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hargrove-brainrot · 4 months

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| Surf’s Up |

🌶️a smutty jj maybank x fem! reader🌶️

SUMMARY:

you and the pogues finally returned home after being presumed dead by the entire city of outerbanks. you might as well say you were on house arrest, but you wouldn’t be trapped for long. jj called you up and asked for some company, and from that point forward, many secrets were revealed…

⚠️‼️TRIGGER WARNINGS‼️⚠️:

detailed smut, cussing, teasing in public (on the beach), missionary and doggystyle sex, oral (male and female receiving), throat fucking, unprotected sex, pull out method (kinda unsuccessful), a small bit of trauma (mainly jj’s)

…………………………………………………………………………

it was another day back at the outer banks. you had just returned home from after being stranded on an island for months with the gang. everyone back at home thought you were dead. so you were basically held captive by your parents.

your phone buzzes suddenly. you pick it up. it’s a text from jj.

“are you busy?”

you feel a tingling sensation in your body. jj is so god damn attractive to you. everything about him. you reply;

“no… why?”

“you don’t think i’m feeling a bit lonely? i don’t have parents anymore. you don’t think i could use some company?”

you roll your eyes. he’s always been snappy towards you like this, and you never understood why…

you reply to him;

“fine, but there’s no promise that i won’t get caught. where are you?”

“at the same shit hole im always at”

you pick your head up and look around, making sure there’s no one to see you slip out your window. your feet plant on the ground as you land. you slip under the fence and sneak away, praying that your parents didn’t see you.

…………………………………………………………………………

you arrive at jj’s house. it’s small, beat up, and no one’s been in it in months. you hear jj working on his motor bike near the tall tree. he hears your footsteps in the grass and turns around.

“finally”

you scoff back at him.

“someone’s in a good mood”

jj chuckles.

“you know, at least you bite back. most other girls’ve just cried about it”.

you’re a little confused by that statement, but you don’t question it.

“so… what do you wanna do?”

“well i was thinking we could go hit the tide, and then get mad and break shit again, you know, the good stuff”

you chuckle under your breath.

“breaking shit and getting mad would probably do me some good, honestly”

jj stands up and steps closer to you, grinning a bit. you’re expression is one of skepticism.

“…what?”

jj pauses for a minute. his warm expression is replaced with his usual stern look.

“does it matter? now come on”

he slings himself over his bike and revs the engine loudly. knowing him, he does it all on purpose. you jump at the sudden noise and scoff again.

“stop it!!!”

you sling yourself behind him and giggle again. he can’t help but grin a little, but he’s to stubborn to let you see it.

…………………………………………………………………………

jj stops the bike abruptly as you arrive at another shore, not too far from his house. you hop off the bike with him.

the weather isn’t very welcoming, and neither is the ocean. the sky is gray, and the air is cold. the ocean is stirred up with aggressive waves slapping the shore.

“come on, get out there!”, jj nudges you.

“uhh, i don’t know man, it looks pretty dangerous”.

“fine, be a pussy, stay on the beach”.

jj pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side. he then picks up his surf board and holds it over his shoulder. he jogs out to the water.

all the while, you can’t help but stare. he’s so attractive, and he knows it well by now. you wish his back was covered in your scratches, and your body was covered in his marks.

you manage to get your head out of the gutter for just a minute and warn him of the water.

“jayj! it’s pretty risky lookin’!”, you shout.

“ah come onnnnn, what do i have to lose? my house? my parents? cuz i already lost those!”.

he laughs loudly. you start laughing with him.

“i mean, you’re not wrong! we’re pogues!”

you trot out to the water with him with your surfboard resting over your shoulder. you continue to run past him into the waves.

“…you little shit”, jj mutters, grinning widely. he rolls his eyes and jogs slowly behind you. he suddenly turns the other way when he sees a swirl start to form.

you look behind you, wondering where jj went. you look over and see that he’s already caught a wave. and he’s smiling right at you while he glides through it.

“jj!!! you suck!!!”

he laughs down at you and then slips off the board and gets swallowed by the wave. you laugh hysterically.

“that’s what you get, asshole!”, you laugh.

however, jj hasn’t appeared yet. you start to get worried.

“jj…”. you mutter. “jj?!”. you start to shout now. “jayj!! please talk to me!!!”

you squeal suddenly as jj pops up behind you and shoves you in the water.

“JJ!!! I THOUGHT YOU WERE STUCK IN THE RIP CURRENT!!!!”

you slap him back playfully. he grabs your arm and pulls you back into him. you’re both so close to each other.

you look at jj deeply for a moment, and he does the same. he takes in your body, looking down every inch of it. your eyes remain locked on his. jj eventually looks back up at you.

“uh- um”. he clears his throat nervously. “i don’t know what that was, uh…”. his cheeks flush with redness.

“why are you so red…?”, you ask, smirking a bit. “don’t fuckin’ think about it”, jj murmurs, “it’s just sunburn”. “sunburn, huh?”, you smirk playfully.

jj sighs, “shut up”.

that was it. the moment you’ve been longing all this time. he pulls you in and kisses you hard. you’re shocked at the sudden movement, but you ease into it shortly. you pull away slowly with him.

“look who’s sunburnt now…”, jj said lowly.

you continue to look at him, more shyly this time. you shiver as you feel his hand run down your spine. his smirk grows wider.

“you’re so fuckin’ cute”.

he kisses you harder this time, holding your neck gently. he feels your throat vibrate in his hand as you kiss him. he pulls away and looks you in the eyes. he feels just as nervous but also… turned on.

you nibble your lip gently as he stares into your eyes. that’s all it took for jj to grow wild. he smacks your ass and kisses you even more intensely. he quickly pulls away and then picks you up out of the water.

“jj!! what are you- what are you doing?!”

he keeps walking with you in his arms.

“imma fuck the shit outta you when we get home. that’s what i’m doing”

you blush profusely, but you can’t help but love his roughness. you feel wetter already.

“wait- home? what home?” you ask, “cus we sure as hell can’t go to my place. and… you don’t have one…”

jj pauses for a minute.

“we’ll just… go to the chateau…”

“oh hell no!”. you shake your head.

“ahhh come onnnn, where else?”, jj whines.

“um, literally anywhere EXCEPT john b’s bed?”, you state.

“why not? ‘guess you’ve never heard him and sarah. they go at it like animals”.

he laughs hysterically as you smack his shoulder.

“EXACTLY!!! so we could be rolling in someone else’s… you know…”, you trail off.

“cum?”

you widen your eyes at him. “i don’t know where you get the nerve to say some of this shit out loud”

“cum see, cum sah”, jj mocks.

you sigh and facepalm yourself at his teasing.

“c’mon, sweetheart”.

jj pats the seat in front of him.

“you comin’ or not?”

a smirk grows on your face.

“well, yeah… i probably will”.

“well not if you stand there and gawk”, he adds. he reaches out and tugs your waist gently. “sit in front o’ me”.

you sit in front of him on the bike. your ass is pressed against his groin. you can feel how hard he is already. you smirk wider at the feeling.

“you feel how hard it is?”, jj murmurs in your ear, “let’s see how ready you are…”

he slides his hand slowly up your inner thigh. he squeezes it when he notices your body tense up under his touch.

“what’s the matter?”, jj murmurs, “it’s just me”.

you gasp quietly as jj’s hand slips under your bikini. his thumb rubs against your clit and teases your cunt as he feels your wetness. he groans in your ear.

“shit, we ‘otta get you home, you’re so fuckin ready”. jj revs the bikes engine and speeds to the chateau.

…………………………………………………………………………

jj parks his bike abruptly in front of john b’s house. you sling yourself off the bike and walk towards the house. jj runs up behind you and tosses you over his shoulder.

he hears you squeal as he lifts you off the ground and can’t help but tease you.

“someone’s horny…”

you realize what he said and squeal again.

“stop itttt!!!”. jj slaps your ass and then sets you down for a moment to open the front door. he picks you up again before you can run away.

he tosses you down on the bed and immediately kisses you hard, over and over. he hardly gives you time to breathe between his kisses. he grunts as he pulls away quickly, running his hands down your body as he stands up straight. he starts pulling off his shorts.

“wow… we’re going at it already?”, you purr.

“nope”, jj states as his shorts drop off his legs. he pumps his cock a couple times.

you’re curious as to what he means. at the same time, your mouth waters at how hard his cock already is.

“get on your knees, girl”, he uttered, “you know what this means…”

you bite your lip and glance back at him after he says that. you slide off the bed and lower yourself in front of his cock. he slowly grips your hair and tilts your head upwards, forcing you to look at him. you give him a little pouty look.

“what’s wrong?”, you ask, ”are you nervous?”

“nervous? no”, he shakes his head.

you raise an eyebrow. “…you sure?”.

“hell no- i mean, yes, i mean- i’m not nervous”. jj gulps and throws his head back. “i’ve done this before”, he adds.

you let out a soft chuckle. “okay… sure”. you scoot closer to jj’s cock until it hovers just in front of your lips. you look back up at him. he’s definitely blushing.

“c’mon, suck me dry”, jj says lowly.

you feel him pull you towards it. you slowly open your lips over it and take in his length. you whine as he suddenly pulls your hair and shoves his length down your throat the rest of the way. jj’s breath shudders.

“f-fu- fuck- ooooohhh…”, he breathes. his body is tense as he tries not to cum immediately. even though he’s a stubborn ass, he wants to savor this night with you.

after just moments of you bobbing your head back and forth on his cock, jj thrusts his hips forward. it throws you off guard, and you squeal around his hard.

“i’m gonna fuck your mouth, babe-“.

he makes hard thrusts into your mouth. it doesn’t go on for too long, but it’s enough to leave you out of breath. his balls slap against your chin, and you let out accidental slurping noises. he growls lowly as his head is thrown back, completely lost in lust.

jj pulls out of your mouth right afterwards and winces quietly at how sensitive it is. he was so close to cumming down your throat, but he wanted to wait until he was inside you.

“get on the bed, honey”, jj groaned, “i’m gonna fuck the shit outta you just like i said”.

you bite your lip while looking up at him and then slide yourself back on the bed. jj slaps your ass as half of your body is dangling off the mattress. he grips your waist kisses your back a few times and pauses.

“we should get this outta the way”, he murmured in your ear, as he pulled the strings loose on your bikini. he squeezes your ass as your crouched below him, completely naked now.

meanwhile, the coil of arousal in your core is tightening more and more. you look up at jj with a slight pout in your expression. he finds it adorable.

“turn on your back”, he orders.

you don’t even question it. you want him inside you as soon as possible. so you do exactly that.

his mouth waters as he glances down at your pussy, staring at it with a smirk. he makes eye contact with you again and then kneels down and licks up and down between your hole and your clit.

“mmmm… so fuckin’ good”, jj muffles against your folds, “your pussy’s so damn good”. your legs tense as his voice vibrates against your clit. he notices and stands back up, his cock bobbing in the air.

“fuck this”.

jj growls as he leans over you.

“i’m not waiting”.

he presses his cock between your folds. you whine as your pussy squelches with wetness. he grabs your hips and drives only the tip inside you. he feels you clench around it and slides one of his hands around your neck.

“be patient.”, he seethes. he bites your neck hard as he slides the rest of the way in.

“ohhhhh shit!”, you moan loudly as he abruptly drives his cock inside you. he mashes his body against your bare chest and keeps his face against your neck. he whispers naughty things in your ear as he thrusts away.

“be a good fuckin girl, take this cock… oh my goddd…”

jj starts to thrust a little faster and presses himself further against your tits. he smiles wickedly as he hears you squeal.

“jayj- oh my- fuck!”

your arms latch onto jj’s back and dig into his skin. he grunts as you do that and thrusts harder and faster.

“so god damn naughty”

jj sits up away from your face and starts jerking your hips more aggressively. he moans and grunts with each thrust, and so do you.

“your cock is so good, ohhhhh shitttt!”

you suddenly fall dangerously close to your high. jj feels you clench around him and pulls out immediately. you whine at the empty feeling.

“turn over”, jj growls, “stick that ass out”

you pout and lazily roll onto your hands and knees. you wiggle your ass towards him, your cunt still swollen and puffy. he teases his cock between your folds, and then shoves in his entire length. he doesn’t wait one breath to start thrusting.

“fuck i’m hitting you so deep”, he growls as his hands dig into your hips.

you fall dangerously close again, and so does he. his sounds become more labored and breathy, and he seems less controlled. your eyes roll back when his thrusts sound more like slaps against your clit.

“ohhhhh- fuck!”, you moan loudly, “you’re fuckin nailing it- ooooh!”

jj starts thrusting even faster, your body rocking back and forth with his movements. your head arches upwards and your mouth lolls open. jj notices and mashes your face into the pillows, smirking wickedly as he does so. he bends over you and skillfully rubs your clit, making you clench around him.

“you better fucking not”, he grunts, “don’t cum yet”

his voice becomes more breathy and uneven. you could tell he was close, and so were you.

you start intentionally squeezing around his cock, making him grunt loudly. it would only take a few more thrusts until you both reached your highs.

“fuck- fuck fuck fuck-“.

jj’s voice stalls for a second before he thrusts into you hard and grunts loudly. he pulls out quickly after some of his load accidentally sprayed inside you. you came right with him, squirting all over john b’s sheets.

“shiiiit…”, jj sighs as he slaps his cock on your ass a few times. you pick your head up from the sheets and look back at him as you continued to moan.

“c’mere”

jj turns you over gently and kisses you hard. your hands run through his hair as he gives you hardly any time to breathe. you pull away in unison and stare in each other’s eyes.

“finally got my dick wet”, he breathes, “your pussy’s so fuckin good”.

“gross”, you sighed, “so… is this why you’ve been grumpy towards me lately? you were just… sexually frustrated?”. you chuckle.

jj rolls his eyes. “fine, i’ll admit it, i wanted you for so damn long”.

“how long?”, you ask.

jj thinks for a minute, a warm smile on his face. “honestly… probably since the moment i met you, i just didn’t wanna admit it to myself”. his cheeks flush with a light pink hue.

“awww… are you blushing?”, you tease, “or is it just ‘sunburn’”.

“shut up”, he scoffs while smiling uncontrollably, “what about you? when were you shot with that arrow?”

“much longer than i’d like to admit”, you mutter “i don’t remember what did it though…”.

jj gives a cheeky grin and licks his lips. he gently combs your hair out of your face and kisses you again, more tenderly this time.

“well, i’m glad i pinned you down…”, he looks you up and down slowly as you lay beneath him. he kisses you slowly again, slipping his tongue in your mouth. you gently pull away in unison, jj looking into your eyes lovingly. his eyes are half lidded and sleepy looking yet full of sincerity. to be honest, no one’s probably ever seen this side of him.

you smile warmly at him, until you realize the massive puddle of wetness under you that soaked the sheets. you blush a little as you look back up at jj, embarrassed that he has to see you in a mess. however, he seems to have quite a liking for it.

“you want me to clean it up, babes?”, jj whispers, practically drooling at the sight of your glistening clit. you know exactly what he means by that and blush even harder.

“i- i mean- mmmm! mmmm…”

you squeal as jj immediately starts eating you out without a second thought. it doesn’t last long, but it’s one hell of a ride. he moans deeply as he sucks your clit gently. his tongue then starts licking up and down your folds, moving it faster as he licks more.

your legs start to shake and tense around jj’s shoulders. he notices and smacks your ass, nearly enough to send you over the edge. he then starts muttering dirty comments to further tempt you.

“you gonna cum again?”, jj muffles in your pussy, “you gonna think about my dick inside you while you squirt on my face?”

he suddenly sticks his two fingers in your cunt and starts curling them towards your g-spot as he continues to lick up and down your clit. you cum almost immediately, your mouth flying open and your eyes rolling back.

jj fucks his fingers into you a couple more times as you pulse around his fingers. he pulls his face away, his chin dripping with your juices. his fingers slip out of your sopping pussy as he stands up again. he leans back over you and kisses you hard, letting you taste your juices.

“good girl, babe…”, jj sighs as he pats your thigh a couple times, “i’ll get a towel now…”

you continue to moan quietly as you catch your breath while your orgasm fades. jj rummages around in john b’s junk to find something relatively clean for you to wipe yourself.

jj comes back minutes later with a random rag that you probably don’t wanna know what it was used for previously. he’s also holding a random throw blanket to put beneath you until you can muster up enough energy to clean the sheets. he helps you out of bed as you shake while you stand near him, watching him toss the blanket over the wet puddle. you take the washcloth and realize how dirty it is. you look back and forth between jj and the cloth in slight disgust.

“you know what… i think i’ll just dry it out”, you yawn.

“dry it out? with me around?”, jj tsks, “i’ll make her cry even harder”.

you giggle as he talks about your pussy like it’s another person. he has a snarky grin on his face as you laugh. he reaches down and playfully slaps your ass, squeezing it gently. you jump a little and then nudge him gently.

“come onnn… i’m tired…”

jj rolls his eyes jokingly.

“after that? we only did so much?”

you scoff and flop down on the bed, laying on your side with one of your legs hiked up further out across the bed. it was going to be a sleepless night…

…………………………………………………………………………

GUESS WHO’S BACK, BACK AGAIN ‼️‼️‼️

do y’all even remember me 😭

this smut has been rotting in my notes for god knows how long. the last time i touched it before today was in september 🥶 so if the writing is god awful don’t judge 😭

ALSO, i’ve entered another hyper fixation outside of stranger things, which is honestly fkn insane to think about. i’ve been fixated lately on the witcher (the netflix series with henry cavil specifically), so i might write some geralt smut in the future if i can even remember.

ciao for now~

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bug-bites · 7 months

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whatcha lookin at buddy? :3

tw: none!! just some silly fluffy romantic hcs, also not edited bc im just an eepy lil guy

pairing: rodolfo "rudy" parra x gn!reader

summary: uhhh your boyfriend shares his silly little late night habit with you or something

characters: rodolfo "rudy" parra

notes: i never know what to title these things also i know the formatting is ugly!! i wrote this in my notes app and was too lazy to make it look decent,, <(＿　＿)>

rudy never was one to sleep early, in all honesty he seemed to do the complete opposite. he would always go to bed hours later after you. you never understood why.

it wasn't anything that made you suspicious, he wouldnt go far, most of the time he would still be at home, just outside. it was just odd, but it didnt seem like anything bad?

one night you woke up and there was an unfamiliar emptiness beside you, rudy wasnt there next to you like he was right before you fell asleep

its the middle of the night what else would this guy be doing at 2am??

so you're panicking a bit, you wake up and your boyfriend isnt next to you. sure maybe hes just pissing but you're tired and logic isnt the first thing that comes to mind

you call out for him, your throat a bit dry after you've just woken up and it comes out a bit more panicked than you intended

you sit up, eyes scanning the room looking for him- any sign of him

a sigh of relief leaves your lips, he's there. he's in your bedroom, back turned to you as he gazes upwards, out the window.

as soon as he hears his name his head whips around, why are you panicking?? whats going on?? did something happen? did you have a nightmare? most importantly, are you okay?

but he hears your sigh and you mumble something under your breath. he closes the curtains and walks towards you, gently cupping your cheek

"qué pasa?" "sorry i just- you weren't next to me and i just panicked" "nothing to be sorry for."

his voice is soft, barely above a whisper. he runs his thumb along your cheekbone, holding your cheek so tenderly it feels like you're about to melt

"it's okay. im right here."

"what were you doing?" you ask him, its about damn time he tells you anyways and you're getting curious about his strange nighttime habit "you'll find out tomorrow. its better if its a surprise." he kisses your forehead and climbs back into bed with you. "what if i dont want it to be a surprise?" "well thats not up to you. now go to sleep, cariño"

one his arms snake around your waist, the other making its way under your head, like a pillow but better

the next night, as soon as it gets dark he finally lets you in on his not so secret secret.

he grabs your hand, your fingers intertwining with his and leads you outside to a picnic blanket

"its a bit late for a picnic." you say with a yawn

he rolls his eyes as he walks over to the blanket, lying down flat on his back. you do the same, curious to what his next move was.

"stop looking at me and look up" he says with a chuckle

you listen to him and look up, hundreds of stars scattered in the distant sky. its calm, the sounds of the crickets chirping, his hand in yours, your back flat against the picnic blanket, its so serene you almost forget to breathe

"i used to do this all the time when i was younger." rudy says, breaking the silence "i would set up a mat outside and me and alejandro would lie there for hours until my mamá would yell at us to come back inside"

you look over at him, just for a second and catch him smiling as he reminisces

"i like to look at the stars when i get overwhelmed. reminds me i how small i am in the universe" "thats a bit melancholic, dont you think? the idea that we're so much smaller than the universe. like we dont matter as much as we think" you say, "i dont think of it like that. its like the world is bigger than my problems, it continues and theres so much more than just my troubles." he replies, eyes fixated on the stars "well when you put it that way, it sounds pretty nice"

the next few minutes are spent with rudy teaching you some basic constellations like the big and small dipper and then moves onto the more complex ones like ursa minor, andromeda and orion.

each constellation he points out comes with a story, as great as they look you cant help but watch him as he tells you all about them. its something he loves so deeply, you can tell from the way the corners of his mouth turn upwards as he describes them to you, the look of amazement in his eyes even though he's seen the stars hundreds of times. you cant help but fall more for him with every word he says

"i wish we met earlier. before when i was younger you could see so much more than just ...this. i wish i could've shown it to you" his tone becomes slightly bittersweet.

you don't exactly know what to say, you just wrap an arm around his torso, you mutter a soft "i know" right before you press a kiss to his cheek

the next time you two go stargazing its when you go camping together, although sure its not just in your backyard its as close as you can get with just enough clarity in the sky to see everything rudy wanted to show you :]

taglist: @pygm4li0n

#the thought of him stargazing w/ lil alejandro is so cute ashdgshajsdg #i love my boy rudy we need more content for him #also first explicitly romantic x reader thingy ever yay!#i wanna go stargazing with rudy (but more platonically) :(#rudy parra x you #rudy parra x reader #rodolfo rudy parra #rodolfo parra #rudy parra #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty headcanons

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j-elaine-hyde · 2 years

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Then - Part One

[Prequel to Now & Then] Captain Syverson x Reader

Fluff, 18+ just because, WC: 3,100 exactly.

“Y/n… hurry up! Fuck!” Randy yelled from the kitchen. Randy was kind of an asshole.

You scrambled to put on your apron before grabbing a tray full of glasses, balancing it on your way to the back. You were new and trying your best. Thankfully the VFW wasn’t too terribly busy yet. That, and the regulars were almost always nice to you.

You had taken this job out of desperation. You’d been living on a friends couch and trying to get your feet underneath you. The manager was a friend of yours and knew the old men who patronized the bar would love you. “You’re pretty… and smart. You’ll give those old timers a run for their money.” He said.

By the second month you already had quite a few regulars coming in on your shifts just to see you. You talked with them, listened to their stories, and respected what they had done for our country. Not many people your age really got it or understood. But you did. They appreciated that.

It was a quiet Thursday night, only a few regular members were hanging out. A table full of guys played cards while you walked through taking their empties.

“Y/n… I have someone I want you to meet.” Charlie, one of your favorite regulars began, “He’s a very good man.”

Wilbur chimed in, “Don’t do it toots… he’s short!”

“He is not! Logans tall! So tall! And smart. He’s very smart.” Charlie retorted.

“I don’t know kid… sounds too good to be true. Tall and smart?” Arthur laughed as he shuffled the cards.

Frank couldn’t resist, “I bet he’s ugly.”

You were laughing as the old men discussed your potential suitor. Whom you had no intention of meeting in the first place.

“Shut it Frank. He’s not ugly. He’s a good lookin kid. He’s tall, he’s smart. He’s a good man. He’s a soldier. A captain.” Charlie looked around the table mean mugging the other men, almost daring them to speak up.

You smiled, “Oh Charlie… I don’t really have time -“

He interrupted you, “Just meet him. Be nice to him. That’s all I’m asking. Smile at him.”

“What’s in it for you Charlie?” Wilbur questioned scratching his bald head.

“Nothing. I just wanna see these two kids happy. They’re both good kids. That’s rare these days.” Charlie patted your hand as you grabbed his empty glass.

“Thank you Charlie. That’s very sweet of you but-“

Charlie smiled, “Don’t say another word. He’ll be here in about five minutes.”

Panic spread through your entire body, “Charlie… You didn’t… Are you serious?”

‘Of course I’m serious. Why would I joke about something like that? You look great kid…. Don’t worry about it. You’ll knock his socks off!”

“Ya know… on second thought, maybe run a brush through your hair and throw on a little lippy.” Frank chimed in.

“Thanks Frank. I’ll remember you said that.”

He grumbled and muttered in response, “I’m just trynna be helpful.”

You ran your tray back to the bar and ducked into the restroom. You didn’t necessarily want to meet this guy Charlie was trying to set you up with, but you also didn’t want to look bad either. What if he was a nice handsome guy? Those don’t just drop out of the sky. And a marine? You did love a man in uniform. Just maybe not the ones you were surrounded by nowadays.

Looking yourself over in the mirror you reached into your purse and pulled out some eyeliner, re-did your mascara and put on some cherry chapstick. You pulled hair out of its elastic and fluffed it. You tried remembering how many days it’d been since you’d washed it and if it was clean enough to get away with wearing it down. Thankfully it was and having had it up in the elastic gave it a nice bit of volume. As you looked yourself over in the mirror, you sighed looking at your reflection. ‘This will have to do.’ You thought as you adjusted your tank top and hiked up your shorts ever so slightly. ‘That’s better.’

You heard the door chime and took a deep breath. Rushing out of the bathroom and chucking your purse back behind the bar as you plastered a warm smile on your face only to see Sid, one of your cantankerous regulars.

“The usual Sid?” You hollered at the slow moving gentleman with the cane.

“A course… what else would it be! I’m 82 years old… you think I’m gonna change it up now?!”

You swore yelling at you kept him moving. His grumpiness gave him the energy he needed to function. You poured a domestic beer from the tap and carried it over to the card game as the gentleman shuffled their seats groaning and grumbling as they welcomed Sid to the table.

“You changed your hair!” Arthur barked as you sat Sid’s drink in front of him. “What’d you do that for? I thought you said you weren’t interested in Charlie’s boy?”

“Who’s not interested?” A deep gruff southern accent belonging to someone much younger than the standard clientele asked.

You stood up straight, eyes wide, your back facing the sexy sounding stranger.

Charlie winked at you and gave you a thumbs up. Frank froze and very slowly gave you the ‘ok’ symbol, looking extremely obvious. While you were fairly certain he was trying to be nonchalant.

“Logan! You’re here! We’ll deal you in. This is Y/n. Y/n is a very nice girl. Be nice to her. She’ll get you a drink.” Charlie smiled warmly at the both of you.

You spun around as Logan reached out and touched your elbow. Expecting someone smaller you had to look up at him. He was huge. He was well over six foot and broad chested. He was thick and muscular. If there was ever a man built like a mountain it was him. He was bearded and wore a ball cap, his tee shirt was tight and accentuated his muscles. His jeans fit perfectly. You felt butterflies and heat as you looked up at him.

“Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Logan.”

Your mouth went dry. You blinked at him, staring at his giant outstretched hand.

“Get with it kid.” Wilbur whispered, cracking a smile on your face.

“Hi I’m Y/n. What can I get you?”

“A date!” Frank chimed in.

“Take her to dinner!” Sid coughed.

Y/n pursed your lips and and closed your eyes. You opened them slowly as you started to walk towards the bar. Logan followed you.

“I wonder if they want us to go on a date…” he smirked.

“How can you tell? They’re very subtle.” You felt at ease with him. You also felt a fire start in your belly that radiated through your entire body.

“I’ll say one thing…Charlie definitely under sold you. You’re gorgeous. He said you were nice to look at.. he didn’t tell me I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes off of you.” Logan was laying it on thick.

“Wow. Um… thank you.”

“What time do you get off? I’d like to buy you… a drink.”

“You realize that’s funny, because I’m the bartender, right…” you winked at him as you poured a Budweiser draft into a glass, before sliding it to him.

“How did you know?” He looked at you confused as he took a sip.

“It’s a talent. A completely useless one. But a talent, nonetheless.”

“What time do you get off?” He repeated himself, moving closer.

You could smell him. His cologne swirled with his manly woodsy scent. It was heaven. The closer he got the faster your heart beat.

You licked her lips, “In about ten minutes…” you smiled at him as he quickly looked at his watch.

“Perfect.”

———

The two of you sat at a quiet table in a far corner for the last two hours talking nonstop. The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks. The old men watched on with approval, Charlie smarting the rest of his friends, proud that he had made a successful match.

Logan was gorgeous. His deep ocean blue eyes were mesmerizing. You kept staring at his plump lips unable to help imagining what it would be like to kiss them. To feel them on your skin. You stared, awestruck at his immense size. You wanted to climb him like a tree. You also had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t have minded in the slightest.

Charlie came over, patting Logan on the back. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m headed out. You kids have fun tonight.”

You jumped up and hugged Charlie tight. “Thank you Charlie.” You whispered in his ear.

He winked back at you and tapped the side of his nose. Logan stood up and shook his hand. You both told him goodnight and goodbye as he shuffled out of the bar.

“I love him. He’s my favorite. But don’t tell the others I said so.” You laughed as you crossed your arms on the table and pushed your cleavage forward.

Logan smiled at you, “I think you’re his favorite too. He’s been telling me about you since you started.”

“What? He has?” You were legitimately completely surprised.

Logan nodded, “Oh yeah. The first night you worked he called me. ‘Logan!” He barked, doing his best Charlie impression, “Logan there’s this new girl at the V. She’s a hot ticket.”

You laughed, “what does that even mean?”

“I have no clue.” He laughed.

His laughter was music to your ears. You could tell by the way he carried himself that what you were witnessing was a rarity. You knew he wasn’t like this with anyone else. He was serious and stern. Manly and in charge. He was a hard ass. You didn’t know why you got to see this side of him, but you loved it.

“Logan. You have to come down to the V. He’d say… she’s built well. Super sweet. You have to come down and meet her before one of the old geezers sets her up with somebody else.’ I loved when he called them old geezers.” Logan smiled as he told you things Charlie had said to him.

Logan zoned out staring at your lips as you laughed.

“What?” You searched his face for answers.

“You’re very beautiful. Your lips are…” he reached out and thumbed your lower lip.

“Kiss her already.” Both you and Logan jumped. They had been too wrapped up staring at each other to notice Frank had marched over. “Don’t let me interrupt. Y/n. I need quarters and Bob is too busy.”

“Sure thing Frank. I’ll be right back.” You took his five dollars and went to the bar.

“We might be old. And you might be the size of a Rhino… but that’s our girl. You better treat her right, you hear me sonny?”

“Yes sir. I hear you.” Logan nodded and shook his hand.

You came back with his quarters in a cup. You rattled it before handing it to him. “Here you are Frank. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m good doll face. Get back to making eyes at the Rhino.” He waved over his head as he hobbled back to his table.

“Did he just call you a Rhino?” You burst out laughing trying to be quiet about it.

“He did. And to be honest, I’m a little afraid of him.” Logan raised his eyebrows as he pretended to watch his back. “Do you play darts?”

“I do… not well. But I play.” As you looked at him you had to fight the overwhelming urge to lunge forward and wrap your arms around his neck. All you wanted to do was touch him.

“Maybe I can help you. We can wager if you’d like. Might play a little better with some skin in the game.” He looked at you with a curious glance.

“What’ll it be? $20?”

“No. Money is boring. If I win… you have to do tequila shots with me.” He looked up at with only his eyes, it sent shockwaves through you.

“And if I win?” You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“We’ll see.”

You laughed loudly at his response. “Oh ye of little faith. I’ll get the darts.”

You marched defiantly up to the bar to retrieve the darts. You could feel Logan’s eyes on you the entire way. You might have added a little extra swing to your hips than normal. Once at the bar you filled another beer for Logan and watched as he lumbered over to the scoreboard and began cleaning it. You liked the way he ran the room even when he wasn’t trying.

You swallowed hard as you watched him, looking at the ceiling and whispering another ‘Thank you Charlie’ into the universe.

“You’re going down chump!” You postured as you handed him his beer with a smile.

He shook his head and smiled down at you. “Bring it beautiful… let’s see how you do.” He was itching for a reason to touch you. He found his first excuse when you stepped over the line. He reached out and pulled you back by your hips. “Ahh ahh ahhh… over the line sweetheart.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, a grin across your face. “I should get a handicap. You’re enormous.”

Instead of releasing you he moved closer, leaving his hands where they were. Your back pressed to his chest, you craned around to smile at him. Feeling the heat radiate off of his body made you want to shed his clothes. While you were thinking of him, he was breathing in your perfume.

“I’m going to leave you here. Trusting that you won’t go over the line this turn…” he whispered to you before dramatically removing his hands from your waist and backing away. You rolled your eyes in response as you threw the dart.

It was the nearing the end of the game and Logan was most certainly in the lead. You had both been finding reasons to touch each other. You were smiling and laughing and having fun. Anyone watching could tell you were both smitten.

“Listen here beautiful… I’m about two throws away from those body shots. You ready?”

Your mouth dropped open, “Body shots?” You locked your eyes on his, a mischievous grin growing in response.

“Yea. I said tequila shots. That’s body shots. I get to take them off of you, and I get to pick where you take them off of me… that was the bet.”

You laughed, “was that in the uh… fine print?”

“You didn’t read it?” He winked.

“Always skip it… bites me in the ass every time.”

He moved in close, whispering in your ear, “Babygirl… you gotta read the fine print…”

You blushed as he brushed passed you on his way to the line. You watched as the muscles in his arm flexed at the simple motion of throwing a dart. You text the bartender asking for tequila shots. You had a plan.

The waitress delivered the shots and he smiled and nodded at her, thanking her. You reached out and grabbed his left arm, holding his wrist in one hand and the salt shaker in the other, slowly you licked the inside of his forearm and sprinkled salt. You picked up the lime and gingerly placed it between his lips.

“If you’ll be so kind, I have a shot to take.” You seductively smiled at him as he nodded.

You placed a sloppy sucking kiss on his arm where the salt was placed, downed your shot and pulled him in for a kiss, biting the lime out of his lips you quickly sucked it and dropped it out of your mouth, pulling him back in to continue the kiss. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist pulling your body tight against his. He deepened the kiss, moving a single hand down to your butt, palming it firmly with his giant hand.

You pulled back, breaking the kiss, and smiled at him, your arms still around his neck. “Its your turn.”

“This is a sticky predicament… I could go cliche and put my shot glass between your fantastic tits…and lick your neck as my salt…” he trailed off. “But where to put the lime…” he whispered in your ear as he nuzzled your neck, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

You felt your head swim at his close proximity, almost feeling faint.

He took the shot without salt, without lime. He grabbed you and leaned you back, pulling you in for a kiss, dipping you down before standing you back on your feet and patting you on the butt.

The waitress came by for the empty glasses. “Last call sugar… You two want anything else before I close out?”

You shook her head ‘no’, “Thanks Maggie.” You tried to come back down to Earth.

“Sure thing sugar. Looks like you two had fun!”

Logan sat down and pulled you onto his lap. “Did you have fun tonight babygirl?”

You turned and wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I sure did. Did you hon?”

“Nights not over yet baby…” he smirked and patted your rear.

“Logan… we just closed down the bar…”

He held out his forearm and pointed to the spot where you licked/kissed him. “See that spot right there?”

“Yeah… that’s where I kissed you.”

“That’s the first place you ever placed those gorgeous lips… and I never want to forget as long as I live.”

You leaned down and kissed it again.

“I'm going to tattoo that on my arm. I know a guy… let’s pay him a visit.” Logan placed two hundred dollars on the table in cash and bounced his knee. You stood up looking at him with a slightly confused stare.

“You’re…you’re g-gonna what?” You stammered.

“We are going to get your lips, tattooed on my arm. Right here. Tonight. You wanna go?”

You laughed and squinted at him, trying to see if he was serious. “Oh you’re serious…” you looked at him sideways.

“As a heart attack. Let’s go, baby. Right now.” He reached out and grabbed your wrist, placing a sweet kiss in your palm, and moving to place a second on your wrist. You looked up at him, an unfamiliar feeling in your chest. Taking your hand in his he led you out of the bar.

To Be Continued...

#captain syverson #cpt syverson #syverson fic #syverson fanfiction #syverson x reader #syverson x you #romance #fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #henry cavill

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oh-mother-fucket · 23 days

Text

*..STARS..*

A fic in which Hank has a hyperfixation.

Featuring: Hank, Hank's illiteracy, 2BDamned, and Deimos

====

If you looked up at a Nevadean night sky, you wouldn’t see stars. No one really knew what a star was, at least outside of the five-pointed ones that went on the doors of the Slaughter Time contestants’ rooms.

No, instead of stars, you’d see a big black void. That’s it. Depending on the time of night, it might be more red, but it wouldn’t change besides that.

When Hank was little– about five or six– he was told that once upon a time, there were tiny pinpricks of glittering light speckled across the night sky. They used to believe it, until he turned fifteen and had bigger things to worry about.

Hank didn’t think about those old myths anymore. They were about as inconsequential to them as Santa Claus would be to a middle-aged childless man. After all, Hank had things to do, fun to have, people to kill. No time to waste on an old wives’ tale.

It was nighttime when 2BDAMNED sent Hank a text. Hank was staring up at the sky, so he didn’t notice he was getting messages until they realized their phone was buzzing. They looked at the previews on his screen.

“Wimbleton,” the latest one read, “call me now.”

More than a tad amused at the order, Hank scoffed. He looked back up at the sky.

Nothing. Like always. Hank could pretend that he saw glints of light from the darkness above, but pretending could only get him so far.

Their phone began to ring. Chuckling, they picked it up and hit “answer”.

“Hank J. Wimbleton, you’d best have a good reason for not–”

“Sky.” Hank shrugged. “Lookin’.” He didn’t feel like talking much, and in any case, he knew his short answer would piss Doc off– which was their goal.

A loud sigh from Doc. “And I thought I was hard to deal with…” A short pause before he started talking again. “Deimos is asking me about shit I think you’d know about. He’ll probably be blowing up your phone once he gets home.”

Hank tensed up, irritation seeping into them. “Not gonna,” he growled lowly. They hung up the phone and went back to looking at the sky.

…The phone rang again.

Goddamnit. Hank picked it up. “Not gonna.”

“Wimbleton, hang up on me again and I’ll rearrange your teeth.” Doc sighed. “I know he can be… difficult to deal with, for someone like you.”

Hank scoffed. “To say the least,” he remarked.

“Uh-huh, yeah, whatever. I don’t care anymore. Just answer his questions or you’ll be receiving an extra knuckle, and not in the mail.” Doc hung up, leaving Hank in silence again.

If there was anyone, anyone at all that Hank would say he had strong negative feelings about– well, it would be Tricky, but Deimos came in close second.

Just the way he was ticked Hank off. That dumbass outfit, his fidgety nature, his raspy voice–

Ugh. Made Hank pissed just thinking about it.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and went inside. The building was attached to several others– an apartment complex, was it called? Hank preferred the term “chain house”.

The interior looked nothing like the exterior. Shockingly, Hank had put in the effort to spruce up the place ever since he claimed it as his hiding place. It didn’t have a carpet– Hank couldn’t afford one– but it did have a red rug in the living room.

They collapsed onto the beat-up couch and sighed. Deimos would call any minute now, and Hank was dreading it.

Any minute now…

Bzzt. There it was.

Hank picked up the phone, and was immediately greeted by Deimos’s voice. “Hey Hank! Had some questions I thought you might like to answer.” The man laughed. Hank could practically smell his smoky breath.

“Hit me.” Hank leaned back, getting comfy on the couch. Knowing Deimos, this would be a while. He took off his goggles, putting them on the coffee table.

Deimos chuckled. “Thanks, pal! Knew you’d let me bother ya.”

A scoff escaped from Hank. Let you? Yeah, whatever makes you happy.

“So, like, you’re old,” Deimos began. “You ever seen stars?”

What a strange question. “Not sure what my age has to do with my propensity to get lightheaded,” Hank replied curtly. He brought his finger to the “end call” button, but stopped when Deimos clarified.

“I meant like, in the sky. You ever see those?”

Hank paused. He hadn’t thought about stars… in a long time. “Haven’t.” He hung up.

The phone started ringing again soon after, but Hank tried to ignore it. What made him curious about stars? Hank wondered. It’s not like Deimos was ever interested in anything that wasn’t guns or eating or pissing him off. How strange of him to ask about that.

Stars weren’t ever something Hank could remember dwelling on. Maybe when he was first told about them, he might have obsessed a bit, but they couldn’t recall.

The phone stopped ringing after a few minutes, but Hank’s head was still buzzing. Stars. I wonder if they ever did exist. They laid back on the couch, trying to ignore the thought. It wasn’t important, and besides, Deimos would forget in a few hours. And so would they, hopefully.

~ ~ ~

The sound of metal tearing through flesh was like music to Hank’s ears, a brief reprieve from thoughts about that old myth.

Gunshots sounded through the room. “Heads up!” Cried Deimos, a bit late. Hank ducked just in time to get the top of his head grazed by a bullet, and one lodged itself in his shoulder. They hissed in pain, ignoring the thump of the bodies in front of him and snapping his head to glare daggers at Deimos.

Deimos merely chuckled. “Be faster next time!” he exclaimed. He ran past Hank and grabbed one of the agents the pair were slaughtering, pulling them close and shooting them point blank in the face.

Rolling his eyes in irritation, Hank stood up and turned to take care of the remaining agents on his side of the room. He pounced on one, beating their face into a pulp, until he was grabbed by another agent.

They growled, falling limp and forcing the agent to buckle under their dead weight, then got up and stomped the agent’s head in. He grabbed a knife off the agent and pounced again, tackling a nearby agent and slitting their throat.

If Hank could still smile, he would probably laugh.

He nearly jumped feeling someone grab their arm, and reached around to throw the person over their shoulder. “Yeowch!” Deimos yelped, hitting the ground hard. Hank chuckled as Deimos got up, glaring. “Dude, it’s just me!”

“Serves you right,” Hank replied. Deimos flipped them off with a scowl.

Hank looked around, surveying the carnage. Not a single agent even twitched. He sighed, the adrenaline slowly wearing off and giving way to exhaustion. Their chest heaving, they began to walk to the door.

Deimos sprinted up to them, grabbing their arm. “Woah woah woah man, we can’t leave yet!” He tried to tug Hank back, but they refused to budge. Deimos sighed. “We gotta double tap! Y’know… make sure everyone’s dead and that.”

Oh, right. How did Hank forget that? He’s normally eager to do a second sweep for survivors. They shook their head. Probably won’t happen again.

They yanked Deimos’s gun from him– briefly admiring the make, it looked well cared for– and started firing at the corpses with total abandon.

Blood spurted from the bullet wounds, but not a soul cried out. A shame, really.

“There,” said Hank. For some reason, he didn’t feel the same satisfaction they usually did. Maybe something was weighing on their mind.

… Something like stars.

God damn it. There it is again. They’d been thinking about those damn things all week, and Deimos had been pestering him about it near-constantly through text. He’d hoped that this mission would get his mind off it, but alas, that appeared not to be the case.

“Yo, Nevada to Hank, you there?”

Hank stiffened, suddenly noticing that Deimos was waving his hand in front of them. Hank shoved Deimos, a bit irritated. “Next room. You.” He dropped the gun into Deimos’s arms and went to lean against the wall, much to the smaller man’s confusion.

Deimos stood silent, flabbergasted for a few moments. “Seriously?” he finally exclaimed. “Yer normally all over this, dude!”

A simple shrug was Hank’s response. He hoped Deimos would drop it and leave to check the rest of the facility. Hank just wanted to be alone with their thoughts, for once.

Deimos growled. “You better not be plannin’ on leavin’ the whole rest o’ the place t’ me!” He took a step towards Hank, teeth bared. Hank stared.

The two stood silently, glaring daggers at each other for a few minutes. The tension was thick. If it were a person, Hank would have a hard time cutting it.

Finally, Hank decided to make a move. They reckoned that if they didn’t, Deimos would just stand there forever. Probably start whining at them too.

Hank unsheathed a knife he kept in a case on his back– it was a huge hunting knife, almost as big as a particularly small sword. He held it up at Deimos threateningly. “Go clear.”

The threat was obvious– and Deimos was keenly aware that Hank wasn’t bluffing. With an angry grumble, Deimos left the room.

Leaving Hank alone to think.

He wondered if he ever made drawings of stars, when he was little. He knew he’d never be able to retrieve any drawings, if they existed– he couldn’t remember bringing anything but what he was wearing at the time when he left Nexus City.

Maybe he could make some drawings later today, when he got home… but Deimos would question him if he brought paper with him into the car, and besides, he didn’t have any crayons. He’d probably break them anyway.

Briefly, he pondered if stars ever existed. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe it was just a myth parents told children to keep them from losing hope or something.

They probably didn’t exist, actually. Hank growled to himself. This is so stupid. They got up and made their way outside.

The thought was still in the back of his mind though, and for a small moment, he considered looking upwards. Perhaps tonight, they’d see a sky full of stars.

What a stupid thought. They shook their head and walked to the car, getting in the passenger seat to wait for Deimos.

A tiny bright dot glittered overhead.

~ ~ ~

So, it turns out, leaving your partner to do all the work was not a good idea.

Hank could hear Deimos’s snarling and whining pretty clearly even through the walls. The guy was loud.

Doc had run out of anesthesia, so he was using booze to keep Deimos suppressed. It wasn’t working very well.

Deimos had probably run through the group’s only supply of beer by now– and if he hadn’t, it was probably because Doc had given up on trying to get the guy to pass out.

The shouting made Hank cover his ears. God, this was the worst.

He tried to let his mind wander, wanting to distract himself from the annoying ruckus.

And what better thought to think of than stars?

Hank was convinced at this point that stars were cursing him. Hell, he couldn’t even look at the sky without swearing he saw something glimmer!

But he’d take thoughts of stars over Deimos screaming any day.

Were stars really that tiny? Maybe they were, and they were just really bright. Sort of like how a lightbulb in a dark room can still be seen from far away.

Maybe they were really hot, too. Making light for so long makes heat– Hank knew that much. If they were hot, they’d probably warm up Nevada super hot every night. But that didn’t make sense… maybe stars were actually super far away. Maybe there weren’t that many. Maybe he should write this down so he doesn’t end up thinking about this tangent again…

Hank got up from the couch and went to Doc’s room, grabbing a notepad. He tore out all the pages that had writing on them and grabbed a pen.

wat i no abowt stars

brit

smal maybe

hot

He paused. Was that it? He quickly scribbled one more thing down.

sparkly

Yeah, this all sounded about right. They stuffed the notepad in their pocket and went back to the couch. The loud pained noises had died down a bit, so they didn’t feel the need to cover their ears. Hopefully Doc was almost done, and hopefully the impending lecture wouldn’t be too long.

About an hour later, Hank realized that he was napping. Oops. He sat up and stretched, then paused.

There was a blanket draped over them. They quirked their head. Did Doc do that? Probably. It wasn’t like Deimos would, after all.

Hank threw off the blanket and looked around. He was surprised Doc hadn’t woken them up for a stern talking-to. Maybe the guy was busy. Not like Hank cared. If anything, this was just a chance for Hank to leave. Maybe he should’ve done that when Doc was working on Deimos, but whatever.

When Hank left Doc’s place through the hatch on the living room ceiling, they couldn’t help but look up. This was pretty normal– Hank tended to look where they were going, which in this case, was up. What wasn’t normal was what they saw.

Tiny pinpricks of light flickered in and out of vision, twinkling like…

Like stars.

There weren’t many in the sky, just ten or maybe twenty. But the way Hank was enraptured with them, you’d think the sky was full of them.

Hank just stood there, his head poking out of the open hatch, staring at the sky. He wondered if the stars were marveling at the earth, too.

With his hands shaking wildly, Hank crawled out of Doc’s bunker. They laid down on the ground, staring up at the stars. He wished so badly that he could smile.

The air around them was surprisingly cool. I guess stars aren’t that hot after all. Of course, they didn’t mind.

It was hard to stay still, if their trembling hands was any indication. They wanted so badly to jump to their feet, to run around, to tear at something– but he felt like if he looked away, the stars wouldn’t be there when he looked back. He didn’t want to risk it.

Hank’s mind was racing– they really couldn’t help it. Here he was, laying under the stars… it was hard to believe. There were so many thoughts in his head. Is this a normal amount of stars? It’s so cool out– they must not make heat. I wonder how they light up… are they just so far away that I can’t feel the heat?

For a few minutes, he didn’t notice that the stars had begun to dim. But if there were twenty before, there must have been only fourteen now. I have to take a picture!

He took out his phone and quickly opened the camera. He stared. The stars didn’t look the same through the phone, but Hank didn’t want to waste time going to get an actual camera.

Click.

There it was. The stars, immortalized forever on Hank’s shitty phone.

Hank looked back at the sky, where only a few stars remained. They put down their phone and let his arms rest at his sides, watching as the stars faded into blackness.

#madness combat #madcom hank #madcom #hank j wimbleton #> davekansprite: write fanfiction

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dantakeyoman · 9 months

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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 | 𝐫. 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨

♡ 𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐚 𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ * "𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒔𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕? 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒕. …𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕." *

♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐰𝐰𝐰𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

♡ * 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚 - 𝒑𝒐𝒗: 𝒖𝒓 𝒛𝒐𝒓𝒐'𝒔 𝒈𝒇 *

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

"I'm so hungry," Luffy whined, hanging his head on the edge of the boat.

"When the hell are we gonna reach land anyway?" Zoro groaned as looked in the distance.

"Who knows? We're just sailin' on the wind and the waves, going where they take us. We might not ever even reach the land. Nah, I guess we will someday," Luffy sighed.

"That someday better be today. 'Cause if I don't get some food soon, I'm gonna resort to eating some people. Lookin' at you, Zoro," you groaned from your spot sprawled out on the floor, side-eyeing the green-haired man.

He just scoffed and looked away from you, but you could've sworn you saw something red on his cheeks.

"Don't you find it dumb that someone trying to be King of the Pirates doesn't have a single navigational skill?" Zoro asked Luffy, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Not really. I just drift around. What about you? Aren't you some famous bounty hunter who's sailed the seas?" Luffy asked.

"He has a point," you chimed.

"I don't have any recollection of ever calling myself a bounty hunter. I set out onto the open sea in search of just one man, but then I couldn't get back to my village. By that point, I had no choice but to go after pirate ships to earn a living," Zoro answered, looking up into the sky.

"Oh, I see. So you're just lost," Luffy said, still staring down at the water.

You snickered.

"Hey, don't put it like that!" Zoro exclaimed, slamming his foot on the boat and making it rock.

Since you were on the ground, you got thrown up into the air and landed on a certain someone's lap.

"Bastard! I could've fallen off the boat," you growled in Zoro's face, furrowing your eyebrows.

You expected him to yell back at you but that redness came back to his cheeks and he looked away from you again.

"Get off," He grumbled.

You suddenly realized your position, sitting on his crotch, and your cheeks burned as you quickly crawled off.

"Your fault for rocking the boat," you grumbled under your breath as you looked away from him.

That's when you saw Luffy's hat floating over the sail and getting ready to fall in the ocean, but Zoro caught it before it could.

He handed it back to Luffy and the two sat back down, Luffy staring down at the hat in his hands for ten minutes.

"Luffy. You're gonna drop that thing again. I thought it was important," Zoro stated.

"It is. Thanks," Luffy smiled.

"Uh, I am so hungry. It's killing me," Zoro groaned.

You sighed and glanced up into the sky to see a bird.

"Look, it's a bird."

"I know! Let's eat it!" Luffy smiled.

"Huh? How do we catch it?" Zoro asked.

"Leave that to me! Gum Gum-!" "Luffy, no! That bird is-!"

But it was too late.

Straw Hat already shot himself in the air and went straight for the bird, but it caught him in it's beak.

"Huge," you sighed, finishing your sentence.

"Help me!" He started shouting as the bird carried him away.

Zoro quickly grabbed your only two oars and paddled as if his life depended on it.

"You moron! What the hell's goin' on now?!" Zoro shouted.

"I tried to tell you that the damn bird was gigantic!" you shouted as well, putting your hands to the side of your mouth so Luffy could hear you.

"Can't you fly up there and grab him?!" Zoro exclaimed, snapping his head over to you.

"And get snatched up, too?!" you sarcastically shouted.

"Hey! You there! Stop! Please! Men overboard!" one guy began shouting from not too far ahead.

It looked like there were three of them.

"I can't believe we find ship wreckers at a time like this! I can't stop, you're just gonna have to jump in!" Zoro called.

"What?!" The men exclaimed as they swam to the sides of the boat and climbed in, just before they could get mowed down.

"I'm actually impressed you made it onboard," Zoro smirked.

"Are you trying to kill us?!" They shouted in unison.

"Stop the boat. Now. The three of us are members of Buggy the Clown's pirate crew. This boat is ours now!" The leader drew his sword, pointing it at me.

"Excuse me?" you asked in a dangerously low voice, narrowing your eyes at the three.

You proceeded to beat them to a pulp.

"Today is not the day. I'm tired, hungry, and my damn captain just got taken by a predatory bird. If you want to live to see the rest of your days then I suggest you paddle," you growled as you snatched the oars from Zoro and shoved them into the arms of the other pirates.

You looked back in the sky to see that Luffy and the bird were nowhere in sight.

"Thanks to you three idiots, we've lost sight of our friend."

"Knowing Luffy, he'll probably pull off something once he spots land," Zoro stated, looking up in the sky.

There was a long silence.

"So, any ideas about what we do now?" The lead henchman asked.

"Good question. If Captain Buggy finds out a girl stole our boat and our treasure, we're history," His comrade agreed.

"I know," The third one sadly agreed.

"Huh? So who is this Buggy guy?" Zoro asked.

"Uh. You've never heard of Buggy the Clown?!" The third one exclaimed.

"Nope," Zoro answered.

"He's the ruthless captain of our pirate ship. And he's eaten one of the Devil Fruits. Above everything else, he is one truly terrifying man," The leader answered, resting his hands on his knees.

海賊狩

You docked at the port that was in the direction Luffy was taken when a gigantic boom rang through the air.

"That was one heck of an explosion," Zoro stated seriously.

"It looked like it was one of the Captain's beloved Buggy Balls," one of the henchmen said fearfully.

"Buggy balls?" you cocked a brow.

海賊狩

You and Zoro got on the boat the henchmen told you that Luffy would be on, and as soon as you landed, the two of you saw Luffy trapped in a cage and a girl about to be turned into mincemeat.

Zoro quickly got in front of her and used his swords to block their attack.

You went over to the girl and helped her up.

"Hey now. It's not very nice of you guys to gang up on the poor girl," Zoro growled as he held the men in place with two swords.

"Zoro! (y/n)!" Luffy happily exclaimed.

"Are your hands alright?" you asked as you carefully took her hands in yours, examining her injuries.

The burn, luckily, wasn't too bad, and would heal pretty quickly.

"Whew! What a relief! I'm glad you found us. Now hurry up and come get me out of here," Luffy sighed.

"How do you keep getting yourself into these situations? First, a bird flies off with you, and now we find you trapped in a cage," Zoro asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It's an interesting story, actually," Luffy shrugged.

"Hey, that little brat just called him Zoro!" one of the crew members gasped.

You started walking over to Luffy's cage with Zoro when a creepy voice spoke up.

"So you're Zoro. If you're here for my head, you've got quite a struggle before you," A clown-looking captain crossed his arms.

"No. Not interested. I gave up pirate hunting. I'm here for my friend," Zoro calmly replied.

"But I'm interested though. Killing you would bolster my reputation," The captain smirked.

"If you try, you'll die," Zoro said darkly, glaring at Clown Face.

"Oh. Is that so?" Clown Face grinned, pulling out two cutlasses.

"I tried to warn you, but oh well," Zoro sighed.

The crew members started chanting "Buggy" as the two men stood off, Clown Face licking his swords and Zoro putting his third sword in his mouth and getting into a fighting stance.

You moved off to the side so you weren't in the way.

Buggy ran for Zoro and jumped in the air, now having four cutlasses in one hand, but Zoro cut right through him, the pieces falling to the floor.

Zoro tucked his swords back into his holster.

"That wasn't much of a fight, now was it," He glared at Buggy's body.

'Something's not right.'

"Way to go, Zoro!" Luffy cheered.

The other pirates began laughing and you furrowed my eyebrows as you turned to them.

"Why are they laughing?"

"Their captain is laying dead on the ground and yet they're still laughing? What's going on?" The redheaded girl asked.

"Fellas. What do you find so damn funny?" Zoro glared at the pirates, his back turned so he couldn't see Buggy rise up from the ground.

Your eyes went wide as Buggy stabbed him in the side, Zoro yelling out in pain.

"ZORO!" You and Luffy shouted in unison.

Buggy's severed hand pulled out the cutlass and returned to his wrist.

"The Chop Chop fruit. That's the name of the Devil Fruit that's given me my powers. I'm a Chop-Chop person, and now I can never be defeated by the sword!" Buggy maniacally laughed as he reconnected his torso with his legs.

You quickly whipped out your pistol from your holster and shot him in the foot to see if that would do anything.

His yell of pain gave you your answer.

"We can do guns if you want," you spat, grabbing your other one out of your other holster.

Your outfit was simple. A white tube top with a brown, burlap, miniskirt, a belt with a holster for your mace and pistols, and a gold anklet that hung loosely on your Greek sandaled feet.

"So he's a Chop Chop man? That's pretty freaky," Luffy deadpanned.

"So angry. I didn't hit any vital organs on your little boyfriend, but that's a serious wound he has there. So I'm guessing I am the winner! But now it's your turn, girl. Don't think I'll let you shooting me go without punishment," Buggy smirked, his henchmen cheering for him.

"I let my guard down. Stupid mistake," Zoro strained, slowly trying to get up.

"It was. Now, can you fight? I can't take on the crew and Bozo over here by myself," you asked him in a low voice, keeping your eyes on Clown Face.

"Stabbing him in the back was a cowardly move, you Big Nose!" Luffy shouted.

The entire crew went silent.

"What's that...you..said! Who's got a big nose?!" Buggy shouted, throwing a cutlass at Luffy.

"Luffy!" Zoro exclaimed.

But Straw Hat managed to catch it with his teeth.

"I'm gonna kick your ass as soon as I get out of this cage!" Luffy smiled, breaking the sword.

"You kick my ass? You've got a lot of nerve, kid. No, I'm afraid all four of you are going to die here today, by my own hand. So if you're going to do any ass kicking, you better do it soon," Buggy laughed.

"We're done for. It's all over," the redhead girl said sadly.

"I refuse to die! (y/n)! Get ready!" Luffy shouted, smiling.

"You better have a really good plan or else we're all dead!" You ad Redhead shouted back in unison.

It suddenly clicked and you smirked.

"I gotcha," you nodded in a low voice.

"Impudent girl! Time to die!" Buggy shouted, attacking you with all five of his swords.

You blocked every single one of his swipes, managing to bash his torso in half and then get behind him.

"I already told you I'm-Hey! Listen when I'm talking to you!" Buggy shouted once he realized you were running to the cannon, Zoro over your shoulder.

You placed him down in front of you before getting under the cannon and pushing up, straining to lift it.

"AGH!" you shouted, making your wings help push, flipping it over to face the other pirates.

Zoro's eyes went wide as he watched you, and the pirates' faces lit up in terror.

"Crap, the cannon's pointed at us! No!" Buggy exclaimed.

"Hurry! Light it!" you ordered the girl.

"Right!" She nodded.

"Wait! The cannon's still loaded with a special Buggy Ball! I don't wanna go out like this! Done in by my own balls!" Buggy shouted.

Redhead lit the fuse.

"I can't believe you just did that, yo ungrateful little girl! Wait! N-N-No! Stop! Stop it now!"

Buggy's rants were interrupted by the deafening boom of the cannon.

海賊狩

#roronoa zoro #one piece #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa x reader #roronoa #zoro x reader #zoro #one piece x reader

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quill-pen · 1 year

Text

Like George

Finally got this done! Now can focus on other things that need to be done. Thanks again to @rom-e-o for the inspiration.

I way overwrote on this. I need help.

Pairings: Assorted

Rating: Rated T--minors welcome

Warnings: Feelings of all kinds and sorts, the Asshat is here--he's disgusting and terrifying, depression, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem issues, sappiness and tooth-decaying sweetness at the end, some innuendo

Summary: A comparison of the significant men in Bess' life to the first man who ever held her heart, as well as her life around them all.

Theme: Assorted

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Rural Ohio--Cincinnati 10 miles--August 1829;

"Figured I'd find you here."

Bess Sullivan looked down from her spot in her favorite tree to see her stepfather standing below her. The tall, bearded, curly brown-haired man smiled warmly up at her, his hands perched on his hips. Sniffling, the nine-year-old wiped her arm across her sodden cheeks and under her drippy nose. Her midnight-blue eyes still swam with tears. "H-Hi, George," she stammered, trying to steady her voice.

George's smile fell, concern flooding into his soft brown eyes. "Hey, I don't like that shaky voice--you sound like you've been cryin'," he remarked gently. The carpenter stepped closer to the trunk and craned his neck to try and get a better look at the girl. "What's wrong, Mudpuppy?" he asked, voice so full of softness and warmth.

His tone and the usage of her pet name set the child to sobbing all over again. Plunging her face into her skirt, Bess pulled her knees closer to her chest and wailed. She cried so loud and hard that she began hyperventilating.

That alarmed the man. "Whoa! Hey! Not good!" Without hesitation, the man grabbed a large knot in the tree's trunk, placed his foot on another, and began to haul himself up the tree. In seconds he was pulling himself up to sit on the branch that jutted out directly in front of his step-daughter. Throwing a leg over to straddle the limb, he scooted as close as he could to the girl and reached out for her. "Bess. Bessie, Sweetheart, look at me." He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them to get her attention. "Look at me, Little Darlin'." When the girl dared to peek up at him, he smiled encouragingly and nodded. "That's right, Mudpuppy." He cupped her cheek with a large, warm, weathered hand, stroking her tears away. "Look at me. And breathe--in-" he breathed deeply with her, "- and out." He exhaled with her. "In. Out. Slow, big breaths. That's my girl." George reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and brought it to Bess' face. He gently began to dry her off.

It was a few minutes before Bess had regained control of herself. Her puffy eyes were still watery, her lashes wet and heavy, her cheeks were hot with tear stains, and her nose hadn't stopped running yet, but she wasn't sobbing anymore, and she was mostly dried off. For the moment anyway.

"There now," George crooned. He shifted around on the branch to get more comfortable as he settled in for a conversation. "That's better, yeah? Think you can talk now? 'Cuz I'd like to know why you're up here cryin' like the sky's gonna come fallin' down."

The thing was, that was exactly how Bess was feeling at the moment: The sky was going to fall down--or at least her sky was. Hanging her head, the nine-year-old started to study the calico pattern of her skirt. "Did you talk to Mama?" she muttered hoarsely.

"Yep. That's why I came lookin' for ya. She said you two had an argument and you went runnin' off."

"Did she tell you exactly why I ran off?"

"Not in so many words." George's voice became very soft as he went on: "She said she told you about the baby."

Bess said nothing, just peeked up from beneath her brows at her stepfather.

The man looked genuinely sorry. "I wish she'd waited," he stated quietly, shaking his head. "I told her I wanted to be there when we told you, Mudpuppy." He smiled sympathetically at her. "To make it easier."

Bess sniffed and turned her gaze down again. "Yeah, well, she didn't," she grumbled. "That's Mama for you." Hugging her thighs, Bess drew her legs close again.

Silence fell over the tree. Wild birds' songs filled the emptiness.

"I know..." George broke the silence after a long while,"... it's gonna be a change, Bess--goin' from bein' an only child to bein' a big sister-"

"Does this mean you won't love me anymore?"

The question hit George like a battering ram, knocking all words and ability to speak right out of his head. He couldn't help but stare at the girl, who in turn stared almost desperately up at him as she waited for an answer. Finally George found his voice. "What?" he croaked in disbelief. "I... Bess, why would you ask that?"

Tears were welling in the girl's eyes, threatening to spill over again. "Mama said..." she quivered, "... th-that... now that you're having your own kids... y-you might not spend... s-so much time w-with me. Sh-She says... you might j-just want... yo-your own kid a-and n-not me." A tear trickled past Bess' lashes, and then another, glistening like diamonds as they descended down her freckled cheeks. "A-Are... are you not gonna be my daddy anymore, George?"

"What? No!" George was incredulous, his heart breaking at the little girl's tears and palpable fear. Instinctively, the big man sat up and grabbed up the child, pulling her into his strong arms as he scooted in to take Bess' seat in the junction of the tree. He held his stepdaughter tight to his barrel of a chest, curling around her to envelop her with a physical representation of his love. "Of course, I'm gonna be your daddy, Bess," he murmured, cradling the back of her head in his large palm as she buried her face in his chest. "I'm always gonna be your daddy--nothin's ever gonna change that, not even a baby. Not even a hundred babies."

"Not even your own baby?" Bess squeaked, her voice muffled against his shirt. She hugged her stepfather with all her nine-year-old might, never wanting to let him go and never wanting him to let her go. She felt so protected in his arms--so safe; like no one and nothing would ever be able to touch her while she was being held by George. She didn't want that to go away, ever.

"You are my baby, Bessie."

"I'm not your blood though."

"Don't matter--you're as much my baby as any child your mama and I have together, and I'll always love you just as much." George kissed her forehead, nuzzling into her hair after. "You're my little Mudpuppy," he murmured. "I picked you when I picked your mama--fell in love with you as much as I fell in love with her. I adopted you, gave you my name: You're mine, Bess. Blood or not, you're my little girl and I couldn't be happier or prouder of that. You're my Mudpuppy, and I will always love you."

Bess' chin trembled, the man's words hugging her aching heart just as warmly and tightly as his arms hugged the rest of her. But her mother's words still haunted her. "B-But Mama said-"

"Shh, I know what your mama said," George stopped her, stroking her back soothingly. "She and I are gonna have a long talk about what she said when we get home. I want you to forget about what she said, Bess--all of it. Don't pay it any mind; your mama's wrong. I love her with all my heart, but your mama is wrong, Mudpuppy; and she never shoulda said somethin' like that to you."

Bess sniffled and let go of her stepfather, gently pushing away from him enough to meet his eyes. She loved his eyes--always had. Always so warm and gentle, even now in her heartache and fear, those deep brown irises made her feel so calm, so loved, so wanted. She felt like she was something special, in George's eyes; like she mattered. And when George looked at her like he was now, with nothing but softness, love, and compassion in his gaze, she felt like the very center of the world. It warmed her to the very core of her soul.

"So you're still gonna love me?" she whispered, drying her eyes on her sleeve again. "Even with you and Mama having a baby?"

Chuckling with a gentle smile, George cupped the girl's face in his palm again. "Yes, Mudpuppy," he cooed. "I'm still gonna love ya. Always and forever."

"And you're still gonna be my daddy?"

"Yep."

"And you're still gonna have time for me?"

"Yep. Maybe not quite as much as I do now 'cause the baby's gonna need me to be their daddy too, ya know, but I'll always make time for you, Bess."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Cross your heart?"

George did just that as he held his right hand to God. "And hope to die."

At that, a small hint of a smile finally quivered its way onto Bess' lips. She wrapped her arms around the man's neck again and cuddled close; a relieved sigh left her as her stepfather wrapped his arms tight around her again and she closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart in her ear. It was steady, strong, unwavering, and full of love. Love never withheld from her, no matter how sick or tired or hurt or angry he was, not even when she was in trouble; love that she never had to work to earn but was freely given without strings attached. Pure love. Pure love for her--that made her feel warm and cozy from head to toe.

"Hey," George quietly murmured after a moment, "remember what I told you, Mudpuppy? When I adopted you?"

Not opening her eyes, Bess nodded against his chest. "Uh-huh. You told me with you I'd always be safe, I'd always be wanted, and I'd always be loved."

"Yep. And I want you to remember that always, okay? No matter what happens or what anyone--even your mama--says, so long as I'm alive, I will always protect you and keep you safe; I will always want you as my little girl; and I will always love you with my whole heart. Ya hear me?"

"I hear you."

"And if you ever feel like you don't feel that way, or maybe I'm not givin' you enough, you tell me, okay?

"Okay, George."

"Never settle for anythin' less, Elizabeth. I don't ever want you to settle for less than you deserve, with anyone or anythin', includin' me."

"I won't, George. I love you."

"I love you too, my sweet girl."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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Cincinnati, Ohio--May 1840;

"Where would you like to go?" The question sounded more like it was being asked out of polite obligation as opposed to a genuine interest in what she wanted.

Bess looked up at Oliver Sprague as they walked side-by-side down the bustling Cincinnati street. They'd been going steady for two years, and the young man still wouldn't hold her hand or offer her his arm in public. Bess was rather low maintenance when it came to romance and relationships (much too low maintenance in some of her loved one's eyes), but even she couldn't help but feel a little put out as they walked by other couples, all of whom were hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm at the very least. Briefly, at the start of their walk, the young woman had considered just snatching up his hand on her own and holding it until he pulled away. She could have easily done it; his hand had hung unguarded at his side, so close to hers. Oliver was decent and would have indulged her if she had, she was sure. But almost as if he had felt her eyeing his hand and read her thoughts, her beau had pulled his hand up to his chest to scratch it before casually slipping it into his pocket, all the while keeping his elbow tucked into his side. So much for that idea.

Bess' mouth twitched and twisted in quiet annoyance as she counted yet another obviously happy couple pass by. They were so close as they were arm-in-arm, they could have been conjoined at the side. Bess quietly huffed, once again letting her gaze fall to her own young man's arm. She knew Oliver was reserved with his emotions--she'd always known that since they were children--everyone who knew him did--and, truly, she didn't need public displays of affection (though they would undoubtedly be nice); but it was their anniversary. Could he not, just for one night, maybe, possibly be sweet enough in public with her to offer her his arm? She knew he was capable--he hugged and kissed his mother and granny in public, for crying out loud! They were sweethearts--he'd chosen her: Was she still not special enough?

Stop griping! that caustic voice at the back of her mind that sounded too much like her mother chastised her. You're lucky a boy like him even looks your way without being disgusted, with your history. You're incredibly lucky to have him. Take what you can get and soldier on!

And so, Bess, once again, pushed her disappointments and misgivings deep down inside her. But as she did so, she felt a smaller, more quiet, and gentle voice in her heart, one that sounded like George: Never settle for less than you deserve. However, as always whenever Bess thought to consider that advice, her mother's voice came back to remind her that she was damaged goods; and this third-rate, tepid romance (could you call it "romance" when the first kiss didn't even bring a single small butterfly to your stomach?) was what damaged goods deserved.

"Oh, I don't know," Bess finally answered his question. She fiddled her lonely hands together in her skirt, wondering if maybe she could trick herself into thinking Oliver really was holding her hand. His hands weren't that much bigger than hers, honestly. "I wish you'd told me we were going out tonight sooner. I could have made reservations somewhere." She tried not to sound annoyed or passive-aggressive, even though she was. Just a bit. Oliver wasn't one for celebrations, so she hadn't even considered booking something somewhere; she'd simply expected to spend this anniversary as they had their first; Oliver coming over for a quiet supper and then attempting to play dominoes only to give up halfway through as Oliver started preaching about the new strides being made in the field of photographing and how he was sure there was a way that, not just objects, but colors could somehow be captured in photographs. (Colored photographs--that was a thought to make one laugh.) So, needless to say, when she'd received the letter from Oliver in the noon post stating that they were going out for the evening, Bess had been surprised. And admittedly pleased. Until she'd learned when Oliver had shown up at her door that, no, he hadn't made plans to go anywhere, they were just going out. Talk about all dressed up with no place to go.

Oliver shrugged, completely unconcerned. "I didn't think about going out until this morning when Albert asked me what we were doing tonight." The red-headed boy chuckled. "You know, he had to remind me that this was our anniversary. Can you believe that?"

"That you forgot or that he remembered?" Bess grumbled under her breath, eyes trained on the cobbles at her feet. "Because I can certainly believe both." Honestly, at this point, Albert was more of an attentive beau to her than Oliver was, what with remembering all the important dates. Bess was sure Albert had bought her birthday gifts the past two years, too. And Christmas gifts. And picked her Valentine's cards. He'd probably written them, too--the handwriting hadn't looked exactly like Oliver's, neither had the words sounded like him. Honestly, Bess should have been out with Albert right now, and perhaps she would have been had it not been for the fact that she was not his... type of person. Shame, as he was heartbreakingly handsome.

An idea came to Bess. "Why don't we take a hansom cab to the park and go for a walk?" she suggested, looking hopefully bright up at her beau. "There won't be many people there, so it'll be quiet. Not to mention--dare I say--romantic." She bit her bottom lip and wiggled her brows playfully at Oliver, nudging him with her shoulder.

Oliver did not look at her, but instead seemed to be mulling the idea over. Much more carefully than he should have needed to. "Hmm, yeah, I don't know, Specks," he said uncertainly. "I'm kinda hungry--there's nowhere to eat near there."

"Oh, well, we can stop in a pub and eat first then, yeah? Then we can go to the park and walk it off after. What'd'ya say?"

Again, the boy took much longer to think about it than he should have. She wasn't asking him to take her to New York City, for God's sake! Bess held her tongue: She didn't want to argue with him tonight--not on their anniversary.

"Eh... yeah, that sounds fine, I guess," Oliver agreed after long deliberation. Then he perked up as he looked at her for the first time since they'd left her apartment. "Mack's?"

Bess couldn't help how her face scrunched up at the suggestion. "Oh, no, please, Ollie--we go there all the time. Can we try something different? Please? I'll pay if you like." She didn't need to pay; she knew Oliver had money and he wasn't short on it either--his job as a daguerreotypist paid well. But she also knew she needed to sweeten the deal to get him to even consider breaking habit.

It didn't work. "Aw, come on, Specks, you love Mack's and you know it. Besides, it's only fitting, right? We had our first date there." He wasn't completely wrong, though Bess did not love Mack's, she was just used to it; and his bringing up something as sentimental as their first date on their anniversary was actually surprisingly touching. And not at all like him to think of on his own. "Did Albert tell you to mention that?" she couldn't help but ask, giving the boy a deadpan look.

Not picking up on her unamusement, Oliver simply nodded with a slight grin. "Isn't he great? Best roommate ever."

Bess rolled her midnight-blue eyes. "Yep, he certainly is," she muttered. Then she sighed. "Fine. Mack's is fine. Let's just go. I'm feeling hungry too." Not that there was much of anything edible that came out of the pub's kitchen; Bess just had no energy to try harder to change Oliver's mind.

So they arrived at Mack's and took their usual table in the back corner. Oliver greeted the usual pub-goers, Bess tried her best to ignore the usual skeevy heels that eyed her and not let them make her skin crawl. The usual barmaid, Abigail McLintock, a girl Bess' age that they'd both gone to school with, came over to take their orders and, as usual, she flirted with Oliver. As usual, Oliver flirted back and ordered his regular meal. The tradition broke slightly as Oliver ordered for Bess rather than letting her order for herself, but the variation stopped there as he ordered her regular meal as well (shepherd's pie--it was the only appetizing thing in this place).

Abigail took their orders to the kitchen and again, as usual, Bess told her young man off for flirting with Abigail. Like always, Oliver brushed it off with the assurance that it didn't mean anything, that she was just a friend, and he only did it to ensure that they got the best service. Again, Bess didn't quite believe him, but she let it go. She always let it go. Why did she do that? Oliver was her beau and, while she'd never claim to be passionately in love with him, it did twinge whenever he flirted with and looked at other girls. Particularly Abigail, who had always been one of the worst bullies to Bess in school. Bess didn't usually have a problem voicing her opinions and feelings, except when it came to things like this; then she clammed up like... well, a clam. But why? Why did she do that? It wasn't like she would be being demanding or controlling; she wouldn't be insisting he couldn't interact with other women besides her. She would just be telling him she didn't like it when he flirted with other women and asking him not to do it out of respect for their relationship and her. But she couldn't bring herself to do that--why?!

Again, Bess heard the warring voices of George and her mother in her mind and heart.

It was while they sipped their drinks and waited for their food that, again, the routine changed. Bess was staring at the fly in her beer, wondering if it had just dived in there or if it had been there under the head the whole time, when Oliver cleared his throat. "Bess?" he asked.

The girl looked up to see him looking at her in a... different way. He didn't really appear nervous, but he certainly didn't seem as calm and relaxed as he usually was. It was almost like he was... uncomfortable Like he wasn't sure he should do something. Or like he wasn't sure he wanted to do something. "Yes?" Bess prompted him when he didn't continue.

"I've--um... I've got something for you."

Bess raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of that. She was still bemused by his expression. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Uh..." He dug into first one pant pocket, then the other before pulling his hand out. He stretched his arm across the table to her side and opened up his fist. Something fell to the tabletop with a metallic sound. "Here."

Bess looked from Oliver's face down to whatever he'd rather unceremoniously dropped on the table. She did a double-take, her eyes widening. "Oliver, is that a-"

"Ring? Yeah."

Bess picked the ring up. It looked like it had come from Atlantis, with the shoulders and the setting having been crafted to look like seashells. Small red garnets were set as the side stones and two larger, tear-drop, purplish-red garnets had been used as the center stones and positioned point to point so they made an eight. It looked older, so it wasn't polished up to look shiny and flashy, but it did look opulent, and it was big--big enough to draw attention--and it most definitely wasn't in Bess' taste. Oliver should have known that: Her fondness for simplicity and understatedness was one of the things he liked about her. (So he claimed.)

The longer she studied the ring, the more Bess tried to decipher why it was so familiar looking. When it hit her, her stomach plummeted. Oh, God, please no! "O-Ollie..." she gulped, feeling all the blood drain from her face, "... is... is this...?"

"Gran's engagement ring? Yeah." He said it so simply; as if he'd dropped his grandmother's laundry on the table and not a family heirloom that had been passed down through the generations from woman to woman.

Bess felt like she could be sick for a completely different reason than the fly in her beer. Her hands began shaking. Slowly, respectfully, she set the ring back down and pulled her hands in her lap, folding them together tightly to try and stop the tremors. She continued to stare at the ring, unable to look up and meet Oliver's gaze. The girl cleared her throat. "Why... are you giving me your grandmother's ring, Oliver?" she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice even.

"I think you know why."

"Probably. But I want you to say it anyway."

"Okay, fair enough. I think we should get married."

That finally caused Bess to look up at the boy again. He just sat there, looking at her, not completely emotionlessly as he still looked a little uncomfortable and uncertain about this, but he certainly didn't look nervous. Nor did he look at all happy. He didn't look like anything one might expect a young man asking his sweetheart of two years to marry him might look like. And Bess was certain she didn't feel anything like what a girl in that situation would be expected to feel like either.

"Why?" The word fell from her mouth like a lead ball. It almost surprised her, as she knew that wasn't typically something a person being proposed to said. Was this a proposal? Yes, it had to be; there was a ring, Oliver had said they should get married--what the hell else could it have possibly been? Yes, for all intents and purposes, this was a proposal. So why did it feel more like an... obligation?

Apparently, the question had taken Oliver by surprise too, as he started to fumble around for something to say. "Uh... well... we've been going together for two years, right?" he reasoned. "Don't people just normally get married after they've been doing that?"

Bess felt a pain stab through her chest. "Um... y-yeah, I suppose."

"And, besides, you know Ma really likes you."

"Your mother has called me a "lobsterback brat" for as long as I can remember, Oliver Howard," Bess countered flatly. "And that's the nicest thing she's ever called me."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on, Bess. You know she says everything out of affection."

"Oh? I was supposed to take "trollop" as a loving pet name?"

"Come on--I told her off for that."

"Yes. And I'm grateful to you for that, truly. But it doesn't change the fact that your mother is going to throw an absolute fit and scream about how I'll marry you over her cold, dead body and that I'm not good enough for you."

"Since when have you cared what people say about you?" No declarations that he didn't care what his mother might say. No reassurances that, whatever his mother or anyone said, she was good enough. No promises to defend and support her against whatever wrath might be directed her way as a result of their union. Merely a somewhat accusatory question that made her feel guilty for what she'd said.

"We're not just talking about just any people here, Ollie, we're talking about my future mother-in-law."

Oliver's mouth curled into that little, sly smirk that drove her up the wall in the worst possible way at that. "'Future mother-in-law', huh?" he repeated.

Bess knew what he was implying and frowned. "Don't take that as an answer--I haven't decided anything yet."

The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "What's there to decide, Specks? We've been steady for two years. We spend the weekends with your family or my family. We have supper at each other's places and go out for breakfast together. You make and pack my lunches for me. We're practically married already: We just need the legal stuff."

"Please don't be so flippant about this, Oliver: We're talking about marriage--you know how serious this is for me."

"Yeah, yeah, I know: Don't wanna end up like your mother."

"Don't say it like that--it's important to me, Oliver! Mama's first marriage practically ruined her until she met George, and it permanently soured her on me, even now that she's happy. I refuse to end up like her and I won't risk the chance that I do."

Oliver gave her an unconcerned look. "It's not like you have to worry about being a bad ma though, right?"

Bess felt like a prize purse-winning boxer had just socked her square in the gut. Her blood boiled; her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Did Oliver ever think about things before he said them? Did he ever consider the tone in which he said them, how cold and heartless he could sound? Did the thought that maybe this was something he should steer clear of ever cross his mind? "Wow," she croaked, trying her hardest to keep her temper under control. "Thanks for that. It's such a comfort to be reminded of the fact that I can't have children."

"Oh, don't be like that," Oliver grumbled, sounding the slightest bit annoyed. "You know I didn't mean anything nasty by it."

"Then do me the favor, Oliver, and just never mention it at all, yeah?"

Oliver held his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, yeah. Okay. Fine. Won't mention it at all."

Abigail was returning with their food at this point. She set their respective dishes down and the couple lapsed into silence for a long while as they ate, not so much as looking in the other's direction. There was an undeniable tension in the air over their table: You could have cut it with Mack's blunted knives.

Bess was about halfway through her shepherd's pie when her beau spoke again.

"So, what'd'ya think, Specks?"

Bess finally looked up to see Oliver looking at her again, still not appearing to be what one would consider happy over the situation. He did look more resigned, however; as if he'd finally managed to put to rest whatever doubts had made him initially uneasy.

With a shrug, as he noisily chewed on a fatty bit of his over-cooked pot roast, Oliver asked: "Ya wanna be Mrs. Oliver Sprague?"

Mrs. Oliver Sprague. A shiver ran through the young woman at the very thought, but not in a good way. And it made her feel horrible because it should have been in a good way. She should have been giddy, nauseous with butterflies, perhaps shedding tears of joy because the man she loved wanted to be with her forever. Instead, she felt dread and just plain sick. And for no good reason: Oliver was a decent fellow in both temperament and looks and had a job many people would have killed for if they realized how well it paid. And, above all else, he treated her like a person instead of some diseased vermin unfit to be around. Not the most romantic and passionate testimony one could make of their sweetheart, perhaps; but romance and passion weren't in the cards for her.

Again, Bess could hear the voice telling her she was lucky to have what she did--that she would be a fool to let it go: Your past, your looks, your attitude--you'll have a hard enough time finding any decent man to put up with your harsh edges, let alone a perfect one. Take it or leave it.

Again, Oliver was certainly decent. Mostly. He certainly never raised a hand or even his voice to her, and he never threatened her or tried to manipulate her into a compromising situation: She felt safe with him. Like George. Sort of--it wasn't quite the same kind of warm, fuzzy, homey feeling that came along with George's security; nor did it have the sense that he would do anything to protect her. Still, overall, she did feel safe and protected with Oliver, and that was important to her.

There are other important things to consider too, Mudpuppy, she felt George's voice in her heart again.

"Why do you want to marry me?" Bess asked by way of answer. She was almost afraid to hear his reasonings--her insides were already bracing for the blunt impact--but she had to hear them anyway.

Oliver looked at her as though she'd spoken French. His jaw ceased its grinding on the leathery beef in his mouth as he stared at her, completely taken off-guard. "What?" he mumbled around meat, potatoes, cabbage, onions, and carrots.

"Why do you want to marry me, Oliver?" she repeated calmly.

For a long moment, her young man was quiet as he tried to process that question and figure out how to answer it. Finally, he answered uncertainly: "Well... we've been going together for two years-"

Bess cut him off in some annoyance: "Yes, we've been steady for two years, and the family weekends, and I make supper, and we go to breakfast, and your lunches--I know--we've established all that. I want to know your feelings, Oliver. And I know how uncomfortable a topic that is for you, and I'm sorry, but I have to know before I decide anything: Why do you feel you want to marry me?" She repeated the question again, slowly, emphatically, looking her beau right in the eye as she said it.

Again, Oliver was clearly struggling with something to say. "Um... I... like you."

Bess felt her heart twist. "Like" not "love"; but Oliver was bad at communicating things like this, she reminded herself. "You like me. What does that mean, exactly?"

Oliver cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head and neck awkwardly. "Uh... w-well... I... I like when you cook and bake for me; everything you make tastes real good--even better than Ma's. And... I like that you can stitch up my clothes to make 'em look practically new. And I like how you don't hassle me like other girls to take you out on big, fancy dates all the time or demand I buy you expensive stuff."

The girl felt her insides completely drop into the abyss to leave her a cold, empty shell. None of those things had been about her as a person. They hadn't even been about her physical attributes, which was somehow both refreshing and vexing at the same time. And while it was nice to be appreciated for and complimented on one's skills, that wasn't exactly what one wanted for an answer as to why their sweetheart wanted to marry them. And it certainly didn't make one feel very loved. Valued, perhaps, but not loved.

Oliver sighed heavily, looking like that little confession had taken everything out of him. "Look, Bess," he said quietly, smiling a bit at her in a way that Bess couldn't help but feel a bit patronized, "I just... I think you'd make a good wife, and I know you've always wanted to be married, and we know each other and get on real well as a couple, I think, and I want to get married to a good wife. So... doesn't it just... makes sense that we tie the knot? Isn't it logical?"

"Logical": he was using logic to justify their being married. Of course, logic and sense had to play into something like this a bit; one didn't go around getting married willy-nilly--that would be idiotic. But to have that be the only thing considered felt wrong. And depressing. Bess felt like a spare princess being betrothed and married off to some foreign dignitary for the sake of political power and nothing more.

"Ollie," she began, leaning forward to look as closely into her beau's gray eyes as she could, "do you really want this?" She swallowed hard, thinking about how Oliver had started this conversation looking uncertain like he hadn't been exactly sure that he wanted to do this. Surely he had to have some misgivings about this idea. "Do you... do you really want me?" She thought about all the women Oliver had flirted with in the past while he had never flirted with her. Not once--before courting or during. Yes, he walked out with her, he called her his 'sweetheart', he hugged her on occasion, kissed her sometimes--all things he didn't do with other women. But he didn't ever play with her, or try to make her blush and laugh like he did with other women he called "friends". He didn't wink, didn't try to cop a feel (not that she wanted that... exactly), didn't try to tickle her--he did nothing with her that he did with his female "friends" and she was courting him. He didn't even call her by the same cute, endearing nicknames he did them: She was either 'Bess' or 'Specks', and 'Specks' had originally started out as something to make her cry when they were small children. Even as the one girl he'd asked to go steady with, the one girl to be chosen out of all the girls he could have picked, Bess had never felt wanted by him. Not as a friend. Not as a potential wife. Certainly not as a lover.

She should have taken George's advice back then; to ask Oliver why he was interested in courting her before jumping into the relationship. But she'd been eighteen and lonely, and Oliver was one of only a handful of people who weren't disgusted by her. The fact that he would look her in the eyes when he talked to her, was enough to make Bess swoon then. That initial feeling of what she thought was being in love had quickly faded as she'd realized just how generally uninterested in her he seemed--not to mention the serial flirting. But she stayed with him. Because she felt stupid for not taking George's advice and didn't want to disappoint him with the revelation that she had been wrong when she'd assured him she wasn't; and because she was terrified to be alone and not have a life. She was terrified of everything her mother told her about herself, and that it was all true. So if Oliver would take her in any capacity, she would accept it and count herself lucky. At least, that's what she'd told herself in the past. She didn't feel that way now that it was happening. Spending the rest of her life with someone that didn't seem to love or want her beyond the domestic services she could provide him sounded almost as bad as being a spinster.

Almost.

"I just... think it makes sense," Oliver replied to her question. She knew it was the closest thing to an answer she would ever get. "Isn't that good enough?"

Bess felt her stomach lurch and twist into a giant knot. No. It wasn't good enough. But it would have to be. Oliver was right about one thing; she wanted to be married--had dreamed of it ever since her mother and stepfather had married. Oliver was the only person who would ever be willing to give that to her, despite that he didn't seem to really love her, despite that he didn't seem to really want her. He was her one chance. And she was safe with him. Like George. She just wasn't loved or wanted by him, like George.

But safe--safe was good enough, she thought. Safe was all she would get, anyway.

With a sigh, Bess let her gaze fall to the ring again and tried not to show her distaste for it as she picked it back up. She slipped it on her left ring finger. Internally, the girl cringed; it looked so out of place on her hand--clashed so horribly with her sensibilities and who she was. But it was her engagement ring now; she would have to get used to it. "Okay, then," she sighed heavily. She looked up at Oliver and tried her best to smile at him, despite how sick she felt. "You got yourself a fiancée, Mr. Sprague." She'd never tasted anything so vile--it made her want to vomit on the grimy tavern floor. And that made her feel even more terrible because Oliver really didn't deserve that. He wasn't bad, he just wasn't The One. But he would be the only one she got. In return for that, she would make him a good wife.

Oliver smiled back at her, but the gesture didn't reach his eyes. "All right then," he said simply. He turned back to mutilating his pot roast.

Bess turned back to her own food, though she was no longer hungry. Picking through the remains of her meal, the girl stared at her new accessory, trying to will herself to like it; will herself to be happy; will herself to love Oliver. After her first initial, naive infatuation with her beau, Bess had held out for the hope that, maybe, she would eventually grow to love Oliver, just as her mother had done with George some time in their own courtship. The problem was, Oliver was nothing like her stepfather, and Bess was even farther away from loving him now than she had been then. Still, love or not, happiness or not, he was her one ticket to any sort of life worth having: Her mother was right--another one wouldn't come along anytime soon. Or ever.

No, Oliver Sprague wasn't like George. But he and the security he offered would be the best option Bess would ever get.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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London, England--June 1845

Bess had never been so disgusted in all her life, and she'd had plenty of things in her life to be disgusted about. She didn't know how she was going to be able to eat her dinner, when it finally came, with him sitting right there next to her and his pompous, arrogant voice resounding loudly in her ears to the point she had a migraine. At least he wasn't directly in her line of sight, she supposed; but it was a bad trade because, sitting where he was, the man was well within reach to easily reach out and touch her. Which he did. A lot. Bess hadn't wanted to cut off somebody's hands so badly since she was fifteen.

Lawrence Bryant, on the surface, was everything a woman could possibly want: sinfully handsome, lively, devilishly charming, rich, and from a very powerful family. He was very good at making the most out of these qualities and making them appear deeper than they actually were. But Bess didn't believe him--not for a second. She had a sort of sixth sense about these kinds of things, an intuitive gut reaction; and hers had screamed that Bryant was bad news since the moment she'd met him a year ago.

She could still recall it vividly; how he'd eyed her, undressing her with his eyes the moment she'd walked into her uncle's library; how he'd snatched up her hand without invitation and gripped it so tightly, as though he'd never let go; how he lazily kissed her knuckles--she could still feel the moisture of his inner lips on her skin if she thought about it long enough, and it made her shudder and want to dunk herself in boiling water. She felt the same way now, as Bryant reached over again to brush her arm with the backs of his fingers. The woman was thankful for her long gloves that offered a barrier between their skin, but even then she shuddered and cringed away at his touch, unable to help herself.

She scolded herself: Stop it! She had to behave tonight--couldn't do anything to upset Bryant. If she did, she knew he'd report to her uncle how she displeased him, and then who knew what her uncle would do in response? If it was just herself she had to worry for, Bess wouldn't have cared and bitten Bryant's hands off the moment they moved to touch her. But she wasn't what she had to worry about--her siblings were. If she made her uncle angry, there was every possible chance he could use the stipulations set in her mother's will to break the terms of it early and take custody of her brothers and sisters while throwing her out on the street. However much she hated Bryant and felt disgusted and uncomfortable with him, Bess couldn't risk custody of her siblings. She couldn't allow them to grow up under her uncle's roof, where they would surely be treated with cruelty. Aunt Effie had already stated once that she would send her sisters abroad to boarding school: Bess couldn't allow that to happen to George's children!

Bess took a deep breath and let it go slowly through her nose. She could do this. She was a big girl--she could handle some discomfort and disgust for a few hours. Just focus on all the different ways you could torture Uncle Gerald and Aunt Effie, she thought to herself. That oughta keep you occupied. Might even be pretty cathartic. Unprompted her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. They'd been sitting here for forty-five minutes--where was the food? The sooner the food came, the sooner she would be free!

"Looking to see how much time you have left to bask in my presence, Beautiful?" Bryant's voice brought the woman out of her thoughts.

Slightly shaking herself back into the moment, Bess looked from the clock back to her suitor. He was gazing much too intently at her with those deep blue eyes of his, as if he were trying to will her affections for him into being. His lips were curved and parted in a grin that was much too white and perfect. She supposed that smile was meant to set her insides aflutter with butterflies; instead it filled her guts with rancid, dead fish. Could the man be any more repulsive? Don't tempt fate, Elizabeth.

Trying her best to smile in an amicable way, Bess replied: "Something like that."

"Aaaawwww!" a sappy, syrupy, nasally voice grated like nails on a chalkboard in Bess' ears. Lady Penelope Anne Michaels and her fiance Mr. Rupert Anderson III, heir to the Earl of Overton were seated at the table across from them: A double date. Bess had been set up on a double date with a man whom she didn't like (putting it lightly) and a couple she didn't know (she'd heard the names and seen the faces at balls the past seasons, but that was as far as her acquaintance with the pair went).

Lady Penelope was looking between Bess and Bryant with an expression that reminded the Yank of her baby sister on Christmas morning. Grinning and biting her bottom lip to the point Bess worried she may have bitten through it, Penelope clapped her gloved hands and squealed girlishly. "Only your second outing together and you're already watching the time, trying to will it to not slip away from you. Ooh, that's positively adorable! Isn't that adorable, Rupey?" She turned to her fiance for his input.

"Rupey" was looking much the same as Penelope, only less wholesomely smitten and more knowingly sly. "Yes, Penny," he agreed. "Very adorable." He winked at Bryant and nodded toward Bess. "You're a lucky tyke, Larry: Don't let this one slip away from you. She's a keeper."

Bryant grinned widely at his friend, raising his glass of champagne in a toast to himself. He looked incredibly pleased with himself. "I have no intentions of letting such a thing happen, I assure you, Rupert. I am well aware I'm a lucky tyke in Bess!" he laughed in agreement He turned to Bess and winked brazenly at her. Beneath the table his hand found her knee and gave it a presumptuous squeeze that caused Bess to stiffen. "Maybe we'll find out just how lucky tonight, eh, Darling?" He threw back his head and raucous laughter, Rupert joining him.

Penny pressed a petite hand to her lips and tittered with amusement. "Oh, Larry, you naughty boy!" she affectionately teased the man. "You'll bring scandal down on your own head if you're not careful!" She continued to laugh with the men.

Bess didn't know she could feel even more sick, but she did at the utterance of those words. The rolling in her stomach was unbearable. She had to step away from this and breathe or else she was sure to vomit all over everyone and everything and then she really would be in trouble with her family. Doing her best to force her nausea down, Bess stood. She managed a small, tight smile at her companions as she told them: "If you'll excuse me--I must run to the powder room for a moment." She pivoted away and took off in a hasty walk before they were able to respond.

The woman hardly had time to get in front of the toilet before her stomach heaved and emptied itself. A vile, bitter concoction of bile, champagne, and bits of partially digested lunch spewed into the toilet bowl with a sickening, cascading splash. The second heave brought Bess collapsing to her knees, bracing her arms against the round porcelain edges of the bowl. She sucked in a desperate breath before heaving again. Goddamn it! Saliva flooded Bess' mouth in a desperate attempt to cleanse it of the nastiness, drool dripping down her lips and chin, ruining her once immaculate lipstick. She would have to reapply before going back to the table, or else Bryant would be upset. He had a horrid lipstick fetish, apparently.

After upchucking a few more times, Bess' stomach finally decided that it was empty enough and stilled. She gasped and coughed, trying to pull air back into her aching lungs. Propping her forehead in her hands, she tried to relax and pull herself together again. Tears burned her eyes. "I can't do this," she whispered. She wasn't sure who she was whispering to. Herself? The toilet? God? "I can't do this! I can't--I can't--I can't! I hate him! God, forgive me, but I hate him! I can't keep seeing him: I know I can't marry him! But that's what Uncle Gerald and Effie want, and if I don't do what they want..." she broke off into a choked sob, unable to stop it. Bess clasped her trembling hands together and buried her face in her arms, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. "Jesus, help me, what do I do? What do I do?!"

Ebenezer's face came to her mind's eye and the most agonizing of pangs wracked her body, heart, and soul. Bess wanted him. In every possible way, she wanted him, but right now, at this moment, she would have settled for just having him here beside her for moral support. She would have given anything to be surrounded by his long, strong arms and curl up into the protective warmth of his broad chest; drown in his deep, smokey, chocolatey smooth voice as he murmured sweet, gentle comforts into her ear. She needed his presence; she needed his advice; she needed his security; she just needed him! But Ebenezer was not here and, unless summoned by some miracle, wouldn't be here. She was on her own.

Sighing heavily, shakily, Bess pulled herself together and sat back from the toilet. She pulled her hankie from her bosom and wiped herself off before rising to her feet and flushing away her sick. Turning to the sink, she looked herself over in the mirror and finished drying off before turning on the water, removing her gloves, and cupping her hands under the stream. She pressed her face into the little pool in an attempt to cool her heated skin and soothe the slight headache starting to throb in her temples. The coolness of the water made her relax a bit. After a moment or two, Bess straightened up and looked at her reflection again. She didn't look quite as red; the cool water had soothed the tearstains. All she need do was straighten her dress, touch up her makeup, and reapply the lipstick and she would be good to go. She grabbed up her handbag that she'd dropped on the floor.

When Bess left the powder room, she ran smack dab into Penny. "Oh! Lady Penelope, pardon me!"

"Oh, it's quite all right," Penny assured her with a smile that was meant to be friendly but grated on Bess' nerves. It just seemed so fake. "No harm done. And please, call me 'Penny'. Any friend of dear Larry's has a right to do so."

Bess fought the urge to roll her eyes. Ah, yes--"dear Larry". Honestly, Penny talked about the sleaze like he was a saint! "Oh, well, all right then--if that's what you'd like. Penny."

Penny beamed. "Excellent! I merely came to find you and tell you our meals have arrived."

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you. I was just coming back."

Penny was looking at her closely, making Bess feel uneasy. What could she possibly be studying so hard on her face? "You've redone your makeup," she stated after a moment.

Bess didn't know what to say. "Uh...."

Penny's smile became knowing, almost conniving. "Bess, did you rush to the powder room in order to be sick?"

Again, Bess wasn't sure how to respond. "Um... well... n-not very-"

Penny squealed like a schoolgirl again, clapping her hands beneath her chin. "I knew it! I just knew it! I did the very same thing when I first started seeing Rupert! I was so charmed by him and so in love that I felt so rumbly and rolly with it all I couldn't help but be sick! And now here you are in your blossoming romance with Larry and experiencing the same thing! Oh, how magical!"

Yeah, Bess thought sarcastically. Magical. She offered the woman a small, awkward smile and replied: "Um... something like that."

"Ooh, and you're too shy to discuss it! Adorable! Simply adorable! Ah! I know the two of you have only been out twice, but trust me, my dear, I have an intuition about these sort of things--and I most definitely hear wedding bells!" Penny sang the last part of the statement, wiggling her brows at Bess.

Bess' stomach lurched a bit again. Penny was probably right, unfortunately, and not because Bess was in love with Bryant and wanted to marry him. She likely wouldn't have any choice.

The two women made their way back to the table together. Penny exchanged a little kiss with Rupert as she retook her seat beside him, staying as close to him as possible the entire time. Contrarily, Bess did her best to stay as far away from Bryant as possible, walking the long way around the table to get to her chair and slipping into it from the far side. Her gaze never met his and she stared at the seafood dish steaming on her plate. Drawing her lips into a thin line, Bess tried to will the remainder of her nausea away. She had to eat at least some of it or else Bryant would deduce something was amiss with her; he'd seen her appetite before and knew how healthy it was. "My Lady, you eat like all my horses combined!" he'd told her once. He'd said it as though it were a compliment.

No sooner had Bess sat down than Bryant was reaching for her again. She froze in order to keep herself from shifting away. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from snapping. Good God, could he just not for two minutes?!

"I missed you," Bryant purred. It was probably supposed to sound loving, perhaps seductive: to Bess it sounded like the ravenous snarl of a lion. As always, Bryant gave her the sense he would eat her alive if given half a shot, and not in a good way. That feeling only grew as Bryant reached down to grab her hand and squeeze it tight as if he never meant to let go again.

Bess knew she should have reciprocated the squeeze, but she just couldn't bring herself to. She was using all her willpower to not throw up again. "I was only gone but a minute," she responded quietly, still not looking at the man.

"Ten minutes and twenty-six seconds," Bryant stated. There was a slight edge in his voice that time.

Bess felt like she was hit by a runaway carriage; she swore her heart jolted to a stop. Panic slammed into her stomach like a cannonball. Her head snapped towards the blond, mustached man as she finally looked at him, her utter shock forcing her to. "Yo-You... you timed me?" she gasped in disbelief. A nervous smile pulled at her mouth.

Bryant smiled at her, but there was nothing good in it: no warmth, no softness, no kindness. He tried to fake it, but Bess could tell. Her gut could tell. All Bryant's smile had to offer was desire, possessiveness, and danger--the kind that would end with her six feet under. Bess had never wanted to run so fast and far in her whole life. Again she longed for Ebenezer to be here to protect her and make her feel safe.

"Of course I timed you, stupid woman," her date chuckled. "Just as you were watching the clock to see how long we have together, I watched the clock to see when you would return to me." Bryant lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I love you."

There were a million things to scream on the tip of Bess' tongue. First was to tell him off for insulting her. Did the idiot really think calling a woman "stupid" even if he said it in what was meant to be an affectionate tone (which he failed at) was a surefire way into a woman's heart? He was the stupid one, and that was putting it lightly! The second was that it was not normal to time the absence of someone down to the second they returned. That was insanely disturbing and borderline psychotic behavior, and would not endear him to any sensible woman either. And the third Bess actually voiced: "You don't love me." She tried to say it as calmly and evenly as possible as if she were trying to reason with him instead of rebuffing him.

Bryant chuckled, leaning closer, pulling her closer at the same time. Bess' free fist instinctively clenched. "Of course I love you," the man insisted. If he thought that tone in his voice was seductive, he was dead wrong; Bess had never heard something sound so chilling and sinister. "I think about you all the time. I yearn for you all the time. Sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe without you." He trailed spidery fingers up the woman's arm and shoulder and brought them to brush her graceful jawline.

Bess couldn't help but pull away that time. "Mr. Bryant," she said, trying to sound polite but firm, mimicking how she'd heard other girls gently scold gentleman callers that weren't as repulsive as her current one was, "what you are describing is an infatuation-" actually it was more like "obsession", but Bryant was not the person to tell that to, "-not a love. Besides, we hardly know each other--there is no possible way you could honestly profess to love me."

"We know each other quite well, I believe," Bryant countered. He took hold of Bess' chin, holding it so tightly between his fingers that it pinched. Bess wanted to pull away, but the cold, flinty gleam in the man's gaze made her stay. "I saw you quite regularly throughout the season last year and this year. We've danced at every ball, sat beside each other at dinners, spent time together last summer at your Aunt's house party in Somerset: I'd say we've spent more time together than most couples."

"You've certainly spent more time together than we have, that's for sure," Rupert remarked as he devoured his beef wellington with a fervor that didn't quite reflect a gentleman.

"How much of that were we alone though?" Bess challenged Bryant, ignoring Rupert. "How much do we really know about each other? I mean, what did we really talk about during those times, Mr. Bryant? The weather? We certainly never discussed anything personal. The truth of the matter is, Mr. Bryant, we hardly know each other beyond name."

"I don't need to know anything other than your name and how beautiful you are," Bryant insisted, starting to sound a tad bit testy.

Bess felt an alarm bell go off in her head. She was pushing him too far--she had to calm this down, sweeten it up and smooth it. For a frantic moment, she thought, mind racing for ideas. "Mr. Bryant," she started slowly, "I once thought about love the same way you did; that only one or two things really mattered and everything else would fall into place. I came to find out the hard way that that isn't the case at all. Being in love isn't just about someone's looks or how they make you feel a certain way. Those things certainly factor into different degrees, of course, but they're not everything." She managed a small smile at the man, hoping it looked sweet and friendly and maybe even a tad sympathetic. "All I want is for you to be careful about this, Mr. Bryant," she fibbed. She really couldn't care less if he got hurt or not. "Take it from me--a broken heart is a terrible wound to suffer, especially if you find out it was already empty to begin with." She found the will to squeeze his fingers as if in reassurance. "We really should get to know each other better before we make such claims... Larry." Lord, calling him by his casual moniker made her want to be sick on the table all over again. Nothing had ever tasted so bad!

Bryant had been quiet the entire time, listening to Bess' words intently, his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but consideration. A couple times he'd even looked a bit surprised as she'd made insinuations about her past, something he had never inquired about even in all the time they'd apparently spent together. When Bess smiled, he'd smiled too, the sharpness leaving his eyes. When she'd squeezed his hand, he'd almost seemed to beam; a nasty, sickly-looking beam that only served to disclose his malignance further. And when Bess said his name, the woman was sure all the work she'd just attempted to do, had been undone, and the man was right back to being certain of his love for her; but she supposed she was never going to sway him from that thought. Perhaps she'd at least staunched the flow.

"Oh, I know my heart would never be broken when it comes to you, My Lady," Bryant crooned, pulling her hand back to his lips. "Because I know you would love me as purely and truly as I love you. In fact, I'm sure you feel the same way right now, but are only denying it because of the sorrow you experienced in your past." He smirked in some annoyance. "I'll admit that I find this a tad vexing, as I am not and could never be anything like the man who hurt you, and struggle to understand how you can't possibly see that after all our time in each other's company. However, I know women are of much more delicate sensibilities in matters of the heart-"

"Here, here!" Penny chimed in.

"-and I don't wish to appear insensitive to your womanly plight. As such, however hard it will be for me, I am more than willing to give you time to accept your feelings for me."

It took everything within Bess not to roll her eyes and clonk the dunderhead on the noggin. "Mr. Bryant," she said, shaking her head, "I can't promise you that I'll ever-" she was cut off as a cold, spidery finger was pressed to her lips. The woman froze, her heart leaping into her throat while her stomach plunged in the other direction. Wide-eyed, she stared at Bryant. He was so close to her--much too close! All of Bess' instincts screamed at her to strike out at the man and knock his block off, but she didn't. Hard as it was, she held back. For her siblings, she had to. Still, just in case, Bess tightened her already clenched fist.

"Hush," Bryant purred (Bess supposed that's what it was meant to be). He trailed his fingertip over her lips, smearing her lipstick onto the pad of it. "I will hear no such negative talk, my love," the man stated softly but adamantly. "Not when it comes to the concept of our love." He trailed his hand down beneath Bess's chin and cupped her jaw. "We are meant to be together, my love--you know it, I know it-" he gestured to the other couple, "-they know it." Bryant chuckled and leaned in even closer, his dark, desirous eyes gazing deep into hers. Bess had never felt so stricken with fear. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in this damn room knows we are meant to be together."

"Oh, there's no way they can't possibly know, Larry Darling!" Penny chimed in. She was watching the pair intently again, her hands clutching at her chest like her heart was about to implode. "To witness the two of you together is to witness true love personified! Oh! It's like seeing Romeo and Juliet together!"

Um... they died, is what Bess wanted to say, but she kept her mouth shut, which was fairly easy to do, as her terror had dried her mouth entirely and glued her tongue to the roof of it. She didn't even think she'd be capable of squeaking.

Bryant must have taken her silence to mean she was so flustered and awash with sensations of love and desire that she couldn't speak. Finally he pulled his hand away from Bess' jaw and began to sit back in his chair. He looked at his lipstick stained finger and brought it to his mouth, kissing it, tracing it over his lips and smearing the paint onto them. The dark red color made him look even more ominous, as if he'd just recently killed and devoured raw flesh and had stained his lips with the blood of his victim.

Bess could only stare at the display in mesmerized horror. All of her instincts screamed at her to flee, but she was quite incapable of moving now, either to run or look away. She had never felt less safe. Even here in the middle of a busy restaurant among all these people, the Yank felt as though she was mere seconds away from Bryant slitting her throat and gutting her like a deer. Not even in the Connellys' household as a vulnerable teenager had she felt such danger.

Bryant wanted her. More than anything. And he was set on possessing her no matter what he had to do. His delusional thinking that what he felt was love and that she felt the same for him was what made it all the more threatening because it meant only one thing: He would stop at nothing to have her.

Bess felt she'd been dropped buck-naked in the middle of the Arctic Circle. All those times she'd silently wished and prayed to be wanted by someone again, this wasn't what she'd had in mind at all! This was nothing like George or what he'd talked about! Nothing like what she wanted! No sense of security, no loving warmth, only want, desire, lust--hotter and more obliterating than the furnace Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego had been thrown into. And Bess suspected she wouldn't be saved from it as they had.

Finished coloring his lips, Bryant reached out again for her hand. He brought it to his lips once more and pressed a firm kiss to it, leaving behind a faded but undeniable lip print on the periwinkle blue silk. "I said I would wait for you to realize and accept your feelings in your own time, Bess," Bryant murmured, meeting her gaze as he caressed the lipstick stain on her knuckles. "But I yearn for you far too fervently to pass up this chance." With only that cryptic warning, the man yanked the American in by the hand , and pressed his mouth flush to hers.

Bess swore her soul fled her body. Simultaneously she felt her lips being branded with both hot and cold irons, marking her as this horrid man's. Everything faded away and she was left alone with Bryant in a vast, dark, perilous sea of existential dread. Something told her Bryant would never let her slip from his grasp now. Only the grave would be able to truly separate them, and it would likely be hers.

Very vaguely through the blackness and fear, Bess could hear both Penny and Rupert fawning and making comments at them, but she could not comprehend the words. Her mind was much too focused on Bryant: How his lips were just as possessive as the rest of him; how his cologne was even stronger this close and made her feel even sicker; how his mustache prickled uncomfortably beneath her nose; how he felt unpleasantly cold, even as his lips seared hers. The touch of a tongue against her top lip was what finally caused adrenaline to burst through the Yankee's system and force herself out of the kiss. (Not an easy thing to do, as Bryant had reached around to hold the back of her head at some point.) "Mr. Bryant, please!" she hissed, unable to keep the anger or the tremor out of her voice. She felt a mess: Her face burned with rage and humiliation, but her whole body trembled with fear now that they'd pulled apart.

Everyone else at the table merely chuckled.

"Oh, Darling, you look positively scandalized!" Penny tittered.

"Come on, Yank, don't be so prudish," Rupert said dismissively, successfully cementing himself on the list of individuals Bess wanted to box the ears of.

Bryant sneaked in and pecked another quick kiss on the corner of Bess' mouth, making her startle. "Don't worry, my dear," the man chuckled, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "Public displays of affection will be limited, I promise." He leaned into the woman, hissing in her ear, "Once I have you in my house, I do not intend on ever letting you out again."

The tone was meant to be seductive, Bess was sure, but there also seemed to be a sinister threat in it that she wasn't just imagining. She looked out of the corner of her eye at her suitor, studying him carefully. Perhaps it was just the odd, peripheral angle at which she viewed him, but the American could have sworn his face distorted, and for a moment he appeared with some horrible, demonic visage. When she turned her head to look at him fully, he looked as he normally had, which honestly wasn't that much better in Bess' opinion.

With a chuckle, Bryant winked at her and pulled away to turn back to his meal.

Bess sat and watched him for a long moment, a hurricane of emotions whirling through her. Her lips and cheek still burned where Bryant's lips had touched her; her heart raced her boiling blood through her veins; the rotting, dead fish in her gut had transformed into a nest of angry hornets that were determined to tear her apart from the inside out. Bryant's statement rang in her ears, tattooing itself into her memory. She thought of what she'd heard of Bryant's past; all the women associated with him that had ended up hospitalized, institutionalized, a few even dead; the wife that had apparently just vanished; his own mother who he openly admitted had abandoned him and never spoke with him. Bryant joked bad things trailed him wherever he went; Bess was growing surer the longer she knew him that he was the bad thing. And in her gut filled with raging hornets, the woman knew if she married Bryant--if she ended up in his house--she would either be killed or chained up and locked away forever.

Bess' gaze fell away from Bryant and down her hand, locking and holding on the lipstick stain he'd left behind. All at once she felt dirty--tainted--as if she'd been branded by the devil himself. She was a marked woman: Desired, yearned for, wanted with a passion that would burn the globe to a crisp if it wasn't fulfilled. But not loved, whatever Bryant believed or claimed. And certainly not safe.

Lawrence Bryant was nothing like George. He wasn't even a decent man.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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St. James' Square, London--House of the Dowager Countess of Calloway--November 23, 1850

Bess could hardly breathe she was laughing so hard. She'd always known Tom to be witty and clever, but she never could have guessed him to be an actual comedian. But here he was, standing in Granny Felicity's parlor before the assorted rabble that was their social circle, proving himself to be just that as he gave her a good and right-proper roasting for her birthday. Bess had mentioned to Addie months ago how she would like to be roasted, and evidently, her cousin had passed the word on to her hubby as well. A most welcome and appreciated surprise! And apparently, she wasn't the only one who thought so, as everyone in the room was laughing just as hard as she was. Except Granny of course. She never smiled or laughed; at least not with her mouth--those piercing blue eyes of hers were sparkling brighter than stars though.

"Now, when I first heard that our lovely Bess was engaged to our dear Mr. Scrooge, my first thought was: 'How would that even work?'" the swarthy man was saying, as he stood before the roaring fireplace and casually sipped at his champagne, the smile never dropping from his face as he gazed at his audience. "I mean, none of us, not even the happy couple, can deny the age difference, yeah? Thirty and... how old-"

"Old enough still to take you over my knee and learn you some manners if you finish that question," Ebenezer snarled good-naturedly.

"Now, easy does it, Mr. Scrooge," Tom snapped back with a devilish grin. "Save the spanking for the missus!"

An uproar of laughter and shrieks peeled out of the partygoers at that, even Granny FeFe letting loose a delightfully scandalized cry. It was only fueled further by the bright red faces of the couple being fired at.

Bess giggled madly as she hid her strawberry blush in Ebenezer's collar. The long arm draped loosely about her waist tightened in the most loving way as the man leaned his cheek against her hair, burring a warm chuckle into her ear. Bess shivered delightfully and cuddled closer to her hubby, reveling in his comforting warmth despite how stuffy the parlor was with the fire and all the bodies present. Ebenezer didn't seem to mind either as he pulled her even deeper into his lap. Bess' heart fluttered.

"Well, anyway," Tom went on with a chuckle, "as I said, I was more than a little perplexed with their union: the age difference, the culture difference." A wicked gleam came into Tom's eyes yet again. "But then I realized she's so young and he's so old, their bedtimes would be the same anyway, so."

Another round of laughter filled the parlor.

"That was utter rubbish," Ebenezer remarked quietly so only Bess could hear above the laughter.

"You're still laughing," Bess countered, grinning up at her love's smirking face.

The man's blush deepened as he smiled softly at her. He pressed a gentle smooch to her hairline and trailed butterfly kisses down her brow to the bridge of her nose before nuzzling her. Bess tittered happily.

"Hey, hey, hey--easy now!" Tom's scolding voice brought the couple out of their reverie and drew their attention to him. He scowled playfully at them. "Simmer it down, you lovebirds! Need I remind you there are youngsters here? And Harry?"

More laughter.

"It's my party, Thomas Aaron, and I'll kiss who I damn well please!" Bess shot back, drawing even more laughter from those around her.

Tom lifted his hands to try and quiet everyone down. "Okay, okay," he chuckled. "But no, all jokes aside, I think we can all agree what an honor it is to be here tonight to pay tribute-" Tom held out a hand toward Bess, "-to this lovely woman right here."

A round of "here, here's" went around the room and Bess felt her blush utterly burn in touched embarrassment.

"Lady Bess--Cousin-" Tom's eyes briefly fell on Addie, who sat closest to him, her hands and arms cradling her growing belly, her eyes and wedding ring shining like stars, "-I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we are all so very blessed to have you in our lives." The man moved towards his pregnant wife and took up her left hand, kissing her ring. "I know, at least for myself, that you have changed life for the better." He and Addie shared a brief, soft moment of gazing devotedly into each other's eyes before Tom turned back to Bess, though he remained grasping Addie's hand. "Bess, you are clever, kind, beautiful, and so full of love, you make this gloomy old city a better place just by living in it. You are truly a treasure. And for a Yankee... eh--you're not bad." Again everyone laughed, and then Tom raised his half-gone glass of champagne. "A toast!" he called out. "To our dearest Mrs. Lady Bess Scrooge. The happiest of birthdays to you! May you continue to grace the London streets and the lap of our dear Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge for many years to come."

From his spot in the corner, Harry suddenly sang out: "For she's a jolly good fellow!" Soon everyone had joined in the song, a dozen or so mixed voices echoing throughout the parlor with fervor.

Bess hid her face in her hands and buried it into her husband's chest for good measure, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room or the handful of glasses of her favorite wine flowing through her veins. She felt so appreciated--so cherished. Six, five, even four years ago, the Yank never would have guessed she would be so awash in affection, or so deeply ensconced in her own little network of society that she would never have to worry about being alone ever again. The lonely, friendless little girl of her past would have burst into wailing tears of happiness to hear such news: Bess was a bit older and more mature now, so she didn't wail, but she did quietly sob into Ebenezer's waistcoat. The man rubbed her back and kissed her crown in comfort.

"-And so say all of us!" the group finished with a shout, practically vibrating the room with their volume. Whoops resounded, what remained of drinks was finished off, and everyone rejoiced as one.

"Tommy," Granny spoke up as soon as they'd all quieted down some, "as hostess of this little soiree, I believe it's my turn to have the floor."

Tom bowed low with a grin. "But of course, My Lady. The floor is all yours." He stepped aside and took his space next to Addie, his lips immediately connecting with her temple and one of his hands coming to rest upon and gently caress her belly. Addie beamed at him, totally and completely in love.

Standing straight and tall and stately as ever, Granna Felicity slowly made her way to Tom's previous spot in front of the fireplace. Her elegant, silver-headed cane tapped out a steady, strong rhythm on the floor. Coming to a stop in the center of the hearth, the old woman turned towards the group, shoulders straight and square, head held high and proud. The woman was an absolute pillar of their little community. Piercing blue eyes found and fell upon Bess, who had pulled her face from Ebenezer's chest, but still remained resting upon his shoulder. Granny's eyes warmed, and her thin, wrinkled lips softened ever so slightly, but did not curl. The closest thing to a smile that would ever grace her face.

"Bess," Granny began, her thin, wavering voice strong and commanding absolute attention, "my darling great-granddaughter, lost to me but then found, I cannot tell you how it overjoys me that I am here today, able to bless you with this celebration of your thirtieth-year of life that you so greatly deserve. And I hope to endow you with more as time carries off." At that, Granny sighed deeply, and she suddenly looked very tired as she leaned more heavily on her cane. "But, let us be honest--I am old--no spring chicken by far." She drew herself straight again. "In light of that, I believe it would only be fair that I open the dancing tonight with your fine young man."

Bess couldn't help throwing back her head in a laugh. "Granny!" she exclaimed. "It's my birthday!" She tightened her arms around Ebenezer and cuddled even deeper into his lap.

Granny looked completely unfazed. "I know, my dear, but you are likely to have many, many more birthdays, whereas I am likely to keel over any moment now and am limited on the amount of time at which I might be swept around the dancefloor by a strapping young gentleman."

"You know, she has a point," Ebenezer remarked with a smirk, his slate-blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Bess turned on him and fixed the man with a good-natured glare. "You just like being called "young man"," she accused.

Ebenezer didn't even try to deny it and simply shrugged. "Regardless."

"And, need I remind you, Elizabeth," Granny continued, "that if it weren't for me, you and that wonderful young shaver you're so tightly wrapped up with currently may never have come into being at all." A playful yet slightly haughty shadow settled over the woman withered and wise visage. "All that is to say, I am due for my just desserts--wouldn't you agree?

Snorting, Bess rolled her eyes. "Fine," she sighed melodramatically, "but I get him directly and immediately after you're done." A serious look fell over the American's face as another thought crossed her mind, and she held up a firm finger toward her great-grandmother. "And absolutely no groping. Or pinching. I mean that now, Granny."

Granny's eyes twinkled deviously. "But, my darling girl, you know as well as I, that's where all the fun is!"

The small orchestra Granny FeFe had hired was no half-baked group. Despite their small size, they played as well as, if not better than, the Philharmonic Society. They filled the front hall with a beautiful and speedy waltz which Ebenezer and Granny danced to splendidly. The steely-haired man gracefully swept the old woman around the wood floor, always controlled and collected in his movements despite how free he made the dance look. Granny's eyes sparkled though her mouth remained set in stone as ever. She, herself, moved with such grace and fluidity that she could have been floating along with Ebenezer. The music seemed to revitalize the octogenarian, shaving decades off her as she flitted about; if it weren't for her stark white hair, one could have sworn she was a far younger woman.

Waltzing around in Tom's arms (Addie had most graciously surrendered her husband for the moment), Bess grinned from ear to ear and guffawed as the man made a comment about her grandmother (or their grandmother technically) sweeping off with her husband if she weren't careful. Bess cheekily remarked that, with as much fun as he appeared to be having, it was more likely they would have to keep an eye on Ebenezer sweeping Granny off. They both laughed at that.

Hearing a startled yelp, Bess' head snapped in the direction of the pair in question. "Granny!" she barked over the music. "I said no pinching!" She tried to school her gaze into a firm glare, but it was difficult to do, especially when she caught the goofy grin on her hubby's blushing face. The black-haired beauty snorted and shook her head. He'd never admit it or let it cause him to stray, but Ebenezer did rather enjoy being felt up and admired for a younger man, and Granny FeFe was always more than happy to oblige him.

Bess couldn't help but keep her eyes on Ebenezer throughout the rest of the waltz. She didn't regret allowing her great-grandmother a treat (it only seemed fair after the woman had put together this wonderful party for her), but she was longing to return to her love's arms so that they might sweep off together too. Even surrounded by all this love and warmth from her friends--which of course she was exceptionally grateful for--Bess wanted to be surrounded by Ebenezer's love most. It had taken her so long to find him--a man that was compassionate, kind, humble, intelligent, loyal, handsome, and charming and possessed a passion that matched her own; and she wanted to be completely enveloped in him as often as possible.

Finally, the waltz ended and everyone on the floor parted and bowed/curtsied to their partners. Bess walked arm-in-arm with Tom back to Addie. "Here's your hubby back!" she chirped to her cousin. "Thanks ever so much for lending him to me. He's a spectacular dancer!"

"Best there is in London!" Tom piped up, puffing out his chest as he hooked his thumbs in his lapels.

Addie giggled. "Don't I know it," she remarked. She reached her hands out to her man, and he instantly took them in his and knelt before her, gazing up into her round, glowing face. Addie giggled again, blushing all the way up her ears, her gaze locked on Tom's.

Bess smiled, her heart filled with joy. First, she and Ebenezer had tied the knot (although not under the most romantic circumstances); then Addie and Tom; now Ernie and Ella were only a few months away from their wedding; Jules and Martha were likely to be engaged any day; Josie, Belinda, and Kathy all had wonderful, steady beaus; Ida was making good headway with Harold (he'd actually come with her tonight though he wasn't dancing--that seemed to be just too far out of his comfort zone); and, to top it all off, the next generation was well underway, with Harry and Hela on their fourth child and Addie and Tom their first. Bess had a feeling her duties as a midwife would be even more taxing in the coming years, but she couldn't wait to watch and help their extended family grow. Again she thought of her lonely childhood and how happy her child-self would be to know that she grew up to be surrounded by love of all kinds.

Then she thought of George. She could almost hear his deep, warm, gentle voice in her head: You made it, Mudpuppy. And you done good. I knew you'd get there. Tears pricked at her eyes, and Bess reached up to wipe them, sniffling ever so slightly.

A deep, velvet voice called her: "Bess?"

Bess turned to see Ebenezer coming her way, a concerned look on his face as he watched her dry her eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him, though her lips did quiver, and stepped toward him. "I'm all right," she said with a little dismissive wave of her hand. "Just... thinking is all."

"Ah," her husband replied, the worry fading from his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief, raising it to her face to gently dab at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "A dangerous pastime."

Bess rolled her eyes and giggled. "I know." She brought her left hand up to gently hold his right wrist as the Englishman blotted away her tears, leaning into his touch. Ebenezer's free hand sought hers, twining their fingers together and squeezing soothingly. Bess squeezed back, gazing up into her lover's face, her eyes brimming full with adoration as she admired him for the millionth time in their six years together (two of friendship--four of marriage). She felt a soft warmth bloom on her cheeks: She didn't believe she'd ever get over this remarkable, handsome man and how he was all hers.

"May I ask what you were thinking of?" Ebenezer murmured quietly. He sopped up a tear at the corner of his wife's left eye before bowing down to gently kiss her there, trailing more kisses along her cheekbone until he came nose to nose with her. The man gazed into her eyes, love, admiration, and desire shining out from his soft, slate-blue depths. Just as they always did.

Bess felt her heart clench almost painfully with love for the gentleman, bringing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. She was very emotional this evening. "Just... the future. And the past," she answered vaguely. "And about George--what he would say if he were here."

Ebenezer hummed in consideration. Letting go of Bess' hand, he folded his handkerchief again and replaced it, gazing around the hall at all of the people here specifically to celebrate his wonderful wife: The Cratchits and their oldest children, the Huffmans (including Mr. Huffman Sr.), the Chars, the future Mr. and Mrs. Shaw, the Jenkinses, the Dowager of course, Ida and Harold, Bess' siblings of course. So many people here, just for her. Well aware of her past and how melancholy it had been (much like his own), Ebenezer knew what this party and all these people being here meant to Bess.

Still gazing around the hall, the reformed miser reached out and pulled his wife into his arms, pulling her close to his chest, Bess wrapping her own arms around his waist. He brought his gaze to hers again, smiling warmly at her. "I never knew George, of course," he stated, "but I like to think I've heard you speak enough of him that I could know him." Ebenezer touched his forehead to Bess' and gently smushed their noses together, making her giggle: His heart soared for it. "I know he'd be proud of you," he quietly cooed. "He'd be proud and happy and tickled every shade of pink for you and the life you've built for yourself." The man pecked a feather-light kiss on his love's painted lips before burying his face in the hair cascading over her shoulder and hugging her tight to him. "I know I am," he whispered meaningfully into her neck. He pressed his lips to the burn scar partially hidden by the new choker he'd gifted her, making Bess tremble ever so slightly.

That quiet declaration touched Bess deep in her soul: She felt more tears sting her eyes as the smile on her lips pulled wider in reaction. Clutching at her man's back, she pressed her face into his chest, trying to be as close to his heart as possible. His beautiful heart; so full of love for her. A heart that had not only proven its love for her but wanted her and beat with a fierce desire to protect her unto the ends of the earth. Like George. Just like her beloved George's heart, was her beloved Ebenezer's heart. Bess wanted nothing more than to kiss and cherish it into eternity.

"I've failed in telling you thus far, because I haven't been able to find the right words to say," Ebenezer murmured, stroking a hand up to cradle the back of her neck, his lips hidden in her hair right beside her ear, "but I am so very, very proud of you, my darling Bess. I still can't quite put it into words, I'm so proud of you."

Bess knew she was about to cry, his words filling and soothing a void deep within her that had been there ever since George's untimely passing. She hugged her husband tighter, never wanting to let go or him to let go. A quiet sob shuddered its way from her lungs. "Ebenezer...."

"You've grown so much, Bess," Ebenezer continued softly, reciprocating her constrictor-like grip. "You arrived in London hardly more than a girl; alone, lost, nearly penniless, thrust into parenthood and a society and culture you scarcely knew how to navigate. Look at you now! A grown woman who's successfully raised two children into adulthood and two more into fine youths; an accomplished and much sought-after midwife; a darling of London society-"

Bess snorted. "I wouldn't quite say that."

"-surrounded on her birthday by all the people who know and love her. You've come into your own, Sweetness--become the woman I always knew you could be. My chest is so tight and swollen with pride in you, I feel it will burst into pieces."

Bess nuzzled lovingly into his pectorals. The cheeky part of her wanted to make a quip about how she hoped not because she rather liked his chest in one piece, but the lump in her throat wouldn't allow the words through. She was so happy--so very happy! Never growing up would Bess have believed it possible for anyone--much less herself--could be as happy as she was in that moment: She felt she could explode off and fly all the way to Heaven's golden gates with the force of the blast. What had she ever done to deserve such fortune? What had she ever done to deserve this man holding her?

"You forgot one very important thing," the woman rasped. She pulled back just enough to gaze up at her tall love and meet his eyes with her tear-filled ones. "I'm a wife. A wife to an amazing, wonderful, magnificent man who loves me so much and treats me so well. And who helped to make everything else you've already mentioned possible."

Ebenezer smiled humbly, his cheeks pinking up a bit. He shook his head. "Bess-"

"No, Ebenezer, I mean it," Bess insisted, giving him a severe look. "It's true. I... I never could have done everything I have without you by my side. None of this would have happened if you weren't in my life." She reached up and grabbed his face, holding it in her hands and pulling him down closer to her to gaze even deeper into his eyes. "You helped me. You saved me--more than once. You've always had confidence in me even when I've had none in myself and given me the strength to carry on even in the darkest of moments. You've done so much for me that I can never repay."

"You are my wife," Ebenezer replied. He lifted a hand to wipe away some tears that had breached her barrier. "I love you. And before that, I was your friend and still loved you. You needn't ever repay me, Sweetness; all services were given freely from my heart." He smiled gently. "After all, it's not as if you haven't done the same for me in turn."

Bess' lips quivered into a smile. "You're my husband," she flipped it back around. "I love you. My life... it wouldn't be a life without you." She tilted his face further down to kiss his brow.

Her husband chuckled softly, leaning into her touch. "Nor would mine be without you," he murmured. Slipping a finger beneath her chin, the Englishman kissed his American love sweetly and slowly, his lips slotting expertly in with hers.

Bess utterly melted, her insides turning to quivering mush. Wrapping her arms around his bowed neck, she went up on tiptoe to deepen the contact. She squeaked against his mouth when Ebenezer suddenly clutched her about the waist and thighs and swept her up off the floor. Lovely, gorgeous, strong, tall man! Tickled by internal butterflies, a muffled giggle left her. The kiss was already making her giddy, and the sensation of nothing under her feet made it almost feel like she was floating. Her heart certainly was. The elation of it all caused both of the woman's feet to pop; knees together beneath her skirts, toes primly pointed skyward.

The band was finishing with a song and starting in on another. The couple parted for breath.

"Would you care to dance, Mrs. Scrooge?" Ebenezer lowly rumbled against the Yank's lips. His half-lidded gaze held hers.

Bess smiled a bit dazedly and nuzzled his nose. "I would be delighted, Mr. Scrooge." She loosened her grip around the man's neck and slowly, gracefully descended to the floor again.

Ebenezer took a slight step to the side, folded an arm behind his back, and debonairly offered her his left hand. Bess bit back a giggle and reached out with her right to take it. Holding hands they made their way to the middle of the floor, avoiding the other dancers. Turning again to each other, they bowed and curtsied respectfully before Ebenezer held out his hand again, smoothly pulling Bess into his arms when she took it. He pulled her quite a bit closer than was traditional, her front coming flush with his. His right hand fell much, much lower on her back than was proper. Bess gasped, a blush instantly heating her cheeks, and raised a speculative eyebrow at the man. "I say, Mr. Scrooge!" she hissed with a smirk.

Her lover merely snickered, raising a devilish eyebrow of his own, a spark of desire flashing through his slate-blue eyes that made the woman in his hold shiver with excitement. "Consider this a prelude for tonight, Mrs. Scrooge," he growled huskily as he leaned down towards her ear. "You'll have one more present to unwrap and play with before it's all said and done."

Bess' blush grew hotter, her smirk turning saucy. "However I wish?" she inquired coquettishly. Her hold on him tightened, her hand squeezing his, her nails lightly digging into the back of his shoulder.

"However you wish," came the rumbled answer. As if to provide further reassurance, Ebenezer's hand only trailed up slightly higher on Bess' backside, but only for the sake of comfort.

A wave of anticipatory pleasure rolled through the woman, settling low in her pelvis and tickling with delight. Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, what a lucky girl she was!

Hands lovingly clasped, their free hands positioned properly on backs and shoulders, Ebenezer and Bess finally swept into the next waltz with everyone else, the gentleman's long legs carrying them rapidly around the circle. They held each other's gazes the entire time, following the path simply by instinct. That never would have happened six years ago, when Ebenezer was first helping Bess learn to waltz. Which, perhaps not so coincidentally, had taken place in this exact hall.

Bess smiled at the memory. Even back then, when they'd hardly been more than acquaintances yet, Ebenezer had helped her--had been willing to help her. Even though she'd been a perfect stranger from a foreign land who'd been an absolute and sometimes offensive idiot about everything English, he'd been nothing but compassionate and shown nothing but kindness and graciousness to her all while expecting nothing in return. She hadn't thought of it then (there'd been so much else to consider) but as she thought of it now, it reminded her of George and the first time they'd met: Her a little buck-naked urchin, caked in the mud of a puddle she'd run away from home to find, and he a gentle-hearted giant of a man who hadn't batted an eye at her antics and had wrapped her up in his own shirt and taken her back home. The parallels didn't end there, as both Ebenezer and George had kept coming back, offering support and protection free of any charge. Then, eventually, both had also stayed for love and want of her.

Bess pulled her gaze away from Ebenezer's and rested her head against his shoulder, slipping her hand on his shoulder around the back of his neck to embrace him. Closing her eyes, she simply let her husband--the man she loved and trust more than any other person in this world--steer and carry her wherever he wished. It didn't matter where it was, she would go with him; wherever he went, she would follow.

"Sweetness?" Ebenezer murmured, slowing their dancing just a bit. He watched her with some concern.

"Thank you," Bess sighed with contentment. She looked up at him again, her head never leaving his shoulder, and offered a small smile. "Thank you so much."

Her husband smiled warmly. "For what, may I ask?"

Bess felt the prick of tears again at the corner of her eyes; she blinked them back. "For being everything I've ever wanted in a man," she answered softly. She squeezed his hand. "For making me feel safe, wanted, and loved. For being..." she trailed off to take a shaky breath as one more tear dripped from her lashes, "... for being even better than George."

Ebenezer's eyes softened, and Bess could swear she saw a sheen of tears in them too. Bowing his head, the tall man lovingly kissed her brow before resting his cheek against her head. His arm around her waist tightened, as did his grip on her hand. "If that's true, you're happiness is thanks enough, my darling," he assured her. "And it would be my greatest honor to continue these things if you'll allow me."

Bess could only nod her head and squeak "Yes," as the lump was back in her throat. Her lips quivered into a tight smile as she tried to control herself. She had cried so much already tonight, she didn't want to cry anymore. Squeezing her eyes shut, the American buried her face back into her man's chest, breathing in his comforting scent. Not only would George be proud of her--he would also be happy; for she'd finally done it. She'd finally found a man that measured up to him--out-measured him actually. Ebenezer was everything George had been and more, and he was hers. All hers. She still wasn't sure she deserved him, but that was neither here nor there--she had him. And she was not letting him go.

And he was not letting her go. Not ever. Just like George.

Taglist: @rom-e-o @oldmanlusting @the-house-of-auditore-frye @crimson-phantom-designs @ofvampiirisms @purgratoriat

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violettduchess · 2 years

Note

i'd loiter in ur asks daily to shower u in compliments, not only becuz u deserve it but also just to spite that one anon. have i mentioned that i think you're such a phenomenal writer? you're genuinely one of my favorites on this site, also on ao3!🖤 (also if you're requests are still open, can i please ask for Chevalier, enemies to lovers [predictably], bandaging/stitching up an injury? 🙏 the opportunity is here and i must take it><)

A/N: One last entry at the last minute for the Different Universe Same Love Content Creation Challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady

@rawr-mortgage very graciously was ok with me taking their request and doing something AU with it so thank you!

TW: Blood, Needles, Injury

Word Count: 2651

Under the cover of a clouded night sky, you lurch your way towards the sheriff’s office, a building you never in a million years would’ve ever thought about visiting voluntarily. Unfortunately Fate in the form of a Colt Single Action Army Revolver stepped in and here you are. Each step brings new agony as the rendered flesh of your side spits blood with every movement. If the moon wasn’t hiding its sensitive gaze behind clouds, it would see the way the dark stain on your shirt slowly grows with each passing second, greedily gobbling up the plaid fabric.

That rat bastard , you think through gritted teeth. That one-eyed rat bastard.

Your boots scuffle across the dirt road, past the dark windows of Dompteur’s General Store, The Klein Brothers Funeral Home, Haberdashery by Yves. It's so late even the saloon, Jin’s Joint, is dark. This is an hour made for sweet dreams and whispered secrets and here you are, arriving in the dead of night at the beast’s doorstep. You pause, gripping the splintered wooden railing of the sheriff’s office to catch your breath. Of course his windows aren’t dark. They never are. The sheriff is always working.

Stifling a groan, you pull yourself up the worn wooden steps and with a final burst of energy, bang your fist against the door, right underneath the copper sign, gleaming in the orange glow of the lantern hanging from the eaves: Chevalier Michel, Rhodolite County Sheriff and Jail.

He opens the door the same way he does everything, controlled and with purpose. He’s still in the gleaming white and brown of his sheriff’s uniform, but even through the haze of pain you notice that the top button of his shirt is open and his signature pristine white Diamond-style cowboy hat isn’t perched authoritatively on his pale head. Could the sheriff have been…..relaxing?

You have no chance to ponder further as you are yanked up by a firm grip on your upper arm and dragged into the one-room building, your yelp of protest falling on deaf ears. Although only lit by several oil lamps, you know this place well. You’ve spent many a night behind those bars. Broken out of 'em too. Chevalier whips you around, walking you backwards until you bump into the hard wood of his desk, your hand grabbing its edge for support. His sharp blue eyes rake over you, but you must have taken him by surprise. He hasn’t noticed your injury.

His expression is frost, tinged with a hue of annoyance as those azure eyes narrow.

“What are you doing, skulking around in the dead of night?”

Your huff of laughter is strained, pain lapping at your side with a rough tongue of fire.

“Just thought I’d pay my favorite sheriff a visit. Been a while, Chevy, hasn’t it?”

His lips parts, about to rebuke you for that nickname he hates so when he spots the way your hand is pressing to your side, the way your fingers are slowly becoming ringed with dark red. He lifts his gaze from your hand to your face.

“What happened?” His voice is neutral, slate-gray.

You shift as pain coils itself tighter around your midsection, beginning to squeeze the air from your lungs.

“Obsidian. He’s back in town and lookin’ for blood. Seems he didn’t take too kindly to losin’ an eye–Hey!”

Chevalier has rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, fingers tugging on the hem of your flannel. He brushes against the skin of your stomach and you jerk from the contact, a reflex that does no good to the raw wound born where the bullet grazed your skin with claws of fire. He lifts his face, bathed in pale orange light, an angry denizen of heaven.

“Stay still. I need to assess your injury.”

You clench your jaw as he lifts your shirt, his touch gentler than you might have expected. The sheriff has touched you many times, usually when hauling you into the jail cell, but never like this. He’s leaning down, examining the damage so you can’t quite see his face but you can see the way his brow furrows, the way his hands still, tension visible in the corded muscles of his forearms. He says nothing as he straightens up again, turning on heel and disappearing into the small alcove off of the office. You glance down, wincing at all the red. So much of it.

He returns, small wooden box in hand, towel slung over his arm. He reaches for you, wrapping his fingers around your bicep.

“Up.”

A moment of panic sends your heart skipping. Is he going to kick you out? You have no one left. The ones Obsidian didn’t take out scattered like dust in the wind and you are in no shape to go searching for them. Especially not if he is still out there.

“For God’s sake, I’m not going to kick you out.” With an annoyed snap of his wrist, he lays the towel down across his desk. “I would prefer it if you didn’t bleed on the wood.”

Strong hands help you back to the desk, guide you down slowly.

“How’d you know I was gonna ask–”

Chevalier meets your gaze and again your heart jerks like a horse unnerved, stomping at the ground with its hooves.

“Your face is an open book, bandit.” You see the shadow of…something…in the curve of his lips as he stands, leaning over you. “I need to remove your shirt.”

“Alright.” He needs to be able to reach the wound. Your shirt is in the way. It’s all very rational. And yet when those hands reach down, when they begin undoing each button, you find yourself distracted from the pain each inhale brings. You feel instead the way his fingers brush against your skin. The moments of contact are brief, a sliver of a second, but you feel each and every time it happens.

You close your eyes, hoping to shut out how close he is. It must be the injury. Delirium setting in. Blood loss. Something else that is creating this hyper-awareness of him, the thing robbing you of the ability to breathe steadily.

He makes short work of cleaning the blood away. You feel the soft, damp cloth and the astonishingly gentle movement of those hands.

“This part is going to hurt.” Your eyes open and you see the bottle of alcohol in his hand. You know what's next.

“Is that swill safe to drink?”

His lip curls up slightly at the thought. “I believe so but–” His words are stopped short by you grabbing the bottle, lifting it to your lips and taking a long, fiery pull. It burns as it slithers its way through you. You thrust it back at him. The sheriff blinks, those blue eyes trained on your mouth, as if he can’t believe you just did that. That must be why he can’t seem to look away.

“I’d expect you to have fancier stuff, Chevy.”

Your words break the spell and he shakes his head, a firm hand pressing you back down to the desk. “This isn’t mine. It’s contraband.”

“Of course,” you mutter, your body tensing in anticipation. “You seem like you’re the fancy whiskey sort who–” You gasp as the alcohol splashes against the wound. You thought it felt like fire before but this…this is truly the flames of hell biting into your side. Chevalier is thorough, cleaning out the wound with the attention to detail he is famous for.

“Now to close it,” he says, more to himself than you as he leans down, needle in hand, and begins the delicate work of sewing up the split path the bullet made of your skin. You clench your jaw, your eyes focusing on the wooden beams of the ceiling. His hands are steady, but it still hurts like hell.

“Hold still,” he snaps. The needle had caught for a moment, pulling skin and your body had jerked like a skittish colt.

“You know, Chevy, you gotta work on that bedside manner.” You close your eyes now, your teeth clenched so hard you hope nothing cracks. You hate the way your voice shakes, the tell-tale sign of pain, dulled as it may have been from the swig of alcohol.

“I’m a sheriff, not a surgeon,” he says pointedly, his hands never wavering, never slowing in their work.

“Well there’s one thing to be grateful for,” you mutter, wincing as the needle pulls the thread tighter.

He scoffs, a sound so close to a laugh that you nearly open your eyes in astonishment. You’ve never heard him even come close to laughing before. It momentarily blocks out everything, the sun eclipsing the moon, throwing the earth into celestial shade. Confusion wells up inside of you like dust clouds under a stagecoach’s wheels. The encounter with Obsidian, the injury, it must be affecting you more than you realized.

“It’s closed. We still need to bandage it.” He reaches down, helping you slowly into a sitting position. You feel as the wounded skin pulls against the stitches, but everything holds. One glance down tells you Chevalier did a phenomenal job. Of course he did.

“Gotta hand it to you. I’m impressed.” He glances up from the first aid box where he is selecting a bandage.

“You doubted my ability?” He walks over and you are suddenly acutely aware, now that you aren’t bleeding all over and the wound has been cleaned and shut, of your state of undress. Your bloody shirt has been tossed on the floor, leaving you in only the band of fabric tied to support your chest. A state of undress in the presence of a man that would cause a scandal if anyone ever knew. Then again, you’re an unmarried female who runs with a wild gang of misfits. You probably already have your name chiseled on a plaque for Most Scandalous Woman in the West, right alongside Calamity Jane and Belle Star.

“I….um…” Words. You knew how to use them once. But right now Sheriff Chevalier Michel, who smells far better than any man in a dusty town like this one has a right to, is leaning in again, his hands brushing your skin as he begins winding the clean, white bandage around your midsection. His fingers brush your back, your ribs, the soft skin of your stomach, trailing sparks in their wake.

He glances up and you swear there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You’re not usually at a loss for words, bandit.”

“Stop callin’ me that.” There. That nickname. There’s something to distract you from how close you are to a man who smells like temptation in the empty sheriff’s office in the depths of the night.

He tightens the bandage around your middle, tying it off. You resist the urge to grunt but can’t help the glare. He notices it, his own brow arching in question. “Why? Aren’t you one?”

He steps back, his gaze running over his work. His expression is so cool, so schooled. What would you have to do to make it crack?

“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your attention that the folks we liberate from their goods are folks a little liberation won’t bother.”

He scoffs once again as he turns away from you, cleaning away the medical kit and disappearing for a moment into the same alcove from earlier. When he returns, he’s holding one of his own white shirts.

“Stealing is stealing.” The shirt lands in your lap and you stare at it a moment, unable to hide your surprise. “Just put it on.” His voice peaks with annoyance as he moves, lifting it and then helps you, pulling the sleeves over your arms so you don’t have to twist your body in a way that might cause your injury to bare its teeth once more.

He stands in front of you now, once again close, and his fingers start at the bottom, slipping the buttons through their buttonholes. You’re unable to look away from the sight. Slow, sure, beautifully sculpted hands. You clear your throat to dislodge the ball of heat that suddenly blossomed there.

“It isn’t a bad thing to steal when you’re helping those who would otherwise have nothing.” He’s at the part of your midsection that’s bandaged, careful as he pulls the material of the shirt together.

“A regular Robin Hood.” His fingers move higher, now closing the buttons directly under your chest. The light in the room feels faint and shadows lean over his shoulder, caress his face, curl up against his body. Only those eyes of his seem to burn as bright as if it were midday.

“Guess that makes you Nottingham?” He’s buttoning the shirt over your chest and suddenly the fingers aren’t quite as smooth in their movement. The buttons are jammed into the buttonholes, the only sign that he feels the way the office has slowly shrunk down to the space around the two of you. You wonder if he can feel the way your heart is roaring in your chest, loud as a rolling thunderstorm over the plains.

“Archenemies, are we?” His voice has never sounded quite like this, like the crackling of a fire right when it begins burning properly. His hands still when he reaches the top of the shirt. Despite how close you are he doesn’t step away. His gaze is locked with yours, holding you in place as surely as if you were handcuffed.

“I’m not your enemy.” The pain in your side is gone. A different kind of heat has begun stalking its way through your veins, swiping at your lungs and making it hard to catch your breath.

You have seen the sheriff in action. You’ve seen the cold, hard hammer of justice he wields come down on the deserving. You’ve seen the way he defends Rhodolite County, with whatever it takes, whatever means necessary. You’ve long suspected he’s maybe even enjoyed your run-ins with him, perhaps that he has known all along that you’ve been helping out the poor of the population and therefore he’s never truly come after you with the full force of his authority. You’ve seen him angry and resolved and thoughtful.

What you have never seen before is the way he’s looking at you now, with his eyes like sapphires on fire and his fingers awkwardly lingering on the last button of the shirt he's covered you with.

Aw, hell. What is a bandit if not someone who takes what they want?

And with that last thought, you reach up, curling your fingers into the crisp fabric of his own shirt, pulling him toward you. One second. Two. His lips don’t respond and the heat inside you suddenly shrinks back, curling in on itself. Did you just make a mistake that could land you behind bars for the night?

You start to release him, your fingers going slack, your body leaning back when he comes to life, and the response is overwhelming. His hands don’t seem to know where to go, traveling down your arms, then as he steps even closer, around your back, fingers pressing into you, staking their claim. And while his hands are traveling to their settlement, his mouth moves, suddenly greedy, possessive, demanding in a way that brings the heat in your veins roaring back to life as you hold on to his shoulders, almost dizzy with the rush of it all.

You don’t know what will happen when you two finally break apart, when one of you has the sense to break away from the unexpected cyclone of want that has temporarily displaced you both from the roles you usually play with one another.

But damned if you aren’t going to make the most of it.

Right here, right now.

🔹

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelieredux @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @ikehoe @redheadkittys @themysticalbeing @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing

#different universe same love ccc #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen chevalier #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #chevalier x reader #wild west au #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #yeehaw #violettwrites

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lackyghost · 11 months

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Four friends walk along the campus grounds of the renowned UA University in Musutafu, Japan. It’s a lovely summer day, the sun warm on their skin as they go, the breeze light and refreshing, carrying the scent of the flowers planted around the elaborate complex of buildings.

Bakugou Katsuki leads the small group by a handful of steps, his uniform jacket and bag alike slung over his shoulder, his spiky, pale blonde hair lightly tapping against it, having grown longer over the years. A few strands fan across his forehead, resting above his angular scarlet eyes.

To his left is Kirishima Eijirou, who is a little shorter than Katsuki, with bright dyed red hair spiked up toward the sky, a sleek undercut showing his black roots. His face holds a bright grin that shows off sharp teeth and lightly crinkles his warm crimson eyes.

On Katsuki’s other side is Sero Hanta, a tall, lanky man with black hair in a shaggy mullet. His black eyes hold a glint of mischief and humor as always, and he has one arm slung around the last man’s shoulders.

Kaminari Denki is the shortest of the four, with bright blonde hair perfectly styled to show off the black lightning bolt clip in his bangs. His copper eyes are as playful as Hanta’s, and he laughs as Hanta teases him about being so angry.

“Yeah, c’mon, man, you need to find a way to de-stress,” Denki teases.

“Shut up,” Katsuki snaps, his usual gruff retort, which just makes the other three laugh.

“Hey, they’re just lookin’ out for you, bro,” Eijirou says, skipping a step to fall in line next to Katsuki.

“Yeah, there’s no way it’s healthy to always be angry,” Hanta says.

“Or maybe you fucks are just impossible to relax around,” Katsuki growls out.

“Pfft, no way, we’re always inviting you to play video games and shit,” Denki says with a huff. “We get that you’re super macho and all, but you don’t need to be so growly.”

“Fuck off, I’m going home,” Katsuki says, clenching his jaw.

Eijirou throws an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, come on, just hang out with us, bro! You’re the manliest guy I know!”

“Stop fucking calling me that,” Katsuki says harshly, shoving his arm off as he storms away from them, slamming his feet down heavily as he veers off, shoulders hunched angrily.

“See ya, Baku-bro!” The three shout after him, and he flips them off over his shoulder.

He ignores the hurt building in his chest as he makes his way to the train station, standing as far from the other people as possible. His face is carefully twisted into his angriest scowl during the fifteen minute ride, and he doesn’t let it falter for the ten minute walk to his apartment building.

He storms up to the second floor and pulls his keys out, shoving them into the lock and harshly opening the door. He drops his bag and jacket beside the door and kicks his shoes off. He jams his feet into his slippers and walks to the living room, dropping his keys onto the coffee table.

He rounds the sofa, where his boyfriend sits, and he takes a moment to look at the man’s spiky white hair, his sharp jaw, face full of piercings, and bright turquoise eyes that soften into goo as he looks at Katsuki.

He opens his arms and Katsuki climbs onto his lap, slumping against him and tucking his face into Todoroki Touya’s neck. He takes in a deep breath, breathing in the man’s deep, musky scent, and releases it as his long arms wrap around him, holding him tight.

Touya presses a soft kiss to his head and keeps his voice low. “How was school?”

“Fucking awful,” Katsuki grumbles.

Touya hums as he rubs soothingly up and down the blonde’s back. “How about you take a shower and get dressed, and I’ll order in for dinner?”

Katsuki nods against his neck and leans back to give him a soft kiss before climbing off his lap and walking to the bedroom and into the attached bathroom of their single-bedroom apartment. He pulls his clothes off, dropping it all into the hamper, and turns the shower on.

He waits silently for it to heat up, and then stands beneath the spray. He grabs his usual orange loofah and squirts some rose-scented body wash onto it, wiping himself down from neck to toe. He grabs his face wash next, closing his eyes as he uses the buffing scrub all over his face and neck.

His hair is last, and he sighs as he scrubs at his scalp with the rose scented shampoo, feeling a little better with his hair length. He rinses that out and goes in with conditioner of the same aroma.

When he’s done rinsing that all off, he grabs his shave gel and lathers up one leg at a time to shave them, repeating under his arms, and he takes a moment to just soak in how soft his legs feel.

He grabs the shower head next, pulling it down and bending over so he can spray his ass, using his other hand to pull his cheek to the side so he can better clean himself out. With that done, he places the shower head back on the mount and turns the water off.

He grabs a towel and pats his hair and face down before moving to the rest of his body. He wraps it around his chest as he walks out into the bedroom, going right to the walk-in closet.

He turns the light on and goes to the back, beyond his dark colored shirts, and he reaches up to trail his fingers along the soft pastel skirts and dresses before choosing a soft baby pink silk dress. He brings it out to the bedroom, laying it out over the bed, and then he goes to the dresser and pulls out a pair of white lace panties and a matching bra.

He pats himself down with the towel again and then walks to the bathroom to put it in the hamper before walking back to the bed. He picks up the panties and lies back on the bed as he gets them around his ankles. He reaches down to his testicles, gently pressing them up inside of himself. He then pulls the panties further on, up to his thighs, and tucks his penis down before pulling the lace underwear on fully.

They’re soft and they make him feel sexy as he sits up, reaching for the bra. It has a little padding at the bottom and the wire beneath the cups help push his pecs up and together, giving him some decent cleavage.

He stands up and lifts the dress, sighing as he lets the silky material fall down over him, the buttery soft fabric laying across his body nicely. When he ties the strings around his waist, it cinches perfectly around his trim waist.

He already feels more like himself as he opens the bedroom door, stepping out and smiling when he sees Touya standing beside the couch, opening the steaming take-out containers. He looks up at Katsuki and grins as he sits down, patting the spot next to him.

“Reserved for my beautiful girlfriend,” Touya says.

Katsuki’s cheeks heat up, but it feels so right walking over to Touya, sitting next to him and curling up at his side. It had been terrifying when Katsuki had confessed that being a man has never felt right.

The unexpectedly considerate man had offered to use different pronouns to help try it out, and she loves him so much for that.

Touya hands her the container of katsudon and kisses her cheek. “I’ll help you out after we eat.”

Katsuki just hums her understanding as she lifts her chopsticks and starts to eat the pork and egg. There’s some older romantic comedy playing on the TV that she doesn’t really pay attention to. Touya eats his own food, slurping his soba and smacking his lips just to make Katsuki laugh softly.

Having always been a quick eater, Touya finishes his meal first and places his empty container on the coffee table before leaning back and wrapping his arm around Katsuki’s waist. He chuckles when he sees a bit of egg on his girlfriend’s cheek and he leans in to lick it off, which has the blonde blushing.

He grins at that, loving the way he can fluster his girlfriend. She does her best to ignore him as she eats, but she can’t help the sigh that passes her lips when he starts kissing down her neck.

“I’m done,” Katsuki murmurs, leaning away from Touya to place her empty bowl down.

“Finally,” Touya says, grabbing her chin and pulling her in for a kiss. “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful woman on the goddamn planet.”

Katsuki whines softly as she kisses him again, her long blonde lashes batting around her ruby red eyes. “Really?”

“Of course,” Touya says, kissing her chastely. “I brought my kit out.”

“Oh,” Katsuki says, leaning back. “Surprise me.”

Touya smirks and leans over the side of the couch to grab his small black zippered bag, the front of which has a little white skull. He opens it up and grabs out a bottle of black nail polish. He sets the bag down and rolls the bottle between his hands before opening it up and grabbing Katsuki’s left hand.

Touya is diligent in his strokes, each one perfect, somehow never messing up with the tiny brush. Katsuki will never get over how fucking good he is at this. She’d asked about it before, and Touya just blames the fact that he used to have makeovers with his little sister, Fuyumi.

Katsuki can’t help the way she smiles at Touya’s concentrated expression, a small crease in his brow, eyes intent as he uses a bright orange next, adding a perfect ‘X’ over his middle fingers and thumbs.

“I found some grenade nail art stickers online,” Touya says as he caps the orange nail polish. “They’ll be here next week.”

“You are the best fucking boyfriend,” Katsuki says and Touya smirks.

“I know,” he says simply, and Katsuki chuckles as she watches him zip the bag shut.

Katsuki takes the bag and drops it on the coffee table, and then pushes Touya to lie on his back. She settles between his legs, laying her head on his chest and sighing as she watches the movie.

Touya rubs his hands along her back and Katsuki melts against him, feeling nothing but warmth and love from the man underneath her. She snakes her hands under Touya’s waist to hold him like a teddy bear, which has a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“I love you, Princess,” Touya murmurs.

“Love you too, Metalface,” Katsuki says and Touya snorts.

Katsuki tilts her head to kiss her boyfriend’s clothed chest and Touya hums, his arms tightening around his girlfriend. Katsuki just smiles softly, knowing that she’s in her safe space.

With a deep inhale, she relaxes.

#my hero academia #dabibaku #dbbk #bakudabi #ao3 link #my hero fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #dabi x bakugou katsuki #mtf Bakugou Katsuki #Trans Bakugou Katsuki #Fluff

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umbra-by-jacqui-natla · 9 months

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Chapter Five

Eddie zoomed across the road of San Francisco on his motorcycle beneath the blue cloudless sunny sky. After journeying for about thirty minutes, he stopped his motorcycle in front of the MNBN building. Eddie got off his motorcycle and entered the large building. Upon walking in, Eddie's arms stretched open when he spotted a suited man at the receptionist's desk. He was a slightly overweight tan man with thin black hair and a black mustache and goatee.

"Hey, Richard!" Eddie greeted him loudly with a wide grin. "Lookin' good!"

"Eddie, you can't park there, bro," the man, Richard, said and his hand gestured to Eddie's motorcycle.

"Come on, man," Eddie shook his head and lowered his arms. There's no such thing as can't." He pointed at Richard." How'd she do?"

"Quinn's great," Richard replied. "Berkeley. Brown. MIT. She's got a scholarship, bro."

Eddie chuckled. "What'd I tell you?"

"You told me what?" Richard asked, seemingly confused.

"No such thing as can't."

Eddie walked to the right side of the building, heading to the elevator.

"Eddie, the bike," Richard sighed, pointing at the motorcycle.

"MIT! Whoo!" Eddie cheered and pressed the up arrow button.

The elevator door opened and Eddie ambled in. He pressed the button with the number '27' and the door slowly closed. It rose from the ground and he watched the light jump onto the number. He took a breath in, trying to stay calm as the number went up. Then, the light froze at 27 and a loud ping echoed through the elevator. The door opened and Eddie walked out of the elevator. His feet traveled to a black-varnished door with a white plaque on it, which read JACK CONROY HEAD OF MNBN.

Eddie knocked on the door.

"Come in," a deep voice announced and he opened the door.

Upon entering, Eddie saw a slim-suited black man sitting behind his desk. He had a pair of glasses on his square face and short black hair and a little goatee tail on his chin. The man lifted his face, his dark eyes moving away from his paperwork.

"Ah, Eddie," he greeted.

"Jack," Eddie responded to him and walked toward the desk.

"I see you're..." Jack looked at his watch and his lips released a 'tsk'. "Precisely two minutes late."

"Traffic." He explained to his boss.

Jack hummed and turned his chair around, looking at the windows where he saw buildings in his eye-view. "You know what I love about this view? It never gets old."

"Yeah, well, uh..." Eddie sighed and folded his arms. "Height's not really my thing. But, uh... What's the deal?"

"I got you the big one, exclusive," Jack began, turning his body back to him.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Carlton Drake."

This intrigued Eddie; he placed his hands in his pockets. "Carlton Drake?"

"The man's a visionary," Jack proceeded. "He wants to talk about his rockets, assure everyone they're safe, that the crash was an anomaly."

"Uh..." Eddie sounded unsure about his boss's deal. "He's... He's seriously off."

"I'm gonna level with you," Jack leaned his body forward. "Carlton Drake could buy us with his pocket cash, turn this building into his own garage if he so wished." He looked at Eddie with dark eyes sternly gazing up at him, his lips thin and his tone serious. "Now, you're just gonna ask him about his space program, you're gonna thank him, and you're gonna bid him a nice day."

Eddie shot his glances at his boss, his lips pursed and his body angled backward. "He's a crook," he concluded to himself and his voice was barely a whisper.

"Eddie," Jack calmly said, his voice slightly miffed and his body leaned back on his chair. "When you had nowhere to go, we gave you a home."

Eddie nodded, agreeing with him.

"Now, you know we love the Eddie Brock show. There isn't a better investigative reporter working today, but no one is above the network." Jack leaned himself forward once again. "So do me a favor, Eddie, don't start your shit again."

"All right, all right," Eddie softly said.

"For me," Jack sighed.

"All right," Eddie repeated loudly and with reluctant. "I'll do it."

"Great," his boss declared. "You'll go to the Life Foundation tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock sharp. I would come up with some good interview questions if I was you."

"You know the question ideas aren't the problems," Eddie chuckled.

"Hey, don't screw this up," Jack sternly reminded him and Eddie walked out of his office.

Eddie exhaled as he shut the door behind him.

"How the hell am I gonna get something out of him?" He whispered to himself.

He shook his head and walked straight to the elevator.

Further in the day, Carrie decided to go to a bookstore called Horton By The Books. She discovered that the store was just around the corner from where she lived. She thought about the two books from Sue and the Dawsons and decided to buy them. If she could. She took the money that Estelle left for her and headed to the store.

When she arrived at the store, Carrie was amazed by the entrance. It was embedded into the corner, circling against the bricked wall. A few books were displayed at the windows, and the stainless black wall made the store seem like it was brand new. With a quick breath in, Carrie walked into the store and saw various shelves of books: upstairs and downstairs. Her green eyes widened at the shelves, amazed at the store.

The store wasn't busy in comparison to the library: there were about thirteen people and three were employees. Carrie started exploring the store and searched for the two books.

Then, a beautiful woman - in her early twenties - walked to her. She had big hazel eyes, full lips, and thick black hair that reaches well past her shoulders. There were heavy eyeliner and dark eye shadows that accent her eyes. She wore a black vest top with a dark thin cardigan and black jeans and boots.

"Hello, welcome to Horton," she greeted Carrie with a smile. "I'm Hannah. Is there something I can help you with?"

Carrie blinked, completely bewildered by her offer (no one really offer me before) and quickly, she nodded.

"Yeah, um..." Carrie said and swallowed nervously. "Do you have... books about the Black Prom?"

"Oh," Hannah's cheery voice changed. "You're one of those people that like crimes, huh?"

"If you mean curious about it, then yes."

Hannah chuckled. "Sure, they're all in the non-fiction section right over there."

She pointed to the left side of the store, beside the history section. Carrie thanked Hannah and headed to the non-fiction section. She searched for the Black Prom books and spotted the My Name is Susan Snell memoir and We Survived the Black Prom.

Carrie took the two books off the shelves and then her eyes caught on a book cover with two images of fiery infernos with blackness in the middle. The book was titled The Shadow Exploded by David R. Congress. The title was in bright yellow with the author's name in white. In addition, there were white small writings that read 'Documented Facts and Specific Conclusions Derived From The Case of Carietta White'. Curious yet scared, Carrie took the book off the shelves and headed to the checkout counter.

There was no one there.

She waited for a few seconds until Hannah came over. A pleasant smile returned to her tan face.

"Hi, again," Hannah said and Carrie smiled at her. She took the books and scanned them one by one. "You have everything you're looking for?"

"Yeah, I have," Carrie shyly replied.

"Awesome," Hannah said and placed the books in the bag. She looked at the cash register. "And your total is $23.16."

Carrie gave her a $25 bill and received a charge of $1.84. She thanked Hannah before leaving Horton. On her way out, she took out Sue's book and opened it to its first page.

PREFACE

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐭, 𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐭 - 𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 - 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐚𝐭, 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: 𝐖𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬.

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧 (𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐄𝐰𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡) 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.

Carrie turned the page. But before she could read the next page, Carrie bumped into something hard and fell. Her book fell out from her hand as she landed on her back, her bag landing beside her. Carrie groaned and her elbows pressed into the concrete floor.

"Ah, I'm sorry," a male voice spoke to her. "I didn't see you there."

"Oh, uh, um," Carrie stuttered and rubbed her forehead. "N-no. I wasn't paying attention."

She looked up and saw a light-skinned man with short black hair; she stared at his blue eyes. He had on a black leather jacket, a dark blue T-shirt, and denim jeans. He also had dark boots on his feet. She also spotted an engagement ring on his left finger. Carrie swallowed hard as a wave of dread washed over her. She had bumped into the man. She looked at the ground, wishing that the earth could swallow her up. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She was utterly embarrassed as he stretched his hand out to her.

Carrie tilted her head, confused by the man's seemingly friendly gesture. She looked straight into his eyes and

(oh man, i hope she didn't fall that hard. should i take her hand or)

Her hand reached out to him and grabbed his hand. The man pulled her up from the ground and Carrie brushed her arms. He knelt and picked up her bag and book. He scanned the book and handed it back to her.

"That's an interesting read," he said to her.

"Y-Yeah," she said and grabbed it off him. "I started reading this."

"I've actually done a news piece about this," he added and pointed to the memoir and the Dawsons. "I interviewed them."

"And... what are you? A journalist?"

"An investigating journalist, actually," he said, placing his hands in his pockets. "I have my own news channel: The Eddie Brock Report."

Carrie smiled. "And I'm assuming that's your name too."

He smirked. "Yep. Eddie Brock," he introduced himself with his left hand out to her. "Not 'The Eddie Brock Report'; that would be a mouthful.”

She laughed and Eddie laughed with her.

"I'm..." she paused as she slowly led her left hand towards him. She knew she can't use her real name. Then, she thought of a name and shook his hand. "Carrie Horan."

Eddie sighed and they released their hands. "I'm glad you remembered your name. I was worrying that bump must have erased some memories."

Carrie nodded. If only it was that easy, she thought. "I better get going."

"Oh, yeah," Eddie agreed. "I might see you around."

"Maybe," she said and walked past him, her hands clenching her bag and book, and hurried back home.

(that was close. too close)

Link to Chapter Six

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princematcha · 2 years

Text

tall buildings blinking to airplanes in the snow

pro-hero!bakugou k. x reader (no pronouns)

wc: 10k

cw: friends 2 lovers, not in chronological order, inaccurate train schedules for plot, a single free willy joke, sections titled in latin because i suck i guess idk, unnamed american hero, an oc sidekick, sfw, not beta-read, reader is shorter than bkg no matter how tall you are, mutual pining, a fake manga, reader gets called pretty, reader has a quirk, fluff

tw: mild violence, blood mention, fight-related injuries, knives, cursing, alcohol, reader self deprecates a lil bit, mild hurt/comfort, slice of life

a/n: happy birthday @strawberry-nugget !!!(this is so late help) this 1 is for my co-owner of a brain cell, sweetest strawb kith kith

soundtrack. (not necessary but what i wrote to. songs can be listened to in any order.)

summary: what makes a home change? love. at least bakugou thinks so.

MDNI

nunc, hiems

(now) “I think we used to talk like that.”

Bakugou hums at you, eyes closed and head resting on your shoulder. You weren’t able to go to sleep and he woke from the lack of warmth from where you usually are. He doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “It’s so bright for two am. The sky is white ‘ki,” you whisper.

“Cause,” he opens his eyes one at a time, “S cause it’s snowing.”

“I know.” You laugh quietly like you’ll wake someone, “Just thought it looked nice.”

“Does,” he breathes.

Fake yawning, you raise a hand to your mouth, “Think I’m getting tired now.” Bakugou blinks his eyes open to sleepily glare at you trying not to smile.

He speaks into your shoulder, “Don’ lie. ‘M not even tired.” Your smile breaks through, warming him from head to toe.

“I’ll bet.” You say softly, shifting his head to your fuzzy blanket-covered lap. He pouts up at you but doesn’t try to move.

“Fuck am I doing down here?” You brush his hair out of his eyes as you rotate your shoulder in small circles, pretending to wince.

“Your big head was hurting my shoulder.”

“You love my big head.” You poke your tongue at him and push his grinning face.

You cover his eyes with your hands, “Go to sleep, freak.”

Katsuki stops moving after a bit and you assume he’s fallen asleep until he asks what you meant earlier. You’re not quite sure what he means— having chosen to spend the last few minutes tracing his features, gently humming random songs that blended into one another.

“The ‘used to talk like that.’ What wer’ ya lookin’ at?” He shifts again to look up at you through one eye.

You bite back the urge to laugh at his sleepy tongue, instead, bending over to gently headbutt him. He grabs the back of your head to keep your foreheads together.

“Something about how the lights let the airplanes know where it’s safe. Let them know where they can land.” You can feel his eyelashes brushing against your cheek with every blink.

“Doesn’t make shit sense.”

You huff and sit up. “You don’t make shit sense. Sleep already.”

“Ya wanna know what I think we talk like?” Bakugou asks as he places a rough palm on your cheek. A dark white sky and city lights give him a softened glow.

“No.” He grunts a laugh, eyes almost closed and a tired arm starting to rest on you.

“I think we always talked like this. Not a fuckin’ plane. Hate planes, so much prettier than a plane.”

You grab his wrist and press your lips to his palm, smiling against his hand when he hums at you.

“Pretty sure they use radios too,” he adds with a smirk. You bite his palm in response.

“Hope your snores wake you up.”

Katsuki turns to face your stomach and grumbles love you into your thigh.

duodēvīgintī, vernus (II)

(18) “And you! How does it feel to be a pro-hero, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight-san?” You ask, an air mic pointed towards Bakugou and wiggling your eyebrows around when you say pro-hero. On your right, Denki starts cackling at hearing the full name and smacks your back just a touch too hard. You’re wheezing and shoving him out of the booth when you hear Bakugou say “Great.”

A couple of hours ago, the legendary class of 1-A graduated. Now they’re all shoved in a ramen shop that definitely isn’t meant to have this many people. They had all been coming to your dad’s place since their first year even after it was destroyed that same year. You don’t know much about what happened then honestly, you didn’t come to Japan from your tiny out-of-the-loop town until you were most of the way through your second year, but you can find it in their faces sometimes. Plus you can see how the paparazzi treat the class, how fanatics forget they’re people.

You make it your secret hero mission to have a place that they can come– and they eat here fairly often– where they can come and be whatever. The hero class if they want, you wait for them to give you a sign that they want to talk about recent hero-related achievements. But they usually come to the small place to just be.

You can feel Bakugou’s red eyes on you and Denki, it makes a weird feeling stir in your spine. You’re not sure why he’s still looking. He’s been doing that more than usual.

(A wet winter night forces its way to the front of your brain, but you push the thought down as quickly as it appears. Too cold. Too damp. Too dark for today.)

The sun is setting when the former UA students start shuffling out of the ramen shop. Teary hugs with the friends you made from the school, promises of seeing each other later. You know they mean it with their whole heart, but you doubt hero work will give them enough downtime to spend with some civilian in a tiny place they frequented in high school. Still, you smile and hold each promise with trusting hands, letting the feeling drop lead weights into your chest.

Mina’s hand is sliding off of your lower back when you notice Bakugou hasn’t moved from where he was standing next to the table. Maybe he left something? You don’t remember him bringing anything. The bell above the front door jingles as the last students leave, leaving him plus a couple of businessmen over by the tv.

“I’m leaving.”

You turn to him with a confused smile and laugh, “Well I’d hope so, can’t stay here for the night.” He doesn’t laugh. Bakugou just looks at you. His warm stare always makes you feel like he’s peeling layers off of you, leaving just the soft pulp out. You haven’t decided how you feel about that yet.

“No,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, “I’m going to America.” You feel your face tighten.

“Ah, that’s-” What is it. Why is he telling you? You probably would have found out through Sero or something. So why are you standing less than half of a metre away from Bakugou while he tells you he’s leaving the country. You can see his hands flexing in his pockets, how he’s rocking from heel to toe, and how he’s keeping his eyes on your face. The weird feeling in your spine is back. “That’s exciting!” you smile again. He only leans back a little and squints down at you, corners of his mouth pointed downwards.

“That all?” You tilt your head up at him, what else are you supposed to say? Does he want you to say something else? You don’t know. You don’t know what to say. (You don’t know what to say to him.)

The tight smile is faltering and the weight in your chest is making you feel heavy. You lower yourself into the booth. He sits across from you. “How long?” you ask. You don’t think Bakugou thinks you’re close, but he’s recently been a quiet comfort. Bakugou’s regular lack of response was a little off-putting at first but lately, they kinda remind you of the kind of silence you get around a campfire, the pause where everyone takes a moment to look at the stars.

“At least a year and a half.” He sighs and rests his chin against his palm, “They fuckin- They- You-” You give a blank stare in response, confused at what he’s trying to say. Bakugou grimaces at himself then continues, “They care. About you. And they do wanna see you. And they’re going to try.” The words are sweet, but it looks like someone is ripping them out of his stomach.

“Thanks?”

He furrows his eyebrows at you and sighs again. This talk is taking a lot of wind out of him. He crosses his arms, “I could just fuckin’ hear how sad your dumb thoughts were getting when all of the extras were leaving.”

“I don’t know if I’d call th-”

Bakugou looks away for a moment before cutting you off, “The thoughts are dumb because they aren’t true.” Oh. “You don’t suck to be around,” a compliment you assume, “And you’re not lame, so don’t have lame thoughts.” You scrunch your face up and try not to laugh (or cry).

“Lame?” You ask, he folds his arms tighter around him and starts to glower at you as his life depended on it. “Are you sure you graduated high school? Not middle school?” You laugh, bringing a hand up to your mouth to hold back from fully smiling.

“I am trying to f-”

“I’m kidding,” you watch the building frustration slowly melt out of him, puffed out chest moving back, “Thank you Bakugou. Mean it.” He finally rolls his eyes, his forearms moving to rest on the table.

“Whatever.”

You stand up suddenly and his red irises dart up to you, clearly confused but you’ve already set a plan in motion. Bakugou’s eyes are slowly widening and he’s leaning towards you even though he keeps clenching his hands then rubbing them on his slacks.

To catch him off guard you lunge towards him with open arms and hug him as tight as you can, his arms stuck to his sides.

(You did notice him look down at your lips twice, but he was probably figuring out the easiest way to push your face away if you pulled anything unsavory.)

“I’m going to miss you too, won’t have a metro buddy,” you rumble into his shirt, feeling his fast heartbeat against your forehead.

He clicks his tongue and groans above you. “Just- Just be safe while I’m gone alright? Don’t be stupid.”

A tear soaks into the cloth of his button-up, “I promise. You too. Promise.”

“I promise.”

vīgintī ūnus, aestas

(21) An obnoxious attempt at a tune in the form of knocks erupts from Bakugou’s front door. Who the hell is at his apartment on a Wednesday night? Christ.

You, apparently.

He rubs an oil-covered hand on his forehead as you draw out the vowels of his name, “Bakugou!” He’s busy. His car isn’t in the garage so maybe you don’t know for sure if he’s home. There’s a silence and he thinks for a moment that you’ve left, then the door creaks from you leaning on it.

“I brought you your special.” That’s a compelling offer.

Bakugou isn’t nervous to see you alone. No, that would imply he’s been staying up much later than accustomed to thinking about your laugh and your face pressed against his heart hugging him goodbye for two and a half years. That he almost cried when he saw your smile mixed in with the people greeting him when he came back. That in his head he still hasn’t forgiven himself. That he has no idea how to act around you anymore. Bakugou hasn’t been holding off on a one-on-one reunion with you. He’s just been, busy.

You call through the door, “Hello?”

He presses his face hard against the wood before responding. “Extra pepper flakes?”

“Aha! Hello, yes!” Bakugou hears you do a weird laugh, “With even more spicy sh-”

He flings the door open before you can finish. You stumble over yourself from the violent action before swinging the bag of food away from him. Once you steady yourself, you point an accusing finger in his confused face. The fuck are you doing. He thinks about slamming the door.

You smile and wave before masking your face in faux seriousness and pointing at him again.

“Let me in or no food.”

The two of you hold eye contact for a couple of seconds before you break it to take in his state. Bakugou frowns a little more when he watches your face turn to one of fake surprise.

“Oh my god!” you gasp with wide eyes.

His hand tightens around the doorknob. “Fuck is your pro-“

You gesture towards his chest. “Is that a two day old shirt?”

Never mind, he doesn’t want you in his apartment.

“Go wash your hands, you’re covered in gauntlet juice.”

He shoots you a dirty look that you pretend not to notice. How you got into his kitchen is lost on him. You continue to arrange the containers and grab bowls, listening to him walk towards the bathroom and mutter about telling him what to do in his own home. Bakugou comes back to the table with a damp face and a new shirt. He watches you tap around on your phone, face changing when you type something new.

Chopsticks holding one slowly escaping noodle in your right hand, your left clumsily holding onto that brick of a phone case Bakugou sent you after you got a piece of broken phone screen stuck in your thumb. You speak before he can, “Just sit down and eat, I’ll be done in a sec.” He takes a deep breath, he can be normal around you. He’s organized his feelings.

Katsuki eats quietly for a few minutes, hunched over the table, at first thinking about the graveyard patrol shift he has later, thoughts slowly dissolving into whether or not he left a sock in his gym locker. Between bites and thoughts of missing articles, he does take in you. The haphazard eating, the hair that consistently almost falls into your food, whispering to yourself what you say before you type, and you looking at him when he’s facing his ramen.

You toss your phone on the table, bringing his attention up to your smiling face. He squints at you.

“What.” He spits, bringing the spoon away from his face. You snort.

“I can’t just smile at a friend?” you ask, swirling your udon around its bowl.

He looks back down at his food and pops a fishcake in his cheek, “No.”

You laugh and though the broth is still in his spoon, a warmth spreads through his chest. What the fuck. He shoves more ramen in his mouth to shoo away the feeling. Maybe you poisoned him.

Fixing his chopsticks to the edge of the bowl, he sits straighter and makes a decision. He doesn’t know if his heart will survive, but he wants to hear it at least once before he dies, “You know you can cut it out with the Bakugou.”

You stare up at him with noodles hanging out of your mouth, “What else am I supposed to call you?” You say between bites.

His hand clenches underneath the table and he almost hits himself for being nervous about this, “Katsuki.”

Your eyes widen slightly and drop down to your soup before peeking up at him again. After swallowing you smile and give him a thumb up, food in the side of your mouth, “Sounds good, Katsuki.”

It’s past midnight when he hears you start to pack up your things. Two and a half movies ago you wrestled him onto the couch talking about how you wanted to watch some dumb series. Bakugou fell asleep in the first ten minutes of the second movie.

He dreamt about you in a flower-covered field. You kissed his hands and scattered petals in his hair. You spoke of elves and long battles. You also talked about how he might call you stupid but you have eyes and anyone can see that he needs to take a break, not even a vacation but to just sit down and breathe. How you want to see him cry from laughter just once because it's been so long since the last time. You missed him.

He feels you pull a blanket further up his body and pat his head twice. “Nighty night Dynamight.” You shut the door softly behind you.

undevīgintī, autumnus

(19) Bakugou stopped answering your messages. That’s subjective. If you don’t consider a one-word reply after days of no response as answering, then he hasn’t replied to you in a while. You knew it was going to happen, even if he didn’t go off to America. You’re sure it’s not a you thing, but a tiny part of you wonders if it is. If something about you drove him away.

It would be harder to not drift apart, the larger parts of you reason; hero work takes your time, your mind, and your body. Bakugou is a great hero, wants to be an even better one. And Bakugou puts his whole heart into what he wants.

When he first started responding less, you imagined him on a secret mission, filled with espionage and secret identities. That’s why he couldn't answer. He’s not. Kirishima told you he’s just getting experience in another country, that an American agency practically begged the explosion hero to join. You think Bakugou added the begging part.

You thought your conversations with him were nice. Something to look forward to. You were sure you got closer to the grump when he was on the other side of the world. It started with just texting him every time you hopped on the metro, just to steal some of his spare safety. You don’t know when it happened, but one day you realized that Bakugou provided you a comfort that you didn’t get from your new four walls in Yokohama.

Bakugou was the first person you’d message when something exciting happened. He’d tell you about his patrol, a picture or two of the pets he saw. If he was feeling generous, he’d send you a picture of what he had cooked, maybe even attach a recipe. Sometimes he’d add little personal notes to the recipe or call you so you could get it perfectly. You’d both greet each other good morning and goodnight no matter what time it was. And now he doesn’t even have the grace to have read receipts on.

Throwing your phone onto your bed, you let yourself melt into the floor. You imagine the hardwood bubbling up and creeping its way over your skin, slowly bringing you into its hold. But it’s not, and you’re laying on the uncomfortable floor while your friends are out there every day doing something. Even if they’re not big heroes. It’s something. They’re something.

Red and brown leaves float through the air and tap your second-story windows. The shadows laying across the wall parallel to your windows let you know the sun is about to set. Mina invited you to a get-together, “Everyone’s gonna be there!” she sent. You’re not a hero. You’re not even support.

You feel like your old friends can smell your melancholy in the water like sharks. Well-intentioned sharks. The past month they’ve been very particular about getting you out when you only have the energy to burrow further into your bed. It makes you feel pathetic knowing that they’re accomplishing things in their lives and you’re some sad shape moving through days. You feel like a leech, you can’t think of something you bring to the table.

A text rings off of your phone.

It’s Mina again. “I’m outside!”

You find yourself in a bar with your forehead on the tacky wood, five empty shot glasses in front of you, and a hollow burn in your throat. They didn’t have as much of an effect on you as they clearly did on your friends. At most, you can feel a small floaty feeling in your bones, small puffs of helium in your joints.

People from the former classes of 1A and 1B are making their rounds around the place, occasionally making small talk with you before it dwindles and they get swept into something bigger (better too.)

You feel lost, like an alien on another planet. They’re not even talking about hero shit anymore and you can barely understand them. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to talk, tripping over simple conversation and giving weird grimaces when people smile at you. You shouldn’t have come, you have no idea what’s wrong with you.

Pushing yen towards the bartender you start to stand up, then two hands plop you back into your chair. Looking at your shoulders, you see one pink one and one with black chipped nail polish. “Where are you going?” Mina pouts on your right, face squished against yours and a nose-burning mix of drinks radiating from her mouth.

“I haven’t even shown you my new dance moves,” Denki squishes his cheek against your other cheek, “They’re pretty sexy.” If you weren’t so set on sitting on the floor of your shower once you got home you might have gone dancing with him.

Rubbing both of their cheeks you sigh and stare at your phone on the bar top, “I’m tired, I had a really good time though.” Denki whines and Mina falls to your lap, your hands still on their heads. The bar is lukewarm and you think the dancefloor would cook you right now. You’re tired, you smell like other people’s sweat, and you can’t remember the last time you drank water today.

You press harder against Denki and pinch Mina’s cheek, pushing their eyes away from your face, “One more.”

One more becomes the bar on its side and the two of them on the dance floor. The world moves like half-melted jell-o and your face is wet. You think you spilled something on yourself or you were crying. It’s so hot in this bar. You wish you were home.

Sliding off of the bar stool, you set your eyes on the front door. If you don’t let the lights distract you, you think you can make it. Something gets into your eye and you squeeze your eyes shut to get it out, when you open your eyes again, you’re outside. The midnight autumn air on your sweaty skin takes some of the spin away from your vision. You feel dirty all the way to your bones and you can’t even recognize how you smell. You want home.

Grabbing at yourself until your phone ends up in your hand, you tap around to call home. You hope he picks up.

A gravelly voice picks up after three rings, a tired tone asking your name. It sounds prettier than the stars you could’ve seen from here if there wasn’t light pollution.

“Hi Bakugou,” you reply in a small voice. There’s a silence, you weren’t expecting anything out of this. You thought you’d air your heart out to voicemail. The rhythmic, methodical sound of beeps in the background sobers you. “Are you- are you in the hospital?”

“Ah yeah,” you can hear rustling, the creaking of his hospital bed, “Why’re you awake?”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt instead of answering. He goes to ask what you’re talking about and earlier today you would have shut up to hear his voice, but the liquid burning down your throat and sitting in your gut urges you to speak. “I know I’m a lot, I didn’t mean to be so much. I just,” water hits your collar bone but when you look around it isn’t raining, “I think I got so comfortable with you. I thought you were too. You’re really- I really-” You hiccup and all you can hear is Bakugou’s breathing and the fast beeps of the monitor.

He says your name again and you remember you were talking about something, “I really like having you in my life, you’re important to me. If you come back I promise I’ll be less this time.”

A sigh replies, he’s finally had enough of you. Should you hang up to beat him to it? “’M sorry,” he says.

“What?” It’s your fault, why is he apologizing?

Bakugou cough-laughs into the mic and the sound makes you wince, “I was bein’ awful to you and you’re saying sorry? Thought you promised not to be stupid.” The night streets in front of you get blurry the more he speaks, “Never promise someone you’ll be less, tiny. That’s a bad fuckin’ deal. Be all of you all of the goddamn time. I was bein’ an ass n’ it’s not your fault.”

“But,” you argue.

“No ‘buts.’”

You wipe your face and nod, “Okay.”

He tells you about his time in the hospital, the earth-shaking villain that got him in there, and the “goddamn yeehawin’” patrol partner. You slowly sober up outside, a group of girls having come by and gave you a water bottle from one of their purses because “bad bitches stay hydrated.” Bakugou doesn’t mention why he started ignoring you, but he repeated that he’s sorry. That the dinners he made aren’t worth mentioning and didn’t even taste like anything without your shared input on it. He says you have him back now, and you couldn’t get rid of him if you tried.

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up to the night air.

“Cross my heart, peach.” His voice quiets as tests the new name on his tongue.

“Peach?”

“Trying something, ya hate it, runt?”

New tears fall as you laugh and sniffle into the phone, “It’s sweet. Better than runt.”

You wake up the next day with your stomach ready to kill you and a good morning text on your phone.

septendecim, hiems

(17) God, he’s glad he got the fuck out of that stuffy ass room. Bakugou felt like his life was being drained the longer he spent with his parents' friends' New Years’ Party. He never even wanted to go in the first place.

His loafers sink into the crisp snow, biting winter air swirling around his ankles and over his nose, gloved hands shoved tightly into his pockets. So fuckin cold. In a rush, he forgot to grab his hat, fresh snowflakes being dusted into his spikes and melting the closer they were to his scalp.

When Bakugou heard they needed more ice, he slipped out with a yell as quickly as he could, ignoring them saying that they had an ice machine in their freezer. Ahead the humming glow of a konbini’s neon lights lay flashing red and blue onto the surrounding snow. The sensor above the door chimes as he walks in, tapping his shoes off before the attendant can greet him.

In his head he looks a little stupid, scarf pulled halfway up his reddened face from the cold, insulated jacket making him brush against every item he passes by, and loafers. Making his way to the glass doors in the back, the sensor rings again. He can hear their teeth chattering from the other side of the store. Pussy.

The attendant greets the person while he’s looking at the different brands, spending as much time as possible to not be in the stuffy house. When the customer responds Bakugou freezes and squints at the ice. He knows that voice. You, old man’s kid from the ramen spot. He’s seen you around when the idiots drag him to shit on weekends. The hell are you doing here? Your shop’s on the other side of town. If you recognize him, he might ask.

Turning around, the ice bags in hand Bakugou feels something run directly into his chest, then the sound of falling bags and plastic. He realizes it’s you when you squeak and duck down to pick your goods. You look up to apologize and he watches the slow recognition in your eyes as you remember who he is.

“Oh! Explosion Murder, right?” Your hand is hovering over another bag and Bakugou frowns at your shorthand version of his hero name. At least say the whole thing.

You don’t have a basket and the snacks keep falling out of your arms when you go to pick up the already fallen snacks, creating a crinkly, annoying cycle. He grabs the ones already on the ground in his free hand, “Bakugou. Why are you here tiny?”

“Wha- Ti- Why am I here?” You frown up at him, he finds a specific pleasure in this reaction, “I’m here for this.” You hold up one of the bags in your hold, the labeling isn’t in kanji. “This is like, the only konbini in Japan that has this, used to have it all the time at home.”

“Huh.”

You laugh over your shoulder as you start walking back towards the front, “Yeah.”

He forgot you were a foreigner. Do you miss it? You haven’t been here for that long if he remembers right, what was it like back home for you? Do you not consider your house in Japan home yet? You have your dad here. Bakugou has only known Japan, having lived in Musutafu his whole life. He wonders how long it takes to make a place home. What makes it change.

“I might have a quirk Bakugou, but it sure as hell isn’t mind-reading.” Fuck he was just staring at the bags in his arms. The ice bag’s condensation drips onto the linoleum. You laugh when he finally realizes that there’s a small puddle creeping towards his shoe.

He grabs new ice bags and walks briskly past you towards the register, “Fuck off.”

“On it.”

While the cashier checks out your snacks, Bakugou glances at you looking for your wallet in your pockets. Your puffy jacket won’t let you bring your arms completely to your sides, melting snow in your hair, your earmuffs somewhat crooked on your head, sweatpants haphazardly stuffed into snow boots. “What’s home like?”

He didn’t expect himself to ask and evidently neither did you. You pause and look up at him, when he bares his teeth in response you grin and start looking for your wallet again. “It’s… nice. I miss it some days. Japan’s nice too,” you snap gloved fingers when you find your wallet, “There’s just something about home though ya know?”

He guesses. Bakugou shrugs, tossing your food into a reusable grocery bag he keeps in his pockets. He puts his ice bags on the counter, still holding your groceries, “‘ve only lived here,” he hands the cashier more yen than necessary, nodding when they say Happy New Year, “What else?”

When you push the front door open, you look back at him. “What else?” you repeat with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah, what else-” he pushes your back forward, “Don't look at me like that I just don’t want to go back to my parents' shitty party.”

“Oh,” you smile at him and he feels a little sweat cover his body, “well if you insist.”

He listens to you talk about your family and life back home until your path to the metro branches off from his. You told him “see you next year!” and it took everything in Bakugou not to throw the ice at you.

The walk back to the penthouse feels colder than before. Did the temperature drop while he was out? A deeper cold sets into Bakugou that he can’t shake, nudging his face deeper into his scarf and jogging towards the party. He still has a cold feeling in his stomach when he steps into the heated air of the lobby, the warm elevator, even in front of the door at the penthouse. Mitsuki buzzes him in and is in the middle of asking “what took you so damn lo-” before he cuts her off.

“I forgot something,” Bakugou says quickly and drops the ice bags on the welcome mat, and runs back to the elevators. The lift isn’t going fast enough when he’s going down, thumb repeatedly jamming into the lobby button. He doesn’t know why he’s going back, but something in his bones feels off. If he’s wrong and your stupid face is on that shitty train, then he’s wrong. But something in him just needs to check.

Running in loafers on snow-covered cement isn’t the easiest thing in the world, but he’s about to be a pro hero, if he can’t do this he should drop out of the class. Bakugou thought the running would warm his hands enough to make him sweat, but there’s not nearly as much as he hoped there would be. The cold is biting and it’s making his eyes water, the front of his hair is starting to be weighed down by snow and his nose feels like it’s about to fall off. God he hates you right now, he can’t tell if he’d rather you be in danger so he didn’t run for nothing, or you safe and on the train.

He spots the lights of the raised platform and guns harder. His hand is on the railing of the stairs when he hears a scuffle and a cut-off scream nearby. Bakugou whips around and bolts towards where he heard the noise– an alley right next to the station.

When he gets to the opening his heart freezes in his chest. His heartbeats are ringing throughout his entire body, everything feels so loud and so quiet at once. Dirty snow and your dumb snacks that you needed to get so late at night cover the ground. Someone’s standing over you, holding you up by the collar of your shirt with a knife at your neck. He can’t hear what they’re saying but he can see you crying. That sight wakes his body up.

You don’t see him when he lunges towards the knife, elbow pointed towards the fucker’s face. It’s a messy fight after that, his brain hazy from the cold and the adrenaline. He knows he can barely use his quirk, just him against some shit for brains villain. The fight isn’t fluid in his mind, only meeting him at certain moments. He’s on the ground, then he’s standing over them, feeling the slice of a blade in his side. Bakugou hears you fall with a groan into some trash bags when his fist makes contact with their ribs. They pull another knife out right before he knocks them the fuck out, knicking his cheek before they go down. He turns back to check on you, shaking and covered in fresh snow.

He doesn’t know what to do now, mind filled with snow and ice. You look up at him with a tear-covered face and a busted wobbling bottom lip. “How-” he starts, and you rush up from the ground and dart towards him. Bakugou’s arms hang loosely at his sides as you wrap yourself around his torso, shivering against him.

What happened? He has so many questions, instead of asking he rests his arms on your shoulders as you both slowly crumble towards the ground. Your face is tucked against his scarf and he can hear you whispering thank you repeatedly into the fabric. Sitting next to each other on the bagged waste, you hold him so tightly he can barely breathe. As the adrenaline from the fight starts to wear off, he can feel his body. His left glove is missing and his hand is bleeding (probably his right as well), he thinks he at least bruised a few ribs, his back is wet from getting kicked onto the ground. He keeps thinking about how the shitbag didn’t have a quirk. Bakugou doesn’t know what he would’ve done if they did. He knows he’d find a way to win.

The shitbag. His eyes shoot over; still knocked out, okay. A belated thought about arresting them ambles through his mind. Hot blood runs down his cheek as he fumbles around his pocket looking for his phone. When he takes it out, there is an uncountable amount of missed calls from his parents. It’s 23:49. How long has he been out here. Blood and snow smear on his phone as he clumsily taps his thumb around to call the police.

While the phone is connecting to the line he looks down at you. God, you look fucking freezing. He wraps his sore arm as best he can around you. He should’ve just walked with you to the dumb fucking station. How long were you hoping someone would come by? When you cough he looks back at you, fuck why is it taking so long to connect, and you open your mouth to speak.

“I-I’m sorry,” your teeth chatter through every word, tears welling up in your eyes again.

“Don’t b- It’s not your fault they’re a piece of shit. You shouldn’t have come out here, you should’ve just fuckin’ waited.” He knows he’s speaking meaner than he intends to but he’s so fucking cold and he almost got his ass handed to him by some giant crook.

“I’m-”

Bakugou’s eyes cut down to yours, phone pressed steadily against his ear, “Don’t you dare say sorry again. You don’t have to give me that crap just fucking promise not to be stupid.”

Your bottom lip stops shaking as much when you pause to look at him, the space between your brows creased. “Not stupid?” you blink and lick the blood off of your bottom lip, “I ah, I promise.”

“Holdin ya’ to it.” Bakugou glares at the wall parallel to him as he hears someone pick up the phone, immediately barking the address before they can say hello. He has to repeat it and he feels your tight hold loosen. For a moment part of him thinks you’ve died even though he’s the one that got stabbed, but he calms when he hears your steadier breathing. One glance tells him that you’re less afraid now, eyes no longer glossy and petrified.

When the dispatcher tells him services are on the way, his arm falls and he lets himself groan into the freezing night air. Frosty puffs of air leave both of you, all adrenaline gone now, left with injuries and a knocked-out villain a couple feet away from you. Waiting in the cold winter air.

Fireworks pop from all around, jolting both of you out of the icy daze that had settled over you before noticing the colorful bursts of light filling the sky. Bakugou sinks back into the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He feels you shift a little closer to him, your face moving further into his scarf.

“Happy New Year’s Bakugou,” you mutter against him, voice muffled. The moment the words leave your mouth and meet his neck, the events of the night finally fall on Bakugou. It started with his shoulders shaking, building to him laughing the hardest he thinks he ever has, even harder when your confused eyes peek out of the scarf. His side hurts, his cheeks are sore, and in the back of his mind, he can feel you brushing his tears off of his face. What a crap New Years’.

“Shit,” he wheezes,“-yeah. Happy New Year’s tiny.” Kneeing your leg when you pinch him, eyelids heavy with the lullaby of your breathing and approaching sirens.

duodēvīgintī, vernus (I)

(18) Confetti and tinsel fall into your hair as the last “explosion” of Bakugou’s birthday goes off. His unofficial official Bakusquad arranged a celebration at the top of a small mountain. A short hike that wouldn’t be too tiring (Mina didn’t want you to pass out in the middle of a hike meant for a hero class). People spent the entire party trying to smack their party hats onto the birthday boy, trying to get eighteen of the cones onto him. Somehow they got him to agree not to blast any of them away during their attempts, Denki said something about a bet, but the almost-smile on Bakugou’s face tells you he probably would have let them anyway.

When the air starts to chill, everyone begins packing up and cleaning the debris from the explosions. Mina announced with a proud grin that the confetti was biodegradable, but when Tsu asked about the tinsel her face fell and she shooed her girlfriend away.

The thin pieces of shiny plastic weren’t cleaned off of the surrounding area until sunset, more than half of the attendees left already. By the time the rest of you reached the bottom of the trail, it was dusk. A sweet-smelling breeze drifting through branches, soft laughs of your friends behind you.

Ochako and Tsu are the first to leave from the remaining group, they offered you a ride home but you didn’t want to interrupt their date night. You stand to the side from everyone else while they talk about their different plans, everyone drawing out their goodbyes.

You told your dad you would just ride the metro home after Bakugou’s birthday, you assumed cleaning up would be done before sundown. It’s been a few months since it happened, but sometimes when a certain gust of wind would find its way into your chest, you’d feel that same freeze you felt in December. You like to think you’d handle things differently now, but you also thought that wouldn’t have happened to you in the first place.

Tightly gripping your phone and pepper spray in each pocket, you take a step towards the station.

“Hey!” You?

Looking back towards the group, Bakugou’s jogging towards you, tearing the multiple birthday hats off of him. “Stop fuckin laughin,” he grunts as the last cone’s string slaps his skin. He stops when he’s next to you, an expectant look in his eye.

“What,” you glance back towards your friends, all huddled and pretending they’re not looking at you.

He brings his hand to your back, a stiff index finger jabbing into your spine, “Get a move on runt,” sneering down at you when you yelp and smack his hand away, “You’re g’nna miss your damn train.”

You pinch his hand as he retracts it, “I was getting a move on, but you stopped me.” You turn back towards the sidewalk and notice Bakugou is walking in step with you. You look up at him, he’s canvassing the streets with his eyes, hands in his pockets, “What are you doing?”

“Fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

Tugging on your finger, you stare hard at the sidewalk ahead of you, “You don’t- hm. You don’t have to do that- this anymore, I’m good now.” For the past three and a half months Bakugou has been walking with you to the station whenever he’s around. You never asked him to, but it helps ease the fear more than anything. Today’s his birthday though and you don’t want him to feel like he has to protect you, especially today.

“This?” His steps slow, and you can feel him looking at you.

Twisting one of your rings around you nod, “Yeah, this. Like walking me. You don’t have to,” you pause and look up at him before looking at a streetlamp, “feel guilty I guess? You can just do whatever you want to do. Be free, Willy.” As you finish, Bakugou stops and faces you, an almost blank expression on his face.

He’s under the streetlight now, shadows and deep yellows carving precise lines into his face. Did he always look like this? Did he always look so— pretty? You stare into each other's eyes for a beat before he scoffs and flicks your forehead, continuing towards the station.

You trip over your feet to catch up to him, stumbling into pace with him. “Hey! I just said be free. Go do some birthday stuff,” you say as you elbow his arm.

“I woke up late, didn’t have enough time to do a morning run.” He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, his opened button up fluttering around with the wind.

“What?”

“Walking to the station,” Bakugou side-eyes you, “Cause I couldn’t do it this morning.”

You stare as hard as you can into the side of his face, “To replace an eight k run,” he frowns the tiniest bit and you sense he probably does more than eight k, “You’re taking a five-minute walk?”

“You got a problem with that?” he bites, but the intentioned harsh tone only results in a blooming smile from you.

“No,” you turn towards the sidewalk again, hiding your face.

“Good.” He bumps into you, “Not getting on that stink ass train though.”

undevīgintī, aestas

(19) Bakugou thinks he might be sick. His stomach’s been swimming for months, no actual symptoms yet, just filled with knots. In his chest, he has this ache. The physician at the agency said nothing’s wrong, probably just a little homesick. But it doesn’t feel like he just wants to go back to Japan. The feeling reminds him of you describing how you felt about your home. A little different though, he feels like he left something there. He doesn’t know what.

“Hot out, ain't it Dynamight?” A voice breaks him out of his thoughts, shaking him back into his patrolling body.

It’s nearing the end of summer, air thick and humid. He’s grateful on behalf of his quirk, but every other part of him wants to lay like a dead fish in front of an air conditioner. For professionalism’s sake he’s keeping his mask on, but the sweat running down his forehead is soaking it more than he’s comfortable. The support team here found a way for all of the sweat that soaks into his clothes to get moved to his gauntlets, still, his black compression tank top sticks to him like a second skin. He has never regretted his costume decisions until now.

He grunts in response to his patrol partner for the season, Ranger, whose hero name is inspired by some vigilante from the “wild, wild west.” Ranger looks and acts like he was stolen from a black-and-white Western and dropped into modern times. Even sounds like one, his words rounded and bouncy. His costume reminds Bakugou of a fucked up cowboy from the future; to which he doesn’t understand, Ranger’s quirk has nothing to do with cowboys or at least guns.

“Better get a wiggle on, don’t want big man skinnin’ our hides,” He laughs and smacks Bakugou on the back. Ranger taking long strides ahead of him, spurs clinking against the pavement.

Bakugou thinks he needs to practice more English.

At home, freshly showered and basking in the cool of the air conditioning, he’s ready to practice. He flops into the used couch of his apartment, the newest English volume of Aiko’s Love Club in hand. Reading through the pages, he starts to think about what to make for dinner. Last week you said something about trying unadon recipes, but every time you make it something is off. Bakugou hasn’t cooked eel in a bit, maybe he’ll try a recipe tonight. Show you how the best does it.

He thinks this is the volume where Masa finally realizes how she feels about Aiko, she’s been showing classic signs. Masa thinks about Aiko most hours of the day, associates Aiko with almost everything, goes out of her way to impress Aiko even if she “doesn’t actually care,” etc. Bakugou knows the build-up to a confession when he sees it.

He flicks to the next page and finds his predictions correct, Masa is stomping up to Aiko with a determined look in her eye. As she admits how she feels, the emotions raging in her chest, how she can’t get Aiko out of her mind, Bakugou feels his stomach drop lower and lower. Ah, shit.

He hurls the fifteen-dollar manga across his living room.

The nasty feeling in his stomach is worse when he knows the source. He feels warmth spill into his chest and through his veins when he even accidentally thinks of you, quickly turning to ash when he realizes what he’s doing.

Bakugou comes to a point after a week of keeping his same schedule with you and trying to kill the little dove in his chest with pure will. He came to America to be the best and he knows he wouldn’t have welcomed this feeling if he was in Japan. And he decided he’ll do what he does best, be a hero.

He throws himself in an unbearably hot, timeless void of wake up, work, eat, sleep. The only thing that lets him know that time is changing is the scruff growing in on his face where he would usually shave by now. Every day feels the same, dragging slowly but the weeks seem to pass with a blink. Bakugou assumed that if he took you out of his life, he'd think about you less. But he still has your number and he sees every text you send when you send it, his heart picking up when he hears a notification, hoping it's you. To try and ease the ache he’ll shoot a message back that's impossible to build more off of.

You’ve started calling him less– which should’ve made Bakugou feel freer, no more seeing your face pop up on his phone screen (a picture of you making the first recipe he ever sent), no more staring at his phone until your call goes away. But he doesn’t. He can’t tell if he never wants to hear from you again or if he wants to hear your voice until the universe crumbles.

The average patrol with Ranger consisted of many breaks, to no fault of either hero, but Ranger is weirdly popular in this city. Fans stop them every few blocks for a selfie with the American hero featuring a grumpy-looking Dynamight in the background. This time a group stopped the duo, taking longer than a usual stop was.

It’s a quiet day, only stopping a few pick-pockets, not even a small villain. The sounds of honking horns and chittering civilians fill the streets, an empty gap in the noise where there would be a bird or two overhead. As Ranger strikes another pose, Bakugou unlocks his phone. The screen shows the last app he used, opening your thread of messages to each other.

This was the first day you didn’t say good morning to Bakugou. It’s his fault, this is what he wanted. Still, he scrolled through your old texts as he got ready at dawn, eyes prickly. He finds himself a couple of months back thumb stuck on a picture of you at the beach. Your face taking up the left half of the screen, a blinded smile from the sun, Denki and Mina in the back with their usual stupid faces.

“(location: ichigo beach, shima) when u come back i am kidnapping u & taking u here!!! there’s even a trail and the view is incredible! don’t be stupid today :p”

He agrees, the view is incredible.

A hoot startles him from right next to his ear, “Oo! Pretty as a peach,” Ranger tries to expand the picture, but Bakugou swats his hand away, “See why you’re so homesick loverboy.”

“Not fuckin’ homesick,” he mutters, words coming off of his tongue jutted and short, “S’not like that.”

Ranger laughs when he shoves his phone into his pocket with red ears, “Sure goney, long as you’re both happy.”

His words make Bakugou freeze, staring at the pavement ahead of him. Is he happy? Are you? He doesn’t even have an inkling, he hasn’t asked. It’s not your fault that you make him think of warmth and home, and he’s been fighting every interaction with you on the defensive side of a nonexistent battle.

He doesn’t know why he was doing this anymore. He wants to know that you’re happy more than whatever he was trying to do. He thinks he might call you for dinner today.

Before Bakugou can respond, Ranger speaks into his earpiece, nodding towards him to tell him to pay attention to the radio in his ear. He only gets a warning of “-ake quirk,” the ground beneath his feet suddenly cracking and splintering like ice.

Nitroglycerin sweat meeting explosions saves him from the expanding fissure moving through the city, Ranger pulling the moisture from the air to propel him towards him. He presses his cowboy hat harder to his head, grinning at Bakugou, “Time to knock this chucklefuck into a cocked hat,” he hates all of the phrases Ranger uses, he just guesses what he means and hopes he’s right, “Gotta get you back to your pretty thing.”

Bakugou feels a flush rise over his arms and neck, his body heat rising even if the sweltering sun wasn’t beating down on him. Your pretty thing echoes in his head. His. “Shut your mouth,” he bites, already following the crevice in the ground so he doesn’t have to hear whatever Ranger has to say.

The villain was in the middle of the city, letting their quirk slowly build up in the faults all day. They announced it in a dramatic fashion, talking about the ins and outs of their abilities. It wasn’t too hard to work them into a corner.

“Heroes disgust me, the absolute decay of society. Cities are no better, rotting us all, it’s time we all go back from whence we came,” they cough, blood running down the side of their head. Behind them: their freshly made gorge; in front: Dynamight and Ranger.

The hero duo glances at each other for a second to make a plan, not seeing the villain lower their left hand to the broken street. When they look back, things are moving in slow motion and much too fast.

Right hand holding their bleeding middle, left glowing a glaring blue in full contact with the tarmac, the ground starting to ripple like water with them at the epicenter.

Bakugou springs into action quicker than Ranger, racing towards them to separate their hand from the ground. They scream when he blasts himself over them, kicking them into the street, using extra momentum to fly above the valley scraping through the city. The villain had used the last of their energy for the rippling ground, leaving them passed out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Bakugou pants once standing on steady ground. He closes his eyes as he catches his breath, thoughts of you filling his mind. His pretty thing. A small smile starts to grace his face, dropping when feeling unexpectedly cooler. Large shadows arching over the ground.

“Dynamight!” is the last thing he hears. Ranger rushing towards him and the side of a building much closer than it should be is the last thing he sees. You smiling on the beach is the last thing he thinks of.

vīgintī duo, autumnus

(22) “Where are we going?”

The train shifts back and forth as it barrels down the tracks, you lean further into Bakugou with every sway. “Be patient,” he repeats for the nth time, staring out the window. You thought maybe he’d be tired of you asking by now, but he doesn’t. He’s not tired of you.

An hour ago he called and asked if you were free, you replied that it’s 22:34 on a Thursday, what would you possibly be doing right now, and he said he’d be there in thirty minutes. You heard explosions in the distance fifteen minutes after he hung up. He landed sweaty on your balcony and now you’re on a train to somewhere. The train’s lights are lowered for sleeping passengers, the seat is probably half of its former cushioned glory, and the socks you shoved on are mismatching heights and colors. “Are you kidnapping me?” you ask, leaning against the window, burning the way the train track lights pass over his face into your memory.

Bakugou looks away from the window to meet your gaze, “Yeah, you scared peach?” His eyes run over your face, the way his plush red scarf is stuffed half-heartedly into your hoodie, how the heels of your sneakers are pressed to the insoles instead of you putting them on completely.

You pull your knees to your chest, chin rubbing against the worn fabric of your sweatpants. “Sure, why am I being kidnapped?” You grab his hands while he’s rubbing them together for warmth, placing them underneath your chin, cushioned between your knees and the bulk of your sweatshirt. “‘ts gross that they don’t use the heaters past 20:00,” you sigh, putting your hands under your knees.

His cheeks turn to a soft shade of pink watching you get comfortable and stare up at him with his palms pressed against each other under your face. “There was something I forgot to do on my calendar,” he eventually mutters, “Couldn’t go to sleep.”

You frown to fight your smile, “You’re forcing me on a midnight errand?”

“Something like that.”

You fall asleep for the rest of the hour-long ride, Bakugou leaning his head against yours once your breathing mellowed out.

“Oi, wake up.”

You groan as you blink your eyes open, sleep sitting heavy in your muscles, Bakugou’s hands pushing your knees. You bat his hands away, “Kats’ki knock t’off,” tongue removing unnecessary syllables. He snorts and pushes your face towards the window.

Ichigo beach.

It’s a clear sky, full moon rippling across the shallow waves, barely swaying grass telling you that it’s not a windy night, stars shining down at you. Staring out the window at the night view of the ocean, Bakugou admires your growing smile through your reflection in the glass. He wonders if you can tell he feels love moving through his body every time you smile. That he can feel his heart in his brain when you look at him. When you speak. You might be better off not knowing, he thinks, you would try to give him a heart attack on purpose.

Hopping off of the train into the salty air, your whole body wakes up. Rejuvenated by the sounds of waves washing up on the shore, you stretch and look up at Bakugou. You smile, “What now?”

“Midnight errand,” he says, pressing a warm hand to your back to nudge you forward.

“I know that, but what is it?”

He gives you his meanest smile of the night, you almost trip over your shoes at the sight of it, “Be patient.” The funny feeling races up your spine.

You smack his hand off of your back with a huff, “Fine.” And you follow him.

Walking down the short trail to shore, you let your shoes sink into the sand for a few metres before peeling your shoes and socks off, holding them in one hand. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly says, broad back facing you. The nonexistent eyes of the skull drawing on his hoodie are glaring down at you making your feet shift in the cold sand.

“You gonna throw me in the sea or something?” you joke, unsure of how to respond to the sudden apology.

He stops and you almost run your face square into his back, “Hate that I made you cry. You really forgive me for that?” Bakugou turns around and looks down at you. You’re much closer than you realized, the moon is behind him giving his silhouette a muted white glow. Shadows of his face are unbearably dramatic. “I wouldn’t forgive a dipshit for making you cry,” he finishes, his hands hovering over your arms.

You could laugh, the movement held back by the actual tinges of pain on his face. It’s been three years since he basically ghosted you for a few months, it’s almost impressive the way it has clearly been straining him. He apologized almost bi-monthly over the phone after having drinks with the other sidekicks all the way until he came back. You assumed you both got over it, he never mentioned it after he landed. You can’t remember everything you said. You were nearly blackout drunk on that call, sure there were separate instances where you cried but there’s no way he knows that.

“I forgave you, because you’re you,” you smile and grab his hand, both of yours fitting in his outstretched hand, “Even if you act like a dipshit sometimes.”

His eyes start to get shinier as he squeezes your hands, “That’s so fuckin’ stupid,” he presses his molars against each other, “you’re so fuckin’ stupid for that.”

“I’m so fuckin’ stupid?” You laugh and grab his jaw to relax it, “You’re stupid, what are we doing on the beach in the middle of the night? You’re usually home by now.”

Bakugou’s jaw loosens and he sighs, moving his face closer to yours. You freeze, your heartbeat thumping through your whole body as he presses his forehead to yours. He stares directly into your eyes and he’s all you can see. Soft exhales meeting yours, the waves crashing behind him, your hand in his.

“I am,” he says, “I am home.”

Katsuki lifts his hands to your face, cradling your cheeks, “Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

You nod and as his lips press to yours, you realize there’s nowhere you can think of as home but him.

ichigo for strawb ;P

#why do i keep making bkg read yuri??? because he’s me and i’m him goodnight #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #tw alcohol #tw violence #this fic is so long help me #matcha writes

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