but cruel? amd Jotaro could've been that Kenichi could've been cold and distant and cruel but he wasn't #he looked at the boy and he loved him #usagi wasnt there to raise him or provide for mariko so he fucking would #he's not a stepdad he's the dad that stepped up #sorry if it sounds like im dissing on my boy miyamoto i /know/ he'd have been a good fucking dad if given the chance #but current circumstances as they are? no he could not and that fucking /hurts/ #good men good samurai both with potential to be good fathers and husbands but with the tragedy of war and being in love with the same woman #it was never gonna end well #hey do you think the reason why usagi keeps going after married/gonna be married women is because of his yearning to settle down #he wants to be domestic so fuckin bad...always so far but out of reach... #usagi miyamoto

[luminnara]

Breeding | alpha!bakugou x omega!reader 18+ ONLY

Summary: deep down, all katsuki wants is to be a father. He’ll never admit it, though.

Just a short lil somethin somethin I wanted to get out of my system!

18+ ONLY AND I MEAN IT

Warnings: smut, pregnancy, knotting, a/b/o, heat/rut

Your heats were always strong enough to kick Katsuki into a rut the second he smelled the change in your pheromones.

You had stopped taking any kind of heat suppressants when you met him, partially because you hated that they tended to make you nauseous and partially because he got grumpy whenever you brought them up. It hurt his ego a little, you figured; after all, Katsuki was about as alpha as they came, with ruts that were so wild and explosive they were practically legendary. He was a big, tough, desirable alpha, the number two pro hero, and despite what seemed like an entire fan base of omegas throwing themselves at his feet, he had chosen you.

You weren’t a hero, or even a sidekick. Your quirk didn’t really lend itself to big, valiant acts of heroism, so you had just foregone that route and chosen a much different career for yourself instead:

Fashion.

That’s actually how you had met Katsuki. You worked for his mother as an assistant, listening to her go on and on about her pro-hero son every day. At first, you just nodded and smiled, going along with whatever your boss said, but as time passed, you started to get...almost invested. You looked forward to listening to her gush about him, and whenever she managed to convince him (against his will, apparently) to grab lunch with her, she would come back carrying faint, lingering scents of campfire and marshmallows, and as time passed, she began to notice the way you tried to drink it in. 

Then, one thing led to another, and Mitsuki was introducing the two of you. The rest was history. 

Now, you had been a mated pair for quite some time, living together in a nice penthouse thanks to Katsuki’s hefty checks from his hero work. You spent most of your free time together, frequently hosting friends and enjoying their company. You had grown used to the boisterous pros your alpha hung out with, and you enjoyed having the likes of Kirishima and Kaminari around. 

Except when you were in heat, of course, and Katsuki made sure that you were completely hidden from the world, that you were his and his alone. He was possessive under normal circumstances, but with a mating cycle involved? Oh, he was incessant. 

“Who d’you belong to, baby?” he cooed in your ear as he rubbed himself against your slick entrance. 

“Y-you, alpha,” you breathed out, voice hitching. Sweat was plastering your hair to your face, your skin feverish as you whined and begged for him. 

You’d been like that all day. You had known your heat was coming up, of course, but not just because of the usual symptoms like nesting and cramps; no, you always knew exactly when you were due to begin thanks to Katsuki. He was better at keeping track than you were, going so far as to mark it on the calendar so he’d know when to take time off from hero work. 

At first, you’d told him it was fine. He didn’t need to stay so on top of things, and he definitely didn’t need to push his work aside for you. But Katsuki wouldn’t even entertain the thought of leaving you home alone to deal with your heats, and ever since you had first gotten together, he spent every single one taking care of you. He’d fuck you senseless, of course, but he also loved bringing you food and water, determined to keep you from accidentally starving yourself, and he always helped you bathe when you eventually got tired enough to take a break from his dick. 

It was incredibly domestic of him, and you were grateful to have such an attentive alpha around...because, after all, when you were in heat, there was really only one thing you could think about. 

“Alpha,” you whined, gripping the sheets. “P-please, alpha, please...”

“Want my cock?” he teased, nudging the head inside. You were dripping wet, slick running down your thighs, and as he felt how hot your pussy was, he let out a low groan. “Fuck, kitten, not gonna last long in you...”

“D-Don’t care,” you moaned, desperate to feel him stretching you. “J-Just want your cock, alpha, please...”

Well, who was he to deny you, especially when you asked so sweetly?

He rolled his hips forward, pushing into your hot core and immediately moaning. “Fuck...”

You took him so well. You always did. It was like you were made for him. 

As he thrusted in and out of you, Katsuki lowered his head, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. Taking you from behind was his favorite way to fuck, but if he kept looking at the way your ass bounced when he pounded into you, he knew he would lose it. He wanted to make you cum at least a couple times before he filled you up, but at the rate things were going, that wasn’t going to take very long. 

Whenever you were in heat, orgasms seemed to wash over you whenever your alpha was fucking you. Just the feeling of his cock ramming into you was enough to have you crying his name, more slick gushing down your thighs. There was nothing you loved more than the feeling of your alpha, and Katsuki was a very, very good alpha. 

“That’s it,” he said, breath hot against your skin. “Gimme another, baby, cum on this cock...”

He reached down, his calloused fingers finding your clit. The moment he touched it, you let out a loud whine, your pussy squeezing around him desperately. 

It was going to drive him mad. 

“T-Tell Alpha what you want,” he managed to choke out, trying to focus. 

“Fill me up,” you moaned, clawing at the sheets. “Breed me, please...want your pups...”

The thought was just too much. Katsuki lost himself, grabbing your hips roughly as his knot began to swell. Picturing you growing round with his pups, your tits heavy with milk...fuck, he just wanted to fill you up over and over again and never let you go.

So that’s what he did. 

A few weeks later, you were pacing around the apartment, nervous as all hell as you chewed your nails. It was a bad habit you had been trying to kick, but right now, you didn’t care; Katsuki would be getting home any minute, and you weren’t sure if you were petrified or ecstatic to tell him the news. 

When you heard the door open and his scent came wafting in, you nearly jumped out of your skin. 

“Hey, babe,” your mate called lazily, kicking the door shut like always before shucking his boots off. 

“H-Hey,” you squeaked, standing in the kitchen doorway. 

At the sound of your tiny voice, he froze, nostrils flaring as he took in your anxious scent. “What’s wrong?”

“I...uh....” you gulped, looking at the floor. You were too scared to make eye contact, even with the man you loved so much. 

“Babe?” he asked, approaching you. His normally rough voice was softer now, red eyes full of concern. 

“Remember my last heat?” you asked, daring to glance up at him. Fuck, he was so big...you were starting to understand why other alphas were so scared of him. 

“Course.” he chuckled. “How could I forget? You were so fuckin’ wet, baby...”

“Y-yeah, well...um...” you turned, heading for the kitchen counter. You didn’t know how to use your words anymore. Maybe showing him would be easier. 

Katsuki followed at your heels, reaching for your wrist. He managed to catch you, but not before you grabbed something and spun back around to face him, the item hidden behind your back. 

“You have to promise not to be mad.” you said, voice wavering slightly. 

“I’m never mad at you, babe.” he growled. “But you’d better fuckin’ show me what you’re hiding.”

Nodding quickly, you squeezed your eyes shut and held your hand out towards him. 

When you didn’t hear anything, you peeked up at him. 

He was staring, his eyes wide. His gaze was focused on the pregnancy test in your hand, chest rising and falling with every breath. 

You immediately panicked. 

“I-I’m sorry!” you blurted, backing up until you hit the counter. “I-I didn’t expect this to happen, it never has before, I don’t know what--”

“Omega.” he interrupted, chest vibrating with a loud purr. “Is that test positive?”

You nodded, tears springing to your eyes. 

Then, the widest smile you’d ever seen lit up his face, and he was sweeping you off your feet. 

“You’re pregnant?” he asked, spinning you around. 

“Y-yes,” you answered, chest still tight with anxiety. 

“Finally.” he set you back down on your feet, his arms still tight around you. “Been waitin’ so long...”

“Wh-what?” you asked, wiping at your tears. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” he scoffed. “Why the fuck would I be mad? I’ve always wanted pups with you. Just didn’t know if you were ready or not.”

“Oh.” you let out a laugh as your chest finally loosened up a bit. “I guess I am...”

“Hey.” he leaned his forehead against yours, that purr still rumbling in his chest. “I’m gonna take care of you. You’re mine forever, ‘n don’t you fuckin’ forget that.”

#abo #alpha!bakugou #alpha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagines #alpha!bakugou x omega!reader

[finelinevogue]

for tour content, maybe you could do an imagine that’s like a series of small moments like little interactions on stage or picking tour outfits or nights in the tour bus/airplane ! just little domestic things <3

i’m going to do this because i have so many weird ideas and just no way of putting them all together ! ;

Grilled Cheese Conversations

The tour bus smelt like it was on fire.

You had been sitting in the living room with Harry for a couple of hours, both of you just skimming through photos from the Met Gala together - judging obviously, before Harry announced he wanted to make himself some food and so left for the kitchen.

He’d been in there for 45 minutes now and the smells that were diffusing from their smelt bloody awful. Harry could cook really extravagant foods, like caviar and lobster, but when it came to something as simple as making a sandwich he was absolutely terrible for some reason. The point was proven when he walked back into the room with a burnt coal looking sandwich.

“What, is that?” You laughed, still sitting with your phone in your hand and waiting for him to come back so you could continue judging these Met outfits together.

“It’s a grilled cheese sandwich?” He spoke as if you were dumb and you should have known that instantly. He walked over to you, sitting down next to you and resting the plate on the table in front of him.

“No, that’s a piece of char.” You raised your eyebrows disapprovingly and watched as he scowled at you for being mean to his culinary skills.

“Well i’m sure it’ll taste great.” He looked smug, up until he took a bite from the cheesy melted - burnt - bread. As soon as the food touched his tongue he was quick to spit it back out again, you groaning in disgust. He pushed the plate away and looked at it in anger. “45 bloody minutes and it tastes of burnt wood.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you know that.” You raised your hands and laughed, watching as he turned to scowl at you again. He had quite the angry face when he wanted to. “Sorry, alright! Do you want me to go make you one?” You asked, sitting up to go and make him one if he wanted.

Harry pulled you into his lap so you were sat with your back to his front, his arms looping around your waist tightly to keep you with him. His chin rested on your shoulder and he kissed your cheek because he could. “No. Stay w’me.” He got all cuddly and soft and you loved it when Harry was like this. He was like a life-size version of your stuffed teddy bear you used to sleep with at night - all cute and cuddly.

“Okay, okay.” You calmed him when he thought you were just going to get up and go. “Let’s judge some people again.” You pulled out your phone and opened it to a twitter account which had posted all of them.

“Where did we get up to?” Harry asked, fiddling with the skin on your stomach as his hands snaked beneath your hoodie.

“Um, Kim K.” You clicked on the image of her and tried to hold back the laugh. It was a dreadful outfit and highly meme worthy, so you’ve heard.

“Well…” Harry sighed, reaching his own hand to swipe seeing as he didn’t have anything more to say on this particular one.

“Billie looked beautiful.” You smiled as Billie’s huge dress came on display, looking a fluffy pink marshmallow dream. She looked very Monroe with her makeup and you were always so shocked when people told you her age, because she looked so mature.

“She must’ve taken inspiration from Marilyn Monroe.” Harry added, nodding in approval of Billie’s outfit.

“More so than bloody Addison Rae.” You laughed, thinking about how far that had been from the truth.

“Addison who?” Harry asked and it made you smile and turn your head around to look at him. He looked down at you, noticing the cheeky glint in your eyes and couldn’t help but steal a glance at your beautiful lips.

“This is why I love you.” You sighed happily and gave him a kiss on the lips, cupping his cheek to direct him better. You were only going for a peck, but Harry made it that you got the full taste of him and kissed you for a minute longer. He felt perfect against you and you really did just simply love him.

“Yeah,” Harry broke from the kiss for a brief moment to tell you something important, “and I love you.”

••••

All Things Sparkles

It was an hour before the Dallas show and Harry was getting ready for another big show.

Dallas were known for being crazy and you were so excited for the energy they’d bring for Harry tonight. Harry always enjoyed the shows more when the crowd was actually ecstatic to be there and he knew Dallas wouldn’t let him down.

He was putting on his silk trousers, Lambert just to the side as he was ironing the shirt to get rid of all its crinkles. Your Harry currently looked so funny in his Gucci silk trousers, his bright yellow socks with bananas all over them, his suspenders hanging down by his sides and no shirt on as of yet. It was the socks that really pieced everything together. He had just had his hair and makeup done, just needing to get dressed before he was completely ready.

He was really glowing tonight. It made you happy to see him like this.

You were watching him through the vanity mirror as you touched up your own makeup, adding highlighter to the areas you wanted to shine a little brighter. You also started adding some gems around your eyes, wanting to be a bit different tonight along with your glittery eye shadow that you didn’t normally do. You were glueing your gems when you felt your boyfriends presence behind you, the heat of his bare chest radiating against the skin of your back.

“You look stunning, m’love.” You looked up through the vanity to catch his gaze, he smiled and you smiled back.

“Thank you. Not too bad looking y’self.” You cheekily replied, motioning towards his bare chest. “Are y’going to be keeping that out all night?” You asked, being hopeful that he would, because fuck it was hot, but also wouldn’t, because you wanted this part of him all to yourself.

“You’d like that wouldn’t y’yeah.” He squinted his eyes at you and nodded, a clear sign that no his tits were not going to be out for Dallas. “Up.” He spoke, lifting you up from under your armpits and walking around the chair so that he could sit down himself. He plonked you right back on top of his lap and watched as you leant forwards to add another gem to the corner of your eye.

“Y’putting me off.” You whined, your ass leaning right back onto the hard of his cock. He couldn’t keep soft around you, that was his kryptonite.

“Oh i’m sorry. It’s not like m’girlfriend is just sitting there looking ridiculously beautiful and yet so innocent.” He leaned forwards to whisper the rest of his words, because they were only for you. “Just look so fuckable right now.”

You had to bite your tongue from turning around and shoving it down his throat, because god did his words make you want to jump his bones. “Shut up, before y’get us both in trouble.” You wiggled your ass back over his cock as you sat back to admire the work of the gems brightening up around your eyes.

“Then stop being a fuckin’ tease.” He grabbed your hips and stopped your from moving anymore. You just smiled and put the lid back on the glue before it went everywhere, especially over Harry’s expensive clothing - even the banana socks were £17.

You looked at him through the mirror to find him already looking at you. You blushed quietly as you watched him take in your beauty. It was quite hard to get over just how ethereal he looked tonight and it made you so feral knowing he was all yours and only yours. Looking down at the gems you got an idea.

“Do y’want me to put some gems on y’too?” You asked, pointing to the ones around your eyes and thinking that he’d looked even prettier with some around his.

“Only if i’m matching w’you yeah.” Harry nodded excitedly. You got up from the chair and swizzled yourself around until you were sat back on his lap, only this time straddling him. You were so close to him now that it was getting ridiculously harder to stop yourself from taking him here and now. You leant down, instead, and gave him a lasting kiss on the skin covering his heart. Your lips lingered there for a moment, before you moved back up to see him already staring down. He smiled when he saw the stain of your lipstick printed over where his heart beat. “I proper love you, Y/N.” He smiled and cupped your chin in his fingers to bring your lips to him.

“No!” Lambert shouted, making you two pause. “You two’ll never stop if you start, so don’t start until after the bloody show.” He rolled his eyes and continued with his ironing, making you and Harry chuckle feeling like high-school kids.

“Okay, now stay still.” You spoke as you glued the first gem and held it steady against the corner of his eye. He wanted to keep his eyes open to keep looking at you, because that’s all he ever wanted to do, but you instructed him to close them just to be on the safer side. It went on easy, sticking to the outer corner of his eye, in a soft white colour that matched his trousers. Yours were the same creamy white colour to match the colour of your dress.

“Do I look pretty yet?” Harry asked rhetorically, but you replied anyways.

“Y’look pretty always.” You kissed the top of his nose whilst you glued the other gem. He closed his eyes as you told him to, but he still smiled at your words. You concentrated as you stuck the gem to the corner of the other eye and sat back to make sure they were even. Harry opened his eyes to see you making sure they looked good. “S’perfect.”

“Like you then.” He hummed in appreciation of you.

“Let’s see then.” Lambert asked, making you both turn in the chair to face him and you readjusting yourself so you were sat back against his chest. “Oh yes! Okay this is photo worthy.” Lambert took out his phone and held it up to face you both, making sure you could see the gems.

“I don’t even have a shirt on!” Harry exclaimed, but held you close anyways as you smiled for the photos and his words making you belly laugh. You posed more seriously for a few and then took a few silly ones to. Your favourite one, though, was one where you were laughing so happily and Harry was looking at you and smiling in awe over you.

He set it as his lock screen. You set it as yours. It would stay that way until your new favourite photos became your wedding day photos.

••••

Sign Of The Times

Tonight was the first Love on Tour show you were attending, only having missed opening night in Las Vegas.

Harry knew that you were coming, but you’d told him to source you out within the crowds because you wanted a full fan experience. You’d gotten the all-clear from Harry’s security, allowing your from backstage and straight through into the cherry pit. You had your lanyard and your sign ready, as fans started to pile in. You were originally going to go straight to the barricade, but you thought the fans deserved that more than you so you hung back and stayed the ends of the crowds.

A few fans spotted you and came up to asking for photos, so you did. Posing with your mask on was weird because you still smiled underneath the mask even though it wouldn’t be seen in the photo. Some fans asked whether they could stay and dance with you ask night to which you were so happy for, because dancing alone would’ve been embarrassing even for you.

The intro for golden started and the crowds were deafening, but all you could think about was your boyfriend and his challenge to spot you within the crowds. Golden and Carolina came and went, you dancing like a crazed fan along with all your new friends. Everyone was so happy and some were even crying tears of joy.

There was just love, love, love, everywhere.

Harry came to his first pause and took a quick drink since he was already quite hot and the altitude in Denver was crazy.

“Good evening Denver!” He shouted into the mic, waiting for the screams of his fans to uproar and then settle before speaking on, “The altitude is crazy here. I’ve barely done anything and I can’t breathe!” He spoke, making you slightly anxious for him but you knew he would be okay because he had an oxygen tank on stage. “Now, m’girlfriend is somewhere here tonight and i’ve gotta find Y/N before I lose the challenge.”

The fans around you started screaming that you were here and the message kept on getting passed down the crowds until they reached the front. Harry was walking around your side of the stage until he met the fans at the front saying that you were behind them. Harry held his hand over his eyes to help him find you better and you held up your sign to help him. Your sign had taken you all of 5 minutes to doodle, but the message was clear;

“I want a kiss from the one in suspenders.”

“There y’are.” He laughed when he saw your sign, dropping his mic and leaning over himself to catch his breathe from the belly laugh that he just let out. You smiled when you saw him laugh, the fans around you screaming and thanking you for making him be this way. Harry stood up and looked at you, messing with his earpiece so he could hear the arena better.

“Kiss me!” You shouted and the people around you were also shouting for him to kiss you. Even with masks on Harry could clearly understand the message.

“I wanna kiss you but I can’t!” He spoke through his mic and his voice echoed throughout the arena, making everyone scream and you simply blush. You knew he couldn’t come and just give you a kiss, it would be too dangerous, but he sent you loads of blown kisses instead and you kept them all. You sent your own back and he stuffed them all in his back pocket, before moving on to his next song before he got told off.

“Damn, he really loved you.” One of your new fans friends says next to you and all you could think was; yeah, yeah he does.

••••

My Only Angel*

For four hours he had been gone.

Four hours since he was in this hotel room with you. Four hours since you had first started acting like a brat. Four hours since he’d gotten fed up of our attitude and tied you up and left a vibrator pulsing against your clit. Four hours since your first orgasm, four minutes since your last.

The whole time Harry had been on stage, all he could think about was you being bound tight in his hotel room and dripping wet from the number of orgasms you would’ve had. He knew you’d never be able to hold yourself for four hours, so he didn’t say you couldn’t cum only he forgot to mention that the number of times that you did cum would be the number of times he denied you later on in the evening. Harry had gotten especially hard performing Only Angel, because that was your song that he’d written for you and then fucked you countless times to. Fans noticed, but put it down to the adrenaline of being onstage rather than the thought of his girlfriend being tied up and overstimulated back in his hotel room.

You just came down from the high of another orgasm when Harry walked through the door. You sighed when you saw him, thinking this would finally be it and he’d let you go free now you’ve suffered your punishment. That was wishful thinking, however.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there.” Harry pretended, wanting to tease you as much as possible, as he walked past you and hung his jacket on the back of a chair.

“H-harry.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes when you moved and felt the vibrator hit and new and exciting angle. You moaned quietly and had to suppress the embarrassing cries you wanted to let out.

“Yes?” Harry moved so he was standing at the edge of the bed, undoing the buttons on his shirt one-by-one. He looked so hot with his sleeves rolled and the suspenders already dropped down to his sides.

“I-I please s-st- enough.” You whimpered, pulling on the restraints to try and stop it yourself but you’d already tried that one too many times and nothing has come of it.

Your wrists were slightly red and bruised from all the tugging you’d been doing and Harry noticed that as he peeled away his shirt from his body. He threw the silk shirt somewhere else in the room and walked over to the right side of the bed, sitting down to get a closer look at your wrists. He leant down to give it a gentle rub and a kiss. You sighed in delight at the feeling of his cool lips burn against your flaming skin. Harry sat up and tilted your face to the side so you could face him, slight tears in your eyes. He looked at you for a few moments, taking in the shear beauty of you and your glorious body, before making sure you were alright.

“What’s your colour, baby?” He asked you gently, stroking your cheek and then running his thumb along your bottom lip with a soft pull.

“G-green.” You nodded and he smiled, leaning in to kiss you on your desperate lips. You basked in the taste of him, closing your eyes like you needed to save this moment to memory forever. You loved him like this, when he was dominant with you. He let you be submissive like you wanted to be.

“That’s my good girl.” He leaned back from you and moved onto the bed more, straddling your bare body. The silk of his pants felt erotic against your hot skin and you moaned at the dreamy sensation. He ran his large, ringed, hands up and down your body, feeling every curve and crevice. He massaged your boobs lightly in his hands, up and down your stomach and to your inner thighs behind him. You hummed at the feeling, gasping when Harry finally turned off the vibrator and moved it away from you. You felt lighter from freedom all of a sudden.

“T-hank you.” You breathed out, opening your eyes to meet his electric green ones. Wow, he looked beautiful - still slightly sweaty and hot from his concert.

“Don’t thank me yet, angel.” He grinned as he took down his trousers and pants, pushing them to the floor with his foot.

He didn’t even wait for you to register what was going on before he slipped himself inside of you. You loved the feeling so greatly, but your clit was still so sensitive. You shuddered as he picked up his pace and thrusted into you harder and harder, faster and faster. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, made you arch your back and your toes curl and then feeling if him so deep inside of you was enough to make you cum already, again.

“Feel s-so good.” You looked at him and saw the desire within his eyes. He was so full of lust right now, because the sight of you tied up with him pounding into you is better than simply imagining it. Nothing could feel more euphoric than this, both of you were sure of that.

“Yeah? Feel me all around you? So perfect f’me. M’beautiful angel.” Harry moaned out, cupping one of his hands around your throat and pushing you deeper into the mattress, whilst his other hand went to cup your breasts and give them the devotion they deserved.

Everything felt everywhere.

His rocks became sloppier as he reached his high, yours approaching much sooner than you thought it would. You were surprised you actually had anything left in you. His cock hit a spot inside of you that made you scream out and he felt you collapse around him all at once, causing his own release to quickly follow. He continued to fuck you through your release and bent himself over to press his lips to yours. He felt and tasted amazing, you couldn’t get enough. It would never be enough.

“Love you so much.” You spoke the best you could and Harry released his hand from your throat, leaning down to kiss it softly. He reached over to your hands to untie them afterwards, giving them both a few kisses over your wrists when he saw the harsh marks. Your arms were so tired that they just fell to your sides, but Harry kept on touching you softly; stroking your messy hair away from your face and caressing your cheek softly as if he hadn’t just fucked you raw. He kept his face close to you as he whispered the words that would stay imprinted on your heart forever.

“I love you, Y/N.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #finelinevogue #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #finelinevogue harry styles #harry blurb #harry oneshot #harry styles concept #hslot texas #hslot series finelinevogue #hslot concept night #hslot vegas #hslot denver #hslot #hslot2 #love on tour finelinevogue #love on tour harry styles #love on tour smut #love on tour fanfic #love on tour blurbs #love on tour series #love on tour #finelinevogue blurbs #finelinevogue harry styles masterlist #finelinevogue love on tour #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff

[babbushka]

Hello hello 💛 hope you’re doing well today ☺️ How about some good ol’ fashion cavity inducing domestic fluff with a one Mr.Zimmerman 🥰 thank you as always for all the writings and such!

It’s late, at the house. 

The babies are fast asleep and you’ve got the radio on real low so that it doesn’t disturb them all the way over in their nurseries. You’re laying on the bed all sprawled out in a soft robe, and Flip’s on the other side of the room putting away some laundry he just finished folding, but he keeps looking over at you, keeps stealing glances from over the tops of his flannels as he sticks them onto hangers. 

You never know if he thinks you actually aren’t noticing, or if he wants to get caught, so you roll over onto your stomach and prop your head up, ankles crossed behind you like some teenager in a movie.

“Whatcha lookin’ at cowboy?” You ask him with a playful smile, eyes glittering in the soft lamplight.

“Just you.” Flip shrugs with a smile of his own, nonchalant as he tucks your socks lovingly into the appropriate drawer.

“Just me?” You tease, reaching for him, extending a hand. He’s too far away, all the way over there by the closet. You miss him, miss the warmth of his body next to yours.

“Mhm.” Flip hums out a little laugh, lights a cigarette as he saunters over to you, smoke clouding the air. “Lookin’ and thinking.”

He grabs you by your ankle and your laughter fills the room as he yanks you playfully down the bed to scoop you up in his arms, rolling around and around the mattress until you’re nearly under threat of dropping off the side, making you cling to him for safety, protection. You know Flip’d never let anything bad happen to you, not on his watch.

“Honey!” You laugh and tug on his ear anyway, for the sensation in your stomach like butterflies that he always gives you, that feeling of almost-falling.  

“I’m thinking about how fucking funny you are,” He groans into your neck, your hand plucking the cigarette away for a second so he can pepper your whole face with kisses, with little pecks, smooches on your cheeks, chin, forehead, eyelids, nose. “And smart, and gorgeous. And good. You’re genuinely, positively, really fuckin’ good, you know that? You bitch.”

He says it entirely playfully, endearingly, and you can only laugh some more as you swat at his arm, wrestle with him until you’re straddling his hips, pinning him down to the mattress.

“Jackass.” You secure your victory with a long kiss, before passing him back his cigarette and resting your head on his chest. “I love you.”

“I wish there were more words to tell you how much I love you ketsl, but there aren’t, not the ones I need.” His arms tighten around your back in a comforting hug as you listen to his heart beat, listen to his lungs fill with nicotine, listen as they exhale adoration.

“You don’t have to say it, I already know.” You nuzzle your cheek against his pulse, and he reaches around to pinch at your nose softly, making you look back up at him.

“You do?” He asks, and sometimes, sometimes he gets like this, all shy. As if the past decade weren’t proof enough.

But still, you nod because of course you do, everything he does, everything he’s always done, has been for you, to show you how much he cares. You may not be a detective, but you noticed.

“I can feel it right here.” You tell him, tapping his temple, making him smile as you continue with a tap to his heart, “And here.”

“What about here?” He asks, tapping his lips, and you slowly slowly slowly kiss him, let your tongue slide against his, let your air breathe into each other’s lungs.

Because yes, even there.

#flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman/you #flip zimmerman fluff #i love him your honor #Anonymous #cowboy answers

[spaceskam]

another part of my kid fic universe for @zuluoscarecho ❤️️

warning: mentions of past abuse and deportation

“I spy with my little eye something... brown.”

"Um... Alex's hair?"

"No! His hair is black!"

"Definitely brown.

"Let's say both," Alex chimed in, smiling easily as he listened to Michael and Isaac play their billionth round of I Spy as they made their way to Texas to pick up Isaac's things from his Tía Ellie’s house. 

It took a bit more negotiating that expected. Turns out, she’d never directly witnessed Isaac actively using his telekinesis, but she’d been getting suspicious that there was something off about him. She loved him, she’d said, but she was no longer comfortable housing him. She’d been getting in contact with a social worker and Isaac had overheard which led to him hunting down Michael in hopes he’d be a safe place to go. Alex had to take over the phone call at that point.

“Okay, okay,” Michael agreed, humming as he looked around for something brown. His hand was locked with Alex’s, resting on the center console of Alex’s truck. Alex gave his hand a soft squeeze. “My hair?”

Isaac erupted into unprecedented giggles, “Not everything is hair!”

“Well, shit, I don’t know what else comes in brown, dude, the tree trunks?” Michael asked, smile getting wider by the second.

Isaac had only been staying with them for a week so far, but he got comfortable fast. They’d set up his room and he would be starting school that following Monday, so it was clear he had no reason to not get comfortable. Besides, he and Michael had little telekinesis lessons and that seemed to help a lot at making him feel safe there. Alex made sure to add a little more to that safety by working on making sure Daniella had a constant, trustworthy line of communication to talk to Isaac every day. So far it’d been a little rocky, but he was working the little bit of magic he could manage.

He was determined to be a good father figure.

“No,” Isaac said.

“Okay, I give up, what is it?” Michael said.

“My hair.”

Michael laughed and turned in his seat to face him, looking some where in between impressed and baffled.

“You totally tried to throw me off course.”

“Duh.”

“You hear that, Alex? We’ve got a fuckin’ trickster in our backseat,” Michael said, huffing a laugh as he settled back into his seat, “He’s gonna outsmart us all.”

“Wouldn’t shock me,” Alex agreed, pulling his hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. His heart felt so full in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. Michael leaned over and kissed his cheek for extra measure.

“Me neither,” he agreed, looking back to Isaac when he pulled away, “How’d you do in school, by the way? Forgot to ask.”

“Good,” Isaac said, shrugging, “As and Bs.”

“Trying or not trying?” Michael clarified. There was a few seconds of silence and Alex could picture the distinct, guilty grin on his face that mirrored his father’s. “Well, I always say if they know you’re better than them without even trying then you’re doing something right.”

“Okay, no, that’s a horrible lesson,” Alex butted in. Michael scoffed in disagreement as Isaac just let out a soft laugh. 

Isaac hadn’t really struggled to understand the fact that two men could be together (another thing they had to thank Daniella for) but it had been an adjustment for all of them and they had a conversation about the barest definition of Michael’s sexuality to nip any complicated questions in the bud. That had been preceeded by a talk with Danielle herself who said ‘that would explain a lot, good for you’. 

In times of banter, though, he happily sided with whoever he felt could make the situation funnier.

“Yeah, Mr. Michael, bad lesson.”

“This whole teaming up against me thing is not gonna fly. You both seem to forget I could throw everything with my brain,” Michael said, more pouty than serious and only getting more laughter from the boy in the back seat, “And stop calling me mister, it makes me feel old.”

“You are old,” Alex told him. Michael stuck his tongue out at him, but didn’t argue. They hadn’t quite had the whole alien conversation yet. That felt like more a month milestone or something.

The rest of the drive to Texas went like that, conversation and jokes and listening to music. It took about three songs to realize that Daniella seemed to have only one flaw in raising Isaac and it was his lack of music taste. Alex put on Panic! to educate him.

Around the two and a half hour mark, Isaac had passed out against the window and Michael was laying over the center console to put his head on Alex’s shoulder. It was quiet and peaceful and so damn domestic that Alex could almost imagine they were taking a family trip to Disney World.

“I love you,” Michael whispered for no reason, fueling his little fantasy even more.

"I love you too.”

They arrived outside Ellie’s house around 1PM. The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, but it was nice enough. Lawns were manicured, kids were playing outside, people were walking their dogs. The fact that Daniella had been successful enough to have a house in a neighborhood like that and still got deported was a quick reality check Alex didn’t enjoy.

“Wake up, bud,” Michael said, reaching into the backseat to gently shake Isaac awake. It took him a minute but he rubbed his eyes and slowly came back to life.

They all climbed out of the truck and walked towards the front door. It opened before they could even knock, a small, white, blonde lady on the other side. By looks alone, it was difficult to tell how old she was--she could’ve been 23 or she could’ve been 45.

“Ellie?” Alex clarified.

“Yes, Sir,” she said, eyes landing on Isaac as he hid behind Michael, “Hey, Isaac. You scared me running off like that. I’m glad you’re okay.”

His small hands clutched Michael’s, hanging off him slightly. Michael didn’t seem to mind.

“We’re just here to grab his things or anything you managed to keep from Daniella’s house. We’ll keep it until she’s able to come back,” Alex said. Considering Michael had personal reasons for disliking this woman, it seemed best that Alex took over.

“Right. Everything I could save is in the guest room,” Ellie explained, moving out of the way to let them in, “Could I get you guys coffee? Water? Anything?”

“We’re okay, thank you,” Alex said.

She led them to the small room that Isaac had slept in when he was there, nearly every square inch of the room covered in things. Most of it was small trinkets and personal items and Alex considered that maybe he should’ve asked if he needed more boxes.

“I’ll go get you some newspaper to wrap some of it up,” Ellie said, quickly walking out of view.

“I... I was not expecting this,” Alex said carefully, looking around the room before looking to Isaac. He was still clinging onto Michael, looking either scared or embarrassed or both. Alex managed a warm smile. “It’s okay, I’m not mad. Just surprised, ‘s all.”

Slowly, they began making trips to the truck. Alex had a few boxes and they filled them with newspaper-wrapped trinkets and mugs, handling them all with care. Then they got to the other stuff like his clothes, some of Daniella’s clothes, multiple sheet sets, curtains, a quilt Daniella made from his baby clothes. Then they got his books, toys, etc. It was just a lot. It had the entire backseat full and the trunk not too far off. It took three hours.

“You sure you don’t want anything? I can make lunch,” Ellie suggested. Alex politely declined.

“We’ll pick up something on the way home. Thank you, though, for taking care of him for so long,” Alex said. She nodded, but grabbed his arm to keep him in place after Michael and Isaac said their goodbyes and headed to the truck. “Is something wrong?” 

“Be careful with him,” she said, voice hushed even though they weren’t in ear shot, “There’s something off about that boy. Daniella hid it well, but once you have him in your house... Things start happening.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Alex said, again trying his best to be polite. She knew enough, they didn’t need her discovering more. 

“Just be careful,” she said sincerely, “I tried bringing him to church but--”

“Thank you for watching him, but we’re good now,” Alex cut her off, not really wanting to hear more. He knew she hadn’t done what Michael’s religious foster family had, but how much longer until she had? That was just something he could keep to himself.

Alex made his way back to the truck where Michael and Isaac were already waiting for him, both silent and probably for two entirely different reasons. So, Alex suggested food.

They ate in silence as well as they started their drive back to Roswell. Isaac looked drained which was probably his main reason for silence, but Michael looked out of it. 

By the time they started driving through long stretches of empty desert, Isaac was sound asleep in the backseat. It was when the sun started going down, though, that Michael couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“You okay?” Alex asked softly, squeezing his hand as he heard his breathing slowly begin to escalate. He looked over at him and saw that his bottom lip was quivering and his eyebrows were drawn taut, everything showing that he was trying to not cry mixed with his breathing becoming more and more erratic. A quick look in the backseat proved that Isaac was still asleep.

So Alex pulled over into the desert.

He got out of the driver’s seat and went over to the passenger side, all but pulling Michael out of the truck. He broke down as Alex pressed him into the door, trying to hold his face and get him to calm down.

“Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” Alex asked softly, hands on his cheeks. He hated seeing him like this, yet loved that he was being so open with his feelings. It was a strange juxtaposition.

“After the house he grew up in was foreclosed, but before they had people go in and clean it out, he’d break in to get his and his mom’s things. They wouldn’t let him go in and get his shit after they took his mother, Alex. He had to break in,” Michael admitted, choking on a sob as he recounted it and meeting Alex’s forehead with his own. Alex frowned and that secondhand sadness seeped into his veins. “He shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“No, he shouldn’t have,” Alex agreed softly, weaving his fingers into his hair, “That’s fucked.”

“I feel so guilty,” Michael admitted, “I-I should’ve known about him. I should’ve been easier to reach, should’ve been the first person they called when they needed somewhere for him to stay.”

“How could you? Daniella didn’t tell you,” Alex assured him, “Which, honestly, was probably good for both of you. He didn’t need to get to know you when you were at your lowest.”

Michael sniffled, seeming torn on whether he could agree or not. Alex just continued to do his best at soothing him.

“But it doesn’t matter. We can’t change what happened. He found you, that’s all that matters.”

“God, I can’t... He was so close to ending up like me,” he said, clutching Alex’s shoulders, “I don’t want him going through that shit.”

“And he won’t, okay?” Alex promised, “He’s got us and we’re not going to let that happen.”

“Never let any of that happen,” Michael insisted, “He’s gonna have a good life.”

“Yeah, he is. He’s already got a ton of people who love him and want him,” Alex assured him, “We just need to make sure he knows that.” Michael sniffled and nodded his head. “You’re wanted too, by the way.”

Michael huffed a laugh, “It’s not about me.”

“Kinda is,” Alex said, “And that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared of what might happen to someone else and want better for them. That gives you a drive to be better for yourself.”

Michael breathed steadily a few times and Alex carefully dried his face, grounding each other easily. Alex moved just enough to kiss his forehead and Michael relaxed a little more. 

“Sorry,” he said once he calmed down. Alex shook his head.

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay to cry and be sad,” he whispered, “It’s okay to be scared.”

Michael managed a smile and he whispered, “Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, “But I still like hearing it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They met in the middle for a soft kiss that led to another that led to another before they slowly stopped. As easy as it would be to let it turn into something else, the truck was still running and they had a sleeping 10 year old in the backseat.

“You’re gonna be a great dad, Michael.”

“So are you,” he said, his hands sliding up to his neck before he pulled him into a hug, “You’re already great.”

They held each other for a moment before deciding it was okay to let go and climbing back into the truck. Michael leaned back over the center console to lay his head on Alex’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around his bicep. 

Alex really started planning that trip to Disney World.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #i never planned on you

[msjr0119]

Birthday One Shot

A/N1: So it’s my girls birthday today. My favourite drunk partner. Hope you have had a fabulous day @drakexwillow !!! I can’t wait to have an alcoholic drink with you and fall asleep again 😆

A/N2: Some of the dialogue used was actually texts between us. I’ve rushed this as I’ve been busy passing out all weekend - bypass any stupid grammar mistakes 🤣

A/N3: Thank you to your other half, ‘Beany’ for helping me out with some things- I hope he didn’t spoil it for you ❤️👍🏼

Book: The Royal Romance (A/U)

Pairing: Drake Walker (Michiel Huisman) x Willow Downing (Jessica Lowndes)

Song inspirations:

Gun Machine Kelly- Drunk Face

Gun Machine Kelly- Hangover Cure

Mood- 24kGoldn and Ian Dior

Warnings: Adult language, mention of sex, mention of being drunk.

Tags: Thinking of those who like Drake x MC especially Willow- don’t feel obliged to read if you don’t want to 😊

@drakexwillow @burnsoslow @axwalker @annekebbphotography @kingliam2019 @kimmiedoo5 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @bascmve01 @yukinagato2012 @lodberg @cordonianroyalty @texaskitten30 @nomadics-stuff

****

Drake Walker had been dating Willow Downing for many years now. Every birthday that came around he always struggled with new ideas about what to do for the love of his life. At times he was tempted to ask for advise from his closest friends Maxwell and Sophie- however, if he did that he knew that it would just end in a disaster. A big drunken mess. He would usually impersonate a babysitter for the three of them, especially Willow. Thinking back to past birthdays, she wasn’t a bad drunk. Or was she? There had been times when she would get the ‘munchies’- gather food everywhere then not clean up after herself. Rice. That was the worse time for this common food reoccurrence. If it wasn’t the issue of food, there was the spilt drinks residue surrounding the place instead. Which Drake had to clean up. One of the worse ‘Willow moments’ since they had began dating had been when she vomited in their bed- and all down herself, Drake had turned into a domesticated goddess for the night. Stripping the bed, before assisting her in the shower. Oh, then there was the time when Maxwell and Willow had gotten matching tattoos of a peacock with the words ‘House Beaumont Rules’ sprawled underneath it. That night was karma in Drake’s eyes. Regardless of her drunk past antics, he loved her with all of his heart and wouldn’t change it for anything. She was the one.

****

🎶Why you always in a mood?

Fuckin' 'round, actin' brand new

I ain't tryna tell you what to do

But try to play it cool

Baby, I ain't playing by your rules

Everything look better with a view🎶

“I’m not in a mood!” Drake defended himself- as his other half entered the kitchen singing. Yes, he was known to be the moody one. The one that always wore a scowl. But for once he wasn’t ‘in a mood’. Not for now anyway.

“Sometimes you are. But no, it’s a song. You really need to get down with the kids Drake and watch TikTok.” Snuggling behind him, it was the best option as she knew exactly what his expression would be like. Hearing a heavy sigh escape from him- soon she felt him relax, both feeling content.

Fucking TikTok. He muttered to himself. The social media app had become his worse nightmare recently. When they laid in bed on a night, she would promise him that she was only watching it for five minutes. That five minutes soon turned into an hour, which then elaborated into sometimes three or four hours. By that time he had fallen asleep. No intimacy. It’s a phase- she will soon get bored. Again, he wouldn’t change his relationship with her.

****

Later on that night after they had eaten, Drake had put one of Willow’s favourite TV series on. Usually she would be ‘glued’ to it- no matter how many times she had seen this specific episode.

“I thought that you’d want to watch The Office? But instead you’re just listening to that garbage. Can’t we just have one night with no TikTok or listening to him?” After his original snappy attitude, that turned eventually into a plead- Drake attempted to make eye contact with her. Knowing full well that she wasn’t fully listening to him.

“But, he’s amazing. Gorgeous. Sexy.....” Swooning deep down inside as she expressed this, Willow eventually locked eyes with a now pissed off boyfriend. Before TikTok became a ‘thing’, she was in a similar situation whenever a new game for the PlayStation was released. Karma at its best.

“Obviously not as sexy as you though Mr Walker.” Attempting to redeem her previous words, Drake responded with only an eye roll. Maybe she was slightly addicted to Machine Gun Kelly and TikTok. In all honesty, lockdown was to blame for this ‘addiction’. Being stuck in the house. With nothing to do. Well, there was other things to do. Most time spent to begin with was the two of them entangled in each other.

“I’m sorry, Drake. Allow me to listen to one song, then we will watch this- no phones. Just Drillow time.” A smile finally crept upon his face. Finally she was cooperating with him in his mind.

“Sounds like a good deal. Which song are you going to choose?” He asked, not that he was bothered or interested. Just eager to spend time without any distractions.

“I like too many songs- I’ll try and pick a favourite...’Drunk face’. It’s off his new album. ‘Hangover cure’ is also a good one by him.” I bet it is.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t listened to it.” Faking a sincere yet interested tone of voice, Willow was still debating which song to hum and listen along too. Just hurry up and chose one.

“I can’t believe he’s with Megan Fox and he keeps using her in his music videos it’s so cute.” Getting easily distracted again, Drake bit his lip as she did this in a silent frustration.

“I thought that Megan Fox was still with Brian Austin what’s his face?” Surprisingly, he wasn’t aware of their unexpected split when it was breaking news in the show business world.

“No they split up the start of the year I think it was....I didn’t think they’d look that cute together and pictures of them together he towers over her and it makes them look adorable.” Like us, Drake compared the celebrity couple to themselves as he always towered over a ‘shorter’ Willow.

🎶Wake up, still drunk from last night

The first dates are always uncomfortable

Stayed up, I couldn't sleep last night

I'll admit, I'm a little dysfunctional

Are you okay with the fact I'm a little off track, to be honest

I've been through relationships, I've never been in love, but I want this 🎶

“Anyway, let’s finish watching this before my birthday tomorrow.” Finally placing her phone out of reach, Drake couldn’t quite believe that she had detached herself from it. Almost hallucinating due to the fact.

****

The two of them didn’t quite finish watching the episode. One thing led to another. Clothes were scattered all over the floor, before Drake had carried Willow bridal style to their bedroom. The rest of the night was bliss, an early gift for the birthday girl. Walker style.

Knowing that it was now officially her birthday, she snuggled into the soft warm sheets with a content feeling. Subconsciously she had dreamt about how Drake would make her day special. As he always did. Rolling over, there was no sign of him. Blinking her eyes she believed that she could possibly still be half asleep- that was until the realisation of the sun peeping through the cracks of the blinds. Forcing herself out of bed, she searched the house for Drake with no avail. Wondering what he was upto, she put those thoughts to the side for now and got ready for the day. Her day. A day that she had planned to be filled with fun and laughter with the people closest to her. He will be back before I’m finished.

An hour later, the wanderer still hadn’t returned. Willow had become slight panic stricken before the banging on the door distracted her pondering any further.

“Happy birthday!” The two friends shouted enthusiastically before pulling her in for a group hug. A hug that could have potentially suffocated her. “Where’s Drake?”

“I... I don’t know. It’s not like him to leave without saying goodbye at least, Soph.”

“Well it’s eleven o’clock. Never too early for a birthday cocktail. It’s the evening somewhere in the world. Maxwell sort the birthday girl out with a drink.”

“Yes ma’am. Come on, Lo.” Sophie watched the two of them disappear out of sight before dialling the number on her phone.

“Drake. Where are you?”

“I’m just getting Lo a present, I’ll be back soon Soph. I promise.”

“A present? How long have you been together? You should be more prepared Drake! You know it’s her birthday. This is not the time to go awol, Walker. Or at least explain to her where you are going!”

“Sophie, just please.... just distract her with some shit off of TikTok. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

An hour or so later after Sophie’s and Drake’s brief conversation- there was a quiet knock at the door, which made them all question who it could be. They had arranged to have a quiet time together as a foursome. Threesome at the moment. As far as they was concerned in the morning; the three of them didn’t want to wake up still drunk from last night. They were still young, wasting their youth. Promising to grow up next summer. They didn’t want Drake to always be in a mood.

“You girls carry on drinking, I’ll get the door.” Maxwell suggested as he leapt off of the bar stool.

“May I help you?” Maxwell questioned as he peered through the peep hole with one eye shut and the other attempting to examine the mystery person. In all honesty, it didn’t help that he was already slightly tipsy. He would be useless as an eye witness.

“It’s me you idiot! Are you going to open MY door?”

“You sound like Drake, but you don’t look like him. How do I not know that you’re here to rob us by impersonating my bestie?”

“One. Do you think that I’d dress like this if I was going to rob you? Two... you are not my bestie Beaumont!”

“Wow! You’re really good at this whole Drake Walker act.”

“Just fucking let me in Maxwell, before I throttle you!”

“How much is Drake paying you? He would actually say something like that to me... okay, I’ll ask you a couple of questions. If you get them right you can come in Drake.” Empathising the name, Maxwell still wasn’t convinced that it really was Drake. His drunk mind wondered why he wouldn’t just use his key and allow himself in.

“What’s my middle name?”

“Percival.”

“Lucky guess. What’s my peacocks name back home?”

“Petunia. Now get the chain off and let me in!” Oh that’s why he couldn’t get in. I forgot that I put the chain on when me and Sophie first arrived. Doh! Safety first!

“Drake it is you!” No shit Sherlock. “You look a complete knobhead by the way. Welcome to Chateau A La Walker.”

“Leave the French talking to someone who can actually express the language, Max.”

“Colson?” Drake sighed looking at Willow. Knowing how ridiculous this whole situation was. “Drake?”

“Tonight Matthew I’m going to be Colson Baker- Machine Gun Kelly. I’ve even got some nail varnish so you can do what Megan does to him in that music video. I’ve got red, pink, purple, black........”

“Drake... I like him and his music. But I love you. I love you for you... why are you doing this?”

“Do you love me more than him and TikTok?” Now that is a predicament to be in. Hmmm...

“Of course I do, you idiot.”

“Thank fuck for that! This wig was itching me too much.” Relieved to finally take it off, he flung it onto the floor- not caring how much it had cost him to recreate somebody else’s look.

“You don’t suit blonde hair anyway. These tattoos are so realistic.” Willow smiled softly towards him.

“Erm....”

“Erm?”

“Well... the reason... that... they look so realistic.....”

“Oh my god you didn’t!”

“Well these ones are just stick on ones. I did have one done this morning- hence why I’m late. I’m sorry.”

“I NEED TO SEE THIS!”

“You will later..... I promise.”

“He’s probably had it done on his arsehole or something? Can’t be as bad as Maxwell’s ‘Turn Back Now’ Pennywise balloon tattoo above his ass.” Sophie suggested and explained with an oblivious Maxwell not understanding why suddenly he was the clown of the group. Drake couldn’t help but blush thinking about his surprise tattoo, in his mind it was ridiculous- he had regretted it as soon as it had began.

“Drake? Are you going to show me? It is my birthday after all...” Fluttering her eyelashes, he was done for. Simple gestures such as these turned him into a big ball of mush.

“Follow me to the bathroom. I’ll show you....” Stripping off out of the ‘rapper’ clothes that he had borrowed to complete his MGK look- he wrapped a towel around him in a flash. Not wanting to spoil the surprise immediately.

“So... don’t laugh, Lo. On the count of three- okay?” She couldn’t contain her excitment, being too eager and intrigued about the tattoo- she quickly whipped the towel away.

“Oh my god. You had a tattoo in honour of me.... Don’t you ever, criticise me for getting a tattoo. The peacock one- I was drunk. You had no excuse to get this. I might actually cry- with laughter. I love you, Drake Walker. Best birthday present EVER! I’ll get us both a drink. Come back into the kitchen when you’re ready.”

Not so little Walker- property of Willow ⬇️

Those words would now be permanently written across his pubic bone. Yes, it would be humiliating if anybody other than Willow found out the true extent of this tattoo. But what would be more embarrassing was if she was to reject his second surprise of the day now her name was on him for life.

#choices trr #theroyalromance #the Royal Romance a/u #drake walker #michiel huisman #drake walker x mc #drake x Willow #drakexwillow #birthday girl #birthday one shot #tw adult language #tw mention of sex #tw drunk #maxwell beaumont #oc Sophie #Maxwell x Sophie

[hexlikesramennoodles]

For @granpappy-winchester, inspired by Cherry!Billy.

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*

*

The music was turned down low, the lights dimmed; the festivities’ last stragglers wandering off to either pass out or fuck in whatever spare corner they could find. Robin’s friends had turned the living room into an island of refuse, cigarette butts buried behind the sofa cushions, empty bottles gathered on the coffee table like dominos, cold pizza crusts lining the pot plants. The shattered window had been sealed with excess rolls of duct tape, and yet Steve still felt the wind on his nape; a chilly, autumnal wind, with the knifelike threat of winter in it. He couldn’t see Billy, but he could hear him breathing; shallow and hoarse, as if he’d been walking on a steep upwards incline—or smoking an entire carton of cigarettes, which he did nearly every other day.

“Looks like we’re the last ones standing, Harrington,” Billy said.

The pantry door stood open, the single bulb inside flickering, spilling sallow light across the linoleum. Steve followed the emphysemic rattle of Billy’s lungs; he had memorized the sound, apparently. He knew the way Billy moved, the way he smelled, the shape he took in the darkness; like reaching for a wellworn light switch, you were confident it would be there when you did.

He was struck by the surreal domesticity of the scene: Billy Hargrove, sitting at his kitchen table with the sole of one boot planted carefully on the seat of a chair—Steve’s chair. He was, at nearly four o’clock in the morning, eating a bowl of cereal: balancing the bowl atop his fingertips, slurping noisily from it as one would with soup; Steve’s bowl, Steve’s cereal.

“No one else could keep up,” he added, after a pause.

Steve said nothing.

(He would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined something like this—wished for it, even—Billy, eating breakfast in his kitchen the morning after, sneaking up behind him to wind his hands around his waist, his jaw whiskery with stubble and his voice sleepy, hazy, asking: what’s cookin’, good lookin’? The answer, Steve imagined, would be French toast, because that was what he had cooked for Nancy. Because Nancy had always stayed, the morning after.)

“Be honest,” Billy said. Both boots were resting on the chair, now. His legs had fallen into a wide V, seemingly casual, but Steve knew better; like a wellworn light switch, Billy was extremely predictable. “If it were you and me—if we were the last two people on Earth, what do you think we’d be doing?”

Steve said nothing.

(Billy never stayed. Billy was here one day and gone the next; he could be gone for weeks. He refused to shower at Steve’s, refused to even touch the spare toothbrush Steve had left for him in the bathroom; if Steve went as far as to offer him breakfast, Billy would laugh in his face. He had learned not to ask, and so he said nothing.)

“Or even—even before the asteroid hits,” Billy said. He was watching Steve closely, the whites of his eyes shining, a little frantic. Setting the cereal bowl down, he dangled his empty palms between his legs; a vague suggestion. An invitation to look, come closer, see for yourself. Steve tried not to look.

He tried to say nothing.

“The asteroid,” Billy repeated, nodding. “Or the nukes. Or a biblical flood sent by God, the Russkies, the fuckin’ Chinese. I’m talkin’ about the end, Harrington. Of everything. When the volcano erupted above Pompeii, you wanna know what the people did? Have a city-wide orgy, right there in the streets.”

“You’re drunk,” Steve blurted out.

(His anger was cold and clear and pure, like the depths of a mountainside stream; for once, he could see all the way down to the bottom. He knew what he was going to do: tell Billy to take a hike. Tell him, get out. No one wants you here. It had all seemed so easy, before; when he’d had something else to protect—the kids, Nancy. Steve was never as good at protecting himself. As a boy, he would forget to look both ways before crossing the road; he had assumed the drivers of the cars could see him. Too willing to see the good in other people.)

“Fucking,” Billy said clearly, in an infuriating, teasing tone, “is the best thing there is. It’s what makes life worth living. That’s what we’ll be doing, when the world ends. We’ll be balls to the wall, going at it like rabbits.”

His smile had unfurled like a sail, wide and white. Steve didn’t return it. Billy was making a pass at him; he was also mocking him for his stupidity, his weakness, his gullibility. Somehow Billy making a pass at him and Billy mocking him with each exhale always seemed to be one and the same. It was the only reason he was here; the only reason he seemed to exist, in Steve’s opinion. “Billy. You’re drunk.”

“I’ve only had one beer,” said Billy.

He stared at Steve, blinking, unmoved. Expression colorless, implacable, erased smooth. You never saw the change happen; Billy would be smiling, laughing even, his face flushed and his gaze bright and sharp—and then he wouldn’t be.

(Steve didn’t even know if he was real, sometimes. He was still wondering if this was one long, feverish dream he had yet to wake up from; a bad fucking trip. Billy was both the high and the crash; he could be both loving and tender, and cruelly dismissive. The ups and downs were hatefully addictive, poisonous, yet Steve couldn’t bring himself to stop. Billy knew. He knew how much Steve liked the chase, the competition. Like they were back on the basketball court again, just the two of them, the world narrowed to the size of a fishbowl.)

“Baby,” Billy said, spreading his legs wider. “Don’t you miss me?”

Steve said nothing.

(Deep down, he knew that it had been Billy who’d thrown the brick through his window. Steve remembered waking to the explosive decompression of shattering glass, the sound of an engine; he had memorized what shape the Camaro took, as well: a blistering roar in the night. As if the sound was the hellish manifestation of Billy’s own rage, burning as hotly as a falling star, burning itself out. Why had Billy done such a thing?

Why did Billy do anything?

Because he could. Because he wanted to.)

“You broke my window,” Steve said abruptly. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Billy would use them as an opening, find a way to shift blame; he would sweettalk Steve, soothe him, make him forget about being angry. Until it happened again. And again.

“I what?”

“Our living room window,” said Steve. “You threw a brick at it. It’s gonna cost me and Robin, like, two hundred dollars to get a new one. Why? Why are you so—”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Harrington.” Billy was frowning, his lower lip jutting out. He looked like a sulky schoolboy. Steve was too calm; too still. Billy hated stillness, people who walked too slowly in the street; he hated the quiet, which was an unknown variable. Billy preferred being in control; they grappled for it, locked in an eternal struggle for power, as all rivals were. It was vicious, petty; it could also be soft, but that was rare. In elementary school, Steve had played war games during recess with the other boys, shooting at them and declaring himself king when he was the only one left, the last boy standing; the rules were not so simple as adults.

“I want you to say that you’re sorry,” he said. “Can you do that?”

Billy rolled his eyes, huffing. “Fi-ine.” He was theatrical with his movements, letting Steve know how ridiculous he thought he was being, how much of an unnecessary fuss he was making. The Queen of Sheba, getting his royal panties in a twist. That’s what he called Steve sometimes, smiling and snide: the Queen of fucking Sheba. What, you want me to kiss your feet, Your Majesty? “I’m so-rry. How was that, pretty boy? Are we friends again?”

“Is that what we were, before? Friends?”

“ ‘Course we were,” Billy said, too quickly, too comfortably. “I’m everybody’s friend.”

Liar, Steve thought. Billy didn’t have any friends, apart from Steve. If you could call what they had friendship—it wasn’t, Billy could say it was until he was blue in the face, but he was lying, he lied so easily—a moot point, either way. Billy didn’t have friends. People swarmed to him in droves, like moths blind to the lethal electricity, the sharpness of his teeth, all the better to eat you with—they weren’t his friends, but means to an end. They gave him booze, weed, a place to sleep when he had nowhere else to go; sometimes, they gave him sex. Of that, Steve had no doubt.

(He thought he’d known what he was getting himself into. Billy had warned him. You’re just a warm hole to me. Did Steve even have a right to be angry, when he had seen the bullet coming from a mile away, had goaded Billy into pulling the trigger himself?)

“Baby,” Billy said; he sounded breathless again, perfectly contrite. His lips were as dark as ripened cherries. Steve thought he knew what the lipstick was called. Little Red. He knew where Billy had hidden it, too—in the glovebox of his Camaro, where he also hid his porn, rolling papers, and condoms. On anybody else, such a color would look whorish, cheap. Steve had watched Billy put it on, his mouth puckering as he stared at himself critically in the rearview mirror; after dabbing the bullet onto the center of his lips, Billy had smacked them together, fingering his hairsprayed curls until they bounced; he had done this in the same haughty way Steve had seen girls do, the beautiful, untouchable girls they’d both gone to high school with. I’ll kill you if you tell anyone, Harrington. I mean it. I’ll break your fucking fingers.

Steve hadn’t told anyone. The lipstick left pinkish smears on his neck, his nipples, his cock. It had occurred to him that Billy was attempting to rewrite some essential part of himself; plucking his eyebrows, curling his hair, stripping the hard external coating of his masculinity away. Steve wondered if Billy, as a child, had ever played dressups with his mother’s clothes. If he did, his dad had probably beaten him for it.

(You’re a better fuck when you’re angry, Billy had told him. He preferred Steve’s anger to his softness, as if the only emotions Billy understood and could navigate were fury, pain, and grief. A child, trying his mother’s clothes on for size—trying on the lipstick, the eyeliner, the lady’s perfume he filched from the SALE! counter at the drugstore—furtively and when no one was looking, as if to do too much, too overtly, would endanger him.)

“Say you’re sorry,” Steve said.

Billy opened his mouth, perhaps to argue at first—if he ever apologized, it always came with a disclaimer—then his expression changed, sharpened. The chair toppled to the floor as he slid into a standing position. His fingers scrabbled for his belt buckle, suddenly clumsy; it was Steve who slid the leather through the loops of his jeans, folding it up and laying it next to the cereal bowl. Without the belt to hold it in place, Billy’s jeans sagged, looser than usual, making it easy for Steve to pull the denim all the way down his legs. He could see the paler skin of Billy’s pelvis where his tan didn’t reach, and, cutting into his hipbone, a delicate scrim of red, shiny satin.

Billy was wearing panties.

“You got a hot date tonight, baby?” Steve demanded.

“I wish,” replied Billy. “The asshole never returned my calls.”

He was leaning on the table using his forearms as leverage, his head angled over one shoulder; his gaze was relentless, unnerving. So glaringly blue.

“So, what,” Steve murmured, his thumb grazing the edge of the red satin. Billy regarded him coolly over his shoulder, his eyes rebellious slits. Ready to bite back, at any given opportunity. “You decide to smash his window with a brick? Like that’s something any normal, sane person would do?”

“You were ignoring me,” Billy insisted. “You were rude, Harrington.”

His lip continued to jut out; it looked swollen, obscene. He sounded so reasonable, so wholly convincing, that Steve almost believed what he was saying—he wanted to. He wanted to bite into the cherry of Billy’s lower lip, taste him, let his juices flow down his chin.

“In other words,” he said, “you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.”

One thumb became a thumb and a forefinger, pushing the panties up and away; baring Billy’s soul. He took note of Billy’s thighs: thick with muscle, but lusciously soft to the touch; he’d shaved.

(The image of Billy with one foot perched on the edge of the bathtub and a woman’s razor in hand floated into being, unbidden. There was something about the ritual that had always seemed erotic to Steve; maybe it was the privacy of it, the unknowability of femininity—how many times had he and Tommy been caught by their teachers trying to sneak into the girls’ locker room, if only to see what went on behind closed doors? In that sacred state, Billy would be completely naked, at his most vulnerable.)

“Fuck you,” spat Billy. “You think you’re too good for me? Huh? You ain’t shit, pretty boy. Don’t get too big for your britches—”

He moaned angrily, his arms spasming as Steve shoved the blunt head of his cock between his legs, plastering his chest to Billy’s torso; there came the subtle snarl of tearing satin, the panties falling to pieces between the tight friction of their bodies, grinding, so close—a fact neither of them would register until later, until it was over.

“Don’t put this on me,” Steve said, pressing his mouth to Billy’s neck. “You told me, remember? You told me that you don’t care what I—what anybody—thinks.”

“Fuck you,” said Billy. Desperately, as if he had realized that he was on the losing side; as if this was his last resort. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

Steve drove forwards, using the silky, slightly sticky corridor of Billy’s thighs like a glove, like his own fist around his cock. It wasn’t hard to imagine that he was fucking Billy, really fucking him; Billy was slamming his hips to match his pace, his cheek flattened against the scratched surface of the kitchen table and his wrists crossed behind his back. He mewled when Steve caught on his perineum, his spine bowing into a parabola of pleasure, outrage, or both. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck me. Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. His moans were loud and brash, performative; obviously not for his own benefit. Steve hated that. Billy thought he was the smartest person in the room, but he didn’t know how transparent he was, truly.

“Shit, Steve,” Billy was panting, biting his lip. When he reached around to take Steve’s cock in hand, Steve saw that his nails were painted the same cherry color as his mouth. It nearly did him in, the sight of his cock moving through the cage of Billy’s fingers, all that debauched red. “You make me feel so good. So fucking good, like this.”

He mewled again when Steve wrapped a hand around his throat, digging his fingers ruthlessly into his air supply; Steve saw the blonde curls drop, the hard, clenched arch of Billy’s spine giving way like a snapped power cable. His Adam’s apple strained under the pressure of Steve’s hand; the false sounds issuing from his throat had ceased. Steve was coloring Billy in; filling in the uncertain lines, making him seem more lifelike. The lipstick was getting everywhere, feathery vibrant slashes of it on Steve’s palm and knuckles, as if he’d been fingerpainting; adding shade and depth and nuance, marking Billy, marking himself.

“Steve,” Billy said. His voice was hushed, remote. As if he were dissolving, liquefying like one of those hard candies that came in the plastic wrapping, especially susceptible to heat; turning into sugared sludge, sweet enough to make your teeth ache. They were merging into one another. “Steve, honey. Look at me.”

His eyes, latching onto Steve’s face, his mouth. He knew how much Steve needed eye contact during sex, how much he craved it. The shreds of intimacy he scattered like breadcrumbs, because he enjoyed watching Steve get on his knees for them; begging, like a dog for scraps. They were merging, holding hands.

“Sorry’s—sorry’s just a word you say,” Steve grunted. He watched Billy’s fingers, the gemstone flashes of his painted nails as he pushed between his legs, slowly at first, then sharply, brutally, as if he were stabbing Billy, or exorcising him. “It doesn’t—ah—it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just you telling me what I wanna hear.”

He drove forwards and forwards, losing sight of the painted nails as he came, his eyes slipping shut and cock bucking, spurting between Billy’s thighs. He might have heard a moan, a curse. Billy’s legs were trembling; his shoulders had slumped forwards, as if he were concussed, or praying. Their come dripped steadily onto the linoleum, pale as churned egg whites; dreamily, Steve reached down and caught some of it on his fingertips, ignoring Billy’s reflexive shudder.

(He tried to remember where he was, where he had been before Billy had come into his life; he had been at a party. Robin’s party, or had it been Tina’s? They all looked the same, after a while: the same music, the same clinging miasmas of marijuana and free beer and unsafe sex; the same leftover cigarette butts and pizza crusts in the pot plants, the cheese hard as dried chewing gum.)

Billy whispered, “It’s not my fault you’re so easy.”

Mists of sweat hovered between his eyebrows, his upper lip; his hips had slowed to a lazy, languid roll. Billy smiled, looking like an insolent cat, the cat that got the proverbial cream. Then he rose, his hair falling in fuzzy cumulus clouds around his shoulders, and kissed him. Steve’s reaction was pained, immediate—he told himself that he didn’t want to be kissed, he didn’t want to have anything to do with what Billy considered intimacy; he wasn’t anyone’s experiment, damn it, he didn’t want to be fed Billy’s scraps—the taste of the lipstick was waxy, alien, as was the way Billy was licking into his mouth: using too much tongue, making a mess, bloodying him with the color. Steve knew how it would look, when he finally pulled away: like they had cannibalized each other. Like Billy had torn his heart out, dripping, and eaten it.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #my writing #lemon #unhealthy relationships #gender issues #i was excited to post this on friday but then i waited too long #telling myself it wasn't good enough #and now i'm self-conscious about it #i hope it measures up to what may very well be a fandom classic #sara has that galaxy brain level of storytelling skill that i'm very envious of y'know #they inspire me a ridiculous amount #and i'm really thankful for that

[goodproofingwater]

Hi, could you do a second part to the one you did about the domestic violence were he confronts her boyfriend and takes her home and makes her feel wanted and loved? Thanks💜

I love this loving and caring Michael so yes absolutely I can do a part two!Part One | Part Two

Warnings: Strong domestic abuse, violence, threats

Soft scratching on paper was the only noise to be heard as Michael Gray sat at his desk on a Saturday morning, the need to ensure paperwork was up to scratch more than the need to rest especially with all of the drama which polluted his life through his uncles. He had always wanted to be a good businessman, and some of the things which wafted his way from his cousin’s activities were things he did not want to be in the vicinity of. And it was lucky he had chosen that particular Saturday. 

The bang on the door made him jump out of his skin, lucky for the pen being out of its inkwell or the black substance would have ruined the papers he had worked so hard on and had barely finished. He was about to light a cigarette when he heard it, the noise which made his heart and his stomach drop - a woman, who sounded a lot like you, crying. Not just sobbing either, wailing like you had broken an arm and he stood without giving himself a moment to consider it, the sound of a man’s voice cutting through the silence so deafeningly that he could only imagine how loud it was outside of brick and mortar. 

The rendezvous with Michael had become your only solace from home. He had allowed you to work in his office particularly when the bruises were bad, and you found yourself sharing looks you should not be sharing with him when you were engaged. The looks had turned to small touches, and you had been so used to his soft hand on your back to gain your attention that your fiancée’s palm against your cheek felt even worse. 

“I don’t have to put up with this” you had screamed at your abuser, “I could have a better life but I stay here because I want you to get better!” 

It had unraveled from there, the audacity of you fighting back making him angry enough to grab your hair and pull you down Watery Lane, throwing you into the door of the bookies. You swore you could feel a rib crack as he kicked you, and you were glad for the door opening when it did or he may have kicked your head in. 

“What the fuck?” Michael’s upbringing became clear with the distinct mix of Birmingham city and countryside in his accent, emphasised by the words he had chosen. “Do ya mind takin’ ya domestic elsewhere—“ he started, and then your eyes met, the sadness in them almost completely undiluted sorrow as he looked past the fresh bruises to confirm it was you. 

Instead of raging as you had expected, he pulled a cigarette from its case and lit it, giving you a chance to stand as your fiancé made eyes at the man who had long since stolen your heart. 

“Thought I’d bring ya the whore that you’ve been payin’ for,” your fiancé spoke loud enough for the street to hear, and Michael leant a hand to help you up without taking his eyes off the man in front of him, “or did ya think fuckin’ someone else’s fiance was gonna give ya no consequences.”

“I’d keep my voice down if I were you,” his tone was dangerous as he pushed you behind him and into the shop, his eyes slightly squinted as he anticipated his next move. 

“Keep my— you’ve got to be fucking kidding me mate” the sickly laugh which followed was one you were familiar with, and your previous lover let a blade slip from his sleeve as he swung for Michael. The younger man had the foresight to duck, but not to anticipate the fist which sunk into his stomach as a reward for a blade not swiping his throat. 

“Stop!” You shouted, and distracted your fiancé for long enough that Michael punched him firmly in the face, kicking hard at his knees and stepping on his hand as it tried to grip the knife. 

“I said keep your fucking voice down so that you didn’t make a scene, and now look what you’ve done” His eyes looked around at the people who were either walking slowly to get a better look or had sped up to avoid any kind of confrontation themselves. 

“As for callin’ her a whore – she’s done nothin’ but defend you when anyone has asked about the increasing amount of bruises she has come in with so I don’t know what the fuck–” 

“She told me she could have a better life with you so don’t fuckin stand there and act like you haven’t been fuckin’ her behind me back”

The surprise which Michael felt at your confession to the man you were sworn too was hidden as he got more and more angry at the insinuation. He was far from a virtuous man, but he had done nothing but take care of you, had actively made sure that he was never in a situation where what he was implying would actually happen. 

“I’ve not touched her mate, same can’t be said for you.” His eyes were so dangerous that you watched your previous lover falter as he stepped forward, and you wondered if there would be any going back from this, if you had made the right decision or if you had just dragged Michael into hell when he had been such an angel. 

Michael stepped closer to your former lover, his voice matching his eyes as he hissed, “You’re going to stay the fuck away from her or I’ll make sure that knife ends up down your throat understand me?” 

Your former lovers eyes widened as he stepped back at the threat, and he nodded, looking between you and Michael, “You can fucking keep her mate, she’s shit anyway.” and then he left, and you were left standing with eyes from the street staring at you, Michaels arm looping around your waist and pulling the door of the shop shut. 

Michael immediately moved to the first aid box after you had made it to his office, pulling ice from the small container that sat next to his whiskey decanter and placing it in a cloth so that you could press it against your face. The flinch as you sat down worried him more than anything, and he gulped as he realised the suggestion he was about to make was entirely inappropriate. 

“I need you to get out of that dress.” He spoke, cursing himself for using that choice of words out of all the versions that had run through his head as he decided how to approach this. Luckily you still had enough humour in you to let out a small laugh

“I don’t think I’m in the right way for that kind of thing right now Michael even if you did just save my life..”

He shakes his head and tries his best not to think about the insinuation you had just made, “No, I meant I need to see how bad the bruises are..”

You swallowed at his words and bit your lip for a moment before you nodded, standing and unlacing your dress before you pulled it over your head. Michael pulled the blinds down in his office just in case. Although it was a Saturday and no one was here, he didn’t trust one of his cousins not to burst through the door and get the wrong idea. 

The colour of your ribs made his entire body flinch, the large purple and yellow bruise which lay across the bottom of your ribcage and your waist a myriad of different shades and although it took some convincing, Michael called the Shelby family doctor to come and take a look. 

Thankfully there was nothing broken, just severe bruising and some split skin on your face where your had failed to protect herself against the cobbles as you tried to shift away from the offending blows. 

When the doctor asked how it had happened, you begged Michael with your eyes not to mention names, and you were in sync enough for him to understand although he desperately wanted to shame the horrible man who had done this to you. The doctor was used to Shelby illness’, had treated multiple bullet wounds and Tommy’s skull and so he was used to secrets and didn’t press any further.

When he left Michael paid and thanked him, seeing him to the door and walking back into his office to see you struggling to reach your dress. 

“Hey… no, let’s just leave the ice on there for now and we’ll get it back on you when you’re a little more comfortable okay?” He spoke in a tone which was so comforting you had no choice but to agree with him, and he grabbed his jacket to put over your body so you didn’t feel as exposed. 

He sat on the floor next to the couch you lay on watching as your fingers assessed the damage of your face, and he moved to hold your hand if only to stop you making it worse. 

“I don’t want you to leave my side until this is sorted okay?” He spoke softly, kissing each knuckle in turn and moving up your arm until he forced himself to stop at the shoulder. 

“Michael I can’t–”

“Yes, you can.” He speaks to your defiance and shakes his head, “I want you to stay at my place with me, I’ll send someone around to your old place to pick up your things.”

“I can’t just run from this..” You continued and he shook his head, his hand moving to caress the part of your face which wasn’t bruised but you flinched anyway, as if every inch of you was in pain. 

“You’re not running from it because I’m going to make sure no-one is chasing you.” He kissed your hand again and you nodded as he smiled softly. 

“I–” He knew it was too soon to tell you how he has been feeling, too much for him to lay it on you when you were so hurt so he held back and instead whispered, “I’m going to make sure he never hurts you again, and I’m going to show you what it’s like to be cared for, to..to be loved.. If you want me to..” 

Although it pained every part of you to move you did, your hand touching his face as you moved closer to him, your nose running along his own for only a second before you closed the gap that you had been dying to for months. 

His lips are soft at first, testing the waters and moving you back to the position you were in where you were in the least amount of pain, but then they become more passionate, more wanting and loving, his hand squeezing your own as you moan softly against him despite the pain in the rest of your body. 

When he pulled back he swallowed thickly, looking at you as if you are made of glass and letting out a small breath as you smiled. 

“Was that okay?” He spoke and you nodded softly, 

“The perfect pain reliever..” You joked, caressing his face and he kissed your hand softly,

“Would you prefer tea or whiskey?” Is the question he asked but he made both, helping you to drink until you felt that you were ready to move, and he took you home and let you sleep in his bed with him. Each night he kissed you softly, and whispers, “I’m going to protect you for as long as you will have me, beautiful girl”

#this was HARD to write #michael gray imagines #michael gray imagine #michael gray #peaky blinders imagines #Anonymous #lvblurbnight

[starlightsoulwriting]

Constellations Against Skin

n.t.

“You hold him in your arms, a thousand stars in the bones of a man, and nobody could have thought you’d come so close to holding constellations against your skin.”

Dean Winchester X Reader; Castiel X Reader

Soulmate AU

[AO3] [Chapter List]

Four: Polaroid

Dean makes an incorrect assumption about you, and you start a case.

You were ready to cut and run before the end of the first week.

But naturally you couldn't. Because Fate liked messing with you, apparently.

It'd been over a year since you'd lived with a roommate and it was a hell of an adjustment. Bobby was fine, you were used to him. What really frustrated you was that you couldn't even do any housework.

You felt like a freeloader.

So you took on fake FBI calls, connected hunters to resources, dug through mountains of lore, and tried not to feel bad about it. And even with all that, you still found time to work on your etchings.

But you were quickly running out of TV to watch when you couldn’t work. You can only watch T2 so many times before you did nothing but zone out.

You tried to find out what ritual Alioth had been putting together, but no matter what books you combed through there was nothing. And you still hadn't heard back about the weird oil on your clothes.

You'd sent it off to your friend, Sophie - one of the preeminent curse breakers in the US. If anyone could get answers it was her. But reaching out to someone like that also sent nerves swirling into your stomach. She was good at keeping secrets, you told yourself. Part of her job was discretion. You would be fine.

But using any contacts from the Continental's network was risky as hell. You'd managed to avoid the rest of the Morgans so far, but you had no way of knowing if they were looking for you. Looking for Echo.

But you’d shed that name like snakeskin, leaving it behind with the ‘family’ you’d broken. No one would call you that ever again if you had anything to say about it.

You would just have to trust Sophie’s professional reputation for now, and wait.

And read.

And sketch spell seals.

And try not to die of boredom.

By the third week you were just itching to charge into the first freakin hunt that came your way. But you were still beholden to the whims of your stupid goddamn cast. You couldn’t even cook your own damn meals, let alone kill a vampire.

You wanted to scream. Or bash your head against a wall. Or both.

And then you were reading.

And working.

And impersonating officers of the law on the phone.

Fun times.

At least Dean called about twice a week - at this point you were living vicariously through the Winchesters. And he was so fucking smug about it, too. But he was always happy to brag, so he indulged you and wove not-entirely-accurate stories of the hunts they’ve been on. He made himself out to be some big bad hero, of course, but that kind of made you like them better.

They even took down the ghost of a serial killer - and you were friggin pissed you weren’t there. How come they got to do all the cool stuff? You wanted to kill a serial killer.

It was embarrassing how much you loved those calls. At this point if Dean showed up at the house you would probably jump him. If your nerves and better judgment didn’t stop you.

You had three more weeks of horrible boredom to look forward to. Yay.

And so you worked.

And you prayed out of nothing more than habit.

And you searched for demonic omens.

At some point you actually found an old Gameboy you stole when you were fifteen. You’ve started seeing Tetris blocks in your dreams.

At five weeks you were practically vibrating out of your casts for all the pent up energy in your system.

Just one more week…

…

You nearly cried when you visited Sioux Falls General and they took the casts off.

Sweet, sweet, freedom.

And what did you do with your sweet, sweet, freedom?

Well, first off, you made sweets.

Bobby's kitchen, July 25th. A full six weeks after the attack. Overcast clouds rumbled outside with the summer storms on the horizon. The incandescent bulbs of Bobby’s old lights hummed on in the kitchen, lighting up the peaceful midmorning. You’d put an oldies station on the radio; the rhythms of the fifties and sixties floated through the air around you, and you’d opened up the window to let the breeze through. The house was too stuffy as it was.

So you hummed softly and swayed side to side, heartbeat slow and smooth. Calm.

Now that you had use of both your hands, you could actually cook.

You carefully draped pie dough over a ceramic dish before pressing it into the sides and fluting the top edge with your fingers. It was a messy job, your hand was still shaky and sore, but it would do its job just fine. You opened the oven door, sliding in the crust to bake by itself before you turned your attention to the sweet, gooey filling.

Pecan pie was your absolute favorite.

You didn't like to admit you could bake - you were a tough, badass hunter. You had a reputation to uphold, you couldn't be seen being domestic! The rumor mill was vicious, and you knew it would only end up with bro-dude hunters giving you shit. You already caught enough flack as it was, and you didn’t need any more.

But you did have a hell of a sweet tooth. And store-bought just can’t compare to something homemade. As soon as you had access to a real kitchen at Bobby’s place, you'd made up for lost time and taught yourself how to bake. He sure wasn’t going to complain - he got to eat what you made, too.

Although one time you forgot cookies in the oven and almost burned the house down. But that was just the once.

This would be the last chance you had to indulge for a while - you were going to start hunting again tomorrow. At least you hoped you would. It depended on whether you could find a case or not.

For now, though, you pulled the crust out of the oven, pouring in the filling and the pecans before putting it back to finish baking. The smell of gooey caramel was filling the house already, leaving your tongue watering. It had been too long since you’d enjoyed yourself.

Forty-five minutes on the timer.

You’d just started scrubbing out your mixing bowls when there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it!" Bobby shouted from the other room and went to answer, footsteps squeaking along the floorboards as he went.

"Hey, Bobby! Figured we'd stop by since we were close." A familiar voice rang through the house.

Oh no.

You were covered in flour, you had water splashed on your shirt from the sink, your hair was in a bandana of all things, and you were wearing a ratty tank top and sweatpants.

And Dean was there. Fantastic.

So you steadfastly ignored the conversation slowly drifting closer to you, continuing to clean the pan you’d used to make the filling, hoping that if you were quiet enough they wouldn't notice you. Because that made perfect sense.

"What smells so good?"

You squeaked, turning around to see Dean leaning against the kitchen door frame, while Bobby and Sam spoke in the living room behind him - something about vampires?

You cleared your throat and gave your best, stilted attempt at leaning casually against the counter. Your hand landed in a gross glob of flour, but you smiled anyway. "Pecan Pie." And your voice just cracked. Wonderful. God, you sounded like a wounded animal.

"There's pie?" The excited expression that lit up his face made your heart race to light speed. Shit, he was so cute and you were so screwed.

"It's not done yet." You nodded at the oven, butterflies almost escaping your stomach and lodging in your throat instead. Were you blushing already? You hoped you weren’t blushing already.

“I'm gonna go get cleaned up." You blurted out and left the room before he could respond, completely forgetting about the photo collection you’d left on the kitchen table.

Real fuckin smooth.

It’s official: You were a wimp and a fool and a coward. You bit back the frustrated growl threatening to leave your throat, and you rubbed at your temples. You were supposed to be cool, damnit! Just ask him out, what's wrong with you?

But he made your insides go all oogey-goey and your limbs feel like jelly and no one in your entire, fucked-up life had ever done that. You don’t think you could emotionally handle a one night stand with him, no matter how desperately you wanted to take him to bed. There was no way it would end well, not with your heart doing backflips at the mere mention of his name.

And Dean wasn’t exactly the relationship type. Neither were you really, but god, did you want to be, if only until it eventually blew up. Fuck.

It would be better for everyone to just do nothing at all.

So you kept muttering your misfortunes as you got dressed, shifting carefully into your jeans. Your leg was mostly healed, but it was still sore when you moved and wearing jeans was hard. Ugh.

You tried not to look at your empty ribs when you changed your shirt, but you caught sight of them anyway. It still made you feel like you’d been stabbed in the heart, but you swallowed the feeling down and shoved it aside behind as many emotional barricades as you could muster.

You could feel bad later. Always later.

It's not like soulmark would’ve ever lead to anything, anyway.

---

You’d ran away from him. For real.

He would’ve laughed at the panicked look on your face if it didn’t actually sting a bit. But shit, you were cute looking all domestic like that. The sight of you baking, in lounge clothes and covered in flour? It made the part of him that wanted the white picket fence life scream.

It was in his head now and would probably haunt his dreams.

Instead of lingering on his wounded pride and your rapid escape, Dean just sat down at the table, grabbing a beer from the fridge on the way.

“Beer ain’t free, kid,” Bobby called from the living room but Dean just waved him off.

“We’ll buy you some more.”

“With what cash?” That was Sam, with a scoff.

Thanks for pointing out how broke they were, jackass.

Dean rolled his eyes and decided to ignore them as they went back to their conversation. Just talking about the vamp nest they took out in Iowa. Not a big deal.

But the beat-up, mod-podged shoebox on the table full of old Polaroids? That was a big deal.

It was crumpled in the corners and smelled like dust and old paper, and the paper glued on the sides was a but-ugly, neon pink mess. And Dean wanted to snoop more than anything else in the world. So he did.

He pulled the box closer to rifle through the loose photos near the top. Random shots of diners and a few mountains, a few people he didn’t know - and there was the one you took of him and Sam before they left. He curled his lip a little at that, cheeks going slightly pink. It was the least flattering photo of himself he'd ever seen - he had Sam trapped in a headlock and both of them had stupid, panicked expressions in their face. Why the hell you wanted a picture like that was way beyond him. He was half tempted to burn it.

He dug a bit deeper and found even more photos of strangers. And there were names and descriptions on the back of each one.

Annalise Nocte. Incel Werewolf, 6/7/06. A cute, smiling redhead with freckles covering her cheeks. Younger than any of you by at least five years, probably in college. Wearing a denim jacket and white sundress in front of the bookstore from Ridgeview. That was just a day before your attack. He didn’t remember talking to her during your case.

Joseph and Sarah Hoffman. Rave ghost. 10/23/05. Siblings, obviously, they could half-pass as twins. Mid-twenties, pale as hell, both had blue-grey eyes and hair dyed wacky colors. The girl had deep purple hair, multiple piercings, and a tattoo on her collarbone. The guy's hair was a midnight blue-black, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He wore a nerdy t-shirt referencing some show Dean didn’t watch. Both of them wore hiking backpacks, and the photo’d been taken in the woods.

Fareeha Suri. Jealous Witch. 2/19/06. The woman in this photo was in her mid-forties and cooking something bright yellow with lots of vegetables in a stew pot, inside a kitchen that looked like it hadn’t been renovated since the seventies. She had rich brown skin and deep black hair, and tired but kind eyes. The photo'd just barely caught kids running around in the background.

Were these all people you’d saved?

Under the loose polaroids was a thick, leather-bound book, an earthy blue color. An etched silver plate hammered into the front was the only decoration.

‘Memories'

Dean opened it and had to fight back an amused snort. It was all pictures of you! Some were selfies, of course, but some of them had been taken by someone else. There were even a few of a grumpy-looking, fourteen year old version of you that wore all black and a ton of eyeliner.

He skimmed through it, idly smiling, wanting to get to the more recent stuff - there were a few of a younger Jo and Ellen, and one or two of his dad, even - and lots of Bobby, yourself, and a too many other hunters he didn’t recognize.

His heart just about shriveled up and died when he stopped on one page though.

‘The Prom Crashing of Hillcrest High, 1995’

And there you were, wearing a deep blue prom dress, an official photo and everything. Your hair was done, you were actually wearing makeup.

And you were on a date with a girl.

A girl that was very visibly kissing your neck in the bottom right selfie in the spread. And that you were kissing on the lips in the left photo.

You looked happy.

And Dean felt childish jealousy burning in his chest.

So he shut the book harder than he needed to, and put it back where it belonged, and downed the rest of his beer in one go. He only barely choked on it, too. And then he went to the living room, ignoring the fact that his face was bright red and his heart was in actual pain and he was so, so, totally, screwed, and that he was just looking for distractions at this point.

It hurt. He hated to admit it, even to just himself, but it did. He’d never exactly thought that his major little crush on you would have ever led to anything, anyway. Hunters didn’t do relationships. Dean knew that. He agreed with that. There were good reasons for it.

But you were Awesome with a capital A. A badass, capable woman that gave as good as you got, and looked great in a leather jacket. Who kept up with his banter, and got him on a level he hadn’t felt understood on since… forever. And that wasn’t even mentioning the almost magnetic pull he felt from his soulmark whenever he was around you. He’d never stocked that much faith in romance or fate, but if it wasn’t for the fact his only mark was a familial blue writing out Sam’s name, he wouldn’t have doubted for a second you were the one. You made him feel like he was going to explode. But like, in a good way. Like his chest was too full of stuff.

And it killed him. You killed him. Your phone calls had been something to look forward to for the past month and a half. He’d gotten to show off and snark and laugh and relax with someone that wasn’t his goddamn brother for once in his life and it had been amazing and Dean hated to admit it but he’d wanted to jump you the moment you challenged him to a drag race. But he’d stopped himself, acting like a responsible human being for once - you’d still been hurt. You could barely walk around the house. It would’ve been a horrible idea.

And Dean could be patient when he wanted to be. But there was no amount of patience in the world that would fix this. No amount of waiting would make you stop being gay.

He wanted to crawl into the forest, lie down, and become one with the moss. Maybe with some intermittent screaming if he felt up to it.

Instead he just rubbed at the bridge of his nose and took some deep breaths.

He was so fucking screwed.

---

"This pie is delicious." Dean mumbled through mouthfuls, still not looking at you for longer than a few seconds at a time.

You were starting to get ticked off.

You rolled your eyes at the same time as Sam did, laying back against the couch and crossing your arms. Fine, you wouldn’t look at him either. It’s not like you wanted to, anyway. His face was stupid. And absolutely gorgeous. But you were trying not to focus on that bit when he could barely stand to look at you.

See, this is what happened when you were seen being domestic. You’d completely ruined your reputation.

"Dude, seriously?" Sam’s nose crinkled up and he furrowed his brow.

"But it's good!"

Sam looked grossed out.

"Thanks," You smiled tightly, only glancing at Dean for a second before looking back at the baseball game none of you actually cared about. "I would tell you we have more but I only made the one."

Dean shrugged and kept eating, seeming to enjoy himself well enough without you.

No, you weren’t going to be jealous of a pie. No way in hell would that ever happen. Especially not a pie you’d made yourself. Great. Definitely not.

There was a long silence.

And then Bobby’s phone went off and you winced. That goddamn piece of shit ringing sounded like nails on a chalkboard, after so many days in this place. If you heard it one more time you were gonna leave this damn place early, you swore.

Bobby didn't look very happy when he came back in. "Well, boys, it’s your lucky day. I’ve got a case."

You turned your entire body to face him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash, all preoccupations on why Dean was being weird leaving your mind all at once. "What kind of case?"

He shook his head and rolled his eyes at you. He rolled his fucking eyes at you."The kind of case you're not taking."

That just about set you off all on it’s own, your face blooming hot and tension shooting through you to coil around your chest. "Seriously?” You gave him the same look you gave the people you used to interrogate. Hard, and cold, and reasonably terrifying. “I can handle myself."

He didn’t even seem to notice. The ringing started in your ears.

"You just had your cast taken off, there's no way you're going hunting alone, not like this." He turned to the boys, ignoring your point altogether and acting like you didn’t exist. "Suspicious death in Colorado. Witness says he saw a disappearing, ghostly woman."

Mother. Fucker.

The ringing became screaming sharpness in your head and the inside of your head was suddenly bursting with bright, blinding light that pushed out all other thoughts.

“I can take a salt and burn," You hissed, closing your eyes tight against the brightness that only existed inside you, fists clenching into the couch pillow next to you, nails almost ripping through the fabric.

When you opened your eyes the noise had started coating the world in shaky, blurry colors and if you didn’t calm down soon things would get ugly.

"No, you can't." He pointed his finger at you like you were fourteen and he could tell you what to do.

He couldn’t tell you what to do even when you were fourteen!

You stood up, mouth curling to form charged words, everything around you too slow and too fast all at once. There was nothing in your head but the ringing now. "That's not for you to decide!"

"It doesn't matter, you're not ready."

"The hell I'm not." You said low and hard and pointed, like the edge of a dagger.

Then you shut your eyes hard, and bolted to your room, breathing coming in sharp and you could feel the whole room around you shaking and you weren’t sure if it was just you or if it was being caused by you but everything was just so loud and you crumpled up in the corner of your room and you could feel everything for miles and it hurt and it hurt and it hurt and you wanted to claw out your eyes your head was going to explode everything was so loud -

A hand on your shoulder made everything suddenly go quiet.

Dean.

You just about cried in relief, opening your eyes to beautiful green eyes. "You good, princess?"

It was half facetious and somehow still exactly what you needed. And the world around was blessedly calm, the ringing, somehow, chased away by his touch.

You wiped at your eyes and gave him a weak thumbs up. "Never better."

He smiled and helped you up, before he went to lean on the wall. You started to throw your clothes into a duffel bag, turning away from him. He probably had no idea what had really just happened, how close you’d been to causing real problems for everyone. To him it probably just seemed like you were upset.

"You don't have to pack up and leave, okay?” His casual tone confirmed your suspicions. It was probably for the best he didn’t know, anyway. “You said it yourself, Bobby still handles you with kid gloves. He’s just worried."

"You don't get it." You sighed and flopped onto the bed. You met his gaze just the once before you rubbed at your eyes, fighting a massive incoming migraine. You haven't had an episode like that in about a year, and you’d almost forgotten how peircing the pain in your temples could be. "I've already been here too long.” Which was true, you had been. “I need to leave anyway." Also true.

Like you said earlier, you didn’t know if there were people after you. Or demons. Either one was a real possibility.

"Okay, how about, instead of diving right back into the game after almost two months off,” He looked at you like he’d just had the smartest idea in the world. “We ease you back into it? That way everybody's happy."

You gave a sarcastic bark of a laugh. "Can't exactly ease back into hunting, genius."

"Uh, yeah, you can,” He said plainly and raised his eyebrows. “You work as a team and have someone to watch your back while you get your sea legs back."

"Dean,” You covered your face with your hands and let yourself fall back onto the bed, dejected. “I don't have any friends."

"What the hell am I, then, chopped liver?"

Oh my god, you’d really just said that. And he actually looked hurt.

Shit.

You rolled over and wiggled your way to the other side of the bed, burying your face in your pillow to hide your blushing face. You probably looked ridiculous and childish, but you didn’t care. You were so fucking stupid. "I dunno, I figured I was just some random hunter. Not worth bothering with." You mumbled into the fabric.

If only you could dig yourself into a large hole and never be seen again.

He only laughed at you, though, which was something. "Why the hell else would I call so often?"

You shrugged, still wanting very much to disappear. Then pain burst through your ear, and you turned over with a girly shriek. “What the hell was that for?!” He’d flicked you in the ear! “That fucking hurt, jackass!”

You kicked him in the shin as best you could from your position on the bed.

Oh my god, he was still laughing at you. “Got you out of your head though.”

“Asshole.” You muttered and stood up again, grabbing more of your belongings.

“Anyway,” He started, acting like all this was completely normal behavior toward peers. Rude. “Bobby wants to know you’re safe, and you want to hunt.”

“Yes, I know about the argument I just had.”

“Hey, I’m trying to help here.”

“Okay, fine.” You glanced back at him for only a moment before you relented, forcing yourself to relax your frame. You didn’t need to be on edge here. You were safe.

"I think that you should come on this ghost hunt with Sammy and I. That way Bobby's not worrying and you get to stay Miss Independent.” He quirked his eyebrows and you were gone. You could not stay mad at this man. “Promise we won't cramp your style."

Oh my god, like you would ever say no to that.

"Okay," A smile worked its way across your face despite yourself. "But just one hunt."

"One hunt." He smiled again then, and holy shit it took all your willpower not to push him against the wall and kiss him hard. That voice was going to haunt you in your dreams. “And then we go to the drag strip, where I’m gonna kick your ass.”

And he was back to smack talk.

“Oh, I am going to leave the Impala in the dust, what are you talking about!”

If you didn’t have a heart attack before you got the chance. At this rate it was becoming a real possibility Dean Winchester would actually kill you one of these days.

But for now you would pack your things and climb into the back seat of the Impala for your first salt and burn in months, giddy excitement running around your veins like sparklers.

An hour later the three of you were gone, reading what little information Bobby had written down. "Are we sure this isn't the Joker?" You tilted your head to the side at the paper in front of you.

"Well, considering there were cold spots and flickering lights, I'd say it's definitely not." Sam turned around with a skeptical look from the front seat. You were in the back, legs laid out across the entire bench. You wiggled your toes intermittently, stupidly happy to be able to move everything again. “Besides, I don't think that's the Joker's M.O.”

You pursed your lips at that. “Are you sure? I could’ve sworn he did the whole Glasgow Smile thing.”

“No, he used poison. I think you’re thinking of a different serial killer.”

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Dean piped in.

"The case," You started. "Frat boy killed in his own bedroom. Found with a smile cut into his face. Roommate says there was a woman standing over the body that disappeared into thin air."

"That smile's gotta mean something about her death, you think?”

You just shrugged. “Probably.”

The drive felt like it took forever, even though you'd driven longer by yourself before. But you can only play the Alphabet Game so many times before it gets old (and before you got tired of Sam beating you at it). By the time you got there you'd even considered breaking out Never Have I Ever, which would have been a disaster, probably.

Pikes College was a small community school a few hours outside of Fort Collins, Colorado. It was just about the only reason the small town of Pemberton was on the map at all. About ten-thousand students attended, and it had only a handful of Greek Life chapters. Kappa Delta Alpha was the only fraternity chapter to have an actual house.

And Corey Matheson, a third year pledge, had been stabbed to death and mutilated in his bed a week before the fall semester started. He was a business major, well liked, and, according to his fraternity brothers, had big plans for his life.

But before the three of you went to the crime scene, you had to check out a motel room and get some sleep. It was pushing eight thirty at night, no way were you getting into the scene this late. And the ME’s office was closed already, which was a bummer. You would have to start fresh in the morning.

The motel was dingy and smelled like dust, but that was par for the course. Water stains trailed down the wall behind the desk, too, leaving gross brown residue on the drywall. You just hoped that didn't reflect the quality of this place's plumbing. You didn’t plan on taking a cold shower.

The man behind the counter, Lewis, slumped in his chair and looked half-asleep, staring blankly at the computer monitor. He barely looked at you when you walked up to the counter.

“Two rooms, please.” You chirpped genially, face going a tad Stepford Wives, and started pulling out one of your fake IDs and some cash.

He nodded slowly and started typing - at about three words a minute. Drawn out silence interrupted by lonely keystrokes. After about ten-thousand years he stopped and glanced at you, shrugging. “Only got the one. Buncha families in town for move-in week, I’m all booked.”

You sighed and looked back at the boys. The resigned look on Sam’s face gave you the permission you needed, so you turned around with slumped shoulders. “One room, then. Thanks.”

“Enjoy your stay.” He yawned out, slapping a pair of keycards down on the counter.

“I’ll try.” You laid down enough cash for three days and picked up the cards, plodding back over to the boys before all of you walked to your room. “Rock Paper Scissors for who sleeps on the floor?”

“(Y/n), no.” Sam looked at you like you’re nuts. “You obviously get one of the beds, you’re still recovering. Dean and I can take turns on the other one.” He elbowed Dean in the side. “Right, Dean?”

“Uh, right.” He seemed caught off guard, like he wasn’t paying attention at all. Had he just been zoned out the whole time? Really? “Sure.”

The wallpaper of your room was peeling off the walls, and the neon blue polka dot pattern was an affront to god and nature, but there were beds, and a shower, and that's all that really mattered. You plopped your duffel down on the bed on the far side of the room. When you looked back at the boys they were in a heated game of rock paper scissors.

Dean lost.

Sam laughed, “Again with the scissors?”

Dean just grumbled about his loss underneath his breath as he pulled out some sweatpants. You chuckled at them under your breath as you crossed the room, calling dibs on the first shower, sleep clothes in hand. There was no way you were wearing your normal pajamas with the boys sharing your room. You settled for soft knit joggers and a t-shirt.

You were pleasantly surprised to find that the hot water actually worked, thank god. Fifteen minutes later you were sitting on your bed in the main room - Sam took second shower. You were absent-mindedly patting your hair with a towel with one hand and digging through your bag for your rosary with the other. You could’ve sworn you put it in the side pocket with your med pack. There was no way you’d left it behind at Bobby’s.

A sigh of relief left you when you felt the familiar plastic against your fingertips, pulling out the fraying string of neon-pink plastic beads from your bag. You quickly glanced at Dean. He was busy disassembling his FBI gun, cleaning it on the tiny motel table by the door.

Good. You didn’t need to be made fun of.

You weren’t Catholic, not since you left the Nuns at the group home. But there was one particular prayer you never stopped. It was childish, maybe, and you felt like you were talking into an empty room and waiting endlessly for a response, but you still hoped that they heard you, wherever they were off to.

You clutched the plastic cross tight in both hands, closed your eyes, and started whispering in Latin. “Angele dei, Qui custos es mei, Castiel, Me tibi commi-”

“Are you praying?”

Of course he interrupted you.

The look you gave him could melt ice. He just looked a bit incredulous.

“Yes.” You forced out through clenched teeth, you could hear your heartbeat from your ears, face going red. You really didn’t want to explain the deeper reasons behind this besides just habit. He would think you were crazy-bonkers. “The group home I was raised in was run by a Convent.” You stared at the sheets instead of Dean. “You know what they say about old habits.” You murmured, just waiting for him to ask more questions that would expose just how nuts you probably were.

Those questions never came, though. Dean seemed to accept your answer for the half-truth it was, and went back to cleaning his gun.

So you gripped the first thing you’d ever owned after the fire, running your fingers over the worn beads, and finished your nightly prayer to your soulmate.

Wherever they were.

My guardian dear, Castiel,

To whom their love commits me here;

Ever this night be at my side,

To light and guard, to rule and guide.

Amen.

...I wish you could be here.

A/N:  So Dean makes an assumption in this chapter that isn't entirely correct but isn't entirely incorrect. Poor guy thinks you don't like men, and he's very confused about you because of it. Based on their upbringing, I doubt Dean really thinks of Bi people much, unless he's directly told to his face that someone swings both ways. So he assumes you Only Like Women, because that's what makes the most sense to him at the moment. And so he's trying to be a good friend. This misunderstanding will be rectified in a few chapters, but for now, there'll be a lot of pining and moon-eyes, and Sam will be annoyed at how obvious the both of you are. The prayer the reader is reciting at the end is a slightly altered Angele Dei prayer, also known as the Prayer to One's Guardian Angel. All in it's original Latin, of course, cause Reader is just Like That. It resonated with her for obvious reasons. She's done this every night for literally years, and the rosary (neon pink and glow in the dark - and yes, you can buy rosaries like that IRL) was the first thing ever given to her at the group home. It's literally the first thing she ever owned herself - the rest of it burned down in the fire. Also if anyone has guesses as to what reader was up to in New York I would be down, although there isn't all that much to go on right now lol. But trust me the wait for answers is going to be worth it. As always, I hope you enjoyed! Have a great week, wash your hands, and stay safe! :)

#supernatural x reader #soulmate au #dean winchester x reader #Castiel x reader #dean x reader #c.a.s. #castiel #chaptered #dean winchester #longfic #reader #x reader #I'm sorry for the long author's notes lol

[thehomierobbstark]

Movie Night

Ramen Recipe

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt: A typical movie night turns into anything but.

A/N: Don’t ask me where I come up with this shit 😂😂😂 I just be horny as hell daydreaming and be getting creative AF. Been holding onto this idea for a few months now.

Warnings: 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿 At the bottom

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy if I decide to continue writing.

*Edit* This story belongs in the Teach Me AU after chapter 5 (chapter 4 & 5 have yet to be posted but there’s your timeline).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ya Out Fit

“You… you made this?” she asks incredulously, face full of shock and disbelief, her cheeks poked out from the mouthful of ramen she was covering with her hand.  It was absolutely adorable, the way she looked right now.

Erik groans, dramatically palming a hand over his face and dropping his head back in faux annoyance. This was her fourth time asking him, AND she was just finishing her second helping. If she didn’t believe him by now, he didn’t know if she ever would.

“Yes, babygirl! This all me,” he laughs, watching her munch away on noodle and egg.

It was movie night at Erik’s tonight, except he usually never cooked; they always ordered out. This time, he’d insisted they sit down and eat an actual dinner, even going so far as to give her a scheduled time to arrive. Usually, she’d just show up whenever.

“Hey,” She says, throwing her hands up in defense. “All I know is, last time I saw you in the kitchen, Auntie Dee had just walked out with half her eyebrow missing.”

She steels her face against the oncoming grin, looking away to avoid his eyes.

Erik kisses his teeth, side eyeing her from his end of the table.

“Man, whatever! You always gotta bring up old shit. She ain’t even notice it.”

She drops her hands as the smile breaks through, nodding her head in concession as she remembers how unaware poor Auntie Dee was and how much shit they used to get away with when they were younger.

“You is mutha fuggin RIGHT!” she sings, laughing at her own joke before she’s able to finish telling it.

“You so fuckin wack,” he rolls his eyes at her, chest bouncing from his suppressed chuckles as he gets up from his chair. “Come on and put ya stuff in the kitchen cornball.” He commands, scooping his bowl and chopsticks up before grabbing both their cups.

“How you know I was done tho,” she verbally argues, but follows suit right behind him.

“Cuz, you are.” He states plainly, as if it was obvious.

“CUz yOU aRe,” She silently mocked him, mouthing the words and making a face at the back of his head while she padded into the kitchen. He was right, she was done, but he ain’t need to know all that.

“Don’t get your ass whooped, little girl.” He warns her, glancing back with a knowing face while he places the dishes in the sink.

Yeah, whateva nigga. She thinks, eyebrow twitching from the mental eye roll she does. She places her dishes in after him, flipping on the tap to start some dish water while she tucks her loose braids behind her ear. He turns it off immediately, shooing her away.

“Don’t worry about allat, I’ll handle this later.” He ushers her out of the kitchen, knowing how helpfully domestic she was whenever they hung out together.  

“Go pick out a movie and put it in, I gotta go grab something from upstairs real quick.” he says, leaving her in the living room near the couch while he dashes up the stairs to the second floor.

She waits a few beats, idling by the foot of the stairs while she listens to the sound of him moving around. She hears a door close, and slowly moseys her way back into the kitchen, turning the tap back on.

She never did like to listen much.

Once the sink was filled with soapy water, she busied herself, letting herself fall into the monotonous but comfortable task of washing the dishes.  She was so distracted and in her own head by the fifth dish, she didn’t realize that Erik had come back down stairs and propped himself against the wall, watching her.

“So I see we just out here doing whatever we feel like, huh?” His voice announces his presence, startling her a little bit.

She recovers smoothly, her answer rolling off her tongue easily.

“Always,” she says, rinsing a pair of panda decorated chopsticks off before smirking over at him, grinning wickedly.  Nobody could ever keep her from doing what she wanted, a fact they both knew.

“Well, since you wanna wash dishes so bad,” he says, taking slow steps towards her, face focused while a hint of something sinister lurks somewhere behind his eyes. “Go head and finish then.”

She studies his movements cautiously from the corner of her eye, knowing that he was notorious for surprise attacks of either tickling her until she collapsed or tossing her over his shoulder to body slam her on the couch.

He quickened his steps, and before she could fully remove her hands from the water to shield herself, he slides up behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist.

She reaches for him, but he grunts in disapproval. “Uh uh, put them wet ass fingers back in that sink. You not touching me with them hands.”

Y/N scoffs, grabbing the side of the sink while she shifts her weight to one foot. “Really, Erik.”

He ignores her, wrapping his fingers around her tighter and pulling her closer to him while his head slides in place next to hers.

“I said,” He leans in close, his lips grazing the skin in front of her ear, “finish those fucking dishes.”

Her heartbeat stutters in her throat, mouth going dry from the sudden intensity of his words. She looks down into the sink, seeing the remaining pot and cup left to wash.

Looking back up, she turns to face Erik when his head buries in her neck, pinching the thin skin behind her ear with his teeth, making her take in a sharp gasp.

“What I just say?” he asks darkly, and she freezes as she feels his rough fingers travel up to the dip in her back, pushing her forward gently to lean her over the sink, a silent command to do as she’s told.

She picks up the sponge, lathering it with soap as her mind splits focus between her task and Erik’s hands on her.

As she cleans the pot, he starts to knead small circles into her back with his thumbs, palms rubbing lovingly over her love handles as his hands travel up her back.

It was a comforting massage, helping to release tension she didn’t even know she was holding, and she slowly melted into his fingers.

When he reaches her shoulder blades, he leans down to place a soft kiss on her back, tugging the material of her dress down slightly with his index finger. With the little bit of access he gained, he sticks his tongue out and licks a delicious stripe up her spine, his fingers lacing into the braids at the base of her head to push them aside.

She tenses up again, back involuntarily arching as the cold air hits the warm trail of spit he left behind, making her shiver.

She’d stopped cleaning at that point, far too distracted with what he was doing to her to give a damn about the last cup in the sink.

Reaching the nape of her neck, he ends the lick with a firm bite on the space where her shoulder and neck meet, growling around a mouthful of skin at the breathy moan that escapes her lips.

Detaching from her, his hands find their way back around her hips, squeezing there before he speaks again, lips pressed against the shell of her ear.

“Meet me in the living room when you’re finished. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He lets go of her and steps away, reaching back to give her a swift pop to her ass.

He disappears around the corner into the living room, and Y/N takes a second to gather herself.

Tilting her head back, she blows out a shuddering breath, closing her eyes to reason with her body to come down from the intense rush of hormones that just spiked all over.

Looking back into the sink at the remaining dish, she turns on the water to rinse it off, not even caring if it was thoroughly cleaned or not. She didn’t even want to play with the idea of being late if it meant Erik had any more tricks up his sleeve similar to what just happened. She wasn’t sure if her underwear would make it.

She quickly placed the cup on the drying rack and dried her hands, taking a moment to smooth out her dress and ruffle her braids for a messy but cute look. She had an inkling that her look would probably be ruined by the end of the date anyway, but she could at least attempt to sustain it.

She rounds the corner to the living room, feeling her uncomfortably wet panties moving against her center as she does. Seeing Erik on the couch, she makes a mental note to sit on the opposite end and keep her legs crossed to keep the smell of her arousal from leaking out. She’d be mortified if Erik ever discovered just how turned on he’d made her with his little show in the kitchen. His ego didn’t need any more feeding than it already got on a regular basis.

She plops herself down on the couch, but she isn’t seated two seconds before Erik’s doling out commands again.

“Uh uh. Get your lil ass over here and come pick a movie out like I told you.” She rolls her eyes, kissing her teeth and popping back up to make her way over to the coffee table. He was being stupid bossy, and he had about one more time to be talking to her like that before they had a problem.

Y/N was so busy fussing in her head over Erik’s trifling ass that she didn’t realize the coffee table was weirdly pulled close to the couch, the six movie choices arranged in the center directly in front of where Erik was sitting.

Walking over, she stands perpendicular to both him and the table, looking at the small space in between where she was apparently supposed to stand to make her selection. If she did, her ass would be directly in his face, and with the short dress she was wearing combined with the current state of her cheeky underwear, that was the last thing she wanted to be doing.

Crossing her arms, she peeks over her shoulder to take a look at the options, but the table is incredibly low and her blind ass didn’t have her glasses on, making the titles on the DVD cases difficult to read.

She glances over at Erik to see that he’s watching her intensely, smug smile hidden behind his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“I ain’t got all day beautiful. Bend that blind ass over and choose one. I’m not gon say it again.”

Alright. This nigga was getting way too comfortable ordering her around and she was Over It ™.

She drops her arms and steps to him, ready to start cursing him out when he grabs her hips and spins her around, holding her with a firm grip right at the top of her thighs. Leaning forward, he nips at the back of her thigh, rubbing away the sharp pain with his thumb before kissing the sensitive area.

Dropping one hand down in between her legs, he lazily draws his fingers up the inside of her ankle, delicately digging his nails into her so she could feel them scraping against her skin.

When he reaches her knee, her mind snaps back to reality, and she opens her mouth to say something but he cuts her off.

“Erik -”

“I’m not stopping until you find something for us to watch. So get busy.” he says plainly, shutting down any argument she was about to make.

His nails scrape up past her knee, and Y/N reflexively closes her legs, the tickling sensation starting to become too much for her.  

His hand was trapped between her thighs at that point, and thinking him to be defeated, she bends over, placing both hands on the coffee table for leverage, leg muscles still constricted as she tries to scan over the movies.

She gets to the third title, looking it over when Erik pulls his hand from between her legs, moving quickly to flip up the skirt of her dress and grip both her ass cheeks to spread them apart.

She doesn’t even have time to reach back to push him away when he buries his face into her clothed crotch, nose digging sweetly right into her opening. He takes in a deep breath, inhaling everything she has to offer, and her knees go weak making her grip the edge of the table more firmly.

It lasts a few seconds, and when he’s done he opens his mouth, bellowing out a deep and satisfied groan as his hot breath centers right over her pussy, making her squirm around and clench, still helplessly locked in his grip.

Delirious now from the ecstasy of what just happened, she slaps the table, her hand landing on the cover of a random DVD she no longer cared the name of and holds it up, waving it blindly behind her to signal to him that she finally made her decision.

He gives a small grunt of acknowledgement, almost sounding disappointed, and darts his tongue out, sliding it through her slit to rub at her clit a couple times before retreating, tucking it back into his mouth and pressing a sweet wet kiss to the seat of her soaked panties, tasting her through the fabric.

Pulling back, he flips her skirt back down and take the movie from her, giving her a minute to catch her breath since she’d been panting and whining the whole time.

When she’s able to stand again, he smacks her on the ass with the DVD case, handing it back to her.

“Good girl. Now go put this in the DVD player and come sit in my lap. We ain’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can actually give yall a bomb ass ramen recipe if you want it XD. I fuckin love ramen yo lmao.

Also RIP Blockbuster, we bringing them back for this fic :’D.

Warnings: Pre smut? Fondling, (Slight) Spanking, Above Clothes Touching

Tags:@kxnfuzed-blog-blog @sweet-epiphany85 @blackpantherismyish @huuniii  @wawakanda-btch @ljstraightnochaser@bearhuggingbaby@drsunshine97@hearteyes-for-killmonger@maliadestiny @lucidaquarian@theunsweetenedtruth@sicksadgen@louisdimuccis @blackchunkyqueen @ash-moneyy@blowmymbackout @buttercup812 @minkyomom  @softnani @curls-and-crosses @lunaerly @lovemekaycee @uhlxis @blackgirloneshots@thecaptainofamerica @wakandas-vibranium @teheeboo @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@whorderofthepheonix@youreadthatright @killmongerdispussy@cawifornia @tchallamakesmeh0lla @siriuslycollins @panthergoddessbast  @blue-ishx@shesfromwakanda@hearteyes-for-killmonger@amethyst1993@bartierbakarimobisson @whoramilaje @muse-of-mbaku@eriknutinthispoosy@wakandas-vibranium @wakanda-inspired @thickoreo@allhailnjadaka@wifeyofnjadaka @hidden-treasures21 @killmvnger@sicksadgen @tgigoldie@killmongersgurl @princessstevens @beautifulqueenflaws @cocooned-butterfly@chaneajoyyy @ange-sensuel@laketaj24 @chasingsunlight @vikkidc@shadowkissedprincessofheart @wakanda-inspired  @taint3dvirgin @blackpinup22

#a part 2.....can be done.....should it be requested.... #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x black!reader #TheHomieFics #bp #black panther fandom #black panther fanfiction

[mrs-hollandstan]

Undercover {2} || Undercover Cop!Reader x Mobster!Bucky

Warnings: more alcohol consumption, language, talk of past domestic abuse, talk of religion, lil bit of violence, kidnapping?? (already in the last chapter), verbal fighting

Word Count: 3,745

Author’s Note: Here’s part two loves. I also left this part open for a next and I might have smut in the next one or the one after?? Idk, I’ll see where it takes me. Leave me feedback!

⟵Previous || Series Masterlist || Next⟶

Bucky was very familiar with the story of Adam and Eve. Despite being violent by nature, he still referred back to his Catholic upbringing brought upon him by his mother after his father left the family. He and his sisters dressed in worn clothes that were handed down, and some of the people of upper Brooklyn crinkled their noses at, attended church every Sunday with their God fearing mother who prayed every Sunday morning that her son wouldn't end up like his father. She prayed every day and every night that her son would be nothing like his abusive, alcoholic father and if he ever were a father he'd the complete opposite. And he proved her wrong. She didn't see the business he was starting. She was gone long before he began the criminal career of head mobster of New York. He wasn't an alcoholic and he killed men that hit their women or kids. He kept a Bible in his office but it hadn't been opened in years. The small black Bible with crumpled, yellowing pages had belonged to his mother. He'd been thunked upside the head with it a few times when he'd said something stupid, but it brought memories back that often reminded him to go to a confessional every once in a while. And the father at the local church was always waiting patiently, every other Sunday or so for Bucky to come in and confess to all the crime he committed. The story of Adam and Eve was one of the stories Bucky was most familiar with. He saw himself as Eve in the situation of you and him. He knew what he wanted with you was forbidden but he was tempted and if he could, he would eat the forbidden fruit. Hell, he was even willing to face the consequences. The way he saw it, half of your precinct was crooked anyways. It's not like he'd get arrested waltzing in to see his girl. Half of the men would even welcome him like a long lost relative showing back up at Christmas. But he wouldn't show you that. Even if you already knew.

He sat fuming in his corner of the bar the night after you'd shared a cold shower, awaiting your arrival expectantly. But you didn't show. Instead you ordered takeout, watching the clock tick by and wondering if he'd show his face in your building again. Your heart skipped excitedly when the delivery man knocked, leaving you wondering if it was Bucky. But much to your dismay it was a tall blonde with similar blue eyes that you wished were someone else's. Bucky questioned going out to find you. Force you back to the bar and take the snake off his hands. But you never arrived and he was a little saddened. And you, the same when you rolled into bed that night with no butterflies fluttering in your belly from the mobster kissing you or growling in your ear, showing how pissed off he was at your actions.

The following day and evening was slow, your feet kicked up on your desk waiting for more phone calls staring at the same dingy wall and twiddling a pen between your fingers. Each time you sighed, your so-called partner, Agent Davis, smiled to himself, flipping through old unsolved cases and doing paperwork,

"You should go out. Just patrol. See if ya catch any robbery suspects or a hopeless dame wrestling her purse from some criminal. Ya got too much time on your hands." Twirling the pen, you shook your head and reached across the joined desks to snag a dusty manila folder from the thick stack,

"Nah... I'm goin out later. I'm gonna bring someone in tonight." Cocking his head, red hair fell in Davis's curious eyes,

"Is this still about Barnes? You better watch yourself. He shows up here and you could end up dead. Half these fuckin cops got a thing with him and if you deliver him in cuffs you better draw a line for them to cut across your neck."

"You think I don't know that? I'm not stupid. And no, it's not Barnes. He's actually... helping me... unfortunately." Dropping his own pen against the desk as if he'd been shocked, Davis leaned in, the crisp, light blue button up he had on stretching tightly around his biceps,

"Seriously? What happened to you staying neutral Y/L/N? You told me you wouldn't get involved and now here you are shacking up with the head kingpin of New York." Tsking, you shook your head,

"Not that it's any of your business Davis, but I told you that to shut you up. It seems like every word that comes out of your mouth is you spouting some bullshit about what's in my best interest. News flash, I'm a big girl, I can handle myself. Being a cop isn't a cake walk, I earned my way in and I sure as hell can handle the responsibility that comes with it without you breathing down my neck every five minutes." He frowned disapprovingly, leaning back in his chair, the creak of it ricocheting off the walls. He studied you through narrow eyes, watching the tendrils of hair not tucked in the braid resting neatly at your back bob as you looked through the suspects in an old, tattered manila folder that had seen many a fugitives in its day,

"What did you do?" Your eyes found his again, quickly looking back down at the date of birth of one Adrian Gonzales, a convicted armed robbery suspect put behind bars for six months until a more cement sentencing was drawn out in the few short months arriving. The year 1988 flashed in your brain as you collected words for Davis in the forefront of your mind. And then it spilled,

"I let him kiss me."

"You what?" He whisper yelled like an excited schoolgirl who just found out who her best friend's crush is at a sleepover. You looked up again, his eyes sparkling in wonder, now resembling that same schoolgirl but older, wondering when her best friend became such a badass. His general reaction had you cracking a smile through the stoic façade. You nodded, biting your lip,

"He brought Stark to my apartment. He was just sitting in the dark and scared the piss out of me. But he uhh... he's handsome and he just... without words asked to kiss me and I let him." You reply quickly with a shrug, your finger tracing over the red stamp in Gonzales's file that in the moment you couldn't read. Your brain was fogged with how bad of an idea the situation of Barnes was. Davis was growing excited at not only the opportunity for you to finally get some, but at the sheer audacity of you to want to take on such a wide load with a convicted felon in your bed if it ended well.

"What. A. Rebel." He speaks slowly and when you look up again, his eyes are trained on the wall behind you, his eyes flashing, deep in thought,

"So what flowers do you want in your bouquet?" You giggled together, Davis shielding himself when you chucked a paperclip his way,

"Shut up. Don't assume it's going that far. It was just a kiss."

"Yeah but you read him. He didn't even have to ASK to kiss you and you gave him permission. That's soulmate material. I expect it to at least get to third base." With a sarcastic roll of his eyes, he smiles, resting his chin on his hand,

"Its not that serious. It was one kiss, a spur of the moment thing. No more." He clicked his tongue,

"Right, just make sure that you name one of your boys after me when you get one."

"Shut up!" He chuckled, leaning back in his chair,

"Y/N Barnes. Got a nice ring to it darlin. I like you two together. I feel like he's like the devil and you're an angel and he's gonna corrupt you. It's kinda hot... like... write a book after you guys get together." Rolling your eyes,

"Anyways... moving on swiftly, I want you to help me pick out my outfit. Red dress?" You turn your phone, showing him the mirror selfie of yourself in a short, low cut red dress that dared to impress, "or leather pants and a tank?" You swiped to the next photo, similar in taste but black leather jeans and a fitted black tank top, both of which clung to your curves. Davis's eyebrows raised,

"Uhh... I-I don't know. They're both daring and bold and will definitely capture attention but are you trying to scream sexy or business?" Thinking on your answer, you shrugged,

"I'm not really sure." You muttered. He sighed,

"I'd say red dress. You look good." You nod, looking yourself over in your awkward selfies. At ten in the morning, just before your shift you were trying on outfits for him. He'd never know that but you felt ashamed. You pulled out every piece of clothing you think he'd like and by the looks of it, you'd fit right in to the Barnes Mob family. Sitting in his lap just like he imagined playing with his hair and kissing his neck while he negotiated an arms deal. Despite the hard shell, Bucky was desperate for every grain of your attention. He wasn't used to not getting what he wanted and now here you are telling him no. Watching you daydream, Davis smiles,

"My God you're in love."

"I am not and don't you repeat that. It's a job and I intend to get it done. Even if I have to seduce him a little bit."

"You know he'd be impressed by you in fucking sweats but here you are going all out with a fucking red dress and some high heels. There's no need for seduction, you're a stunner babe." Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your chair again, wondering how Bucky would take to you skipping into his club after telling him you'd be in the night before. No doubt about it, he'd be pissed seeing you strut in like nothing happened. But what you'd done was over, you'd have to face the consequences with a high head and pray it didn't bite you.

Around nine that same night you dressed in the little red dress, sliding a pair of black pumps on to go with it. The bright lights outside Bucky's club made you realize how deep in you were. The bouncer knew your name instantly, your nerves skyrocketing, a hand on your lower back from the tall blonde as you entered the already crowded club privately as if you were a queen. The smell of sweat and alcohol was strong and through the crowd, you could see Bucky, his eyes wandering the misty, dark club. When his scanning eyes rested on your figure stood in the doorway, you swore he clenched his jaw in anger, his grip tightening on his typical tumbler. Downing the rest of the alcohol in it without looking away, he stood, brushing his suit jacket off and storming up the stairs to his office. Pushing through the crowd, you paused at the base of the steep steps, composing yourself before heading up. The clack of your heels on the wood announced your presence, Bucky's fists tensing in his pockets, his jaw clenching as his anger boiled over on the stove of his belly. Trudging up to the open velvet door, the stale cigar smell hit you in the face like it did the night before last, somewhat comforting you in the heated moment. Enveloped in the scent and the new warmth his office brought, you sucked in a deep breath through your nose, exhaling slowly and looking him over. Hues of red and blue danced across his pale face, shadowed as he clenched his jaw again and again, his hands tucked in his pockets and his jacket discarded across the back of the desk's single chair. He stared down at the bar-goes through the single octagonal window,

"Close the door." He spoke lowly, not flinching as you complied, closing the creaky door tight behind you. Standing frozen to your place in the doorway, the air between the two of you was suffocatingly thick. He cleared his throat, his eyes traveling up to the ceiling,

"This is a fucking game to you isn't it?" When you didn't respond, his eyes found yours, his anger strengthening at the shy look in your own,

"Don't go shy on me now baby. You're the one that played me remember." He spat through gritted teeth.

"I didn't play you. I was acting the same as you did. You kick me outta here and tell me that we'll be in touch and you expect me to just sit here and play your little bitch. Expect me to come running every time you call?"  

"So where were you last night then huh? I had my arch fucking nemesis sitting in my office all fucking night, waiting for your ass to make an appearance, and I could've turned him loose but no, I held him waiting for you to show and you didn't." Crossing his arms and turning his body towards you, he cocks his head like a child waiting for his question to be answered by a parent, his feet set at a wide, domineering stance that you wanted to laugh at if you were completely honest. Looking down at the dress clinging to your every curve, your lips twitch up,

"I was at home... what are you gonna do Mr. Barnes... punish me?" The shock written across his face is a mixture of comical and terrifying. Either way you've just crossed a line and there's no coming back. He growls before he storms forward, bracing you against the door behind you, his body pressed against yours. With his arms above your head, he growls again, shaking the door,

"Is this a fucking game to you sweetheart? You think you're special or somethin?" Staring up into his stormy blue eyes you can see the battle he's in with himself. He wants you. He wants you just as much as you want him. But his business and your job both stand in the way. Diving in for it, your lips meet his rather harshly. He stumbles back holding your body to his as you thread your fingers through his hair. Turning you both, he slams you into one of the dark walls, holding your wrists in his hands again, jamming a knee between your thighs, his face darker than before,

"You don't get what you want. You don't get to fucking stand me up and waltz in here and say you're not my bitch and then act like you're gonna get somethin outta me." His jaw clenches yet again and you can't help but feel a little overpowered,

"What do you want from me Barnes? You want me to drop to my knees and beg you to forgive me? You want me to come in here every night and make you happy?"

"I WANT YOU TO STOP ACTING LIKE A CHILD!" He snarls in your face pulling you back only to slam you against the wall like he did that first night. You squeak involuntarily, your wrists pressed so hard into the wall that now you're convinced they'll break. You whine in pain, twisting them in an attempt to get them free, your eyes still locked in his,

"Bucky you're hurting me." The pain in your voice has him pressing harder, a cry falling from your lips. With hair covering your face as you bow your head, another cry leaves you and you raise your head, tears already streaming down your cheeks,

"Bucky please you're gonna break my arms." The quiet voice breaks through his rage, the sight before him something he saw far too often during his childhood. The tear tracks down your cheeks has him reeling back, your body slumping against the wall as he stares down at you. Memories of his terrified and maltreated mother finding her children cowering in a dark corner together flash in the forefront of his mind and he realizes then that he's made a mistake. He swore to not only his mother but his sisters, himself even that he'd never be that man. He swore he'd never hurt a woman but here you are rubbing your wrists. And it's not like the other night when he had your arms braced behind you. You weren't in pain then, just petrified of being manhandled. Reaching up, Bucky watched you wipe tears away, collecting yourself just enough and looking up at him,

"Where's Stark?" His tongue was caught in his throat,

"Doll I-"

"No! Where is Stark Mr. Barnes? I have other places to be." He didn't think his heart could break at the sound of your voice cracking and your eyes now cold and slowly drawing the shield he'd had knocked down back up. He swallowed, jutting his thumb over his shoulder,

"Basement. I'll show ya." Sadly leading you down the stairs and into the back room, down into the basement, he rounded a corner, gesturing to a passed out Stark tied to a chair. Keeping the zipties around his wrist, Bucky hoisted him up, staring down at your face as you looked him over. You avoided Bucky's eyes, holding your hand up when he opened his mouth,

"Don't. Just... go back to doing what you were doing. I'll leave you alone and you can just go about your side of the deal. No more death, no more bodies. Stark is behind bars and that's what we had an agreement on, nothing more." Taking Stark's arm in your hand, Bucky jumps in front of you as you start towards the door,

"Doll don't do this."

"I'm not your girlfriend! You don't own me and I'm a cop. This isn't going to work in any way and now that you've hurt me I can't." His heart breaks as you avoid his eyes still, tears filling them. He remembers in that moment what his mother looked like. He remembered how tired she looked. He remembered how exhausted and hurt she looked. He remembered the bruises and the busted lips that he always thought was her trying to make a stand but it was just when her overall appearance annoyed him. And now you're reflecting that same thing. And Bucky is the reason. His heart pounds when you look up at him,

"I'm... I'm sorry darlin." He speaks so low you almost don't hear him over the music upstairs. For once you can see the tough exterior he's built, crumbling. You can see the pain in his features and you know its personal but you refuse to touch on it. He steps forward, his shoes clacking along the thick cement, his hand coming up to rest at the back of your neck. Holding you in place, he leans in slowly, kissing your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin longer than they should. Stepping back he waves you up the stairs, following you, the mood between the two of you having gone from angry to sad. You could feel how much passion the both of you had put into such a brief relationship. You knew you were wrong walking into Bucky's bar. He knew he was wrong expecting the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen to lay her life down, kick her career aside and be his so easily. You both knew what you were getting into and you avoided the red flags. And now here you were, walking out of Bucky's bar and he wasn't sure he'd ever see you again. He followed you out into the cool night, watching you shove Stark into the back of your car, his arms still bound behind him. Bucky stood straight, staring up at the bright lights outside his club wondering if the life of scars, the life of crime and deceit was worth losing something so valuable like a life with you,

"Do you uhh... do you want me to come down to the station with you? Make sure he doesn't try an pull a fast one on ya?" You shake your head, looking him over from his feet to the top of his head. He was sharp. Suit and tie, polished shoes, soft, long hair cascading down his shoulders. When they say eyes are the windows to the soul, they really mean it, and Bucky's were scarred with the years of pain, but staring up into them, you could see the turmoil he was putting himself through over his actions within the past ten minutes. He'd hurt you and if he could go back he'd have done so many things different. He would have never laid a finger on you. He would've never gotten so angry. He would've never done any of it. He nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets again and looking at his feet, trying to hide all his raw emotion from you,

"Guess I'll uhh... I'll see ya around then." You nod, looking down at his shoes, your heart pounding as you realize that this is it.

"Yeah, I'll see ya. Don't make me come down here again." You don't see it, but he smiles in the dark. When you look up, he finds your eyes hauntingly cold. The you he fell in love with is gone. Her shell stands before him. The vessel of the warm soul is standing before him, closing him off and for once he fears it. He wants to grab you and hold your body to his, make that soul come back. He wants the spunk and the attitude, he wants you to do your worse. But instead he watches you walk away. He watches you climb in your car and start it, the emission from your tailpipe billowing up into the air. He watches you drive away from him, leaving him standing on the curb, hating himself. He promised his family he wouldn't become his father and now he was standing in overcast Brooklyn, watching you drive away after he hurt you. He deserved it. Bucky was familiar with the story of Adam and Eve and his consequence for eating the forbidden fruit was losing you.

Permanent Taglist: @embrace-themagic @mmeeggaannn @spiderman-n @winters-beauty @smexylemony 

Series Taglist: @ddaengboi @avengersassemblee @vogueworthy-barnes @teawithbucky @imnotcoolmasterrr @whaddaputa @akamaiden

#bucky barnes #steve x bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #mobster!bucky #mobster!au #mobster!steve #mobster!bucky fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x plus size reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan x poc reader #my writing

[maximumkillshot]

The Situation-Part 2

Warnings: Mentions of Menstrual cycle, Gender bent! Dean Winchester, Some Cursing,  I can’t remember anything else at the moment but I hope y’all enjoy!

Pairing: None

Characters: Gender Bent! Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Rowena and Jody are mentioned, Castiel

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy!!

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“The Situation” Masterlist- Click Here

Previously:

Sam said, “Oh C’mon Dean it can’t be that bad, you're just being overdramatic.”

I looked shocked… “How dare you. No. How dare you say that to me.”

“Drama queen” Sam laughed back

“Excuse me?!” I said shocked  “I was about to conquer the world. I was this close. Don’t you call me drama queen!” I spat at him… “Now look at me, I feel like I have a blender in my pelvis, my breasts hurt, and I simultaneously want chocolate pudding pie and want to puke… what happened to me? The only positive here is that I’m kinda hot.” I said as I choked, near tears.

Cass responded from the doorway, “perhaps it was the witch that you called, ‘a spineless weak little girl’ that we killed yesterday.”

Dean looked at Cass and said “Oh shit… alright Sam, get those things for me please. Cass, call Rowena…

Sam said, “And what are you going to do?”

“Me? I’m making a triple decker bacon cheeseburger and fries, a chocolate milkshake, and a shit ton of mozzarella sticks… then I’m eating myself into a food coma.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know Sam, WHY ARE  MY INTERNAL ORGANS SHEDDING?! NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE YET HERE WE ARE!” I screamed as I stomped off into the kitchen.

“How is he?” I heard Sam ask as he came through the bunker's garage with bags.

“So far, he hasn't torn up anything too badly. But he's been on a, what you humans call emotional roller coaster.” I heard Cass say as gently as possible

“What?”

“Well it started when he couldn't find the buns for the cheeseburger…”

“What happened?”

“Well, he started rummaging through every shelf we had. Then when he couldn't find it he started crying until I found it. Then he couldn't find the mozzarella sticks and he started screaming about how he can never find anything, then he couldn't find the chocolate ice cream and he started panicking…. He eventually stomped off into his room...  ”

“Ok let me talk to him”

“Dean” Said Sam as he knocked on my, his brother turned sisters, room, “ I got you a camisole and some jeans that may fit, the underwear, pads,a heating pad for the pain, plus a few hairties for your hair since you said that it was getting on your nerves over the phone…”

“Come in”I mumbled as I tried to sit up in the bed.

“I talked to Jody again, she said that working out or walking can help with the cramping, it helps tense and release…”

“The uterine walls contract making the lining shed with less pain, yeah I know… I was reading up on it.” I said as I gripped my pelvis, the pain was throbbing sometimes and searing the next minute… it was ridiculous. No matter how I stood, laid, or sat it wouldn’t go away, so I texted Jody and she said a warm shower helps, so I did that as soon as I possibly could, I actually just got out.

“So, are you gonna workout or?”

“HELL NO, Sammy, I can’t even sneeze without my underwear looking like ‘The Shining’ I quipped as I snatched the bag of supplies and scurried off to the bathroom.

“I thought you’d say that… so I heard that you didn’t get too far in making your food, huh?” asked Sam as he walked up to the door that I closed to the bathroom.

“Yep, got so frustrated, so angry, it sucked,” I said as I took off the new boxers… only to find at least a gash wounds worth of blood…. There goes the third pair today… and I have to pee again.

As soon as I sat down I heard Sam ask,

“So why don’t we go to the bar?” .

“I could go for some whiskey….” I said as the telltale rip of a pad being opened resonated through the bathroom. I then grabbed the panties and slid them on… it’s so weird I’m used to slipping these off of women and now they’re on me.

“How is everything going in there, Dean?” Asked Sam, he remembered what it was like with Jess, she had really bad periods, sometimes she couldn’t even make it to class because of the pain, at least that’s what he’d tell me whenever we talked about domestic life. Lisa was the opposite, always up and going, I could never tell when she was on hers...

“Well, you’d think beheading a werewolf would be more blood than this, but you’d be wrong,” I said as I swiped another handful of toilet paper and wiped for the twelfth time… It never ends, I went through two rolls already… TWO ROLLS!

After I pulled up the underwear with the pad on it I felt weird immediately….. I feel like a baby with a diaper on. It was even worse when I pulled out the jeans, they look like they’d fit but they look so tight, and they don’t have enough room for my hips. As I shimmied the denim up I could feel the sweat gathering on my brow, I could’ve sworn that I was smaller in the morning… then I remembered… water retention, which also explains the sweating.  By the time they were buttoned, I welcomed the comfort of a shirt with a little more breathability.

As soon as I put on the camisole I breathed semi-easily. I grabbed the hair ties and tied up my hair into a ponytail and grabbed the boots that were hidden at the bottom of the bag. Then I opened the door.

Sam’s jaw was wide open as I looked at him… “WHAT?” I said agitated….

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re kinda hot,” said Sam as he was almost horrified at what he was saying.

“Listen, it isn’t nearly as weird for you as it is for me, where’s Rowena?” I asked.

“She’s a few days out… she’s gonna be here as soon as possible,” said Sam.

“Great, just great… I need food and alcohol, a whole lot of alcohol.” I said almost defeated as I slid on my boots.

“Alright let’s head out.” said Sam.

________________________________________________________________

The minute I stepped into the Impala I had issues. For one, the wheel was way too high, then I couldn’t reach the pedals, and then the mirrors had to be adjusted, I just gave a huff and threw the keys at Sam, knowing that him driving is going to be easier.

When I slid into the passenger’s side I scared myself, I looked at the rear view mirror and I actually thought that it was a different person in my car. Things only got weirder when we went to the bar.

I immediately slammed a fifth of whiskey and started to nurse a beer as I listened to Guns n’ Roses play on the jukebox.

“Dean, you’ve gotta slow down” whispered Sam.

“Sammy, never tell a man who’s hemorrhaging from his junk to slow down when drinking..” I growled.

After I told the bartender what I wanted to eat, which was everything I continued downing my beer.

Then I heard something… a whistle…

“Hey gorgeous,” said a man. He had the longest rattiest beard I’d ever seen.

“I know you aren’t talking to me… I know he isn’t talking to me,” I looked to Sammy, only to find him trying to hold a laugh in.

“Yeah I am, a fine piece of ass like you, can’t blame me for lookin and wantin to talk to you, at least tell me your name.”

“Deannnaa.. Deena, my name’s Deena, you happy now?” I growled as Sammy choked on his drink.

“I won’t be happy until you’re in my bed, sweetheart.”

“ALRIGHT LISTEN HERE ZZ TOPP!” I yelled and Sam interrupted me..

“What my girlfriend is trying to say is that she isn’t interested… right sweetie?” Sam said.

I put on my best smile as I said with all the sarcasm that I could muster, “Yeah pumpkin, M’sorry, just had a rough day.”

"what's wrong with you, are you on your period or somethin'?" said the guy with a twinge of a laugh.

I gave him the death stare as I said "Walk away..... Fuckin’ walk away from me"

“I’d listen to her, she’s deadly, “ said Sam.

“What, are you whipped or somethin’ lettin a little girl control you?” Said the man.

“Not whipped, just smarter than you…” said Sam as he looked to me.

“C’mon Baby, just have a seat, don’t worry about him, we didn’t even eat yet.” Said, Sam, as he guided me back to the chair.

As soon as the man left we looked to each other and I said "We are NEVER speaking of this again" and he replied with "Wouldn't dream of it... never happened" It was then that we clanked our beer bottles together…

“Bitch,” I said under my breath,

“Jerk”.

After a bunch of bar food and way too many drinks, I found myself leaning on Sammy…

“Sammy, but suuuuurrrrously… my tits are amazing… they’re so soft and perky… Pillows on my ssheesttt…”

“Dean you’re hammered” said Sam as he watched me grab on to his arm.

“And you’re so ssttrrronngg, like holly shiit. I reemmmeebbburr when you’s a little baby…. Tiniest little thhingg now look a’ chu!! A fuckin’ Adonis on moose legs! Hoow? I have nuuu fuckin’ clue!”

“Annnd that’s definitely enough for you… looks like your metabolism changed too.” Mumbled Sammy.

“WHAAAA NUUUUUUUU I NEED MOORE!!!” I screamed.. “BARKEEP ANOTHER… HA SEE WHAT I DIID THERR SAMMY? THOR, GOD OF THUNDER… I’m gonna call you Thor from now on…” I then petted his hair, “SO soft...like my…”

“OKAY, thanks for the drinks, I’m gonna take her home now.” Said Sam to the bartender.

The second I went to get up my legs gave and Sammy caught me, he carried me like a toddler to Baby as I yelled, “HA! I KNEW IT, SO STRONG… LOOK…. PICKING ME UP LIKE A PIECE UH PAPER!”

Soon I felt myself plop down in Baby’s back seat…

As soon as Baby’s engine roared to life I said, “Hey Sammy?”

“Yeah Dean?”

“I’m glad you came back…”

“What?”

“After Jess… was afraid you’d pull away… that I’d lose you for good, y’know… but you didn’t… Maybe it’s selfish of me or maybe it’s the booze but I’m happy you came back… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You would’ve been fine,” said Sammy.

“No I wouldn’t have been ‘fine’. I wasn’t fine when you were gone either… I missed you. Had no idiot little brother to nag me about my Nirvana tapes. Would’ve never had fun like I had tonight, wouldn’t have anything without you.”

“Shut up… Missed you too…”

“We’re a team, right Sammy?”

“Yeah… yeah we are…”

“Mmmm I knew it” I said as I passed out.

WANT MORE? TELL ME SO!!!

TAG ARMY:

@mamaredd123 , @impala-dreamer , @impalaimagining , @jotink78 , @nichelle-my-belle , , @scorpiongirl1 , @ilostmyshoe-79 , @teamfreewillimagines , @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid , @chelsea072498 , @brickwall035 , @maui137 , @mogaruke , @jayankles , @butiaintgonnaloveem , @kawaiilivkitty , @naviwhite , @emoryhemsworth ,              

@cole-winchester , @nanie5 , @emoryhemsworth , @carribear31 , @death-unbecomes-you, @clarinette07, @curlyhairedblueeyedangel, @deansbabygirl01, @anathewierdo , @atc74 , @kickasscas67, @mannls, @adoptdontshoppets, @meganywinchester, @xalgaliareptx , @healojane, @wolfiebucky, @rayvenrider, @screechingartisancashbailiff , @goodgodimaweirdperson, @beltzboys2015-blog, @animegirlgeeky, @paintballkid711

#spn #spn fanfic #spn fandom #dean winchester #sam winchester #gender bent #this is too funny #i almost pissed myself writing this #supernatural

[bakudekuficlibrary]

could yall list some slow burn/slow build non-au fics? canon divergent is fine! if thats too specific and youd rather use this ask as a reason for just a general slow burn masterlist thats cool too

Hi! I’m gonna give you some Non-AU, slow build fics because we’re here to take care of you, babe. If you don’t want AUs, there shan’t be any AU fics. (However, we weren’t sure if you considered fics that took place in the future an AU, but we added it anyway. Pretty much anything that was canonverse was included!) Also we only post Masterlists on Mondays and we didn’t want you to have to wait a whole week. Enjoy!!! 

-Ellie

38 Works. 

The Devil Ships ZeKu by xairylle ( E | 160,555+ | 28/? )

Midoriya Izuku knew what fanfiction was. He just didn’t think there was something like THIS out there. About him and Kacchan no less.

Falling by soulstring ( E | 131,312+ | 21/? )

He knows that Katsuki is cruel, and for the sake of looking down on him he could do something like this. But even so, if it was just to mess with him, Katsuki of all people should know better than to expect years of punches and cruel taunts will make him say yes.

SeriesPart 1 of You grew up when I wasn’t looking

[Underage]

Unknown Number: I Love You by Explosion_Boy (push_it_hajime), Lillabelle ( T | 50,352 | 11/11 )

Opposites attract right? Well that’s what Midoriya’s friend, Uraraka, thinks. Her friend from another school talked about another guy, Bakugou Katsuki, and the two girls decided the two were perfect for each other. Now Midoriya is left with the number of a guy he didn’t even know.

How bad could it be?

Some Read It For The Articles by low_commotion ( T | 44,014+ | 8/? )

It all starts because Kirishima lets slip to Kaminari, who whispers it loudly to Sero and is overheard by Ashido, who tells Jirou, who announces it the rest of the girls in the class, that Bakugou has some secret beefy dude mags hidden deep under his bed.

surveying, reconciliation (and other forms of not-matchmaking) by vannral ( E | 17,449 | 6/6 )

In all honesty, Izuku thinks he really shouldn’t be having this crisis.

In which Mina has fun trying to play matchmaker, Izuku has Realizations™ about his feelings for Katsuki, and the class 1-A will witness many weird things.

Can We Not? by vulcanhighblood ( T | 13,170+ | 6/? )

Journalist Midoriya Izuku just wants to catch the last train home, he didn’t ask for any of this. But when Ground Zero brutalizes a vending machine before your very eyes and then offers to buy you a coffee, well, you don’t refuse.

The Art of Indifference by qye ( Not Rated | 15,699+ | 20/? )

Bakugou is used to being the center of attention- be it anger, confussion, or fear (mostly fear) everyone always gives him a reaction.

Until all the sudden, Deku doesn’t.

What a fucking asshole.

synthesis by DriftingGlass ( M | 31,325+ | 6/? )

They didn’t know how it happened, or when a concept so fickle and ridiculous blossomed in the garden of doubts, anger, and pain in which they so frequently visited.

Between scarred hands and bloodied knuckles, unspoken thoughts stirred like petals in springtime rain.

Bakugo was not prepared for the undeniable change spurring between them.

Unfortunately, neither was Midoriya.

Breaking Point by Tsar Tsarevich (Rusbuster) ( T | 26,469+ | 9/? )

Over the years since Katsuki received his explosive quirk, he has done nothing but bully Izuku, both physically and mentally as a result of his over-inflated ego. Then, one day, he takes it too far.

“If you want a quirk so damn badly, just throw yourself off the fucking roof and hope you get one in the next life!”

Everyone has a breaking point, even Izuku.

[Major Character Death]

A Haze of Crystal by semiautomatichearts ( T | 39,255+ | 10/? )

In the throes of a harsh snowstorm, Izuku Midoriya narrowly brushes with death in their childhood because of Katsuki Bakugou, and the guilt lives within him, a festering hole that becomes a trigger for the gradual degradation of their relationship. When Izuku falls ill in a blizzard years later, Katsuki sees history begin to repeat, and there is no answer for the subsequent flood of emotion that emerges from the feather’s edge of kindness and cruelty.

Hummingbird Heartbeat by Tokiji ( M | 29,114+ | 6/? )

“The knife went through his fucking chest, Kirishima.” Katsuki spat his name into his face, mouth twisting into a vicious snarl, teeth and all. “You know that’s where his heart is, right? And his fucking lungs? All the vital shit?”

Kirishima blanched. “I-I know, I just meant—”

“What, you mean to tell me that your stupid fuckin’ ass is so ignorant to forget that he lost a shit ton of blood, hah?! Yeah, it was a flippin’ knife wound, oh hoo-ray, but look at the nerd now! He’s fucking dying because of it!”

Petals In Your Hair by Yuechum ( T | 12,978+ | 12/26 )

Katsuki sees him with sunlight in his hair, the lines of his face softer and more gentle in these brief moments. He looks breathtaking like this he’ll think, watching all the while, wondering just when Izuku became someone to long for so deeply.

The slightest hint of a smile lingers on Izuku’s face when he notices, and the urge to touch grows, grows, grows.

how he should’ve known (and how it turned out) by vannral ( M | 20,381+ | 6/? )

Izuku should’ve listened and known and watched out for this so he wouldn’t be here, in this position.But he is, and everything is awful.

In which Katsuki and Izuku pretend to be a couple to avoid journalists, the plan backfires magnificently because of course it does, and the act goes on. Includes feelings, pining, domestic fluff and jealousy.

Friends with Benefits by acupfullofcolors ( M | 27,112 | 11/? )

“You two knuckleheads should settle your differences. This tension between the both of you disturbs the class and slows their progress down because of this shit you’re throwing at each other. So do something against it or I will!” Aizawa hollers at both of them.

After a night of drinking in the common rooms Izuku wakes up in Katsuki’s bed, butt naked and about to panic in fear of getting yelled at but instead Katsuki answers that he might found the perfect solution for their problem.

‘Friends with benefits’ is what he calls his suggestion.A concept which works fine when you seek relieve and try to ease your sexual need and the tension.

That is until someone craves more ….

SeriesPart 1 of Crazy Stupid Love

Cuddles and Kittens by ItsNotAControlKink ( G | 79,874+ | 41/? )

It partially starts when Mineta brings it home, but officially starts when Hagakure convinces Bakugo to come cook, and Kirishima thinks that he’s a little down and proposes a competition - first to make Bakugo laugh, and really laugh without involving pain of others, wins.

In other words, a simple competition to make Bakugo laugh makes more feelings sorta spring out and it’s cute.

SeriesPart 1 of BNHA Ships

You Don’t Know Me by Cellaira ( M | 19,992 | 5/? )

After the loss of his mentor, Izuku struggles to rekindle his heroic passion working as a pro hero. Putting on a brave face, he continues saving civilians with a smile and stands tall as the new pillar of peace. Every day seems to drag on until a certain person blasts his way back into his life. Maybe the one that can save Izuku from his nightmares is the one that fuels them.

On hiatus until season two ,,,,

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Mistaken Identity by SasuNaru22 ( E | 21,048+ | 9/? )

Midoriya Izuku, has a sort of small (big) crush on Todoroki Shouto. He doesn’t quite know how to approach him though, so he sends him a text instead. In response, he’s told to do a series of tasks to prove how serious he is about a possible relationship. Everything seems to be going well until suddenly it isn’t. Who the heck has he really been talking to???

Run Into the Unknown by NightGivesWayToLight ( T | 28,506+ | 9/? )

Kaitou shyly reaches up to touch Bakugou’s face. A second later, he changes from a boy with gray eyes and black hair to a mini Bakugou, blonde explodey hair and all.Bakugou almost drops Kaitou in shock. “W-what the–?”“My quirk,” Kaitou says in explanation, smiling a little at the shock on Bakugou’s face.—————–When a young boy is found in the wreckage from a building collapse, Izuku and Bakugou’s lives change forever.

Mistakes and Amends by ThisIsJapaneseLunchTimeRush ( T | 31,706 | 15/15 )

Bakugou and Midoriya have been estranged for years following a devastating incident that left one of them unable to follow his dream.

Safe Ride Home by jackmischief ( M | 30,806+ | 9/? )

Katsuki doesn’t give Deku a second thought. He just dreams about him sometimes. And has nightmares where Deku doesn’t make it out of those deadly villain battles. It’s not his fault he gets honest when he’s drunk.

Bitter and Sweet by 13th ( T | 32,551 | 9/9 )

To Katsuki, memories are the bane of his existence, they’re picky and unpredictable.

To Izuku, memories are fragile glass, easy to shatter and requires a lot of attention.

Different recollection of the past, but similar enough to have the same result. Hopefully, the day they acknowledge these revelations can finally mend those bothering questions that none of the other answered.

(In other words. Just goddamn, talk it out.)

Propinquity by Jaylun ( M | 14,11 | 5/5 )

“Bakugou FOUR days! Midoriya THREE days! Both of you are under house arrest!! You will be cleaning all of the dormitory plus the common spaces morning AND night!”

It takes less than three days together to finally realize how they truly feel for each other. Who knew they just needed more time to themselves to sort out their feelings?

-Takes place after ch120 and during ch121-

Study Session by setsujoumayu ( T | 16,095 | 5/5 )

Izuku can’t really remember how he ended up studying in Katsuki’s room with Katsuki. (Okay, he does, but neither of them even talk to each other anyway so this might as well be a nightmare he’ll forget about once he wakes up, right?)

SeriesPart 1 of sorry’s not enough, you know

Ambivalent by bakuboi ( T | 24,462+ | 6/? )

Bakugou Katsuki does not hate Midoriya Izuku…but he sure as hell doesn’t like him, either.

The Connection by Izaioi ( T | 35,313 | 16/16 )

Izuku has spent years of his life watching him train alone. Almost every day after school they would hide somewhere without witnesses and Katsuki would do physical training first and quirk training later. Izuku would watch, learning every single detail about him.Katsuki would often tell him to get lost, to not follow him in his training spots. Yet Katsuki never actually sent him away. Izuku would sit a bit farther, open his notebook and start writing.

(A rewriting of the canon, their relationship was a bit better from the start because they were stopped before they could reach the critical point.)

Lost and found by Sad_Pawn ( T | 10,208+ | 5/? )

Katsuki is finally back after being taken by the League of Villains. However, he seems to have lost an important piece of himself. Can he recover without it?

Midoriya is so relieved that Kacchan is back and safe. But when he visits him, he immediately notices something is terribly, terribly wrong. Can he help restore his childhood friend’s hope?

I don’t think you care, but do you? by confused_atm ( M | 4,454+ | 4/? )

Izuku is still scarred from his relationship with Katsuki during their childhood, and maybe they try to fix it. Together.(I’m bad at summaries y'all :’) help idk what I’m doing)!!TRIGGER WARNING!! There is self-harm, but only in like the first chapter

Lay It On Me by BaskTheHound ( M | 18,978+ | 4/15 )

“So. Why are you dreading Izuku coming home after all these years?”

I looked at her with a frown, but in reality I was at the verge of tears. “It was easier to make hypothetical scenarios of how I would talk to him after all of this time. Now that I’m going to face the real shit, I’m nervous.” I confessed. “And on the other hand… if everything goes as I want it to go, if Izuku has a place in his heart for me after all of… everything… then I don’t think I will believe I deserve it, because I don’t.”

Inconceivable by Muhleh ( M | 15,734+ | 8/? )

[in-kuh n-see-vuh-buh l]

adjective1.not conceivable; unimaginable; unthinkable.

Example: It was inconceivable. He wouldn’t cheat on him. Would he?

Summer Heat by Disney_Princess_Izuku ( T | 11,947 | 1/1 )

One summer isn’t enough to solve a lifetime’s worth of misunderstandings and pain.

It takes two.

Alternatively, Izuku and Katsuki start a romance, end it, and then begin anew.

SeriesPart 1 of Thirty Days of Summer

One Door Closes, Another Opens by MadamBlue ( M | 7,562+ | 4/? )

They say when one door closes another one opens, but for Izuku it feels like the worlds has completely shut itself to him. Sure he was the number one hero but what has he sacrificed to get where he is? Can he get that back, or has that door been shut forever?

Learn To Love by Abitofeverything_ok ( E | 14,878+ | 5/? )

They happened to be walking in the same area when a villain happened to show up right in front of their faces. The villain had a mission. He had been watching these two rivals for some time and they were the next perfect target. He grabbed an arrow from his quiver he had on his back and used his bow aiming for the two boys. Before they could react, he shot and everything went dark.

My Hero Bakudemia by jebbielee ( M | 13,499+ | 14/? )

Bakugou Katsuki has everything. The powerful Quirk. The guaranteed acceptance into the nation’s top hero school. A whole lot of emotions that he needs to work through. The desire to win. A certain green-haired thorn in his side that he needs to remove. Okay maybe some of those things aren’t exactly hero-material, but he is Bakugou Katsuki, damnit.

And this is the story of how he is going to become the greatest hero of all time.

What Remains by otakuchan354 ( M | 4,316+ | 2/? )

In the aftermath of his hands being taken, Katsuki has to relearn how to do everything, and to let Deku help him.

Four Letter Word by Ianterweb ( M | 2,763+ | 2/? )

H A T EL O V EFour letter words that Katsuki doesn’t know when to use when it comes to Izuku. After two years of trying to rebuild their friendship the blond begins to feel something more, and it absolutely terrifies him.

Gift in Winter by DragonKRZ ( T | 2,822+ | 1/? )

No fucking way, it wasn’t possible. It was Deku they were talking about. The only thing Bakugou knows is that he’s fucked. Kirishima should stop grinning at him and giving him thumbs up before he gets his face pummeled. Midoriya is an oblivious fluff ball while Todoroki joins the Deku squad. Tentatively set in the summer after their first year.

Operation: SNAFU by otakuchan354 ( M | 1,254+ | 1/? )

When Deku goes MIA on a covert mission, how far will Katsuki go to find him and bring him home?

Mine by honrydenki ( T | 2,076+ | 2/? )

Izuki and Katsuki now have kids and live a clam and peacefully life in their small pack. But all of that changes when Izuki goes missing.

((I really suck at summaries sorry ;-; ))

#BakuDeku #KatsuDeku #BNHA #bkdkfl ask #w:underage #w:mcd #t:ptsd #g:sb #g:canonverse #au:cd #curator ellie

[birminghamblinders]

a flame rekindled by way of a bruise; arthur shelby

( @bonniebirdsgifcentre )

TRIGGER WARNING: this fic contains several references to domestic violence

-

The ring on your finger was lightweight, lighter than most; your husband was not very rich, but over the last six months, it had begun to feel like lead. Your involvement with Arthur Shelby was not intentional, but rather the prolonged result of a night of passion.

You stirred the pot on the stove mindlessly, staring straight ahead at an old dent on the wall from when your husband had driven his fist into it.

Just the thought of the man you married made your stomach turn, so you focused your thoughts on reflection.

You’d know Arthur Shelby for as long as you could remember knowing anyone; he was behind every twist and turn in the streets, in school whenever he bothered to attend, and as a teenager, chain smoking and winking whenever he caught you staring.

He’d come fairly close to making you his, had nearly talked you into running away to London, but then the war broke out, and you couldn’t wait four years for a man who’d never told you he loved you.

Your husband had been in the war too, stationed in one of the larger cities of Austria-Hungary, but he’d been discharged after a year and a half when his left arm was blown clean off by shrapnel.

His status of ‘disabled’ had always angered him, to the point which there was only one mirror in the house, so as to reduce the risk of an accidental glance at his lopsided torso. He may not have been physically capable of fighting anymore, but his mindset was still very much that of a soldier’s, and he’d taken his fury out on you more times than you wanted to think about.

Though you cringed away from that unpleasant thought and tried to focus on the soup in front of you, the front door made a faint creaking sound, and as you glanced up at the clock, the ring on your finger became painful, as if tattooing a cold fire onto your skin.

Your husband slid his hand along your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek, and you tried very hard not to let him see your smile was strained.

“Y’alright?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Soup almost done?”

“It’s done now, actually, if you could get bowls,” and he leveled you with a smirk before reaching into the indicated cupboard.

You spooned dinner out meticulously, but your gaze kept darting over to the indentation of a fist on the wall, squinting just right so you could pick out the prints of each individual bent finger.

Unbeknownst to you, the man sitting at your dinner table had noticed the direction of your eyes, and his face tightened.

“Don’t fucking look at it,” he hissed to you.

“Sorry,” you responded, staring down into the contents of the bowl in front of you, chips detracting from it’s black and white print.

“It was just...I was thinking...”

“What?”

“Well, maybe we could call someone to come cover it up.”

You didn’t dare look at him, but he fell silent, and you swore you could feel twin swords boring into your back as he stared at you. Eventually, his chair squeaked as he stood up abruptly, walking over to you and placing a hand on the small of your back with enough pressure to make you pitch forward.

“That wasn’t my fault, y’know. It was yours, cause you fuckin’ pissed me off. Would have been a problem if you knew how to shut up and obey your husband.”

The hand pressing you forward pulled back suddenly, and as you stumbled to regain balance, it lay flat on the nape of your neck and shoved your face into the cupboard directly in front of you.

You could feel the spikes on the round doorknob press into your cheek, and as he pulled you back and shoved you forward, you heard a distinct rip as they punctured your skin.

Throughout the entire encounter, you’d not turned to face him, so you heard rather than saw his retreat, walking back out of the front door and slamming hard enough one of the hinges came loose. You stood in front of the stove, completely unmoving, for another half hour before you could bring yourself to face the damages.

The entire left side of your face was bruised, and one long cut ran down from the edge of your eyebrow to level with your lips. Warm water did little to remove the harm done, and so you collapsed, shaking, into your bathtub, wrapping your arms around your knees and falling into a fitful sleep.

-

The next morning, you did your valiant best to convince yourself the events of the previous evening had never occurred. Like your husband before you, you diligently avoided your reflection, dressing in the dark before walking the nine blocks to the outdoor market.

Fresh air calmed you, and whenever you found yourself about to descend into hysteria, you took a deep breath, letting the scent of the harbor not far from where you were standing relax your mind and bring you back to memories of your childhood.

It was not long before an elongated shadow came to stand behind you, and a veiny pair of hands rested briefly on your shoulders as the man pressed a kiss to your hair.

“Hello, love,” Arthur Shelby murmured into your ear, and the ring which symbolized your bond in holy matrimony to another grew uncomfortably tight, and though you knew it was unreasonable, you were afraid your hand would burst.

“Hello, Arthur,” you said, praying he’d leave quickly, though that was never the case.

He got halfway through asking if you were alright before deciding to take action, gripping your shoulders again and spinning you around gently.

At the sight of your mangled face, his eyes grew dark and hard, though the finger that brushed your cut, which was now beginning to scab, was the epitome of gentle.

“He did that, yeah?”

“Do you really need to ask, Arthur?”

“Gun or brick?”

“What?”

“Shall I shoot him, or beat him over the head with a brick?”

You shook your head frantically, one hand gripping the front of his shirt in a vice as he tried to draw you in closer while shushing you.

You made several attempts to speak, forcing out half sentences and excuses for the marring of your visage, but Arthur wouldn’t hear it. Taking you by the hand, he led you over to a secluded alley for privacy, and forced you to look him in the eye, cold fingers holding your cheeks lightly.

“I’d never lay a fucking finger on you, y’know that? I’d rather die.”

“I know, Arthur,” you told him. Bringing your left hand to rest in your right, you twisted your ring anxiously, watching as his gaze switched from your face to your palms. He took hold of both of them, and very gently removed your wedding ring.

He shook his head at your shocked gasp, refusing to feel remorse.

“Forget about him, eh? I’ve got a house.”

“I know that, Arthur.”

“No, I-“ he took a step away from you, losing himself in his thoughts for a split second as he reckoned with how to politely ask you to leave your husband and live out the rest of your life with him in one of the premier offices for Birmingham’s crime hub.

“Live there with me. S’got everything, I swear, never even seen all the rooms. You can see the water, and I’ve got a couple goats, you can name ‘em if you want. And if you want-if you want to just stay there, you don’t have to be with me. I just want you safe.”

He screwed his eyes shut, palms pressing against his temples but fluttering away in surprise when you pressed a sweet, short kiss to his lips.

“Get me out of here, alright?” He nodded frantically, but you cut him off before he could speak. “And don’t feel sorry for me, alright, I should’ve waited for you. You deserved to go off to war and know I would be there when it was over.”

“No, no, love,” he shushed, pulling you into his chest and wrapping lanky arms around you, “the only thing you should feel bad for is the naivety of that man thinking he’ll live to see Sunday.”

#arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders

[archieimagines]

A Different Kind of Man | Merlin (Kingsman) One Shot

requested by: anon “kingsman: tgc left me with a huge soft spot for merlin for a lot of different reasons. can you imagine, though, what it'd be like to be in a relationship with him--who's probably gentle af with those he loves--but having to fight a flinch reflex you developed because a past boyfriend wasn't so kind? like just. i feel like that'd hurt him and i need the fluff/angst/something, whatever y'all want to do.” word count: 1011 words warnings: no golden circle spoilers. violence, guns, blood, some nasty face bashing. mentions of domestic abuse.

You'd always prided yourself on being strong. For the amount of shit you'd been through, you'd managed to come out the other side looking polished and ready to go. Your dick of an ex had tried to break you in more ways than one - he was not a nice guy. Regular beatings, regular harassment, regular emotional abuse and so much more.

Still, you came out strong as a rock.

But even rocks can crack.

Merlin had picked you up when you were at your worst, picked up all the pieces and laid them out for you so you could rebuild yourself, and you fell in love.

You were living together now, a nice little flat in Chelsea, and he'd confided in you his real job with Kingsman. There were no secrets between you, there for each other entirely.

He understood why you couldn't watch certain types of violent movies, and you understood why he couldn't stand comedies that weren't Monty Python.

You were sat one day watching the Life of Brian with Merlin, curled up on the sofa in your pyjamas. His arm was around your shoulder and his ankles were crossed on the coffee table. You could feel his low chuckles rumble through his chest every now and then.

It was calm, it was quiet. Until the door was bashed in.

Gunfire shattered the air, bullets striking the ceiling and knocking down the plaster. Merlin threw you onto the floor and lay across you to protect you as bullets shot through the back of the sofa, into the tv, everywhere.

There were shouts amongst the bullets and you could feel Merlin trembling slightly on top of you.

He pressed a kiss to your head and lifted off you, pulling the coffee table to cover you instead before meeting the men head on.

The words were lost on your ears, drowned out by your shaking hands on your ears and your pulse in your head, but you could feel the anger. The raw, burning anger that filled the room. You squeezed your eyes shut and was taken back to the time you were curled beneath the coffee table years ago, your drunken ex having cut his hands from throwing glasses at you. The anger was the same.

You forced your eyes open. This was not him, this was Merlin, fighting off gunmen. You sought him out, the man you loved, still in his pyjamas with a gun in his hand, blood on his clothes.

Not his blood, no. Three other men were lying on the floor, passed out or dead.

He was yelling, screaming at this man who had a gun in hand, pointed at you. It wasn't far; he wouldn't miss.

"PUT THE FUCKIN' GUN DOWN," shook the room, and a fierce look you'd never seen before was etched into his face.

The man didn't move until another shot rang through the room, and he clutched his bleeding wrist. Merlin leapt onto him, hitting him with the gun, with his fists, beating him bloody.

Until the man was no longer moving.

Merlin stopped and took a deep breath, looking down at the men before stooping to check for pulses. Three dead, one alive.

He turned to you and his heart clenched. Your face was pink, tearstained and painted with terror beneath the coffee table.

He knew straight up that he shouldn't have knocked him out so violently - a swift blow to the head would have done just as well. But he'd pointed his gun at you, and Merlin just couldn't have that.

He laid the gun aside and approached you like he'd approach a scared cat, hands out and whispering soothing words. "Love? It's alright now. They're out."

He edged closer until he could reach you, but your body had locked in place, hands over your ears, your whole body shaking.

Carefully he pushed the coffee table aside, and reached out to offer you help up, but he didn't miss the small flinch at his movement. Such a sight cut deep.

"Love, I'm not gonnae hurt ye, it's only me."

His voice was calm and level, if a little hurt, but you just couldn't brush it off. The panic still clutched at your heart, your lungs burning and your mind reeling through your hundreds of bad memories.

Merlin reached for you again, slower this time. His hands found yours clasped around your head and he brushed his thumbs over your knuckles. "C'mon, lass. Let me help ye." With delicate coaxing, he had you give him your hands, which he pressed light kisses to.

With each kiss you felt yourself unwinding, reassuring yourself he was a different type of man, a lovely type of man. The type of man that could never hurt you.

You squeezed his hands, not caring for the blood that dotted them or his split knuckles, and could feel the love from how he held your own hands. So tender, so sweetly.

You looked up to his face where he knelt before you and found his eyes were a little pink, tears brimming.

Your anxiety caved and you threw your arms around his shoulders, his hands falling to your waist and holding you tightly. You needed to sob, but it wouldn't come. You just clutched Merlin tightly, so thankful you had him.

"What did they want?" you asked, voice trembling.

"A've no idea," he responded with a slight shake of his head, "One's still alive, he'll wake up in headquarters."

You nodded and clutched to him tighter, "Thank you."

His sigh was loud, "I'm sorry."

You frowned and pulled back, hands on his face. "What for? You stopped that guy killing me."

He paused before sending you a sad smile. He knew he scared you, but he didn't want to remind you. "I'm sorry I got blood on yer PJ's."

You'd have laughed if you weren't so exhausted. "I didn't much like them anyways."

A low chuckle. "Then ye're welcome, I guess." He took your chin in his fingers and pulled you into a careful, tender kiss.

written by: archie

#written by archie #merlin #merlin kingsman #imagine #one shot #kingsman #reader #merlin x reader #merlin kingsman x reader #hamish x reader #the golden circle #request

[the-elf-mahat]

Ghosts

(( CW: domestic abuse, alcoholism, slurs against sex workers/women, dubious consent/sexual assault. I kinda triggered myself writing it, to be honest. Please don’t read if you’re not up for it, I really don’t want to hurt anyone with this. It’s here to be read if you want to delve into one of the sadder phases of ‘Hat’s life, and see how far she’s come since then. Endless thanks to Jaoyn’s player for the many wonderful hours of RP it took to get ‘Hat comfortable enough to open up about this, and for giving me permission to use our characters’ in-game dialogue in my writing. ))

Jaoyn's brow furrowed in concern, and he moved towards her—but he stopped short. "I am confused... I am not sure what you want from me. So... all I can do is let you have the control. And wait for when you wish to... be intimate, or touched. All I would ask is you know is that I still love you, and want you. But I am not going to push you for anythin'."

"I's... confused too, I's sorry, jes'... workin' it out as I go. I want ye. Fuckin' gods, do I want ye. But I still--" Mahat cut herself off in frustration, her hands balling into fists as she sought the words. "...sometimes ye touch me an' it en’t ye I feel. It's... th' past, th' loss o' control, th' desperation, th' fear an' th' shame... an' ye's ne'er made me feel any o' those things, I swear, but I--I still feel 'em…"

A couple decades ago, in Kalimdor.

“You stupid whore.”

Mahat crouched to pick up the shards of broken glass. The bottle had hit her in the face before dropping to shatter on the floor, and blood ran copiously from her nose over her mouth and chin. She pressed her face into her sleeve to try and stem the flow, while her free hand reached out, fingertips uncurling to pluck up the glinting shards and gather them into a fold of her skirt.

He wasn't finished with her, though.

A hand in her hair yanked her head back and dragged her upright. The broken glass she'd gathered spilled from her skirt to the ground, cutting her bare feet as she stumbled. He slammed her against the wall and everything went dizzy and tilted for a moment until her eyes could focus on his blurred silhouette. He was so tall. And strong. He'd always been stronger than her.

His muscular forearm pressed tight to her chest, pinning her in place when she wanted to fall. He released her hair to caress her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. It felt like a threat. He leaned in.

“You couldn't even be bothered to hide it from me, slut,” he hissed. His breath was hot and heavy with the stink of whiskey, though she knew hers was too. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been sober. Drinking made everything hurt less. “I saw his footprints in the yard… who is it, hm? Some errand boy from town?” He sneered, anger twisting his features into monstrosity, eyes blazing red-amber. She'd once thought he had kind eyes.

“Love, I—there's been no un but ye, I swear!” She started to reach out, but he grabbed her wrist and slammed it to the wall above her head.

“Liar!” he roared, inches from her face, his spittle flecking her cheeks. He dropped his forearm, and for a second she could breathe, but then he was wrapping his fingers around her throat and dragging her slender frame up the wall, forcing her to dance on her tiptoes to avoid hanging by her neck. He was so strong… a Druid of the Claw, blessed with the form of a bear, and even his elven body carried that raw, seething physical power. “I saw the tracks. Tell me who... he... is!” His last few syllables were punctuated by tightening pressure on Mahat's windpipe.

“I s-swear,” she gasped, spots swimming at the edges of her vision, “There's no un… I m-made th' prints, it—rained earlier an' I went t' th' garden—borrowed y'boots— “

He released her wrist with a grunt, and her hands locked onto his pinning arm, pulling and struggling to keep her weight off her neck. “I'll know the truth of it soon enough, beloved.” He barely seemed to notice her frantic grip, leaning in with nostrils flaring as he sniffed her. “I don't smell him on your skin… in your breath...” His free hand hiked up her skirt, broad palm tracing a gentle path over the curves of her bare haunches. “Did you let him finish inside you…?” His voice was less booming wrath and more soft cruelty now, a predator playing with his food.

Mahat felt sick, but she didn't have the air for a denial. All she could manage was to hang on to him and try not to suffocate. His hand clamped down on her sex, his fingers worming their way inside her. She was dry and tight at first, but he knew just how to touch her… she'd shown him, all those months ago when they first married, when he was kind, when his jealousy was just a little joke between them, when they drank together and laughed under the stars. When his hands on her meant pleasure, comfort, and safety, instead of this… shame.

His fingers curled inside her, massaging the front of her inner walls, and she groaned, tipping her head back. Her body was responding to him outside her control, growing slick and quivering as the tension built. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see his face, but she could still hear his quiet, cold amusement.

“That's my girl… you saved yourself for me after all… if you had already come I wouldn't be able to wreck you this quickly… this wouldn't feel so damn good.” At the last word his thumb pressed into the side of her clitoris and began to rub in quick, firm circles. She shuddered violently, her hips bucking towards him as a swift climax swelled and crashed over her. A silent scream tore out, devolving into keening, animal moans as he loosened his grip on her throat. Every part of her trembled, her inner walls  clenching wildly around his intruding fingers and soaking them, until he withdrew them and forced them into her mouth. She knew what he expected, and quickly set to work running her tongue over his digits, cleaning them off. She could taste the bitterness of her arousal, and the metallic salt-tang of the blood from her nose that still coated half her face.

Finally he removed his fingers and released her bruised throat. She would have fallen then, but he caught her, enfolding her slight, quaking frame in his arms. He stroked her hair gently and she wanted to laugh until she cried and cry until her eyes bled, but she didn't. She stayed near him, and let him think her shivers of revulsion were just leftover from the orgasm.

Soon enough he pressed her back against the wall, drawing his knuckle up under her chin to raise it. When he spoke his voice was like she remembered, strong but gentle— almost vulnerable. “I don't like hurting you, Mahat… you drive me mad, you know that? You're so damn beautiful… sometimes I'm afraid that you don't need me like I need you. I take care of you, protect you, provide for you—you'd be nothing without me, a penniless bar-wench with no name, no history, no family—and yet, despite all of that, I'm the one who's helpless before you. That's the power you have over me… I wish you would realize how dangerous you are. I wish you wouldn't use your beauty to hurt me, make me act this way...” He paused, brushing a strand of her silver hair behind her ear, his apologetic tone fading and his lips twisting into an ironic smirk. “But you like me this way, don't you? You like it when I'm rough with you, when I make you remember who you belong to.”

Mahat could barely breathe again, though nothing but her own fear and guilt was choking her. Did she like this… pain and humiliation? It was hard to deny when the evidence of her enjoyment was still trickling down the inside of her thigh. Did she… want this? She swallowed the dry lump in her throat and lowered her gaze. “I's sorry, love...” she murmured, not quite sure what she was apologizing for but feeling desperate to do so anyway. “I—ne'er meant ta hurt ye. Ye's right, ye do—take care o' me, give me wha' I need.” Something far down inside her, some spark of life and rage, was howling at the defeat in her voice, the slack acceptance in her posture. But she'd grown too used to burying that spark, smothering it in booze and blank passivity. To do otherwise was unbearable.

He smiled, and her heart lightened in a little stutter of relief. “That's my girl...” he said again, leaning in to place a tender, possessive kiss on her forehead. She could feel the hard bulge beneath his trousers digging into her thigh. “Come to bed,” he said, drawing back to survey her form. “But clean yourself up first,” he added calmly as he turned to go. “You look fucking disgusting.”

Mahat glanced down at herself after he left the room. Blood had stopped pouring from her nose, but not before it had soaked the front of her shirt nearly to the chest. On her skin, though, it was drying dark and beginning to flake. She stared to move to find water, but the sharp pain shooting up from her feet reminded her of the glass she'd sliced them on. It surrounded her in every direction now; her husband had been wearing thick boots and hadn't noticed the shards he was scattering and grinding into the floor. No way out but through. Mahat dropped to her knees and started again to pick up the broken pieces.

“He wasn' bad at first. I--loved 'im, an' I thought 'e loved me. Mebbe in 'is own... twisted way, 'e did. But somethin' changed in him an' I ne'er knew why... I thought--mebbe I did somethin' wrong tha' made 'im change. Mebbe 's my fault f' bein' too... pathetic, or weak, or stupid... fer no’ fightin’, no’ screamin’… mebbe I deserved it.”

Jaoyn shook his head fiercely, "Don't you say that! You may not have been the woman you are today, but you sure as fucking hell didn't deserve it, and the only thing you deserve right fucking now is for these shadows to cease stalkin' you!" He turned from the ledge of the balcony they stood at, facing her fully, his gaze intent upon her face, "You are the light of my night sky and I will always be there for you. Even if I need to hold the heavens themselves aloft, I am here for you, and nothing... NOTHING will change that." He held his hand out for her, and she took it. "These hands will never strike you in malice. These arms will never force you against your will..." His other hand moved to touch his chest, "This heart... is more yours than it has ever been mine. I know I can't control what fragments of the past, foul memories, or ghostly touches might assail you. All I can tell you is no matter what... this heart is yours."

Mahat grabbed onto his shirt and pulled in close, inhaling his scent and reveling in his touch. Her voice went so quiet and wavering it was barely recognizable as her own. "...there's so many damn ghosts in m' head, love... it, it hurts... please, please stay wi' me..."

Jaoyn's arm wrapped around her back as he began to gently stroke her hair. From him, the gesture brought her only comfort and tender awe. "I am never going anywhere, my love... nothing will stop me from being at your side. And I will be your strength and pillar, and light through the darkness. Reminding you constantly how amazing and wonderful, strong and proud you really are." His head tipped forward, resting his forehead to hers, "And should ever the moment come you can't go any further, I will carry you, and protect you from any horror in this world or beyond."

#wyrmrest accord #wyrmrest rp #jaoyn #i wrote a thing