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chokemeanakin · 4 years

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Anakin Skywalker x Sick gn Reader Being a Dipshit

Summary: Reader has a cold and Anakin takes care of her despite the fact that she literally goes looking for trouble

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Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711994

You’ve never truly hated yourself until this moment.

You’re a capable individual, you know this. Living in the Jedi’s world during an intergalactic war was no easy ride, and you’d come to adapt to their hectic way of life. Through trials and tribulations, no matter how dangerous, exhausting, or mentally scarring, you’d always managed to come out on top.

Except for now.

When you needed yourself the most, you really let yourself down.

Colossal screwup, you cursed yourself as your sweaty hand slid off the top of the pill bottle once again. Your fingers were red and rubbed raw from the indents on the lid. Useless idiot.

The strain from trying to pry the lid off the pill bottle made your sinuses clog up and your headache worsen. You squinted your eyes, shielding them from the harsh fluorescent lights as you sat in the corner of the bathroom and struggled.

For some reason, you had thought joining the Jedi on their quest to destroy the separatists and restore peace to the galaxy would come with a ‘never get sick’ card. You never saw Yoda take a day off for the sniffles.

Alas; here you were, curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, wrestling with a child-proof pill bottle. Anakin was just outside, probably listening to your failing attempt to self-medicate. You promised him you’d be back in a second, but it’s been more like 5 minutes and you were sure he’d barge in at any moment now.

“Y/n?” speak of the devil. “You okay in there?”

“Fine,” you grit your teeth, tugging on the top once again. The directions said pull up and twist. That’s what you were doing, so why wasn’t it working?

“You need help with anything?”

You narrowed your eyes at his tone. He was holding back laughter.

“No.”

“If you say so…”

You had about 20 seconds before he used his weird Jedi tricks to sneak his way past the locked door and find you in your pathetic predicament. Desperately, you attacked the lid-- twisting and turning, pushing and pulling. You balled up your shirt and used it for more grip, to no avail. Finally, as a last resort, you grabbed for the scissors you kept in the drawer under the sink. You raised it over your head and were just about to stab the bottle open with the blade when the door to the bathroom suddenly opened, and Anakin was catching your wrist in his hand. He gently took the scissors out of your grip, setting them on the counter out of reach.

“What did I tell you about playing with sharp objects while sick?”

You scrunched your face up, half-glaring at him and half wallowing in your own miserable embarrassment. You had hoped you could at least take some painkillers by yourself, to prove to Anakin that you weren’t some helpless little fawn while you were feeling under the weather, but of course the child safety measures had other plans.

Anakin took the pill bottle from your stinging hands and twisted it open with ease. He shook a couple tablets out onto your waiting palm and then capped the bottle, setting it aside.

“See?” he handed a glass of water to you with a smirk. “Not so hard.”

“Can it, Skywalker,” you threw the pills back and sipped the water. The cold liquid soothed your aching throat. “I may be sick, but I can still kick your ass to Tatooine and back.”

“I’ll hold you to that, when you’re better I mean,” he took the empty glass from your grasp and set it back on the counter. Without skipping a beat, he bent down to wrap an arm under your shoulders, helping you to your feet.

“Geez Ani, I’m sick, not crippled,” you groaned, sniffling as he led you back to bed. You ended up tripping on your discarded boot, and would have fallen flat on your face if he wasn’t holding you. He had the decency not to mention it.

He brought you to your bed, helping you lay back against the pillows. You watched his face contort in concentration-- eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, eyes narrowed-- as he focused on pulling the blankets up over you, smoothing down the edges, adjusting your pillows, trailing his fingers down the side of your face in between. You couldn’t help the blush on your cheeks as he held your chin delicately in his gloved hand, leaning down to place a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.

“You can always ask me for help you know.”

“I know,” you shrunk deeper under the covers, feeling squeamish under the intensity of his gaze.

“Is your throat still bothering you?”

You nodded, averting your eyes as you suddenly became bashful. It wasn’t just that you hated admitting to weakness-- it was also the fact that Anakin was so damn pretty, even up close, and he was fully using it against you. The boy had some wicked eye contact, and every time those dark blue eyes locked on you, you felt like melting.

Anakin caressed your cheek with his thumb, no doubt noting the heat that pooled there. The corner of his mouth tilted up in a slight smile-- he knew what he was doing to you.

“I’ll go make you some tea.”

As soon as he left the room, you let out a long breath. It was meant to relieve some tension built up in your chest, but it really resulted in you hunched over in a coughing fit. You pressed your arm against your mouth, trying to muffle the awful barking sounds coming from your throat. Each cough felt like nails were dragging against the walls of your throat. Your forehead broke out in a sweat with the exertion, and the headache came back with a splitting furiosity.

Screw this, you decided, throwing off the covers and standing from the bed. Fresh air was just what your ailing body needed.

You wobbled over to the balcony doors on weak legs, feeling like you could just collapse at the knees at any moment. Climbing onto the concrete wall of the balcony, you folded your legs criss-cross and watched the city lights twinkle before you. There was a cool breeze tonight and it did wonders to soothe your fever. This was possibly the best decision you had made since falling ill.

However, looking below you, there was at least a thousand feet between you and the ground. And no barrier stopping you from falling.

Oh well, you thought to yourself. It’s not like anyone’s gonna push me.

You sat on the balcony for a while, closing your eyes and breathing in the cold night air as you waited for Anakin to come back with the tea. It was very peaceful, and even the honking of impatient drivers in late night traffic was like a lullaby to your ears. Soon, you found yourself drifting off to sleep, your head falling forward as you slipped into unconsciousness.

“Force, Y/n, what are you doing on the ledge like that?!” Anakin’s voice ripped you out of your sleep. You startled, gripping onto the edge of the concrete as you blinked your eyes open to the millions of tiny city lights before you. You turned to see Anakin rushing toward you, floating the mug of tea he was holding away with the force.

He tried wrapping his arms around you, but you squirmed out of his grasp.

“You can’t touch me, Anakin, you’ll get sick,” you mumbled drowsily. You yawned and rubbed your eye with a fist as he sputtered something about how you didn’t care about that before.

“Just come away from the ledge, Y/n, it’s not safe up there!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself to unsteady feet slowly. “You worry too much,” you told him, turning around to face the city and opening your arms out wide. “See? I’m perfectly alri-- ah-- ah-- aaahh choo!”

The sneeze took you by surprise, and you pitched forward with the force it used to expel from your body. Suddenly you were too far over the edge of the balcony, and for a moment of heart-stopping terror you were falling…

… Until familiar strong arms caught you around the waist and pulled you back to the floor of the balcony.

“You are a pain in my ass,” Anakin hissed, ushering you inside. He closed the doors to the balcony a little too hard with the force, holding you tightly all the way back to bed.

“Damn,” you croaked, letting him drop you back into bed and tuck the sheets even tighter around you, like a straightjacket that’ll stop you from escaping again. “I almost just died.”

“You wouldn’t have died,” Anakin huffed, turning his back to retrieve the tea he left on the dresser. “I wouldn’t let that happen. I, however, just had a mini heart attack.”

“Just a mini one?”

“Stop talking, you’ll only hurt your throat more.” The panic was slowly leaving his eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed. To calm you down or himself, you weren’t sure, but he began brushing your bangs out of your face as you sipped on the tea.

You closed your eyes and let yourself melt into his touch, the soft tickling sensation of his hand grazing your forehead, the warm presence of him. You sniffled lightly, rubbing at your dripping yet somehow stuffed nose with your sleeve, hoping he would never stop carding his fingers through your hair.

“You should rest,” Anakin took the mug from you after a moment and set it aside. He waved his gloved hand, and the lights in the room darkened so that the only thing casting light was the single candle burning on the bedside table. It flickered in the dark, casting shadows over Anakin’s face.

Suddenly you felt his hand leave your face and his weight lift off the bed. Your heart dropped with the realization that he was leaving. Desperately, you reached for him before he could go too far, latching onto the hard metal of his gloved wrist.

“You can stay,” you told him quietly. Then you added, “Please.”

Anakin tilted his head thoughtfully, staring at you for a moment. You were glad it was dark so that he couldn’t see the colorful emotion staining your cheeks. It’s not like you two hadn’t slept in the same bed together-- you were dating, after all-- but showing affection never came easy to you. Neither did asking for help, or admitting weakness.

Anakin, to his credit, didn’t hesitate for very long. Gently, he got back into bed with you, this time snaking his arm under your head so that it would rest on the soft cushion of his bicep. You turned and curled into his chest, breathing in his scent. He always smelled like leather and metal and spices. Your favorite scent in the whole world.

“How are you feeling now?” Anakin murmured as he rubbed your arm soothingly, cocooning you against his body in his own.

“Like shit,” you admitted truthfully, but burrowed your head deeper into his chest. “But this is nice.”

“I’m glad,” you could hear the smile in his voice.

You loved his voice. Just like his smell, his voice was one of your favorite sounds in the world, coming second only to his laugh. You wanted to keep talking, to keep hearing it, but you found yourself being weighed down with a heavy exhaustion. The warmth coming from the blankets and emanating from Anakin was enough to cloud your mind with sleep, the steady drag of his hand against your arm a soothing distraction from the miserable sickness waging war inside your body. Before you could say another word to the love of your life, you passed out right in his arms.

#anakin skywalker #sickfic #sick reader #playful reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x y/n #protective anakin #soft anakin #whump #fluff #headcold #star wars prequals #star wars fanfic

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mandadoration · 4 years

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you’re a fine girl - i

summary: Agent Whiskey would really like you to say his real name for once, and you refuse, playing this little game of his until he finally makes you say it. The circumstances for it aren’t exactly ideal, though.

word count: 3, 758

pairing: agent whiskey (Jack Daniels) x reader

warnings: canon-typical violence (and then some), swearing

a/n: Don’t ask me how the layout of Statesman HQ works. I really don’t know, and I’ve watched the movie to try and glean some more info, but I’ve decided, like many things, to bullshit it. This will have a predetermined length of three chapters!

chapters: i

Read this on AO3

You think it’s hilarious just how stereotypically American the Statesman agency was. Besides the front of it, a Bourbon whiskey distillery that just happens to have racehorses (you never understood that part) on a large expanse of land and have a large influence on the liquor industry all over the US, the agents that were a part of it were just so in-your-face full-blooded American. Hell, even your equipment reflected that, with electric lassos and souped-up sawed-off double barrel shotguns, to cowboy boots with razor sharp spurs and Stetsons designed for stealth and espionage. Statesman was 100% committed to proudly showing off their roots. But you couldn’t really shit on them too much since you were one of their agents as well. That would be severely discrediting you and the work you do.

Even if some of the agents teasingly call you a city-slicker.

Although you were a Statesman through and through like your mother before you, you had been raised on the less… southern half of the country because of where she was mainly stationed. Good ol’ New York was a whole different territory than Kentucky. She had still made sure you kept up with your training and be ready at a moment’s notice to take over for her. Statesman were proud of their line of agents, names often passed down from parent to child. Built in loyalty, you supposed, and a good way to keep an eye on those who knew secrets. As the world expanded and keeping the peace grew harder by the minute, they’ve strayed far from that tradition, and the organization grew to include people that had no prior connection to it. Your mom had been insistent she at least stay true to that part of Statesman, and often showed you how to watch over New York from the high rise building to groom you for the position in the future until you graduated from your unofficial codename of Ice Tea. But you had moved south to live on a small ranch a few miles from the distillery after she had died on a recon mission instead of staying up north in the concrete jungle. You inherited her position and her moniker as Agent Brandy, supervisor of the intelligence part of the agency and relocating to home base at the same time, but Agent Whiskey had taken up position up in New York in your stead.

Speaking of Whiskey, there he was, sauntering up to you with a smile playing on his lips as you flicked through reports on your tablet. You spare him a quick glance and a polite smile before you turn your attention back to the reports and mission debriefs, hoping that was enough to leave you alone, but instead he leans against your desk and crosses his arms, and you try your damndest not to look at how his arms make the seams on his jacket strain.

There’s no animosity between you and Whiskey at all, and you’ve said as much when Champagne informed him he would be taking over the New York territory instead of you. You didn’t feel guilty or mad or anything really that you decided to move closer to Statesman because it was your choice, and Whiskey had taken it in stride. You two were just doing your jobs, and that was all. You would even go to say that you were close friends with him, giving him pointers about the secrets of New York while he told you all the gossip about the other agents. The work he did would make your mother proud.

But why was he so insistent on hanging around at the Statesman headquarters in Kentucky so much?

“Your mission debrief isn’t scheduled until Tuesday, Agent Whiskey,” you say, eyes roving over your calendar before swiftly swiping it off your screen to pay closer attention to Tequila’s report. That man was awful with writing. Did he even have the spell check on? You click your tongue and run the editing software, intent on letting that run in the background while you browsed through various agent requests (there was Gin asking if you could fashion a 200 proof liquor), but Whiskey puts a hand on your tablet and pushes it out of your view.

“I know, sugar,” he says in that damn Southern accent that manages to make your ears burn. “Just thought I’d come down here to see my favorite intelligence supervisor.” You roll your eyes, but can’t help the smile that threatens to split your face. You turn your tablet off and put it down.

“Do you know many intelligence supervisors?” you ask, but your efforts to get him to leave are already an afterthought at the back of your mind. Every time you hold a conversation with him, the amalgamation of your New York and Southern accent sounds crass compared to the honeyed drawl of Whiskey. Two completely different regions. You suppose he might feel the same whenever he’s in New York. Perhaps you two had more in common than you had initially thought.

You’re off track. It’s maddening how easily he is able to pull a smile or a laugh from you and completely derail you. Even on the worst of your days, he’s able to ease you with just a reassuring smile or touch. Whiskey shrugs and shifts where he sits.

“You got me there,” he laughs. “But that don’t mean I can’t come see you, does it?” You rest your chin on your hand as you fiddle with your tablet pen. He’s trimmed his mustache, you note.

“I suppose it doesn’t, Agent Whiskey,” you say. Anytime he flies over to the Statesman HQ, you usually see him the same day he lands, if not, you’re the first thing he goes to see. It’s sweet.

“What does it take for me to convince you to call me Jack, sweetheart?” Whiskey asks, nearly whines, really. He’s been insisting you call him by his real name in private recently, insisting that you were far past those formalities.

“When you stop calling me those pet names of yours,” you retort back. He looks mock-offended.

“That’s never gonna happen,” Whiskey says. You raise an eyebrow.

“Then there you have your answer,” you say simply, and go to pick up your tablet again when it chimes, but Whiskey stops you and pushes it back down flat against the desk.

“You work too much,” he says, as if that was a decent enough reason to interrupt your work. “Pay some attention to me instead.”

“And I’m starting to think you don’t work enough,” you sigh, and slide the tablet out from under his hand and you turn it back on and check over the editing software. “God knows you spend enough time pestering me.” You don’t tell him that you don’t mind. In the hectic pace in your lives, Whiskey is a nice constant that you find yourself falling back on.

The software has managed to fix most of the typos and obvious grammar issues, but it’s mangled the nuances of Tequila’s informal writing. You sigh again and swipe the report onto your computer screen to manually edit it before you can send it to Champagne. Whiskey hops off of your desk, and he walks around it to lean over your shoulder to skim the report as well.

He’s close enough for you to smell his cologne. Smoky, mellow, and warm.

“Why don’t you just send that off to Ginger to edit? Or Soda?” he asks, voice rumbling in your ear. “‘m sure you have other things to do other than grade Tequila’s piss poor work.” You clear your throat and try your best not to become too distracted.

“They don’t have high enough clearance to read this report,” you answer. “Nor do I think they have the patience to. Besides, Ginger is tech and Soda is medical. They’d either shoot themselves or shoot me.” Whiskey laughs and leans in a little closer.

“But I have the clearance to read this as you edit?” he asks, voice low. “You flatter me, Brandy.” You blink, then gasp, whirling around in your chair and narrowly missing clipping his chin with the back of your chair as you push him away from you and back around your desk, smacking him as you do.

“You are a menace!” you exclaim. Whiskey just laughs, humoring you and letting you push him when it would be frightfully easy to just stand there. He blocks your hits and eventually grabs a hold of your wrists to stop you.

“You love it,” he says, and your face flushes as you try to scowl at him.

“Get out of my office so I can finish this report,” you order, pointing at the door. Whiskey pouts, but makes his way to the door.

“Yes, ma’am,” he sighs. He tips his hat at you. “You be a good girl while I’m gone, sweet thing,” he says in a sing-song voice, and the door clicks shut behind him before you can do some serious bodily harm to his person.

---

You don’t really know what constitutes being “a good girl”, and you don’t really have the chance to find out because you meet with Whiskey again a few hours after he had barged into your office when Champagne calls you up to discuss some technicalities that he had remained vague on.

It’s a short underground tube ride to the Statesman office building a few miles outside the distillery, and an even shorter elevator up to the top floor. Whiskey is already there when you walk in, so you go ahead and take a seat across from him, pulling up your notes in case anything important pops up. You give him a small wave, and he tips his hat at you with a smile. You turn to the man sitting at the head of the table.

“Well, Champ,” Whiskey says, “why’d you call us here?” Champagne fiddles with the lid of a decanter of whiskey before he smacks his lips together and leans back in his chair.

“Statesman is considering adding another location in California, and I need your expertise,” he announces. He motions to you. “Sent the plans to your tablet, Brandy, but here’s the gist.” The t.v. screen at the other end of the table switches from Statesman stocks to a blueprint of a high rise located in San Francisco, alongside some smaller buildings scattered over the city. “I’m planning on sending Chardonnay over to oversee construction, but this is only the third location to be located in such a large city.” You skim over the notes. Although they wouldn’t be building a distillery, there would be a sub-HQ over there, as well as some Statesman-sponsored bars to keep up surveillance. “The first one being New York, and the other in Nevada.”

“Is there something we should keep an eye on?” you ask, scrolling through various material requests. While the other could handle the usual materials, you would have to put in a special order for the military grade stuff. “What’s the occasion?” Champagne shrugs when you glance over your tablet.

“It’s been something I’ve been thinking about,” he says. “Stocks are doing good, and there's no looming threat- seems like a good time as any.” You nod.

“Then why us?” Whiskey asks. “I think Brandy is more than capable of handling this herself.” Champagne furrows his brows.

“You are in charge of our New York office, aren’t you?”

“Brandy grew up preparing to take over for it,” Whiskey says.

“Well--”

“He’s right, sir,” you pipe in. “Whiskey’s about to go in for a mission anyways. There’s no point loading his already full plate. I can handle it.” Champagne presses his mouth in a hard line, but eventually taps the table.

“Alright then. Brandy, I’ll let Chardonnay know you’ll be taking part in it so he can refer to you with questions. Agents, you’re dismissed.”

Whiskey moves for the door, but pauses when you don’t follow him. You wave him off. “I’ll catch up with you; just need to talk to Champagne about something.” He nods, and leaves. You back around to face Champagne with narrowed eyes. “What are you up to, old man?” He tilts his head and pours some whiskey into his glass.

“What do you mean?”

“Bringing Whiskey into this,” you clarify. “You know I can handle this project by myself; why try to rope him in?”

“Thought it be a good experience,” Champagne says, taking a sip and swishing it around his mouth before he turns to spit it out into the spitoon. You wrinkle your nose.

“For Whiskey?”

“For the both of you,” he corrects. “Whiskey gets to learn more about the technical aspects, you get to, well, spend time with him.” You raise an eyebrow.

“And I want to spend time with him because…?”

“Don’t you know?” Champagne asks. You shake your head.

“What? We’re good friends, but we’ve got different jobs,” you say. “So I don’t see a reason why I should be spending time with him outside of what’s necessary.” Champagne just hums with a pensive look on his face.

“Alright then, girl.” He waves a hand at you. “Off to work.” And Champagne doesn’t elaborate any further.

---

You are far too busy trying to sort out the semantics of some sort of stirrings of a coup on a Chilean website to go and debrief Whiskey when Tuesday rolls around, so you send Ginger in your stead. She accepts without complaint, but you can see how she frowns when you tell her so. You’ve never gotten the details as to why the two never seem to get along, but Ginger is the most capable person you can think of to take care of things when you’re not able to.

It takes you a solid 45 minutes to try and go through the Chilean Spanish compared to the Castilian variant you know, but you determine that the rumors of a coup bears no real weight and all it is are empty threats despite the traction it’s gained so far. You suppose you could’ve run the translation, but there were too many nuances and codes that couldn’t be translated over. Just to be sure, you set up a surveillance bot to continue to track the progress and alert you if anything significant happens. By the time you do, Ginger walks in, looking a little frazzled. You frown. “You good, Liz?” Ginger just puts down the debrief folder on your desk as she plops down in the chair across from you. You raise an eyebrow, but slide the folder over and survey the notes she’s taken during the debrief. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just Whiskey complaining that he has to fly to Spain to deal with some black market firearms dealers that have gotten too confident. Apparently last time he was there, some sailors tried to swindle him. There’s some quotes of his with choice words in the margins saying so, accompanied by a doodle of him with an angry expression. “Whiskey give you a hard time?” you guess. She nods and takes off her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I honestly don’t understand how you can stand him sometimes,” she says. You shrug.

“He treats me fine, if not a little persistent,” you note mildly. Ginger snorts and puts her glasses back on. “Hasn’t given me a reason to dislike him. Yet.”

“That’s ‘cause he likes you,” she says. Your stomach flutters at her comment. Then after a moment of pondering, Ginger says, “Think he was in a bad mood because you weren’t the one debriefing him.” You frown.

“Would it have mattered if I did?” you ask. “You’re perfectly capable.”

“It’s not capability,” Ginger sighs, leaning forward and resting her forearms on your desk. The motion jostles the cup of pens on your desk and you reach to adjust it back to its place. You click a few things on your computer to pull up the flight details for Whiskey. Scheduled for 5:50pm, an overnight flight that lands in a remote location in Madrid where then he would be promptly escorted to Andalucia.

You wonder if he’ll come visit you before he leaves.

You shake the thought out of your head before you go back to look at Ginger, who’s looking at you curiously. “If not capability, then what?” you ask, fighting to keep down the blush that’s threatening to overtake your face.

“You really don’t know?” she asks, almost critically. You furrow your brows. There’s that question again.

“Is there something I should know?”

Before Ginger can answer, a knock resounds at your door. You give Ginger an apologetic look before you call out, “Come in!” You don’t know why you’re surprised, but it’s Whiskey, again, with a bright smile on his face before his eyes darken at the sight of Ginger. She bristles.

“I’ll see you later,” she says, reaching over and giving your hand a small pat before she gets up to brush past Whiskey, and she closes the door behind you. Whiskey seems to relax at that, and takes the seat she was in.

“If you’re here to complain about going to Spain, Agent Whiskey, I can’t do anything about it,” you immediately say before he can get a word in. He takes off his hat and puts it on your desk, running a hand through his hair.

“I wasn’t here to complain,” Whiskey says, chuckling. “You wound me, Brandy.” He puts a hand over his heart and stares at you with a woefully sad face, looking at you with big, warm brown eyes, akin to a kicked puppy. “Missed my favorite intelligence supervisor at the debriefing.” You throw a pen at him, but he just catches it and puts it in with the rest without breaking eye contact.

“Doubt you’re here just to see me,” you say. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your flight?”

“I’ve got time,” Whiskey says. “If I remember correctly, it’s not until 6:00. Gives me a little under 2 hours until I gotta leave.”

“5:50,” you correct him automatically. “So less than that. You’ll wanna leave in an hour or so to account for traffic.” The grin that spreads across his face makes your heart beat a little faster.

“You keepin’ track of when I’m ‘bout to leave?” he purrs, leaning forward. You scoff, but think in the back of your mind that there’s some truth to that.

“I’m the one that booked your flight with Triple Sec,” you say dryly. “Be weird if I didn’t know what time exactly, Agent Whiskey.” Whiskey hums, but leans back in his chair and spreads his legs in an almost obscene matter that leaves you thrumming in your skin.

“Jack,” he says.

“Hm?”

“My name is Jack.” You laugh.

“I know what your name is, Agent,” you say. “It’s kinda my job to know everybody. Feel like we’ve already talked about this about a million times by now.”

“Still, it’d be nice to hear you say it,” he says, almost absentmindedly as he picks at his nails, brows furrowed in a vulnerable expression. Your face falls at his soft tone. To be honest, your refusal to say his name was more because you perceived it as a game. Whiskey would press you to actually call him by his name, and you would coyly refuse, and he would leave with a promise that he would get you to say it one way or another. But something is clearly bugging him.

You reach a hand forward, towards him, touching the other edge of your desk. Close enough for him to reach for it. His gaze snaps to your hand, and something tells you that Whiskey wants to. There is some kind of longing in his eyes that the firm, hard line of his mouth is trying its hardest not to betray. “You okay?” Whiskey’s fingers twitch. Something holds him back.

He clears his voice, forcing a smile on his face, and the moment is broken. “Right as rain, sugar,” he says. “Pre-mission jitters, I suppose.” You suppose that’s not totally unwarranted. Whiskey would be going on into the field on his own due to the delicacy of the mission, the only backup available being Triple Sec piloting the plane. And, well, Whiskey didn’t exactly blend in with the typical Madrid population with his loud voice and louder personality. Statesman didn’t have a base out in Europe either. You give him a reassuring smile, and you try not to think too hard at how the tension seems to melt out of him at that.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” you soothe. You retract your hand, and honestly at this point it seems as though Agent Whiskey has taken up permanent residence in your mind because you swear you spot some sort of deep emotion as his eyes trail after it. “Just like you always do, Whiskey.” The muscles in Whiskey’s jaw work as he clenches his teeth together before he claps his hands and stands up, that same charming smile on his face but not quite reaching his eyes.

“Well I suppose that is some improvement!” he says. You tilt your head.

“What do you mean?” Whiskey pulls the flask off his belt and takes a swig.

“Got you to say my codename without all the preamble, now, didn’t I?” he says, winking at you. You stammer and flush red with embarrassment. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Now before you start wailing on me like last time,” he says, “I’ll see myself out. Like you said, I still need to pack. I’ll see if I can bring back a souvenir for you while I’m across the pond.” You cross your arms.

“That won’t be necessary.” Whiskey shrugs and heads for the door.

“Can’t stop me, can you?” You smile at him.

“Guess not,” you say, almost to yourself, then your gaze falls to his hat still sitting on your desk. “Wait, Whiskey, your--” He holds up a hand.

“Hold on to it while I’m gone, ‘kay?” he asks. You nod. “Good girl. Give me something to look forward to when I come back.” You make a motion to grab a pen, bursting out laughing when he moves to catch it when you feign a throw. He smiles, too, more genuinely this time. “See you in a couple days, darling.”

And you can’t help but start to miss him when the door clicks shut behind him.

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey reader #agent whiskey x you #whiskey x reader #whiskey x you #whiskey reader #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels reader #jack daniels you #kingsman reader #kingsman #agent whiskey #whiskey #jack daniels #kingsman the golden circle #my writing

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kenzieam · 3 years

Text

The Blue Plate Diner - Chapter Two

@jewels2876 @moonbeambucky @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iammarylastar@captstefanbrandt @badassbaker @pinknerdpanda @oliviastan17 @mizzzpink

I know I’m forgetting people, sorry. If you want in, hit me.

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Rating: M

Warnings: Language, general nuttiness, smut, major angst, drama

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FEEDBACK IS LIFE, Y’ALL!

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Years after leaving, Bucky returns to his hometown a successful lawyer, there only to clean up his recently deceased mother’s affairs, but hoping despite himself to see her again; Levka Riel, the girl he wanted all through high school and could never have. But their parting was anything but sweet and old wounds have festered for years in the shadows. Even if the truths in their past are revealed, has it been too long to repair the damage?

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** I feel the need to clarify, in case there’s any confusion as to how Bucky and Lev could honestly have had NO contact in almost a decade... this story takes place before cell phones were the extension of our hands that they are today, before the Book of Faces and social media ruled all, when it truly possible to leave a town and not be kept updated on old school-mates and neighbors and the only way to contact most people was by landline or the postal system.**

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BTW, this upcoming chapter is a doozy. Lots of shit gets exposed, heaps of steaming lies and truths and rattling skeletons in closets. This chapter exhausted me and that’s why I ended it where I do, I couldn’t take any more and needed a break.... Enjoy.

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Seven years later, and she was staring at him in her diner like he was a ghost and going out of her way to avoid him in their small, small town.

And not once had she answered the letters he’d sent her, the ones begging for her forgiveness, begging for another chance.

Bucky needed to get out, the house was suffocating with only his thoughts for comfort and he decided to grab a few groceries, not that he was planning on staying much longer but dining at The Blue Plate was hit or miss; if Lev was there, she either left or traded tables with Hattie, leaving the old woman to serve him, the only thing sharper than her mind being her acid tongue, as Bucky’s presence meant disruption and he was tired of that disappointment; Lev smiling and happy, joking and laughing with regulars only to see her face fall when she saw him, regardless of how nonthreatening he tried to be.

Old time country music wheezed through scratchy speakers as Bucky entered the main grocery store in town. It was sadly out of date to his eyes, the old turnstile checkouts, the floor faded and scuffed with thousands, perhaps millions of footsteps over the years. But it was well-lit and clean, the selection not entirely lacking, and Bucky busied himself trekking slowly up and down the aisles, finding old brands he hadn’t seen since he was a child, somehow still magically in business and apparently only supplying mom and pop locations. There was not an ‘organic’ sticker in sight and Bucky was humbled by the produce section, small and tidy, lacking any of the vast variety he’d come to expect at the supermarkets he frequented back home.

Turning from jams and jellies into the soup aisle, he stumbled to a stop, eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Lev?”

Lev lifted her head from the can she was studying, alarm already rising in her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder at something before finally choking out a strangled, “James, hi.”

How he wished she would call him something else, ‘James’ was obviously meant to keep distance between them, distance he ached to close.

Fumbling for more, Bucky said the first thing to come into his head. “Chicken noodle? I remember eating that every night I was home alone after school.”

“Didn’t your mother cook for you?” The implication that Doris Barnes would never serve something so common as canned soup hung in the air and Bucky wondered, for the umpteenth time, why Lev was so bitter about the old, dead woman.

“Not when she was working double-shifts.” Bucky answered. In truth, much of his adolescence was spent caring for himself, his mother working her hands to the bone to keep their household afloat.

“Oh.” she began, a faint flush beginning to color her cheeks. “I-”

“Mom? Can we get mushroom too?” A new voice interrupted, a child’s voice and Lev inhaled sharply, head snapping to the side.

Bucky’s gaze fell on a young girl, maybe six or seven. A battered ball-cap covered her head and both knees were missing in her jeans, a series of band-aids adorning her fingers.

When nobody spoke, the girl offered a tentative smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Bucky breathed, staring down at her, entranced. Although he’d suspected Lev and Steve would have started a family, he’d not known for sure.

“We have to go.” Lev announced abruptly.

“What’s your name?” Bucky asked, extending his hand, which only seemed to ratchet up Lev’s anxiety.

“Meadow, what’s yours?” She replied, grasping his hand, and giving it a shake.

“Meadow, that’s beautiful. I’m Bucky.”

Lev reached for Meadow’s other hand, pulling the child away from Bucky’s reach. “C’mon, Med. We have to go.”

“Say hi to Steve for me,” Bucky continued; realizing in this moment that he needed to give up and drop the torch he’d carried for so long, the proof was literally standing right in front of him. “I always figured you two would settle down together, he’s a lucky guy.” The words cut his throat, burned his tongue as they passed.

Lev recoiled like he’d slapped her, eyes wide then narrowing with unexplained fury. “You bastard.” She hissed roughly and, before Bucky could ask what the problem was, he’d just complimented her for Christ’s sake, Lev took a step forwards and hit him, slapping his cheek hard enough to sting.

“Fuck you.” She growled, so low Meadow probably couldn’t hear then whirled away, dragging her daughter behind her.

WHAT THE HELL HAD JUST HAPPENED?

Bucky touched his cheek, quite literally struck dumb and tried to sort out what he’d said that had been so horrible.

He was still puzzling it out when he approached the checkout and laid his chosen goods on the turnstile. The cashier was one he recognized from years ago, now greyer and with thicker glasses. She eyed him, unimpressed.

“That you that upset Levi Riel? What did you say? She lit outta here like the devil was after her.”

Great. Not only had he hurt Lev somehow, but everyone had seen it too.

“Nothing, I just congratulated her on her family, told her Steve’s a lucky man.”

The woman sucked in a breath, shaking her head as she started ringing through his groceries.

“What? They were together all through high school, I just assumed-”

“Steve Rogers is dead.” The woman replied bluntly, eyeing him again. “Ain’t you Doris’ boy, weren’t you best friends with him, didn’t you know he’s gone?”

Bucky staggered, feeling like the woman had just kicked him in the chest. No, he’d not heard that Steve was dead and no one, his mother included, had seemed to care enough to tell him. “No… what happened?”

The woman’s face softened slightly. “Well, you’ve been away.” And you’ve never bothered to come back and visit your mama until after she died, her eyes reproached. “The Rogers boy was killed ‘bout four, maybe five, years ago, hit by some looky-loo out on Route 4. He was helping pull some woman outta the ditch and got crushed against his own tow-truck, peeled him open like cheese on a cheese grater I heard.” She shook her head sadly. “Hit the girl hard, young as she was with that baby to take care of all alone. Damn shame.”

Bucky was silent through the rest of the checkout, his mind jumbled and tangling on itself. Steve had been his best friend and he’d not known the man was dead. Sure, they hadn’t talked since that last time Bucky had come home, nearer to eight years ago now, but he’d loved the man like a brother, even as he’d hated him. Any amount could have been on the credit card carbon he signed, he barely looked at it as he passed it back to the woman, barely remembered the drive back to his mother’s.

No longer hungry, he put the food away and walked upstairs into his old room, sitting down on the bed and pulled an old picture frame off the bedside table. Faded and crinkled, he nevertheless could see it clearly.

He and Steve, thirteen, perhaps fourteen, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning ear to ear after winning their baseball league’s championship game.

Brothers in everyway but blood.

But no more.

The tears came hot and fast and, for a time, Bucky let them take over.

Later, throat raw and eyes burning, Bucky stood and stormed into his mother’s room, began to tear through the drawers.

There had to be something, somewhere, something that showed his mother hadn’t completely forsaken him; a newspaper clipping, the funeral service leaflet, anything to show that the old woman had in some way acknowledged the boy who’d called her his ‘other mother’, even if she hadn’t bothered to inform her real son of his best friend’s passing.

He turned to the closet and ripped the doors open, pushed the hangers from one side to the other, the metal screeching and groaning before reaching for the shelf above, knocking a few hatboxes askew and blankets to the floor before his hands closed on a shoebox with some weight to it.

Frowning, he pulled it down and flipped off the lid, stared inside at the contents for a moment unable to process what he was seeing.

A stack of letters, all opened. The top one was addressed to him, the name on the return address taking what was left of his breath and sanity away.

Levka Riel

With shaking hands, he pulled the stack out, setting each one back down onto his lap as he read their addresses.

James Barnes

Levka Riel

James Barnes

There were over a dozen letters in front of him, all opened, all read, all addressed to either him or Lev. He hadn’t been sure of Lev’s address, she’d moved since graduation and he wasn’t home long enough that one time to learn it, so he’d mailed all her envelopes to his mother with a note requesting she pass them along. He assumed the same was true for Lev, that she too, not knowing Bucky’s dorm address, had entrusted his mother to send on her letter to him.

And she’d done neither.

Bucky set the box and letters aside, scrambling to his feet and into the bathroom, spewing the contents of his stomach into the toilet, retching until he saw stars, until long after his stomach was empty, and he was just spitting weakly.

WHY??

WHY HAD HIS MOTHER NOT GIVEN HIM LEV’S LETTERS?? WHY HAD SHE HELD BACK THE ONES FOR HIM??

WHY HAD SHE ALWAYS SAID NO, EVEN WHEN HE’D ASKED IF SHE’D HEARD ANYTHING FROM HER, IF LEV HAD ANSWERED HIM?

Oh god, what had he missed??

Breathing raggedly, a deep, heavy sense of dread clawing in his belly, he returned to the bedroom and gathered the letters, collapsing to sit on the bed. He chose the most dated, the one wrote perhaps a month, maybe six weeks after he’d left that last time.

Bucky,

I’m sorry for all the horrible things I said to you that morning, I’m so sorry for the way we left off.

I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to write this letter, but I want you to know, you deserve to know.

I’m pregnant and I know it’s yours.

Steve and I always used protection; that night at the party, you and I didn’t.

I’m scared, Bucky. I’m not ready to be a mother but I can’t bring myself to even consider getting rid of it.

Please write me back as soon as you get this, I don’t expect you to drop everything and become a father, but I need to know what you want and that you’ll help in some way.

Lev

His heart cracked with an audible noise and, while he thought he’d used up all his tears earlier crying over Steve, a fresh wave came, burning hot trails down his cheeks. Hands trembling, he opened the next one she’d sent.

Bucky,

I haven’t heard from you yet and your mother swears she sent my letter to you.

I’ve told Steve and he knows he’s not the father, but he’s offering to help me with whatever money he can get, but you know as well as I that jobs in this town aren’t great, isn’t that why you left?

I need to know what you want. Do you want to be in your baby’s life?

Are you mad at me? This was an accident, but it makes me sick to think about terminating it.

Please write me, I’ll give you my phone number as soon as I can afford to get a line hooked up.

Lev

It continued, each letter, each word slicing deep.

James,

Why won’t you answer me?

I heard her heartbeat yesterday at my doctor’s appointment.

That’s right, it’s a girl.

I’m keeping her and I still hope you’ll want to be in your daughter’s life.

Lev

P.S. – My phone is finally hooked up; my number is 977-541-0201. Please call me.

Until the last letter, the one that truly broke the remainder of his heart.

James,

She’s here.

I’ve named her Meadow Grace Riel.

Your silence is answer enough. I get it, you want nothing to do with the child you helped create.

I just wanted you to know that she’s here and she’s safe.

I won’t bother you again.

Lev

The letters fell to the bed and he dropped his head into his hands with a sob. He cried so hard he could hardly breathe, until his lungs burned in his chest and what air he managed to get rasped in his throat.

I’ve named her Meadow Grace.

Meadow.

He’d met his daughter today and not known.

It all made sense now, the fearful and angry looks from Lev. The way she’d tensed in the grocery store when their daughter approached him. The way she’d looked so hurt, so betrayed and broken when he’d implied that Steve must be so proud of his family. Like he couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge his own child, like their past had never happened.

What could she be thinking now? How cruel and heartless, how much of an asshole did she think he was?

His fingers brushed over his letters, the ones he’d written to Lev. After he’d gotten over his hurt, his wounded heart at their parting, he’d written to her, apologizing, and asking for another chance. He’d tried again and again, varying the words but keeping the message.

I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

His mother had read these, read his contrition and kept them to herself.

She’d known about Meadow, she’d known about Lev being pregnant, and she’d done nothing!

Except lie to him when he asked if Lev had tried to contact him.

What sort of monster had raised him?? What possible excuse could she have had??

What hell had she put them both through? Had she spoken to Lev, acknowledged her granddaughter in any way? Helped even though she’d kept him in the dark?

He couldn’t think about that now, he’d go crazy if he did.

He needed to see Lev, to try and explain what he was still too stunned to believe but held so concretely in his hands.

Half-falling down the stairs, he stumbled into the kitchen and reached for the local phone book; flipping in open and scanning the pages madly.

He would have done this far sooner if he hadn’t been sure of Lev simply slamming the door in his face, but he needed to see her now, to explain what he’d just found and beg for another chance, even if this hadn’t been his fault, even though he was just as much a victim of his mother’s cruelty as Lev and her…. their daughter.

The thought brought him up short.

He was a father.

He had a child, a daughter, one whom he’d missed out on everything in her young life.

Fresh rage swept over him, a new tidal wave of fury unlike anything he’d ever experienced before, sharpened by betrayal. His mother was supposed to love him, not hurt him and hide things and then, on top of it all, go off and die before he could learn said truth and confront the old bitch.

Dropping the phone book, he turned and barrelled back upstairs.

It didn’t take long; he took no time to be careful or preserve anything of hers.

Anything personal, pictures and notes, were tossed into the firepit in the backyard and lit ablaze. Anything else of hers, clothes, jewelry and knick-knacks, was thrown carelessly into garbage bags and left at the back gate for Percy and Hank to pick up tomorrow on their weekly garbage day.

The furnishings and other impersonal elements he left as is, controlling his voice long enough to call Duke Hanover and start in motion the process of selling the house and its contents.

He couldn’t stomach the thought of keeping anything of that old witch’s and the problem he’d been struggling with since learning of his mother’s death, what to do with his childhood home, was now solved.

He would take the money; it was all that was worth anything to him anymore.

Next, he gathered his few things, what he’d brought with him and what little he still wanted to keep from his old room, and checked into a hotel, collapsing on the bed, and falling into a deep, exhausted stupor.

He woke the next morning with a scratchy throat and aching muscles; apparently tearing through your childhood home and throwing away everything personal was a physical workout as well as an emotional one.

The horror and dread, sorrow and agony appeared not long after and Bucky lay for a long time, on his back and staring at the ceiling, helpless to stop the memories from slinking back in, coiling their claws around his mind again.

Bucky stirred, feeling the beginnings of a headache. He’d drank enough these last two years of college to recognize a hangover when he had one, and this felt like a doozy. The next thing he felt was pleasantly sore muscles, faint twinges of scratches on his bare skin and he chuckled low in his throat, burrowing his face into the pillow.

He’d gotten lucky last night, as well as shit faced.

The rest of the story hit him then and he remembered just who he’d spent the night with.

Finally.

Levka Riel.

The girl he’d wanted his whole life.

Simple good luck had brought them both to Wayne Templeton’s party last night and Providence had taken over from there. A rush of heat went through him as he remembered, the sounds Lev had made, the way she’d clung to him, the breathless promises, and declarations he’d groaned into her throat as he’d moved inside her. It had been magic last night, the culmination of fate and Bucky’s mind began to run with possibilities.

Lev could move back up with him, they could get an apartment off-campus. She could enroll too and start building a career for herself.

He would do anything for her-

Lev stirred at his side, sighing and stretching. She lifted her head, her hair a tangled mess and peered through it towards him.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered, ready to roll over and pull Lev towards him, snuggle down into the sheets and enjoy this pause from their chaotic lives.

“What the hell?” Lev murmured, head snapping to stare down at the pillow, then at the walls and the tangled sheets around them. She all but leapt off the bed, fighting the sheets that entwined around her struggling limbs.

“Lev?” Bucky sat up, not caring to cover his own nakedness.

Lev’s eyes landed on his cock for a beat and the last mysteries of what had happened fell into place. You did not wake up naked and sore and dripping next to a similarly unclothed man without there having been some action beforehand.

“Oh god.” She whispered, backing away. “What did I do?”

“Lev?” He was staying frustratingly monosyllabic, but his mind was a torpid mess, trying to process what he was seeing and hearing. Shouldn’t she be happy like he was? Hadn’t they just spent the most incredible night together?”

“Get out.” She demanded, holding the sheets up in confused bunches to cover herself.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky stumbled for words, recognizing the shadow of the ghoul around the corner and desperate to fight it off. “We just had a-”

“It was a mistake. We were drunk.”

“NO. It wasn’t a mistake. I love you, Lev. I always have!” He had to lay it all out, make her see.

“You hardly know me! You’re just Steve’s creepy friend! Is that why you were always hanging around, you thought there was something between us?! Steve is my boyfriend, not you!!”

Realization crashed over him like ice water.

She didn’t feel the same way, she never had.

Whatever he’d thought he’d seen in her lingering glances, her tentative smiles had not been reciprocation of his own devotion, but the hesitation of fear and discomfort.

She didn’t love him; she didn’t even like him.

He had been so stupid. So misguided, laughable really.

Rage replaced the cold fingers tickling his spine, turning his blood to fire.

“You fucking slut.” He growled. “’Steve is your boyfriend’? Then why are you sleeping around at a party like a GODDAMN WHORE?”

The fury in his voice made her stop, stare at him with the start of fear in her eyes and it only inflamed Bucky more. Never, ever, would he be angry or out of control enough to hurt Lev, his love for her was too strong, flowed too deep and the way she was eyeing him warily said as clear as day that she didn’t know him at all, she thought he was just as ham-fisted and brutal as the rest of the assholes in this town.

“Fuck you.” He snarled, reaching for the nearest item, a half-full can of beer and throwing it at her. He’d been a hell of a pitcher in his junior baseball league and the can would not hit her because he didn’t want it to, but his anger made sure it hit the wall close to her head, as a warning. “Fuck off, you goddamn piece of trash!”

With a choked sob, Lev stumbled from the room and Bucky, the tremors in his body rapidly morphing from of fury to sorrow, followed not long after.

He’d gone home, holed up in his room until his plane ticket came due, then left this piece of shit town behind.

Until now.

Tears burned hot on his skin and he choked a fresh sob, pulling himself into a sitting position on the hotel bed. You’d think he’d have no tears left after the last few days, but his sorrow and hurt seemed bottomless and Bucky cried until he could hardly breathe, his throat swollen and hindering his air.

He needed to make this right, he had to apologize to Lev. He’d been on his way to doing just that when the rage of his mother’s betrayal had side-tracked him yesterday.

A half-hour later he’d found Lev’s address in the phone-book, managed to choke down some black coffee and was standing in front of a small bungalow, in need of some paint and TLC, Pandora’s shoe-box in his shaking hands.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #au bucky #au bucky barnes #au bucky barnes fanfic #au bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes drama #au bucky drama #bucky and lev #bucky and levi #the blue plate diner

11 notes · View notes

3three-question-marks · 4 years

Text

Bottles of Milk

Hey, here’s a new fic, and I’ll promise this one has a guaranteed part 2. I’ll probably update it weekly if I have the time. I’ll make this one extra painful :)

Words:1,443

Summary:Mabel has been married for a while, and Dipper has been creating a name for himself as a Journalist. One day, everything changes when Dipper decides to do the unthinkable, leading Mabel’s husband to catch them in the act.

Mabel watched her husband with fond eyes as he proceeded to chop carrots in their small kitchen. She went up behind him, hugging his waist. He continued to chop the carrots, appreciating his wife's presence. The brunette nuzzled her chin into her husband's collar bone and hummed a small happy noise. He reached his arm behind him, caressing her small but ever so present baby bump forming.

She leaned up to kiss his jawline, making him giggle. "I love you," She mumbled into his ear. He kissed her back, whispering the same words to her.

A noise interrupted their calm moment, three knocks reverberating through the room. She turned her head around and alerted her husband of their guest. Skipping to the front door, she threw it open to reveal her dripping wet brother. He was carrying his soaked bags and clutching his navy blue jacket, shivering from the cold. Dipper was wearing that dorky crooked grin.

"Dipper!" Her eyes widened with concern. She grabbed his bags and lead him inside the small suburban home. She immediately pulled a towel out one of their drawers, and handed it to him. "Damn, Dip, how long did it take for a bus to arrive?"

He smiled, slipping off his boots and leaving him in his blood red sweater. "C'mon, I didn't took too long, I just took a small stop."

Mabel's grin grew wider, as she saw her twin's hand sneak into his pocket to retrieve a small, neatly wrapped box. She immediately pulled him close to her, as a thanks to the present he bought. "Daww Dipper! You didn't have to do that," She cooed.

"I wanted to," He continued to wipe his soaked body, ignoring her husband's offer for him to get a fresh set of clothes. Mabel lead him by the hand, leading him to the kitchen island. She poured him a cup of coffee, sitting next to him afterwards. "I've got some news that I think you'll find interesting," She said.

"Same here," The guy smirked, sipping his coffee with interest. "You go first,"

She glanced at her husband gleefully, before going back to him. "Well, as you know, me and Henry have been married for a while," His heart stopped beating, starting to fall into his stomach as he knew where this was going. "We're proud to say that, we have a little one on the way!"

There it is. Bad enough he had to attend a wedding as confirmation that she will never have feelings for him, but having a child with Henry, it's just proof, that she's sealed the deal with him, and not Dipper. A gate she built with her very own hands, to block him out of romanceville, or any chance at all to be with her. Not that he was hoping for anything. He gave up a long time ago. On love, on her, on any sort of indication that he deserves anything.

He's been harboring feelings for her for so long, he felt so lost without her invading his mind every single day. It's like an earworm that he could never get out. When she got married, she invited him to the wedding, and of course he had to go. It was very important for her. He would do anything for her, and also, what would they say if he didn't? Her brother was so depressed to pull himself off the bed because he is in love with her, and that's why he couldn't attend the wedding. The entire event felt so empty. So painful. So numb. He just wanted to dissociate and disappear forever.

But he needed to stay, for her. He needed to smile, for her. He needed to look like he felt any sort of emotion right there, for her. So of course he cried. Everyone thought it was just very emotional for him, but the words "I do," made his heart stop entirely, and his brain stop working. So of course he just had to let it out one way or another.

He forgot he was supposed to react happily to her big news, he blinked twice as if in shock, and spoke slowly, "That...is great! That's so great. Just, wow." He stood up from his seat, an idea popping into his head. "This is so great, that you know what? I'll take you and Henry out for dinner tomorrow." Great save dumbass.

"Until this day you still won't let go of your 'best brother' award, won't you?"

"You know it, sis!" Just fake it 'till you make it, man. But she's bound to notice at some point, retard. He pulled her to her feet, spinning her around. "Careful, champ." Spoke Henry. He steadied the both of them, smiling sheepishly at his brother-in-law. "Sorry,"

" So what's your big news, Dippy?" He blinked. Right. The news I was about to tell her before she-... Right. "Oh Right. First, I need you to open your present."

"Just tell me already, dork!" She poked him, making him chuckle. "Open it, and I will,"

"Alright, alright. Let's see what's the big deal," She ripped open the box, and was greeted with the familiar logo of the Mystery Shack. Intrigued a lot more, she took off the lid to see it was a snow globe with a tiny Dipper in a suit inside. "Woah, does this m-"

"I'm officially the owner of the Mystery Shack! and...people are finally taking notice of my work!"

"How?"

"Well, recently Soos and Melody decided to hand it over, since they were dedicating their lives to Thomas and Adrian."

"I see you're making headlines too," She said as she unfolded the newspaper clipping folded in the box. Inside it, was a picture of her brother receiving an award for journalism. He was smiling brightly, as a man in a suit stood next to him. She had never been this successful in her own career, and neither was Henry. Henry was a school principal, and she was a basic designer who only gained attention from small businesses. Dipper truly was amazing.

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The night came and went, with the three of them eating dinner and conversing about Dipper's jobs, and Mabel's plans for the baby or babies. As exciting as the idea of being an uncle was, Dipper couldn't help but feel uneasy at the dinner table, with Mabel and Henry's comfortably affectionate nature towards each other, and talks about him and finding a girl to settle down with. After cleaning up, Henry went to bed, and Mabel stayed with him to catch up.

"I hope you do find a girl someday, Dip." She said, sipping from her glass of juice. Dipper sipped his own glass and huffed. "We've been through this, Mabel. I don't really want to look for someone. It's not like I'm very likeable anyways. Maybe I'll just grow old and die alone like Toby."

She slapped his arm hard, making him jump in his seat. "Ow! What the hell?"

"You gotta stop doing this to yourself, Dip. It's not helping. I'm sure as heck there are plenty of girls who would like you,"

"Oh, sure, like that one psycho chick you set me up with?"

"C'mon, I didn't know she'd drug you!"

"To be fair, I only woke up on top of a GalaxyBucks!" After getting a sharp glare from his sister, he snapped his trap shut. "Okay, fine. I'll try dating more often, that okay with you?"

"I really want you to meet the perfect match, Dip. I just want you to be as happy as I am,"

He shifted in his seat, casting his gaze down. "Yeah, I know." He took a quick peek at his watch and realized how late it was. "Oh shoot!"

"What?"

"Its really late, I gotta go," He pulled himself off the seat, hastily rushing to grab his coat and boots. He felt a soft hand take hold of his wrist and stop him from opening the door. "Stay here, Dip"

"Wait, what about my hotel?"

"You can cancel,"

"What about the Shack?"

"Have Wendy and her beau take care of it, I'm sure she won't mind,"

"I don't know, Mabel. It's really late."

"And that's why you should stay. I really miss you, Dip."

Looking between Mabel and the door, going back and forth, he let out a sigh, pulling out his phone to dial Wendy's number. After a quick goodbye, he got someone to take care of the shack, and felt a pair of arms around him. He hugged back, reminiscing in the scent, and closing his eyes for this brief moment of happiness for both of them.

#Pinecest #Angst #Fics #mabelxdipper #dipperxmabel

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kileyrose-2003 · 4 years

Text

Rose the Hat x Fem! Reader

Hello lovelies! This imagine was requested by @merci-bitch I still love that username, lol. I hope you enjoy! Sorry it took me a while to publish. I was getting stuff ready for Christmas all day today.

Warnings: Violence, implied child abuse, implied domestic violence, mentions of child death, mentions of sexism.

For someone with such a beautiful face, you did not have such a beautiful past. You were a freak. Or at least that's what you thought.

You were born into a wealthy family and your parents wanted a little boy, not a girl. They were automatically biased about you from the start.

You were a beautiful baby and so happy. You loved everyone, even strangers. Your aunts and uncles would hold you close when they came to visit telling your parents how lucky they were or how special you were. You were an only child after all. They would just shrug. "It's a child. Nothing that special about her."

Over time though they realized just how special you were. You weren't like other children. You seen things and did things other children didn't do.

You could advise someone to go to the doctor because somehow you knew they were sick and could tell people little tidbits about their past or future.

Guest and other relatives marvelled over it, remarking on how cool they thought it was. Your parents didn't like it though. In their small minds, little girls weren't supposed to do things like that.

You did everything they asked but it was never good enough. You got good grade, got accepted into Honor Society, virtually any achievement anyone could think of. Your parents didn't care though.

Years of rejection hurt and once you hit your early teens you began to react like any normal teenager would. You cried everyday when you came over the smallest things and crying eventually turned to rebelling.

You'd go out for nights on end and not come. Your shine grew stronger and your parents could take you no more.

They sent you away to an inpatient mental health facility. You begged and begged not to go. You weren't crazy. You didn't ask to have this weird sonar in your head. You wanted to be normal. They refused though stating "You were to dangerous to others and yourself."

Those two years you spent locked away were the hardest years you ever knew. You were constantly doped out on all the medications they gave you and your shine became slightly surpressed.

Even though supression occurred though, dark things became attached to you. Demons and ghost would come to you in the night and you could take no more.

On a dark, summer night you took the first pair of clothes and purse you could find and ran off. You felt relieved but couldn't help but feeling distressed.

You had money and enough debit cards to get you anywhere you wanted at this point but eventually someone would notice their purse was missing and money was gone.

As soon as you got out of the bus, you turned to escorting wealthy men for money. The pay was good but some of the men were terrible.

More often than not, you'd wake up in an unfamiliar hotel room and no memory of how you got there. Days of the week blended in together and one drink eventually turned to the whole bottle. It was one of the very rare days you didn't have and you were currently at your favorite movie theater, nestled into your seat zoning off to the music in the vintage film. Your thirst for liquor was off that day and you just felt like doing something different.

The theater was mostly empty besides a few people and a couple sitting in the way back together.

"I don't see what you're fussing about." Rose mused, laying her head on Crow Daddy's shoulder. She wasn't enthused by any of this. Normally she'd enjoy a night out at the cinema with her Crow but the popcorn was bland and the teenagers sloppily kissing on the big screen were not the best entertainment.

"She's steamy. Just look at her." Crow gestured his hand towards you. "I'll agree, big steam but she has no particular talent. She's just steamy."

"You don't think she'd be good to turn?" Rose held a piece of popcorn up to his lips. "If the situation was different, then yes. For right now though, no. We need to eat more than we need steam. How old do you think she is anyways?"

Crow pushed her hand away. "Nineteen or twenty tops. If we train her though, she'd have so much talent. Plus she's kinda cute." Rose furrowed her brows. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"You heard." He shrugged, desperately trying to get a rise out of her. Rose glared at him out of the corners of her eyes, a slight pang of jealousy ran through her. "Spunky tonight, aren't we?"

"Guess you could call it that." Rose grinned tightly. "Not feeling the hunger yet from a few months ago?"

"Nope." He popped his 'p'

'Of course you're not. Because you want to be stubborn.' Rose shifted in her seat.

"We're not turning her. We just turned Andi a few months ago. You know how it is. You don't turn more than one in a short period of time. You don't want to make the baby jealous."

"If I may say so Rosie, Andi doesn't seem like she has a care in the slightest about anything." Crow's tone remained soft but he retained serious composure in his face.

Rose smiled sickly sweet. "I didn't ask for your opinion but that's fine, honeybunch." She leaned upwards, trailing kisses all over his collar bone. "You remember the last time we ate?"

"Six months ago..Rhode Island." He grunted, trying his hardest not to give in. "Remember how nice it felt? How good the sex was?" She nipped the sensitive part of his neck. "We can have that again very soon if we have her."

Crow's eyes rolled into the back, running his hands up and down her sides. "Do you have a plan on how you want to trap her?"

"We don't have to do anything. Matter of fact, I think we have the perfect opportunity..now." Your phone began to ring in your pocket and you walked up the aisle to step outside and answer it.

Crow took Rose's soft hand is his rough, lightly scarred one. A reminiscent of the physically grueling years of his youth. "Let's do this then."

Meanwhile you stood outside in the rain, your phone pressed up against your ear. "No..I'm not leaving. Because, it's my day off..and I said no! Look, I'm at a movie theater, I'll call you back. Bye."

You hung up the phone and shook your head, walking to your car but something felt off. You felt like someone was watching you. "Excuse me, Miss." Hesitantly, you turned around. Trusting the bright and cheerful smile despite that uneasy feeling in your stomach. "You left your purse in theater." He held up what you thought was your hand bag.

"Oh my gosh. Thank you so much." You approached Crow. "I was wondering where I put it." You went to take the bag in your hand but it was no longer there.

"What the fuck?" A hand grabbed your arm and you tensed. You spun in the opposite direction and was greeted by Rose.

"Well hi there, dollface." You paused and turned your gaze to the woman across from you. Her grey eyes hypnotized you as they locked with Y/c/e orbs. She was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen, on the outside at least. Something wasn't right on the inside though. You didn't have to use your shine to know that. You had to get away from her.

"You want to let me go." The older woman looked amused and let out a hardy laugh. "Oh no, dearest..no, I don't."

"Yes, you do." Rose insisted. You struggled against her as you felt a set of arms wrap around your torso. "Stop it." You squirmed.

"It's alright honey. Just relax. It'll only be a little pinch." You shook your head and Rose held your shoulders tightly. "You are a special little thing, aren't you?"

Her eyes flicked blue and you gasped as the needle punctured your skin. It stung like a bee and you flinched. The further Crow pushed down on the needle the colder and limper you began to feel.

"How much more?" Rose eyed you closely. "Maybe a milliliter more." She smiled at you and gently caressed your cheeks. "You're going to meet some fun people, sweetcheeks. For right now though, I want you to sleep."

"I-" She shushed you. "Sleep." Your lids felt heavy and soon after your neck muscles gave out and head bobbed forward as you fell asleep.

"Well that was easier than I thought." Crow threw you over his shoulder. "How many cannisters do you think we can fill with this one?"

"I don't know..at least three." Rose slipped her fingers under your chin. "You're right, she is a pretty thing. Too bad she doesn't have any particular skill. She seems like she'd be fun to have around."

"You think?" He gestured to the bottle of liquor that fell out of your purse. Rose chuckled and picked it up of the ground. "Eighty proof. My she must be a busy girl."

The roar of an engine came up from behind both members and they turned on both heels as Snakebite Andi opened the door to the RV. "That the Steamhead?" Rose nodded and Crow carried you inside. "Where to?" Barry yelled from the driver seat. "That forest we passed on the way here. Nobody should hear her out there."

A few hours later you kicked and screamed as Rose carried you out of the RV. "No! No! No!" You begged and flopped against her. "Please..please! I won't tell! I swear."

"Honey, it's not personal and I know you wouldn't but it's just not a practical option." She dropped you on the ground roughly and the other's began to tie you up.

Crow was standing off to the side with a map in his hands. "Rosie, I thought you said no one would hear us out here."

"They won't. Why?" Rose began to sharpen her knife. "We're near a campground." She furrowed her brows. "No, we're not."

"Yes, we are." He held two of his fingers up and gestured for her to come near him. Rose snatched the map into her hands and looked down at you.

"Well I'll be damned." Crow nodded. "Yeah, not a good thing."

Meanwhile Andi hammered one of the stakes down by your feet. "It's a shame, really. You're a pretty girl and I was there once in your shoes but a girl's got to eat."

Tears started streaming down your cheek and Rose stood infront of you. She didn't care who heard something. They needed to eat.

"Rose, will you make her shut up?" Barry groaned. Rose grinned and kneeled infront of you, running the knife against cheek. "Shh..pain purifies steam. Fear too so now you understand."

She raised the knife above her head, balance it inbetween the tips of her fingers. "Are you going to hurt me?" Your inside burns and you felt like you wanted to throw up.

"Yes." Her arm moved forward to stab you but a light peeked through the bushes. "Hey, what's going on over here?"

A rush of adrenaline radiated through you and you swung your legs forward. Kicking Crow in the face. He groaned, holding his bleeding face. "Little whore!"

"They're trying to kill me!" You screamed as you ran up the hill. You expected some of them to run after you but most fled to their RV.

Meanwhile Rose shoved a cloth she had woven into her hair in Crow's direction. "Rosie, where are you going?"

"I'm going to find that pretty, little bitch." Rose ran after you, trying to find any sight of you. "Y/n?" She called out. "That is your name, isn't it? I'm Rose, in case you didn't know mine."

A twig cracked and she spun in the opposite direction. "You can't hide forever, sweetface. That's what you've been doing your whole life, haven't you? If you don't hide from me, I can show you just how special we are. Because like I said you are a special girl."

You cautiously peeked out from behind the tree you were hiding by and made your way to speak past Rose.

"I hear you moving, my sweet. Come to Old Rose." You near passed her when your forehead bumped straight into her's. That battered old top hat fell off her head.

"You asshole!" Rose got your hair in her grip and gave it a rough yank. You screamed and attempted to push her back. "Get away from me, you crazy whore."

You earned another tug to your locks for that remark. "Knock my hat over, hide from me, and be rude? Oh honey, you and I are going to have fun."

Rose pressed your body against the ground and you helplessly found yourself gripping at the ground as if it was going to help you.

There was predatorial prowess in Rose's gaze that made you feel nervous. In the distance you could hear police sirens. "I think I seen them this way."

Rose's head quickly bobbed up as if she was trying to figure out if it was a member of her family and she cursed. "I want to remember every single feature on your face that way you'll never be able to escape."

You let out a scream and she rolled her eyes. "Oh will you shut up?" Rose's lips smashed against yours, biting at your lip for entrance to your mouth. You stared at her in awe for a few minutes before letting her tongue enter your mouth. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.

This woman tried to kill you. You shouldn't be making out with her but her dominace and aggressive beauty took you in an instant and you had to admit, she was a damn good kisser too.

Your tongues fought for a winner for a few more moments before she pulled away from you. Your lipstick was smearing on Rose's lip and she grinned.

Her rough touch turned gentle as she booped your nose. "You're lucky. Your screams saved you this time but rest assure my sweet, I will be seeing you again and like I said, you'll never escape."

"Until we meet again, pretry girl." Rose stood up off the ground and nodded in your direction before walking off. You laid on the ground, gazing up at the stars. In shock of it all. "What the fuck just happened?"

You heard rustling from the bushes behind and the police ran up to you. "Miss, are you okay?" You nodded slowly. "Yeah I'm..I'm fine."

"Can you tell us what happened?" You could see The True's RVs rolling out in the distance and you shrugged. "I-i don't know."

One of them mumbled something about amnesia and helped you off the ground. "Let's get you to the hospital."

Down the road Rose drove at a normal pace as she made her way from the scene. "How come you're not panicking?" He had a piece of gauze pressed up against his cheek.

"She didn't tell," Rose responded, keeping her eyes on the road. "So we're just going to let her go?" She chuckled and shook her head. "No..I have a different plan for this one. I thought about what you said before Crow and I think you're right." He raised an eyebrow at Rose and she smirked.

Less than a week later you were back at home when there was a knock on your apartment door during your movie night and you put the bowl of popcorn down to go answer it. You looked out the peephole before opening it.

Rose stood on the other side, clad in a pretty silk shirt and broad grin on her face. "Well, hi there. I told you I'd be seeing you again."

There waa no weapon on Rose and you stared at her in complete confusion, not knowing whether to return the greeting or push her out. Rose giggled at you and strolled past you, shuttling the door behind her. "Ooo what are we watching? Casablanca? Good choice for a rube."

"W-what are you doing here?" Rose chuckled. "I told you we weren't finished yet." She pecked your lips. "I still have to make you scream."

She playfully smacked your ass. "Where's your bedroom?" You pointed down the hall and Rose took your hand in hers, taking you to your bed.

Rose pressed her lips against yours and forced you down onto the bed. "I don't think we really had a proper introduction."

"You think?" The words came out snappily but you didn't mind. "What exactly are you because I know you're not human."

"An empty devil." The response came out coldly and chills ran down your spine. Rose laughed and kissed your cheeks.

"Not so fiesty now, are we?" She ran her hands down your side as she looker around your apartment. "Haven't lived here long, have you? Or had a family in a while."

"What's it to you?" You spat and Rose smiled. "What would you say if I changed that?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Here's the deal..I'm going to make you an offer Y/n because it's clear you're the hunt or be hunted type and you're steamy." She eyed you up and down. "How old are you, lovely?"

"Twenty" You hummed softly and Rose grinned. "What an age. You know I remember being your age once. Long time ago. I felt lonesome and turned to love in all the wrong places then I met someone like myself who showed me I wasn't alone. Wasn't crazy. That's how you felt for a long time, didn't you? Your family didn't understand you. No one did."

"I-i..I don't want to talk about it." You overted eye contact. "Shhh.. it's okay. We all have our deep and dark little secrets in our families. That's what I'm offering you. No secrets you have to hold anymore and no more hunting for a meal. Stay young, eat well, live long. What do you say?"

"I say I got nothing to lose." You shrugged. "Excellent." You attempted to stand up to grab your belongings but Rose pushed you back down. "Oh no, no, no..not yet. I told you. I'm not through with you yet."

Instead of your screams of pain it was screams of pleasure Rose heard all night and Rose was perfectly fine with that. Either way she had you trapped and she wasn't letting you go, ever.

#crow daddy #the true knot #true knot #rose the hat #doctor sleep #dr sleep #the shining #imagine #x reader #fem reader #stephen king

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stained-glass-fragments · 4 years

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Her eyes rippled with something strange, but she shook her head and carefully pried his grip away from her. "We're not the same, Yune. You're filled with hatred. I can almost feel it radiating off of you. You don't want a place in this world. You think the world owes you for what you've already gone through!"

His eyes narrowed, hand falling stiff at his side. "I wanted to understand, you know. I wanted to know why you weren't filled with the same bitterness I was. Why you didn't want those bastards to pay for what they did and how many lives they ruined and destroyed. Why you would work so damn hard to try to prove something to them."

She looked up with honest aqua-blue eyes. "I felt it was worth trying for. To prove to myself that I wasn't what they thought I was."

"And look where it's gotten you!" he all but exploded. "Do they seem any more sympathetic? Do they welcome you with open arms? Do they even care how much you sacrificed for others - what you've given as a knight and protector of the weak and innocent? No! They drop your rank, act like you're a blemish to their academy, call you dangerous, and track you down like an animal!"

The tears that welled threatened to spill. As much as it hurt to admit it, he was right. In the end, she had gotten nowhere. Her true identity was revealed, and everyone changed. The men and women she once considered her comrades in arms sneered at the mere mention of her. Many were convinced she murdered missing travelers when there was no proof of any such thing. Her once good and respected name was tarnished forever. No one would listen to her. No one would believe her.

Farona gasped when she felt the warm hand wipe away the wetness of her eyes. "You see?" he spoke softly, as if to a child. "All of your efforts were for nothing. Humans are judgmental creatures overpowered by fear. They're told we're monsters by their own kind - by the real monsters - and they believe it without a second thought. Mindless sheep, flocked and corralled those who seize and abuse power."

"But..." she trailed off, her bottom lip quivering. And when he pulled her into his arms, she didn't fight him.

"We were changed - created by those power-hungry alchemists. They planned to turn us into weapons - weapons they would use to seize even more control and more power." He began to rock her slightly. "Our humanity mattered nothing to them - nothing to the parents that abandoned us. So why, Farona? Why would you ever want to prove anything to a world and a people so filled with cruelty?"

A dry sob escaped her throat. "I thought they would..."

"You thought wrong," he stated simply, and the swaying stopped. He pulled back to look into her eyes. "Come with me, Farona. We can find a way to set things straight. We can make sure those disgusting alchemists get what they truly deserve. We can find a way to prove everyone wrong. We can make them regret everything they've done to us."

"N-No!" she tried to jerk away from him, but he stubbornly held her in place. "I don't want to--I don't want to hurt anyone!"

"Don't try to fool yourself," he scoffed, his grip on the un-plated part of her arms almost bruising. "It runs through your veins, just like it runs through mine. You can't ignore it forever. Embrace it..."

"No! I'm not a---I'll never---mmph!"

Her words were cut off when he crushed his lips to hers, effectively ceasing her protests. And for a moment, she was too stunned by the abrupt kiss to do anything. But that moment quickly passed and she hastily jerked back from him, face flushed cherry red and features contorted in a mixture of alarm and anger. "What do you think you're doing!?"

A slow grin spread across his lips, making the half-lidded red eyes appear almost amused. "Why, persuading you, of course."

And before she could form a reply, his mouth was on hers again. Despite them both being the results of terrible experiments, her own inhuman strength was no match for his. She wanted to yell, but his lips were firm and the church was empty.

As she usually did when she was in any unwanted situation, Farona resorted to brute force. Her arms pulled back and shot out with the flex of her elbows, effectively pushing hard against his chest and breaking the contact from their mouths. Yune even stumbled back a few feet.

Breathing hard, the knightress backed away slowly, her catlike ears remaining flat against the sides of her head. Her eyes narrowed, scathingly defiant as her voice hissed. "Don't---ever think you have any right to touch me. Now that I know exactly what kind of person you are, I want nothing to do with you."

Yune straightened, eying her coolly. "Hm, I had a feeling you might refuse. A bit disappointing, but not unexpected. After all, you're a fool who has been infected by fake human 'acceptance'."

"Get out of here," she bit out, pointing down the aisle to the tall chapel doors. "I don't care where you go, but you had better not lay a hand on anyone. If you do, whether I'm part of the Pronterean Guard or not any longer, I will make sure that you're brought to justice."

To her surprise, Yune threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed within, assaulting her ears relentlessly and filling her with dread. When at last he stopped, all traces of the amusement were gone. "Not lay a hand on anyone?" he repeated incredulously. "My dear, you have no idea..."

A part of her felt a stab of fear at his words. The way he spoke that, so flippantly, so tellingly...

"I did tell you that I became a high priest for their skills and powers, did I not?" he quipped with a click of his tongue. "Farona, I have power beyond your wildest dreams. The blood of Baphomet, King of the Demons, runs through my veins! And through the power I have unwillfully been given through injections, tests, and magic infusion, I have become the very weapon we were being molded into."

Her heart was hammering, but the knightress could not bring herself to run. She had to know exactly what it was that Yune had done, no matter how terrible it may be.

"However, I am now a weapon of my own fine-tuning, my dear," he clarified, beginning to walk to her right and then slowly around her. Farona followed him with her eyes, her gloved fingers settling upon the hilt of the sword at her side. "I don't belong to a power-hungry group of alchemists bent on overthrowing Rune-Midgard's leaders. And their army will not stand a chance against my own."

Her brows furrowed at that, eyes fixated on him with puzzlement as he came to a stop in front of her again. "What? You---you actually got people--or monsters--to follow you?"

"I prefer the word persuaded." He smirked, the lines of his smile twisting into something incredibly unsettling and sinister. "You see, priests have a most wonderful ability, Farona. We can raise the dead. I can simply kill the most powerful soldiers I come across and raise them back up, gaining my own undead slave. Quite remarkable, isn't it?"

Farona's blue eyes widened in utter horror. "Y--You---you killed..."

"Hundreds! Thousands!" he announced enthusiastically. "And I've created an army of powerful warriors, ranging from the burliest paladin and the most accurate of snipers, to the sneakiest and most cutthroat assassin and the most fearsome wizards... and not a single one of them can be killed. After all, they're already dead!"

He laughed at his own morbid joke, making her stomach twist. This seemingly kind-hearted, silly priest had kept such a dark, terrible the truth locked up tight behind his facade. He had already slaughtered thousands of innocent people for his own gain and obviously didn't feel even a smidgen of remorse. She felt sick.

But that wasn't important. Now that she knew the truth, he had to stopped at all costs. For the sake of everyone in Rune-Midgard, she had to apprehend him here and now---it was her duty not to let this madman leave the church and continue his bloodthirsty massacre of revenge. Eyes resolute, she unsheathed her long sword in one swift movement, pointing the tip purposefully in his direction. Her intent was clear.

"Oh, worry not. I do not intend to make you one of my army," he assured her, raising a hand up in mock-defense. The other hand fell to his pocket. "I have much more... satisfying plans for someone as special as you."

The way he spoke, like a snake waiting to strike, struck her unease up another notch. He was gifted with magic, as was abundantly clear from the horrible things he had done with his powers. However, in a purely physical sense, she would have the upper hand. He wasn't carrying a weapon and if she could just knock him out...

Farona swallowed down the growing fear that was churning inside of her, lit by the inner fire of the crimson eyes gauging her, watching closely for her next move. Whatever "plans" he had, she was intent on not letting him carry them out, whether with her or the rest of Rune-Midgard.

And to think that she had trusted him.

#ragnarok online #lord knight #high priest #stained glass writing #farona #yune hiraze #tw: mentions of murder #there's a lot more to stained glass but a lot of it is triggery so i'll only be posting 'fragments' from hereon out more than likely #although surprisingly yune's POV chapter (chapter 4) is one of the least triggery hahaha #but i hope folks are enjoying it so far #it has taken me many years to drive their story forward and it only gets more complicated from hereon out #i'll see what else i can dig safely out of this starting chapter but if you want to read the whole thing you'll have to message me

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cutesuki--bakugou · 5 years

Text

Sea Legs

Ch. 3 - Playing Doctor

Boku No Hero Academia / My Hero Academia Quirkless, Mermaid, Modern AU

Rating: Explicit | Excessive Fluff, Blood, Wounds, Nudity, Sex, Cursing and Vulgar Language

Genre: Romance / Humor / Angst

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (oc)

A trip to her grandmothers beachfront home was something that Koge had done every year of her life. This time, an unlikely discovery would change her life forever. Who knew explaining how to be a human could be so hard.

“Well, Katsuki, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Koge.” The petite woman stood, starting to make her way over towards the wounded section of his tail. Bakugou scoffed, glare locked on her as she moved. “Don’t call me by my first name. And don’t expect me to call you by yours!” With a small roll of her eyes, Koge squatted down between two rocks, observing the wood that was pierced through his body. “Well, I don’t like my last name so I’m not gonna tell it to you. So, you have to call me Koge.”

“Fuck that… I’ll call you… Utsuro.”

“Eh? You’re calling me hollow? Why?”

“Because you literally have no fucking expressions and your voice is like an annoying whisper. You’re obviously void of any emotion-- hey, don’t touch me! I fucking told you!” He tilted his body away from her touch as Koge tenderly placed her hand against his scaled body, though he couldn’t go far enough to get away from her. Huffing, Koge narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I’m gonna help you. We have to get this thing out, don’t we?”

“I can pull it out myself! You’ll just end up killing me if you try.” Although he was trying to be tough, Koge could hear the fatigue in his voice. His entire body was still trembling, and the confidence in his strained expression was very quickly fading. In fact, Koge was amazed that he was even still conscious at all. “No,” she spoke sternly, tapping a finger to her chin as she tried to think. “I have to help you, you’d just pass out halfway though from the pain. Oh!” Standing, Koge hopped off the rocks back onto the sand, though she turned her attention back to him before going off.

“Just stay here and I’ll be back. I have to get some stuff from the house to be able to do this.”

“Stuff like what?” Bakugou hissed through his teeth, face now hidden in his arms.

“Well… Towels, bandages, alcohol and I have some pain pills that I bet will help. I mean, you’re half human so they have to work, right?” Koge wasn’t quite sure if her question was directed to him or to the open air, but an annoyed glare from the corner of his eye told her that Bakugou had no idea. “Ah, anyway, just… Chill out here, okay? It’ll only take me a few minutes. Don’t die!” With that, she turned and began sprinting down the beach back towards the house, trying to create a list in her mind.

Towels. Bandages. Alcohol and wound cream, whatever it’s called. A blanket? A bucket. A saw, hand or electric would be better? Medicine, like painkillers and maybe antibiotics if Grandma has any sitting around. Would I need food? What the hell would he even eat? Needle and thread maybe? Would I need a lighter? Damn it, I’m not a doctor, I’m way over my head!

Still, Koge gathered everything as quickly as she could, shoving it all either into the bucket or into a backpack. Fresh water, some raw shrimp from the fridge, a couple of fruits, a tent and other miscellaneous items joined the list, and before Koge really knew it, she looked like she was going camping. Much to her frustration, she wasn’t the only one that noticed.

“My dear? Where are you going with all those things?” Kiki spoke up from the kitchen, spotting Koge as she tried to sneak out the back with all her new belongings. With a small cough to clear her throat and steady herself, Koge took a few steps back, locking eyes with her grandmother. “Ah well, it’s so beautiful outside today I thought I would just maybe… Hang out and pitch a tent and just enjoy the sun?” She could hear the bullshit in her own voice, but she had always been a horrible liar, though she knew that the truth would sound just as ridiculous. After a moment, Kiki nodded, giving a small smile. “Oh, that sounds exciting. The beach is very private, as you know, but please don’t go too far down. Would you like me to send someone to wait on you in a few hours?”

“No, no, that’s okay. If I need something I’ll just come back up. I have my cell phone that can make calls and text still, so let me know if you need me to come back, okay?”

With another nod from Kiki, Koge was off, jogging back down the beach with her excessive amount of effects. She worried the entire time if she had everything she needed, if any of it was even going to work, or if she had taken too long deciding what was necessary to bring. All she could pray for was that the creature she had left on the rocks was still alive, after the good hour it took her to return. At first, she was shocked to find that Bakugou wasn’t even where she had left him. Instead, he had somehow moved himself off the rocks and crawled into a shaded area in the sand, where the edge of the jungle met the beach. It was the trail of blood and disturbed sand that led her to him, worry bubbling in her stomach at first glance.

Bakugou had stayed on his stomach, face once again hidden in his arms. From afar, there was no movement, but as Koge approached she could see his back moving with deep, labored breaths. Knowing she had to hurry, Koge put her belongings down near him, softly speaking to him as to not startle him awake. “Katsuki? Can you hear me?”

The only response was a heavy sigh, though it was obvious that his strength had all but given out at this point. How he had dragged himself at least fifty yards from the rocks was baffling, and if he weren’t in such a dire state, Koge would find herself marveling at his power. But for now, she needed to help him.

“I think I know what I need to do.” Koge began to dig through the backpack, pulling out the towels, medicine, alcohol and battery powered electric saw. “The wood is still too long, I have to shorten it first so it won't be so hard to get out. That, and the end needs to be smooth so it won’t leave splinters. Hopefully it won’t, I mean.” Koge was more speaking to herself in a soft mumble, though Bakugou finally lifted his head to respond. “Tch, I guess you’re not as stupid as you look. What are those pain things you were talking about? Painkillers?”

Picking up on his curiosity, Koge handed him the small bottle, which was sealed with a child proof cap. At first, he focused his tired crimson glare on the words, running his finger along the characters as he did. “May cause drowsiness… Don’t take on an empty stomach. Doesn’t say about no fish-people, so that’s a plus.” Bakugou grumbled to himself as he attempted to open the bottle, though his lighthearted joke was quickly swallowed by frustration. “What the fuck, how does it open!?”

Koge couldn’t help but to giggle softly. “It’s made so children can’t get in it. Push down on the lid with your palm and twist.”

“Are you calling me a child?!”

“Well if you can’t open it, you must be one.”

Her quick retort silenced the blonde instantly, though his glare never left her face. “You’re lucky I feel like shit, or I swear you’d regret that.” Bakugou finally got the bottle open with a pop, promptly pouring more than half of the pills into his palm. Stammering, Koge quickly placed her hand over his, covering the pills so he couldn’t plop them into his mouth. “Wait! Only one!”

“Eh? How is just one of these little pills strong enough?!” Bakugou didn’t fight to get his hand back, though his fingers did clamp down around her small hand in response to her touch. “I’m bigger than a human, don’tcha think?” Koge gave a small shake of her head, closing her fingers around the pills to pick them up from his palm. “Still. Only one. If one doesn’t work, then we can do one and a half. These are super strong, they knock me on my ass, seriously.”

“Well you’re a midget.”

“That’s not very nice.” Koge took the bottle back as well, giving him one single tiny blue pill. “But you have to take it with food. Uh… what do you eat?”

Bakugou glowered up at her, rolling the small pill between his fingers. “Anything.”

“Literally anything?”

“That’s what I fucking said. What did you bring?”

After placing the pills back into the bottle and closing it up, Koge dug through her pack again, looking at her selection of food. “I brought some fruit… Uhm… Shrimp? It’s already been de-pooped--”

“Gimme the shrimp.” Bakugou snapped at her, plopping the pill into his mouth before reaching into the bag himself. “What the fuck do you mean ‘de-pooped’? You mean you cleaned them already? Can you not talk like a normal person?” Feeling the cold plastic bag, he pulled them to him, an obvious hunger giving him enough energy at the moment. Enough energy to be an ass, sure, but Koge couldn’t really blame him. He must have been starving after everything he had gone through and how much blood he had lost, though the fact that he began to eat them half defrosted and raw did freak her out a bit.

“Uh, ew. I mean, I assume you don’t cook them… In the water. But still.” Koge glowered down at Bakugou as he ate with a ravenous hunger, eating all but the tails, which he tossed onto the ground beside him. “We eat everything raw, though we do clean the meat before eating it. At least, most of us do. I can’t stand fish with the scales still on them or the fins. Fucking disgusting.”

Koge gave a small hum, setting out her supplies to care for his wound on top of a towel. “Prissy boy, aren’tcha? You seem spoiled.”

“Like you would know! Stop assuming shit, you don’t know anything about me.” Bakugou tossed a shrimp tail at her, hitting her square on the cheek. “Besides, you’re the one that’s obviously spoiled for a human, living in that big house.”

“I don’t live there, my grandmother does. But that doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed anything like that.” From the side of the backpack, Koge pulled out a water bottle, taking a healthy swig. The morning had faded into midday, and she was beginning to feel the humidity and heat weighing down on her. Even though her hair was up in a ponytail, the stray hairs stuck to her face and the back of her neck, and the grimy feeling of sweat was making itself known. When she finished drinking, she noticed that Bakugou was staring up at her silently, shocking her so much she almost felt the urge to jump. “W-what?”

“What’s that?” His eyes darted from the bottle back to her face. “Is it fresh water?”

“It is. Do you want some?”

At first, he eyed it cautiously, fiddling with a shrimp in his fingers. “If I drink it, I’ll probably take the whole thing. It’s very sweet to us… Addicting almost.”

“Really? Well… Why don’t you have it. I mean… If things don’t go well, at least you got to have some.” Koge handed the bottle out towards him, a bit surprised to see a snarky smirk cross his lips as he took it.

“Heh, true. Well, it wouldn’t be the worst last moments one could spend on Earth.”

“Are you ready then?”

After chugging nearly half the remaining water in the large bottle, Bakugou sighed, the tip of his tail shifting about in what Koge could only assume was either momentary happiness or nervousness. Koge wasn’t confident in herself, but he had put his faith in her, lest he die out here like a beached animal.

“Yes. I want to get it over with. You had better not kill me. I have no choice but to trust you.”

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yodawgiherd · 5 years

Text

Candyman

Rating : M

>>> Read on AO3<<<

Originally, I wanted to do something altogether different here, but then ch. 116 happened and few people I follow went insane over Eren's abs (not that I blame them, boy’s a snack).

So, I made this instead :D

Enjoy!

Levi almost forgot how good it felt, with the recent weeks spent buried in annoying paperwork. The rush of a fight, the strain of body, the way his senses sharpened, and mind cleared, one singular goal remaining in his mind. To win, to defeat whoever was on the opposite side of the ring, who just happened to be his sister. Mikasa’s lips were thinly pressed together, with sweat beading on her forehead, a proof that she was taking this duel as seriously as Levi was. She always took her opponents seriously, no matter who they were, and Levi thought that it’s surely a very good trait to have. After all, you never truly knew who you’re fighting. She was keeping her distance, trying, testing, hoping to find a way through her brother’s defense, but it was perfect so far. Levi might not have much tournament experience himself, but he had an amazing talent and years of hard work behind his moves, and when he gave it his all, he was an amazing fighter. Then again, so was Mikasa. The hits landing were fast, and strong, shaking Levi’s body, but he kept his hands up, searching for the true moment to strike. Patient, and silent, like a wolf, waiting for his moment to bite. And as on cue, he got one.

The footwork was easy to miss, but he knew Mikasa like the back of his hand, or he liked to think that he did, the years they trained together giving him insight into her fighting style no one else will ever have. The tiny step back, the spacing and preparation, it gave him a very short notice of the high kick that was coming, but still, it was a heads up, and he took full advantage of it. The plan was simple. Block the kick, push her leg away to upset her balance, and step closer in order to fully abuse the hole in her defense. Bracing himself, Levi took a wide stance, expecting the inevitable. The kick landed like a thunder into his block, the sheer strength alone making him stumble a few steps backwards. Okay, he was right about his prediction but simply underestimated the power of the attack, as he was now the one reeling backwards, unable to do anything but prevent himself from falling on his ass.

“Damn, you actually caught that.”, Mikasa had a surprise written all over her face, hands dropping to indicate that she was ready to take a breather. One that they both desperately needed. “I was sure that I had you this time.”

“Too slow.”, he gritted through clenched teeth, working his shoulders before the stiffness had a chance to set it. Fuck but that last hit stung. Luckily Mikasa didn’t seem to notice his struggle, casually drying her sweaty face with a towel.

It was amazing seeing her grow like she did, both as a person and as a fighter, and Levi couldn’t help but feel a sense of achievement, watching her now. Back then, when she first came to him, she was broken, shattered, without a goal in life or any guidance that could show her any. It was Levi, no one else, that picked up the pieces and melded them back together, made her into the successful young woman that Mikasa is today. Sure, he made some blunders along the way, but who wouldn’t. And if she was just a hair’s breadth away from beating his ass, then so be it. What trainer wouldn’t take pride in his trainee’s strength. Through the years, Levi molded a champion, and while he of course knew that Mikasa’s hard work and dedication was essential to becoming who she is today, he allowed himself to be selfish for a minute. It felt good.

“I missed this you know.”, she said, interrupting his self-praise.

“Missed what?”

“Fighting all-out, really sparring, I couldn’t do it ever since An… ehm.. I mean, couldn’t do it for a long time.”

It was rather obvious what she wanted to say originally, but Levi was not the type to rip open an old wound. He had enough of those himself.

“What, Eren isn’t up to the task?”, he asked instead, trying to ease the tension. Successfully, since Mikasa chuckled.

“Oh, you know him, he’s doing his best.”, Eren was strong, that was for sure, and after helping her train for years at this point, more than an adequate opponent, but the likes of Levi or Mikasa were still a class above him. Must be the Ackerman genes. “Give him a few more years and maybe he’ll get there.”

“Indeed, I can totally imagine you two clashing for the title of an MMA champion.”, Levi snorted, “You’d probably start making out or some shit.”

Mikasa didn’t even have the decency to blush.

“That’s possible. Fighting always gets us…. hmm… excited.”

“Yo, keep the details, I don’t need to hear them.”

“As you wish brother dear.”, taking a measured sip of water, Mikasa stretched, groaning in satisfaction at the pleasurable soreness of her muscles. The talk about Eren however did make her remember something, so putting her bottle down, she got Levi’s attention by clearing her throat.

“What?”, he blurted.

“You never told me; how did your talk with Petra go?”

“So, you know her name huh?”

Mikasa shrugged.

“Well she was at the party, so we talked for a few minutes.”

“It was okay. I explained to her why I had to make such an exit from college, and she seemed to understand. We’re cool now.”

“Cool? Just cool?”

He narrowed his eyes at her smirking expression.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Petra, Hange… You know, out of all the people I know I never imagined you being in a love triangle.”

The casualness of her tone, the smirk, everything about the way she pronounced the accusation made Levi’s blood boil. Hey, he loved the girl, but what did she know?

“What? What triangle? There’s no fucking triangle. Shut up.”

“So defensive…”, Mikasa clicked her tongue, the smile remaining, “I wonder why…”

“I said shut up.”, throwing the towel over the ropes again, he took his fighting stance, nodding at his smirking sister. “Get ready brat.”

Mimicking his movements, Mikasa fell into her own, a bit more relaxed stance, nodding right back at him.

“Bring it on, midget.”

And soon thoughts about anything else but the sparring disappeared from their minds, as the thrill of a fight overwhelmed them once again.

Of course that Eren talked big, coming home from work, the classic rant that he’s not tired at all, while his lids were literally dropping, and that they can do something together, no problem. But Mikasa saw the same behavior on a number of occasions already, so she suggested watching a movie, something relaxing after a taxing day. Sounds good, doesn’t it. Exactly as she predicted, Eren fell asleep about five minutes after they sat together on the couch, head dropping back. She waited for a moment, to see if he perhaps wont wake up after a short nap, but judging from the sounds he was making and the overall stiffness of his body, Eren was done for the day.

Turning the tv off, and gathering his considerable bulk in her arms, she couldn’t help but grunt as his full weight settled in her embrace. Normally she had no problems with carrying him, but today’s workout was especially taxing, and that combined with the sparring against Levi, who wasn’t holding back at all, exhausted her more than she anticipated. Eren was broad shouldered, tall, and the muscle mass she helped him build herself came back to haunt her now, weighing down at Mikasa heavily. Yet it wouldn’t be Mikasa Ackerman if she backed down from a challenge. Pressing her lips together in determination, she braved the journey up the stairs to the bedroom, not letting out another sound, lest it doesn’t wake Eren up. Successfully finishing her escort mission, she carefully laid him to the bed, diving in after too, ready to call it a night. Or so she thought.

For reasons unknown to her, sleep just avoided Mikasa, making her roll left and right, unable to find any rest. It didn’t make sense. She was dog tired, exhaustion deep in her bones, but still, her eyes couldn’t remain closed. Sighing, she turned on the other side again, restless eyes sliding over Eren, who was understandably obvious to her trouble, lost in whatever dream he was having. Out of options, Mikasa decided that she just might as well watch him sleep for a while, that might inspire her body to finally snap out of it and do the same. With one hand behind his head, facing the ceiling, Eren was the picture of peacefulness, his features completely still. Usually, Eren was the one watching her sleep, and while Mikasa found it kinda creepy at the start, the soft looks and touches grew on her, and a few times she even only pretended to be asleep so she could bask in his loving gaze. Well, since she can’t sleep, she might as well try that too.

Shuffling a bit closer, Mikasa leaned in, inspecting Eren’s face from up close. He always had a pretty face, nice to look at, although it was different, now that the most dominant part of it, his blazing green eyes, were hidden beneath heavy lids. Tracing the shape of his chin, Mikasa couldn’t hold in a soft giggle when her fingertips encountered a very short stubble. Eren really needed to shave in the morning. Over the neck and down, she took her time in admiring the rise and fall of his broad chest, still remembering how skinny he was when they first met. Lot of hard work on Eren’s part, but the results were rather mouthwatering. Before meeting him, Mikasa never saw muscles as something nice to look at. Society doesn’t really judge female beauty by how distinct her abdominals are, does it. They were functional, allowed her to be faster, to hit stronger, to last longer during her workouts, they weren’t an aesthetic. But then Eren and his fascination with Mikasa’s midriff came around, and suddenly she found herself reevaluating her beliefs. What did it matter what others wanted, if her boyfriend could spend literally minutes just tracing the outlines of her abs, grinning like a child who got a new toy.

And now, years down the road, Mikasa was the one staring at Eren’s stomach, feeling her excitement spark upon seeing the subtle movements of his core. Maybe he had a point. Biting her bottom lip, she slowly dragged the cover lower, exposing more and more of the very nicely outlined abdominals. Splaying her fingers on the warm tanned skin, careful not to put too much pressure on him, Mikasa did what Eren always enjoyed, and started tracing the shapes of each individual part with the tip of her finger. It felt funny, and admittedly even a bit exciting, because damn it but her fiancé was hot. Realizing that it was partly her doing too, as she was the one who pushed him to go to the gym with her in the first place, Mikasa decided that it’s time to enjoy the spoils, and dived in with a renewed vigor. Poking and prodding, fully engaged in her task, Mikasa didn’t even notice how Eren’s eyebrows furrowed, and the little groan of discomfort that followed, but he didn’t wake. Just as she was running out of ideas of what to do, another thought struck her. There was one more thing that Eren loved doing to her stomach, one that he arguably enjoyed even more than just touching it. Risking a quick look up, making sure that he was still sleeping, Mikasa leaned even closer, and after a moment’s hesitation pressed her lips against the abs. Wasn’t the first time she was kissing this area, that was for sure, but she’s never done it before with Eren sleeping, and it gave her a rush of adrenaline. It felt like she was doing something forbidden, but who doesn’t want to be the bad girl from time to time. Bold, she stuck her tongue out, licking a broad stripe along the muscles, and that seemed to finally cross the line, because above her, certain someone cleared his throat, making her look up.

“So… uh…. Do I want to know what you’re doing?”

Eren’s gaze was half sleepy, half surprised, as he was looking down at her with total confusion on his face. Slowly, Mikasa hid her tongue back inside her mouth, trying to find any explanation for her actions. But she came up blank.

“Nothing?”, she tried.

“Well, it did look like you were licking me from my perspective.”

“Nah…”

“Right…..”

The irony was so thick in his reply that it was enough to make Mikasa snap.

“And what if I did?”, even with her cheeks coloring, she held his gaze without flinching, “You have your mouth on me all the time, maybe I wanted to get a taste too!”

Lame excuse, really, but it’s not like she had any better one.

“I do, don’t I…”, Eren seemed to be thinking about her statement for a second, but when he looked back at her, his eyes had a new kind of fire inside them. One that Mikasa knew very well. With a twist and flip, she was on her back before she realized it, with Eren looming over her, a huge grin spread on his lips.

“Now that you mention it,”, his lips were close, and Mikasa thought that he’s going to kiss her, but then he moved past, whispering into her ear instead, “I think that I’ll go for a midnight snack.”

In her disheveled state, Mikasa was just about to ask him if he can make her something to eat too, but then she noticed the way he sliddered down her body, littering kisses everywhere, and it finally clicked for her what kind of a snack he had in mind.

“I love that you wear those tiny tank tops to bed.”, he murmured, lips brushing Mikasa’s defined abdominals as he spoke, reversing the position he found himself in after waking up, “Leaves the best parts uncovered.”

Mikasa was just about to inform him that she knows very well that he likes them, and it’s partly the reason why she is wearing them in the first place, but Eren was on a mission, so her explanation got cut off because he moved fast, kissing his way between her legs, to the place where she wanted him the most. Eren took it slow, teasing her, enjoying the way she arched against him, the way the heels of her feet pressed against his back, desperate, needy for his attention. He loved making her come undone, both because he genuinely enjoyed pleasing her, but also because knowing that he has the power to make Mikasa Ackerman, the undefeated queen of the ring, who always beat him so effortlessly when they sparred, the overall toughest and strongest woman he knew, trash helplessly beneath him and sob his name, begging for release, one that he allowed her only when he had his fill, was quite an ego boost. Only when the last tremors of her finish began leaving Mikasa’s body, Eren made his way back up, coming to stop in front of her flushed face.

“You want to sleep now?”

To Eren’s surprise however, Mikasa shook her head, pulling him closer and pressing her lips to his, while wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Make love to me.”, she whispered in between the kisses, a certain need in her voice that Eren was more than happy to fulfill. Pressing his forehead to hers, Eren slowly pushed in, in completely no rush, watching her lids flutter and mouth drop a bit open as he filled her.

The activity had a certain intimacy in it, one that couldn’t he found anywhere else. There were no toys, no bindings, no roleplaying, no costumes, just them, pure and raw, as close as they physically could be. Sure, there were much better positions to reach deeper, to do it faster with more strength, a better angle, but like this, staring into each other’s eyes, this was exactly what they needed right now, and it was more than good enough. When Mikasa came, it wasn’t with a scream, but a choked gasp, followed by a long exhale, her walls collapsing around Eren’s shaft to squeeze it, the stimulation overwhelming. Three thrusts later, he was done, breathing heavily into her chest, where he fell for the moment being. It was rather comfortable resting place, made even better when her slender fingers began to comb through his long hair.

Minutes later, when their bodies calmed, Mikasa tapped Eren’s shoulder, making him look up at her.

“What’s up?”

“Can we talk?”

“Sure thing babe.”, rolling to the side, Eren groaned as his back hit the mattress, turning to his side after to get a better look at his lover, peeking at him over the rim of the covers. “What about?”

“I’ve been… thinking lately.”, seeing how quickly he began answering that, she held up a finger, “And if you’ll say that stupid “You can do that?” joke, you can look for a new girlfriend.”

Eren zipped his mouth. Uninterrupted, Mikasa continued.

“I’ve been trying to figure out, what are our limits?”

His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Limits of what?”

“Well, you know…”, her cheeks were already red from the physical activity, but somehow they managed to get a shade deeper, “vegan steaks.”

“I… I’m not sure I understand…”

“It’s just, we’ve done some really crazy stuff together, and we keep digging deeper and deeper, so I just find myself wondering, when do we call it quits? Lately, I’ve been spending basically every evening tied up, and it doesn’t matter if its shibari or the bed cuffs, in costume, or in some play. I’ve had the collar on me so much that I almost forgot to take it off before going out this morning!”, the memory was still embarrassing, especially when Mikasa imagined what would Levi say if she turned up at the gym wearing a leather collar around her neck. But somehow, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, the thought of it was also just a little bit… hot?

“That would be funny.”, Eren grumbled, earning a judging look from her.

“You know that some people do that, don’t you? Wear stuff like collars publicly, and… other things.”

He just shrugged, not sure how to react to that.

“So where is our limit? Am I going to start wearing a collar around my neck 24/7? Am I going to live in a cage here? Are you going to take me out for walks on a leash or something?”, worst of all, even just thinking about this, Mikasa could feel the familiar excitement smoking in the pit of her stomach. Oh lord, if she was already this far gone, what could even help her? Dropping her voice lower, she sighed. “Will I need to be tied up to even get aroused in the future? Or spanked? What is going to happen to us?”

Eren seemed to ponder over her outburst for a few seconds, working his jaw, but after that, he simply shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”, Mikasa looked up, arching an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I’m saying. Look Miki, all these roleplays and stuff, they are amazing, but the most important part of it is just you, nothing else. I can’t even imagine doing things like that with anyone else.”, reaching out, he ran his hand over her upper arm, “We can do what we want as long as we both want to try it, but you never have to fear that I’ll try pushing anything onto you that you’re not comfortable with. Ever.”

“So it’s okay with you if we just drop the act and just go at it like this?”, blinking her greys at him, Mikasa felt like she could melt in that warm look that Eren was giving her, “Sometimes I just don’t want to be hardcore fucked, sometimes I just want to, you know, make love.”

“Please,”, he snorted, “The day when I’ll say no to that will be the day I die.”

She grinned back feeling the insecurities thaw inside her heart.

“Have I told you that you’re awfully sweet from time to time?”

“Of course. My friends call me sugar candy man.”

“No they don’t.”

“True. But they could.”

Chuckling, Mikasa wrapped her arms around him, feeling Eren return the hug as she buried her face into his chest, the sleep finally washing over her body.

“I know I’m sweet, but please don’t lick me again.”, he whispered into her ear just as she was going under, smiling when she groaned against his skin.

Perhaps for that reason, Mikasa’s dreams were filled with abs made of different types of candy, which tasted pretty good when she tried them. All things considered, it was quite an enjoyable one, as far as dreams go.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #snk 116 #ᕙ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ #aot

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sympathyfortheblinderdevil · 5 years

Text

Pride: Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Tommy hates to be in the dark and hates to be wrong. Lila goes along with Polly’s plan and Tommy is a right bastard about it.

Polly’s plan worked a charm. Grace was gone. Aunt Pol had a perfect view of Grace’s face when John and Arthur strolled up to the betting windows. She was decked out in red, as Tommy had directed, and was frankly making a fool of herself on his arm. Her cloyingly sweet expression twisted into one of disbelief and panic as the other two Shelby brothers approached Tommy to be briefed on the plan for the day. She excused herself and disappeared, leaving Pol to clue Tommy in as to what was happening right under his nose. He didn’t take it well. Tommy went into a tailspin. He called off the meeting with Kimber. He railed at Polly, John, and Arthur, and accused them of disloyalty. “Brother,” Arthur growled, “I don’t know what kind of a spell she’s got you under, but let me disabuse you of any fantasies you may have of Grace Burgess being on your side because she ain’t.”

Tommy paced frantically, back and forth, back and forth, just outside the stables. He lit a cigarette, took a few drags and flung it away into a fresh pile of straw. John raced to stamp it out. “For Christ’s sake, Tommy! Don’t burn the bleedin’ stables down.”

Tommy squared up to John, “You knew too, then? What about Lila?”

John looked down at his feet.

“Oi!” Tommy wheeled around to Polly and Arthur. “Did she fucking know?”

Polly snapped on him, “Yes, Thomas! She knew. And she knew well enough to keep her mouth shut. Now get in the fucking car. You’ve drawn enough attention to yourself.” They raced back to Small Heath with Tommy’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. He had the engine wound flat out, recklessly taking every curve at high speeds. Polly admonished him, like a naughty child, “She was never on our side. You wouldn’t listen, so we had to bring you proof. It’s your own damn fault, so don’t you dare accuse us of disloyalty, Thomas. If anything it’s you who has been disloyal.” The proof was all over the docks. As predicted, Campbell showed up at the BSA warehouses with a full complement of officers, guns drawn, ready to bring the Peaky Blinders to heel. The rage and embarrassment he felt upon discovering that he had been tricked was only heightened by his suspicions that Grace had intentionally fed him false intelligence. Who knows what kind of scene transpired between them later that night at the train station, but Grace was gone and Campbell took a bullet. Problem solved. Now, they had to deal with the aftermath, and what was left behind was an angry man who felt betrayed by the people closest to him: his family and his girl. Lila heard the car roar up at number 6 and ran to the doorway of the flat that she and Tommy shared. She could hear them fighting before she opened the door. She stood in the shadows and watched Polly, John, and Arthur spill out amongst swearing and threats. As soon as they were clear the car sped away, and the headlights caught Lila’s pallid face and tear-filled eyes. If Tommy spotted her, he never slowed down. She could feel the breeze off of Tommy’s coupe as he tore down the lane.

John kicked the wall and swore a blue streak aimed at his vain, controlling brother. Polly grabbed Arthur’s wrist as he stormed toward the door to number 6. “Arthur, go see about Lila while I deal with John. I can’t have him going home like this. He’ll wake the whole house and there’ll be hell to pay with Esme.” Arthur slicked his hair back and pulled his flat cap from his pocket, placing it on his head. He grunted in the affirmative. “…and see if you can talk her into staying here. God knows she doesn’t need to face Tommy alone with the mood he’s in. If he comes home tonight at all.”

Arthur did his best to convince Lila to come next door. “You can’t do anything with ‘im when he gets in a temper.” He tried to talk sense to her, but love is blind and deaf. She refused to wait the night out with him and Polly and insisted that things would go better if she was waiting for him when he returned.

“I should be here when he gets home. He might not want to admit it, but he needs me— especially if he feels betrayed.” She sent Arthur on his way with a promise that if things got too rough she would go to Polly’s.

Alone, with nothing but the steady tick of the mantle clock to keep her company, her thoughts began to race. She wondered where he could have gone. The Garrison was closed at this hour. He had sped off in the direction of Chinatown, and there were two things on offer down there at this time of night: opium and whores. She shook the thought from her head and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. Drank straight from the bottle with no ice or water, the liquor burned her throat and took her breath away. She needed enough of it to take her thoughts away. Soon enough, she began to feel warm all over and a bit sleepy. With a shrug, she shed her sweater and draped it over the arm of Tommy’s favorite chair. For a moment she leaned on the chair back and laid her cheek against the antimacassar. The faint smell of Tommy’s pomade made her sigh. He must have been angry with her too, otherwise, he would have stopped. He would have come back by now. She pushed those thoughts from her mind and took another swig of whiskey. Taking the bottle and a pillow with her, she set up camp on the couch. When Tommy came home, he would see that she had waited for him.

She dozed off in minutes but soon awoke to see the red tip of a cigarette glowing in the corner of the room. It was Tommy. The fog of sleep was still lifting from her, and she realized that Tommy had been speaking to her. His voice was thick and slow as if his words were swimming through molasses to reach her ears. “Answer me, Lila. What else have you kept from me?”

She drowsily started, “Baby…I waited, I wasn’t sure you’d be home tonight…”

He repeated himself, his voice slurred and his anger apparent, “What else have you kept from me?” “I can’t believe you’d ask me that. You know that I’ve no reason to keep secrets,” she answered, her voice pitched higher than usual. Then more quietly, “Something you could never say.” She stared into the darkness at his silhouette, her eyes drawn to the burning end of his cigarette. She could hear the ice rattling in his glass as he brought it to his lips. “Why couldn’t you tell me then, eh?” he growled. She couldn’t stand this intimidation game he was playing and turned to cut on the lamp that stood beside the couch. Squinting as her eyes got used to the light, she looked up at him through half raised lids. His eyes were glassy and his jaw was set. He was speaking to her through gritted teeth. She gave a resigned answer, “Would it have mattered? I mean, any other time that I, or Polly, or Esme, or your brothers said anything about our suspicions you ignored us.”

Every word she said was true and if anything he should appreciate that the truth had been revealed. But he wasn’t. His ego was bruised and he felt like a fool. He pointed a finger at her, the rest of his hand gripping a half gone glass of whiskey. “You had no business getting mixed up in this matter.” Lila took in the contempt in Tommy’s expression. He was turning on her. She had seen this look before, the cold progression of turning everything off from his brain to his heart. He was mentally preparing to leave her. “If you want to hate me for staying quiet, then go ahead. But your family did this for you. You may be able to go against the rest of the Shelbys, but I can’t. Nor did I want to. She was a copper, let’s not forget that minor detail. A copper who was willing to lie to you and steal you from me.” Lila was becoming angrier and braver with every word. If this was the end for her and Tommy, she would go out swinging. “A spy that you were more than happy to cozy up to when the mood suited you.” She stood and began walking toward him. “You don’t even seem to be concerned with what she did to you. She sold you and your brothers out lock, stock, and barrel to Campbell.” Lila crossed the room to where he was sitting. She was so close that her knees were touching his, and she leaned down so that her face was closer to his. “And instead of being grateful to those who love you, you play the part of the selfish bastard.”

His mouth was slightly open, and his tongue ran across his bottom lip. She studied his lips, the angular planes of his face, and finally his pale blue eyes. He was wasted. His pride was hurt and he was drunk or worse. She considered whether or not this was the right time to have it out with him, but her pride got the better of her. “Did you hear me, Tommy? Don’t you even care that she was a spy, sent to sell you out?” Tommy swallowed thickly and dropped his eyelids before slowly turning his head from side to side. “No. I don’t care so much that she lied.” His lashes fluttered against his pale cheeks, then he fixed his gaze on Lila. “I didn’t love her.”

Lila brought her hand under Tommy’s chin to lift his face to hers, and, quick as a shot, he grabbed her wrist. She winced in pain and hissed, “Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty for this. Mine was a sin of omission, at best.”

His fingers dug into the tender underside of her arm and he brought his face closer to hers as he spoke, “But a sin, nonetheless.”

An odd smile crept over his face. His whiskey slid from his grip and crashed to the floor, and he brought his hand up to cup Lila’s chin. The condensation from the chilled glass lingered on his fingertips, and the cool, wet sensation sent shivers through her. His eyes darted between hers and his breathing quickened. She had seen contempt from him, she had seen anger and indifference in his face before a breakup, but this was something different. He was furious with her, but along with his fury, there was passion.

Lila squirmed and his hold on her tightened. “I held my peace because I love you, Tommy.”

He drew his lips into a smirk, “You were jealous. You wanted to be rid of her.”

“I wanted to keep you from being hanged.”

Lila was growing limp in his grasp. He raked her hair back from her face and pulled her down into a kiss. He was rough with her, like a drowning man gasping for air. His hands were on either side of her face, and his fingers were tangled in her hair. She maneuvered herself onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips, and he pulled her down farther still using her hair for leverage. Her hands slid across his shoulders and down his chest, undoing buttons as they went.

He shifted her down onto his lap and pulled her head backward while biting her bottom lip. “You are mine, Lila, and from now on you will do what I say.”

She moaned in protest, but ground herself into his hardness. He pulled her skirt up around her waist and ran his fingers under the edge of her panties over the curve of her ass.

“Who do you belong to?”

Lila trailed kisses along his razor-sharp jawline and lightly nibbled his earlobe. He grabbed a handful of her hair and bent her head back until her eyes were level with his. They were frighteningly intense, and he asked again, “Who do you belong to, Lila?” He wound her hair more tightly in his fist and bent her head back to expose her throat.

“You…Oh, God…You, Tommy…” He sucked and mouthed at the pale skin of her throat, marking his territory, while she wrapped her legs more tightly around his back.

He breathed words onto her wet skin, “So from now on, you will do what I say.”

Once again, Lila willingly swallowed her pride.

I have to say, I can totally see why Lila keeps coming back for more. Tommy is such a bad boy, but I’d still belly crawl through broken glass for him. Comments are welcome.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fiction

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1whump2whumpredwhumpbluewhump · 5 years

Text

Dixon’s Beginning

Dixon entered his home after his routine early morning jog through the woods in the surrounding area. That would be one of the last times he’d go through those woods, since he was leaving to travel the kingdom of Aresa. He’d only lived in the house with his parents in the woods, not being able to see many other people since they were on the edge of the kingdom.

He shut the door behind him and let out a sigh. As he walked into the living area, he was nearly knocked over when a woman ran into him and wrapped her arms around him.

“Happy birthday my little Dixie!” The raven-haired woman squealed and hugged the matching hair colored boy.

“Mom, I’m not little, I’m 18!” Dixon said with a chuckle, pushing his mother off him.

“Oh, I know, but still! You’ll always be my little Dixie.” She said and beamed at him, “You’ve grown into quite the handsome young man.”

Dixon opened his mouth to respond but his father joined in saying, “She’s right, any girl would be glad to be with you.”

“Dad-“ Dixon started before turning toward him and saw him holding out a small, wooden box. It was a light chesnut color with twisted engravings across the top like branches intermingling in treetops.

“Happy birthday, son. This is from your mother and I.”

Dixon smiled and took the box from him as he said, “I never asked for anything-“

“We know, but since it’s your 18th birthday, we thought it was the best time to give you this.” his mother said as she moved to her husband and held his hand with a smile.

Dixon looked between his parents before he carefully lifted the lid off of the box and set it on the table behind him. His eyes widened as he pulled out the silver chained necklace from inside. A gemstone the size of his pinky dangled from it by silver wires wrapped around and through it. The shiny, opaque black of the gem was swirled with a translucent blue, giving the illusion of a glow when held in the light. Dixon looked at his parents, his mouth agape in awe.

“Now, before you say anything about the price, it’s an heirloom. It’s been in the family for generations. We thought now was as good a time as ever to give it to you, since you’re going off on your own.” His father said.

Dixon set the box by its lid and put the necklace over his head, letting the gemstone rest on the center of his chest. His eyes lingered on the gem for a few seconds before he looked between his parents. He nearly tackled them in a hug, his arms wrapped around them with a slight squeeze.

“Thank you! Thank you both so much!” Dixon said with a goofy smile stretched across his face.

“We love you, Dixon.” His parents said and pulled away from the hug.

“Keep it with you at all times, but make sure you keep it hidden when you’re in public. Some people might want to... take it from you.” His father said.

“Of course, it’s obviously very valuable-“

“Yes, but it’ll draw attention to you and we just want you to be safe.” His mother interrupted.

Dixon raised an eyebrow and let out a small chuckle as he shook his head and said, “Okay, I get it. But you two don’t have to worry about me that much. Especially after dad went through all the trouble to teach me self defense ever since I was 5.” He looked at them and saw their almost solemn expressions. “Hey, I’ll be fine. I promise.”

His mother hugged him again and leaned her head into the crook of his neck. “We know...” His father put a hand on her shoulder and she let go.

Dixon smiled at them and grabbed the shoulder bag on the couch he had packed the night before. They said their goodbyes and he left, carrying his head high with hopes.

When the door shut, his mother said, “Was it right not to tell him?”

“What were we supposed to say? ‘Hey son, you can use magic, but if you ever do you’ll be condemned to a fate worse than death!’ What good would have come from telling him any of that?”

“I don’t know, but he should at least know what he’s capable of. I don’t like lying to him.”

“If he doesn’t know, he’ll be able to live a peaceful life.”

“I hope so...”

With only a few stops along the way, Dixon had left the forest and caught sight of a town in the distance, by nightfall. He couldn’t contain his excitement as he clutched the strap of his bag and jumped as high as he could and broke out into a sprint. He reached the town in a matter of minutes and his eyes were almost sparkling with enthusiasm as he saw the bustling night life of the town. Streets were lit by colored flames from torches and lamps, stalls were open with various wares ranging from exotic foods to intricate jewelry, and music filled the air from street performers. He stood, taking in the atmosphere of it all, before he walked down what seemed to be the main road. His eyes wandered, getting caught by every new movement and sound. He’d always wondered what towns were like, but this exceeded all of his expectations.

While he was distracted, he accidentally bumped into a woman, knocking a basket of flowers out of her hands. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was looking! Here, let me help.” he said and went to pick up what was sprawled on the floor.

“It’s alright, thank you.” she said and picked up the rest of the flowers. Dixon put the ones he grabbed into her basket and stood up along with the woman. “You’re quite kind to help, sir.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. It was my fault in the first place. I was distracted with everything going on here, this being my first time in town.” He said with a shy smile.

“I understand. Things here can be a bit overwhelming for newcomers.” She said with a smile and looked at him before raising her eyebrows with wonder, “That’s a lovely necklace!”

His eyes widened and looked down, noticing the gem still hanging from his neck, exposed to the world. He forgot the one thing his parents told him to do. “Thank you.” He quickly grabbed the necklace and tucked it into his shirt, hoping nobody else noticed it.

“I feel like I’ve seen something like it before... or maybe heard of something like it...” she said scrunching her eyebrows in thought.

“Really?” He looked at her with curiosity as the woman in front of him was silent for a few seconds before her eyes widened and gave him a nervous smile.

“Nevermind! I should really be going!” she said and quickly brushed past him.

He watched as she disappeared into the crowd. He messed up. Big time. He turned and sped walked away, hoping to put some distance between himself and that woman. He didn’t think she was dangerous, but the way she acted at the end was... odd. And after his mistake of not hiding his necklace, he didn’t want to take anymore risks.

While the night life of the town was fun for him, he needed to find an inn or someplace where he could stay for the night. But he didn’t mind sleeping outside if it came down to it. He often slept on his room back home when it was a clear night.

He noticed though, that the farther he walked into the town, the more looks he got from the townsfolk. Some were looks of skepticism and curiosity, which he expected, but from most of the people... they were more of hatred and fear. Dixon held his bag close to himself and continued walking, not looking at the surrounding people. That was, until he felt something hard hit his back.

He stopped and turned around to see what it was and his eyes widened when he saw a rock. He glanced up and saw a man glaring at him. Did he throw that at him? Dixon was going to keep walking and ignore it, but he felt another rock hit his hip and another to his shoulder, stabs of pain shooting through him. Soon rocks were raining down on him from a growing group of angry townsfolk. He may have been taught how to fight, but he didn’t know what he could do against rocks. He crouched down and tried to use his bag as protection, covering his head and shoulders as much as he could.

Why were they doing this? Why were they trying to hurt him? He didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t hurt anyone else. Blood pounded in his ears muffling the shouts of the people. He could only make out a few words and phrases that they kept repeating, but it only confused him more. Damn Wielder! Magic using freak! Cursed child! Prophecy’s demon!

The rocks had slowed their descent upon him until he could feel no more. He didn’t dare move in fear of them just waiting for him to get up so they can get his face and head to do some real damage. He let out a yelp as someone tore his bag away from him, sending him sprawling onto his hands and knees. He hadn’t realized how much he was shaking until he was trying to hold himself up. He was roughly grabbed by his shirt and lifted up, his feet dangling a few inches off the ground. He was met with a rugged faced man who seemed to be seething with rage.

“You dare show your face, Wielder?! You and your disgusting magic should’ve just stayed in the pits of hell you came from!” The man shouted in his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m-I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir, I-“ Dixon couldn’t finish his nervous explainations as the man’s fist collided with his cheek, knuckles cracking against his bone.

“You don’t get the pleasure of lying, Wielder! You think we don’t know who you are?!” He yanks Dixon’s necklace out of his shirt and dangles it in front of his horrified face, “Your ebony stone is proof enough of your identity.”

Dixon was thrown to the ground, his shaking form not making any movements to escape. His heart was hammering through his chest and his eyes flicked up to the man who was holding him previously before recieving a hard kick to the gut, sending him flying a few feet. Any air that was once in his body was gone, forcing him to cough up spit and bile. He wasn’t given a chance to breathe as he felt another kick to his back from someone in the crowd that had gathered around them, sending him back toward the man. He let out a low groan, feeling every part of his body that was previously pelted with stones get jostled and scraped by the brick street below. Dixon didn’t even struggle when he was yanked back up by his hair and just whimpered in his captor’s hold.

The man pulled out a knife from his belt and held it at Dixon’s throat. “You deserve to die...”

Dixon didn’t dare shake his head in protest. “Please don’t, I-I don’t have magic, I swear, please, I-I’ll do anything, just-please” he pleaded in a small voice. He was scared. He was so scared. He didn’t know what he did wrong. He didn’t know why these people hated him so much. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore. He didn’t want to die.

The man scowled and slowly put more pressure on the knife in response, breaking the skin causing a trickle of warm blood to flow down his neck.

“Don’t-please, I-please, just let me go, please- STOP!” Dixon screamed the last word and felt a rush of something course through his body. He didn’t know what it was, but the man had stopped. The man dropped the knife, followed by Dixon himself. He caught himself and forced himself to stand, not wanting to fall onto the floor again.

After taking a few breaths he realized that the crowd had gone silent and had also backed away a few feet more with shocked and horrified faces. Dixon looked at them before turning and looking at the man who had been about to kill him. The man’s eyes were glassy and his mouth was open in a sort of silent scream, but he was stock still.

“W-Wha..?” Dixon started before catching his reflection in one of the shop’s windows. Across the left side of his head and neck were large, glowing, black, swirling markings. He reached up and touched them, seeing if they’d rub away like wet paint, but they didn’t.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a loud thud behind him. He turned around and saw the man who’d attacked him lying on the floor, unmoving. The glow from his marks disappeared, but the marks remained. Another man from the crowd approached the attacker’s body and examined him, fury and fear lacing his features as he spoke two words, he’s dead. The crowd murmured accusations toward Dixon for the man’s death.

Dixon backed away from the body slowly, horror nearly overtaking him as his vision began to swim. I couldn’t have killed him. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who was attacked. I was the one who was about to be killed. I’m not a murderer. His thoughts were a jumbled mess as he tripped over his own two feet and fell back onto the concrete, all of his strength nonexistant. He was terrified and he couldn’t move. His vision went black as his consciousness faded away into nothingness.

The crowd remained unmoving, not quite sure what to do with Dixon out cold. Then, two men wearing royal knight uniforms, rode into the town and up to the crowd.

“Everyone clear out! Leave the boy to us!” shouted one knight, and the townsfolk quickly abliged.

The other knight dismounted and squat near Dixon’s body, as he looked at his markings with contempt before he spit on him. He then dragged him up and threw him over his saddle before the two knights rode back out of town toward the mainland where Aresa’s castle lay.

#Wielders #dixon trokane #whump #my ocs #the first of many hopefully #assault #minor blood #medieval fantasy type thing #magic #magical exhaustion #i can’t believe how long this thing was wow #enjoy #let me know what you think #knife #prejudice #prophecy

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spn-ficfanatic · 6 years

Text

Returning To Life (Pt. 3)

Summary: Your family’s future is decided

Warnings: A warning that may spoil the story, so please check the first few tags if you have any triggers

Word Count: 1977

Series Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Epilogue

Dean sat by your bedside cradling your baby girl. You were only just transferred from the ER to your own private room after spending several hours there while they rushed to fix you up. “Haemorrhaging caused by atonic uterus” the doctors had told him, assuming he was the father. He did nothing to correct them, knowing he’d not be able to stay with the baby if he did, knowing you’d want him watching out for her. Sam had stayed until you were wheeled into the room and had since headed off to find coffee for them.

“So baby girl, here we are. I hope you don’t mind, but while Mom sleeps I thought maybe we could get to know each other. I’m Dean, you don’t have a name yet so I’ll just call you baby girl for now. Your Mom and I use to bump ugli-… wait, no, you shouldn’t be hearing that. We used to snuggle. A lot,” he told your daughter with a wink and a grin while he rocked her. She has initially been staring at Dean intently while he talked to her but had quickly fallen soundly sleep, emitting the occasional little squeak. He dropped his voice to a whisper so as not to disturb her.

“I love your Mom very much. I did a stupid unforgivable thing and I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but between you and me I would give anything to have her back again. I don’t know where your Daddy is but he’s an idiot for not hanging around long enough to meet you. Maybe his bad luck is my good fortune though, because if I got to spend every day of the rest of my life looking out for you and your mom I’d die a happy man.”

“You should be telling Y/N that,” Sam commented quietly, making Dean jump at having been caught. He scowled at Sam, but quickly perked up at the sight of the coffee in his hands.

“You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. I’ll forgive you though if you give me the coffee,” he said, licking his lips in anticipation. Sam laughed and walked over to put the drinks on the nightstand.

“Hand her to me, no hot drinks around the baby.”

They sat in relative silence while Dean drank his coffee, Sam gazing at your baby adoringly while Dean took turns watching her and you while you both slept. It was about 30 minutes later that you finally started to stir, and Dean leaned toward you the moment he saw your hand move.

“Y/N? Hey sweetheart, can you hear me?” he asked softly, taking your hand in his. You gave it a gentle squeeze, groaning quietly as you tried to open your eyes. The room was bright and it took a moment to adjust to the harsh light. You were startled to find yourself in a hospital bed, and jumped in surprise.

“What the hell?” you asked, your hand instinctively going to your stomach. “Dean-“ you started in a panic, before Sam came over holding what looked like to you a bundle of blankets.

“Shhh, it’s ok Y/N, she’s right here,” Sam reassured you, holding her down so you could see her without straining your back. While the doctor had provided some painkillers, he did suggest you’d still be tender from the fall. You looked at Dean who nodded in encouragement, before holding out your arms to let Sam lay her down.

“How do I do this?” you asked, uncertain of yourself.

“Just keep your hands out, I’ll lay her down,” Sam said gently as he lowered her into your arms.

“No I meant… never mind,” you said, shaking your head. You looked into her eyes and remembered seeing them before, and was suddenly overwhelmed by flashes of memories.

“The labour, you were there,” you told Dean, emotion in your voice.

Sam gestured that he was going to wait outside, and neither you nor Dean stopped him.

“You HELPED,” you corrected, taking your daughters hand in yours and gently stroking the back of it with your thumb.

“Don’t sound so surprised Y/N. You nearly took off our heads with a toilet brush holder after all, hard to ignore something like that” Dean replied with a smile. You remained silent, your eyes starting to fill with tears which didn’t go unnoticed. “Hey, it’s ok sweetheart. You’re ok now, the baby is healthy; you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“How do I do this?” you asked, looking up at Dean with tears threatening to spill over.

“What, hold the baby? You’re doing it just fine babe,” he told you, reaching over to stroke your baby’s head affectionately.

“No, be a mother... be a SINGLE mother. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing Dean. I read all the books but now that she’s here I realise I’m completely lost. I don’t know how to pick her up, I don’t know when I’m supposed to feed her. Has she had anything to eat yet? What did she have? Has she had a diaper change? Do I-“

“Whoa whoa, it’s ok Y/N, just take a deep breath,” he told you, concern in his eyes as he rubbed your arm. You did as he said, counting the seconds in your head as you did, and found your heart rate slowed down.

“Y/N, I have to ask. Why are you doing this alone?” Dean asked carefully, not sure if you’d be willing to speak with him about it but dying to know how all this came to be. You didn’t look at him, and just continued to stare at your daughter while gently running your fingers over her hair now.

“The father… he’s another hunter. I finished a hunt and needed a drink, he was there as well and we had a few together. He wanted to go back to my room with me but I just wanted to get some sleep so I paid my tab and left. But when I got to my car he was waiting and-“ your voice broke, a sob escaped that you didn’t intend to let out. You hadn’t talked with anyone about this yet, and never expected the first person you told to be the man you loved. You couldn’t look at him, but could practically hear his racing heart from your bed.

“Are- are you tell me he…” he asked slowly, voice shaking. You nodded, at which he let out a deep breath and put his face in his hands.

“I found out I was pregnant a couple of months later,” you told him quietly. “I didn’t want him to ever know, and I needed out of the life, so I faked my own death to disappear.”

“And you decided to keep her. After what happened,” he commented, head still in his hands.

“I considered not, but in the end I realised it wasn’t her fault. And being a mother was something I’d wanted for a long time. I didn’t know if we’d ever… and well, I knew I could love this child. So yes, I kept her.”

Dean stood up abruptly and walked over to the window, wiping his hands down his face which was wet from tears.

“Dean? Honey?”

He could help but let out a bitter laugh at that.

“I didn’t think I’d ever hear you call me that again.”

“Well, I guess a lot has changed in the last 24 hours. I’m holding the proof of that in my arms.”

“I should have been there to protect you; this is all my fault,” he replied, not looking at you and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, his other hand on his hip. You frowned, and wriggling a hand out of your hold on the baby you patted the side of the bed. When he didn’t move you tried again.

“Dean, I risked dropping my baby to invite you over here,” you joked with a warm smile. “Seriously, I don’t know how to hold this kid.”

Dean gave a small smile too, and walked over to sit next to you. You took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, causing him to look at you in surprise.

“Honey, what happened happened. It shouldn’t have been this way, but it was. Do I wish I wasn’t laying in a hospital bed right now holding this beautiful baby? Hell no! Have you seen how adorable she is, how precious? I should be saying I regret things happened the way they did but I can’t. What I CAN say is that I forgive you Dean.”

His eyebrows shot up, his head whipped up to look into your eyes to make sure you weren’t lying.

“I’m not expecting anything of you Dean. But you should be able to get on with your life without this hanging over your head anymore. You saved my daughter’s life this morning, mine too. It was more of any apology than I could have ever asked for.”

Your heart was breaking as you told him this. You didn’t want him to walk out that door but you weren’t about to ask him to stay; there was no way he’d want this life. His silence was deafening, and you took your hand back to fiddle with your daughter’s blanket. You couldn’t bear to look up as you felt him stand and hop off the bed. You closed your eyes tight, not bearing to watch him as he walked towards the door. His footsteps fell silent, and you let the tears fall freely.

You were surprised to feel his hand on your arm a moment later. Opening your eyes, you nearly fell off the bed when you saw him on his knee on the ground next to you.

“Wha-“ you breathed, before he held up his hand to stop you.

“I’ve been carrying this damn ring around ever since you left that night. Even after I heard that you’d died, I couldn’t bring myself to let it go. Sammy kept offering to take it, to help me move on, but I couldn’t. Every night I took it out of my jacket to look at it, to think about what could have been and to wish I could make things right. So, if you’ll have me,” he stopped, opening up the lid to reveal the beautiful Sapphire ring you’d seen so many months ago. “I’d very much like the chance to prove I can be the man you deserve.”

You hadn’t realise you’d been holding your breath until you realised you suddenly needed oxygen. You let out the breath you’d been hold and gasped, unable to hold back the tears.

“I-I th-thought…” you stuttered.

“I’m not leaving you Y/N. Or your daughter,” he said firmly.

“Are you sure you want this Dean? This isn’t just us getting back together, this is fatherhood. This is waking up for 2am diaper changes and bottles and crying and vomit and pee and poo and-“

You were suddenly interrupted by his lips crashing into yours. You were startled at first, but within seconds melted into the kiss and eagerly returned it. You both pulled away panting, resting your foreheads against each other.

“Yes,” you told him quietly, grinning from ear to ear.

“Did, did you just say-“

“Dude, she said yes!” Sam’s voice shouted from the hall, causing you to burst out laughing.

“Right, thanks Sammy, got it,” he replied with a laugh, not taking his eyes off yours.

“What do we do now?” you asked with a giggle.

“Put the ring on her finger!” Sam called again.

“Dude I got it,” Dean yelled back with annoyance.

After he slid the ring on your finger you called Sam in, giving the baby to Dean before embracing him tightly. You woke up that morning alone and scared, and suddenly had an instant family of 4. There really was nothing more you could ask for in this life than that.

Epilogue

Everything Tag:

@angelsandwinchesters

Returning To Life Series Tags:

@ellen-reincarnated1967, @growningupgeek, @roxyspearing, @carryonmyswansong, @imagineplotfulcharacters, @georgialouisea, @inumorph, @grace-for-sale

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exurbiaa · 7 years

Text

cream cake

This wasn't what Yuuri had in mind when he set out to make a cream cake.

Warning: Explicit

Read on AO3

try anything new recently? ;)

That was the text that Yuuri received one morning from a certain Christophe Giacometti. He stared at his phone, confused, until his bleary 11 am self noted the little smiley at the end, making his eyes widen as he rubbed them, a flush creeping onto his cheeks.

In all honesty, they hadn't really done anything "new" in a while, not in the sense Chris meant anyway, but Yuuri was okay with it, and he hadn't heard Viktor complain either. They fucked, they switched, they occasionally tried something that was still probably vanilla. It was all good.

But Yuuri did want to try something "new", if in a more conventional sense. He did have his day off the rink today, Viktor having taken some pity on him because of the intense amount of practise they’d both been doing off late. Plus, Phichit would be a good push in the direction he intended to take. A quick call to Chris and a lot of blushing and listening to inappropriate suggestions involving food later, he pressed the call button next to Phichit's contact.

Phichit, in addition to being a self-proclaimed "love guru", also happened to be a pretty good baker, and Yuuri would attest to that any day, never having forgotten their days in Detroit. Phichit could whip up a simple cheesecake from the most basic ingredients that would practically melt in one's mouth (he had once made his crush accidentally give a drawn-out moan of pleasure while having some home-made tiramisu, leading to an awkward conversation which somehow led to him being Phichit’s boyfriend till date). Phichit's little treats were a delight to eat, particularly on days when things were too hard.

Yuuri, on the other hand, was a walking disaster when it came to anything to do with the kitchen, tripping over anything and everything. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cracked an egg without getting shell pieces in his omelette, having cracked it too hard against the bowl. His mother had pretty much banned him from ever entering the kitchen even as an adult, let alone as a child, fully conscious of his clumsiness and refusing to let it taint her lovely kitchen.

He set out of the house, pulling on his windbreaker, as he walked in the direction of the store, wallet in one hand as he stared down at his phone in the other, going over the list of ingredients Phichit had sent him to "make a simple cream cake that's just assembly because no, I haven't forgotten the way you burned my damn sugar cookies, Jesus, those were sugar cookies, yes, of course, I forgave you for it, yes I'm still a bit salty, I mean come on Yuuri, sugar cookies , Seung-Gil says hi too, kill him with the cake Yuuri, but not literally."

An hour later, Yuuri was back home, armed with an arsenal of sweet things that probably only made sense when you put them together in a dish and several snacks that Viktor had begged for over a series of texts. He walked to the kitchen to deposit the bags and started to take his jacket off as he went to the bedroom.

Viktor was back from the rink and was lying on the bed in a dressing gown as he rewatched practise videos, jotting down a few notes as he tapped away at the laptop. Yuuri smiled, walking over to Viktor and resting his head on top of Viktor’s, watching him land a triple Lutz on the screen. "Viktor, I've got a surprise for you in the evening but you're not going to come into the kitchen till then, okay?" said Yuuri, after a few moments of watching Viktor from over the top of his head. He heard a small gulp from Viktor as he tilted his head up to look at Yuuri, and Yuuri pouted, aware that he too was slightly wary of Yuuri's cooking, after having witnessed first-hand an attempt at making Teriyaki chicken. "Sure," replied Viktor, going back to his notes.

Yuuri scowled at Viktor’s response. Just you wait. I'm going to make you the most delicious cream cake you've ever had in your life. You'll be begging for more.

Yuuri went back to the kitchen, his resolve hardened as he got to work, getting the ingredients out one by one, and arranging them across the countertop, glancing at his phone as he murmured to himself and set about working to assemble all of them together according to Phichit's instructions.

Of course, this "assembly" could not have gone without any mishap either.

The first came in the shape of the cream itself. Yuuri had dumped all of the pineapple and the fresh cream into a blender to make the "smooth and slightly tart cream that tastes beautiful with the cake, oh Yuuri, you'll be licking the bowl clean". He couldn't find the right lid that went on the blender and got another one, that was clearly supposed to be for another functional part of the blender. He placed his hand on top of it to steady it and switched it on.

Cream everywhere.

The cream dribbled out of the sides with the force of the blades and got onto Yuuri's hands and t-shirt, making it sticky and ruining it. Yuuri hissed and jumped back, shaking his hands a little and licking the cream off his fingers, He contemplated running to the room to change into another t-shirt but Viktor would just see it as proof that all Yuuri could do in a kitchen was mess it up. There was just too much cream to simply wipe off with a cloth.

He grimaced and stripped out of his t-shirt, shuddering a little as the chill hit his body and the cream cooled along his hands. He quickly washed them up, wiping his arms dry with a cloth and went back to work.

The next mishap came in the form of the whipped cream. Really, what was it with the creams? What personal grudge did they hold against him? Yuuri had bought a powdered form, and read the instructions along the sides. Well, they seemed simple enough, just a little beating. There wasn’t a lot that could go wrong with beating milk into powder, now, could there?

Eyeing the cup carefully, Yuuri poured out the milk, accidentally adding a bit more than necessary. Yuuri mentally added buy measuring cups and spoons next time to his mental to-do list (which he always forgot). Some milk powder and caster sugar should fix this and make it thicker, right , he thought as he dumped a few spoonfuls in and switched the beater on.

Cream everywhere.

The shrill sound he let out as some of the cold mixture abruptly splashed onto his face and the rest of it dripped down his torso was close to inhuman. He heard the door of their bedroom bang as Viktor yelled his name, his footsteps echoing toward the kitchen.

Yuuri glanced at the cream splattered across the countertop and across his body.

Well, fuck.

Viktor knew Yuuri wasn't the best of cooks, but he was still willing to try whatever he made. Yuuri had close to stormed out of the room before, annoyed, making Viktor realize that his attempts at covering his apprehension up had not gone unnoticed.

What Viktor hadn't expected was to hear a sharp hiss and then five minutes later, a shrill yelp. Viktor rushed out of the room on instinct, calling out Yuuri's name, worried that he had cut his finger or burnt himself in any way (which, honestly, would not be a first. There was a reason why Viktor had stashed a little first-aid kit in the kitchen too.)

It pleasantly surprised him, however, to find Yuuri standing naked from the waist up, a suspiciously glutinous liquid thickly running down his chest and splattered on his face as he turned to face Viktor.

It was easy for Viktor to put that there weren’t very many times that he had gotten hard this quick before. He couldn't help the smirk that slipped onto his lips as he approached Yuuri, his gaze sliding from the cream on Yuuri's face winding its way down, to his bobbing Adam's Apple as he gulped nervously.

Viktor placed a hand on Yuuri's hip as he got closer, watching the cream inch lower as he trailed a finger through the cooling cream on Yuuri's chest. He noted its slightly rough texture (not fully blended yet?), lifting a little off and sliding it into his mouth. He moaned a little at the saccharine taste, and rolled his tongue to feel the roughness the little grains left behind. He almost missed the shocked look Yuuri gave him.

Leaning towards Yuuri's face, he licked lightly at his cheek, grinning at the little hitched breath Yuuri let out, flinching a bit. He continued to clean the cream off with little kitten licks, happily noticing the strategic landing of one fleck of cream very close to Yuuri's lips, teasing him just a little by coming so close to his lips.

He made his way down, licking away the cream at Yuuri's jaw, dragging the tip of his tongue slowly over the stretched tendon in his neck. Placing his lips delicately over a little cream-stained area of his neck, he quite indelicately sucked at the skin, licking it over, loving how the rough cream tasted on Yuuri's soft skin, loving his soft whine.

He moved his hands to Yuuri’s back, pulling him closer as he dipped his head lower, leaving a trail of purple bruises wherever the cream had landed, soothing them over with broad licks, flicking the hard little nub of Yuuri's nipple as he got to his chest and lightly scraping his teeth over it. "You're positively delicious, love," he whispered against his chest, his breath huffing over Yuuri’s nipple as he smiled at Yuuri’s little tremble.

He heard Yuuri let out a breathless chuckle as he felt fingers wrap in his hair. "S-sure that isn't the cr- mmh - cream?" Yuuri countered, as he pulled Viktor up and placed his lips over his own.

Yuuri moaned into his mouth, licking at his lips and chasing his tongue. Viktor felt quite overwhelmed himself, like he was drowning in the feel of Yuuri’s tongue. God, he was delightfully delectable, both with and without the cream.

He pulled himself away from Yuuri's lips, grinning at how Yuuri leaned forward to continue kissing him, his dissatisfied groan turning into a surprised hiccup as Viktor trailed his fingers along the tent in his trousers, continuing his trail down Yuuri's torso.

He pulled down Yuuri's trousers as he kissed his stomach, chuckling at the barely noticeable quiver. So, he was still sensitive here, huh? He mouthed at Yuuri through his boxers, slowly pulling the material down as he listened to the man huff out loud and cover his mouth.

He noticed a small trail of cream on Yuuri's palm and guided that hand to his cock as he pulled the boxers down, smiling impishly at Yuuri's confusion.

"Sweeten yourself for me, wouldn't you?" Viktor couldn't help laughing at the look of absolute horror on Yuuri's face.

He was, to put it lightly, just a little surprised, however, when Yuuri dragged him up by the arm and put his hands around Viktor’s midriff. “Yuuri what ar- O- OKAY THEN,” cried Viktor as he was suddenly picked up and deposited on the countertop. He barely had time to process what was happening before Yuuri had pulled him down by the neck and crushed his lips against his. He felt Yuuri’s tongue brush across his bottom lip as he parted the dressing gown and pulled his briefs away, dragging his fingers over Viktor’s cock, leaving him panting.

God, I’m so glad I decided to wear just this much.

“Why don’t I sweeten you up instead, Vitya ?” Yuuri chuckled, gripping Viktor’s cock and very slowly, infuriatingly so, stroking him.

“For fuck’s sake, I was the one supposed to be teasing you ,” groaned Viktor, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s neck as he continued stroking him. He definitely wasn't prepared for when Yuuri lowered his head and sucked the head of Viktor’s cock into his mouth, dragging his tongue through the pre-come gathered at the head. “Mm, sweet indeed. Sweeter than usual,” muttered Yuuri, dragging his tongue up Viktor’s length, wrapping his lips around the head again and sucking harder.

Honestly, how was this man allowed to live this long without being fucked silly?

Viktor let his head fall against the overhead cupboard, heavy breaths escaping him as his fingers tangled in Yuuri’s hair. He hummed softly, letting it turn into a groan as Yuuri sank down his shaft, his lips spreading around it as he swallowed him entirely.

The heat of Yuuri’s mouth seared through his cock, and Viktor continued to stare up at the ceiling, knowing very well what Yuuri looked like at times like this, wanting to drag out the sensation longer. He almost choked as Yuuri let his teeth glance over the sensitive ridge of his cock as he came up, fingers flexed in Yuuri’s hair, scraping against his scalp as his back arched into the feeling.

“ Fuck, Yuuri, ” moaned Viktor, feeling those friction-slick lips sliding up and down. Yuuri slowed down after a bit, slowly guiding Viktor’s cock further into his throat till his nose touched the base. Viktor keened as Yuuri swallowed around his cock, feeling his throat constrict and relax as he breathed slowly.

As Yuuri began moving with more urgency, Viktor chanced a look downwards, and remembered why he had kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The sight of glasses sliding down, slightly askew, and the flush spreading over Yuuri’s cheeks as he worked lips burned crimson red with friction over Viktor’s cock almost adoringly . It was all enough to almost finish him right there.

What did finish him off, though, was watching Yuuri jerk himself off as he took in Viktor’s cock, letting it hit the back of his throat as he hummed, the vibrations almost making Viktor hit his head against the cupboard. “Fuck, Yuuri , I’m-” Viktor broke off with another loud moan.

Yuuri pulled away, panting, “Come for me, Viktor,” watching him as wrapped his lips around Viktor’s cock again. Viktor tightened his fingers in Yuuri’s hair, knowing it probably stung, but apparently Yuuri couldn’t care less as he continued to move quickly. “ Fuck, ” cried Viktor, coming down Yuuri’s throat with a loud shout as he continued to gaze at him, feeling his movements still.

Yuuri let Viktor’s cock slip out of his mouth, swallowing his come, and straightened up, coming back up to rest his head against Viktor, jerking himself with an alarming speed. Viktor brought his arms up around his neck again, running his fingers through Yuuri’s hair as he held him, catching his breath, feeling Yuuri breath against the exposed skin of his shoulder. Viktor felt soft kisses pepper his neck and sighed softly, before gasping out loud as Yuuri suddenly sank his teeth into his shoulder, shuddering as he came on Viktor’s stomach and chest, their loud whines mingling.

Yuuri dropped his forehead onto Viktor’s shoulder, huffing and panting as he calmed down. Viktor held him still, playing with his hair and placing a small kiss on his temple. “That felt amazing, Yuuri,” he whispered against Yuuri’s ear, chuckling as he felt Yuuri shiver again.

“-rself, god, you’re kidding,” he heard Yuuri mumble.

He pulled back to look at him, almost laughing at the slight flush still on his cheeks.

“What was that?”

“ Sweeten yourself for me ? Jeez, Viktor, are you fucking kidding me,” groaned Yuuri, utterly mortified.

“Well, you did say it back, you know,” laughed Viktor.

“I know, oh God, I swear I hate you,” grumbled Yuuri covering his eyes with his hands, unable to look at Viktor.

Viktor laughed and hugged Yuuri, pulling his briefs back up and kissing his forehead. “I’m getting in the shower first and I will fucking end you if anything inappropriate has been done to my ingredients when I get back, Viktor,” warned Yuuri as he walked away. “No, wait for me, let’s shower together,” called Viktor almost falling as he got off the countertop and followed Yuuri, cheering when Yuuri allowed him into the bathroom with an exasperated sigh.

yeah we tried something new... thanks i guess???

That was the text that Christophe received that night from a certain Yuuri Katsuki. He stared at his phone, slightly confused, till he remembered that afternoon's phone call, and grinned manically as he dialled Viktor's number to simply yell, "You're welcome," before cutting the call.

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