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finnycomet · 5 months

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like real brothers, or even closer!

sorry i had no idea what to name this, that three buckets quote stuck out in my mind so i picked that. but i HAD to write a tickle fic for fern. i also practically had to physically force myself to post this. enjoy!

finn and fern were laid on one of the many grassy hills surrounding them, deciding to stop on the way home after fern had (hesitantly, and with some persuasion of finn) tagged along with finn for an adventure. it was at least a nice day, so why not, he figured? the two just hanging out together seemed to be steadily turning into a common occurrence as of late.

recently, fern found himself slowly becoming a bit iffy on monster fighting and dungeon crawling and such, since now it only ever seemed to remind him of being finn, and that reminded him of a whole package of other things he’d rather not think about.

but something they found they both still enjoyed was just skygazing. they often liked to lay down in the grass or on the top of the treehouse together, count the clouds, or the stars. they’d talk about everything, or nothing. which is what they found themselves doing now! but today, fern just seemed… off.

well, he always seemed a little off. in a way that finn couldn’t fully put his finger on. and he wasn’t talking about his grassy appearance, or the way he talked to himself up on the roof, or how finn noticed sometimes his movements would get a little rigid. those were all things he’d learnt to get used to, eventually.

but its like fern was never truly happy, or even content. admittedly, he did express that a lot… mostly through anger or self deprecation. but even on a good day, finn could still see the misery flickering behind his eyes like the subtle flame of a candle.

finn tried to accept that thats just the way fern is, because he doesn’t want to pry at fern for something he isn’t even sure he could help with. but each day, it got increasingly harder to ignore seeing his… friend? or he supposed, brother, so unhappy.

especially today however, he seemed more distant than usual. as much as finn tried to help fern with advice or attempts to reassure him, it never really seemed to do much in the end. and the last thing he wanted was for him to feel worse.

he knew that fern wasn’t having the best time in terms of figuring out his identity, but he couldn’t help but feel like there was something more. something that he wouldn’t open up about.

he wasn’t sure how to help, but he did want to. talking about it would probably be the first step. whew, why was this kinda nerve wracking? the human collected his thoughts— synchronous to him collecting blades of grass below him, picking at them one by one.

“uh, by the way fern… are you doing okay? like… i’ve just noticed you seem pretty sad. or not sad but, i dunno, generally troubled maybe? not just today, but kinda all the times. if you don’t mind me asking, why? whats on your mind dude? you can tell me anything, you know? i’m just kinda worried.”

hm. that came out a bit more unsteady than he was hoping it would.

fern, seemingly disturbed from deeply zoning out at the endless blue above them, peered over at finn with a glimpse of annoyance on his face, to which was finn’s cue to suddenly feel guilty for even saying anything. but he figured he’d acknowledge finn’s concerns with some sort of answer.

“right. uh… i dunno. i mean i do know— but… its all just so… i doubt you would… ugh. there are a lot of reasons, finn.”

finn waited patiently for the other to continue, but after about ten long seconds passed with nothing else but a sigh from fern, he guessed that was all from him.

well! that didn’t exactly get them anywhere!

he let a few more pass as he thought about his next course of actions, now ripping up small chunks of grass as he did so.

clearly, when it came to emotions, verbal communication wasn’t exactly either of their strong points. something more to have in common, at least. so maybe trusty old physical affection would work. that was something he understood!

“if you can’t explain, would you… want a squoze? would that make you feel better?” finn languidly sat himself up, already anticipating the answer to be affirmative.

“mm… maybe.” fern figured it would at least help a little. so he followed, crawling towards finn, and leaning back against him as he got the life (oddly comfortingly) squeezed out of him.

“…yyyeah okay, it helps.” he sheepishly admitted. finn beamed at this, and remained hugging fern. after a few seconds of silence, he was going to say something, but he had to admit, it felt pretty nice to be held like this. it wasn’t often that he got any sort of physical comfort, or any comfort at all besides what finn would offer him. jake used to be the one responsible for that kind of thing…

finn’s smile faded as he heard fern sigh bitterly once more. maybe it hurt extra bad because they had some sort of twin-like emotional connection, but whatever the reason, fern being like this broke finn’s heart a little more than he would prefer. theres gotta be something that could help, right?

in his desperate mental search for solutions, suddenly a particularly interesting idea appeared in his head. but was that even still physically possible…?

he’d thought about the concept of fern being ticklish before, maybe once or twice. but usually just brushed it off, and promptly forgot about it. but being tickled used to cheer finn up all the time. what were the chances that it would work on fern as well? probably good chances!

it was an entertaining idea in theory, but how could he not have considered that maybe, if he still was, it could serve to be useful!

maybe he should try…

“hey fern, mind if i try something”

“hm? uh, yeah, sure.” he seemed to be zoning out again, absentmindedly going along with whatever finn said.

the teen tried to hold back his mischievous giggles as he squeezed ferns side. and to his surprise, he yelped and jerked away! now this just got 1000 times more interesting.

fern froze for a second, before looking back at finn in embarrassment.

“finn! what are you… don’t do that-”

finn couldn’t stop the giggles that poured out of him this time as he decided this plan was officially in action, making sure his arms were tightly wrapped around fern, effectively trapping him.

he gave fern no time to attempt an escape as he quickly started testing something, deciding to experimentally poke around his middle like he was studying a test subject.

fern choked out a sort of strangled noise, and quickly tried to bat finns hands away with his own. his attempts are pretty useless however, and once finn is satisfied with his discoveries, he wastes no time skittering his fingers against the smooth grass of fern’s tummy.

ferns willpower almost immediately breaks, letting himself burst into a fit of squeaky cackling.

although its panicked, his laugh is surprisingly bubbly. its quite the pleasant contrast from his usual tone of voice, and finn can’t help but quietly snicker along with him in amusement. when has he ever heard fern laugh like this? he isn’t sure he has!

his thoughts are cut off by fern rapidly starting to get squirmy and kicking frantically at the grass below them, digging up some dirt and weeds in the process.

“eheheheHEHE- NAHAHAHA!” he cried, quickly shaking his head back and fourth.

“aw, fern! i didn’t know you were so ticklish! i probably should’ve guessed, since i… uh, yeah. but this is honestly fun, heheh!”

“f- for yohou maybeheHEHE!! FIHIHIN!!!” he full on screamed as finn reached down to scribble at his knee on top of it all. so, seems they have the same tickle spots! that makes this a lot easier. finn cheekily noticed that he wasn’t exactly trying to get away, though.

“i dunno, it doesn’t really seem like you aren’t liking this… i bet you do!”

“nooohoho!”

“heh, you totally do man. buuut you know, thats not a bad thing! that means its helping you, right?” he momentarily let fern have a breather to think about this.

and yeah, as much as fern would like to deny it, he couldn’t ignore the warm feeling that fluttered in his chest. didn’t mean he had it in him to bring his voice up to anything louder than a mumble, though.

“hehe- uh… okay, maybe just a little.”

finn grinned at this, getting right back to work. “good! so, where does it tickle more? right there? orrr here?!”

“AH- eheHEhe wait wait, WAHAHAH PLEHEHESHE!! oh gLOB!!”

and wait he did not! fern tried not to make so many embarrassing flailing movements or squeaky noises, but honestly, when his body felt like it was melting into a tickly mush, he’s pretty sure his mind had short circuited and abandoned whatever remaining composure he once had long ago.

finn started digging his fingers into fern’s ribs (or where they would be) and giggled at how his shrieks raised an octave. he was almost smiling as much as fern at this point.

it was surprisingly gratifying watching how his brother went from visibly upset, to now laughing so hard his eyes started to prick with mirthful tears in a matter of minutes.

occasionally, finn even earned some snorts from fern (which he did not fail to tease him about) as he switched to erratically claw and poke along his sides and belly. once finn realized fern was particularly sensitive to the rougher methods, he definitely made sure to utilize that knowledge. fern never remembered being this good at tickling people when he was finn, whats the deal!

after a bit longer of this, all fern could do in his weakened state is kick about helplessly, and let out giggly pleas for finn to have mercy through his shrill shrieks and babbling. or, thats what it sounds like hes saying… sort of. its kinda hard to tell at this point.

he decided to let up after fern’s voice started getting a little too wheezy, releasing him from the chamber that was his arms.

fern immediately flopped onto the ground, curling into himself and softly giggling at the tickly feeling that lingered on him. he didn’t realize how heated his face felt until now… and also until finn scooted over to look at him, and as the cherry on top of the embarrassment cake, pointed it out.

“woah, your face is… wait! is that supposed to be blush, or something? your cheeks are covered in flowers dude! ehehe!”

fern only groaned in response, hiding his face in his hands... yet he couldn’t help the giddy smile that remained plastered on it. his body felt all light and warm, and in the back of his mind he realized this was the happiest he’s felt in a long while… or maybe even ever, as himself.

but finn’s voice cut through his train of thought before he could let himself get lost in it.

“err, you… doing okay? sorry if i went too far. i kinda tend to do that, i think. but i didn’t even know you could still be ticklish! that was probs the most i’ve ever heard you laugh, too!” fern stayed silent as he continued to gain back his energy. but finn didn’t mind.

he went to lay next to fern, probably to be able to at least read him a little better.

“…so, don’t you feel a little better? eeeeh?”

the grassy creature uncovered his face, briefly taking a moment to brush off the flowers (and a mushroom that had apparently sprouted atop his head at some point) before meeting finn’s expectant gaze. a beat of silence passed, then his eyes suddenly lit up as he appeared to come to a realization.

“huh, yeah! i actually do! …i guess i never really get to feel that carefree. i don’t think i’ve actually been able to since i was a finn… but that really distracted me from stuff, you know?” he rubbed his arm meekly, suddenly lowering his voice to almost a whisper as he picked away some stray grass blades that stuck out.

“and it was… uh, kinda fun. you know, kinda like we used to do with jake. so thanks.”

and he smiled. probably one of the most genuine smiles finns ever seen from him. of course, he returned it in full. fern’s emotions just seem to be pretty contagious that way.

finn figured he’d need to try this again, if fern ever seemed a little more gloomy than he finds acceptable. and honestly, fern wasn’t sure he’d mind that so much.

#adventure time tickles #adventure time tickling #ler!finn #lee!fern #sfw tickling #tickling #btw the “something more” bothering fern that finn couldn’t put his finger on #was basically everything that torments him in the series #so like… his whole existence #fern rlly deserves to be happy and thats Exactly Why he needs this #okay im smashing my phone and deleting myself off the face of the earth now BYE

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butternuggets-blog · 14 days

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hi! I just wanted to reach out and say that I love your fics and your writing style! do you have any favourite adow fics on ao3 that you could recommend? I'm obsessed with it rn but there doesn't seem to be too much content. Thank you and have a nice day!

Aw thank you! Well, I am on AO3 but I suppose since you've already found me I'll have to recommend some other people 😅

The Krays, but worse by @adowbaldwin

Complete! (Finally!)

CRACK MEETS CRACK

FABIEN AND BALDWIN, TWINS. WORSE THEN THE KRAYS. CORRUPTING THE WORLD SINCE THE WOMB.

Truth Untold by leilani21

Takes place after Time's Convert: As Diana and Matthew prepare to expand their family and release their scientific findings, a series of murders shock the creature community putting all on edge; vampires, witches, daemons..... and humans. Suddenly the Bishop-de Clermont's are thrust into the spotlight and Matthew and Diana are forced to defend once again, not just their love, their children, and their family but indeed the very future of all creatures. As old enemies come out of the woodwork, and new ones begin to show their true faces, the de Clermont's must prove themselves not only to the humans but to themselves.

WARNINGS: Spoilers a plenty, unless you have read all four books of the series. Also forewarning for graphic crime scene depictions and violence.

Fire Dancer by Seph7

Post-Time's Convert. Witches loyal to Peter Knox are still intent on find out what secrets Diana Bishop and those close to her are hiding in regards to the Book of Life. Unknown to Diana, Emily had spoken to fellow Seers about things she'd seen for the future of all Creatures, and after Peter Knox's death, his loyalists have mobilised to find out what these Seers knew in order to finally get their hands on everything Diana knows.

liked the way you numbed all the pain by @minim236

When a man died, it fell to his brother to take care of his widow.

So Matthew and Miriam married. He became Jason's stepfather, and she hates him. She hates how much he cares and how sorry he is.

Matthew and Miriam fall apart and try to come back together.

Family Line by @minim236

Fresh into marriage and life as a vampire, Marcus and Phoebe are happy and settled into a good rhythm.

Then someone leaves a baby girl on their doorstep.

A Million Pieces by @minim236

Jack meets the kindest human. He fears his base instincts taking over and harming her, but he cannot stop thinking about her.

Of Charcoal and Flame by MadHatter2019

Gallowglass de Clermont has stayed away for two years while his feelings for Diana fade. Having moved on from the woman he cannot have, what will happen when he returns and discovers the other half of his soul? Family complications and hilarity ensue as Gallowglass comes to terms with finding his mate at long last.

Baldwins Secret by @adowbaldwin

Diana preggo time walks right into the middle of Baldwin's human life

copy and pasted from my tumblr *

many grammatical errors as it was largely written on my phone at like 1am

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bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue · 10 months

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Bebop Crew July Challenge, Day 1: Midnight

Thanks to the @bebopcrew community for the prompt list! I’ll be writing fics based on their July 30-Day Challenge all this month (if I can!); I’ll also be posting them to AO3 here!

Fittingly, I wrote most of this around/past midnight—my sleep schedule is so messed up these days that I’m most productive between the hours of 11 PM and 4 AM, so that’s probably when I’ll be getting most of these stories posted. So if you see me posting, for instance, my fic for Day 1 on what’s technically July 2, well…that’s what I have to say for myself.

This fic was also (minorly) influenced by @graysongraysoff’s first fic for Beboptober 2020, “3, 2, 1…Let’s Jam!”

Also, enjoy this rejected first line: “There are many benefits to being a marine biologist bounty hunter….”

As the clock ticked past midnight, Spike and Jet sat on neighboring barstools, keeping a sharp lookout for the bounty head who was rumored to pass through this bar tonight—or from a message from Faye indicating that the bounty head had visited the bar where she was stationed, instead. There had been no sign of the guy for a while, and the only messages from Faye just consisted of her complaints of boredom. (The bar was on a relatively remote asteroid, after all.) The anticipation and the silence—other than the occasional attempt at conversation from Jet or the crack of peanut shells (no drinks for them tonight, or at least minimal drinks; they needed to focus)—gave Spike a lot of time to think about the reasons he’d become a bounty hunter in the first place. The reasons he’d chosen this offbeat, freelance profession to fill this part of his life—such as it was.

Sure, the paychecks were irregular, often scanty, and—more often than the crew would like—nonexistent. And he wasn’t one to pretend that the money didn’t matter, that he was purely in the bounty-hunting business for the love of the job or whatever. And sure, one could go on and on about catching bad guys, keeping them off the streets, bringing justice to the world—and Spike supposed those were advantages too, though he preferred to leave the philosophizing to Jet. And they definitely weren’t the reason he’d picked up the work. Anyway, on nights like these—when he and Jet and Faye were in their element, and he was sure a fat stack of Woolongs was on their way—Spike preferred to focus on the more practical benefits of the job.

Spike knew he’d chafe in some corporate 9-to-5 job, or in retail or customer service, or in any position with set hours and fake smiles and a supervisor breathing down his neck. He’d struggle and squirm as if wearing an ill-fitting jacket. And he couldn’t imagine having to say things like “actionable items” or “let’s circle back” with a straight face. He often griped and complained about the woes of bounty hunting, but he was feeling unusually optimistic tonight, and he had to admit, the freedom that this job afforded him suited him perfectly.

Take the work hours, for instance. Twelve A.M. and he was wide awake, raring for a catch; in twelve hours he’d probably be passed out on the Bebop’s couch. And the job was so unpredictable that in another twelve hours, he might still be asleep. This was the kind of schedule that suited him; he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And to be honest, midnight wasn’t a bad time to be up and working. The sky outside the bar was pitch-black, but the streets hummed with life. As Spike looked around, he saw flickering neon signs, sporadic streetlights, headlights of cars and spacecrafts, and the occasional tiny flame of a lighter filling the darkness. And while he and Jet were quiet, the bar was replete with lively conversation, raucous laughter, and the sounds of games of pool, foosball, and darts, often accompanied by wild cheering. These were technically Spike’s work hours. This bar was sort of his office. The gun resting securely at his side served as his office supplies. What boring corporate job would let him say that?

For another thing, he didn’t have to deal with any stupid dress codes; he never had to memorize the meanings of words like “business casual” or wear the same polo shirt with the same embroidered logo of the same megacorporation as everyone else. He did business dressed up in a suit and tie because he wanted to, and, in his opinion, it looked stylish as hell. (As bonuses, it also allowed him a lot of freedom of movement and was very comfortable, as was evident from the few times Ed had stolen and wrapped herself in it, gleefully flapping the ends of the sleeves.)

Perhaps the best aspect of the job, though, was that every day of it was different. It brought the Bebop crew in contact with such a wide variety of criminals and other strange characters—from senile old chessmasters, to vindictive bombers using teddy bears as their weapons, to homicidal genetically-engineered clowns—that no two people they encountered were ever the same. And if Spike decided a bounty head was too boring, or too much of a small fry, he didn’t have a boss forcing him to take it. (More often, he had an empty bank account and a disapproving look from Jet forcing him to take it—but that was neither here nor there.) Also, the work took Spike and his crewmates pretty much everywhere in the Solar System. He was constantly on the move, never staying in any one place for long. It suited his restless spirit perfectly—and made sure that nothing, or no one, from his past would be able to catch up to him.

“Spike.” Jet’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “That’s the guy.”

Spike glanced over to where Jet was gesturing, and sure enough, the muscular, grizzled man entering the bar, with a suspiciously gun-shaped bulge under his trenchcoat, matched the description in the criminal records and the picture on Big Shot exactly.

With a grin, Spike rested his hand on his own gun. “Let’s get him.”

Sometimes, when he was in a more brooding mood than tonight, he’d reflect on how his life never felt real. How it felt more like a constant dream he could never wake up from. The ephemeral, meandering nature of bounty-hunting, with its strange and amorphous structure, felt dreamlike sometimes, too. And for someone on the outskirts of society, seeking autonomy—well, he guessed that applied to his whole group of crewmates, in one way or another—it was perfect. As much as he liked to complain about the job, it fit him better than he’d like to admit.

And here he was now, in the dead of night in a random bar on an even more random asteroid, easily dodging the bounty head’s blows and landing his own—without making too much of a scene that attracted the rest of the bar. The fight was over quickly enough that the man didn’t even need to pull out his gun. Just the way Spike liked it. As he threw the final punch that rendered the man unconscious and Jet tied him up, he was completely comfortable. Relaxed. In his element.

There were worse ways to spend a dream.

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callmearcturus · 2 years

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the gross pointe blank au

goddammit i CANNOT locate the post about this

okay so before the Epilogue killed my love of HS, i was meticulously planning out a fic that spiritually became SWDKTOWL. it was the Gross Pointe Blank AU.

the basic concept was a reworking of the original movie but with dirkjake. jake and dirk were high school sweethearts-- oh shit i found the original summary

Jake English went through the same crisis a lot of teenagers do on the cusp of adulthood, and ran away from home. He ran all the way into the army and was funneled into a particular CIA program that handles extrajudicial operations. He learned plenty of important life skills, like sniping and poison application and martial executions before leaving the CIA to go into business for himself as a private contractor.

Back in Austin, Jake left behind his high school sweetheart, Dirk Strider, but Dirk Strider never quite left him, carried around like a bullet waiting for its home. First, Jake dreamed of Dirk nightly, the boy he’d stood up and run away from. Then, a few years later, he learned his old flame was running a radio show back home. Soon, Jake’s jobs were filled with the voice of that same ghost every night.

He didn’t have to acknowledge how creepy this was, pining over his ex while listening to his show during jobs. Not until a job called him back to Austin, back to his once hometown.

This was going to be awkward.

yeah so jake runs away from home, becomes a gov't agent, then goes into business as an assassin, traveling the world, meeting people, and killing them. he's very much adrift, and still hung up on the things he abandoned and left behind.

when the information tech revolution happens, jake gets a smartphone and does the one thing you should NEVER DO and looks up his ex. dirk is still in Austin, TX, and it turns out his rich daddy bought him a radio station (well, Dave bought the station and thus Dirk can do his nightly music-and-philosophy show). and when jake realizes he can stream this show, he starts doing so. every night. his phone remains synched to the time zone back in Austin just so he can always know when its time.

i had this very very vivid image of jake, just getting out of a really bad job, stealing a car, and parking it in one of those tall, automated parking garages in dubai. as he waits for his pain meds to kick in at 1am, he listens to dirk's show, his phone resting on his chest, listening to dirk talk about obscure music opinions.

(many more details under the cut)

also here's the kicker; i was going to try to uh. voice the segments and embed them in the fic. yeah i know, terrible. here's the only one i previewed, all the way back in 2019. yeah don't laugh at me.

anyway, eventually The Plot kicks off. Jake fucks up a job (i had it in my head he was supposed to assassinate Cronus but accidentally killed Eridan, and the client (Dualscar) was Not Happy). he has to take a high profile job in the US to make amends. it just so happens to be in Austin, TX. What are the fucking odds.

now in the original GPB movie, Dan Akroyd plays this rival assassin who wants to form an Assassin Union and tries to force John Cuscak to join in. that's dated now in 2022, as it was in 2019 when i was plotting this so instead:

as soon as jake lands in the US, his car is tailed. really unsubtly. he finds a secluded spot to pull off too. it turns out good old Janey wants to have a chat. now that Jake has slinked back to the US, she wants to float this idea she has of franchising the murder biz, and she wants Jake to buy in and open one of the franchises under her banner. Jake is like yeah no that seems silly, this is an industry of mentally ill folks with a shitload of guns, we're not exactly the most community-driven of peoples. Jane tells him to reconsider. 8) He should really reconsider. Under her plan, in 5 years there will be no freelance work, it'll ALLLLL be under her umbrella and if Jake knows what's good for him, he'll get in at the ground floor. They part contentiously.

So Jake is SUPPOSED to open up this dossier on his target and get to killing, but. He's back home, and can super casually drive past Dirk's radio station while listening to it. Not creepy at all! Not obsessed and hung up on it! Nope!

He gets caught out eventually, not by Dirk but by Roxy. (Roxy is trans and Jake was the first person she told her cool new name too, and they were super close back in the day.) She is hyped as fuck to see Jake but also like "yo why the fuck are you idling in a rented car outside the job of the dude you stood up so much you left the fucking country, homes?"

it's a mess, and Jake wants to reconnect with people. it's Fucking Hard because he's uuuuuuuuuuh having a midlife crisis? basically? thinking about his life, his job, and all he left behind. meanwhile, jane is trying to do jake's assassination before he can to scope it out from under him and get him into even DEEPER shit with Dualscar, but jake cannot focus on that shit when he finally can see dirk again.

and dirk is. not THRILLED to see him. because Dirk waited and waited and waited, and Jake never came back, and Dirk isn't SAYING he never got over it but. yeah. so Dirk is tsuntsundere at best with jake, but jfc every time they are in a room together they can Feel It, the tension.

All of this is interspersed with more radio segments. one i really liked was Dirk doing a Arctic Monkeys block and having a whole segment about Alex Turner and that thing he said about how he wrote the best album of 2013 ("AM") and how fucking infuriating men like that are, because he's right, obviously, but also what is the poisoned lure of dudes who walk around knowing the effect they have on you? how do you handle them? (he's talking about jake natch) there was a lot of specially curated music that's basically a conversation-by-proxy with jake, i was gonna have a lot of fun there.

anwyay, things come to a head. right as jake is like "okay I'm gonna do this final job and then QUIT and try things with dirk," he opens the dossier he shoulda opened two weeks ago.... and his target is Dave fucking Strider. dumb. fucking. luck.

jake rushes to save dirk's dad from being merced by Jane's team, and does the full john cusack, "Dirk. [murders a guy] I'm in love with you. And I think we can make this work!" action sequence

/JAZZ HANDS

#gross pointe blank au #assassin au #the ORIGINAL assassin AU lmao #dirkjake #instead of all this i wrote KTOWL when i came back to HS #my fic #spooky jake autumn #this jake DEF counts

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soul--scribbles · 2 years

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Is there anybody going to listen to my story?

All about the girl who was betrayed.

She's the kind of girl you hate so much, you don't feel sorry.

As her body was left out to decay.

A giiiirl...

Lucinda only has one reason for being revived into Night Raven College (besides the fact that idiot first years lit the black flame candle and summoned her) all in my fic!

She is currently a fugitive since she had committed one of the gravest crimes in all magical & non-magical realms: making a contract with a demon.

Demons aren't all the same, however, it is a crime to summon and use a demon since they are notoriously powerful in granting their summoner's wishes...at a grave price. Demons have enormous magical energy and give the "illusion" of power beyond all imagination, but by doing so they also fail to neglect the consequences of allowing magic/non-magic wielders to harbor such power with disastrous results.

Because of people misusing this power, magical communities made it a capital crime to perform certain magics (contracting a demon, transfiguration, etc) without the proper clearance from the higher up councils.

Even though Lucinda was alive during the early 1900's prior to these changes, contracting demons for great magical power was still considered incredibly dangerous.

Lucinda, herself, is unable to wield magic (being a medium), so she harbors spiritual/psychic energy. Her sister, on the other hand, is another story. For another post

Lucinda had discovered that her sister had harnessed the power of a particularly dangerous demon to increase her magical ability tenfold who was later recognized as one of the most powerful, deadly witches in all the realms.

In order to protect her sister from the demon consuming her soul and breaking through the barrier from the demonic realm, Lucinda summoned the demon to overturn her sister's contract and create a contract with herself, as a sacrifice.

Of course, the demon did not object and willfully overturned the contract to create one binding to Lucinda. She didn't realize at the time that mediums have a much stronger bond to beings from different realms so her body was able to allow the demon to possess her to the point he could easily materialize separately from her body. This caused Lucinda great distress and took it as her responsibility to never allow the demon to be free, so she sheltered herself within the Macabre Mansion, where only spirits are able to reside.

Now that she's been brought to Night Raven College, she will use any chance she gets to acquire the information she needs to rid herself of that filthy demonic entity within her once and for all.

Problem is, if you try to exorcise a demon from your body, the vessel it hosts will die...no wonder they're considered parasites.

I suppose there's a loop hole to everything.

#soul scribbles #soul oc lore #figured I'd post some snippets before making a masterpost bahaha #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #lucinda de la cruz

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ao3commentoftheday · 3 years

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Hey! Long time fan of your blog, first time sending in an ask. I got myself into a bit of a pickle recently. Someone I didn't know needed a beta. I agreed without seeing if our styles meshed. Very impulsive decision on my part and I'm now kicking myself for not doing a bit of research first. Turns out, they're a newbie. They make a lot of rookie mistakes and while I find the premise of their fic interesting, their execution needs work. I get that we're all entering the fandom at different skill levels. It's a beautiful thing. It's not bad that they're a newbie, I've worked with newbies before. The problem I'm facing is that I don't know how deep into my critique I should go. I asked them of course (as should any beta worth their salt because communication is key) and all they mentioned was that they struggle with grammar, spelling, and punctuation. This writer then talked about how negative feedback from anyone makes them cry. They also said they have traumatic past experiences with betas. Which of course made me wary of giving complicated concrit. In my experience, people like that benefit from light edits but mainly cheerleading. I don't want them to have another sour experience, I want to be helpful. A source of positivity and support. Unfortunately, they flat out asked me after I read the fic if I disliked anything, which has left me feeling confused. Surely they wouldn't want negative feedback from me if it'll make them cry? They have said multiple times if people dislike or hate their stories that they cry. They've even called themselves sensitive. I really don't want to hurt them. But idk. If they post this fic and get flamed for it, I'd feel guilty and responsible. And also like a liar because yeah there were things I could have pointed out that could have maybe spared them harassment. I guess I'm catastrophizing the situation? And heck, for all I know, I'm completely wrong and maybe my criticism is unfounded and I'm just biased. I guess I'm second guessing myself in every aspect here. I even had a panic attack over it, which seems not good? I don't know what to do. Sorry my ask is a jumbled mess but that makes sense I suppose because I feel like a mess, too.

*hugs you lots*

You're 100% correct that communication is key in the writer/beta relationship, and it seems like right now the communication is only going one way. You know what that writer wants, but they don't know how they're making you feel.

If that writer truly does have that degree of sensitivity to critique, they should also have ways of dealing with it. It's unfortunate, but they can't expect everyone else to be able to manage their emotional state. They have to do that themselves.

They asked for spelling and grammar help and you gave it to them. If they want critique on other aspects of their writing or story, that should start the conversation over again. How detailed do you want me to be? How should I phrase my opinions? Do you want suggestions for improvement or just my impressions? Should I look at plot? Characterization? Canon compliance? In-story timelines? Should I point out any stereotyping I might have noticed or anything that might be considered racist, homophobic, ableist etc.?

If they're not ready or not willing or not able to receive feedback about those things, then you're not able to provide it. If they do want that feedback, then you can work together to figure out how to get that feedback across. They probably also need to know that any criticism you're giving them is about the story, not about them.

All that said, this is taking a heavy emotional toll on you and I think it's perfectly reasonable of you to say that you don't want to go any further with your feedback because the idea that you might accidentally upset them is upsetting you. Your feelings matter in this situation too.

That's my thoughts on this situation, but I've never had to beta for someone this sensitive before. Have any of the rest of you? And if you're an author who takes feedback to heart like this, what can a beta do to make it easier to hear?

#asks and answers

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doiecstasy · 3 years

Text

She’s Confident

She’s Confident (Diluc x Reader)

Summary: Being an Imunlaukr, you were destined to travel and discover many things all around Teyvat. Even if being the lover of the uncrowned king of Mondstadt, who owns the famous winery and tavern inside the nation of freedom, you didn't stop traveling. Now that you're back from your recent travel, you wanted to taunt your boyfriend and probably show him your hidden bold attitude that is only for him to see.

Warnings: Oral, Teasing, Smut, Breeding, Impreg

Note/s: Minors DNI. I cross-posted this fic on Ao3 so if you also found it in there, don't worry. I need more Diluc fics so I wrote one and decided to share it with y'all Diluc simps. Enjoy!

Artwork: eriimyon in Twitter

The tension between the new honorary knight and the former cavalry captain in a room full of the Knights of Favonius is palpable. Very. Noticeable.

Perhaps they all know the history between the two hence no one ever dares speak up. An Imunlaukr from the clan of the grandmaster Varka and the son of Master Crepus Ragnvindr. Who would dare speak in front of them?

Except, of course, the cunning cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius. Kaeya.

"I think it is better to sit shoulder-to-shoulder rather than facing each other. Isn't it Diluc?"

The redhead hissed, straightened up on his seat, and crossed his arms on his chest, enunciating through his actions that he is not interested in what his brother has said just a moment ago. He simply did not care and continued to stare into your azure orbs. Those blue-like ocean eyes that successfully captured his flaming ones.

Sensing how the other knights exchanged looks as if being able to communicate with just their eyes, you stood up and walked around the room to sit beside the uncrowned king of Mondstadt.

You looked over your shoulder and saw a surprised-looking knight. He seems new and shy. You could quite see that he was amazed. Mesmerized, even. A beauty like you, coming from the Imunlaukr clan with impressive combat skills and was gifted with a cryo vision matching perfectly to your blue eyes, who would not be captivated by your existence?

Glancing to your right, you saw how Diluc stilled and stared blankly in front of him, where you once seated. You smirked and looked at Kaeya, urging him to start the meeting he so-called important to the point where it needs the help of the two respected nobles of Mondstadt.

Kaeya didn't hide his smirk as he started briefing all of the people inside the room about the sightings of suspicious members of the Fatui outside the borders of Mondstadt and how the Liyue Qixing also wants to cooperate with this mission since there are also sights near Stone Gate, Liyue.

You understood how this is an important matter, for the safety of the citizens of Mondstadt is on the line. However, the man beside you once again hissed.

"Knights of Favonius, always so inefficient. Couldn't even handle matters like this alone." He said while staring directly at the cavalry captain in the center of the room.

The other knights averted their eyes on Diluc and looked down on their laps, feeling ashamed and guilty, partly because it is quite true. Something inside you was triggered and you directed your look to the redhead which caused him to look back into you.

"You can always back down, Diluc. You are not in debt to always cooperate in situations like this. After all, you are not part of the Knights of Favonius, aren't you?"

The room was quiet and an amused man was smiling boldly in the center of the room, enjoying the little show in front of him. But before everything reach its climax you stood up and excused yourself for you already know the details of the meeting.

"I'll be off now. If anyone needs something from me, I am just sheathing my claymore" you looked discreetly at Diluc, "at the practice grounds." You turned the knob and left the room with Diluc slightly shaking his head and Kaeya who is ready to irritate his brother more.

---

You saw Diluc leaving the headquarters and surmised that he is heading to Angel's Shares. You shook your head as you still couldn't fathom why the man owns a winery and tends the bar full of booze when he despises alcohol and is deeply in love with grape juice.

Picking up your claymore, you placed it back on the armory together with the other weapons exclusively for nobles like you and made your way to the tavern.

Why?

"Because I want to." You answered yourself while painting a smirk on your face.

While on your way, a hand was placed around your waist making you gasp and hold your tracks in front of little Flora's flower shop. Good thing it was almost dawn and the child is surprisingly not tending her shop at the moment.

"An Imunlaukr following a Ragnvindr, hm?" He tightens his hold on your waist, your chests now inch apart from each other. "Perhaps you need something from an ex-Knights of Favonius captain, honorary knight." He said staring directly into your orbs.

If it wasn't for the fact that you were both out in the open, you would gladly melt under his crimson eyes. But you were completely aware of your surroundings. You could feel the stares of a woman just above flora's shop. Quickly glancing in her direction, you saw the horror in her eyes and the way her hands slowly creep on her mouth as if suppressing silent sobs.

This is interesting.

Being aware that the woman's eyes are still locked in your position, you placed both of your arms around Diluc's neck and gently pulled him down to your height, making him bend slightly.

"Why don't we continue this inside your tavern, Diluc. I hate having an audience for private matters like this." You saw flames in his eyes like you've ignited something inside him. Moreover, you saw how the woman averted her gaze into you. She heard it. Definitely.

Diluc removed his arm on your waist and made his way back to his tavern. You hissed. This man never changes. But you followed him nonetheless.

When you entered the tavern you were surprised that it is empty. Considering the time, it's the hour that the tavern is supposedly packed with customers and bards. As if he has read your thoughts, Diluc answered. "The tavern is closed for today if that's what you're wondering. But I know that you heard it somewhere and to someone that we're closed for today, yet you still made your way here. So I supposed you're not here for the wine." He said while wiping mugs behind the bar.

Walking over to him, you settled on one of the seats in front of him and placed both of your elbows on the bar, plastering a smile on your face.

"I'm here for my welcome back greetings." You said while watching him. "And probably for some, 'I missed you', words as well." You still watched him and saw that he is not bothered by your words, he just continued wiping noticeably clean beer mugs. Placing your hands under your chin to support your face, you said,

"Or a kiss from you, perhaps?"

Sounds of clanking of mugs that fell on the floor were heard inside the tavern and a pair of crimson eyes were darted into your azure ones. He stopped wiping mugs and placed his hands on the edge of the bar to support himself, completely disregarding the scattered mugs on the floor.

His stares are of those like predators' look on their prey. You're sensing he got something up on his sleeves and you're not someone who backs out easily. Breaking the game of staring, you inched a little closer to him, being careful not to fall on your chair. But you saw him leave his position and slowly made his way around the bar. You followed his movements and your back is now facing his previous spot.

Diluc is now in front of you, caging you between the bar and his arms. His face is dangerously close to yours. The edge of the bar is digging behind your back, but you did not care and focused on the piece of art standing in front of you.

"Look who needs something from me, former cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius. You said it yourself, hm?" He said and you felt shivers run down your spine.

You smirked.

"I didn't know that you hold grudges for small things like that, Diluc. I am surprised." You snickered. "After being with you for all these years, it just so happens that I only knew this trait of yours." You placed a hand on his chest.

"Is it because of how I travel? Maybe I'm traveling too much to the point of almost ignoring you."

You saw the protruding veins in his jaw. He is provoked. You internally praised yourself for making him like this.

He removed his hand on the edge of the bar and placed it on your waist while his other hand supports his body against yours. You felt him grip your side a little too tight. Maybe you're doing this a little too much for him. But you didn't care. You also like him this way.

"You changed your hair color." He said while burning his gaze into yours. "Why?"

Your previous hair color was dark brown. Your recent travel required you to change it so you colored it to ash gray. It still made you beautiful. More mesmerizing.

"Do you not like it? I could change it back for you." You said while slowly rubbing your hand on his chest.

He looked at your hand for a second and came back into your eyes. "I love it."

"Now, pick among the three." He said while smirking.

You were confused and he saw it too. "A welcome greeting, an I missed you, or..." He leaned in at your ear,

"a hot kiss from me."

He backed away from your ear and faced you once again, waiting for your answer. His eyes burning with what you could see and very well know.

Lust.

You didn't break the stare as you said your answer. "The latter."

Diluc leaned in and caught your bottom lip between his. Slightly sucking it before giving you a sloppy yet hot kiss. His hand slipped under your tight shirt, gripping and massaging your waist slightly. Your hands are now around his neck as he ravished your lips. He bit your lip and you moaned as his tongue met yours. "I fucking missed you." He said between your kisses.

The sound of wet kisses and muffled moans filled the whole tavern. You already started thinking that he did close the tavern on purpose for your arrival, but you were averted from your thoughts as he pressed his bulging erection on your thighs. You giggled between your kisses and one of your hands slowly made its way to cup his erection.

"Ah, baby," Diluc moaned parting from your lips as you slowly rub his member. Feeling how it begs to be free from his restricting pants. He finds it so hot seeing you rub your hand on his filthy cock. Slipping your hand inside his pants, you grabbed his member and slowly releasing it free from its cage. You felt proud of yourself seeing how you made Diluc all worked up.

You left your seat and situated yourself kneeling in front of his mad erection. All for you.

You pumped it several times before slowly and teasingly licking his tip already filled with pre-cum. "Ah. Baby, stop teasing." He said while running his hand on your hair.

You grabbed his balls as you took his cock in your mouth. Taking him and moaning while his cock slides in and out of your mouth. You pumped the remaining parts of his shaft that didn't fit in your mouth and you could sense that he is close to coming. Diluc was panting as you continuously blow him off, guiding your head with his hand. You intentionally ground your teeth on his cock and you felt him squirmed from pleasure.

"If you keep on doing that I might come right now, baby." He pleads. You continued sucking his cock like a popsicle until he finally came and filled your mouth. "I'm hard again just by seeing you swallow my semen, baby."

You moaned. "Then I might just suck you off again, hm." You said palming his still erect cock.

Diluc pulled you from the floor and positioned you on top of the bar. Parting your legs and settling his body between your thighs. He slowly palmed your clothed clit. "You're wet down here, hm."

He stripped you from your bottom garments and only left bare only for him to see and... taste.

Your head fell back and moans left your mouth as he eats you out like a predator. He licks, kisses, and tongue-fucks your pussy. After ravishing your mound with his mouth, Diluc inserted a finger in your opening and slowly pumps it in your hole while he's busy playing with your clit.

"Ah, Diluc... Add another in there, baby. Please." You grabbed his red hair tightly as he added another finger and this time it wasn't slow.

You heard him grunt and it vibrated to your pussy making you moan louder. His other hand snaked around your back to push your hips even more on his face.

"I fucking missed the taste of this pussy too." He said while adding another finger and continue eating your clit. You were shaking from too much pleasure but you didn't mind.

When his fingers found your g-spot, you couldn't hold it in any longer and came right in front of his face.

A moan escaped your mouth as he licked you off clean. You didn't have time to calm down as he grabbed your waist and carried you to one of the tables inside the tavern.

"I can't wait to fuck you, baby. I need you right now." He said while laying down on the hard surface. You didn't mind the discomfort as long as you're with him.

Diluc pumped his cock slowly as he watches you being impatient and desperately wants to be filled.

"Diluc stop teasing me and put it in me already." You said while massaging your breasts. He caught you off-guard when he suddenly slid it in you. Hard.

He pounded you like he never saw you for a year. When in reality, it was only for 2 weeks. Loud moans escaped from your mouth as he continuously hit your spot.

Diluc hoisted your legs up on his shoulders and fucks you deeper. A growl escaping his mouth. "Fuck, you're so tight and hot, baby. Fucking you still feels like the first time. Ah."

He leaned in and gave you sloppy kisses as he fucks the life out of you. "Want me to breed you, baby?" He said between thrusts and kisses. "Make you a Ragnvindr and mark you so no one could have you except me, hm?"

You couldn't form words from the pleasure he's giving you. You could tell that the table you're lying on will be destroyed moments from now. The idea of bearing a child of Diluc in you made you feel so hot and even more turned on.

You ground on him in sync with his thrusts. "Ah, Diluc. Yes!"

You were almost there but he slides out of you and picked you up from the table. You almost snapped from the lack of his cock in your mound, but when he placed you in front of the wall, hoisted your leg on his arm then quickly penetrated your pussy from behind, another set of loud moans escaped your mouth.

He moaned as he felt your hole clenching his cock between his heavy thrusts. Every time he thrusts it out, your pussy pulls it back in.

His other hand crept under you and rubs your clit fast, overstimulating you. "Come for me, baby. Let me fill you with my semen. I'll fucking put a baby in you."

"Ah, yes! Give it to me, baby." You said as you felt your release coming the same time he came inside you. A grunt left Diluc's mouth as his semen floods into you.

He stilled and moaned as you slowly pumped his cock back in your pussy, helping him cream your mound. "Don't want your release to come to waste." You giggled.

Diluc didn't let go of you as he very well knows you'd fall if he does. He situated you in one of the seats that have a cushion so that you'll be more comfortable after an intense fucking inside his tavern.

He grabbed tissues behind the bar and went directly to your position and slowly cleaned off the excess cum on your thighs. He helped you put back your clothes on and did the same to himself.

After a few moments, he just stared at you like you're the only woman in Teyvat. His woman.

"So, how did the ex-Knights of Favonius satisfy the honorary knight, hm?" He asked, crossing his arms on his firm chest.

You looked up to him and a smirk formed on your lips.

"Well, he did great. Very. Great. Perhaps, the other way to get railed like this again is by officially joining the Knights of Favonius." You said with a smirk on your face.

Diluc raised an eyebrow. "I hate the Knights."

You grabbed his arms and made him wrap them around your waist. You carefully stood up from your seat as your mound is still sore and you put a chaste kiss on his lips.

"But I like it when you're mad at me." You placed another kiss on his lips. "You wanna know why, hm?"

Diluc kissed you back as an answer. His tongue seeking entrance in your mouth.

"Because you fuck me harder when you're mad." You said between his kisses.

He guided your hand on his pants and a gasp left your mouth in his kisses when you felt him hard again. He parted his lips from you and whispered in your ears.

"I can't hate you, love. But I can make you suffer in bed later."

You're anticipating that 'later' in bed at home.

End.

#genshin x reader #genshin diluc #diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin smut #diluc smut #genshin impact x reader #diluc #genshin diluc x reader #diluc fic #genshin impact smut #diluc fluff #genshin imagines #my first genshin fic #enjoy

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

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

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

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

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

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

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

#maribat #daminette #maridami #mgi trope tussle #mgi- server event #enemies to lovers #speedrun #i #like a dumbass challenged myself to use three prompts and i delivered #i hope #i hope yall enjoy #tumblr do me a solid #dont hide my posts #please #im begging #ml x dc #mlb x dc #tumblr please stop hiding my posts #no beta this is tussle

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dubsxreader · 3 years

Text

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

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a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

#shigaraki tomura x femaie!reader #shigaraki x reader #tw sucidal ideation #tw depression #tw manipulation

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floraone · 4 years

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So, September is coming up, and with it smutember, and we’re doing it again! (At least I hope you’re with me, lol).

Just like last year, it runs alongside to the official daily word prompts on the official smutember blog: Smutember is an event that runs all throughout September for all fandoms. The following is meant as an addition, not a replacement. If you want to do daily prompts, please use the official words prompts (linked above). However, since daily prompts can be a bit intimidating (especially for a fandom corner that’s 25+ years old like ours and people in it have busy lives), as the resident smut advocate in our fandom, I again customized an alternative that can still incorporate the official themes.

Just like last year, down below you have a list of TROPE AND THEME PROMPTS. They’re a remix of sorts of last year’s tropes, with some you’ve seen before and some new ones, meant to spark a variety of ideas. The idea is that with these you can post once (or twice) per week instead of daily.

Be it for fanart or fanfic or any other sort of fanwork, tropes can be combined, (and they can be combined with the daily themes too), whatever floats your boat. Also, specifically: This event isn’t Usamamo-centric only. I will reblog any Sailor Moon content of any pairing as long as it follows the rules! (See below)

The aim of this event is to create sex-positive content together that celebrates a healthy depiction of consentual sexuality. Erotic fanfiction is a beautiful art, especially in a fandom of ours so largely cultivated by women and for women, as well as a strong inclusive focus on queer and gender-queer content and their creators!

What’s new: I’m taking a page out of the mini-bang’s impressive book, and when smutember is over, I will compile all entries that followed the rules into an online-only e-zine! This also means that art that may be too explicit for tumblr can still be included in the e-zine!

Here are the weekly trope challenges:

Reinvent a trope!

WEEK 1 (September 1st - 7th): Pick 1 or 2

🍋 Reunion Sex 🍋 Sex Fails 🍋 Second Chance Sex 🍋 You Talk In Your Sleep 🍋 Unresolved Sexual Tension 🍋 New Old Flame 🍋 Go Seduce My Archnemesis 🍋 Bedsharing 🍋 Sex with the Ex/Break-Up Sex 🍋 In Public

WEEK 2 (September 8th - 14th): Pick 1 or 2

🍋 Make-Up Sex 🍋 Battle Couple 🍋 Mission Sex 🍋 Work-Out Sex 🍋 Accidental Pervert 🍋 Bathing/Shower 🍋 Pool/Onsen 🍋 Sexual Fantasies 🍋 Blind Date 🍋 Aroused By Your____ (pick a feature)

WEEK 3 (September 15th - 21st): Pick 1 or 2

🍋 Established Relationship 🍋 “Thank God We’re Alive” 🍋 Caught In The Act 🍋 First Times 🍋 Introduction By Hook-Up 🍋 Pining 🍋 Locked In Together In A Small Space/ Trapped Together 🍋 Huddling For Warmth 🍋 Socially Distanced Sex 🍋 Stupid Sexy Friend 🍋 Caught In The Rain 🍋 Living Food Platter/Eating Off You 🍋 Shunga

WEEK 4 (September 22nd - 30th): Pick 1 or 2

🍋 Mutual Masturbation 🍋 Awkward/Clumsy Sex 🍋 Oh Crap There’s Fanfic Of Us 🍋 Talking In Bed 🍋 Fidelity Test 🍋 Fake-NOT-Dating 🍋 Mindlink 🍋 Sex Games 🍋 Tinder 🍋 Blackout/Quarantine/Disaster Warning/Weathering The Storm

RULES

1. Rating: These fics don’t necessarily need to be M or, in the case of Ao3, E- rated. Obviously, they are very, very welcome to be explicit for this event, but you can also go T-rated and stay in lime or ‘blacked out’-territory if you’re uncomfortable with writing explicit scenes! Both is perfectly and absolutely welcome! This of course also goes for fanart - your fanart may depict sexy scenes, but does NOT have to be explicit! (It can, though! Be aware that for tumblr’s guidelines, when sharing your art first, you may have to clip your images as a sort of preview. The original can then be sent to me privately to include into the e-zine!) 2. Minimum Age of Characters: Since this is a community event, if you do go explicit M rated material: age them up where necessary! So that everyone can be comfortable writing and reading these, let them be 18 at the minimum if they’re going to openly and explicitly wohoo. (16-17 is the global average age of consent worldwide, and also the average age for first sex among girls in many western countries. However, since most fanfic readers are located in the US, where the age of consent is 18, we’re going with 18 so that everyone can be comfortable reading!) If you go for canon fics at a time they are below this age, where you do not want to age up (say you’re going for an episode fix!) please stay in T territory for this event. 3. Off limits: Depictions of sexual acts that contain harmful, violent and non-consenting behaviour with non-consenting individuals (or those that aren’t able to consent, for instance because of their age, or state of mind among else!). If it doesn’t fly by law or the ICD in real life, please refrain from depicting it in the context of this event. This means that dubcon and noncon will not be reblogged for the event, so that people can be safely consuming the content without being triggered. All content will be screened in this regard, and I may contact you regarding trigger warnings. This is not at all to censor content, or that this content is in any form less valid (as long as it is properly tagged and not including characters that aren’t of age), but simply to ensure a safe environment for everyone reading. 4. Tag your triggers. Except the aforementioned limitation of harmful content, nothing is off limits. Explore your kinks! But if you write something that might be offensive to your readers, please tag it. This is ALSO a good way for your readers to find exactly what they ARE looking for! On Ao3 this can be done directly on the fic tags, for FF fics and fic links you can do it here on Tumblr via the fic post tags or in ANs. This is in consideration of your readers. 5. You can obviously post art for this event too. All previous rules apply here, as well. Unfortunately, Tumblr is now against tasteful nudity. That doesn’t mean you can’t link to a deviant art or similar account though, should you want to. And, since this year will include an e-zine at the end of it, all art will still be included fully in it. Here too, please tag your triggers. If you still want to post art on Tumblr, choose a T rated image - clip them where needed, or keep them (semi-)clothed, show us a heated kiss, etc! (Obviously we would love ALL the art and the nude body is a beautiful, wonderful thing, but obviously Tumblr doesn’t agree with us anymore!) 6. Have fun! Celebrate sexuality in an open, sex-positive way with us, try to be unapologetic about your likes while you write this, and appreciate the beauty that comes in the form of content with a largely female-gazing creator-base and audience! Smut in fanfiction has been beautifully put as the subjectification of sexuality (as opposed to objectification). So let’s celebrate this art form together! 7. Reviews: No one is forced to review. It can be uncomfortable to review a fic that contains sexual acts for any number of always valid reasons. Keep in mind, however, that much like a Burlesque dancer on stage, putting out sexual content can also be very intimidating to an author, and nothing is more discouraging than silence when baring yourself to an audience like this. That being said: Both Ao3 and FF have the option to review in anon mode. That means you have the option to remain anonymous while cheering the author on all the same. Just like the Burlesque dancer, your resident smut authors prefer to go on stage to loud cheering - it makes it all less awkward for them, and feels a little more like a big celebration!

If you’re unsure what sex positivity entails and want to read up, I wrote a post about it here.

This event is not supposed to cause harm. This means that I will screen all content before I reblog it here, and include it in the e-zine. So that everyone of age can feel safe reading the fanworks in the event, dubcon and noncon will not be reblogged and included in the e-zine, and accurate tagging and content warning will be watched. This does NOT MEAN that you cannot post this material: your own desire to write it and someone else’s desire to explicitly read this material are valid. I do not entitle myself to censor. It just means it will not be reblogged and shared through the event so that everyone may feel safe to read to the best of my ability. (But, of course, remember that I, too, might be biased, and not discover subtle forms of it, either. We’re all, in the end, a product of our upbringing and society, and I cannot be completely unbiased.)

During the event, I will be posting all Sailor Moon Smutember contributions in this format on my blog if you @ me to the post.

The official hashtag for the event is #smutember2020 hosted by the official smutember blog. Using it helps people find the content who search for it as well as those who wish to block it!

#smutember2020 #smutember sailor moon fandom #smutember usamamo fandom corner #smutember2020 rules #Spread the word!

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allalrightagain · 3 years

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Ao3 Stats Tag

@lunapwrites you tagged me in this what feels like forever ago (it was only a couple of days, but still) and this is the first time I've made it to my computer since. Thank you for the tag <3<3!

How many works do you have on AO3?

3, plus a few that should probably move there from other various places.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

4461

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

That I’ve published? Besides Harry Potter, I’ve got like 4 chapters of a Twilight fic I wrote with friends in middle school that will die on ffnet because I a) don’t remember the title, b) don’t remember our username, c) don’t remember the email (I do, weirdly, remember the password) and d) haven’t talked to either friend since like.. 2010.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(also fittingly the same order they were published in):

1) If logic beat hate (by only a little)

2) Where do we begin?

3) ‘78 count

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I got one I felt kind of weird about (and was… probably misinterpreting) a few months ago and haven’t managed to go back and respond to the ones that followed, but it’s my plan to respond to all of them! I totally understand why people might not want to, but I love getting responses back when I leave a comment on someone else’s work, so I’d like to believe I’m extending the warm fuzzy feeling I get back to anyone who comments.

Also, like, fandom is a community, even if some of that has collapsed a bit. We’re all here talking about how sad Remus Lupin’s life is/was/could be (or whatever), and the best way to keep doing that is to just keep talking to each other, even if it’s just a simple thank you/kudos.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Uhhh definitely '78 count haha. It's intentional! At its core, it's about death, the death of an entire generation, and survivors who die anyways. It's my lowest read fic, if nothing else than because of the MCD warning.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope. Or at least, not that I know of. Maybe my Twilight fic has racked up the flames, but I kind of doubt it.

I spent a long time being terrified of— not even people hating my fic, just like, perceiving it? So, very little of what I’ve thought about has made it to paper (or screen) and even less to people’s eyes. It’s something I’ve gotten a lot better at, and am continuing to do every day.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

*laughs in aroace* If I ever manage to write an actual ship, the answer will probably still be no. It takes a lot for me to be interested in a fic enough not to skim through reading smut, I’m fairly certain my own attempts would be “and then they kissed, anyways, moving on.”

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but it would be cool if someone liked my writing enough to do so!

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Gen fic :)? I do like wolfstar and hinny, but I’ll read a lot of pairings as long as it’s a story I’m interested in. I’m a very easy sell, so long as it’s not only about the relationship (and it rarely is).

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think that you ever will?

I have a Regulus Lives fic buried on pillowfort that could have used a lot more TLC than it got before seeing the light of day, and it very much got away from me. I learned a lot from what I did write, and a lot of those lessons got applied to DIWF, where they did a lot of good. I just think what I left myself isn’t a story that I can salvage into what I wanted it to be.

What are your writing strengths?

Definitely narrative style, which was my “thing” when I was in college (huge tip to people in creative writing classes— if you’re not sure what to write, pick the last story you read and write a similar story the same way, or pick two and rewrite one using the voice of the other. You will look very good for your prof and improve your writing!).

I think I’m pretty good at dialogue, but not always at making the dialogue sound like the right character.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Mixing dialogue and narration lmao. I can write you a script easily, and a story without dialogue almost as easily, but knowing when and how to build up or break up a scene with description often takes me dozens of rereads, and still feels clumsy to me.

Also length— I’m a short story writer at heart, I want to get in and get out. DIWF is testing my patience with both of these, but I know what I want it to look like, so I just keep beating more words into it XD

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

I think it can be used really successfully, but it’s dependent on the writer knowing the language enough to use it masterfully, and context is extremely important. If the reader is supposed to understand what’s happening, then a translation needs to be conveyed in a way that’s easy to understand (I read mostly on mobile, so hovertext is generally useless, and putting it in the end notes is often annoying). If the goal is the reader and/or character(s) not knowing what’s said, it can come across as dismissive or othering of the other language (again, context=important).

That being said, there’s a special place in my heart for fics with dialogue in French, because I can actually read it.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. I have an adorable handwritten “and it was all a dream” fic I wrote at like.. 10? Definitely before book 7, and I think before book 6? Harry is killed by Voldemort and wakes up to the Marauders + Lily looking over his crib.

If you’re talking published, it would be the aforementioned Twilight fic I don’t remember.

What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Oh don’t ask me to pick favorites! I like them all for different reasons.

It took me so long to post this I think everyone I would have tagged has done it already? So if you see this and haven’t done it, I’m tagging you <3

#tag games #ask memes #lt talks #hp #hp fic #lt talks about writing

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

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Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.)

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

#everlark #everlark fic #thg #the hunger games #thg fic #everlark fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #everlark fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #writing #fic #fics #au #aus

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charlie-boio · 4 years

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The Only One For Me Part One

Summary: Everyone gets assigned a magical allegiance once they turn 16: Healers, Electrics, Shifters, and Darks, who were more often referred to as Voids. Once you reach 25, you no longer age until you meet soulmate.

After being outcasted by the world so long ago, Stiles Stilinski gave up on ever subjecting his soulmate to being with a Dark and decided that if the world would only ever treat him like it, he’ll be exactly what they wanted him to be: Void.

Word Count: 6,312

A/N: So, I really like this idea. Also I meant for this to be like a 5,000 word fic but it’s gonna be longer and this is now a two part fic because I procrastinated too hard and now my family is yelling at me to spend time with them. I’m sorry it took me awhile to write again lol I just needed to sit down and write. Anyways this is for @writingsbychlo Void Month, even though it’s the last day for it. This was a little bit inspired by her Stone Walls story because I love magic and the Billie Eilish song COPYCAT. I’ll try tagging those but I’m super new to posting new content so I have no idea how to do it lmao but I’ll give it a shot because y’all should check it out 😊 anyways I hope you enjoy this!!

Warnings: angst, smut but nothing too outrageous but it probably qualifies as rough smut, violence, blood, attempts at self-harm, mentions of suicide, I feel like I’m missing stuff so if I miss something and it triggers you I am so so sorry

I would also classify this as NSFW so read at your discretion.

If you had known him back then, you wouldn’t believe that this dark, twisted, and fucked up man was that same bright and smiling boy before.

Stiles Stilinski was always a happy kid, and despite his awkwardness, people were naturally drawn to him. Sure, he had a biting, sarcastic sense of humor, but he was kind, sweet, and he cared for other people more than he cared for himself. He had loving parents, dozens of friends, and a welcoming home. His future, safe to say, was bright.

He was so excited to find out was his magical allegiance was; several friends had gotten it already and were unabashed in flaunting their powers about. He hoped he would be an Electric, wielding electricity through his fingers like the superheroes he always grew up idolizing was a dream come true. Of course, he’d be happy with being a Healer or a Shifter too.

Stiles couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate either. He already had gift ideas, dates planned, and he couldn’t wait to introduce them to all his friends, his family, and especially his mom. He wanted to travel the world with them, and he promised his unknown soulmate that he would protect them from anything that could ever harm them. He also didn’t see why he couldn’t get a head-start on gift making and love letters. After all, if they were his soulmate, they would be just as eager about all this soulmate stuff as he was.

Stiles didn’t know much about Darks, more commonly known as Voids. He just knew that they were extremely rare, and pretty much pure evil. There was only one thing anyone ever told him: stay far away from Voids.

Of course, you could imagine the absolute dread he felt when he found out what his magical allegiance was.

His parents, albeit afraid, still loved him and tried their best to reassure him, but they couldn’t stop his tears as he fled to his room, sobbing uncontrollably. He hoped with all his might that he would be different, that his friends would still love him, that he would still be able to do all the things he so desperately had wanted to do with his life.

You couldn’t imagine his grief on how wrong he had been.

It wasn’t subtle, it was instantaneous the change. Everyone turned against him: friends, teachers, even strangers he used to smile at from the sidewalk. He racked up two weeks’ worth of detention for things no one got detention for, and he had sat alone at the lunch table. The weeks flew by of him begging for people to understand he wasn’t any different! He hadn’t changed! He even pledged to never learn or master his powers, whatever they were, but it never made a difference. They all abandoned him, simply for something he had no control over, and that he would take back if he could.

It continued like this for two years, and slowly the outside world began to drain away the once happy boy. Day by day the light in his eyes dulled, he walked slower, and he grew quiet. He became a shell, empty of everything he once was. One day he looked through his drawer, seeing all his plans that he had made with his soulmate. How could he even have one? With the way the world was, even if he did have one, why would he ever subject them to a life with a Void? What kind of monster would do that?

He couldn’t bring himself to throw away those plans though. Despite his resolve to never meet his soulmate, somewhere deep down, he still wanted them to love him as much as he loved them already.

His parents will still supportive, seeing how it was the outside world changing him, not his supposed evil and vicious powers. They consoled him when it was a particular hard day and showed him every ounce of love and affection that they could. Stiles was forever grateful.

Which is why it only hurt even more when he had walked home from school and saw his house engulfed in flames.

He didn’t think much of the threats, they happened all the time since he was 16…he never thought anyone would act on it…h

The tears came fast before he could stop them. A sharp pain shot through his heart and flowed through his body as he fell to his knees. Even if they were alive, there’s no way in hell that anyone would come help him, a Dark…a Void…even though his parents were both Healers. They hadn’t done anything wrong…they had only loved him despite everything.

He stood shakily and ran. Ran away from everything. From his childhood home, from the town he grew up in, and from the house that was completely engulfed in flames. Stiles ran into the woods, limbs shaking while he collapsed again, resting against a tree, his head in the palms of his hands.

For the first time he no longer felt empty, he felt angry. How dare they? How they accuse him of being evil when he had nothing wrong all his life? Why kill his parents, the only people who ever truly loved him and were his one chance of being happy? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He snapped.

Fine, he thought. You all win, if you want me to be Void…I’ll be Void…

He stood up while rolling his neck, feeling the bones crack. He flexed his shoulders and raise up his palm, about to do something that he had never attempted. Stiles panicked for a second, then a burst of energy blasted him back, throwing him against a tree a hundred feet away. He groaned in pain and frantically looked around, wondering what had caused that. Then he realized…it was him!

Stiles realized everyone wasn’t afraid of him because he was evil, it was because everyone knew that he would be powerful.

He stood up and tried again, and dark spiraling lines flew from his hands and up into the sky. He still stumbled but held his footing. He laughed, enjoying the power flowing through his veins. He smirked, closing his fist.

Stiles turned back to the town, feeling something for the first time in a few years. He knew exactly what he had to do

You were nervous, to say the least. She took deep breaths while walking up to the gated community of the Voids.

Everyone knew the story from 20 years ago, how Stiles Stilinski took up the name Void for himself and single-handedly drove everyone out of his hometown. Miraclously, nobody died, but plenty were maimed. He threatened anyone who would come to try to take back his town, and nobody needed to be told twice. From the around the world, Darks had come to this place seeking refuge from the outside world. Since this incident, Stiles Stilinski was known to the rest of the world and the true Void, and they all referred to him as such. The world hated him; he was everything parents warned their children about at night. He was the boogeyman, made of pure evil.

Except to the Darks. They worshipped him as their savoir, someone who saved them and gave them a place to live out in the open instead of casted out into the deepest darkest corners of the world. Many had even found their soulmates, after centuries of being alone.

Some people had also taken refuge here, even though they weren’t a Dark. Well there had been some tension, people in this town had learned that they all really weren’t any different from each other, and they all live in peace together, even if the rest of the world is divided.

Although, there have been new safe havens that have formed in these past 20 years, Stiles was the first to revolt back.

Which is why you were nervous because when you had decided to leave your parents who thought cruelly of Darks, you hadn’t expected to come across the original safe haven. Even though they had accepted others, you still felt a pool of dread hitting your stomach. Darks were weary of others for a reason…

As you approached the large gate, it opened partly, allowing someone from the community to walk out. You could make out his tanned skin and crooked jaw; reading his energy, you knew instantly he was a Void, which only made you more nervous. What if they don’t accept me?

He stopped in front of you but kept a good distance. He cocked his head to the side. “What are you doing here?” he asked cautiously.

“I-I need a place to stay”

“What? As a vacation?” You flinched automatically, feeling worse with every passing minute. If you couldn’t come here, where the fuck would you go?

“No…to live. I ran from home because they had driven out all the other Voids, and I didn’t agree with how the felt. A lot of my friends were Voids…they were good people,” You tried your best to seem confident, but your voice wavered. The boy stared coolly at you, not buying your story.

“How come you’re so damn nervous then?” he asked, malice dripping from his voice.

“Because…if you guys don’t want me here, which I understand, then no one will,” his eyes instantly softened at your words, nodding in the direction of the gate.

“Follow me,”

Relief instantly flooded your chest, a small smile creeping on your lips as you followed the boy. Together, you walked through the gates as they shut behind you, signaling the end of that chapter of your life. You could scream from the joy, but kept quiet, choosing to instead go up to the boy leading you around.

“Um…what’s your name?” you asked tentatively.

He turned to you, smiling slightly. “You don’t have to be nervous anymore, we won’t randomly throw you out. Promise,” he held out his hand to you, “and my name is Scott. Scott McCall. My mom and I moved here after my dad found out I was a Dark.”

“Oh…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve learned through the years that the ones that truly care about you don’t care what your magical allegiance is. They just care about who you are…” he trails off, smiling to himself. He’s probably thinking of his soulmate, you thought to yourself. You wished more than anything to meet your soulmate.

“I’m y/n y/l/n,” you stated, snapping Scott out of his thoughts for a brief moment. He nodded to her, acknowledging the name. They walked in silence for a brief moment before he was giving her a tour of the town, telling her which houses were available and who lived where. You were amazed on how well people have acclimated here. You were hopeful for your future. After walking around town for a little while longer, you two settled into silence as you moved into another part of town. “So, who are they?”

Scott crooked an eyebrow. “Who?”

You smiled knowingly. “Your soulmate. You were thinking of them after talking about your dad.”

He smiled brighter at you; a light dusting of pink covered his cheeks. “Allison. Her situation was similar to yours, her parents didn’t approve of Voids,” his jaw ticked slightly. “But she didn’t feel the same way. We met here, and as soon as we made eye contact, we knew. Unfortunately, we were in town meeting that still had at least another hour…”

You laughed loudly at that. Of course you knew about how once you and your soulmate discovered each other, the sexual attraction between you two is remarkably high, to the point that you guys pretty much spend the day trying to satisfy your sexual needs. The longer you put it off, the stronger it gets. The thought of even surviving an hour seemed impossible to you.

He grinned sheepishly at you, the tension from earlier long gone. “Her dad eventually came around, and they reconciled. They live down that way now,” he nodded his head toward a winding road. “And I live a few blocks from them. We’ve decided to take things a little slow, considering we were 18 when we met, so we figured we had all the time in the world to settle down.” You nodded at his words, genuinely happy for you. “Have you met yours yet?”

Your shoulders slumped. “No, not yet. Hopefully soon though. Maybe I’ll met them here,” You wanted more than anything to meet your soulmate. It was something you’ve dreamed about ever since you’ve heard of having one. You only hoped that they would be just as excited to meet you. “I had a boyfriend back home, but looking back now, I’ve realized he was rather abusive. He also hated Darks with a passion, and tried to forbid me from fraternizing with them”

“What was he, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A shifter, I’m-“

“A healer. I know,” He smiled at you. “Do you give health or take away?”

You paused before answering, “…take away. Another reason for leaving…” Scott merely nodded, not pressing the subject further.

The two of you turned a corner to see a lone house on top of a hill. It was smaller than the other houses in this town, and looked to be uninvited to the rest of the community. You turned to Scott. “Who lives up there?”

Scott looked up toward the house, and for a second you thought you saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but it was gone as fast as it came. “That’s…Stiles…Stiles Stilinski.”

Your eyes widened. “He’s still here? He’s not dead? No one’s seen him…”

Scott laughed humorlessly at that. “Well, he’s had it pretty rough, even for a Void. He doesn’t come into town often, and when he does, he usually keeps to himself. Even though it’s a safe haven, he’s still distrusts everyone. Of course, he sure as hell doesn’t step foot outside those gates,” You looked up at the house, feeling such sorrow for this Stiles, despite having never met him before.

Scott cleared his throat. “You’ll definitely see him around, but don’t expect him to say hi or anything,” You nodded, walking back up the path toward some of the open houses.

Stiles held out his hand to the baby doe, some bread being offered to the nervous creature. It took a tentative step forward, sniffing the air. He crouched down even lower, and extended his arm a little further for them. Slowly, the doe started to walk toward him.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, holding out his hand even further. Eventually, it reached his hand and ate the bread from his palm. He tipped his head and smiled slightly at the baby.

Suddenly, the doe’s eyes widened, and it sprinted away from him. Stiles knelt there still, his face falling, before he heard the sound of footsteps behind him and he grew annoyed.

“What do you want, Scott?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I know you like me, Stiles, you wouldn’t have let me come up this far otherwise.”

“What do you want?”

“Relax, it’s not another attempt to drag you downtown,” Scott sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his jaw. “I’m just here to tell you there’s a new member in our community.”

Stiles turned to him scowling. “I’m not the mayor, I don’t need to know that shit.”

“Well, the mayor thinks you do; he considers you at least the owner of this town.”

“I don’t collect rent.”

“You know what I mean,” Scott said. Stiles stood up and brushed past him, walking into the house. To his dismay, Scott followed him. “Her name’s y/n y/l/n. She’s not a Dark, but she believes they deserve equal treatment like the others here so she left her town and family. She’s a Healer, but she takes away health instead of giving it.” Scott paused, waiting for his reaction. When Stiles didn’t give one, Scott moved toward the door.

He don’t what came over him, but suddenly his mouth was moving without him telling it to, “Where does she live?”

Scott stopped, turning abruptly toward him. Stiles tried to maintain his composure; he knew this was something he never asked. Scott gave him an odd look before answering, “She lives on Milton Road, not far from Allison and I.” Stiles nodded. When he didn’t say anything else, Scott left him to be on his own. Despite the cool interaction, Scott smiled to himself. He had a feeling, but he wouldn’t say anything. He knew how badly Stiles had been burned, and he wouldn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing. Scott realized he wasn’t even sure if Stiles wanted his soulmate around. Scott shook his head and started the route back to his home.

Meanwhile, Stiles frantically walked through his house up to the single guest bedroom, not that he had any guests. The room was void of everything, except from a bed and a desk with a single drawer. He walked shakily up to the desk and opened the drawer. Inside were the plans, ideas, and letters he had written to his soulmate years ago. He wasn’t sure why he’d kept them; he wasn’t ever gonna find his soulmate if they weren’t dead already. But he couldn’t will himself to throw them out. It was the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely to his new persona of Void. He wanted to spite the world for as long as he could, and for some reason these letters helped.

Stiles slammed the drawer shut and stormed away.

You had acclimated well with everyone here. You quickly became friends with Allison, which in turn had you become friends with Scott as well. They ended up introducing you Lydia, Malia, and Derek as well. You made some of your own friends as well, feeling the happiest you had since before finding out your magical allegiance at 16.

Slowly, you had began to gain more confidence in yourself too, figuring out what you want versus what you didn’t want. You weren’t sure what you wanted out of your life yet, but the happier you became here with your friends, the more you longed for someone to share your life with. You hoped with every new person you met that they would be the one, but every time you were deeply disappointed.

You remember clearly the first day you saw Stiles himself. You had decided to get some ice cream with Scott, Allison, and Lydia, who were all laughing loudly at the fact that you were a virgin after each of them had talked about who was their first.

“Seriously? Not once? Not even drunk?” Lydia asked through her giggles. Scott and Allison were still laughing furiously.

Your blush grew even deeper. “No,” you said firmly.

“I thought you said you had a boyfriend?” Scott asked after finally calming down.

“I did…Adam wanted to as well. ‘For practice’ as he would say, and I know people have that mindset to be good in bed for their soulmate, but I always thought that I was betraying them if I did that. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, even drunk” you finished, more embarrassed than ever. Everyone at home thought that your mindset was stupid, and told you so, but when you looked at your friends, they were smiling, saying how they understood your mindset. You smiled to yourself, wondering how you could ever doubt their intentions.

When you looked up, that’s when you saw him.

He was walking by himself, moving slowly across the street. While his stride and shoulders gave the illusion of confidence to anyone who was merely glancing by, the way his head dipped low and forlorn face gave away his insecurity in himself. Many people waved brightly at him, happy to see him about for the first time. Being polite, he would nod and give a small smile, but nothing more.

You couldn’t help but stare. The way his jeans fit his legs, or his black leather jacket with a black shirt clung to him in all the right ways. You were expecting someone with gusto, someone like Adam who bullied their way around with their strength and loud voice. You weren’t expecting him to be the skinny kid who could barely say hello.

“Who’s that…?” you whispered.

Scott turned his head, his smile instantly fading. “That’s Stiles,” He gave you a knowing look.

“Is he always alone?”

“Sometimes he joins Scott for a walk, or will have dinner with us. He won’t say much though, and Derek will forever boost on how he got him to crack a smile at one of his jokes,” Lydia said, flicking her long hair back and taking a sip of her milkshake. “Scott makes it a point to visit him though and tell him what we’re up to, at least once a week.”

You looked down at your ice cream, feeling your heart break at the fact that he was so scarred from the world that he felt like he had to be alone.

By the time you looked up again, Stiles was gone.

Stiles had seen you too. Scott had mentioned to him that he was getting ice cream with Allison today and he was feeling up for sitting with his friends, even if they never considered him to be one. However, he wasn’t expected you to be there either. You and Lydia must’ve been invited sometime after Scott’s visit. He stopped in his tracks and stared at you, enthralled in your beauty. All the confidence he had earlier in seeing his friends completely vanished, and he quickly turned his heel and bolted back up to his home. Once there, he slammed the door shut and leaned against it, taking quick breaths to calm his racing heart.

Scott had told him plenty about you, and the more Scott talked, the more Stiles wanted to see you for yourself. You had seemed too good to be true. You were smart, funny, kindhearted, not to mention beautiful, and you seemed to get along well with all of his other friends. You had a troubled past like him, but you had seemed to grow from it instead of drowning in it like Stiles had

Scott had also told you about Stiles, with what little he knew. You knew nothing of his past, but you knew he wasn’t the cold-blooded creature that you had learned about in school. He was extremely polite, however little things could set him off sometimes, and he didn’t really speak. You figured he had crawled instead his shell after whatever had happened to him, and you were determined to find the real Stiles, wherever he was.

However, you two seemed to always miss each other.

You would find out that the one time you’d missed dinner with Scott, Allison, Derek, and Lydia, Stiles had shown up. Or you would see him out on the street, but never with enough courage to talk to him. You two haven’t even made eye contact.

He’d done his best to try to meet you, and the other residents in town had started to notice that instead of venturing out of his home a few times a year after Scott’s relentless begging to now going out nearly every single day. He’d even gone as far as holding a small conversation with some of the people who stopped to thank him on the street. Despite his anxiety screaming at him to run and hide away until everyone forgot he was there, he wanted to meet you.

But he couldn’t stop his racing heart every time he saw you, and just as you turned to look in his direction he’d turn away, cursing himself for still being so distrustful of everyone.

He’d made progress, but not enough. The dark thoughts were still there, tormenting his mind that you would turn against him, judge for being a Void, for being the true Void. He also couldn’t help but wonder if he was the one person you would dislike.

Stiles laid awake at night, wondering if he’d ever muster up the courage to talk to you.

Adam was disgusted. His parents had just finished telling him about how there were now over 100 safe havens across the globe. Disgusting. How dare they? How dare they even exist? They knew they’re place 20 years ago, until that motherfucker Void drove out his town. He was lucky no one died, else he’d be rotting in jail where he fucking belongs.

The more Adam thought about it, the more he thought somebody should do something about these little “safe havens”. Why hasn’t anybody even fucking tried? More importantly…why hadn’t he tried.

He had followed y/n when she left, followed her straight into the original safe haven. Void’s safe haven, and he watched her get in. He could shape shift easily into someone…no, he could kill one of the guards, take their form, and get in with absolute ease. If was able to kill him, their supposedly savoir, then these little safe havens would disappear. Y/n would come flying back into his arms once he becomes the person that saved the goddamn world from these monsters.

He disguised himself as a little girl, knowing that his magical allegiance would quickly be disguised as she was too little to even have one, and limped up to the gate. Of course, the guard that night took complete pity, which he took advantage of.

He was easily to kill, just a quick snap of his neck and he was on the ground. A painless death for someone who didn’t deserve it.

Quickly taking his form, he slipped through the gates, making up some random excuse as to why he didn’t let her in.

Stiles paced around his living room, anxiously biting at his nails. He hadn’t been this fucking nervous in years. He kept glancing at the clock, watching the seconds tick by when the knock came tentatively at the door. Stiles rushed and flew it open in seconds, ushering a very confused Scott into the room.

“Hey, hey dude take it easy!” Scott said, laughing nervously. “What’s the big emergency?”

“How do you know there is one?”

“Well…you’ve never invited me here before,” Scott shifted on his feet and glanced down at the floor.

Shame immediately flooded through Stiles. “Oh…I’m sorry. Really. I guess I haven’t really been a good friend…”

Scott’s eyebrows raised. He hadn’t known that Stiles considered him a friend, and he broke into a huge grin at the thought, relieved that his pestering to go into town wasn’t a total waste. “You haven’t been, you’ve just taken your time getting used to having friends again. I understand.”

A silence fell over them, before Stiles remembered why he had called him in the first place. “Oh um, if you don’t mind, I kind of need a favor…”

“Anything,”

“Well,” Stiles shuffled nervously. He walked over to the counter and picked up the enveloped. Taking a deep breath, he held out to Scott. “I need you to give this to y/n for me. I…don’t know where she lives exactly and every time I go out I seem to miss her…or I psych myself out. I’m hoping this’ll help us get to know each other,” He smiled nervously at Scott, who’s face had spilt into a huge grin.

“Of course, man, I’m happy to do it. I’ll deliver it on my way home. Promise,” Scott said. He turned and made his way to the door before stopping and turning back to Stiles. “Hey man, I’m proud of you for this. This’ll be the first friend you make without me having to introduce you,”

With that, he left Stiles alone. Stiles smiled to himself, feeling something for the first time since he was 16, happiness.

You had been at home, enjoying a small glass of wine when Scott came knocking at your door. You had barely even cracked open the door before he came bursting through, exclaiming wildly about the encounter he had just had with Stiles. It took you awhile to calm him down in order for you to understand exactly what he was saying. Scott excitedly handed you the letter Stiles had written for you before running out the door to tell Allison about Stiles’ progress.

With shaky hands, you opened the letter from him. Surprisingly, he had such beautiful handwriting and wrote very eloquently. He apologized dearly for somewhat avoiding you, saying how he wasn’t the confident, charismatic person everyone here saw him as (you already knew that), and that he would love to have you over for dinner tonight so he could get to know you better. Of course, you welcomed to decline for whatever reason.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You were completely honored that Stiles wanted to get to know you. You knew exactly how cautious he was with letting people into life. Of course, you happily accepted his invitation, and began to get ready. You weren’t sure how formal this was supposed to be but decided that a pink skirt that swished down to your knees and a white blouse with matching vans would be good. Stiles would probably be nervous to see you and you didn’t want him to feel overwhelmed if you wore something too nice. It would be a lovely friend date for the two of you.

Feeling as though you were a giddy ten-year-old on the way to a birthday party, you left your home and made the walk up to the Stilinski home.

Stiles was once again nervous. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for dinner tonight. He wasn’t the best cook, and after burning a chicken in the oven, he decided that take out would be a suitable option instead. Well, if you were coming.

He hoped you were, else he’d probably regress back a few steps. He didn’t want to, especially because of how happy Scott seemed when he told him about this. He wanted to do better, to be better.

A rapid knock came at the door. Stiles heart instantly fluttered as he took once last look at the mirror, making sure he looked alright. Taking quick steps, he opened the door-

BAM! The door flew open, knocking Stiles back to the floor, hitting his head hard. Before he could figure out what the fuck was going on, something grabbed his throat, lifted him up, and shoved him against the wall.

“Open your eyes, Void,” a deep voice sneered.

Fuck.

Slowly, he pried his eyes open, seeing an unfamiliar face. Thankfully, since he’d been spending much more time in town, he knows roughly who lives here. This man definitely does not live here.

“Who the fuck are you?” Stiles wheezed, grabbing at the hand around his throat, trying to summon his magic.

“Adam Tameson, and don’t you dare use your power unless you want me to kill people in this town. Do you really want that?” Your face flashed through Stiles’ head, and he stopped any attempt at magic. “Good, and since I’m a good person, I’ll keep my word, even after I kill you. Because I’m good, unlike all you monsters. You Voids.” He spat. “I’ll be hero, killing the famous Stiles Stilinski. I hope you’ve had a good enough life, oh wait, I know you haven’t,” Adam laughed coolly. He grew out his nails until they became sharp claws that dug into his flesh. One of them pierce his skin just barely.

Suddenly, Adam’s smirk disappeared and his skin paled. He began coughing rapidly, blooding pooling into his mouth. Letting go of Stiles’ neck, he sunk to the floor, coughing and wheezing as he gasped for air but nothing came through until eventually the light died in his eyes and his body froze. It took Stiles a couple seconds to realize that he was dead.

Stiles leaned back against the wall, taking deep breaths to recover when he finally looked up to see his savoir. His eyes locked on your form, you stood over his body, panting. You were shaking slightly, him realizing that this was probably the first time you’d killed someone. Stiles knew the feeling, only having killed in self-defense himself. He reached out and grazed his fingers over your arm reassuringly. You eyes snapped up to look into his.

Suddenly, he knew why he had been so attracted to you, and why it was impossible for him to even approach you at first. You both knew. You two were soulmates.

People had told them about the sexual desire you felt when you discovered your soulmate, but he still wasn’t prepared for it. He tried his best to hold back, not wanting to fuck up with you.

That lasted an agonizing 10 seconds.

In an instant, you flew into his arms, kissing him passionately. Your arms wrapped around his neck while he picked you up, legs wrapping around his torso. He turned and pressed your back against the wall. The kiss was rough, teeth and tongues clashing messily together. Your legs were so tightly wrapped around his waist that he was able let one of his hands roam around your body. Grabbing at the top of your shirt, he pulled down harshly, exposing your breasts to him. He grabbed at them roughly, moving his lips down to your neck so he could bite at the sensitive skin, loving the moans that were coming out of you.

He suddenly dropped you, making you stumble slightly on shaky legs. He reached under your skirt and ripped apart your panties, throwing them across the room. You made quick work of the belt on his jeans, unbuckling them and tearing them off. Stiles undid the button on his jeans and pulled them down along with his boxer briefs. His hardened cock bounced up, precum leaking through the slit.

Stiles’ hand sneaked around and grabbed roughly at your ass before wrapping your legs around himself again. He lined himself at your soaked entrance and slammed into you.

“Oh fuck Stiles!” You moaned loudly. He growled at you, sliding out almost completely before slamming back into you. He set a punishing pace, thrusting into you again and again. You leaned your head back into the wall, being thrown into a world of absolute pleasure, you’re eyes rolled back into your head.

“God you’re so fucking tight,” Stiles mumbled into your ear, along with various other obscenities, spurring you on with his filthy words.

The adrenaline from killing Adam, finding your soulmate, and with the way Stiles thrusted up into you hard and fast, the pleasure was building so quickly in your stomach you couldn’t keep up.

“I’m-I’m close” you whimpered.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, tipping your head forward. You complied, staring into his darkened, lust blown eyes. He lifted his hand, licking the pads of two of his fingers. He slipped his hand under, pressing harshly on your throbbing clit, and you cried out, fire spreading through your veins.

“Cum for me,” he growled in your ear, biting down on your lobe.

Just from his tone, the fire in your stomach broke loose as you came harshly, your core clenching on cock. A few deep thrusts later and he was following suit, his cum shooting up into you, filling you to the brim.

You two stayed like that, your legs wrapped around him, his cock still buried deep within you. Your heartbeats were in sync together, you two enjoying the feeling of being with one another.

Unfortunately, reality came crashing back down. Stiles realized exactly what he’d done: ruined any chance of being able to be your friend. His anxiety took over again, screaming at him for being a fuck-up. He couldn’t have a soulmate; he was a Dark. Void. What kind of life is that for a soulmate?

He dropped you suddenly, and you collapsed on the floor, utterly exhausted. However, you looked at him with worry in your eyes. He ran around, grabbing his belt and re-doing his jeans. He looked at your eyes, and guilt and lust churned in his chest. What the fuck is he supposed to do?

“Stiles…” you whispered.

Then he did the worst possible thing he could’ve done.

He ran.

#nogitjune #stiles #stiles x reader #void #void x reader #void stiles x reader #void stiles smut #void stiles x reader smut #nogitsune #nogitsune x reader #nogistune x reader smut #teen wolf

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destieltropecollection · 4 years

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Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 11: Established Relationship

A Christmas Miracle | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 1019 Main Tags/Warnings: fluff; holiday fic Summary: A day to be marked: when Dean Winchester finally says "I love you".

Is there a reason you're naked in my bed? | @casseythebee

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1085 Main Tags/Warnings: kissing, nakedness, mentions of violence, blood, language Summary: the boys arrive back to the bunker after a hunt. With a bit of adrenaline still coursing through them they have a little fun, that gets a bit interrupted

Sick Day | @mrshays28-blog

Rating: General Word Count: 1093 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Husbands, Castiel Has A Cold, Dean Takes Care of Castiel, Dean Gets A Cold, Domestic Fluff Summary: Dean and Castiel spend a quiet evening together just as Castiel’s starting to recover from a cold. Dedicated to anyone who’s gotten sick because their S.O. is also sick.

Ash | @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1106 Main Tags/Warnings: Housefire, Canon Universe, Post-Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Dean's shoulders tremble as they watch the flames devour everything he and Cas have built together.

Proposal Gone... Right? | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: General Word Count: 1194 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Dean Winchester,Castiel (Supernatural),Marriage Proposal,Fluff,Domestic Fluff,Romance Summary: Dean's been planning this proposal for a long time, but on the day he's actually supposed to propose, nothing seems to go his way. Will he actually manage to propose without everything falling apart?

Faithfully | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: General Word Count: 1311 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Mild Angst, Happy Ending, deaf cas, Rockstar Dean Summary: Castiel is very unhappy with the fact that Dean is working on Valentine’s Day. But maybe he can be forgiven.

You look so sexy when you’re ignoring me. | @casseythebee

Rating: General Word Count: 1415 Main Tags/Warnings: language Summary: After Castiel catches Dean flirting with a, quite frankly gorgeous, girl at a bar he tries to give him the silent treatment, for the first time.

Just The Way You Are | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 1555 Main Tags/Warnings: self esteem issues, body image issues, emotional hurt/comfort Summary: Coming back home to only silence is never good in Dean's vision; finding Cas crying, all alone, makes it even worse.

Spit-Polish and Shine | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1564 Main Tags/Warnings: PWP, voyeurism/exhibitionism, top!Cas, bottom!Dean, sex on the Impala Summary: You know how Dean Winchester doesn't wear shorts? Well. Sometimes he does. Unredeemed filthy porn on a car.

and let me correct it | @curioussubjects

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1584 Main Tags/Warnings: Coda, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, Feelings, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap Summary: They’re in the hallway about to part for the night when Dean makes a decision. He steps closer to Cas, slowly – careful since it’s been a while since they were last like this. Cas doesn’t back away, doesn’t add any distance between them, though he looks at Dean with curiosity, a trace of hope and a challenge in his eyes.

Not According To Plan | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: General Word Count: 1724 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Established Relationship Summary: A fire truck, a smoky kitchen and an unexpected surprise are awaiting Dean after coming back home from work.

Meeting Emma | @deansrightfulangerissue

Rating: General Word Count: 1952 Main Tags/Warnings: Mention of a Car Accident, Minor Injury to a Child, Hospital Setting, Alternate Universe, Dad!Dean Summary: Dean’s pacing the hospital corridor like some nervous expecting father. After all, that’s who he is right now. And the daughter he didn’t know he had will be here any moment.

An Angel Cake for an Ex-Angel | @cloverhighfive

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2411 Main Tags/Warnings: domestic fluff, romantic fluff Summary: Cas is depressed and Dean is looking to make him feel better by baking him an angel food cake (he fails a few times).

Kiss and Make Up | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2546 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Dean Winchester,Castiel,Smut,Fluff and Smut,Arguing,Jealousy,Angry Sex,make-up sex,Blow Jobs,Face-Fucking,Topping from the Bottom,Power Bottom,Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester,Power Bottom Castiel (Supernatural),Bottom Castiel (Supernatural),Top Dean Winchester,Barebacking,Naked Cuddling,Post-Coital Cuddling Summary: It's the same argument they've had a million times before; Dean's too jealous, especially when Castiel is already engaged to him. This time, though, Cas isn't going to let their argument get in the way of some hot make-up sex.

Home Alone | @kitmistry

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2740 Main Tags/Warnings: Underage, Highschool AU, Fluff and Humor Summary: ""Dean, shut up,"" Castiel cut him off, flush faced and gorgeous, and looking every bit done with Dean's complaints and every layer of clothes between them. He yanked Dean's shirt off, before lowering his head to suck and bite at the curve where neck met shoulder, and Dean's brain fizzled out. He couldn't think of much else but fingers undoing his belt, and the tan skin he uncovered when he managed to wrestle Cas out of his shirt, and then there was a hand making its way inside his underwear, Cas kissing him to breathlessness. A car door slammed closed outside the house. Or the one where Dean is stuck in a bathroom.

The Secret Boyfriend | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: General Word Count: 2759 Main Tags/Warnings: Marriage, Weddings, Engagement, Engaged Castiel/Dean Winchester, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Wedding Jitters, Established Relationship, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary: It all starts when Sam sends Dean and Cas separate invitations for his wedding. Then there's the fact that Mary asks if they'll mind sharing a bed. Dean's family can't still be in the dark about the fact that he and Cas are together... can they?

I've Never Wished for Anything more than You | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 3054 Main Tags/Warnings: canon temporary character death; canon divergent 12x23 Summary: Dean has lost many people before—it’s practically a normal thing in his line of work—but none of them hurt as much as Castiel’s death. Especially because Dean is sure there’s no possible way for the angel to come back again. Or so he thought.

It was just a prank | @notfunnydean

Rating: General Word Count: 3795 Main Tags/Warnings: Prank Wars, April Fools' Day, Sam writes a love letter in Cas' name, hurt!Dean, playing with someone's feelings Summary: When Sam wakes up to discover that his mattress is soaking wet and his brother laughing loudly, he decides to take vengeance. Somehow, along the way, the prank war turns a bit too serious and Dean ends up really hurt.

Deep Blue Ocean | @suckerfordeansfreckles

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4046 Main Tags/Warnings: creature AU, cecaelia Cas, tentacles, first time, bottom Dean, established relationship Summary: Dean’s been in contact with supernatural creatures and people for all his life, as far as he can remember. He’s been working as a social worker for years now, specifying on cases that involve supernatural families. But he’s never really… been with a supernatural creature. He’s never been with anyone, ever, for more than a night, really — not the relationship type, that‘s what he used to excuse it on. But then he met Cas, on a case he worked with his brother, one in a cecaelia community in California. He met Cas, a cecaelia himself, and was kind of lost right away, because Cas was friendly, helpful, articulate and kind of brilliant. He’s also… gorgeous. When Dean first saw him, he kind of lost all breath and brainpower. They’ve been together for a few months now, but in all this time, they haven’t been intimate, haven’t really dared to go beyond their heavy make-out sessions. It’s especially hard again for Dean today, to not just devour Cas. To not just beg him for more.

On Display | @saltnhalo

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4053 Main Tags/Warnings: Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Praise Kink, Team Dean Winchester's Red Ass, Toys, Exhibitionism, Camboy Dean Winchester, Panties Summary: “I’ve invited a special guest for today,” Dean tells his viewers, glancing away from the camera as the bed dips beside him. Cas is all easy confidence as he settles onto the mattress next to Dean, and they share a quick smile before Dean turns his attention back to the viewers. “This is my boyfriend. For all of you who’ve wanted to see me get fucked by something other than my varied collection of toys…” He winks teasingly and pitches his voice a little deeper—teasing, sultry. “Today’s your lucky day.”

Texas Sun | @banshee1013

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4185 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Sam Winchester Is Not Amused, Fluff, Canon Related, Honeymoon Summary: Ever since Cas and Dean tied the knot, they have been driving Sam *insane* with their inappropriately located and utterly spontaneous make-out suggestions. So when he finds them looking at filming locations for the movie ""Tombstone"" in Arizona, he suggests they take some time (and give him a break!) and road-trip it. Dean plans the route and takes the long way 'round through Texas - all the more time to spend with his angel, and show him some sights along the way.

Till Dawn | @kitmistry

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4431 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Implied Suicide, Zombie Apocalypse AU, Fluff and Agst Summary: Before the world went to hell and the dead took over, Castiel and Dean couldn't have led more different lives. While Castiel was wasting away at an insurance company, Dean was busy chasing tornadoes around the country with his brother. They would have never met - they wouldn't have even known the other existed - if humanity hadn't crumbled like a card tower. Or the one where Dean helps Castiel escape.

Red | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5509 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, gore and blood, minor characters deaths, major character injury Summary: Dean didn't even think; he ran to Cas as fast as he could, screaming his name in pure terror, grabbing a handful of Cas's uniform to pull him into his lap. Cas's eyes were wide as he stared at Dean, hands grasping uselessly at the wound by his side. His uniform was soon more red than green and Dean could feel it seeping through his combat pants. The smell soon reached Dean's nose and he couldn't do anything more than just cradle Cas's head between his hands, sobs coming out of his mouth along with something he thought was please no, not him, not him. He never actually believed in prayer until that very moment but he had to start, because all he could do was pray to any and every gods that could be out there to not take Cas away from him, because Dean wouldn't be able to survive without him; Dean couldn’t even think of living without Cas. The amount of blood and the paleness that Cas's face was turning told Dean that none of the gods were actually hearing him, but he kept on praying because there was nothing more he could do; please, God, no, not Cas, please, don't take him away from me, I love him.

Interrupted | @a-mandala-rose

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5818 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Dean/Cas, Kid Fic Summary: “Cas, babe, I’m ready,” Dean pants, “please..” but the rest of his plea is cut off by a sudden wail from the baby monitor. Jack. “Goddammit!” Dean lets out a noise that is definitely not a whimper as Cas stills his hand. “It would be wrong to dose them all with Benadryl, right?” “Dean.” “Just checking.” Dean loves his and Cas' three children with his whole heart, but he desperately needs some alone time with his husband. OR The world's most relatable fanfic ever. (If you've ever had small children, that is.)

Long Exposure | @saltnhalo

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7581 Main Tags/Warnings: Model Dean Winchester, Photographer Charlie, Dom/sub Undertones, Dom Castiel, Sub Dean, Model Castiel, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean, Photography, Photographer Castiel, Nude Modeling, Exhibitionism Summary: Nude model wanted for erotic photoshoot. All photographs will only be submitted for assessment at approval of model. Males and females welcome – must be willing to take directions. All photography will be undertaken in a safe studio, and at the pace and comfort of the model. Payment of $100 for two hours of work. Tear off a number if interested.

Ignorance Is Bliss (Usually) | @pray4jensen

Rating: Mature Word Count: 8185 Main Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, Domestic Summary: Dean and Cas have a very public deathbed confession and officially become an item. And this would totally be thrilling—except Sam gets knocked out during the fight and misses the whole damn thing. Or the one where everybody except Sam knows and Sam thinks Dean’s sudden newfound celibacy is a witch’s curse.

Try A Little Stardust | @cuddlemonsterdean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 8594 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff and Angst, Hurt!Dean, Disabled!Dean, Happy Ending Summary: They soak for long enough that Dean actually falls into a light doze. It’s nice to just enjoy the water and the quiet for a while. It’s only been a handful of days, but Castiel has missed holding Dean like this and being close to him. His warmth and the beat of his heart are grounding, anchoring, and to Castiel it will always be special to know him this intimately.

A Different Kind of Filling | @gracefuldean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9239 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Established Relationship, Vampire Hunt, Diners, Porn with Plot, Porn with Feelings, Dom/Sub Undertones, Possessive Castiel, Food Play Summary: After taking care of a vampire nest near Bicknell, Utah, Dean and Castiel stop for a quick bite at one of the town’s diners, known for its (in)famous pickle pie. The unusual dessert is just the beginning of an afternoon Dean won’t ever forget, in which weird fillings and not so new feelings will make him realize that he truly has got it all.

After you and me, there is us | @castielscarma

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 13091 Main Tags/Warnings: Divorced Cas/Dean, past relationship, grief/mourning, child loss, getting back together Summary: Dean is forced to deal with his feelings and emotions about everything after meeting his ex-husband while having lunch.

Circles of Gold | @pomegranatedaffodil

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 17312 Main Tags/Warnings: Fantasy AU, Royalty AU, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers Summary: Seven years ago, Dean and Castiel chose each other over their families, their kingdoms, and their crowns. They have since come to terms with that decision, but the arrival of a messenger from Dean’s kingdom disturbs the peaceful life they’ve built together and forces them to make another choice, one that could have equally lasting consequences.

Fight or Flight | @ellis-park

Rating: Mature Word Count: 23186 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon universe, canon-typical violence, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort Summary: Just when Dean's started to feel good about his life — the end is not nigh, and his brother and his angel are safe in the bunker — Sam and Cas start keeping secrets from him. It's not a big deal, at least not at first. Everyone needs to play some things close to the chest. But when Dean finds out what they've been hiding, the bubble of carefree happiness he's carefully placed around his family finally bursts.

A Treason of Truths | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 28035 Main Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, faerie!cas, demon!dean, moc!dean, minor character deaths, major character injury, angst with a happy-ish ending, smut, bondage, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamics, top!cas, bottom!dean Summary: When the time comes for The Seelie Court to confront the Dark Realm about their attempted conquests of surrounding kingdoms, Castiel asks that Dean accompany him on a diplomatic trip to The Royal City in the center of the Dark Realm. Dean is unable to refuse his lover, especially because he knows the danger the King will be in. But Dean has a dangerous secret that could cost him both his love and his life. Will their relationship survive the discovery of a sinister plot for the Fomóraigh to take over the Otherworld?

#destiel trope collection 2020 #destiel trope collection #Destiel #established relationship #day 11

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captain-s-rogers · 4 years

Text

Come Back...Be Here

(gif credit to the creator)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader Word Count: 1,710 Warnings: none? Song: Come Back...Be Here - Taylor Swift Square Filled: Old Flame AU A/N: Another square for @marvelfluffbingo 2020! It’s also the first fic in mine and Nicole’s (@arrowsandmixtapes) Taylor Swift collab! The first song was Come Back...Be Here. Be sure to read her fic here (the link to her fic will be added once she posts)! You can check out all of our fics for the collab on the master list: here! I’m kind of in love with this one. As always a HUGE thank you to the best bestie around @arrowsandmixtapes for looking over my stuff and making sure it isn’t terrible. Feedback is cool! :)

The headlights from the cars in the New York City traffic cascaded across the walls of your dark bedroom -- illuminating the room in short, quick, bursts -- as you stared at the spinning blades on the fan mounted to your ceiling. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The flame wasn’t supposed to fizzle out and die so quickly when it had ignited instantaneously and burned incredibly bright for weeks. Yet, there you were staring at the ceiling, wondering how everything had ended so wrong for what felt like the thousandth time that week, playing over the last time you saw him over and over again in your mind.

You were at the airport, your car idling next to you as you leaned against it, his bags on the ground between you. He shifted from foot to foot trying to find the right words to say. The goodbye was long and hard, both of you unsure of what to say. The last few weeks had been so amazing you both hated to leave things so up in the air but there was no certainty in anything with how hectic his life was. He closed the gap between you, kissing you one last time, and promised to call.

All you could do was nod and hold back the tears as you watched him walk into the airport to catch his flight. You stood there for a few minutes, eyes unmoving from the doors -- hoping against all hope that he would come back through them and back to you, only taken from your reverie by another car honking and a man shouting that you were crowding the drop off line. With a sigh you got back in your car and made your way back to your apartment.

That was the last time you’d heard from him. You tried not to dwell on it but you couldn’t understand why there had been radio silence. Everything had been so good between you that you couldn’t comprehend the complete lack of communication. Not for the first time you grabbed your phone and debated calling him, unlocking the screen. The screen illuminated your face as you stared at the picture of the two of you on your lock screen. With a sigh, knowing it would be useless, you turned your phone off and dropped it back on the bed beside you.

Dwelling on the ending was fruitless and you knew that but you couldn’t help it. He was all you could think about. You loved him, something you had only realized recently -- you didn’t think it was possible because of the current circumstances -- and try as you might you couldn’t get rid of the feelings, and you almost hated yourself for it. Knowing that sleep wasn’t going to be coming anytime soon you picked up your phone again, this time opening Instagram.

You got comfortable in your bed as you scrolled through your feed. You absentmindedly liked a few of your friend’s photos before stopping and staring at the screen. There he was, standing with some of his co-stars in front of Big Ben. Your finger hovered over the picture as you debated liking it. You stopped yourself and shut the phone off again, tossing it to the side, as you ran your fingers through your hair and rolled back over to your back -- staring at the spinning ceiling fan once again.

If you had known then what you knew now you would have fought so much harder that last day. You would have protested the end, taken time off work and gone with him -- anything to keep him with you. You hated feeling this way and you hated not being able to do anything about it even more. It was clear, however, that there was nothing that could be done. It was over and even though your heart ached for him you would have to find a way to move past it.

Chris laid on the comfortable hotel bed, the room completely dark except for the lights from the cars in the city flitting across the walls, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since he walked into the airport that day. Sure, the press tour and being in London had given him a bit of a reprieve during the day, but once he was back in his hotel room -- alone -- his mind was flooded with images of you. He still couldn’t figure out why he had decided to end it with you when he had to leave. He knew his anxiety had played a part in it -- that and the uncertainty that came with his schedule -- but he knew that was a cop-out. He even debated walking back out of the airport that day and going back to you and now he was regretting his decision not to.

He tried to focus on anything other than you and your time together but he couldn’t. There was nothing he could think about that would take his mind off of you. He thought about going to sleep but he knew that the second he closed his eyes he would be flooded with images of you and memories of your relationship. He sighed, sitting up on the bed, and grabbed the remote for the TV. He turned it on, hoping that he could get lost in whatever movie was on at this time of the night, but once he was greeted with your favorite movie he knew that there was no way he would be able to think of anything but you. Deciding not to turn it off he got himself comfortable and hoped that he could find sleep -- even if his dreams would be nothing but memories of you.

Chris had never been so nervous in his life. He didn’t know why but from the minute he met you he had butterflies. That hadn’t happened to him with any other woman before and he took that as a good sign -- a sign that maybe he’d finally found the one. When he knocked on your apartment door his hands were shaking so much he was afraid the petals on the flowers he’d bought you would start falling off. He took a deep breath to steady himself as he waited for you to answer the door. Once you finally did, and he saw you standing there -- dressed in a flowing sundress and sandals -- any semblance of nerves was gone, he couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his lips.

He handed you the flowers and waited patiently as you placed them in a vase. When you were ready to go you followed him out of your building onto the busy New York street. He hailed a cab surprisingly quickly and gave the driver the address to the restaurant. It was one of the ones he frequented any time he was in the city and he was pleasantly surprised when you said it was one of your favorites as well. Dinner went by with pleasant conversation and he wasn’t afraid to admit to himself that he was right on the cusp of falling for you by the time he paid the check.

After getting some ice cream and taking a walk through Central Park, he brought you home and walked you back up to your apartment. Knowing the night had to end, and not wanting it to, had him leaning toward you to place a sweet kiss on your lips. It was the perfect first kiss as far as he was concerned and after he said goodnight to you and headed back to his hotel he knew he couldn’t wait to see you again.

The next few nights were filled with much of the same. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t get your mind off of Chris. You’d gone to call him more times than you cared to admit and stopped yourself every time. Finally you decided that enough was enough and you were going to find a way to move on. Your best friend had convinced you to go out and you’d taken her up on the offer. As you got ready you double checked with her that she would be meeting you at your apartment before you headed to the bar. Once she confirmed your plans you continued to get ready, working on your makeup.

You were putting the finishing touches on your hair when there was a knock on your door. Figuring it was your friend and thinking nothing of it you went to answer the door. Your jaw dropped when you saw him standing there, his bags at his feet, looking completely disheveled.

“Chris --” you said, barely able to catch your breath.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he said. “I should have walked right out of that airport and back to you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since that day and -- and I know I messed up. I’ve been going over it again and again and I made the wrong decision leaving you that day and I can only hope that you can forgive me. I love you, Y/N, I have since the moment I met you and I should have told you that day. I should have just laid everything out on the line --”

You could barely comprehend what was happening. Him standing there in front of you, pouring his heart out, was almost too much for you to handle. The only thing running through your mind was that he felt the same way. Without a second thought you closed the gap between you, pushed yourself up on tiptoe to make up for the height difference, and kissed him -- hard -- hoping to pour all of your emotions into the kiss.

He relaxed against you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer, as your arms went around his neck. When you finally broke apart you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I love you too, Chris,” you finally said.

He returned your smile and kissed you once again. All of your worries, doubts and sadness -- along with your plans for the evening -- completely forgotten. All that mattered was that he’d come back and he was there with you.

@arrowsandmixtapes @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @growningupgeek @phoenixfyre374 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @captain-rogers-beard @patzammit @what-is-your-plan-today @sagechanoafterdark @kitkatd7

#chris evans #marvelfluffbingo #tswift song collab #chris evans x reader #reader x chris evans #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fan fic

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