#and if too much birthday taught us anything its that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deakyjoe · 29 days

Text

Not A Place, But A Feeling

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (fem, she/her)

Category: angst and maybe a little fluff idk

Summary: They say home is where the heart is. And your heart is with Joel Miller.

Warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is mid 20s and Joel is 56), a rewrite of episode 3 basically, kissing (!!), groping (!!), implied smut, mentions of death & suicide (Bill & Frank, Sarah), reader is Bill & Frank’s adopted/surrogate daughter, guilt, sadness, grief, loss/bereavement

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: In celebration of Pedro’s birthday, have something I’ve been working on for literal months <3

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Bill and Frank were dead.

Their corpses sat rotting away in their bedroom, the door locked shut, as Ellie read their goodbye letter, a note of upbeat confusion in her voice. You couldn't blame the kid, she'd never met either of them.

Joel stood next to you rigid, unsure what to do or say as he just listened to the final words spoken by two of the few people he'd chosen to trust in this world.

You, on the other hand, felt as if the universe was crashing down around you. All blood had escaped from your body, seemingly draining out from your feet, as your head floated around in a storm of lightness that threatened to knock you unconscious at any moment.

Bill and Frank had raised you, the former finding you abandoned as a toddler when the outbreak had started. You'd stayed shut away in their own private community for years, Tess and Joel being the first people you could remember meeting that hadn't been your surrogate parents. And when Frank had come up with the genius idea to dump you in their responsibility so you could socialise some more and see the real world, you'd been all too eager to sneak back into the QZ with them.

You were beginning to regret that enthusiasm.

"And take care of our girl for us, we know you will." The final words of the letter hung in the air for a moment as Ellie lowered the paper into her lap, eyes flicking between the two people stood in front of her.

Joel said nothing. And you ran.

The front door almost fell off its hinges with the force of you swinging it open to get to the front yard. Barren flowerbeds were quickly flooded with the contents of your stomach. You retched at the floor, nothing else coming up but the feeling of needing to vomit still strong.

They were dead. Dead. Gone. Forever. What were you supposed to do now?

Your legs trembled beneath you, struggling to keep your weight as every fibre of your being just wanted to give up and collapse into the ground. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Trying to shake the feeling off, you pushed yourself into an upright position and started walking. To where? You didn't know. But this is what you used to do when you needed time to think, time to clear your head, time to escape. You walked the town. You hadn't had that same ease in the QZ, it was nice to have it back now. Even in the worst scenario.

You couldn't dwell on this for too long. People died. Regularly in this world you lived in for that matter. It was an inevitability. The loss of Tess had been a warning sign of that only recently. You'd been taught not to grieve too much, you didn't have the time for it. And it wouldn't change anything.

But you still ached, feeling as if a part of you had been ripped away and stolen for eternity. So, you walked.

Joel had watched you leave out of the corner of his eye, not surprised by your reaction at all. It was a little understated if anything. The men who had raised you were dead. Nobody coped well with the loss of family, he knew that better than most.

"You should probably follow her." Ellie said, looking towards where you'd abruptly left the house.

"She'll be fine." He insisted, rolling his shoulders back and taking in the room around him. He'd have to figure out everything for himself now that Bill wasn't around to help. So he got started on that, distracting himself by creating a mental list of inventory the group of you would need for your journey. And all of it was bound to be lying around here somewhere.

Ellie could only watch as Joel ignored what he really should have been attending to and took to wandering around the house instead, staying careful to keep clear of the downstairs bedroom.

It took two hours for you to reappear in the house again, acting as if nothing had happened.

You strolled in to find Ellie rummaging through a dusty old box with your name plastered on the side of it in block capitals, the black ink slightly smudged.

"Hi."

Her head snapped up to meet your eyes. "Oh, hi. I found this."

You shrugged. "My music collection, right?"

She visibly relaxed and smiled. "Yeah." Ellie wasn't a shy kid by any means and she certainly didn't have any trouble with her confidence or prying, but she liked you and didn't want to overstep since you'd been nothing but nice to her since you'd met.

You nodded. "I think I've got an old Discman around here somewhere if you want to take some of it on the road with you."

Before she had a chance to respond Joel stomped back into the room, gaze landing on you. He didn't say anything but his expression was questioning. You just gave a short nod which was enough for him.

"Take a shower and I can find some clothes for you both." You said, collapsing into one of the wooden chairs. It creaked under your weight but you paid it no mind.

The both of them could tell you still were not feeling quite right but didn't push it, Ellie disappearing upstairs to take advantage of the luxury of a shower that was actually hot with good water pressure. Joel silently followed you to a closet where the stash of unused clothes was stored away.

You found jeans for him and Ellie, a t-shirt for the young girl and a plaid shirt for him. It was one of Frank's. Joel watched you silently as you hesitated before passing it over to him. Luckily, neither of you had to fill the tense silence that followed as the shower switched off upstairs.

“I’ll go give these to Ellie then you can shower.” You mumbled, pushing past him when he gave no more than a grunt of acknowledgment.

You don’t know what you expected from the man, he wasn’t exactly well-versed in emotional support. Just something a little more would have been nice. You pushed the thought aside as you knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah?” Ellie called back.

“It’s me. I’ve got you some clothes.” You were slightly turned away from the door in case she decided to open it.

“Oh! Okay, hang on.”

There was muffled rustling from the other side before the bathroom door opened a crack and a hand stuck out.

You laughed and gave her the pile of clothes. “Should be some spare toothbrushes under the sink too. Maybe some toothpaste. If you’re, I don’t know, feeling extra hygienic.”

“Feeling extra hygienic.” She echoed back in amusement. “Thanks!”

The bathroom door slammed again and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re welcome.”

You trotted down the stairs to find Joel hovering by the door to the kitchen, surveying his surroundings. You recognised that look.

“What do you need?” You asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

You sighed. “Don’t tiptoe around me, Joel. What do you need?”

His gaze shot back to yours.

Tense silence hung in the air for a few seconds.

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, Ellie came bounding down the stairs and collapsed in front of the box of CDs again. She didn’t seem to notice the staring contest going on between the two of you as she rifled through the music rapidly.

Joel’s mouth closed again momentarily before he appeared to change his mind. “You good here for a while?” He directed at Ellie.

The young girl glanced up from the box and nodded, finally noticing the atmosphere in the room.

Joel turned back to you and tilted his head towards the front door. "Let's take a walk."

You followed him silently as he walked past you and out the front of the house, not stopping his fast pace until he was well away from the building.

Falling into step beside him, you debated whether you should be the first to speak. Thankfully, you didn’t have to think on that for too long because as you reached the point where the boutique was coming into view, Joel stopped and suddenly turned on you.

"You should stay here."

The statement felt like a knife in your chest. The way he said with such finality, such conviction. Like he’d been thinking it for a while. You wondered if that had been his plan all along.

"What?" You didn’t let your confusion and hurt go amiss from your tone.

Joel could only repeat himself. "Stay here."

You scoffed. "Why would I do that?"

"It's safe." He pushed through clenched teeth.

You nodded. "Safe."

"Your home."

He’d completely lost you.

And yet you nodded slowly again. "My home."

He nodded tightly, wishing you'd stop repeating everything he said in that sardonic tone.

You clicked your tongue quietly. "You think this is my home?"

"Yes."

You glanced at the row of derelict buildings next to you, the cracks on the ground, the dead grass. "The place I left years ago, where I had no friends, where my parents have recently killed themselves, you think that's my home?"

Joel had never heard you directly refer to Bill and Frank as your parents. It pained him to hear the word used in such a horrific scenario. But he didn’t let up.

"You grew up here."

You laughed humourlessly. "You grew up in Texas. Do you still refer to that as your home?"

He'd like to. But didn't. "No."

"And what is your home, huh? What do you think of your home as, Joel?" Your brows furrowed together as you watched him thinking about it.

Sarah.

Tommy.

Tess.

...You.

You didn’t let him answer. "Bet it's not a place, is it?"

You were right.

You knew that so you carried on. "Bill and Frank were my home. Now they're gone. Tess was my home. But guess what? She's gone too. Tommy's gone fucking M.I.A.! So what am I left with, Joel?"

Him.

"I'm left with you." You shoved at his chest, surprised by your own strength when he took an unsteady step back. "So if you think that I'm going to stay in this fucking ghost town alone instead of following my home wherever he goes with that girl who needs us, then you really don't know me at all."

You went to push past him, to leave his ridiculous suggestion behind and maybe go clear your head with a hot shower, when he stopped you with a statement that felt like the knife he’d already plunged into your chest was being twisted around to hurt you even more.

"Tess promised Bill and Frank that we'd look after you."

The scowl on your face deepened and Joel knew he'd given the wrong answer but it was the only answer he knew to give.

"Is that what I am to you, Joel? A promise that Tess made?"

He didn't respond.

A sting that threatened tears bit at the back of your throat. "Because if I'm a promise that someone else made for you then fine, I'll stay. I won't burden you with having to take care of me anymore." You ran a hand down your face. "You've got your hands full with Ellie anyway."

“That’s not what I meant.” He tried.

And failed.

“Then what do you fucking mean?!” You wailed, fingers clawing at your scalp in frustration. “Do you want me to stay here for me or for you? Just spit it out, Joel! So I understand what the fuck you want!”

Joel Miller was an intimidating man. He marched around with a permanent frown on his face, his tall and broad figure parting any crowd that saw him coming. That's why, when he took a few sudden paces towards you, you inched back a couple steps. It was instinct. He was a killing machine. And he didn't look too happy with you right now.

But the pure shock that rocketed through your system when his large hands landed on each of your cheeks and he crashed his mouth against yours would have been enough to keep a whole city's electricity running for a month.

You froze for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in surprise, not sure what to do with yourself. Joel Miller was kissing you. Joel Miller was kissing you. Out of every possible outcome, you never could have predicted this. The older man who you had adored quietly for years and trusted with your life, with your soul, was kissing you.

Your fists curled into the front of the shirt he’d been wearing for days, fabric a little stiff with dirt and grime, using it as leverage to meet his lips halfway.

He kissed you hungrily, like a man starved, devouring everything he could possibly take from you. Fingers tangled in the back of your hair, tugging roughly to elicit soft whimpers out of you. He licked into your mouth hotly, tasting as much of you as possible.

The feeling of your palms sliding up his chest seemed to knock him out of his stupor, detaching himself from you and taking a couple of unsure steps back.

He looked at you surprised, almost like he couldn't believe he'd done that. "I-"

"Joel..." You trailed off when he gave you a warning look. So you went for another approach. "I thought you and Tess..."

His face tightened in frustration. "No."

You didn't believe that. "No?"

"No." He gave a subtle shake of his head. "Never."

He seemed adamant. And sincere. So you chose to believe him.

You weren’t shocked when he looked at you for just a couple of seconds more before spinning on his heel and started walking back in the direction of the house. He was like that. Joel seemed to enjoy ignoring his feelings.

But then he changed his mind and looked back at you again. "We can stay a couple of days and then we need to move again."

You nodded slowly. "Okay."

He tilted his head up towards the dull sky for a moment before turning again and stalking off.

You waited until he was out of sight before following him. If he was conflicted on what he’d just done, then pestering him with your presence certainly wasn’t going to help.

When you got back to the house, Ellie was still sat on the floor.

She didn’t even look up as she spoke to you. “The old man’s showering, thank god. Thought my nose was going to fall off.”

You stifled a laugh and set about finding out if there was any food in the pantry that was still good to eat. You knew there was an endless supply in the basement and garage, but something slightly fresher was more likely to satisfy the three of you for the next couple days you were apparently staying. Managing to find something mildly edible and leaving it out for the two of them to eat, you informed Ellie she could help herself to anything in the house before making your way upstairs to find some of your own stuff to wear in what used to be your old bedroom.

You’d miscalculated how long it would take Joel to wash away the days worth of dirt as he emerged from the bathroom just as you walked past it, hair damp and slicked back and new-ish clothes on. He looked good. Very good. And somehow better than usual.

You swallowed thickly and slid past him into your old bedroom, not saying a word as he watched you go. The knowledge that he felt something for you, you didn’t know just what yet, was weighing down on you. What were you supposed to do with the idea that he maybe liked you just enough to want to kiss you? Joel wasn’t the kind of man to suddenly open up about his feelings and tell you he was hopelessly in love with you. Maybe he was pre-outbreak, you thought. You’d like to have known the him that existed pre-outbreak, you decided. But he certainly wasn’t that man now.

You pushed your door shut behind you, leaning against the wood and letting out a long exhale. God, why had he decided now was a good time to make this more complicated than it already was? You almost despised him for it.

Shaking the thoughts away, you found yourself some clothes and traipsed to the shower. The hot water and steam would clear away the temporary worries whilst you figured out how you were going to address your own feelings for him. Sure, you’d always known you’d silently harboured a thing for Joel. But you’d always assumed that nothing would ever come of it, he was a lot older and Bill would kill him if he ever caught wind of anything, so you’d buried the feelings deep down inside of yourself. Until today apparently. When he’d decided to dig it all up by kissing you.

You scrunched your eyes shut and forced that thought out of your head. The memory of the way his lips felt against yours, the way his hands, his very large hands, held you, the way his tongue licked into your mouth, the way he groaned lowly deep in his chest.

Thoughts. Forced. Out. Gone.

The rest of the day was uneventful. The three of you ate in silence before Ellie declared she was tired and you told her she could sleep in your old bed. She seemed ecstatic with that as she’d admitted to snooping earlier and thought that the mattress looked comfortable. You’d laughed and waved her off. Joel had then mumbled something about supplies and had disappeared into the basement.

You took that as your opportunity to speak to Bill and Frank, something you’d wanted to do since Ellie had first read that letter. So you hauled yourself up from where you were sitting, padded down the short hallway to the room where their bodies rested, and promptly sat down right outside the door.

You spoke to them silently in your head, giving them updates like you would’ve done were they still alive and you were just visiting. Telling them about life in the QZ and what you’d been up to. In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous. But at the time, it felt right.

When you were done, you just closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the door.

"Don't go in there."

Your eyes shot open at the deep voice to find Joel standing a few feet away from you. Of course. Who else would it have been?

"I'm not. Just wanted to sit with them for a minute." You sighed and squinted your eyes at him. "I know that sounds crazy."

He shook his head in disagreement. "I understand."

There was a brief moment of silence.

He broke it. "It's late. You should go to bed."

"Ellie's in my bed.”

"Master bedroom." He countered.

You frowned. "I thought that's where you were sleeping."

"Couch." Joel’s line of defence was unwavering; you didn’t really know why considering you were having a simple conversation about sleeping arrangements.

So you pushed on. "Couch? Why? Isn't that uncomfortable?"

"I've slept on worse."

"What's wrong with the master bedroom?"

He hesitated. "That's where Bill and Frank used to sleep. Feels like an invasion."

Oh.

You hummed and nodded your head. "That's why I can't do it either."

"You can't stay here all night."

"I've slept on worse." You repeated his words back to him, surely he would understand.

He nodded and slowly offered out his hand. “Come on.”

You almost didn’t take it, shocked that he was doing it. But after a moment’s pause, you slipped your hand into his and let him pull you up. And when he didn’t immediately let go, and started to pull you towards the couch instead, you thought you might have a heart attack.

When the two of you reached your apparent sleeping grounds for the night, Joel turned back to look at you. Only to find that you were a lot closer than expected. He didn’t like the way you looked up at him because it reflected a grief he’d only ever seen in himself. It was too personal, what you were feeling. He hated it. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel tempted by it.

He’d already crossed that boundary once. What was once more?

You were less surprised the second time Joel Miller kissed you. In fact, you were more relieved.

One hand cupped your face, keeping you grounded, the other clutched at your waist, keeping you close. Whether that was for him or for you, you weren’t sure. But you weren’t going to complain either way. And when the two of you fell back onto the couch all bitter memories of loss, of grief, of confusion, of him all went away.

Joel could only wish that he was on the same mental path.

This was so unbelievably selfish of him. Bill and Frank trusted him with your safety and security. And here he was on their couch, the memories of their lives still dancing around him fresh, kissing their daughter as he groped and grabbed at you with lust fuelled energy. It was more than lust, Joel knew that, but the ghosts of Bill and Frank didn't.

You were on top of him, full weight pushed against his body, and Joel could think of nothing but how fucking soft you felt under his touch. He ignored the betrayal of two of his only friends, ignored the glaring age difference, ignored that he was feeling what he should have felt for Tess. None of it mattered when your skin was warm and velvety in his palms. None of it mattered when your tongue slid against his and you swallowed the soft groans he'd accidentally let loose every now and then. None of it mattered when you whispered his name against his lips almost checking like his was still there with you. And of course he was. He'd never leave you from this moment on.

He'd continue to be selfish and ignore all the reasons why this was so wrong because it just felt right. Like you'd said, he was your home. And you were certainly his. Maybe he could afford to be selfish for once in his life.

The kisses were sweet, almost as sweet as you, but Joel could feel you yearning for more. Your fingers itched against him, twitching in anticipation. He understood perfectly as he felt the same, letting his hands drift to wherever they wanted. And you had no complaints, arching into his touch as much as you could.

The two of you were like horny teenagers, making out on the couch and trying to stay as quiet as possible so as not to wake the rest of the house. The rest of the house being Ellie in this scenario. Although the teenager wasn’t stupid; she’d felt the tension as soon as she’d met the two of you. Even if you both appeared unaware of it.

The sun dipped below the horizon.

Hands dipped below waistlines.

A war raged through Joel’s mind. This was wrong. So unbelievably wrong. But you felt so right.

He broke away momentarily, running a thumb along your bottom lip. “Maybe you should sleep.”

You only nodded at him, eyelids half closed and pupils blown. Joel just kissed you again. Maybe his moral dilemma could be a problem for the morning.

A/N: When I say this has been sitting in my drafts for ages, unfinished, but calling to me. Glad I finally got around to completing it :)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #ej’s fics #ej’s writing #deakyjoe’s fics #deakyjoe’s writing

368 notes · View notes

helplesslypurple77 · 6 months

Text

Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor

Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.

also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)

Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.

The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you.

When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings.

The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before.

The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.

Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia.

And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry.

It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk.

It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. “He has sons, two of them.” She had said, closing the screen door behind her.

⋆｡ °✩

“There you are, Name. You're late.” Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one you’ve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all.

“I'm sorry Cecilia.” You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare.

“Don't embarrass me, Name.” Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. “Just smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?” She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it.

He’s your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll.

“My daughter, Name.” Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. “Hello.” You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. “My sons, Fyodor and Osamu.” The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, you’d almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father.

The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. He’s dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence.

The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. H’s eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. He’s dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all.

“Name? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.” Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. “Yes Cecilia.” You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it.

⋆｡ °✩

Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And he’s handsome, you're not really surprised. He’s kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness.

Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. He’s a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Cecilia’s face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became

And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got.

“Your brothers got all A+.” She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. “And you got an A.” You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers.

But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two.

But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat.

And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension you’ve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model.

⋆｡ °✩

It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you.

You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. ‘Keep strong wind’ it read, ‘keep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happy…’. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)

Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers.

The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns.

You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point.

Brahms – Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.

The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. “How was it?” He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. “Good, good as always.” You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. “You were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.” You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. You’ve always loved it, and have read it some many times you’ve simply lost count.

Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. “You always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.” He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.

You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. ‘Essential object of enjoyment,’(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.

The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him.

He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. “You're cold aren't you?” he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat.

And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the camera’s to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing.

“Do you need something?” Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. “The remote, gonna switch channels.” You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Cecilia’s disappointed or angry stares. “Can we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.” He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing.

‘Where is it? Where is it?’ The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actress’s bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Her’s are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap.

The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. He’s thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Maria’s small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you.

‘Tell me where it is or there will be consequences.’ the man in the mask says.

‘I will never tell you!’ Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actress’s true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise.

You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice.

‘Your such a slut for my fingers aren't you?’ The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodor’s voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him.

And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother.

You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. ‘Such a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for us—’

Fyodor’s eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. “What are you imagining, darling?” He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them.

“Fingers in my cunt.” You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote.

“You want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?” Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. “You want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?” You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed.

“Oh yes, please.” Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and he’s encouraging you.

His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch.

Fyodor’s fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. “You're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.” he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room.

“Here darling.” He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. “Suck.” He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery.

His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. “Good girl.” He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. ‘Oh, oh god Fyodor!” You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately.

The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodor’s fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while.

“Man, fuck you Fyodor.” It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. “I consider this a win then?” He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodor’s long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine.

Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. “It's not over yet, you fucker.” He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. “Name declares the winner. Deal?” Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. “Deal, that sound good darling?” You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces.

They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. “Oh, oh, oh god, ‘m coming!” You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. “You're tight.” He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. “So pretty too, just perfect aren't you.” His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles.

“We’re going to fuck you do good darling.” He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. “Make you feel our love.”

⋆｡ °✩

It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them.

“Switch her around Osamu.” Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodor’s fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys you’ve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form.

And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodor’s dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic.

And then you bended into another position, Dazai’s dick lodged into your ass, Fyodor’s in your dripping cunt.

⋆｡ °✩

“So, which of us won anyway?” It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. “Draw.” Is all you manage to pant out.

Fyodor beside you chuckles. “I guess we’ll have to have a rematch then.” You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. “Yeah.” You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks.

“Love you Name.” You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep.

End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby.

#bungou stray dogs #mariannacrxss #kinktober 2023 #bsd smut #helplesslypurple77kinktober #kinktober #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai smut #fyodor x reader

501 notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 1 year

Note

always you’s angst only ending … feed us a tiny lil drabble of maybe bucky not stopping until he and bruce and maybe even shuri (cause bby’s the smartest) find a way to bring her back?

like he enters the portal, scoops up her body, and kisses her back to life. then throws her over his shoulder, locks her in his bedroom, and makes love to her for like a week straight.

“she’s barely been back for a month- AND SHE’S ALREADY PREGNANT?!”

- ur local angst slut who’s actually hella sensitive and cannot handle this shit, gossip girl 💋

Always you angst alternative ending

18+

Okay YES, if your a pure angst fiend, you may ignore this but I'm here to mend hearts from the sadness that was this fic.

Warnings: Angst, FLUFFFFFFF, Smuuuttttt, happy ending

5 years later

Bucky refused to accept you being gone. He tried to heal, going to therapy, grief counselling, medication, writing letters, everything under the fucking sun to help him come to terms with the fact that he’d never see you again.

It was impossible.

It ate him alive.

He was physically stronger, pouring all his time into the gym to find a way to numb the pain but he was more mentally fucked than ever.

It had been 5 years, nearly 6 and the raw pain he felt was still fresh. Every night, he'd wake up searching for you. He couldn't let go, holding onto the pieces you had left behind. He wrote to you as often as he could, keeping a locked diary of things he wanted to tell you, letters he knew no one would see but what else could he do when he wanted to talk to you so badly but you weren’t there.

That didn’t stop him from finding a way to pour his heart and soul somewhere.

_________________________________

Happy Birthday babygirl, I wish I could wake you up with kisses today, tell you how special the world is with you in it, make you pancakes, feed you in bed because I know you’ll cuddle up in the sheets until noon. Buy you a pretty dress, take you out, maybe even go dancing, even if its just me and you and Steve’s playlist of songs from the 40′s. I’d hold you close to me all night until your feet were sore or until Tony told us to turn the cheesy music off.

I know he secretly ships us (Peter taught me that word)

If it were up to Stark, he’d throw you the biggest birthday party ever; that wouldn’t stop me from trying to sneak you away for some more birthday kisses. birthday cuddles. Birthday sex...is a new song Sam introduced me to.

I wanted to do so much with you today sweet girl. Show you how much I love you on your special day. I should have shown you before it was too late. I regret it every single day. I’d give anything for just another day, just so you’d know.

It was always you.

Steve brought you some flowers today, Sam brought some balloons. I hope you see them from wherever you are. It’s not the same without you here angel.

We miss you baby.

I miss you.

Till we meet again, JBB

_________________________________

Hi Baby, I know it’s not a special occasion, I have no real reason to write today. I missed you though. I wanted to tell you about how I jumped out of a plane today and all I could think of is how much you would have laughed because I didn’t use a parachute. You’re laugh is the sweetest sound in the world and I’d give anything to hear it just one more time.

Sam recorded it all, you would have been the first person he showed the footage to. I’d probably ignore you both and then you’d probably tease me about being grumpy and I’d want a kiss to feel better. And a hug. Maybe some cuddles. Please?

Also you’d be proud of me today, Red Wing broke and it wasn’t my fault. Promise. I even apologized to Sam after but he doesn’t think I’m being sincere. And I’m not because red wing is a little shit. So is Sam.

I miss you sweets. I wish you were here. It hurts. Everything hurts.

I hope we meet again. I’ll never let you go.

Yours, JBB

_________________________________

My y/n,

I’m sorry. I should have told you. I regret it everyday. I’ll never stop trying to find a way to get you back.

I love you,

JBB

_________________________________

It’s been almost 6 years. It still hurts.

Till we meet again, JBB

_________________________________

I can’t anymore. I need you back.

JBB

_________________________________

There were some days where Bucky was able to focus, writing as much as he could, spilling all of his feelings onto the paper, a tiny part of him hoping that one day he’d be able to give you all his letters so you’d know you were all he could think of.

Then there were the days where sobs tore through his body, his breathing labored, only managing to scribble three words before crumbling into a dark abyss. Bucky wracked his brain every single day; if you were able to go back once, there had to be a way to get you back again. Bruce and Tony had spent countless hours in the lab trying to find a way to reopen the portal but nothing led to you.

*****

Bucky stared at his burner, pressing call and ending it before it could go through multiple times before finally letting it ring. There was only one other person he could turn to. He knew he wasn’t going to be immediately welcomed back into Wakanda but this wasn’t just about him. Everyone wanted you back. Nothing was the same without you there. If there was a 1% chance to get you back, he had to try. His chest felt tight as the jet landed in a secluded area having arranged a private meeting with Shuri, the one person he trusted with his life.

"I-I have a favor to ask" Bucky's eyes were already pleading with her, his heart racing as he approached her, ready to fall on his knees.

"Anything Sergeant Barnes" Shuri smiled, sensing he was there for something urgent, nodding for him to continue. There was zero hesitation as she immediately agreed to come back with him to try and get you back, bringing her own lab equipment with her so she could work with Bruce. After filtering through a number of timelines and timestamps, she’d managed to pinpoint the portal to find you but it wasn’t without its consequences.

“You understand you may not return” Shuri whispered as Bucky threw on his tactical gear, insisting on getting you all on his own while rest of the team watched in pin drop silence, reluctantly letting him go alone “And y/n...we can get her back but there's a chance she may not...”

She squeezed his hand before he stepped onto the platform, not wanting to finish the sentence but he already understood. He knew it was possible he’d find you again but it didn’t mean he’d find you alive.

“Then at least I get to say goodbye” He gave her a strained smile; he had to bring you home one way or another. If this was how he had to go, he would run happily to his death; he’d be at peace knowing he died trying to find you. With the push of a button, he was instantly thrown into a warp, transported to where you had last been with Nat. Everything came to a halt as he found himself at an abandoned hydra base, the cold nipping his skin. Bucky blinked, his vision focusing on the fuzzy figure laying on the ground, his feet moving before he could process anything.

There was no one else around.

It was you.

His doll.

His y/n.

He sprinted to you, tears clouding his vision as he approached you, dropping to his knees, both fear and hope fighting for dominance. He found you. You were there. But would he ever actually get you back? Were you even breathing?

“Y/n?” Bucky cradled you to him, scooping you in his arms and chasing the portal that had already began to close. He held your face to his neck, his metal hand protecting your head, holding you securely against his body as you both fleshed back to the present.

The team gasped as he appeared on the platform again with you safely tucked in his arms. They didn’t dare move, everyone holding their breaths while Bucky laid you down with you still in his arms, his hand softly stroking your cheek.

“Y/n? Doll?” His heart was beating erratically, your skin was warm, a glimmer of hope burning stronger as he gently shook you, pressing his cool metal hand against your face. “Please”

“C’mon doll, come back to me baby, I have so much I need to tell you” He pleaded, his warm breath fanning against your face, tears brimming his eyes. Tony and Steve itched to whisk you off to the medbay while Sam silently shook his head, wanting to give Bucky an extra minute, hoping you’d be able to wake up in the super soldiers arms where you belonged.

“Baby, wake up sweets” Bucky couldn't help himself, pressing his lips softly to your forehead, trailing feather light kisses down your face while cuddling you. “C’mon I l-love you” His voice cracked, his lips finally pressing against yours. They were still soft, warm, you had to wake up, you had to-

Your lips stirred, your eyes cracking open, taking your first breath as your eyes focused on Bucky.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky's eyes grew wide, unsure if he was dreaming or not, scrambling to hug you closer, cupping your face gently.

“Bucky?” Your voice was a raspy whisper, leaning into his touch, feeling his tears fall onto your skin as he pulled you into his chest.

“My doll” He let out a soft sob, cradling your head as you buried your face into his neck, moved to cling onto him, the last thing you remembered was darkness and now you were in his arms again surrounded by his warmth, his scent. Everyone stayed rooted in place, tears falling freely, dying to grab you, hug you, hold you again but they were not about to separate the two of you, not after how badly Bucky had yearned to get you back.

“Bucky” You wept, your mind still piecing together how you were back but it didn’t matter, not when he was holding you again.

“Hi baby” He whispered against your hair, wiping your tears with his thumb, cupping your face, kissing you all over before capturing your lips again, relishing in your touch, feeling your fingers card through his short locks. You lost yourselves in each other, the rest of the world no longer existing.

“Okay white wolf, When do we get to say hi to our girl” Sam snorted, sniffling seeing you tucked in Bucky’s arms, the brunettes lips curved into a smile for the first time since you’d been gone. Bucky loosened his hold around you, helping you to your feet, giving you one more kiss before letting go.

“Come here” Steve scooped you up immediately after, struggling not to squeeze you tight, “We missed you sweet heart, so much”

“Hasn’t been the same without you” Sam gave you a once over, determining you were well enough for a slightly bone crushing hug before having you grabbed away by Tony. Tony wasn’t able to say much, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling, hugging you the longest, reluctant to let you go. You were engulfed in Nat’s arms as she wept, squeezing you like her life depended on it.

“You saved me” She whispered in your hair, her tears falling onto your skin, “Don’t ever do that again” She hissed sternly, grabbing your face to look at her, “Don’t ever ever do something like that again”

“Give me my baby back” Bucky grabbed you, tossing you over his shoulder as soon as everyone had gotten their hugs and kisses, not interested in giving anyone a second longer when he needed you so badly. You squealed, giggling as he carried you straight down the hall towards his room without glancing back. As soon as he locked the door, his hands were all over you, holding you tightly to him.

“Your baby?” You shyly whispered as he rested his forehead against yours, nodding and chasing your lips.

“M’never letting you go again doll, never” He trailed kisses down your neck while unbuckling the straps of your gear letting it drop to the floor. “I want to love you, I want to hold you, I want to make love to you, I want it all with you”

Bucky tore your clothes off, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you over to the bathroom, turning the hot water on, hot water pouring over both if you. The steam made you woozy, your body turning into jelly under his touch as he massaged your muscles with delicate touches, his lips ghosting over every bruise and scar that had marked your skin. You let out a needy whimper, staying close to him, your butterflies erupting in your tummy every time he touched you.

“Bucky please”

“I want to love you so badly baby, love you the way you deserve” Bucky willed himself not to take you right there, focused on rinsing off and grabbing a towel, carrying you over to his bed. He tossed to towel off, climbing on top of you, neither of you having the patience for a slow build or teasing. Your belly clenched feeling his hard length rut and rub against your bare cunt, your slick coating his cock.

“I need you” He rasped while you whined, wrapping your legs around him, bucking your hips up. “You have no idea baby, God I need you” His eyes were pleading with you, his cock starting to leak feeling your arousal.

“Wanna feel you Bucky” You spread your legs for him, your breath hitching feeling the tip of his cock rub through your folds before pressing into your entrance.

“Gonna make love to you so good sweet girl” Bucky whispered as he started to push his cock in, his heart beating faster, cock growing harder feeling your heat pull him in deeper. He groaned, letting his body weight fall onto you as he started to thrust, pleasure consuming both of you immediately.

“JAmessss” Your gasp melted into a moan, your head pressed against his pillow as he filled you, stretching you open, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock. “Stretching me to so good Buckyyy”

“Yeah? You feel so good wrapped around me baby” He rasped, his orgasm already creeping down his spine as he pressed sloppy kisses all over your face, overwhelmed with emotion and the feeling of you under him. Your moans made him twitch, nearly growling when he felt your nails dig into his skin as he kissed your cervix with each roll of his hips.

“I missed you so much baby, didn’t know what to do with myself, I-I couldn’t breathe without you, couldn’t live-” Bucky could feel tears brimming his eyes, struggling to keep them away, “Fuck I missed you so much, I felt like I was drowning every single day”

You sniffled over his words, your heart connected with his, squeezing your thighs around his waist, desperate to keep every inch of his body pressed with yours.

“It-it was always you” He kissed your forehead, as he kept you caged under him, moaning against your skin.

“I love you” you cupped his cheeks, brushing his tears away, his nose lightly bumping against yours. You pulled him down for a sweet kiss, only pulling away for air. All of it was so much all at once, the quietest cries and softest kisses, feeling every inch of each other, making up for lost time. Bucky pulled the covers over you both, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth, hiding you from the rest of the world, savoring this moment with just the two of you, his sweet girl back in his arms again.

He let his arms roam across your body, stroking your waist, your thighs, gently cupping your breasts, softly suckling your nipples, his body trembling as he tried to hold his climax off and make this moment last forever.

“M’gonna marry you, you know that?” His hands came to lace with yours, pinning you against the bed, eyes locked with yours. His pace didn’t falter, thrusting into you, loving the way your pussy fluttered around his cock, rolling his hips so he could push into you deeper. “W-will you? Will you marry me babygirl”

He knew you had just come back but he wanted nothing more, unable to stop the words from slipping out. You let your own tears fall down your cheeks, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Yes” You whimpered, sniffling back sobs as he stroked your head, smiling against your lips.

“Gonna make you my wife baby, marry you and take care of you until my last breath” He started to fuck you faster, panting, the muscles in his body tensing.

“Tell me more Bucky, please?” You whined, your heart aching for more, everything you’d always wanted with the one person you’d always been in love with.

“Oh baby, M’gonna get you pregnant sweet girl, have a family with you, everything with you, take care of your swollen belly, make love to you even when you’re full of me, show you how much I adore you princess” You gasped as he braced himself, his grunts growing louder, his body heat radiating off him, unable to stop the pleasure that was growing.

“Tell me your mine baby” He whined, wrapping his arms around you while you threw your head back, your eyes rolling back at the feel of his pubic bone rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves with each thrust.

“I’m yours Bucky”

“Fuck don’t stop y/n, please, I need it” His voice was needy, desperately clinging onto your body, craving to hear nothing else. “Say it again doll”

“I’m yours Bucky, all yours soldier” You moaned louder, your legs shaking around him “I’m gonna cum”

“Cum with me baby, same time, please”

“BuckyBuckyBucky- You cried our, your walls staring to flutter, ready to fall off the edge with hi.

“M’right here, I got you, togther, c’mon, cum with me princess” Bucky rolled his hips, pounding you into the mattress, biting down onto your neck as he felt your nails scratch down his back while white hot pleasure tore through you, your pussy milking his cock.

“FUCK JAMES” Your body trembled as he fucked you through your high, burying his face into your neck, his lips brushing by your ear.

“YES, Yes baby, my good girl, my sweet girl, s’perfect for me, yes, I’m gonna give you my cum, get you pregnant, have a baby with you, take care of you, love you, all of it with you baby, fuck- I LOVE YOU- UGGHHH-

Bucky collapse on you, filling you with his cum until the bed was damp, his body jolting from sensitivity each time you fluttered around him while kissing his temple. He hardly moved, a steady stream of cum still pouring into you, staying connected to you the entire night, cuddling you next to him.

“I finally have my baby back, my sweet sweet baby, she’s back”

It has been nearly a week since you were back but you hadn’t left Bucky’s room once. You only took a few moments to eat and sleep, the rest of the time wrapped up in each other, connected in the most intimate way possible, while whispering sweet nothings,

It was everything Bucky needed. Emotional. Warm. Soft. Loving.

He couldn’t help the tears every time he was inside you, he finally had you back, wrapping his arms around you every time you made love, making sure you knew exactly how much he had always adored you. As much as he wanted to take you apart in every way imaginable, he couldn’t help but slip into missionary every single time, wanting to see your pretty face, feel your body, have your legs wrap around him as he came inside you.

*****

You threw on your coat while Bucky slipped his arm around your waist while you both made your way down, passing through the living room on our way out.

“Damn future Mrs. Barnes” Sam whistled, along with the rest of the team, everyone gathered for a night for a movie. “Where you off to?”

“The three of us are going out for dinner” Bucky smiled with a child like grin, snickering to himself while the team looked at you with confusion.

“Three?” Steve cocked his head, noting the way you shied into Bucky’s chest, giggling while he kissed your head, his hand slipping down to brush over your belly. “THREE?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide as he shot out of his seat, pointing at your tummy. “THREE” He whipped his head to Tony, Nat, Sam and Clint who slowly connected the dots. “THREE”

“For fucks sake, it hasn’t even been a month Barnes” Tony snorted, while everyone pilled onto you both, a large mess of hugs and tears.

“You didn’t waste any time, huh” Sam wiggling his eyebrows while Bucky wrapped his arms around you, his hands splayed on your tummy.

“Never again” He whispered, tilting your chin to kiss you deeply, “Never ever again”

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc

2K notes · View notes

nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

Text

Well fuck, I guess this is gonna be three parts instead of two

It was an accident I swear I'm sorry 😭😭

Just kinda want it to develop naturally instead of forcing it

Soooooooooo

Oooh that smile 😌🫠

Well, here we go.

Blacksmith's Daughter

Part 2 of 3 (I'm POSITIVE this time I swear)

Part 1 here

OPLA!Shanks X AFAB!Reader

Wordcount: 4.3k

Hurt/comfort, fluffy as goddeng cotton candy, I guess slow-burn now too? Idfk

Trigger Warnings: mentions of death of loved one, trauma

Tag requests: @zzbloody-animezz

Perfectly harmless.

You very highly doubted that claim was true.

"Well," he said, tilting his head a little closer, "mostly harmless."

Still, almost as if to prove it, Shanks released his hold around your waist, his hand resting at your lower back a moment before slipping away to hold the cell door open for you. You stumbled just a little on your first steps out of the cell, your legs trembling, stiff and weakened in equal measure from three days and two nights stuck with the very limited range of movement that your bindings had allowed.

"Easy, now," said Shanks lightly, briefly slipping his arm around your back to steady you by your waist. "You haven't been on your feet in days, you can take a minute to get your footing. We're not in any rush."

"R...right," you said, uncertainly. You swallowed as he helped guide you over to the brig officer's desk, where you sat heavily in the chair, stretching your legs out for a moment. "I still don't really want to stay here too long. Three days has been more than enough." You leaned forward, pulling your swords across the desk and resting your forehead on one of of the black leather sheaths, laying your hand over the hilt. "Don't want to keep the crew waiting, either."

"Ah, they'll be busy a while," he said dismissively, pulling himself uo to sit on the desk. "There's a good bit of cargo to transfer." He nodded down at the swords. "Yours, I take it?'

You nodded, lifting your head. "I didn't even know if they were brought on the ship or not," you said. "My father made them for me." He had made them just over ten years ago, given them to you on your fourteenth birthday.

"Well, he was damned skilled. They're beautiful. May I?" He gestured a hand toward them. "If you don't mind."

"Go ahead," you said. You lifted one of the cutlasses and drew to from its scabbard, handing it over. His hand brushed across yours as he took the blade, clearly intentionally if the small smirk that briefly curved the corner of his lips was any indication. You watched him flip it deftly in one hand, holding it upright, his eyes scanning slowly down the edge of the blade.

"And well cared for. Sharp as a razor," he commented, impressed. He turning it sideways, flipping it around once more and nodding. "He teach you anything about smithing?"

You shook your head. "Not much," you said. "My brother was his apprentice. He taught me maintenance mostly. He instructed me in a few different weapon types, but swords were always my favorite." You took the weapon back when he handed it off to you, slipping the blade back into its scabbard. "And his."

"Experienced thief, weapons expert...." He leaned back a bit, smiling as he shook his head. "Yeah, you'll fit right in, sweetheart."

The way he was looking at you, the way his eyes burned into yours, had your face growing a little warm again as you turned your own gaze away, swallowing nervously. It wasn't as if no one had ever flirted with you before; you were honestly pretty used to it, ever since you had ended up living in the streets, used to crude comments and catcalling.

And yet here sat an incredibly notorious pirate captain, being incredibly respectful about it, all but making you swoon every time he lowered his voice or so much as touched your hand.

You stood from the chair, picking up your swords and setting to strapping them to your belt at either side of your hips, glancing down at the Marine cadet still bound in the corner of the room as his eyes passed between you and Shanks. You had never been around any pirates before now, but you had encountered your fair share of Marines, as many of them had been customers at your father's smithy.

Many of them had been self-righteous prats, and all the Marines aboard this ship had treated you like scum they had dragged in on the bottom of their boots.

"I think I will fit in fairly well," you finally said, quietly.

"Now that's the spirit!" His enthusiasm was honestly infectious, and you couldn't help but smile a little as he slipped off of the desk. "There's a fair chance you'll end up with a bounty on your head once word of your escape reaches Marineford, anyway. Between that and breaking into a base in a major city." He still sounded particularly amused about that as he rest his hand over the small of your back, stepping over the Marine cadet as if he weren't even there. "I'm eager to find out how you managed it. Oh, no, not yet," he added when you opened your mouth to respond. "I'm sure the whole crew's going to want to hear that tale."

Well, it was quite a tale. You were honestly surprised you had made it as far as you had before getting caught.

Before everything went to hell in a handbasket.

You lifted a hand to shield your eyes as you emerged onto the bustling deck of the ship; the mid-afternoon sun was blinding after days of only seeing it through one small, rounded window in the brig. The Red Hair crew was working quickly and steadily on robbing the Marine ship completely blind, right before their eyes—the entire crew of around fifty Marines was tied up on the deck, bound at their hands and feet, the captain and his officers situated at the center mast to give them the best possible view of the entire debacle.

Shanks called and motioned for his own officers to line up at the starboard side of the caravel, and took his time in introducing you to each of them individually. He glanced back occasionally at the Marines' captain and mates with a smirk, clearly reveling in their growing annoyance.

"Our newest thief has two years experience," he dragged on loudly, pacing slowly between you and his officers—many of whom were cracking up themselves, well aware that the whole spectacle was being orchestrated for the sole purpose of riling up the captive Marines, "and was arrested for—if you can believe it—breaking into a Marine base in a major port city in Arabasta with only one accomplice, and getting so far as to open their treasury vault before being captured."

And he paused for effect at that, waiting as the crew began to break into laughter, as you struggled to keep a straight face yourself, glancing toward the infuriated Marine captain, who had told you before shoving you into the brig a few days ago that he would personally see to it that you never saw the light of day again. For once in your life you were seeing karma in real time—and it was a positively beautiful sight to behold.

"And I'm sure we're all dying to know," Shanks went on, ceasing his pacing and stopping just in front of you, grinning, "how the hell she managed it."

He had given you more than enough time to go over the details in your head. A lot of your success had been pure dumb luck, for sure, but you drew up your resolve to relay it.

"Overheard a few cadets in a tavern talking about how the vaults were never heavily guarded...and the roof access was never locked." His eyebrows shot up toward the bright red fringe of his hair as you spoke. His officers glanced between each other. "A couple days later we climbed the back wall of the base. Knocked out a couple Marines at the top floor, stole their uniforms, and made our way down."

"Bullshit." All eyes shifted onto the Marine captain when he spoke up, glaring daggers at you. "That base is constructed out of sandstone. Five stories of completely smooth stone. There's no way anyone could climb the walls."

"Tell your comrades at the base to check the back wall for holes," you said coldly, your eyes lingering on his. "We used climbing spikes."

The man's teeth gritted together in a visible scowl. You turned your head back toward the snickering pirates, in time to see Shanks mumble something to Benn, who rolled his eyes and scoffed.

Then you heard the Marine captain behind you again, speaking in a low growl. "Disrespectful wench." You turned your head in time to watch him spit at the heel of your boot.

"Disrespectful?" Though the rest of his crew continued to chuckle, Shanks wasn't laughing as he put himself between you and the oposing captain, his forearm resting over the hilt of his saber at his hip. "I get the impression you haven't done much to earn anyone's respect," he said. "That being said, respectfully, captain...."

And with that, he placed the heel of his sandal against the man's shoulder and shoved him over. With the Marine's hands and feet bound, there was nothing he could do to right himself—nothing except glare daggers at Shanks as he crouched down in front of him.

"Don't interupt." Shanks gave him a smile and a rather hard clap on the shoulder before straightening back out and turning to face his own crew. "Now—"

"Goddamned pirates," he spat. Shanks looked back over his shoulder at the man. "A thief's a thief," he said viciously, glaring daggers at you from where he lay on the deck floor. "The whore'll rob you lot blind same as she tried with us."

There was scattered chuckling around the Marines as Shanks stared down at the captain for a long, tense moment. You saw something shift in his eyes, the warmth and humor leaving them.

"Whore?" he repeated lightly, raising his eyebrows. His eyes swept around the rest of the Marines, before he turned to you, taking a couple steps closer. He brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, offering you a warm smile. "I take it," he said slowly, quietly, "this is how you were being treated for the past three days, sweetheart?"

You swallowed, glancing over toward the Marines, whose laughter had quickly subsided. "More or less, yes," you affirmed.

"Hmm." He nodded, his hand drifting down to your shoulder, lifting the torn strap of your black tank top—torn when you had been flung into the cell in the brig by a couple cadets, while the captain stood watch and told you then that you'd never see the light of day again. His eyes shifted over to the Marines again, and he spoke aloud. "Change of plans, men. We take everything from this ship that isn't nailed down...and then we sink her."

The protest from the Marines was immediate, loud and desperate—some begging to be spared, others calling you several other colorful names and shouting claims that you were lying. Even you found yourself staring wide-eyed at the red-haired captain, at the knowledge that he would sink an entire ship just because of how the crew had treated you.

You were beginning to understand the reason for his bounty.

Shanks ignored the Marines entirely—it seemed his mind was made up. "I think we're just about done here." Your eyes remained wide as he turned his head back to meet your gaze, his expression softening into a smile again, his hand resting at your lower back. "What say we get you over to our ship and..." He glanced down at your shoulder briefly, at the broken strap of your shirt hanging down, "maybe find you something to change into."

You nodded, tugging unconsciously at the broken strap to pull the neck of your shirt up. "I...suppose that would be..."

"There's no need to worry, love" He clearly noticed your unease—there was no doubt it was written all over your face. He curled his arm around your back, leaning in a bit so he didn't have to raise his voice over the mounting protest of the Marines behind both of you. "You're part of my crew now, and we always look out for each other." He glanced over at the metal clink of a lighter igniting at his other side, and grinned at his first mate. "Isn't that right, Benn?"

Hi first mate quirked an eyebrow, taking a puff from his cigarette. "What am I agreeing to?"

"Ah, don't worry about it," Shanks laughed. "Anyway—I'll trust you to handle preparations here." He nodded back toward the Marines as the three of you stopped at the starboard railing around the deck, and he leaned forward against it, his eyes scanning over his ship floating only a few feet away, over the rest of the crew getting the supplies they had taken from the Marines organized. "Half a keg of powder should do the trick, we'll bring the rest with us."

"Right," said Benn, stubbing out the cigarette he had just lit on the railing and tucking it behind his ear.

"After you've—"

There was a light metallic clink right behind you—and all three of you heard it, glancing over your shoulders.

In the same instant you drew one of your swords and spun around, leveling it with the Marine officer's throat, Benn had his rifle pointed at the man's forehead. The officer dropped the flintlock pistol he had pointed at Shank's back, his eyes widened in shock, shaking as he slowly raised his hands.

Shanks turned around and leaned back, hanging his elbow over the edge of of the railing and glancing at you with a quick nod of approval. Then he turned his eyes on the Marine, giving a small chuckle and cooking his head to the side a bit.

"Now that wasn't a very smart decision, was it?" he said, grinning. "You could have just snuck by and sent out a distress call. Did you?" he added, lifting his eyebrows.

"I—I—no, I—I just—I—"

"Check," said Shanks, cutting his eyes toward Benn.

Benn gave a short nod, shouldered his rifle, and headed off toward the quarterdeck in quick strides.

The Marine remained standing there, shaking and stammering, his eyes darting between your blade and Shanks as the red-haired captain rolled his gaze back over to you. "Quite a set of reflexes you've got, sweetheart. You said your father trained you?"

You glanced at him only briefly before training your eyes back onto the Marine, and nodded. "We didn't live in a great area," you said. "He wanted to make sure I could defend myself."

"I would have to say he succeeded," he chuckled, shaking his head a little. He leaned back a bit further, placing the toe of his sandal over the Marine's pistol and sliding it across the deck, stooping down to pick it up. "What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?"

"Well," you said, watching as he turned the pistol over in his hands, and then casually reach behind him and drop it overboard. Benn was heading back down the stairs from the quarterdeck with a coil of rope hanging from one shoulder. He seemed to be in no hurry, so clearly no distress signal had been sent off. You went on, "He rigged this for me, in case I ever get disarmed."

You shifted your weight onto one foot, and hit the back of your right boot heel on the deck, and a three inch blade shot out from a slot in the front of the sole.

The Marine drew in a sharp breath, and Benn stopped a few feet away, speaking one word that clearly echoed his captain's wide-eyed expression.

"Shit."

Shank's brief look of shock quickly faded into an almost childlike excitement.

"God, that is brilliant," he laughed, crouching down and tilting his head to examine the blade. "How's it work?"

"Some sort of spring-loaded trigger mechanism," you said. You knocked your heel down again and the blade retracted. You smirked a little yourself as Shanks straightened back out—his enthusiasm truly was contagious. "My father called them 'Ball-Busters.'"

That cracked him up immediately—he leaned his shoulder into the railing, laughing, while Benn gave a scoff and shook his head. "I'd say that's pretty goddamned accurate," the first mate said. "I got it from here," he added, pulling his rifle down from his shoulder and shoving it against the Marine's shoulder as you pulled your cutlass away and slipped the blade back into its scabbard. "Alright, over there with the other assholes," he said, nudging him with the barrel. "We're as sick of being here as you are of having us here."

You watched Benn usher the officer over toward the main mast, feeling oddly as if you were stuck in the middle of some strange dream you might wake up from at any minute—wake up back in the dark and dingy cell below the deck, down in the brig, getting dragged out to be shoved into an even darker cell in Impel Down for the rest of your days.

"Oh, you are just a treat." So lost in that thought were you that you jumped a little when Shanks wrapped an arm around your back again. "Come on, love. Let's get you changed and cleaned up." He pulled himself up onto the railing and stepped into a sturdy plank laid out between his own ship and the Marines', offering you his hand. You took it and he helped pull you up as well, his fingers lacing through yours as he gave you another charming smile. "I'd say you've more than earned it."

Your eyes remained locked for a long, tense moment, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand, your heart racing a little faster—until a particularly strong wave rocked both of the ships and made you stumble a little. He chuckled lightly, before leading you across the plank and onto the main deck of his own ship.

You felt more than a little out of your element a few minutes later, lingering near the door of the captain's quarters with your arms crossed over your stomach while Shanks rifled through a wardrobe against the wall. You were still a little apprehensive, your mind still lingering on the man's decision to sink the Marines' vessel solely on your behalf, but there was a charm about him that was almost intoxicating, and it was drawing you in quickly.

"Don't really have anything that's going to fit you properly," he said, pulling one shirt out and frowning at it before hanging it back up. "But there might be...something...."

You swallowed, glancing around the cabin—at the table to your left that was covered in maps, a desk in the corner with a closed logbook, a four-poster bed in another corner with a pair of floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the port side of the ship. It still all felt uncanny enough to be a dream.

"No...other women on the crew, I take it?" you said slowly.

"No," he affirmed, still pushing aside hangers and frowning. "Not as if it's intentional, it just...turned out that way, I suppose?" He said it with an air of genuine surprise himself that almost made you chuckle. "Seems most women aren't interested in sailing around with a ship full of—ah, this should do," he interjected, pulling out a white shirt on a metal hanger that seemed at least a little smaller than the others. "Probably haven't worn it since I was a teenager," he said, looking it up and down.

He gave the shirt an appraising nod, and then tossed it to you before crossing the room to take a seat at the desk. He noded once more toward the corner by the wardrobe where there stood a fold-out changing screen.

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little averse to leaving a stranger alone in my personal quarters. But..." He lifted his hand, smiling, before covering his eyes with it. "I promise I won't peek. Pirate's honor."

You did chuckle a little at that. It wasn't as though you weren't used to changing in less than totally private conditions—you had been living on the streets for just over two years. You crossed the room yourself, ducking behind the divider screen and pulling it out.

"Nor do I wish to be on the recieving end of the Ball-Buster," he added, and you laughed aloud at that.

"I've never actually used it," you said, hanging the shirt over the top edge of the screen and pulling your tank top over your head. "Not as more than a threat a couple times. The sight of it usually gets the point across."

"I can't fathom any circumstance where it wouldn't," he laughed. You heard him sigh after a moment, while you pulled down the hanger and unbuttoned the shirt he had given you. "Out of curiosity," he said finally, "why exactly were you being shipped to Impel Down?" You paused, your eyes flickering up to the changing screen, in the direction of his sillhouette—and noting that from his shadow alone you could tell he still had his hand over his eyes. "That's a privilege normally reserved for pirates and revolutionaries rather than petty local thieves."

"I, uh...." You swallowed, pulling your arms through the sleeves of the shirt. You hadn't been completely clear on every detail, but it seemed now was as good a time as any—even if it was painful to recall. "I...killed two Marines before I was apprehended."

"Did you?" he said lightly.

"Mmm." You set to buttoning the shirt, slowly, glancing toward his silhouette again. "I didn't...really mean to. After...I guess after my brother took a bullet for me, I just sort of...reacted. I don't even really remember much of it. Just—him falling, then them taking my swords and locking me in a storage closet before carting me off to the ship."

You truthfully weren't even sure how long you had remained at the base before being taken to the docks—locked in the dark, your arms wrapped around your knees, wondering if you were ever going to see daylight again, hoping it was all just some awful nightmare you might wake up from.

"That's...." You heard him sigh heavily. "That's a lot." You gave a small hum in agreement, looking down at the shirt, and sighing yourself—it fit you like a nightgown, the hem drooping nearly down to your knees. You shook your head and set to unbuttoning it again.

"I suppose the Marines had a good reason for treating me like trash," you allowed, rolling the hem of the shirt up and tying it in a knot at your midriff. You fastened a few of the buttons above the knot, and set to rolling up the sleeves. "I did kill a couple of their comrades."

"And they killed your brother," he pointed out.

You frowned to yourself, swallowing back a lump forming in your throat at his quiet, understanding tone. You glanced up again when you heard him shift, and watched his shadow stand and cross the room through the screen as you rolled up the other sleeve to just above your elbow. You pulled the screen back just as he reached it, your eyes meeting his the moment you did. The sympathy in his dark eyes was almost enough to break you in an instant. You glanced down at his hand when it came to rest on your shoulder for just a moment before your eyes snapped back to his.

"That doesn't—" He shook his head. "Nothing excuses fifty plus grown men treating a young woman like something a dog dragged in. Particularly not after what you went through." Your gaze fell away from his at that, down to the floor. "I'm assuming from what you've said—and forgive me if I'm wrong—that you'd never..." He paused, seeming to search for the correct words. "You'd never been forced to defend yourself before?"

You shook your head. You had practiced with your swords for years, sparred with both your father and your brother regularly, but you had never been in a situation where you had to truly fight for your life. You had definitely never killed anyone before. You barely recalled the details even now, and you honestly didn't want to remember them at all.

"Oh, sweetheart..." He let out a slow sigh, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You closed your eyes as he rest his hand lightly over your head, as a little tension you hadn't even been aware of released from your shoulders. Your head fell forward, resting against his chest, and you closed your eyes as he lowered his head over yours. "Just so we're clear...you don't have to stay here," he said gently, his thumb brushing across the crown of your hair. "You're not a prisoner, you're a guest. You can take a few days to decide. Or longer. But if you do..."

He moved his hand to your cheek, lifting your head gingerly until your eyes met his.

"This crew is like a family." He lowered his forehead to yours, his hand drifting down to your shoulder again as he offered you a warm smile. "And you'll be welcome to stay as long as wish. Alright?"

You swallowed, and nodded.

Lowered your head again, your breath shaking as it left your lungs, and you rest your forehead against his chest again, your eyes closing tightly. You weren't used to this—this degree of kindness, of compassion from much of anyone, much less a stranger...but something in his eyes, in the warmth of his touch, told you that he was being completely sincere.

"Th...thank you," you whispered—you couldn't think of anything else to say than that, nothing that could wholly express the emotion swelling in your chest.

He just chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again.

"You're welcome, love."

#opla #shanks opla #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #one piece shanks #shanks #one piece fan fiction #opla fanfiction #fluff

366 notes · View notes

neonblessing · 9 months

Text

The cats were fighting, and Maggie was singing to them. It was Tater's birthday, apparently. How wonderful.

Shiv cracked her eyes open. The ceiling looked like shit: the paint was peeling, and there was some sort of stain spreading from one corner. The harsh morning light of the street lamps streamed into the room through the busted shade, casting crooked bars of shadow across the room.

The rest of the house looked worse than the ceiling. The cats had left scratches on everything they could reach, and time and neglect had left their marks on anything the cats couldn't. The furniture all looked out of place, collected over decades and haphazardly repaired.

From somewhere in the mismatched house, Maggie was babbling to her cats. "Come on, Candy. Share the fish with your brother. It's his birthday. Share the fish with the birthday baby!" Potato Chip's mournful wail filled the air, accompanied by the sound of chewing and a wary hiss.

Shiv sat up, wincing. She wrenched her head from side to side experimentally, to no avail. Rubbing her neck, she awkwardly swung her legs off the couch and stood up. Shiv picked her way over to the kitchen, for once managing not to stub her toe on the cabinet that protruded into the door frame.

"Morning, Mags."

Maggie jumped as Shiv spoke. "Oh, good morning! I made coffee." Maggie was fucking old. Her eyes were older than Shiv: they were some vintage shit, with protruding lenses that stopped her eyelids from properly closing. An awful little part of Shiv figured their value was somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 grand from an avid collector.

"Where'd you get the fish?" Shiv took a mug off its hook and poured herself some lukewarm coffee. The slogan on the side of the mug demanded silence, at least until the bearer had finished their name-brand coffee. The winking face of a defunct coffee logo grinned up at her as she took a sip.

"A trader's in town, just for the day. Some sort of pilgrim."

"Anything else good?"

"Protein bars, holy symbols, ID chips, and..." she looked around, as if Shiv hadn't swept the place for bugs last week, and dropped her voice. "...ammunition. No guns."

"What did you give him?"

"Some of the kitchen knives."

"You gave him knives for a fish?"

Maggie wrung her leathery hands nervously. "It's Potato Chip's birthday! Besides, they were getting dull."

"You have a whetstone!"

"I don't know how to use it right, and you..." she trailed off, but couldn't stop the glassy lenses of her eyes from flickering to Shiv's shoulder. Or rather, to where her shoulder used to be. Maggie swallowed, her gaudily-dyed hair bobbing in distress.

"I could have taught you! And Tater didn't even get to eat his fish." A contented Candy Bar wound her way about Maggie's legs, purring. Maggie opened and closed her mouth a few times, but said nothing.

Shiv wordlessly grabbed her bag off the couch. It still smelled like the factory that made it, even after a month. Much as it irked her to waste money–she’d already owned a perfectly serviceable bag–this one had velcro. Zippers were too much trouble these days.

She tore it open to behold the extent of her worldly possessions. A change of clothes. Her knife, the one Raz had given her. Rope. A pack of bandages. Disinfectant. Four days of nutrient bars. A wallet, empty save for a credit card and a few coins. A well-worn prayer tablet. A needle and a spool of thread. A ballpoint pen. Content that everything was where it should be, she closed the bag.

Shiv swung her bag over her good shoulder, then fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, nearly dropping her mug. Maggie took half a step forward as if to help, but whatever she saw in Shiv's eyes kept her rooted in place. Shiv pulled the hood of her coat up over her head, and turned to leave. "I… Sorry. I'm going out. Be back by midnight unless I get shot."

#1 #neon blessing #shiv #maggie #potato chip #candy bar

168 notes · View notes

whumpsday · 1 year

Text

Kane & Jim #44: Sweet 116

Masterlist

content: recovery, comfort, vampire whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, fluffy compared to my usual

Kane woke up one hundred and sixteen years old.

It felt like it had been ages since his last birthday, since he hadn’t been aware of its passing since his 110th. He’d honestly thought he was older than this, back in his cell. It felt longer than five years.

He hadn’t celebrated his birthday in a long time, even the ones where he’d been aware of the day passing. They were a bitter reminder that his family didn’t care, after the extravagant parties he’d been thrown as a young child turned into not even being wished a happy birthday. He and Bellamy used to have their own little events, just the two of them, but those stopped after Bellamy left.

He wished he could apologize to Bellamy for treating him so badly. Kane knew he’d been a bad friend. But it was probably better this way: Bellamy had his own life now, he was flourishing, and Kane was okay now too. He had to just appreciate their childhood friendship for what it was, and accept that it was over.

Jim wasn’t his friend, certainly. Kane had abused him for years, and now he was currently held captive in the man’s house. But he was something almost like a friend. More than a friend in some ways, a god-like savior who’d dragged him out of a torturous nightmare.

He was okay. He didn’t need a friend, and he didn’t need a birthday. He just needed to be safe, and he had that, now. He smiled at the thought. His first safe birthday in five years.

Jim came downstairs with a fresh bowl of blood. “Hey, man. Happy birthday. Hundred sixteen now, right? Sheesh.”

“Oh. You remembered.” Kane said, a little shocked.

“’Course I remembered. Gotta be on top of that shit if you’re gonna be staying here. Speaking of which...” Jim held out the bowl, but it was a new one, one Kane had never seen before. A ceramic bowl designed to look like a cake, a human food he knew was traditionally used to celebrate birthdays. Jim had taught him that.

“Saw this and thought it might be fun to use on your birthdays, since obviously you can’t eat actual cake.” Jim said with a goofy grin.

Birthdays. Plural. That could only mean one thing, that Jim intended to keep him for years. Kane’s heart soared, elated. He was being promised safety for years.

“Thank you so much.” Kane gingerly took the cute little bowl. “I love it. Thank you for the bowl, and the blood, and, and for letting me stay. Thank you for all of it.” He teared up a little, overwhelmed with emotion.

“Aw, well, you were always nice to me on my birthdays.” Jim pointed out. “You always got me cake and a present. Never hurt me or anything, ‘cept for the bite, even if I was doing stuff you’d normally hit me for. It was the only time I really felt safe.”

Guilt flooded him. Jim only felt safe five days out of the five years Kane had him, and he still made every effort he could to make Kane feel safe now despite it.

“I’m glad you’re safe now.” Kane said softly.

“Right back at you.” Jim patted him on the back. “Laken’s coming over later and we’ll have a little party. Assuming that’s cool with you? There’s still time to cancel it if you’re not into the idea.”

Laken was a hunter. It was hard to get out of the mindset that humans were dangerous by default, let alone hunters, but they’d been over to visit Liz’s a few times when he and Jim had stayed at Liz’s place a few weeks ago and they’d only ever been friendly toward him. He supposed that the only options Jim had to invite to his vampire’s birthday party were them and Liz, and Liz was definitely not a fan of him.

Kane hadn’t had a proper birthday party since he was ten years old. It seemed almost childish at this point, but... unbelievably sweet.

“That sounds great. Thank you.” He held the bowl to his lips and drank.

Jim’s present to Kane served two purposes: it was something he knew the guy would love, and it would give him time to decorate. It was a strategy he had employed for Liz on multiple occasions. Give her a gift she’d have to leave the house for, then set everything up while she’s away. He could have just done it while Kane was asleep, but he wanted to make sure he actually wanted something. Jim knew he was weird about birthdays.

He had to get creative this time, since he couldn’t send Kane to the arcade or roller rink. Kane was over the moon about the fancy bath stuff Jim got him, breaking out in a delighted fanged grin.

While Kane spent what Jim was sure would be an hour in the bathroom trying out fancy soaps, he strung up some simple decorations. Some balloons, streamers, and in a moment of unprecedented genius, a ‘SWEET 16′ banner he’d drawn an extra ‘1′ into to make it say ‘SWEET 116′. He giggled as he tacked it up.

He was sure it was nothing compared to the kinds of parties hundred-millionaire vampires would throw. Hell, it’d be nothing by human party standards, the guy couldn’t even eat cake or get wasted. But hey, Kane seemed pretty jazzed about it so far.

It was a good distraction. Jim tried not to think about it, but tomorrow was the anniversary of the night Kane took him. He realized it a few minutes after Kane had told him his birthday. Was that what he was? Kane’s birthday present to himself, a shiny new human?

He pushed the thought out of his head. It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to think about the fact that tomorrow was the 15 year anniversary of the day his life ended.

Jim was glad he had the excuse of Kane being scared of Liz to not invite her: she’d definitely try to comfort him, because she knew him way too well, and then he’d have to think about it, and maybe even talk about it.

And then he’d be a terrified 19 year old boy again, back in that lonely little room in Kane’s house where nothing was safe, and he didn’t want to be that anymore.

Now Kane was in his house, and neither of them were miserable. It was fine. Though it was hard not to think about it at least a little bit, with what Laken wanted to give Kane as his present.

Kane came downstairs smelling like roses. “You weren’t waiting to put the cuffs back-”

He looked around, taking in the decorations. Another smile. Kane had been smiling a lot more these days, he noticed.

“You did all this for me?” He sounded choked-up.

“Yeah, man. It’s your birthday. First one you’ve celebrated in five years, right? Gotta do something.” Jim patted him on the back. “And no cuffs today. We can be a little lax once in a while.” Plus, there’ll be a hunter here most of the time just in case.

“One hundred and six.”

“One hundred and six what?”

“This is the first birthday I’ve celebrated in one hundred and six years.” Kane clarified. “Or, ninety-nine years if you count the little celebrations that were just me and Bellamy. Just shy of a century.”

“Fuck, man. You’re making me too sad.” Jim shook his head. Guess that explained why he was so cagey about his birthday. “Well, good thing I snapped you up before it could get to a round hundred. We’ll fit a birthday party in here for you yet.”

“Thank you, Jim.” Kane said, sounding touched. “That means a lot.”

Laken arrived shortly. Kane froze up as they hugged him, not having expected it, but relaxed once he realized they weren’t hurting him.

“Happy birthday, you little grandpa!” they laughed, glancing at the banner. “Excellent.”

“Thank you for coming.” he replied. Laken’s hug was different from Jim’s. There was no tension, no fear that Kane could sense. They just held him, carefree. He wanted it to last forever, but they pulled away to hug Jim next.

They strolled inside and turned back around. “Jimmy, get outta here. I’ve gotta give Kane his present.”

Laken didn’t appear to have brought anything with them, Kane noted with confusion.

“Y-yeah.” Jim was suddenly nervous. “Just, just come get me when it’s done.” He scurried up the stairs to his room.

Kane was growing more anxious by the second. Jim being nervous was bad, but being apart from him was worse, and being alone with a hunter even worse than that. Even if they were the nicest hunter he’d ever met.

“Chill out.” Laken ordered, patting him on the head. “Jim’s just a little sensitive about this stuff. I’m not gonna hurtcha.”

“O-oh. Um, then, then what?” he asked.

Laken held out their arm. “Go on and feed some. Double portions today, and this one’s straight from the source, nice ‘n fresh..”

Kane stared incredulously at their outstretched arm. This had to be a- a trap of some kind, it had to be.

He could still remember the searing licks of the sun on his skin, in his mouth, unable to get away, burning burning burning for an entire week, the nights never long enough to heal more than the smallest bit before the next day devastated him again. And that had been for just trying to bite.

There was no way a hunter was telling him to bite them.

“I’ll be good, s...” Kane thought about it a bit, unsure what the proper title would be for a ‘them’. “...sir?” he decides anyway. “I’ll be good. I know better, I, I’ve learned. You don’t need to test me.”

“I’m not gonna pull pranks on you on your birthday, dude.” Laken shook their head. “Or ever. That sounds about as good of an idea as pulling pranks on Jim. Maybe even worse. Nah, I’m serious. Go for it. Have a little treat.”

They were serious. Kane glanced up the stairs. “Jim’s okay with it?”

“Yup, got pre-approved and everything. Listen, if you don’t want it, I can use the blood draw and you can drink it out of that bowl Jim was so giggly about on the phone, or we can just forget about the whole thing if you wanna. It’s your call. You’re the birthday boy. But hey, I’m offering.” They waggled their eyebrows.

Blood did taste really good straight from a human. It didn’t get any fresher than that. And... it could be his test, too. He was starting to really trust that Jim wouldn’t send him back, or hurt him on purpose. If he did this, he could see if Laken is really telling the truth, and maybe he could trust them, too. If he refused, he’d never know.

“Okay. Yes, please. Um, have you ever... been bitten before?” he asked.

“Pssh, oh yeah. A billion and a half times.” Laken assured. “I’ve been hunting for like, a decade. You guys’ve got like 5 things for combat, and teeth are one of ‘em. Never been really fed from, though. But I’m curious!” They waved their arm in front of him again.

Kane was glad they were offering their arm. He was sure that Jim would have an intensely negative reaction to seeing his mark on Laken’s neck.

He nodded trepidatiously. “Please let me know if you want me to stop.”

He bit into their forearm, sweet, delicious blood flowing into him. The base taste wasn’t as good as Jim’s abnormally-delicious blood, but it was so fresh that it truly was a treat. He had already had a meal today, but he fed enough for an entire second meal. It was his birthday, after all.

When he was done, he licked the wound closed. “Thank you. That was, that was wonderful.” He waited anxiously for their reaction.

“Haha, so weird. Glad it did it for you.” Laken said casually.

They’re really not mad. They’re not going to try to punish me.

“I’m gonna put a bandage on this so Jim doesn’t flip his shit.” they added. “You wanna go get him? Knock first.”

“Okay!” Kane agreed, invigorated by his apparent success. He jogged up to Jim’s room, initially minding his ankle chains before realizing they weren’t there, and knocked.

“Jim? It’s done. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Jim opened the door, looking a little less than okay, but not awful.

“I-”

“If you’re about to say you’re sorry, can it. It’s your birthday and you didn’t hurt anyone. Was it nice?” Jim asked.

Kane was surprised by how he’d predicted what he was about to say so easily. He guessed Jim just... knew him better than anyone else, at this point.

But that street went both ways. Seeing Jim look all nervous, he was suddenly reminded that he’d taken Jim the day after his 100th birthday.

“It was nice. Thank you for allowing it.” He hesitated, hoping he was saying the right thing. “Um, I know that tomorrow is probably... an uncomfortable day for you. I’m sorry. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do? Like if you want me to stay downstairs or something.”

Jim startled a bit, then smoothed his hair down. “I dunno. I kinda just wanna do everything like normal. Don’t wanna make it weird or anything.”

“Okay. Whatever you want.” Kane agreed.

“Hey, did Jim faint up there or something?” Laken called.

“C’mon, don’t turn into Liz, I’m not that fragile! I wasn’t even the one who got bit!” Jim called back. He bumped Kane on the shoulder, racing back down.

Kane laughed, following behind him.

sorry i’ve been slacking on posting new chapters / november was kind of a wash! you can expect a lot more activity in the latter portion of december.

drabbles posted in between #43 and #44:

Drabble: Mirror

Drabble: Fuck you

also started K&J x MMSS, a series of crossovers between my guys and the guys of Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset! there’s like 30k words of writing in there now

taglist:

@annablogsposts

@badluck990

@barebarb

@cc1010foxy

@ceph-the-writing-spook

@cicatrix-energy

@crying-wings

@crystalquartzwhump

@cupcakes-and-pain

@cyberneticfire

@darlingwhump

@deluxewhump

@down-in-the-whumps

@elrysdoesstuff

@emcscared-whumps

@extemporary-whump

@extrabitterbrain

@iamtheshriekingguineapig

@icyheart-and-friends

@inpainandsuffering

@interdimensional-chaos

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@lactose-intolerant-egg

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@littlespacecastle

@little-whumpee

@lost-in-labradorite-halls

@magziemakeswhatever

@melancholy-in-the-morning

@morning-star-whump

@myhusbandsasemni

@mylifeisonthebookshelf

@neverthelass

@nicolepascaline

@nine-tailed-whump

@no-terms-and-conditions-apply

@not-a-space-alien

@nyooom

@octopus-reactivated

@oddsconvert

@onlybadendings

@owencarvourenthusiast

@pigeonwhumps

@pumpkin-spice-whump

@quietly-by-myself

@quirkykayleetam

@ramadiiiisme

@redwhump

@scp-1296

@secretwhumplair

@the-whumperfly-effect

@the-whumpers-grimm

@thecyrulik

@thegreatwhodini

@themarlo

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight

@t0rture-me

@vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff

@whuarri

@whump-blog-reblogs

@whump-cravings

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@whump-me-all-night-long

@whump-my-heart-away

@whump-queen

@whumperfully

@whumpthisway

@whumpilicious

@whumpshaped

@whumpwillow

@whumpworld

@whumpy-writings

@whumpycries

@whumpyzombie

@whumpzone

@wits-and-wrongs

@wolfeyedwitch

#kane and jim #whump #my writing #recovery whump #comfort #vampire whumpee #whumper turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #whump writing

256 notes · View notes

captn-james · 2 years

Text

Eddie and Max as Neighbors

I feel like Eddie and Max being neighbors had so much potential.

Imagine watching them grow closer like siblings :(

- Eddie purposely cooking too much so that he could have leftovers to give her in case she hadn’t eaten anything (but being nonchalant/cool about it, like “I cooked too many noodles and if you don’t eat them they’re going in the garbage”)

- They could easily walk across the street but they almost consistently just call each other’s house phones (”It’s gonna be 102 outside today. I have popsicles if you want any.” “for the love of GOD turn off whatever the hell it is you’re playing”...the sheer amount of prank calls this poor boy would receive on a weekly basis, too)

- Max asking Eddie if he wants to see any new skateboard tricks she taught herself (he always acts annoyed by it but he secretly he thinks its sweet)

- Eddie being the first person Max calls when she gets into trouble or needs help (especially if it is something she knows Steve will stress about)

- Eddie checking to make sure Max is home before going to sleep

- Eddie being bummed/jealous that Steve is the “older brother/babysitter” figure, so he is always overly eager to help when the kids ask him for anything

- Eddie being absolutely determined for Max to listen to metal (and Max switching out his cassettes for girly pop and absolutely crying with laughter when he goes to turn on his stereo/van and “Like A Virgin” is blasting from the speakers).

- They give each other christmas and birthday gifts but they are purposely really shitty gifts because it’s kind of an inside joke (”here’s a 25 cent mug I found at the thrift store that says Groovy Grandma”, “here’s an opened pack of little trees air fresheners and pair of sunglasses from CVS”) Eddie always gets her a better gift, too, but he gives it to her mom and tells her to say it’s from her so that Max won’t feel pressured to get Eddie anything nice in return

- Max plays it cool but she really looks up to Eddie and values his opinion (she is constantly seeking validation from him, even if she pretends she’s not. “not that I care what you think, but....”)

- Max puts Eddie as her emergency contact for her first job

- Eddie and Max referring to each other as “brother” and “sister” around everyone except each other (”sorry about the skateboard in the middle of the driveway, that’s my sister’s”, “my brother can come pick us up if it starts raining”)

- Eddie overhearing Max refer to him as her brother and he’s stupidly happy about it and even brags to Steve.

Imagining Eddie stepping up and being the brother / parental figure Max needed in S4 literally just kills me.

#stranger things #st4 spoilers #eddie munson #max mayfield #stranger things fic #stranger things blurb #eddie munson blurb #honestly i'm iffy on billy as a person but I don't think he was a great brother #this is NOT billy slander billy lovers don't come after me #I just think that Max deserved Reluctant Brother Munson #who turned into Best Big Brother Munson #and Eddie definitely deserved to stick around longer and be a role model for these kids #i'm sobbing

346 notes · View notes

theelvenhaven · 1 year

Text

Dating Maeglin

Navigating his C-PTSD

Request: Maybe headcanons about his potential journey with cPTSD? Maybe this is the better hc idea than the previous one, how did their culture integrate someone with his background into society? I feel like he had unique circumstances compared to most and their understanding of childhood PTSD wasn’t as great as ours (we still have work to do too ofc). I’d be curious how he navigated the challenges and misunderstandings he got from people with normal family backgrounds. We know he was loved and adopted by Turgon but I suspect he had a lot of lingering resentment and felt “apart” or isolated from most people in Gondolin. Either way, thank you for opening requests and I understand if either or both of these asks are a bit ambitious lol. May is also my birth month so I love reading your blog while celebrating. :)) thank you for posting again, and especially then!!

A/N: I tried to cover everything that you mentioned here, but I mostly focused on it being with a significant other, but hopefully this covered most of what you were looking for. Also I was so happy to do these for you! Happy Early Birthday! I hope you enjoy and this covers most of what you were looking for!

* * *

♦ When it comes to dating Maeglin, it's going to be pretty hard not to notice that Maeglin has been through horrible things.

♦ Between the intimate and obvious knowledge of his father murdering his mother, it's going to be clear that there were other things he had been through too.

♦ Maeglin is very iffy when it comes to opening up and regards you with suspicion even despite the fact that you two are courting.

♦ Especially when you announce that you need to discuss something with him, it makes him really anxious to hear it and he might assume- very obviously- that he is in trouble.

♦ Even if it is just for a simple talk, you will find that Maeglin will ask you straight up if he's done something wrong.

♦ OR he will profusely apologize for something he has done wrong, he doesn't really do well with the suspense of whatever that conversation might be and needs reassurance that he's not in trouble of some kind.

♦ Maeglin also tends to be a people pleaser, because of how Eol treated him.

♦ You will find that often times he goes out of his way to do things for you for your approval, even if it was completely unnecessary.

♦ That and he tends to take too much, no matter how annoyed or upset he might get, and he won't let you in on it until he's exploding and its come out of nowhere.

♦ When unfortunately he's been doing everything under the sun to please you and make you happy, neglecting his own emotions and needs.

♦ It takes a lot of patience, and understanding to get him to learn how to set boundaries that are fair and reasonable for him so he can navigate his life without any stress.

♦ Because Maeglin is used to walking on egg shells around everyone, it takes some time for him to not do the same with you.

♦ You'll notice that he often times seems to "test the waters" by being apprehensive or not coming straight out with the fact that he has a request or a simple question or talking about his emotions.

♦ Showing emotions especially is a big deal for Maeglin, because his father would've taught him that they are gender specific and "feminine" despite the fact that they are not.

♦ You'll probably find that it takes a long time to get Maeglin to open up about anything that isn't surface happiness.

♦ Getting into his real feelings is uncomfortable and difficult, and it takes a long time for him to get comfortable with you as a result of how his father treated him.

♦ It's not that he doesn't have feelings for you or doesn't care about you, it's just not easy to break years and years of habits that were formed by his abuse.

♦ Should the two of you ever argue, you'll probably find that Maeglin will completely and totally shut down around you.

♦ He probably won't want to keep up with the argument at all, and will probably just "lie there and take it", even if you are in the wrong and he is in the right.

♦ Maeglin has a lot of self loathing and thinks that he deserves whatever "bashing" or negative feelings you have towards him.

♦ He requires a lot of patience and understanding, especially when he has shut down on you. He really can't help it he just doesn't know what else he should do.

♦ Seeing that Maeglin has a lot of issues as a result of the C-PTSD he is suffering with, it would most definitely be in your best interest to get involved with a Healer.

♦ Someone who you could talk to about your concerns for Maeglin, and who you could eventually bring Maeglin too.

♦ He'd probably resist especially at first, thinking that there's nothing wrong with him and delving into his emotions is a woman's place not his.

♦ But Maeglin trusts you, and eventually that façade of everything being alright would crumble down and he'd let you take him to a Healer to be seen and start discussing what is going on with him.

♦ It would be a good way for the two of you to build a healthier relationship and set up a good foundation for trust in one another.

♦ It would also help Maeglin work through how badly his father treated him, and how it wasn't normal.

♦ Learning that Ada's aren't supposed to treat their children like dirt is a hard concept to accept and will most certainly need your support.

♦ Maeglin would be very grateful for any support you give and you sticking by his side through the tough things he will have to go through.

* * *

Tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @celebrimbor-telperinquar @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdysimpy @thegirlwithoutaname87 @anunexpectedsideblog @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @eternalabysss @noldorinpainter

49 notes · View notes

ohmotherwhereartthou-if · 1 year

Text

Story Overview

OMWAT is a tale in which you play as The Orphan, a child left abandoned with no family nor memory of why you were always alone. Left to your own devices, you have survived. To the surprise and much annoyance of the villagers of Lospiza, the nearby village where you scrap for any food you can, you have lived longer than any had thought you would. What many had thought was that you would die out someday, an unfortunate circumstance but nothing that anyone would interfere with.

But you didn't die, in fact you refused to.

With a seemingly unreal amount of determination and resourcefulness on your part, you survived; year after year, brutal winter after winter.

Until your 7th remembered year, when things looked their darkest. A particularly bad span of bad luck and no food for weeks takes its toll, this time you couldn't run fast enough to escape the baker's boys. You had been stealing from their family stall for months now, learning the right paths to take, signals, and openings.

This time a miscalculation led to them catching you and they were not kind.

Broken and bruised, they went too far. You were too little, too weak for such a beating.

They took out the whole village's irritation of your very existence on your malnourished form, many hearing your cries but not a single person bothering to interfere.

Left there, hurt, broken, maybe even traumatized; the world started to fade away. Darkness was starting to overtake, this time it was unlike falling asleep, this time you knew; if you slept now you would ever wake up. Powerless to stop it, you laid there unable to do anything other than accept your unfortunate fate.

Until the form a woman came close, until she held you in her arms and the world for once felt… warm.

This woman you would come to either know as Mother or Mentor, she saved your life and took you away from that horrid village and gave you a home. She gave you a life, a place to grow and thrive. Santuario was the coastal paradise that you came to know as “home” because she made it your home.

She nurtured you back to health, gave you an education, raised you in her cottage by the coast. The life you had always envied others for was finally yours; after years of watching other children happy with their families, being loved by others, while you had no one. It was all over, because now you had her.

Years passed by, from childhood to adulthood she raised you. All with love, comfort, and acceptance.

Mother/Mentor was your everything.

You didn't know much about her past and honestly you never cared. It wasn’t until one day, a few months after your 18th birthday that she mentioned wanting to travel the world again, just like she used to before she had met you. While you had your own thoughts about going on the proposed journey, she quietly corrected your assumption; she wanted to go alone, without you. Despite her promises to come back you had snapped, like you always did whenever she even slightly suggested about going somewhere without you.

Mother/Mentor was never stern with you, she quietly apologized and let the matter go. Or, so you thought. Because the next week, she was gone. Leaving only behind a letter, apologizing for leaving but needing to. She said she would return one day, to please live the life she provided for you. Make use of the skills she taught you to make some friends, fall in love, have a family, and grow old.

To keep living but to not look for her, asking you to please, let her go.

What she did not account for was that to you, Mother/Mentor was your everything.

Your everything. Your absolute everything.

There was no happiness without her, without her you had nothing. Did she not know that? Did she not realize that she was the only family you had or that you had ever known? Maybe she thought you were just a burden, that you wouldn't be willing to follow her wherever she had to go, or maybe you didn't let her know how much she meant to you…

Wait, didn't she write that she HAD to go? Not want to, but HAD to.

Is she in danger? Was she trying to just protect you?

You never did ask much about her past, you didn't even know her real name.

Despite being raised the way you were under her gentle care and education, you know very little about traveling or how you would even begin to track someone as elusive as her. But you HAVE to try.

You will be reunited. That is a promise.

You won’t stop until you do, you are sick of being an orphan.

You will not lose the only family you have ever had.

You refuse to be left alone, again.

---------------------------------

The Orphan can have a multitude of traits that will shape the way they perceive the world around them. How they view mother/mentor can also be altered, with the main caveat being that being separated from her is painful and lonely. The possibility that she could also be in danger is also very alarming, the Orphan will set out to explore the land of the Broken Isles to find their mother/mentor. Meeting companions along the way, each with their own backstories, motivations and unique impacts on the story.

How this tale of searching for family; how it will play out, and ultimately, how it will end, is all in your hands. Good Luck.

41 notes · View notes

noturprobiem · 3 months

Text

a little horror piece i wrote

cw: blood, a description of a dead body, a mention of cannibalism for a second

I have had a fascination with the forest since early childhood. My parents took me there to pick berries and mushrooms every autumn and those were my happiest moments back then. So, when it was time to go again, right after my eleventh birthday, I was ecstatic.

It was truly a beautiful sight. Red and yellow leaves a blanket on the wet, cold ground, lush tree crowns of gold and bronze shining in the morning sun. I loved the way air smelled then, of dump grass and fresh dirt, of bark and pine.

You need to be covered head to toe in thick clothes to protect you from mite and thorns, so you walk and move slowly. It's not very cold this time of year, but after hours and hours outside your cheeks and nose become pink and itchy. Well, as a child I didn't care about anything other than getting my basket full of the best mushrooms I could find and eating as much berries as possible. Nothing could convince me it was time to head home. Nowadays you can't pay me enough to spend even a minute in the woods.

We were far from the only family there, now and again I saw someone pass by, sometimes even with dogs, which I liked very much as a kid. I remember telling my parents that we should get a dog, too, so it can protect us from wild animals, which only made them chuckle.

I don't really remember how I got lost. After so many years I might have imagined so many details that weren't even there, so many thoughts and feelings that I retroactively assigned to a child who just wandered off into the woods. However, when I think of that time, all that comes to mind is that I felt compelled to see where a path hidden between two wide tree trunks would lead me. I walked and walked until I almost reached a clearing and stopped, frozen in place. Only then I noticed a rhythmic, moist sound of chewing. A sudden gust of wind brought a metallic smell of blood and meat with it. There was something big and moving behind the last row of trees. I held my breath and covered my mouth with my hand. Dad taught me that you should never run or scare a hungry wild animal, so I stayed put, refusing to even take a peek. I could feel my heart pumping blood in my temples, my hands and legs shaking with every escaping gasp as the sound of tearing flesh came again and again. I didn't cry. I was too focused on surviving.

But after a long, long time I couldn't take it anymore. I looked. What was before me did not look like any real animal but every description I gave made adults sure it was an elk. It was massive, with giant deer antlers, its limbs smooth and dark, stretched and bent in unnatural ways. But I can swear that its face didn't look like anything I've seen before. It's neck twisted to reveal a flat, round muzzle with big black eyes staring straight into my soul. I stared back. With every passing second my heart accelerated and I was ready for it to stop for good. But the creature made a few small steps away, as if inviting me to feast together. This was when I saw its prey.

It was a hunter, with his chest torn open, a gun still lying on the ground near him. I gulped and shook my head. The creature looked at me and tilted its head to the side like a curious puppy. I did the same, hoping it would think I was a friend. Somehow, it worked. It continued its feast without me, only pausing sometimes to look at me. Like it was asking if I'm sure I don't want to join.

When my legs started to ache and only the skeleton was left from the poor guy, it left, turning its head one last time to look at me. I fell to the ground and wept for what seemed like hours until I felt like there was nothing to cry with anymore. I got up and went back where I came from, my legs shaking. But when I heard the voices and finally found my way to the main path, my parents weren't scared at all.

“What, you saw something interesting in the bushes?” Mom asked.

I nodded. And dragged myself after them for hours. Red berries made me want to throw up, mushrooms reminded me of skin and flesh, and I was throwing up for days without any reason, which made my parents scared that I ate the wrong mushroom. And even after the doctors said I was fine, they decided this was our last trip to the forest.

Of course, I wasn't going to argue with that.

#phlox writing #horror #writing #written for fun #monsters #mystical horror #amateur writer #baby's first horror story #cw: gore #cw blood #cw death #cw horror

6 notes · View notes

ikemenomegas · 1 year

Text

In a Doll's House

Choso x Reader || Birthday Candles

a/n: Last "Make a Wish" prompt completed, so so long after the list has been put up... I learned a lot about my own stamina and availability so thank you for your patience!

cw: spoilers for the death-womb painting arc, but if you haven't made it that far, I'm not sure why you're here... otherwise, no major warnings as far as I know

The long table was set. Ribbons and lanterns were strung between tree branches.

Vibrant bursts of flowers brightened the setting and added to the festive feel of the little party.

Choso was lingering uncomfortably in the shade between two trees. His family was somewhere beyond the other side of the clearing that was being used to host the party. He could hear them. They sounded happy and that lifted some of the tension from his shoulders.

He should go to them. You'd told him it would be fine. You were happily humming as you straightened utensils and brought food to the table.

Your expression was so bright when you looked at him every once in a while. Checking in.

It sent butterflies alight in his belly. It made it hard to go.

This would be his brothers' first birthday party, and their first one together. He supposed it was technically his too, that was what you reminded him every time he had tried to insert himself into the planning process. At the same time you reminded him that he should not be responsible for his own party.

Choso had been an observer to the world ever since he was created. Confined as he was, he had done his best to watch over his siblings. As time had gone on, his world had shrunk smaller and smaller. Every thought was about his family. The rest of the world had begun to slip by in rain blurred colors.

Being incarnated and alive was new and wonderful and terrifying. The world was filled with beauty and cruelty. It was also so very loud.

There was so much of it. It still felt like things slid by a window through which he could see but not grasp hold of any of the chaos long enough to touch it, to feel it.

This quiet little place with all the people who were most important to him close at hand was so real.

You finally took some pity on him and held up a blue and a purple bit of ribbon for him and indicated that he should choose between the two.

When he chose purple, you tied the ribbon around the wide body of one of the vases.

The point was, doing things for others was his purpose, what he was good at. Having things done for him made him slightly nervous. Even this had started off as Eso tattling to you when he realized he had never planned a party before. The surprise had thankfully been ruined and Choso had been able to insist the others be celebrated with him.

You carefully straightened the cake stand, the cake inside hidden under its porcelain dome, and then stepped back with hands on your hips.

It appeared you were satisfied as you retreated to his side.

"It looks good," he said.

"It does, doesn't it?"

It did make a pretty picture, a few late spring flowers already drifting down to settle elegantly among the table settings and making it seem as though the whole thing had sprung up from the forest floor.

"Let's collect the others and then I'll let you all enjoy it." Your voice was achingly fond.

He still startled somewhat from his curled position. "You're not staying?"

"It's a family party," you replied, tilting your head at him.

Light slanted through your eyes and Choso tightened his arms against his chest.

He missed the way your attention briefly went to the ripple of muscle in his biceps.

"If there's anything Yuuji's taught me, it's that family isn't only about blood," he murmured.

"Maybe it is," you said, gripping your elbows. "At least you only use your blood for the people that matter."

He knew you meant him, but you were the same, weren’t you?

"Stay," he said. He unbent himself with some effort. "You worked so hard, you should at least get to enjoy it."

"I really couldn't intrude-"

"It's my birthday," he said. He couldn't help but smile just a little at your slightly flustered expression.

You blew out a breath. "Only if you let me sing for you."

"I think everyone sings together, but I can let you do a solo if you like.”

“Ah—“

He said things with such a straight face. Even when he smiled at your uncomfortable expression and wandered off into the woods to call his brothers, you weren’t entirely sure if he was joking.

“Oh—” Yuuji looked at you with wide eyes “— I didn’t know you could sing!”

“Well, anyone can sing happy birthday…” you laughed awkwardly.

“We’ve never done it before,” Eso said, leaning on his hand and peering between you and Choso.

Choso just looked at you with amusement.

“Do we each get a song?” Kechizu asked curiously.

“Yes,” Choso leaned close to Eso, mimicking his posture, “don’t we all get a song?”

“I don’t think that’s how-“ Yuuji started.

Only to get cut off by Eso’s sly chiding. “It’s our birthday. And we all share with each other.”

“Right, but usually you just add more names to the right part…” You sighed and scrubbed your hands across your face. “Okay.” You took a deep breath and patted your cheeks as though to wake yourself up. “Should we start with the youngest?” you asked.

The Kusozu were good sports about the whole thing, cheering as each song was finished with their names and quickly joining in to spare you some embarrassment. Choso was last, his name sweet on your tongue.

The final notes faded into a toast, your laughter at Yuuji and Kechizu’s insistence on toasting in every possible conformation rising above the hiss of a match lighting.

You had lifted the lid from the cake, holding it it one hand while you carefully lit each candle. Finishing four renditions of the song would have seen each one burnt down to a stub and the cake flooded with wax.

The sun had long set and the glimmer of the lights in the trees and the new flames wreathed everything in a soft, warm glow.

Over his protests that the younger ones should be the ones to blow out the candles, they hooked their arms around each other. All four of them leaned in, pulling one another close.

Choso glanced once more at you, the soft, warm smile on your face and the crinkling in the corner of your eyes. Then together, he and his brothers blew out the candles.

All light whisked out, and he kept blowing, his breath leaving his lungs endlessly until a rushing wind took all sound too.

He woke up. Clarity jolted through him on a sudden rushing inhale. His heart battered against his sternum, as though his breath really had been sucked out of his lungs on a wind that had suddenly ceased.

It felt real. Another reality painted on the other side of a glass window, moving slowly, shadows on the other side of a veil. Another world where they were still alive.

Choso blew a thin sigh through his pursed lips and threw his arm over his eyes. He tried to recall the feeling of that dream, the anticipation of it, the warmth, those familiar faces. He wanted to wrap the thin dream around his fingers like a silk scarf.

Just for a little while.

But dreams, he had found, drifted away so quickly in the world of humans.

Almost mindlessly, he shuffled from the room and into the kitchen for a glass of water and then a few more steps down the hall to peak in on Yuuji.

The boy was sprawled across his bed, tangled up among the bedclothes, hugging onto a pillow.

Choso leaned against the wall just outside the door, sipping from the glass and listening to Yuuji’s snuffling snores. Then he closed his eyes and felt that compass-like sense of the remaining suspended Kusozu, the last of his other siblings, pointing him in the direction of their storage.

He placed the glass carefully into the sink and padded back to his own room.

It felt like the place of a stranger, even with his own sheets just recently tossed aside and warmth still lingering between the layers. Faint starlight striped oddly through the window and tree branches. Irrationally, he wished that some of those lanterns you’d strung up for the party were here. A little of that golden glow would have been welcome. He didn’t even have a candle which he could light.

Yuuji had been trying to get Choso to add a more personal touch to his own room. Maybe he should listen.

With a faint sigh, he rummaged around in his bed until he found his phone tucked under a pillow. He had adjusted to the comfort of this modern distraction a little too well.

The time - late or very early depending on perspective - and the date glowed coldly on the black screen. Maybe he should pick a picture too. He had a lot of pictures of Yuuji from going around to the Tokyo sights.

He looked at the date dully, suddenly exhausted even though he doesn’t want to go back to sleep, not with the taste of that dream still on his tongue. A second waking would dilute it further. He had many pictures of Yuuji, and none of his other siblings.

When he had first been created, photography had not been invented yet. He hadn’t thought to use such a technology back then, and now he had nothing but memory.

He called you, fingers stirring listlessly across the screen before he could think too much about it.

It occurred to him too late that you would probably be asleep.

He pulled the phone away from his ear, thumb hovered over the “end call” button when the screen changed.

Your voice, sleep muffled, immediately called his name.

Choso was the eldest. It was up to him to understand his own emotions so that they didn’t get in others’ way. He knew that, objectively speaking, what he was feeling was grief and shock. Going from that bright, loving place to his own empty room and the true reality in which he lived, at an hour like this, was understandable but inexcusable. He would apologize and-

His silence had stretched on, but squinting at your own phone, it seemed you were still connected. You closed your eyes and nestled the phone near your ear.

“If you don’t want to talk…” you mumbled, “do you want me to talk? Just stay on the line until you’re sick of it I guess. Or until my phone dies. I don’t know where I put the charger— I think it’s in my room but I fell asleep on the couch and don’t want to get up—”

There was an odd security in hearing you murmuring mindlessly on the end of the line. Choso listened to every word, feeling an odd stab at his heart every time you said his name.

Choso, you’d never believe it they were out of my favorite at the convenience store and I had to walk all the way to the one fifteen minutes away. It was worth it though.

And.

Hey, Choso have you been to Kita yet? I got called out there the other day and the water was really pretty. We should take you there, even if you’ve gone before.

And.

Hmmm. What’s Choso’s favorite snack? I never see you eat. Isn’t that funny? We’ve never eaten together. You only drink when we go out, that’s not good for your health, you know…

"It's my brothers' birthday," he said suddenly, heavily, as you trailed off.

"Oh."

He heard the rustling shift of a body among cushions.

"Happy birthday to Kechizu and Eso then."

He was startled to hear their names. They were seldom spoken. They had died on the side of curses and sorcerers didn’t typically consider curses worth mourning. He was surprised you remembered them at all.

You laid in silence for a time. You’d been awake for a little while now, although you didn’t open your eyes to check how long. "Happy birthday to you too." It took you a minute to get there and the words were a little thick on your tongue, but if it was Kechizu and Eso’s day of incarnation, it must be Choso’s too.

In your hazy state, this seemed a profoundly intelligent bit of deduction and you congratulated yourself on it.

"How old are you?"

"One year older," he replied. He'd stopped counting as the years stretched on. He thought he would have counted though, for his brothers.

You still huffed a tired laugh. "Yeah. That is how that works, isn't it?" Even for people who had technically existed since a long long time ago.

“Hey, Choso?”

“Hm?” At some point he’d sat down on his bed and now he laid across it, thinking of you laying among your own nest of blankets somewhere far from here.

“If I brought you and Yuuji a cake tomorrow, would you eat it?”

The night pressed down on him. That was the heaviness over his chest, and nothing else.

“Yeah.”

“You have to try some.”

“Okay.” This body had of course eaten such things, but he hadn’t been in this body then. He struggled for something clever to say, but he hadn’t been meant for clever.

He had, however, been able to manage honest.

“If I tell you about Eso and Kechizu…”

“I’d listen.” I’ll always listen to what you want to tell me.

You weren’t quite awake enough to tell if you said that part out loud.

end note: "Kita" is a running trail by the water somewhere in the greater Tokyo area. As far as I know, I never went there. It's a bit distasteful, but I was thinking of a place with a lot of water for them to meet and apparently this is the kind of spot that is both popular with joggers and somewhere a lot of curses would gather in the jujutsu world. If you imagine the oc as a sorcerer, they probably would have been there for work but it is pretty in pictures, lots of sun and it is a certified historical site.

#choso x reader #kamo choso #jjk #I don't know why this oc ended up asking so many food questions #maybe they need a post-midnight snack #make a wish prompt fill #prompt fill

31 notes · View notes

sammypersaud · 2 months

Text

THE BASICS

Name: Samar Persaud.

Nicknames: Sammy, Sam.

Gender: cis Male, He/Him.

Occupation: Sanitation Worker (Garbage Man), Junk Builder.

Age: Thirty-Two.

Birthday: December 15th, 1992.

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius.

Location: Bighorn Hills, Providence Peak, Colorado.

Birthplace: Providence Peak, Colorado.

Orientation: Bisexual, Biromantic.

THE PHYSIQUE

Eye Color: Brown.

Natural Hair Color: Black.

Height: 6′ 0″.

Body Type: Muscular.

Allergies: None.

Dominant Hand: Right.

Tattoos: Probably some kind of dumb tattoo for @ingridlczano (still pending tho).

Piercings: None.

THE INTRODUCTION

Samar Persaud was lucky early in life; born to two loving parents in a single family home in a quiet neighborhood, with a tall tree overlooking their backyard where he spent hot summer evenings pretending to be a rock climber or a knight or an astronaut, feeling free to go as far as his dreams would take him, forever supported by his family. That luck, however, was short-lived when his dad found himself without a job when Sammy was just five years old. Suddenly, the tree that had held his dreams when he couldn’t carry them all turned into his reprieve from a household, spending every moment he could sitting up in its branches so he wouldn't have to be at home, a home broken by a system that had been a set up from the very start. Hours that passed by in the day soon became something he counted with the number of beer cans stacked up in the kitchen, able to spell michelob before he could even spell his own name. His mom attempted to pick the family back up with a part-time job, but it wasn’t enough to stop the once loving home from falling into disrepair, both emotionally and physically. When Samar was old enough, he learned how to use a hammer and a drill and fixed the things his father was too drunk to fix. His fixes weren't perfect and often cobbled together by other things he found laying around, materials he got for free after putting in some work under the table for local hardware stores, and items he found on the side of the road on trash day. Growing up with Ingrid Lozano was enough to keep his sanity. She was his safe place to land when his home grew too much to handle, she was the rock that never budged in his life, the stability he craved from a family that would never be able to give that to him again. They found exactly what they needed in each other, a semblance of a home they never had. Their friendship eventually bled into more and inevitably, they found themselves bouncing from on to off and back again over most arguments that never really meant a thing when it came down to it, yet both were too stubborn to knock it off. They knew a fight never meant forever though, their comfort in one another running far too deep to call their friendship quits. With her support and unsolicited opinions, he eventually purchased a few acres of land in Bighorn Hills with a house that needed more fixes than his childhood home did and a barn that was empty and full of promise, eventually something he filled with the treasures he would find on the side of the street, sitting out for free, during his early morning garbage shifts. He'd take anything he could find home, storing it until he found the right pieces to fit together, and creating something new out of it. He taught himself how to built, weld, and put together the tiniest, most confusing parts of virtually any machine. On Saturdays in the summer, he can be found at the farmer's market with a stall proudly displaying these secondhand pieces he managed to give a new life to.

THE HEADCANONS

Sam has one cat, a giant orange tabby named Poppy, who enjoys roaming his acres of land, will typically live inside during the winter, and will come and go through an open window in the summer. She enjoys lounging in the barn in her cat bed that he made for her while he's working on new furniture pieces. Unsure of what to do with acres of land and having no intention of becoming a farmer (yet), Samar planted a boatload of flowers across an acre and allows whoever to come pick their own flowers, offering a u-pick option or prepicked bouquets in a little stand near the entrance to the field. The only rule is to leave flowers for others and don't harm the bees that may be around the flowers. He still drives a messy, beaten up pick up truck from the early 2000s that used to be his dad's before the man became too far gone to drive it. He repairs it when it needs to be repaired, but it's generally been trusty for most of his life. This man collects vintage Coleman camping items like his life depends on it. Anytime he sees some on the side of the street, it's the holy grail for him. Sam cleans it up, restores whatever is necessary, and it gets to continue to live on during his camping trips. He plays the banjo. 100% serious. He found one on the side of street once with a bunch of free stuff, repaired and refurbished it, and now it's a gorgeous instrument that he plays around campfires and whenever someone asks to hear it (or doesn't, he's a unsolicited banjo player sorry in advance).

#providence.intro #introduction — samar persaud

3 notes · View notes

skylarstark4826 · 2 months

Text

Sulerii was a brutally warm planet, close to its sun, with a hazardous atmosphere for most oxygen-breathing lifeforms. The native Ilkhoy found it just as difficult to traverse other worlds, and they relied on visitors from elsewhere to sustain them with novelty, tales of gallantry and defiance from the stars they viewed through elongated, yellow eyes as they waved their tails at the heavens. In exchange, they offered respite in their underground caverns, where the mix of gases was more regulated by droids, and intimidating natural defenses against anyone foolhardy enough to attack.

That was where the Resistance had found itself sheltered, in hollow cities where generations of wanderers had passed through. They traded their stories and burrowed deeper into the hot soil. Poe confessed the blind risks he’d taken, Kaydel sung of her faith in Leia even in their darkest hours, Rey called to mind the unending green of Takodana, and the Ilkhoy gasped, in awe or because their air mask settings weren’t set right.

One morning below the surface dawned a little cooler than the rest, and Rose checked the data screen. “It’s their winter solstice,” she smiled. “Their year is so short, it’s already at the longest night of its orbit. From now on the days will get brighter.”

“Does it make a difference down here?” Finn asked.

“Not really,” said Rose. “But I always like celebrating it.”

“Any excuse we can get, I guess.”

She paused, then shrugged. “My birthday is on the winter solstice. Not here, obviously, but my homeworld. That’s how I learned to remember—so when the days started getting long again, no matter where I was, I would have something to be happy for that was mine.”

Had Paige taught her that? Afraid the First Order would separate them in some abduction run? “That’s sweet.”

“When’s yours?”

“Uh. What?”

“Your birthday?”

“I don’t, uh, have one.”

“Oh,” Rose winced. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot—”

“No you’re not,” Finn interrupted. He looked around, and noticed that nobody else was in earshot of the data screen. “Once a year, I think it was the capital calendar, they would make us all take these physicals. Depending on your scores you would get promoted between squadrons. So we didn’t all stay in the same place and develop camaraderie too long, I figure.” Rose nodded, eyes wide. “If you failed—well, we never really heard about the ones who failed. So I’m not too big on anniversaries.”

“They didn’t give you names, either. That doesn’t mean it’s too late to change.”

“Names cost nothing,” said Finn. “If we make it another year, that’ll be something to celebrate.”

“You too noble to have a day to receive something for once?”

“One day’s as good as the next,” Finn said.

“We’ll see about that,” Rose said, then paced off to start weapons inspection.

She kept it in the back of her mind as days blurred into whatever passed for months on the moonless world; holding onto some goal for no objective other than the happiness of someone she cared about made the intervening days, tedium interspersed with terror, manageable. When she spoke with Rey, both of them commiserating about the fragile state of the Millennium Falcon’s hyperdrive, she asked carefully, “I don’t suppose you had much in the way of birthday celebrations out on Jakku?”

“I had what I made,” Rey said offhandedly. “The first time I filled up this—well, I had a calendar, kind of, a list of days. The first time I got to the end of a row, I figured, that day was mine. I asked, and it was the sixteenth of Litsin. So, that’s my day.”

“Huh,” Rose smiled. “Did you get to do anything fun?”

“Not when I was little. When I got bigger, I’d try to explore somewhere where I hadn’t been before—not for anything useful, just for the thrill of it. When I was...twelve, I think, I found a bandana and a new canteen, and two years later I found a piece of metal that sounded kind of like an organ box when I blew into it.”

“Well,” said Rey. “The sixteenth of Litsin, I’ll bear that in mind.”

Rey, to her credit, just changed the subject to the cargo bay, without dismissing the probability they’d make it that long.

The others—Kaydel and Poe and everyone (Rose had learned all their names, and hated the fact it was so easy)—all had their own lives. Some harder than others, but all had chosen resistance because they felt it the best path forward. And all still remembered enough of themselves to honor, even if they thought nobody else was watching.

(“I have no recollection,” C-3PO informed her sternly, “it’s not fit for one such as myself to remember its earliest operations. My gracious, do you? When one thinks of the things small humans do...highly improper.”)

Chewbacca growled and seemed to point at the captain’s quarters. “He said his is the fourth of Wisnuk, but at his age he’d just be embarrassed by any party you...uh, we kids could throw,” translated Rey.

“Well, he shouldn’t be,” said Rose.

“You should go talk to Leia.”

“I can’t talk to General Organa!”

“We’re in a war, she’s your commanding officer, I hope you can talk to her.”

“Oh you know what I mean.”

Rey blinked. “No I don’t.”

“It’s different for you, you’re a Jedi.”

“And you’re—”

“I’m not anyone,” Rose said, before Rey could make up something patronizing.

“You’ve seen our numbers,” Rey said. “Everyone’s someone now. More than someone. We have to be.”

Before Rose could reply, Chewbacca had rapped on Organa’s door, and she’d poked her head out. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine!” Rose quickly answered. Chewbacca yawned, and Rey glanced around between them.

“My birthday?” Organa said quietly. “It’s—the first of Eimol.”

“I’m sorry if it’s a sore point.”

“No, not that. It’s just—growing up, the galaxy had to observe that as the anniversary of the founding of the Galactic Empire. Of course at home...my parents did the minimum possible, as public figures, to remain dignified, but it was always with gritted teeth. It took me a few years to understand."

“Well,” said Rey. “If we didn’t have enough reasons to fight, better make sure no future children have their birthdays overshadowed by First Order Day.”

Chewbacca clapped her on the back, and they walked off.

“I don’t expect anything special,” Organa said. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s Finn,” Rose said, and found herself relating bits and pieces of his story.

“Well,” Organa said, “I’m used to sharing my festivities, and it would be a welcome change of pace to celebrate with someone like Finn. He’s welcome to the first of Eimol.”

Rose broke into a smile. “If you’ll keep this classified, I’ll see what I can do.”

By the time Eimol rolled around, they had traded the caverns of Sulerii for the mesas of Gantzen. They usually needed to divide into scout teams to go haul fresh water from the wells below; Poe and Rey were still trying to jerry-rig an elevator, but it was too inefficient to send spacecraft down. Whether by chance or some higher-up’s astute eye, Finn and Rose had been assigned to the same team, and they spent many mornings enjoying each other’s company as they climbed back and forth to the ship.

When evening came, Rose sounded the soft double trill that signified all invited to hub, not urgent. The blast was for Finn’s sake as much as anyone’s; most people knew about her scheme, if only indirectly. “Er, hello,” she said, as her comrades shifted in their seats, warily. “Thanks for coming. As you all know, this is the first of Eimol, and as some of you know, that used to be a day of, uh, galactic significance.”

Chewbacca and R2-D2 gave what she hoped were laughs; C-3PO had stepped out.

“But governments come and go, just like people. So while we’re here, I think we should take time when we can to celebrate those—those we look up to. General Organa, many happy returns.”

Organa blushed, and Poe stood up to offer her a datavid. “Oh, come on now, you shouldn’t have—” she began.

“I think you’ll like it,” he said. “From some of our Ilkhoy allies, a few tales they’ve collected from those who came through in ancient days. Senators, pilots...even an Alderaanian or two.”

Her eyes blurred as she stood to address the group. “Thank you. Thank you all very much.”

“It’s my pleasure,” said Poe. “All of ours.”

Organa blinked, composing herself, before she began. “Times change, calendars change—sometimes even planets change, as terrible as it is. And though our reckoning systems shouldn’t be anywhere near the first casualties of these times, I certainly agree that we should not let the devastation of these times prevent us from rejoicing with our friends. Finn—I would be honored to share my birthday with you, if you are willing.”

“Willing?” Finn said. “It’d be my honor, but, uh, it’s kind of short notice.”

“We planned ahead,” said Rose. “Just in case.”

“You...”

“Most of the gifts should keep,” Rey explained. “If you don’t want to celebrate today. But if you want to eat Kaydel’s stew, that’s probably going to need to be today.”

“You made that beef stew?” Finn blurted.

Kaydel grinned. “Felt like being festive.”

“Ma’am…I didn’t mean to impinge,” said Finn.

“I couldn’t ask for a better celebration than seeing my troops find a reason to take heart,” said Organa, “and I think this surely qualifies.”

C-3PO came tottering back, balancing a stack of gifts which Finn raced to unload. From Poe, there was a cap emblazoned with the Resistance insignia. “To match your jacket,” he winked.

“And so I can tell all my enemies I’m proud to hang around you nerfherders?” Finn laughed. “Thank you.”

Rey had given him a small projector that set up miniature holochess and other games. “To pass the time when you’re bored on watch. Or in jail, I don’t know.”

“That was one time!” That had become somewhat of a running joke on the Falcon.

“Okay, mostly on watch. Don’t have too much fun, though, or someone will catch you from behind.”

“It’s great,” he laughed. “I’ll play you in dice. Just no Jedi cheating.”

“I suppose it’s unethical,” Rey sighed.

Leia had given him a new digiwatch, with music programmed in. “Everybody chose a song they enjoyed,” she explained. “I can’t vouch for all of the non-bipedal tastes, but I suppose they think our sensory modalities are limited too.”

“Which one is yours?” Finn asked.

“A folk song my parents sang to me when I was little. I’m afraid this recording is not very authentic, but—”

“It’ll be great,” he said. “Thank you.”

Finn tested the weight of the last present before tearing it open. It was a series of metal links, interwoven together.

“Uh, it’s beautiful,” he said. “But...is it some kind of shield?”

“No, dummy,” said Rose. “It’s a necklace. Forged it with a solderbeam.”

He gaped. “You made this?”

“You don’t have to wear it if you think it’s weird, obviously. I just figured...you know, you’re the kind of guy who doesn’t wait around for the moon.” She toyed with her pendant. “Every day is as good as the next, right? Well, almost every.”

Finn stared for a moment, then kissed her, still holding the necklace. Rose hugged him tightly as R2 beeped his approval, never mind the rest of the room.

When he pulled away, she took the chain in his hands. “So, you put it on like this, right?” she said, as he bent down and let her drape it over his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I like it.”

She gave him a quick kiss in return. “Happy birthday.”

#finn x rose #finnrose #finnix calrissian #rose tico

2 notes · View notes