#the great belle debate

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

If Edelgard starts a war on cats it would be a CATastrophe. Bad pun aside, it really speaks volumes when people are so enamored and defensive about their fave that they're willing to say "racism, genocide and terrorism is good actually". Fiction may not affect reality most of the time, but it exposes views that some people share that makes you go "yikes.".

I can't believe I didn't even think of that when I wrote it LOL.

For people missing the context, this ask is in response to a reply I wrote on another post.

When it comes to media, it's one thing if there's nuance to the situation and it's not as direct (is she being brainwashed? Controlled? Forced? Somehow unaware? Shown to be conflicted about her actions/what she says? etc). In her case though that's not present and she means what she says. Even still, liking her as a character is fine.

It's different when people start using real life situations or making outright harmful rhetoric, which is something they do both to lift their favorite up and to vilify her enemies (which is why they have to reach so hard, and farther than their arms actually can reach to make up reasons to hate Dimitri. It's not him, it's the fact that they hate anyone who opposes Edelgard, and if Edegard wants them dead they also want them dead. Unfortunately that also turned into demonizing those with mental illness).

Fiction in and of itself doesn't affect reality or indicate what a person is like irl, but their behavior toward others is no longer fiction. Story wise you could argue it makes an interesting character to have these flaws and villainous traits, but it's another story entirely when people double down to insist their characters' actions are just and they go into detail to force it down people's throats - 99.99% of the time unprompted, when that character actively associates with people who have willingly and intentionally committed genocide and aims to do the same herself by finishing the job.

Which you'd think she wouldn't because... those same people wiped out all her siblings, but okay. Somehow the CoS is worse than them. I guess bc Agarthans are human at the end of the day, so no matter how inhumane and atrocious their actions are, they get a pass as long as there's a non-human in the vicinity. Racism typically goes hand in hand with genocide, so. Yeah.

It's not even just that though - it's how the arguments go that indicates if a person is just trying to defend their favorite. If they start brainlessly spewing harmful rhetoric at real people, and if what they say would actively defend real life issues, it's concerning. It's the manner in which they defend their favorite. If the way they argue is exactly how American-hard-rights defend themselves, it starts becoming uncomfortable for people and no longer applies to just fiction.

If what you argue sounds exactly what irl politics sounds like, that's a pretty powerful indicator of who you're dealing with. It doesn't matter if they are or claim to be American-left (specifying because Random said it's different in Europe!). If their arguing points shit on all the values American-lefts stand for, they are not, whether they like it or not, arguing for the left (which all stans claim to do, and then they start regurgitating American-right political stances, extremely often at the expense and discomfort of actual American-lefts. Might I remind you that one of them, a straight man, used abortion and gay marriage both being legally in jeoprady as a gotcha to argue for Edelgard).

It doesn't matter what you claim you're doing. If your arguments actually start reflecting things that can be real, you need to be careful about how you word it. Houses deals with a political atmosphere very heavily, which shouldn't have really been a problem... but it got too close to real life politics within the fandom and people's true colors started to show.

It should have been "I love Edelgard but damn some of what she does is fucked up" and not trying to vehemently defend every singular word she's ever said. As I've mentioned in my very lengthy "why the writing failed Edelgard", the writing is partly to blame for people being divided on her, but it's the fans' own faults if they can't draw a line between liking her character and supporting things in a way that makes it sound like you'd support them irl.

It's even worse that all that nonsense picked up really badly right around the time Ukraine got invaded and Putin was out there spewing nonsense. It became a sensitive issue to have people defending Edelgard invading other countries proudly with false claims/propaganda, because the arguments fell perfectly to a T in line with what Putin was doing.

Evidently that didn't matter to the people who never touch grass and waste their time and energy only thinking of defending Edelgard instead of just enjoying her character, but then, they don't really even enjoy her character; they just enjoy their made up version of her who fights for what they want her to fight for instead of realizing what she's actually doing. These people would be damn easy bait for irl politics and it shows. Dangerously.

So for anyone arguing about your fictional favorites, remember that context is important and how you treat the topic(s) at hand are just as important. I absolutely adore a villain just like Edelgard because of good writing, and there are points I can actually defend him (if you've been on this blog for more than like a week you prooOOOObably know who I'm referring to AT THIS POINT lmao). That doesn't mean I'm going to call invasion, racism, etc good and just for his better talking points to be achieved.

In my opinion Edelgard ended up poorly written because the writers wanted to be bias in the context of the story but couldn't properly justify the atrocities. I'll be honest, if this is how they handle (main) female villains, I'd rather just not have them. I'd rather go back to the days of Petrine and Hilda who were side villains and allowed to be as disgusting and horrendous as they wanted.

If writing a lead villain who is female won't work because they can't stop pushing their bias into the writing (don't even look at poor Petra, she got SKEWERED in CF and especially in SB) and it reflects poorly, I just don't want it. I know men at the writing table for some wild reason throughout the years have been unable to properly write females (which like, why. Just write human beings. But no, they seem to act like females are a different entity entirely), but if that's going to remain the case, I don't want them to write them in situations like these because they clearly can't handle it. They treat Edelgard as a trophy wife who has to be perfect for them and not as a complex, legitimate person.

Mind you, I also made a post before about how Edelgard is separated from other female villains by being drawn as "attractive". Ishtar gets treated much better than other female villains as well, with Heroes going as far as to outright shit on canon and give her an alt where she "joins the Liberation Army", which... the whole point of her character and her fighting in that war was that she was on the opposite side but wasn't a bad person. I could argue similar things for Burian, but that's more headcanon/literally based on just his death quote lmfao.

Point being, Ishtar is drawn to be attractive. Petrine and Hilda are not, and are outright villainous, terrible, not complex people at all (Hilda is a hypocrite, but she's not complex). Edelgard was drawn to be attractive, and was thus not treated like a villain proper. Unfortunately this got warped into the fandom we know now, but... like we both said, the way they argue for her is pretty telling and honestly pretty scary. Let's not forget that they've spewed death threats at people simply for not liking Edelgard.

No, that last sentence was not a joke nor an exaggeration. In a way it makes sense though, considering they defend genocide, racism, etc.

#DCB Ask #this is why I like to just discuss things with JUST people I know. we have differing opinions in our own circle! #in this fandom tho I have to already know I can debate this game safely and not have to deal with bullshit #I do like talking abt this game (Hopes too) and I do like being able to vent safely when I'm unhappy with certain story beats #talking about/venting about things isn't always looking for discussion but the stans do NOT understand that #and will come after you unwarranted simply for liking Dimtiri. I noticed some of them have been #recently basically going down the line of who follows who. they find other fans through who follows who #so even people like me who just stay in their corner and talk with their mutuals end up with #a stan coming at me bc they couldn't resist going onto my blog and looking at my posts #when my blog content is CLEARLY not aimed at them and they are NOT the target audience for it #and it also sucks that like... I don't rly engage in discourse but it finds some of my mutuals bc of who they follow #so I'm not totally away from seeing it but I'm on the sidelines/not rly involved #if a stan comes at me for no goddamn reason I reply and block and continue on with my day #but sadly having a discussion with mutuals or posting on your blog without tags still gets stans a-knockin' #anyway I have midnight Taco Bell and it's really fucking great #I am a night owl and tonight I am a happy night owl. I have consumed and am continuing to consume Taco Bell I am invincible right now

[kennedybaby]

TIPSY ~ LEON S. KENNEDY

Summary: Fucking a bartender in the back seat of his car was the last thing Leon had in mind after successfully retrieving Ashley back to safety.

Word count: 4.495k / Warning: Mild dubcon because Leon is tipsy. Anything is just pure filth.

Pairing: Post Re4 Remake! Leon S. Kennedy X Fem! Bartender! Reader.

Author note: got horny and accidentally vomit out 4k words of leon fucking you. sorry, it's just the girl tendencies in me. read the tags to know what to expect!!! 🤍

mature contents below the cut. mdni.

Leon needed some sort of a quick stress reliever.

His knuckles gradually turned white as he tightly gripped his steering wheel. His chin leaning on his other hand, the faint buzzing noise from the radio accompanied by his soft breathing was the only company he had. Leon had debated with himself, a part of him missed his bed like crazy, all he wanted to do was bury his body between the soft cushions and dozed off into a long, serene slumber. But a part of him itches for something. He needed a drink, anything to get that surge of dopamine in his body. Need the familiar bile taste to settle in his mouth as he chugs it down his throat, letting it burn his chest.

Leon Scott Kennedy needs some alcohol in his system. Desperately.

Running his gloved fingers thru his damp hair, Leon let out a soft chuckle upon seeing a bar from afar, almost as if his desperate plea was answered by God himself. Its neon sign flashing OPEN 24/7 in bright red LED lights, he could see a few drunkards already passing out on the sidewalk, holding onto their beer bottles before he parked his car around the corner. Putting his car keys in his pocket, Leon budged open the door of the bar, greeted by the sound of the bell atop the door chimes. The heavy scent of tobacco, hard liquor and sweat was evident as it clings to the air— not to mention the odour of sex grows stronger and pungent as he goes even deeper into the crowds to reach the counter.

Leon finds himself a seat on one of the stools, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips before the feeling of someone standing over him crept onto him. He lifted his face, sparing a small, tired smile at you as you returned with a polite one.

‘Cute,’ He thought.

“You look tired, want me to fix you up with something?” You raised your voice a little, making sure he can hear you amid the blasting music as you leaned closer to him, Leon got a slight whiff of your refreshing, floral perfume. It was pleasant, a stark contrast from the stench that the bar seemed to be festering with. You were pretty, clad in a black blouse with your sleeves rolled to your elbow, a beige apron wrapping around your waist as you pressed your hands on the counter with a bright smile on your face.

“Just a shot of Vodka, please,” Leon replied, his eyes remaining trained on your face. You give his request a firm nod, turning your back to Leon as he watches you step on a stool before reaching for the bottle of Vodka on the top shelf.

“Need some help there?” Leon teased, a soft chuckle emitted from him as you rolled your eyes teasingly. “Thanks, but no thanks.” You replied to him, getting off the stool before you turned to face him again.

Putting the shot glass in front of him before you pour the Vodka in, making sure not to overflow the shot glass. “Thank you, pretty girl.” He whispered, his voice dropping an octave lower before you flash him a grin, your cheeks heating up before you remain your composure.

“Anytime, handsome.”

Sure, you’ve been flirted by your customers before. Mostly by married older men who're too drunk to even form a proper sentence, easing you into coming back home with them and they’ll show you a great time. You wouldn’t be too phased with it, assuming it was just the liquor talking— but this? This was different.

Somehow hearing this attractive man you have never seen before calling you a pretty girl sent heat coursing up your cheeks. Maybe it’s his looks or his voice, or the fact that you hadn’t been able to fuck for weeks since you were too busy with bartending and college classes hence you being fairly sexually frustrated but you paid extra attention to him.

Not that he’s complaining, Leon’s not the type to turn a lady’s attention away from him.

“You’re new here?” You strike up a conversation with him which is something you would normally avoid to do so. Leon smirked at you, chugging down the Vodka shot in one go before he let out a sharp breath. His eyes met back to yours before he cocked his head to the side, “Yeah, just wanted to find somewhere to rest, past weeks have been crazy.” He replied, his eyes shifted to the empty shot. “I might be here for a while, mind keeping a tab for me?” Leon poured himself another shot, his finger grazing around the rim of the shot glass before looking up into your eyes.

“Aren’t you too young to be bartending?"

“What are you a cop or something?” You raised your eyebrow with a teasing smile on your lips, jotting down his tab before pushing it to the side. A chuckle left his lips before Leon speaks again, “Eh, kind of. So how old are you?"

“21. No breaking laws here, officer.” Slightly raising both of your hands in the air jokingly, Leon grinned at your antics, chugging his second shot of Vodka.

“No worries, pretty girl. But why here, though? Why work in a bar?”

“It pays me well plus I needed some quick cash. My dad isn’t too keen on giving me some money so here I am.” You said, pouring him his third shot of Vodka as he smiled at you.

“How come?”

“Let’s just say he's not the nicest.” You shrugged, watching as his adam apple's bobs every time he chugged the Vodka shot down his throat. His pale cheeks already began to redden up a little, adoring his porcelain skin with a pink tint. Leon extended his hand to you and you happily accepted it, giving him a firm handshake before you exchanged introductions with each other.

“Leon Kennedy. And you are?”

“[Y/N] [L/N].”

The two of you converse for hours, pouring him shot after shot and with every shot he takes, Leon would flirt with you. He’s still pretty sober despite the high intake of Vodka shots, he seems pretty calm in his seat— occasionally winking at you when you’re serving other customers and throwing cheesy pick-up lines between the conversation.

Leon can’t lie but finds himself attracted to you, ordering more and more drinks in hopes of keeping your attention on him. He loves the way you blushed at the slightest contact of his hands or the way you would look at him back with a twinge of desire circling behind those eyes of yours. Fuck, you’re too hot for him to be this tipsy.

Once in a while when you were talking, his eyes would shift down to your lips, cock straining against his pants as you licked your lips and looked up to him with that evident obliviousness plastered all over your pretty face to his impure thoughts.

“Your total is 200 dollars. Cash or card?” You smiled at him, handing him the tab you had for him with a card reader in your other hand. Leon ran his card swiftly on the card reader before he put them back into his wallet and stuffed them back into his pocket. Shifting your eyes to the clock, a hint of disappointment could be seen on your face before you quickly muster a small smile for Leon.

“It’s already twelve? Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Leon." Untying the beige apron around your waist, you placed it on the lower counter. Leon was quick to wrap his fingers around your wrist to stop you in your tracks.

“I can give you a ride back home if you want.”

You can definitely say this was a different type of a ride back home.

“Your lips taste so fucking sweet."

Straddling his hips with your thighs wrapped around his waist at the backseat, Leon has his arm around your waist. His other hand cupped the right side of your face, circling his thumb on your cheek as you intertwined your lips with him. His tongue goes past your slick lips as his hand guides your head to tilt a little to deepen the heated kiss. Leon breaks away from the kiss, leaning his head back on the car seat as you look at him with a dazed smile.

“Shit, this is insane.” He muttered, his fingers running thru his dirty blonde hair. “What’s so insane about this?” You softly replied, your lips finding their way back to him as he happily reciprocated, kissing you back with his tongue swirling with yours. His hand on your cheek moved to the back of your head, keeping your lips locked with his as you moaned into the kiss. Pulling away from the kiss for air, Leon strokes your hair as he runs his fingers thru your locks.

“Never really made out with a girl prior after knowing her for a couple of hours." Leon chuckled, his head slightly tilted as he looked back into your eyes with a half-lidded stare. He can feel the heat radiating from your cunt and God knows how much of the effect you had on him. “Well, I don’t usually accept a ride back home from a stranger but here we are.”

“It’s a first for the two of us then.” He grinned, a devilish smirk playing on his lips before his hand removed his hand from the back of your head. Unwrapping his arm around your waist, Leon moved both of his hands and settled them on your hips. His thumb makes a circular motion on the surface of your stomach as hummed with satisfaction. “You can do more than that, can you, officer?"

Right. You don't even know what he actually works as. That’s how little you two know of each other and yet his bodies and yours slotted perfectly like two pieces of puzzles. As if the two of you had known each other forever. Leon preferred the anonymity between the two of them.

“You’re going to make me lose control if you keep calling me that," Leon chuckled, the sound of his husky voice ringing in your ears. You noticed how your lipgloss was all over his lips, the beautiful pink sheen smeared on his lips down to his chin. “What should I call you then? Daddy?”

Leon let out a groan, his smile widening at the way your voice sounded when you rolled the word daddy off the tip of your tongue smoothly— you’re can’t be teasing him when he’s this horny and tipsy. He can't even think properly, too fixated on the positions he can put you in at the back seat of his car, clouding his mind with endless indecent imagination. He swallowed thickly, looking back at your eyes as you bit your lower lip back at him and flashed him a playful smile. “Say it again.”

“Daddy.” You breathed out, eyes shooting wide when his fingers brushed against your collarbone as he pried your blouse open, sending the buttons of your blouse to fly everywhere. Your body tensed up from the sudden action, his warm breath hitting against your skin as he kissed your collarbone and stopped between your chest. “Yeah, call me that.”

“Gladly.” Pulling away from your chest, he leaned in closer to your face, pulling your face into his as he smashed his lips on yours— engaging you into a messy, sloppy kiss. His tongue forcefully parted your pursed lips, exploring every corner of your mouth as you let out a pathetic whine when he pulled away. “God, you’re so needy. My needy little girl,” You can feel the ache between your thighs building up when he called you a little girl. Your cunt throbbed against the thin fabric of your cotton panties as he slipped his hand down your pencil skirt, his index finger teasing the pulsing little clit thru the fabric of your panties in a circular motion as he softly chuckled when you began to squirm in his grasp.

“You're already so wet. You’re excited for daddy to fuck you stupid?” He whispered into your ear, shooting shivers down your spine as you nodded at his question. “Let me hear your voice, pretty girl.” Leon landed a firm spank on your ass, sending your back straight as your fingers cling to his black T-Shirt. “I-I am excited...”

“There's my good girl. Open your mouth for me.” You obeyed him, parting your lips before he stuck the same index and middle finger he teased your clit earlier. “Get it nice and wet for your pussy, baby.” Leon smiled, occasionally letting out a grunt as the warmth of your mouth and your hot tongue wrapped around his digits.

All Leon could do is wish it was his cock you were sucking, taking every inch of his shaft down your throat. He wanted to see the outline of his cock on your throat, fucking your mouth while his balls slapped against your chin as he leaves you breathless. But for now, he’d settle with fingering your pretty pussy open.

“You’re so cute sucking my fingers like that,” He breathed out, pulling his fingers out from your mouth as it let out a small pop. “Thank you, daddy.” You shyly muttered, cheeks heating up upon feeling his cock twitching in his pants and grazing against your clothed sex.

“Spread your legs up a little for daddy, baby.” Your knees dug into the cushion of his car seat as you leaned your body on his front seat. His hands helped you roll your skirt up to your pelvis. Your fingers reach down to push your panties aside, spreading the lips apart as his breath hitches. Leon mumbled a curse, his pants getting tighter and tighter by each time as he salivates over the sight of your sopping cunt.

“All this pretty pussy just for me?” You nodded at his question in which he slipped back his hand between your thighs. Leon removed the gloves from his hands before throwing them to the front seat.

“S’all for you,” Your words were slurred from fixating on the ache between your legs so much. He grinned upon hearing your answer, inserting two digits past the tight muscles as your body shuddered in pleasure. His thumb makes its way to your clit, rubbing them at a slow pace and in a circular motion. Arching your body into his touch, Leon let out a chuckle— his other hand pushing your bra up your breast before the rough surface of his palm quickly fondled your tits.

“F-Fuck... Just like that...” You moaned out, throwing your head back from pure ecstasy as his hand massaged your tit while his fingers were pumping in and out of your pussy. Apart from the sound of your wanton moans, the squelches of your cunt sucking in his fingers and the low buzz coming from the radio filled the limited space of his car. “You like that? You like getting fingered by a stranger? God, I bet you did this to all of your customers, don’t you?”

You should’ve found that disrespectful, should’ve snapped back at him for thinking that way but somehow it made you wetter. His voice was soothing and had the right amount of hoarseness that you can’t help but get off from him shaming you. Either way, you shook your head in the heat of your bliss, looking back at him with misty eyes. “No, just you, Leon... You’re the only one that I-I let you do this...”

“Good. That's what I wanted to hear from you.” He smiled before he picked up the pace of his fingers, rubbing your clit in a rougher and sloppier manner. Lips parting slightly, you gasped for air, seemingly taken aback by the sudden change of pace as your nails dug deep into his shoulder blades, gripping him tightly with the familiar knot in your lower stomach threatened to break. He loves the feeling of your spongy walls wrapped around his digits, pulsing and sucking his fingers deeper and deeper until his fingers brushed against your sweet spot.

“Oh, you love that, don’t you? Filthy whore.” The name-calling made your pussy clings onto his digits tighter as a sly smirk painted all over his lips. “Such a slut for getting off to me calling you a filthy whore, huh?” You weakly nodded, feeling yourself nearer to your limit as a whine left your lips when his fingers were pumping deep inside of you, abusing your sweet spot to its limits. Your teeth bite back your lower lip when he spits on your clit, smearing his saliva all over the bundle of nerves with his thumb.

“You’re so fucking hot, I can’t wait to have you crying on my cock.” He said in a whisper, making sure you heard him despite the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling at the moment. “L-Leon, I'm... Fuck!... C-Cummin’” You cried, not caring if anyone that walked past his car would notice how your bare body is played by Leon like a piece of instrument. God, being seen nude by people now was the least concern you had, the only thing you could think about now is finishing on his fingers.

But what’s the fun in letting his little girl have everything her way?

“No, no, I’m not letting you cum, yet.” Leon pulled out his fingers out of your sensitive cunt, wrapping his tongue around his digits as he cleaned your juices off his pruney fingers. You pouted at his words, a frustrated sigh left your lips as you leaned your head on the window. “Why not?” You asked with your eyebrows furrowed into a small frown, it was clear you weren’t happy with him suddenly edging you. His eyes on you softened before he wrapped his arms around your body, his lips pressed on your bruised lips before he gave it a little lick.

“You don’t want to cum all over daddy’s dick?” Leon asked, once again, his thumb rubbing the bone of your hip in a circular motion. His eyes looked back at yours as he put his finger under your chin, lifting your face up to make you look up at him.

“It's going to feel nicer, princess. Don't you want that?”

He was right. God, why does he always know what to say to you? He arranged words in a way that weakened your knees and sent the same aching mess rushing back between your legs.

“I do, I do want it...” You weakly replied to him. Leon doesn't think you know how pretty you are now, looking up at him with those dew eyes, the clear desperation painted across your face and the way you already began to rub your thighs together. Getting you off his lap, he opened the right door of his car. You couldn’t help but stared at his erection, straining against his black jeans as Leon unbuckled his brown, leather belt. “Come here, princess.” He gestured for you to be closer as you listened to him, inching closer to him as the cold air from the outside hits your skin. His hand reached down to tease your hardened nipples, letting a glob of his spit fall down to your chest as he lathered your nipples with his saliva and pre cum using the tip of his cock.

“It's cold, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’d heat you up just in a sec. Ass up, face down, pretty girl.” You nodded, turning your back to him before bringing your hips higher as the leather of his car seat sticks to the sweat on your face. His cold fingers removed your panties, letting them hang just above your knees as his eyes stared at your dripping cunt with hungry eyes. A small gasp emits out of you when he tapped his cock on your slit several times, teasing your swollen clit with the head of his dick as you bite your lips back.

“Keep quiet, okay? I need you to take every inch of me like a good girl. Just let me know if it hurts.” A grunt left his lips when he pushed the tip past your lips, his other hand holding onto the doorframe of his car while the other settled around your waist. Leon wanted nothing but to push his cock and filled every corner of your tight cunt but he controlled himself from doing so. After all, the last thing he wanted to do is to hurt you after how sweet you are for him this whole night. “The head’s in... I’m going to start pushing more and more, okay?”

“O-Okay...” You whine, breathing heavily as your chest heaves up and down in an erratic pattern.

“Fuck, [Y/N], you need to stop sounding like that before...” Leon cut himself short, by now he was already halfway in you, the feeling of your velvet walls throbbing around his cock made his mouth dry before a shaky breath left his lips. A low whimper guttered out of his throat as you trembled under him, allowing him to bury his cock deeper and deeper into your pussy until your ass met his pelvis. “Feel that, princess?”

You moaned out a high-pitched yes to his question, throwing a glance at him over your shoulder as you looked at him through blurry vision. Salty tears clinging to your lashes with your bruised lips parted slightly, your eyes looking back at him with nothing but sheer desire. Leon spared you a smirk, pushing back his hair from his face before his hand landed yet another spank on your ass— seemingly turned on by the way you yelped and squeezed around him.

“Keep your eyes on me while I fucked you like the filthy whore you are.”

Leon begins to rock his hips at a slow pace, making sure you’re still adjusting to his size, his eyes shifting back and forth from your face to the way your cunt wraps snugly around his cock. Leaning closer to you until his chest pressed against your back, Leon planted a kiss on your earlobe. “You’re making me drunk from how good your pussy is, baby.” He said, kissing down the nape of your neck before he stood up back straight and began to move his hips faster.

This might just be the relief Leon needed after all of the fighting he had to endure.

“Hey, no looking away.” Every so often, he’d spanked you for not looking him in the eyes. He needs to see every contortion of expression on your face while you locked eyes with him. Leon knows you struggled to keep your eyes open, losing yourself in the pleasure as his throbbing cock goes in and out of you at a steady pace. And Leon loves it. He loves making sure your eyes are still on him, whether by spanking your already sore rear or suddenly thrusting deep inside of you to hear the small little scream you make when you’re surprised.

“Sorry, daddy.” And every time he does that, you never fail to apologize to him between your choked sobs and broken moans. It was endearing to watch, seeing you try your best to not disappoint him while he’s fucking your pussy raw in the back seat of his car. The shape of his fingers is already bruising into the skin of your flesh, the mixture of both pain and pleasure sending you over the edge as you curl your toes every time the tip of his cock grazes against your cervix. The prominent vein on the side of his cock rubbed against your walls with every thrust, fishing muffled moans out of you.

“Touch your clit for me, baby.” You’re so pathetic like this, being fucked in the backseat of a guy you just knew a few hours ago. But you knew what would happen the second you agreed to a ride back home from him. Not that you regretted it, being dicked down by Leon has been nothing but heaven for you. Obeying to his order, your hand travelled down between your thighs, putting your index finger on your swollen clit before easing it in a circular motion. “Good girl.” He growled, picking up the pace of his thrusts before he stopped in his tracks. Sweat hanging at the tip of his hair as he looked down to the ground, the pleasure was too much for him.

He can just cum any second now if he moves. Taking notice of his sudden pause, you grind your cunt into his dick, pushing him back into the warmth of your pussy as his eyes shoot wide. “F-Fuck, baby, you can’t…” He stuttered, the feeling of your tight cunt pulsing around his cock and the way your ass bouncing on him was too much for him to handled. Gritting his teeth, Leon pushed your head back down onto the leather seat, his other hand keeping a firm grip around your hips as he started to snap his hips at a rougher pace.

“Fucking slut, can’t even give daddy a rest.” He cursed under his breath, his cock ramming into your pussy deeper as if he were moulding the shape of his dick into your sweet cunt. Every last of self-control left his body the second you started bouncing on his cock. Leon couldn’t care less at the fact that you had already cummed on his cock once or how he rendered you into nothing but a crying mess— all he cared about is the high he was chasing.

Leon needed that sweet release. He needed to cum deep inside of your pussy despite having no rubber on. “I'm going to cum inside, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck….” You probably can’t hear it but Leon finds it adorable how you’re nodding your head to whatever he said. Throwing his head in pure bliss, Leon finally comes undone inside of you, shooting sticky webs of his seed deep into your cunt before he stays inside of you for a couple of minutes as he catches his breath. His cum overflows out from your pussy the seconds he pulls out, dripping down between your thighs and dirtying his leather seat with his cum and your juices.

“You're so pretty like this, [Y/N].” He groaned, putting his pants back up. Leon fished out his cell phone from his pocket, pressing the camera icon as he started recording.

“You’re recording…?” You asked, instinctively hiding your face from the camera as he laughed. “Yeah, I wouldn't want to forget a moment like this.” Leon calmly said, his fingers running between the lips as he scooped up his cum and started writing his initials on your lower back. He dragged the white, translucent liquid as he formed the L. S. K. alphabets on your skin.

“Perfect.”

p.s send me any thirsts (dc are welcomed) abt leon pls or carlos or any cod members. thank u ♡ english isn't my first language so if any of the sentences sound weird, just ignore it!!!!! anyway, thank u 4 readin’ this messy pornfic lol

#tw. dubcon #tw. recording #tw. drinking #tw. daddy kink #tw. namecalling #tw. age gap #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #resident evil 4 x reader #resident evil 4 smut #resident evil smut #leon s. kennedy x female reader #leon s. kennedy smut #leon s. kennedy #leon s. kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy fic #resident evil fic #leon kennedy fanfic #he's switches between being mean and sweet #hope this isnt too ooc for him lol #my first fic on this hellhole app #tw. exhibitionism

[breelandwalker]

JSTOR Articles on the History of Witchcraft, Witch Trials, and Folk Magic Beliefs

This is a partial of of articles on these subjects that can be found in the JSTOR archives. This is not exhaustive - this is just the portion I've saved for my own studies (I've read and referenced about a third of them so far) and I encourage readers and researchers to do their own digging. I recommend the articles by Ronald Hutton, Owen Davies, Mary Beth Norton, Malcolm Gaskill, Michael D. Bailey, and Willem de Blecourt as a place to start.

If you don't have personal access to JSTOR, you may be able to access the archive through your local library, university, museum, or historical society.

Full text list of titles below the cut:

'Hatcht up in Villanie and Witchcraft': Historical, Fiction, and Fantastical Recuperations of the Witch Child, by Chloe Buckley

'I Would Have Eaten You Too': Werewolf Legends in the Flemish, Dutch and German Area, by Willem de Blecourt

'The Divels Special Instruments': Women and Witchcraft before the Great Witch-hunt, by Karen Jones and Michael Zell

'The Root is Hidden and the Material Uncertain': The Challenges of Prosecuting Witchcraft in Early Modern Venice, by Jonathan Seitz

'Your Wife Will Be Your Biggest Accuser': Reinforcing Codes of Manhood at New England Witch Trials, by Richard Godbeer

A Family Matter: The CAse of a Witch Family in an 18th-Century Volhynian Town, by Kateryna Dysa

A Note on the Survival of Popular Christian Magic, by Peter Rushton

A Note on the Witch-Familiar in Seventeenth Century England, by F.H. Amphlett Micklewright

African Ideas of Witchcraft, by E.G. Parrinder

Aprodisiacs, Charms, and Philtres, by Eleanor Long

Charmers and Charming in England and Wales from the Eighteenth to the Twentieth Century, by Owen Davies

Charming Witches: The 'Old Religion' and the Pendle Trial, by Diane Purkiss

Demonology and Medicine in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, by Sona Rosa Burstein

Denver Tries A Witch, by Margaret M. Oyler

Devil's Stones and Midnight Rites: Megaliths, Folklore, and Contemporary Pagan Witchcraft, by Ethan Doyle White

Edmund Jones and the Pwcca'r Trwyn, by Adam N. Coward

Essex County Witchcraft, by Mary Beth Norton

From Sorcery to Witchcraft: Clerical Conceptions of Magic in the Later Middle Ages, by Michael D. Bailey

German Witchcraft, by C. Grant Loomis

Getting of Elves: Healing, Witchcraft and Fairies in the Scottish Witchcraft Trials, by Alaric Hall

Ghost and Witch in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, by Gillian Bennett

Ghosts in Mirrors: Reflections of the Self, by Elizabeth Tucker

Healing Charms in Use in England and Wales 1700-1950, by Owen Davies

How Pagan Were Medieval English Peasants?, by Ronald Hutton

Invisible Men: The Historian and the Male Witch, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Johannes Junius: Bamberg's Famous Male Witch, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Knots and Knot Lore, by Cyrus L. Day

Learned Credulity in Gianfrancesco Pico's Strix, by Walter Stephens

Literally Unthinkable: Demonological Descriptions of Male Witches, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Magical Beliefs and Practices in Old Bulgaria, by Louis Petroff

Maleficent Witchcraft in Britian since 1900, by Thomas Waters

Masculinity and Male Witches in Old and New England, 1593-1680, by E.J. Kent

Methodism, the Clergy, and the Popular Belief in Witchcraft and Magic, by Owen Davies

Modern Pagan Festivals: A Study in the Nature of Tradition, by Ronald Hutton

Monstrous Theories: Werewolves and the Abuse of History, by Willem de Blecourt

Neapolitan Witchcraft, by J.B. Andrews and James G. Frazer

New England's Other Witch-Hunt: The Hartford Witch-Hunt of the 1660s and Changing Patterns in Witchcraft Prosecution, by Walter Woodward

Newspapers and the Popular Belief in Witchcraft and Magic in the Modern Period, by Owen Davies

Occult Influence, Free Will, and Medical Authority in the Old Bailey, circa 1860-1910, by Karl Bell

Paganism and Polemic: The Debate over the Origins of Modern Pagan Witchcraft, by Ronald Hutton

Plants, Livestock Losses and Witchcraft Accusations in Tudor and Stuart England, by Sally Hickey

Polychronican: Witchcraft History and Children, interpreting England's Biggest Witch Trial, 1612, by Robert Poole

Publishing for the Masses: Early Modern English Witchcraft Pamphlets, by Carla Suhr

Rethinking with Demons: The Campaign against Superstition in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe from a Cognitive Perspective, by Andrew Keitt

Seasonal Festivity in Late Medieval England, Some Further Reflections, by Ronald Hutton

Secondary Targets: Male Witches on Trial, by Lara Apps and Andrew Gow

Some Notes on Modern Somerset Witch-Lore, by R.L. Tongue

Some Notes on the History and Practice of Witchcraft in the Eastern Counties, by L.F. Newman

Some Seventeenth-Century Books of Magic, by K.M. Briggs

Stones and Spirits, by Jane P. Davidson and Christopher John Duffin

Superstitions, Magic, and Witchcraft, by Jeffrey R. Watt

The 1850s Prosecution of Gerasim Fedotov for Witchcraft, by Christine D. Worobec

The Catholic Salem: How the Devil Destroyed a Saint's Parish (Mattaincourt, 1627-31), by William Monter

The Celtic Tarot and the Secret Tradition: A Study in Modern Legend Making, by Juliette Wood

The Cult of Seely Wights in Scotland, by Julian Goodare

The Decline of Magic: Challenge and Response in Early Enlightenment England, by Michael Hunter

The Devil-Worshippers at the Prom: Rumor-Panic as Therapeutic Magic, by Bill Ellis

The Devil's Pact: Diabolic Writing and Oral Tradition, by Kimberly Ball

The Discovery of Witches: Matthew Hopkins' Defense of his Witch-hunting Methods, by Sheilagh Ilona O'Brien

The Disenchantment of Magic: Spells, Charms, and Superstition in Early European Witchcraft Literature, by Michael D. Bailey

The Epistemology of Sexual Trauma in Witches' Sabbaths, Satanic Ritual Abuse, and Alien Abduction Narratives, by Joseph Laycock

The European Witchcraft Debate and the Dutch Variant, by Marijke Gijswijt-Hofstra

The Flying Phallus and the Laughing Inquisitor: Penis Theft in the Malleus Maleficarum, by Moira Smith

The Framework for Scottish Witch-Hunting for the 1590s, by Julian Goodare

The Imposture of Witchcraft, by Rossell Hope Robbins

The Last Witch of England, by J.B. Kingsbury

The Late Lancashire Witches: The Girls Next Door, by Meg Pearson

The Malefic Unconscious: Gender, Genre, and History in Early Antebellum Witchcraft Narratives, by Lisa M. Vetere

The Mingling of Fairy and Witch Beliefs in Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Scotland, by J.A. MacCulloch

The Nightmare Experience, Sleep Paralysis, and Witchcraft Accusations, by Owen Davies

The Pursuit of Reality: Recent Research into the History of Witchcraft, by Malcolm Gaskill

The Reception of Reginald Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft: Witchcraft, Magic, and Radical Religions, by S.F. Davies

The Role of Gender in Accusations of Witchcraft: The Case of Eastern Slovenia, by Mirjam Mencej

The Scottish Witchcraft Act, by Julian Goodare

The Werewolves of Livonia: Lycanthropy and Shape-Changing in Scholarly Texts, 1550-1720, by Stefan Donecker

The Wild Hunter and the Witches' Sabbath, by Ronald Hutton

The Winter Goddess: Percht, Holda, and Related Figures, by Lotta Motz

The Witch's Familiar and the Fairy in Early Modern England and Scotland, by Emma Wilby

The Witches of Canewdon, by Eric Maple

The Witches of Dengie, by Eric Maple

The Witches' Flying and the Spanish Inquisitors, or How to Explain Away the Impossible, by Gustav Henningsen

To Accommodate the Earthly Kingdom to Divine Will: Official and Nonconformist Definitions of Witchcraft in England, by Agustin Mendez

Unwitching: The Social and Magical Practice in Traditional European Communities, by Mirjam Mencej

Urbanization and the Decline of Witchcraft: An Examination of London, by Owen Davies

Weather, Prayer, and Magical Jugs, by Ralph Merrifield

Witchcraft and Evidence in Early Modern England, by Malcolm Gaskill

Witchcraft and Magic in the Elizabethan Drama by H.W. Herrington

Witchcraft and Magic in the Rochford Hundred, by Eric Maple

Witchcraft and Old Women in Early Modern Germany, by Alison Rowlands

Witchcraft and Sexual Knowledge in Early Modern England, by Julia M. Garrett

Witchcraft and Silence in Guillaume Cazaux's 'The Mass of Saint Secaire', by William G. Pooley

Witchcraft and the Early Modern Imagination, by Robin Briggs

Witchcraft and the Western Imagination by Lyndal Roper

Witchcraft Belief and Trals in Early Modern Ireland, by Andrew Sneddon

Witchcraft Deaths, by Mimi Clar

Witchcraft Fears and Psychosocial Factors in Disease, by Edward Bever

Witchcraft for Sale, by T.M. Pearce

Witchcraft in Denmark, by Gustav Henningsen

Witchcraft in Germany, by Taras Lukach

Witchcraft in Kilkenny, by T. Crofton Croker

Witchcraft in Anglo-American Colonies, by Mary Beth Norton

Witchcraft in the Central Balkans I: Characteristics of Witches, by T.P. Vukanovic

Witchcraft in the Central Balkans II: Protection Against Witches, by T.P. Vukanovic

Witchcraft Justice and Human Rights in Africa, Cases from Malawi, by Adam Ashforth

Witchcraft Magic and Spirits on the Border of Pennsylvania and West Virginia, by S.P. Bayard

Witchcraft Persecutions in the Post-Craze Era: The Case of Ann Izzard of Great Paxton, 1808, by Stephen A. Mitchell

Witchcraft Prosecutions and the Decline of Magic, by Edward Bever

Witchcraft, by Ray B. Browne

Witchcraft, Poison, Law, and Atlantic Slavery, by Diana Paton

Witchcraft, Politics, and Memory in Seventeeth-Century England, by Malcolm Gaskill

Witchcraft, Spirit Possession and Heresy, by Lucy Mair

Witchcraft, Women's Honour and Customary Law in Early Modern Wales, by Sally Parkin

Witches and Witchbusters, by Jacqueline Simpson

Witches, Cunning Folk, and Competition in Denmark, by Timothy R. Tangherlini

Witches' Herbs on Trial, by Michael Ostling

#witchcraft #witchblr #history #history of witchcraft #occult #witch trials #research #recommended reading #book recs #jstor

[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness 6

Find the series masterlist

You may have noticed this is now chapter 6 of 9! There are 8 official chapters and then there will be one bonus chapter with the 141 pack and Logan interacting.

This chapter, you have a very hard time. But not everything is bad.

Warnings: Swearing, attachment issues, John Price is his own warning, more world building and shifter behavior, pack cuddles definitely need their own warning. Discussion of reader's past and issues. Bodily throwing reader into a cold pond.

John Price x f!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Something shifted after that movie night. Suddenly, Price was everywhere - checking up on you, watching you while he worked with rookies, ensuring you ate. 

And as much as Logan liked to tease you that you were wilfully blind, you knew what this kind of behavior meant, especially coming from him. 

He was treating you as pack. 

You weren’t sure what surprised you more - the treatment, or the lack of protest from Logan. Logan did watch Price any time they were in the same room, but he was being oddly calm about everything. 

Which just meant you were mentally braced for something to blow up. 

But you finally got the make-up class for the last group of soldiers scheduled. You ignored the fact that Logan followed you to class, taking a seat back behind you. 

That class went off without a hitch, which… was good. It was. It was a good thing.

Even if the continued good behavior of the soldiers meant you were that much closer to being done with your job here. Really, there were just a few things left on your to-do list.

You tried hard not to feel disappointed about that.

Especially when the order from LoveSac arrived. That was a big item off your list. You mostly watched as the pack (plus Logan) got the pieces set up in the rec room, although you did smile when Soap threw himself onto the finished product with a low groan. 

“Ye were right,” he mumbled, just barely audible to you. “This is great.”

You laughed quietly. “I’m glad you approve.” But the pang of your heart must not have been as concealed as you’d hoped - three heads swiveled to look at you: Ghost, Price, and Logan. “You lot should get comfortable, make it feel more like home,” you said, quickly looking away from the shifters. “Soap’s got the right idea, take a nap.” 

Your phone ringing gave you the perfect excuse to escape, which you took. Your feet moved on autopilot as you listened to the woman on the other end of the call, making the appropriate noises at the appropriate times. 

You weren’t even surprised when you found yourself outside. It was just that kind of day, clearly. It couldn’t just be one thing, it had to be multiple things at once. You thanked the woman softly and hung up. 

Briefly, you debated climbing up onto the roof of the barracks again. But you dismissed the thought. Not this time. You needed to actually start tackling this problem. 

“Bad news?”

You yelped, fumbling your phone as you whirled to face Price. “I swear I’m going to put a fucking bell on you.” 

“Sorry.” This time he actually sounded like he meant it, hands out at his sides, eyes very blue before you yanked your gaze back down to your phone. 

“It’s fine.” You blew out a breath, leaning over to grab your phone and wipe it off, avoiding looking at him. 

“What happened?” He shifted closer, slowly, carefully. 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You shrugged off his concern with a little smile. “Don’t worry about it.” 

He chuckled quietly, taking another step closer to you. “I’m the alpha,” he rumbled, “which means it’s my job to worry.”

You huffed something almost a laugh. “I suppose so.” You rubbed one hand over your face, pressing your thumb and forefinger into your eyes until stars burst in the darkness under your eyelids. “Apparently, there was a fire in my apartment complex and the whole thing is closed off pending investigation. There was some damage to my apartment, but I have no idea how much.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Price murmured, low and gentle and closer than you expected. “Do you need to go?”

“No, won’t do me any good.” You let your hand drop back to your side, blinking a few times to get rid of the last few spots in your vision. “Besides, I’m almost done here.”

“That so?” He tipped his head at you.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “The LoveSac was the last big thing. Just need to do another day or two of observing everyone, and then I can sign off on everything.” 

“So you’re a day or two away from being done with this job.” He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. 

“Yes.”

“Stay here.”

You blinked up at him, sure you’d misheard him. “...What?” 

“Stay here,” he offered again, watching you closely. “For as long as you want.”

“But I’m not military,” was the first thing out of your mouth. You were still a little bit in shock.

“I’ll take care of that.” One big hand settled over the back of your neck, warm and soothing. “Think about it, hm? All you have to do is tell me yes or no.” 

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, a little bewildered still. “I will… let you know.” 

He nodded, squeezing gently. You could have melted. Your eyes fluttered closed and you had to force them back open again, holding steady against him. “Call me John.” 

You blinked, eyes blowing wide. “Okay. John.” 

“Come back inside,” he suggested, ever so gently tugging you forward. “Join the boys. Relax a bit, eh?” 

You thought about resisting, about writing up the report that you really should be working on, about the half-dozen other little things you could do. Thought about the big things that needed doing too, like finding a new apartment.

And then you gave in with a sigh. “Yeah, alright,” you agreed, allowing the comforting warmth of his hand at the nape of your neck to guide you forward. “For a little while.” 

Price - John - didn’t relinquish his grip on you until you were back in the rec room. Logan was gone, but you didn’t have time to ask where he’d gone, because Soap got up from the LoveSac to grab you from John. 

“Ye alright?” he asked, tucking you under his arm easily as he guided you to the napping spot. 

“Getting there.” You shrugged, unwilling to go into things again. You were busy shoving your feelings down. 

Soap nodded, searching your expression, before he grinned. “Hey, LT. Incoming.” 

You had approximately a second to think oh shit before Soap tumbled you over the back of the couch, somehow avoiding Gaz. 

And landing you right in front of the cheetah.

Ghost simply blinked at you languidly, nose twitching as he sniffed you. You blinked back at him, holding very still. Not that you really thought he’d do anything to hurt you, but still. 

You did startle when he laid half-across you, purring. Oh. Oh that was really kind of nice, actually. The purring was soothing, and the weight of him was nice (since he wasn’t fully laying on you), and it was all too easy to go lax. 

“Ye never purr like that at me,” Soap grumbled, pout clear in his voice. 

“Hush.” That was John, soft but still in charge. 

There was a little grumble and then Soap flopped over around you, his head near yours and his body curled to fit into the free space around you. Which you noticed when you opened one eye to look at him, curious. 

“Alpha-mandated nap time,” Soap murmured with faux-gravitas, eyes twinkling. “Ghost reinforced.”

You snorted and closed your eye again. “Guess so,” you agreed softly. You felt the couch dip near your feet and someone tugged your shoes off. But you didn’t bother checking this time. Didn’t matter if it was Gaz or John - either way you were safe and warm, and still had a purring cheetah laying on you. 

Really, there was nothing for you to do but relax, soothed to sleep by the gentle rumbling. 

You had no idea how long you slept, but you woke to gentle nudging, and blinked blearily. You were still surrounded by warmth, although Ghost was no longer laying on you. 

“Time to get up,” John murmured, low and rumbling. 

You wrinkled your nose, sitting up slowly. “Time ‘s it?” 

“Almost dinner time.” John gave you a bit of space, watching as you cracked your neck and blinked several times. 

“Right.” You puffed out a breath. Ghost blinked at you from his spot on top of Soap, ears flicking towards you. “If you ever want an alternate career, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever fallen asleep,” you joked. 

Ghost snorted at you, one paw batting at you, slowly, playfully. He was even being careful of his claws. Aw, he did like you! 

John offered you a hand up to get off the couch, which you accepted. Gaz handed over your shoes, and you left with the two of them, giving Soap and Ghost time. 

Somehow, you were still surprised when the two shifters coordinated to seat you between them. 

At some point, you were going to have a massive freak out about this. You could tell. 

But not today.

You did beg off after dinner, though, going to take a shower and do a bit of actual work. That report wasn’t going to write itself.

Not that you were using work as an excuse not to think about what you wanted. Of course not. You’d never. 

But when your vision blurred and the words ran together on the screen, you finally gave up, pressing your palms against your eyes. 

Maybe you should take a vacation. Maybe you should finish up here and go back to Canada with Logan for a little while. Get some space to clear your head, examine everything objectively. Take some space to decide if this was really a good idea. Logan would let you stay with him, he always did. 

Plus that would give you a chance to get your living situation figured out, since your current apartment was no longer viable. 

You groaned softly, pushing your palms harder into your face. No. No more thinking about this tonight. You needed sleep, not an anxiety spiral. 

Even so, it took you a while to fall asleep, schedule knocked out of whack from the nap earlier and your own stress.

So of course someone pounding on your door far too early in the morning had you jolting out of bed, bleary-eyed, head pounding angrily with the lack of sleep. You yanked the door open, teeth bared, ready to rip a new hole into whoever woke you up.

Only to be rudely pushed past as Logan made his way into your room, uninvited. 

“Get dressed,” he ordered, giving you a quick once over. “We’re going out.”

“Where?” The word was still grouchy but you were already closing the door, aware this was not an argument you would win. 

“Outside.” 

You flashed your teeth at him, thoroughly unimpressed, but got dressed anyway. 

Logan didn’t speak again until the two of you were outside, starting a patrol of the perimeter. It was completely unnecessary, considering this was an active base, but clearly Logan needed it. 

“Are you staying?”

You nearly stopped out of surprise, blinking at him. “What?” 

Logan shot you a look that said all kinds of derogatory things about your intelligence. “He offered you a place here. Are you going to stay?” 

“I don’t–” You sighed, short and sharp. “I haven’t decided.” 

“You’re being stubborn.”

“It’s more complicated than that and you know it.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Is it?” Logan shook his head, steering you along. “You like them. You trust them. You’ve been given an offer to stay.”

“I still have things back home to take care of,” you shot back. “It would make doing my job more difficult. They’re gone I don’t even know how much.” 

“People make it work all the time.” Logan shrugged. “If you want it, you’ll make it work. If you don’t, let ‘em down easy and come back with me.” 

“I was thinking of taking a bit of time off to think about it.”

“Nope.” Logan snorted, shaking his head. “You’ll use the space to procrastinate on making an actual decision and run away.”

You narrowed your eyes at Logan. “Rude,” you growled. But he wasn’t exactly wrong, was the thing. 

"So. Do you want it?" Logan stopped the two of you beside a pond, looking out over the water. He at least gave you a bit of space by not looking at you. 

You blew out a hard breath. Did you want it? Yes. But you didn't know if it was the right call, if it was a good call. You could probably think of a thousand reasons why you shouldn't. 

A hand in your pocket jerked you out of your musings, and you had just enough time to look at Logan in outrage before he shoved you. Hard. 

You shrieked as you fell. Straight into the pond. Cold water enveloped you, briefly filling your mouth until you touched the bottom and failed your way back up to the surface. And spat out the water. 

"FUCK!" You whipped your head around to glare at Logan, dripping and cold. "LOGAN!" 

“It’s a simple yes or no question, kid.” Logan stood above you, your phone safely in his hands.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You started up the bank and out of the pond… only to halt when Logan got in your way.

“No snowbanks here,” he drawled. “You gonna answer the question?” 

“No, I don’t think I will.” You stepped to the side, intending to go around him.

And ended up falling straight back into the water. 

This time, Logan started talking while you were wiping the water from your eyes, ignoring the chill seeping through your skin. 

“They’re not like your foster parents, kid. You know that.”

You froze half-way through trying to climb out. Shouted words and slamming doors echoed in your head, and for a moment you felt very small. Then you shook yourself, lips twisting in a grimace. “I know that,” you spat. “Also, which fucking foster parents?”

“All of them.” Logan tucked your phone in his pocket so he could cross his arms over his chest. “They’re not gonna get sick of you and give up on you, kid.”

Your heart ached at that. The water was looking very tempting again, suddenly. You could just walk away from this absolute train wreck of a conversation. 

“What are you doing?” You looked at Logan, hands clenched into fists to hide the trembling. 

“Knocking you outta your own stubborn head.” Logan kept his gaze steady on you. “I can do this all day, kid.”

And he could. You knew because you’d tested him only once as a teen. 

Guess you were having a conversation about your traumas this morning. 

“You know I’m no good at this.”

“No shit.” Logan snorted. “You never have been.”

You glowered at him. “This kind of shit doesn’t just go away because you keep throwing me in the pond.”

“Nope. Gotta work at it.” Logan finally glanced away from you, smirking. “Figured you’d have some help with that.”

You turned slowly, a horrible sinking feeling in your gut. 

And locked eyes with John.

#born for greatness #john price x reader #john price x you #shifter au #f!reader

[traveler-at-heart]

What we were

Summary: After losing Clint, your marriage and family begins to fall apart. Will Natasha be able to go back to what you once were?

A/N: This is going to be four chapters, but most of it is written. It’s a mix of angst, hurt and comfort. Obvious warning, there’s a major character death. Natasha and R have a daughter.

Time was unforgiving.

It had been six months since you lost Clint. Two since you asked Natasha to move out.

Four hours of sleep was the most you could get each night. 

Time heals everything, people say.

Then, how come, the more time passed, the worse you felt?

Thoughts like these invade your mind, even when doing the most mundane of tasks. Like now, when you’re waiting for your daughter’s school day to be over. Leaning over your black Mercedes, you wish that your injured leg could be less of a bother and instead of driving, you could walk to pick up Anya and get distracted by the sights of the city.

The school bell rings and the quiet classrooms are full of murmurs, books stored away and steps walking -some rushing eagerly- to the exit.

Impossible to miss, Anya’s red waves are the first thing you spot. Raising a hand, she says goodbye to her friends and walks your way. 

“Hi, darling” you sigh against her head. 

She’s getting taller and maybe next year she won’t let you hug her. Maybe she’ll even want to take the bus while you anxiously wait for her return home. But now, she’s still a sweet child and she still lets you run your hands through her hair. 

“How was Debate Club?” it’s the first thing you ask, because she’d been preparing relentlessly to beat the other team. 

“We won, obviously”

“We should celebrate” a voice joins the conversation. You’re so startled that you drop the car keys.

“Mom!” Anya says, wrapping her arms around Natasha.

It makes you happy that she’s not resentful even after everything that happened. That she can love so unconditionally.

She didn’t get that from you.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt” Natasha apologizes, finally looking at you. There’s a weak smile on your face, what else can you do? “I was thinking we could go shopping for that new game you wanted?”

“Can we please, Momma?” Anya turns to you.

“Sure. Have fun. But don’t spoil your appetite. We’re having lasagna” 

“Mom, our favorite” Anya nudges the Russian and you look away.

“I’ll have her home by 6” Natasha saves you the embarrassment of being forced to invite her.

“Have fun” you wave goodbye, heart beating fast.

Breaking the speed limit, you rush home. But the tears start running long before you’re parked.

You look at your sad reflection in the rearview mirror.

Natasha looks better than the last time you saw each other.

Maybe all she needed was to be away from you, to be happy again.

--

Two glasses of wine later, you’re curled up on the sofa watching your favorite comfort show and feeling better. 

“What’s up, Buck?” you answer at the second ring of your phone. 

“Are you ok?”

You look at the half empty glass of wine and decide that no, you’re most definitely not ok.

“Sure, why you ask?”

“I just saw her driving with Anya” 

“Mhm” you look at the clock. 5:55 PM. She’s trying to be a responsible parent, at least. “Yeah, she showed up at school today. It’s good that they spent time together”

“Want me to come over?”

“No, I don’t want you two fighting in my front yard. Thanks, though”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow, ok? And if you feel like it, we can go to that Broadway show on Saturday. I got us tickets”

“Thanks, Buck” 

“Ok, she’s parking outside now”

“You followed them all the way here?” you jump out of the couch, looking out the window.

“What? I was worried!” 

“Sometimes I think it’s not so great that you live a few blocks away, you weirdo”

“But then I bring coffee and scones and you change your mind” 

“Yeap”

“See ya, doll”

“Bye, creep”

“Oh, come on!”

You let out a laugh at his protest. Wanda and Yelena have been texting you, so you scroll, smiling at the silly pictures of Fanny or the videos of Tommy and Billy doing their crazy science experiments. 

“Hi, Ma” Anya rushes past you. “Gonna change for dinner”

“Mmkay” you nod, texting Bucky to make sure he’s actually back home, and not slashing Natasha’s tires. 

“So…” 

“Nat, jeez” you drop the phone, not even aware that she is still here. She looks at you across the kitchen island. 

Don’t think how sad it is that she looks out of place here, where it used to be home.

Don’t cry in front of her.

Don’t.

“Sorry, I’ll say goodbye and leave” 

“Anya, your mom’s leaving” you busy yourself in the kitchen, looking away.

“So soon?” the girl peeks around, pouting. “We haven’t even played the game yet”

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” you give up, unable to say no to your daughter. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m always making extra anyways”

Because you were used to cooking dinner for three. 

Anya is happy to set the table, but you sit next to your daughter, leaving Natasha in front of her. You try to stay focused on Anya and school: the debate club, sports activities, a month in Europe for the best students. 

“Mom, do you think I can reach out to aunt Carol? I have some Astronomy questions”

Natasha immediately looks at you, but you’re hyper focused on the bottle of wine and pouring the last of it until your glass is filled to the rim.

“Uh, she’s not... I’m not sure where Danvers is, sweetheart. She left Earth a while back” 

“Oh, ok” the girl nods, looking at you with a frown. “Mom, what’s wrong? Is your leg hurting? What did Doctor Cho say?”

Crap.

“What’s wrong, det…?” Natasha asks, looking at you. The pet name almost rolled off her tongue.

Everything. Everything is wrong, Natasha. 

“That old injury from our outlaw days. Doctor Cho gave me some pain killers. But I don’t think I’ll take them, they make me too sleepy”

“We’ll do the dishes” Natasha jumps in. “Don’t worry about it” 

“Thanks”

The dishes are the least of your worries, but it’s still a nice gesture.

Maybe when she’s finally ready to ask you to divorce her, you’ll be able to coparent. 

“Here, let me” she asks as you approach with the empty glass of wine. “Did Doctor Cho say anything else?”

You sigh, leaning against the counter, watching as she washes the dishes.

“She said surgery might make the pain go away. Actually, there’s a 90% chance it will work. But Anya’s got school and I’d have to do bed rest for at least five weeks. Maybe during winter break” 

“I can take care of her. Drive her to school or cook dinner or…”

“You’re a terrible cook” you remind her. It’s meant to be a joke, but also a way to make her stop.

You don’t want to be a burden for someone who doesn’t want you anymore.

“Wanda could teach me” 

“She’s too busy making sure the twins aren’t building a nuclear weapon in the garage” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks, almost afraid of your answer.

“Can you take her to school tomorrow?” you finally say, without providing further details.

The truth is, you’ll probably cry until you fall asleep, because you miss Natasha and this is the first time you’ve seen her in two months. 

And it would be better if you could sleep in, make an appointment with your therapist and then find a way to look composed by the time you have to pick your daughter from school. 

“Absolutely” 

“Thank you” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N” 

The way she says your name makes you want to scream. 

--

Natasha’s long gone, Anya sleeping peacefully back in her room.

You’re looking at the ceiling, tears rolling down your face and soaking your pillow.

You miss her so damn much. You love her so much.

And you also hate her. And you hate yourself for loving her.

There’s a soft knock at your door. You know it’s not Anya because she would have turned on the hallway light.

“Hey, weirdo” you look at Bucky from across the room, smiling sadly. He approaches you and wraps you in his arms. You sob against his chest, feeling like the sadness will last forever.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. Let it all out. I’m here”

You don’t know when you fall asleep.

--

A lot has changed in such a short time, but by now, Anya is used to the sight of her uncle Bucky, rotating between the few breakfast foods he can make without burning everything.

“You read my mind” Anya watches as he makes blueberry pancakes.

“Has no one ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?” he mumbles, impressed at how silent she was.

“No, because my moms are spies and so is my uncle and my other aunt and basically half my family”

“Smart ass,” he chuckles. “Come on, eat your food before it gets cold”

“Did mom eat anything yet?” Anya sits on a stool, eating on the kitchen counter.

“Your mom’s asleep” Bucky says. In fact, you cried, had a panic attack, a couple of nightmares, woke up to drink some water and then fell asleep at 4 AM. 

Basically, the usual for the past two months.

He’s so caught in his thoughts that he forgets to flip the last pancake. A knock on the front door snaps him back to reality.

“Can you turn off the stove? And pack your bag, we’re leaving in five…” Bucky yells over, opening the door without looking through the peephole first. He’s surprised to find Natasha on the other side “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up my daughter” 

“Does Y/N know?” He's holding on to the door so hard that the wood cracks.

“She asked me to drive Anya to school”

“Ok, I’m ready” Anya announces, aware that her mother and uncle aren’t on the best terms. She walks between them to make sure they won’t punch each other. “Bye, uncle, thanks for breakfast” 

“Have a good day, sweetheart. See you Saturday”

“Right, for that musical, Beaglejuice”

“Shut up” he chuckles, kissing her forehead. Anya leans forward and hugs him goodbye.

Natasha is silent for most of the ride. Anya is looking out the window, uncertain of her mother’s mood. Maybe not saying anything is safer.

Three blocks away from school and Natasha hears herself blurting out what’s been on her mind this whole time.

“Does Barnes stay over a lot?”

“I guess” Anya mutters, still looking out the window.

“Well, do you know…”

The girl has enough, turning around to face her mother. There’s nothing but resentment in her eyes as she tells Natasha everything.

“Mom cries herself to sleep every night. Ever since you moved out, it's been hard for her to get up in the morning and act normal, let alone cook breakfast. So yeah, uncle Bucky is around all the time, just to make sure she’s at the very least alive. You’d know if you still cared about us” 

“Anya…”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way, thanks for the ride” she mumbles, opening the door and rushing away. Natasha is stuck in traffic, so all she can do is watch her daughter from the car.

Just when she was starting to make things right, she fucks up again.

--

“Thanks for breakfast” you say, mouth full of pancakes.

“More like lunch” Bucky corrects.

You nod, reaching for the maple syrup. 

“So, why’d you ask Natasha to drive Anya to school?” 

“Is that why my door is almost broken in half?” 

“I’ll fix it”

“You better” you mumble. He is still staring and you shrug your shoulders. “Just experimenting how co-parenting is gonna be when we officially divorce”

“So, you are asking her to divorce you?” 

“She’s gonna ask me. Sooner or later” you keep your head down, playing with your food. You’re not hungry anymore.

“All things considered, the ball is in your court”

“Buck” you plead, dropping the fork.

“I’m just saying” he approaches your side. “You’ll only be able to heal once you know what you both want. But running away won’t help”

“You sound like my therapist”

“But does she cook you breakfast?”

“For what she’s charging me, she should, actually” both of you laugh. And damn it, you know he’s right. “Thank you, for worrying about me. And for taking care of us these past few months. I’m sorry I’m such a mess”

As if on cue, tears start streaming down your face. Bucky hugs you, kissing your head.

“It’s ok”

“I know you hate it when people cry, I’m sorry” 

“Yeah, but I hate it a little bit more when you’re the one crying”

--

Luckily for your therapist, you’re all cried out by the time you reach her office. Instead, you discuss how it would be better to approach Natasha, who has always struggled with communication around difficult topics.

“I’m very happy with this session. We’ve made great progress” Doctor Thompson says and you put your fist forward.

“Fist bump” you encourage her.

“I’ll get my license taken away if we ever do this again” 

For the first time in months, you leave her office feeling a little bit lighter. 

Until you check your phone. 10 missed calls from Natasha.

“Nat?” you answer as she calls again.

“Is Anya with you?”

“I was about to pick her up from school” there’s a pause. “You did drive her to school, right?”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot” she shoots back.

“Well, I’m very confused because she’s only about to end her last class. Why would she be anywhere else, then?” you retort.

“Just meet me back home, ok?” she pleads.

“Fine”

She’s pacing on the sidewalk as you park.

“Care to explain?”

“The school called me an hour ago. She sneaked out after recess” 

“Let’s just track her phone” 

“It’s off”

“Well, fuck” you run your hand through your hair. “Did she say anything to you this morning? Did she seem upset?”

Natasha looks away, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I asked her if Barnes was staying over often”

“Natasha, for fuck’s sake” you sigh, turning away from her. 

Don’t shout. You won’t solve anything by screaming at Natasha.

Your daughter is missing because your wife can’t keep her jealousy to herself. So fuck it.

“If you want to know anything, you ask me, Natasha, do you understand? You don’t go questioning our 13 year old daughter, who, by the way, has been through enough shit lately. I’m trying to protect her and you’re here implying I’m sleeping with the only friend who isn’t tired of me being a mess. Which, for the record, I’m not. And would never. Unlike you, I’m not going around fucking people outside my marriage because I’m having a hard time”

“I don’t know how to get close to you, Y/N. You pushed me out ever since…”

“No! You don’t get to put this on me. I tried for months. I tried everything. And you scoffed and ignored and stood me up. I gave up the moment I found you in bed with Carol” 

Your voice breaks at the last part. That memory has been buried for so long; you want it to stay hidden, forever. 

It doesn’t matter. You need to find Anya.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Buck” 

“I’m here. I’ll help you find her” 

“I’ll find my daughter alone, thank you” you walk past her, waiting impatiently for your friend to pick up.

“She’s my daughter too”

“You sure as hell haven’t acted like her mother in a long time, Natalia” 

You walk away, your back turned to her. 

“Buck” you say, voice trembling.

“I know. She’s at the Met. Hasn’t left. I’m outside, just in case”

“How did you…?” 

“I’m sorry. I was hoping I could convince her to come back before you found out she sneaked out of class”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can” 

--

Again, those soft waves of red are the first thing you spot in the room. Her blue eyes are fixed on Degas and his Dance Class.

“Hey, kiddo” you stand next to her, understanding immediately why she’s looking at this painting. “We still have your ballerina shoes somewhere in a box. Your mom loved going to your recitals” 

“I’m sorry for leaving school” 

“I played hooky a couple of times. It’s part of life. I just want to make sure you’re ok” 

“She doesn’t care if you’re able to get up in the morning but gets jealous because someone is taking care of us” 

You sigh. Anya has Natasha’s heart, after all. She loves and protects fiercely.

“That’s not exactly true. Come with me” your daughter takes your hand as you leave the museum. 

Central Park is still looking beautiful, even as fall approaches. Anya plops down on a bench and you take a seat next to her. A small groan leaves your lips. This damn leg.

“You know your mother was raised to be an assassin. The Red Room taught her that love was a weakness. And that she was incapable of having a family or people that cared about her. Even after all these years, insecurity can get the best of Nat sometimes”

“Why can’t we just… go back to what we used to be?” she mumbles, a tear rolling down her face.

“Oh, sweetheart” you hold her against your chest. “I want nothing more in this world” 

“I miss her”

“Me too, Anya”

“It’s like we lost her the day uncle Clint died” she sobs.

“But she’s still here. And she still needs you, my sweet girl. I’m not saying you should forgive her right this second. But don’t build a wall around yourself, please”

“Ok” 

“You know I lost my mom when I was 15. And a lot of that time I spent it angry at her for staying with a man that wasn’t good to us. But once she was gone, all I wished was that I had made her life a little easier”

“I’m sorry” 

“It’s ok. I’m glad I’m here, to make sure you don’t make the same mistake I did. We’re gonna be alright, I promise” 

“I love you”

“Love you too, kiddo” you keep her in your arms for as long as you can, but a light rain begins to fall. “Come on, now. Bucky’s been waiting for us”

“I know. I saw him following me on the bus here”

“My God, I don’t know which one of you is scarier” 

Anya giggles, and you take her hand. 

Even between all of this mess, she’s the one thing that makes everything worth it. 

--

Anya was the one that texted her mother, apologizing and letting her know she was ok.

You didn’t reply to Natasha’s text. “I’m sorry” isn’t enough sometimes.

After pizza and an intense game of Jenga with Anya and Bucky, you call it a night.

You know what you’ll dream of tonight, but you’re too tired to care.

#Natasha Romanoff x Reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/N #Natasha Romanoff x You

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Day 4 — Christmas Decorations

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 600

Contents & Warnings || Fluff, mild Smut — mild explicit content, light spanking.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Advent Calendar 2023

Snow fell gently outside, creating a serene winter wonderland. The outside world embraced the quiet of the night, while inside, your shared home with Bucky was a scene of Christmas chaos filled with smiles and laughter.

After proudly setting up your freshly cut Christmas tree in your living room, you and Bucky embarked on a mission to decorate it with festive magic, creating remarkable and funny memories along the way.

While you were debating the color scheme for this year’s ornaments, your Super Soldier was in an intense wrestling match with the fairy lights.

“So I’m thinking red and green this year, babe. Keep it classic, you know,” you suggested.

“Yeah, that sounds great, doll. Can you… uh… help me, please?” He sounded from the other side of the tree.

Amused, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of Bucky tangled up in the lights, resembling your very own Christmas tree.

“I’m not even gonna ask how,” you chuckled while Bucky scowled.

Before helping him untangle, you snapped a quick pic on your phone.

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” He questioned with a sigh.

“Never.”

With determined laughter, the two of you freed him from the lights, bringing order to the Christmas chaos. Together, you got all the lights untangled and wrapped around the tree where it belonged.

As the twinkling lights adorned the tree, you went to work strategically placing red and green spheres, spacing them evenly, along with personal ornaments and unique details.

“And the last piece.” Bucky held the shiny star in his hands. “Will you do the honor, doll?”

Cradling the delicate star, it glittered with memories of past Christmases with your loved one.

As you stood on a chair with Bucky’s steadying hands on your hips, you situated the star on the tree’s crown, completing it. The room seemed to hold its breath, acknowledging the significance of the moment.

“It’s perfect,” you declared, and Bucky, wrapping his arms around you, whispered, “It was already perfect to begin with because you’re here, doll.”

Turning in his arms, a tender smile on your lips, you reached up to cup his cheeks. Bucky closed the distance with a soft, lingering kiss.

Breaking the kiss with a smile, Bucky’s eyes reflected the glow of the lights. “I think that added another perfect touch to this place,” he murmured, melting you inside out. His fingers traced a gentle patch along your cheek.

“You need to stop wooing me, mister, or else we’ll never finish decorating this house,” you laughed, playfully pushing him away.

After stealing another searing kiss, a taste and promise of what’s to come later, you continued decorating your home with gusto—bells, reindeer, candles, candy canes, garlands, wreaths, stockings, and figurines. Amidst the decorating, there were sweet kisses and soft touches stolen.

As you positioned the standing Mr. and Mrs. Claus in the foyer, Bucky couldn’t resist a playful swat on your ass. “This house isn’t the only thing getting decorated tonight,” he teased with a wink, lightly tapping your ass again.

Giving him a playful glare, you smirked. “Behave, Santa,” you purred, bumping him away with your hip.

By the time you finished, the house was a festive haven. Collapsing on the couch, surrounded by the warm glow of the tree, you cuddled into Bucky with a content sigh, savoring the afterglow of your decorating adventure.

“This is our masterpiece,” you declared, snuggling further into him.

“This is perfect, doll,” Bucky murmured against your skin, kissing your temple.

“And now,” Bucky laid you down, getting on top, “onto another type of decorating,” he groaned before showering you with hungry and determined kisses.

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

#advent calendar #tfatws!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan one shot #marvel #marvel x reader

[niftukkun]

honk (“honk!”) if you’re hungry for chaos! come on, “honk! honk!” like a horrible goose!

for the second week of @/shepscapades 's hermitcraft character design event, i offer grian as a chaotic goose!

so originally my concept was actually grian as the lamb from cult of the lamb, but then memories of the untitled goose game descended upon me like visions from an angry god, so i couldnt not do grian as The Goose. it fits, really, since the whole point of the goose game is to spread unmitigated chaos, and grian thrives on chaos and unpredictability

for notes on character design,, i actually didnt know what to do at first? like, ok, grian as the goose, but do i just draw a goose? make grian into a goose hybrid and thatse it? i actually really debated letting him keep his red jumper cause while its a big indicator of Grian its also,, really out of place for goose if that makes sense. my next pass at designs was arguably worse since it was more or less just a naked harpy with no resemblance to grian OR the goose game.

i actually ended up taking inspiration from one of my ocs (lycomedes my beloved boy i will one day post you) and gave grian this. mask-not-mask? if you look at the art there isnt actually a line separating mask from skin so that implies its less a mask and more His Face and that fit more than actually giving him a beak or just a plain human esque face so i kept it and it looks great! i also gave him arms instead of a more harpy esque No Hands look because Despite My Best Efforts it did not look good :(

to keep him looking like grian i gave him the hair i started doing specifically for grian and also little red highlights here and there (notable places include the eyes because Slay and the nails because Slay (im only half joking here)) but other than that i kind of did nothing else and am shocked at how much silhouette actually matters?? like it registers to me as grian despite yknow looking nothing like his actual minecraft skin so. win!! hell yeah!!!

little details include the bell i spent way too much time on, the sign that im far too proud of (its so good!!) and of course, the crowning piece, the Untitled Grian Game logo (and grian face) (its so funny to me i keep laughing whenever i look into those soulless minecraft eyes) (its so good!!!!!)

#gamble the queue #art #my art #digital art #artists on tumblr #drawing #fan art #fanart #hermitcraft #grian hermitcraft #untitled goose game #untitled grian game #shepshermitdesign23

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

“(Don’t) Hurry Down The Chimney Tonight” - Dean x Reader

Rating Explicit

Dean x Reader

Tags: Christmas (Holiday) Smut, Red Ribbons, Candy Canes, Peppermint Sensations, Sleigh Bells, Sexy Santa References, Dean is Tied Up, Edging, Oral Sex, 69, Vaginal Sex, Reader is a Naughty Little Vixen, Dean deserves a proper (sexy) Christmas.

Word Count: 2700

Summary: Dean saved Reader from the supernatural on Christmas Eve years ago. Every Christmas since, she has always found a way to show her unending appreciation.

Notes: This smutty little fic is a holiday gift for @jessjad for the 2023 SPNFanFicPond Secret Santa Fic Exchange. I hope you enjoy the reader’s sexy times with Dean.

Big thanks to @sam-is-my-safeword and runawaydr3amer (AO3) for reading the first draft and helping with a great many awesome smut ideas. Additional thanks to runawaydr3amer, who also beta’d this fic and packaged it up nice and shiny. 

Merry holidays!

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo, and this part will fill my "Edging" square.

Resources:

Collage created in Canva

Pic found on Google (Fanpop)

Song Reference: Santa Baby by Joan Javits and Philip Springer (listen/watch this version sung by Eartha Kitt)

Dean sinks those pearly whites into the flesh of his bottom lip. His top lip pulls up and back into a painful sneer. The usual rosy, pillowy fullness of that mouth is instead taut, whitening under the capture. You laser focus onto the pointy canine denting into the mouth you have debated sitting on since you began this teasing challenge.

jingle

You finish fashioning a sweet little bow with the ribbon. It’s ruby red and velvety soft.

“Well, I think that’s about the prettiest package I ever did wrap.”

jingle

“What do you think, Mr. Claus?” you ask, your voice as innocent and demure as you can manage.

Dean opens his mouth and expels a slow gasp. jingle “Fuck, sweetheart. You aren’t playin’ fair.”

“That’s the whole point.”

You rise from the edge of the bed and take in the entire scene. It’s magnificent. 

He’s magnificent.

Dean is lying atop the forest green comforter of your bed. Naked. Well, not totally naked. A red ribbon - adorned with one single sleigh bell - binds his wrists together and anchors him to the headboard. His arms, jutting out and bent to create a diamond-shaped frame around his face, give you a prime ticket to the gun show. Biceps flex and tendons raise under the skin as he tries to remain as motionless as possible.

jingle

You aren’t a complete heathen. He’s got a fluffy pillow, the same deep green color as the comforter, to rest his head atop. Dean is anything but sleepy. He’s wound up. He stares back at you, the green of his irises electric and flaming with intensity.

You anticipate how sublime it will feel to strum the cords of his neck. Tickle your fingertips down that chest. You imagine Dean ring-a-ding-dinging and cursing himself if you take the time to trace the outline of his tattoo. Circle those perky nipples. Dip into his belly button and follow his treasure trail of baby-fine hair.

You marvel again at the other ribbon that you tied. You’d purchased a couple yards of red velvet at the craft store weeks ago with this in mind. With him in mind. You were ecstatic it had been enough to criss-cross around the crease below that fine ass. It wraps over a slight vee along his waist. The makeshift holiday jockstrap has Dean’s beautiful, now fully erect, cock sporting a bow.

Dean sighs. “Are you done decking my balls?” jingle

You giggle and fiddle with the belt of your robe. It’s red as well, but made of silk. “As we discussed, the end result of all of this is all up to you. Santa.” You flip a switch to turn off the ceiling light. The sconces stay on above the headboard. Two halos figure eight over Dean’s beautiful body, awash in a warm amber glow.

He’s a full print ad of holiday cheer and sinful debauchery.

“You’re being very naughty, (jingle) Mrs. Claus.” Dean licks his top lip—your core clenches at the deep timbre of his scolding. 

You’ve been wet since you both finished Christmas dinner. Since you told him you had one more gift for him waiting upstairs. Since you left him in the bedroom with orders to strip while you changed in the bathroom. Since you pulled out the ribbons. Since you explained that if he was good and could keep his jingling down to a minimum through what you had planned, you’d fuck him into the New Year.

You inhale and shrug, then begrudgingly turn your back to the sight. It takes a few taps on your phone for you to get to the song. You stifle another giggle at the little jingles Dean can’t help as he waits. 

Once you tap the play button, the festive and recognizable melody begins. A barbershop quartet bah-bums a bit before the sultry and smooth vocals of Eartha Kitt take the lead.

You look back over your shoulder at Dean and whisper along with Eartha.

You peel the silky robe off one shoulder then the other. Dean groans when the layer slips down to the floor. jingle

“Shit.” He moans and you grin in satisfaction at the hoped for reaction.

You turn back to face him, adding a dramatic hair flip. You're wearing a sexy little Mrs. Claus outfit. It’s a red velvet dress with a scandalously high skirt and a low-cut halter. White fur lines both the top and bottom. It’s all cinched nice and tight around your waist with a black belt and a gold buckle.

You bend at the knees and lean forward, shoulders folding in and hands resting on your thighs. It gives Dean the perfect vantage to ogle your cleavage. You purr along with the next line and modify the lyrics a smidge.

“Man, I must have been a really good boy this year.” Dean stares in awe, not even caring how much he’s jingling with his squirms atop the bed.

You let it slide for the time being, thrilled at the kid in a candy store grin plastered on his face and the way the bow sways with every twitch of his cock.  

Dean tilts his head to the side. His gaze begins at your red-glitter heels and canvases every inch of skin from ankles to thighs. He pauses, stopping to stare at the hint of flesh under the skirt hem. jin-jingle jingle jin-jingle He pants out, “Mrs. Claus forgot her panties, huh?”

You lift a finger and wiggle it back and forth in the air. “Uh-uh-uh. Remember, really good boys stay still if they want their present.”

The bell jangles no matter how carefully he attempts to reposition himself. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbles and you laugh. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be good,” he whispers soft and sweet.

The heels tap across the hardwood as you walk over to settle beside Dean. You adjust your skirt to let the scant amount of fabric fan over your naughty bits. Being so close to him makes you forget the lyrics to sing along with Eartha.

You rest a hand on his chest. Through clenched teeth, Dean inhales at the touch, the rest of him frozen in place. The bell is silent. Your other hand grabs one of the candy canes you had left on the bedside table. For reasons.

Watching him fight every urge he has to reach out and touch you is fascinating. And the power you have over him gives you a head rush. You continue the tease, twirling the candy between your fingers, then laving the cane’s hook with your mouth and tongue. Dean garners some pity from you as he whines, brows downturned, eyes attentive to your every swirl and suck. You swing the cane close to his mouth. “Wanna taste?”

He swallows. “Wanna taste you,” he states, the hint of hope escaping around the edges of a soft moan.

The thrill of his need quickens your pulse. No other man has loved and adored you as thoroughly and exuberantly as Dean Winchester. You nod. “You will. But, first,” you rub the wet-slick candy cane over his bottom lip, “show me what that mouth wants to do.”

“You know what this mouth can do,” he reminds with a little sass, letting the candy cane tap against his bottom teeth. 

But soon enough, he indulges you. He slips the hook between his lips. His tongue slides out under the curve of peppermint, lapping at the sticky sweet. Again and again. Your breath hitches into your open mouth as you watch, enthralled at the ministrations of that thick and powerful muscle. He sucks the confection in a little farther, pursing his lips. The sounds he’s making, enjoying the treat, are downright pornographic and send any extraneous bell ringing to the back of your hearing queue. The red food coloring coats them like lip gloss by the time you break from the spell of his show. You guess it’s been minutes since Eartha finished her rendition of ‘Santa, Baby.’ The rest of the playlist you created has soft and dreamy instrumentals.

“My turn,” you cajole. You tug on the cane. He relinquishes, but not without some resistance. A little pop escapes his mouth once the hook is freed. You marvel at the progress he made. The hook end is substantially shorter and thinner than when he began.

He sniffs and tilts his chin up in pride. jingle “Your turn with that, or my turn with you?”

The cane slips back into your mouth, your fingers sticky from all the handling. You stand, kick off your heels, and climb back onto the bed on your knees. You grin as you suck on the candy.

His eyes soften. “Be careful, baby. Don’t want you to choke. Well, at least not on that.” He smirks.

He’s right. Safety first. You toss the candy onto the bedside table.

“You are so (jingle) fucking hot in that (jingle) outfit.” He grins and waggles eyebrows in anticipation. “Gonna let me down your chimney, Mrs. Claus?” jingle jingle jingle

The actions in the next few seconds are a blur. You wonder if Dean has some sort of Jedi mind control ability. Because even though you are supposed to be the one making decisions this evening, his seductively god-awful puns find you sitting on his face, reverse cowgirl. 

“You might get the golden ticket to all my secret places if you’re lucky.” Your fingers tip-toe down his chest like a grinch about to steal someone else’s presents. 

jingle jingle jingle

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dean murmurs under your skirt. Hot breath bathes your inner thighs and other areas you hope will soon be explored.

Your hands rest in the little divots created by his pelvic bones while you take his body in and plan your method of attack. You pull on the ribbon and release his cock of the bow. Then, you’re deep throating him like he’s your last meal.

Not one to be outdone at an all-you-can-eat buffet, Dean’s entire face gets in on the feast as well. Nerves respond to the tingling sensation of the residual peppermint on Dean’s lips and tongue. You shiver at the gloriously heightened sensitivity when he pulls back to blow on your pussy. “This is so much better than milk and cookies.” He moans and groans and jingles all the way. 

As much as you’re loving the taste of his precome, the velvet texture against your tongue, and the way the tip triggers a tiny gag reflex at the base of your throat, it’s time to remind him of the consequences of all that noise he’s making. You release the hard length from your mouth and try to concentrate on your own breathing during the absolute virtuoso way he’s eating you out. As much as you’d love his fingers to get in on the action, you know you’d have no control over the situation. You sigh in relief that he’s trying to adhere to some parts of the game. The pitiful, half-hearted ribbon shackling of his hands to the headboard is no match for Dean Winchester.

You steady yourself on wobbly knees and one shaky elbow. A firm grip around the base of his cock makes Dean gasp. He stills after that. In your mind’s eye, you picture the beauty of that mouth and how his luscious pink lips were slick with peppermint. You imagine how slick they are with you now. “Sorry, baby,” he murmurs and you feel him settle back onto the pillow. “I’ll be as quiet as I can. Can you blame me, though? Here I am, under your sweet little skirt, in the dark (jingle)... shit, sorry. But, you can’t drop a five-course meal in front of a starving (jingle) man and not expect him to wanna little taste.”

You squeeze his cock. “That’s part of the challenge.”

“I’m always up for a challenge. You always make me feel so good.”

You groan at the praise he bestows. Without releasing your hold, you shimmy off his chest. Channeling the prim and delicate sensibilities of Mrs. Claus, you crawl along the comforter and settle between nutcracker bow legs. With knees tucked under you and sat atop bare feet you accept him in your mouth again and get to work. 

You take in the sight of Dean inventorying your every action. He’s gripping the top of the headboard with both hands to steady his upper body. You clock that the little stinker has also managed to palm the sleigh ball in an effort to silence or, at the very least, muffle it. You consider that move cheating. But he feels so sublime that you can’t bear to part with him to voice your irritation. He’s also whispering the sweetest filth to you while he watches.

“Damn. Yeah. Those lips of yours feel so good around my cock. You take it so good, baby. Wish I could fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, but I’d definitely jingle-jangle way too much.” A tongue swipe over his top lip accentuates the glossy look of his ruby-tinted mouth in the warm light. “You really are too good to me. You give the best Christmas presents.” He stiffens further with each downstroke. “Aw, yeah. Suck it.” Your rhythm increases. “So pretty. Wanna touch you so bad.” He gasps. “Fuck, I’m gettin’ close.” jingle jingle   

You clamp around the base again and squeeze, freeze mid-swallow - your lips around the tip - as soon as he rings.

Dean squirms and grumbles.

You continue to bring him to the edge of orgasm, then halt. Your jaw is aching along with the rest of your body as time passes.

You’ve fucked Dean up in the best way possible. He’s blissed out, wound up tighter than a spring. You’ve got him begging. But his words grow into admonishments with each successive denial. “You can’t keep doing this, baby. There’s gonna be consequences. Santa’s gonna for real put you on his naughty list. Nothing but coal in your stocking,” he huffs.

You give your mouth a reprieve and stroke him. “Is that all that happens to naughty girls?”

He gnaws at his bottom lip before offering, “You really wanna find out?”

You nod.

The ribbon binding Dean to the headboard shreds with one mighty tug. He pitches the sleigh bell in the air. It jingles as it pinballs around the room. 

You gasp as he cinches those hands under your armpits and drags you up his body. He crushes his lips into yours, tastes you with his tongue. The mixture of your arousal and a hint of peppermint melts you in his arms. Then, a sudden and swift rollover pins you beneath him.

He hovers, tosses your skirt up to your chest, and wedges between your legs. His hard, heavy cock slips into your folds and glides through your wetness. “I could drag this out. Or.” It’s his turn to tease. He notches snug against your entrance. You’re surprised your muscles haven’t pulled him into you of their own accord the way your entire body spasms with need. He whispers in your ear, “Let me be your Santa, baby.”

You gasp, “And hurry down the chimney tonight.”

He groans in victory and slides in, balls deep. He thrusts. One massive hand gathers your wrists together on the pillow above your head to anchor you in place. Fingers of his other hand grip the top of the headboard. Every sway in and out of you gets more frenetic. You’re screaming his name and he’s cursing yours. 

“Good girls do what they’re told,” he states, out of breath, face reddening. His gaze locks with yours. He slows down. Releases your hands. Finds your clit amid the white fur and red velvet. Strums. Angles and hits your sweet spot deep within you with a harsh abandon. “Come.”

Minutes later, after you’ve both orgasmed, you’re curled into his chest. “That was…” you manage between heavy exhales.

“Yeah, that was awesome.” He kisses your forehead. “Every year, since I saved you from that ghost on Christmas Eve, you find a way to outdo yourself with the holiday cheer.”

“Well, you deserve it. I’m glad you can get away for a little while and get a special treat.”

He sighs. “You know, you don’t have to feel obligated to…”

You rest a finger atop his lips. “How I see it. Guy saves your life one time, you owe him the rest of yours.”

He smiles and pulls you in. “How about we just focus on tonight, yeah?”

You nod. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #christmas smut

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life

Pairing: Clint “Freaky Tales” x f!readers (there’s 2, both have nicknames)

Word Count: 11,000+ (it's a long one, folks!)

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: a huge shoutout to @nerdieforpedro for beta reading this and giving me the confidence to actually hit post. And to Mr. Rose for helping me out of a corner.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Clint Masterlist

CLINT

“No! No, please! Tell The Guy I'll step back from his territory!”

Clint stares down at the man who's now covered in his own blood, coughing and spitting up the red liquid onto the floor, splashing a little onto Clint's shoes. He looks at the man and grabs his hair, yanking his head back and staring him in the eyes, seeing fear at the rapidly approaching end of his life. 

“Then you should've stopped when we warned you.”

Clint slides his knife into the man's abdomen, watching as the man coughs and sputters, small gasps all he can manage as the life leeches from his body. When he slumps, Clint knows it's over. He sits back, shaking his head and sighing, looking around at the mess all over the tarp he'd placed on the floor. I'm getting tired of this.

He cleans up and disposes of the body properly, his stomach rumbling by the end of his work. A quick glance at his watch tells him it's nearly 3am. He hopes there's still someplace open where he can at least get a cup of hot coffee. 

He drives in the general direction of his apartment for nearly 15 minutes before he sees the neon OPEN sign on the side of a little corner diner. He parks around the back, adjusting his pants and smoothing down his shirt before heading inside, a little bell ringing as the door swings open. It's quiet, only one other person sitting at a booth in the back corner, a man who doesn't look when the bell dings, too absorbed in his own issues. 

“Hey, hun! Have a seat wherever and I'll be right over!” The waitress calls from somewhere behind the counter. Clint looks around and finally settles on sitting at the counter, spinning to face the counter on the bar stool. 

The waitress suddenly appears, smoothing out her skirt before turning to face him and when she does, Clint momentarily forgets how to breathe. She is the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen and her smile makes him feel warm and safe, things he hasn't felt since he was a child. And even then, that's debatable. 

Her smile is bright and wide. “Sorry to make you wait! That damn sink pipe’s entire purpose is to annoy me, I swear. Want some coffee, hun?” She's already got the pot in her hand, regular, not decaf. He nods and she pours him a mug with a smile, sliding a small bowl with some creamer and sugar packets towards him. 

“You look hungry. You a steak man?”

Clint pours one of the sugar packets into his black coffee. “I like steak.”

“Great! The steak here is-” She leans closer to him “-edible. But it's best in town at 3am!”

Clint chuckles, the sound almost unfamiliar to him. “Sounds perfect.”

She writes down his order and turns, placing the ticket in a clip and rotating it, dinging another bell so the cook knows he has an order. 

“James? You back there? You have an order!”

There's some sort of affirmative grunted towards her that she accepts with a shake of her head, turning back to face Clint. 

“James is a nice guy. Lost his hearing in one ear in the war. Sometimes you have to be a little louder for him. At his request of course.” 

Clint nods and takes a sip of his coffee, expecting it to taste bitter and cheap, exactly like what you'd expect coffee at a diner open at 3am to taste like. But to his surprise, it doesn't. A pleasant mix of coffee beans washes over his tongue and he can't help a little moan escape him. 

A different smile, this one more sly. “You enjoying your coffee?”

Clint feels the tips of his ears heat up. “Uh, yeah.”

“I'm glad you like it, Mr….” Her eyebrows raised and Clint chokes down his sip. 

“Clint. No need for a Mr., ma'am.”

She waves her hand with another smile. “No ma'am here. I'm not that old!” She chuckles and tells him her name. “But everyone calls me Poppy.”

Poppy. He likes that name. It makes him feel happier somehow, like she's somehow taking care of him, not just because she's a waitress. 

She continues chatting with him while she bustles around, cleaning things and restocking sugar trays, and cleaning menus, Clint chiming in now and again. The man in the back corner eventually leaves and they're alone in the diner together. Aside from James in the back, who had just set his plate down on the back counter. 

“Thanks, James!”

“I'm going out for a smoke, Poppy.” 

She gives him a thumbs up and James takes off his apron, walking out of the side door. Poppy turns and makes a little fanfare of bringing him his diner steak and potatoes, setting it down in front of him and then casually placing the A1 steak sauce next to him. 

“You might need this.” She winks at him and he melts, what can only be described as butterflies in his stomach. 

Get it together, Clint. You don't do this. You don't like people like this. Fall for people. 

But then he's done with his steak, telling her some funny stories from his childhood. She's sitting across the bar from him, leaning on her elbows as she listens, laughing at all the right places. He's trying desperately hard to not be obvious in staring at her boobs, which had been pushed together tighter the more she leans forward. 

“If you don't mind me asking, Poppy. Why are you working this shitty shift?”

She cocks her head to the side slightly, her eyes on his. “Someone has to be here to serve you.”

He nods. “Yes but why you?” 

She waits a moment. “Maybe I'm just waiting for the right man to come on by.”

Shit. He had told himself she wasn't flirting, that she was just being nice to him for a tip. That he could just flirt a little and then be on his way. Normally, he'd take her out back and fuck her in his truck, promises to call again that he knows he'd never fulfill. But none of those women were her. None of them made him feel this way, her laugh and big eyes smiling at him while he sits here with blood on his hands and his past full of monsters.

So instead, he surprises himself. 

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?”

She glances at the clock on the wall. “If you're not too tired, I'm off in an hour and you can take me for breakfast.”

He smiles an actual genuine smile. “Breakfast it is.”

The conversation flows between them at breakfast, both of them laughing and joking throughout it all. And at the end, he walks her to her car, asking her on another date before they reach it, her enthusiastic “yes” giving him the confidence to kiss her, his hands cupping her face as their lips melt together. He presses her back against the side of her car, his body aching to be with her, inside of her. But not like this. She's different. She's special. He wants to take his time with Poppy. So he pulls back, a promise to pick her up in 2 nights for dinner. 

Clint takes her out on several more dates, falling harder for her each time he sees her, hears her laugh, sees how attentive she is towards him. He doesn't think he deserves her, knows he doesn't, but maybe she's his way out of his world of darkness and bad deeds. The world he's kept hidden from her, whether because he's afraid she'd leave him or he's too afraid to bring his darkness into her light he's not sure. 

But Clint knows he can't leave her. He's gone too far. 

2 weeks in, and his resolve to treat her like a lady, an actual relationship, which is what they'd finally called it, snaps when she opens her door in a black dress that accentuates everything about her that he loves. 

“I know we were supposed to go out tonight Clint, but I thought maybe I could cook for you instead?” She looks nervously up at him and he knows right there, he'd do anything she asked him to.

“If it's not too much trouble.”

She shakes her her, chuckling lightly. “Not at all. Come on in.” 

Clint follows her inside, hearing her lock the door behind him. He kicks his boots off and places them by the door. 

“I thought we could have steak. A real one. Dear James does his best with what he has but…” her voice trails off and Clint chuckles. 

“Steak sounds delicious.”

“Great! Would you like a quick drink before I start cooking? Or are you too hungry?”

“A drink sounds great, thanks.”

He takes a beer from her and she leads him to the couch. They both sit, taking sips from their drinks before setting them on the coffee table. He's nervous, his palms a little sweaty. Why is he so nervous? Clint looks at Poppy and he can see the way she's shifting around slightly, obviously nervous herself, which somehow gives him the confidence he needs. Confidence that he's never had a problem with before. 

When he touches his lips to hers, he knows he belongs to her forever. 

POPPY

I knew what I was doing, inviting Clint in for dinner instead of going to a restaurant as we had planned. But I wanted to take care of him, try and help quell that sadness and regret hidden just behind his eyes, the darkness he swallows and blinks away when our eyes meet, for the sake of me. 

We settle on the couch, each taking a sip of our respective drinks before setting them on the coffee table. I see him wipe his palms across his jeans, a sweet, nervous gesture and I smile shyly, turning my head to the side to tuck some hair behind my ear. I look back up at him and find him looking at me already, his deep brown eyes seeing into me and I feel myself stepping off the cliff, diving headfirst into love. Could it be love this early? I’d felt it before once, in my youth. But I had been burned and so kept my heart behind a lock but somehow, Clint already had the key. 

He keeps his eyes on mine when he slides closer to me, hesitating briefly before placing his hand on my bare thigh, my skin tingling where he touches me. I angle my body towards him a little more, feeling his large hand cup my cheek, a soft smile on his lips before he leans in, pressing his lips to mine. We’ve kissed plenty, made out in the back of his truck for hours and hours, but this is different. The energy has shifted, our paths fully converging to become one. 

He slides his hand on my thigh up higher and I spread my legs for him, opening more than just my body to him. His fingertips brush against my panties and I inhale sharply against his lips, his hand stalling. 

“Is..is this ok?” He asks, a nervous tremble in his voice.

“Please,” I whisper, begging him to touch me again. “Please touch me.”

He kisses me again, pushing his tongue into my eager mouth and I feel him between my legs again, gently stroking up and down, up and down, feeling how wet my underwear has become. He pushes aside my panties, slowly swirling one thick finger around me before pushing in, my whine breaking our kiss before he grunts out, mumbling something about how tight I feel. 

He deepens the kiss, his finger gently stroking inside of me, brushing against me and I moan into his mouth, my legs twitching. When he stops, pulling away from me, I think I’ve done something wrong. But then he slides from the couch, getting on his knees, kissing my thighs as he hooks his fingers in my underwear, sliding them off and tossing them over his shoulder. He pushes my legs open wide, putting them over his shoulders as he stares between my legs, eyes dark and admiring. 

He looks up at me and I nod, knowing what he wants even though I’m not really experienced with it. He places soft kisses on my inner thighs, slowly moving to where his hand had been moments before. When his tongue touches me, I gasp, a breathy “oh” escaping me while my thighs try to slam against his head of their own volition. He chuckles against me and I moan at the vibration, feeling him wrap his hands around my legs to push me open wider. His tongue is relentless, swirling around, tapping, and I reach for him, tangling my fingers into his hair and tugging on it when he lightly sucks on me.

“Oh…oh, I-” I break open, cry out as I come, Clint’s tongue guiding me through my release. I release his hair, my legs falling open as he sits back, wiping his face with the back of his hand. 

He stands, offering me his hand and I take it, allowing him to pull me up against his body. He smells like cedar, a hint of cigarette smoke, and me, my head swimming with the scent of it all. 

“Bedroom?” He asks, his eyebrows raised.

I nod, almost too much in my enthusiasm. “This way.”

I take his hand and lead him on wobbly legs down the small hallway to my bedroom, grateful that I had made the bed this morning. Clint closes the door behind himself and turns to look at me. Several long moments pass where we just look at each other, the energy in the air electric, as if he didn’t have his head between my legs just moments ago. He closes the distance between us in a step or 2, stopping just short of me.

“Turn.”

I do as he says, feeling his large hand work my zipper down, his fingers brushing against my skin as he pulls the dress down and off, coming back to do the same to my bra. He moves my hair off my neck, placing soft kisses there as one hand wraps around my boob and the other dips a finger between my thighs. My head lolls back and I moan, feeling him pinch and tug at my nipple as I get wetter and wetter. I can feel him nearly bulging out of his jeans, the denim pressed against my ass, so I gently grab his wrists and turn around.��

I say nothing as I start to unbutton his flannel, sliding it down and off his broad shoulders, noting the appearance of a new scratch on his chest since the last time he’d taken his shirt off around me. I keep my eyes on his face as my hands unlatch his belt, popping open the button on his pants before carefully sliding down his zipper. I push his jeans down, getting on my knees to help slide them off of his legs. I look up at him as I pull down his underwear, a small grunt from him as he springs free. I want to return the favor, take him in my mouth but then his hand grips my chin, pulling me back to standing. 

“I’d love to feel your mouth on me, but Poppy, I want to make love to you.”

He helps me lay back on the bed, his eyes roaming over my naked body, more dark loving than I’ve ever seen them.

“You’re so beautiful, Poppy.”

I spread my legs, allowing him to settle between them. He kisses me, soft at first, his mustache tickling my upper lip, his hands sliding across my body, goosebumps following in his wake. His lips travel down my neck, finding a spot just below the side of my jaw that has me squirming, my fingers burying themselves in his hair. 

But then he pushes in and the world stops, nothing else in the world exists but us. We meld together, our bodies moving as one, slotting together like we were made for each other. I writhe under him, his hips breaking me open out of my cocoon, showing me what pleasure really is, what love really is. His hips thrust a little harder and I come, his name tumbling from my lips like a chant, praising him as my nails dig into his back. I feel his hips sputter, soft grunts and pants in my ear as he comes with me, his forehead coming to rest against mine. 

“Holy shit,” he says, his breath puffing out against my face. “That was..”

“It was.”

He lifts his head and looks at me, kissing me softly before pulling out, and getting a washcloth to clean me up. 

A steak dinner never tasted so good.

CLINT

He was the happiest he’d ever been. Poppy was a beacon of light in the darkness that was his life, always there to welcome him with open arms. It had only been a few weeks, but he loved her. He knew deep down that he never wanted to be without her. 

He just felt so fucking guilty about it. 

He was torn on telling her about his job, his real job, not the one he told her he did. He wasn’t a delivery man, although he did deliver whatever terrible fate that The Guy bestowed upon those who crossed him in business. He’d been a little too preoccupied tonight and his mark managed to slice his cheek with a knife before Clint snuffed the life from him.

But Poppy doesn’t even question it, just takes him into the bathroom and gently cleans his cut, dabbing some alcohol on it that burns, but not enough to distract him from the guilt he feels. He knows he has to get out. 

A few months go by and he couldn’t be happier with Poppy. They had been dating for about 8 months and he wanted desperately to ask her to move in with him, but first he had to leave The Guy. He couldn’t have him showing up whenever he felt like it. No matter what, he would protect Poppy from that side of his life. 

After he kills his next mark, he heads back to The Guy to give him his confirmation of delivery, so-to-speak. 

“What would I do without you, Clint?”

Clint shifts his weight to his back leg, hands on his hips. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

The Guy sits back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “Oh?”

Clint clears his throat. “Yeah. I uh, I need to retire.”

The Guy raises an eyebrow. “Retire?”

“Yeah. My body isn’t what it used to be. My knees almost gave out tonight. I can’t continue like this.”

The guy sits there, his fingers still laced together as he studies Clint. “You have served me well, Clint. I’ll let you out, holding onto that evidence in case you try to cross me-”

“I would never. I’m not a snitch.”

The Guy holds up a hand. “I know. One can never be too careful these days. I think you get that?” Clint nods. “Good. I’ll let you out but I have one more delivery for you to make first. You’re the only one I can trust with it. What do you say?”

Clint stands there for a moment, thinking about his options. He only has one. “Deal.”

They shake on it, The Guy gives him the details, and Clint is out the door, feeling a little lighter now that he can see the light at the end of the tunnel. He’s finally getting out, starting a new life free of bloodshed with the love of his life.

He killed that last mark in near record time, The Guy shaking his hand and thanking him for all of his hard work. 

He knows she’s on the late shift again tonight, so after he cleans up, Clint heads over to the diner, their diner, watching Poppy move about through the dusty window. She smiles at a customer, but when Clint walks in and she sees him, her entire faces lights up, her eyes beaming as she crosses the room, pressing her lips to his and forgetting herself for a few seconds before pulling back, her face hot.

“Clint! To what do I owe this surprise?”

“Move in with me.”

He hadn’t meant to ask it like that, so blunt and harsh. But he couldn’t wait anymore and it sort of just came out when he opened his mouth. Surprise on her face, her eyes widening for a moment before that smile splits her face again, the one she has only for him.

“When can I get my things?”

They get married exactly 1 year from the day they met.

“Poppy! What are you doing?” Clint rushes into the kitchen, quickly snatching the knife Poppy was using to spread peanut butter on her sandwich. 

“Clint, I’m pregnant, not sick. I can do it myself.”

“The doctor said to rest.”

She smiled, a soft smile and squeezed his bicep. “The doctor said for me to relax the last 2 months. Not stay in bed entirely.”

Clint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just..let me do things for you, ok? Have a seat on the couch and I’ll bring your food.”

Poppy looks like she wants to argue for a moment, but then gives in, tossing her hands in the air before heading into the living room. 

“And don’t forget the-”

“Apples. I got it, Poppy.”

Clint arranges 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some apple slices on a plate, also grabbing a glass of water to set on the coffee table in front of her. She reaches for the plate with grabby hands, smiling and shifting her weight as she settles in, making light work of the food before downing half the glass of water. 

“Thanks, babe.”

Clint puts his arm around her shoulders and kisses her head. “Anything for you.” He shifts a little. “You need a foot massage?”

“The day I turn down a foot massage, just know I’m a clone.”

Clint chuckles as he helps Poppy turn, laying back on the couch, her head on the arm. He takes one of her feet in his hands and starts to work them, spending extra time on the knots and sore spots. The sounds Poppy makes has him shifting in his seat, his hands starting to work up her legs. He gets to her upper thighs, leaning down to press kisses along her inner thigh before she gently grabs his wrist. 

“Hey now, that’s what put this here,” she gestures to her belly. 

Clint presses another kiss to her inner thigh, higher up this time, listening as her breath hitches. “Well then, let me help you relax.”

Clint spends the next hour buried between her legs, Poppy’s fingers twisting in his hair, his fingers digging into her legs as she chants his name over and over and he thinks this would be the perfect way to go: smothered between his wife’s thighs.

“And that makes the last payment! Will you be taking home the crib today, sir?”

Clint puts his wallet in his pocket, nodding to the cashier. “I’ve got my truck out front.”

“Let me call for some help.” The cashier leans over her mic and asks for someone named John to come to the front for customer assistance. She makes idle chit chat with Clint, asking how his wife is doing so close to her due date.

“She’s stubborn and better be sitting her ass down and letting me take care of her,” Clint chuckles along with the cashier. 

“Don’t be too hard on her. She is fighting that nesting urge. It’s hard to resist, trust me!”

John comes up and takes the other end of the large box that contains a beautiful wooden crib that Poppy had laid eyes on months ago, determined to have that exact one for their baby. Clint had put it on layaway that same day, making sure he’d pay it off in time to assemble it before the baby’s arrival. He thanks John and takes off, glancing in the back at the box and smiling a little, already envisioning Poppy’s ecstatic face when she sees what he’s brought home. He turns onto their gravel drive, pulling into his parking spot and shifting the truck to park. He glances up at the house before reaching for the handle and freezes.

The door is cracked open. 

It’s very unlike Poppy to leave the door open, even when bringing in groceries. Clint’s eyes remain glued to the door, but he leans over to open the glovebox, carefully extracting the handgun he had stashed there. He checks the make sure it’s loaded before getting out of the truck, cautiously moving towards the front door, his stomach twisting tighter and tighter the closer he got. 

There were wood chips on the front step, an indication that this was not simply a case of forgetting to close the door. Someone had broken in. Gently, he pushes the door open, waiting a moment and hears nothing. He steps inside, gun raised and ears on high alert for anything, any sound. The main hall and living room are empty, aside from furniture tossed about, some of it destroyed. But as he cuts through the dining room just about to reach the kitchen, his boot slips and he looks down, choking back the fear and panic that immediately threatened to take him over.

Blood. 

He pushes into the kitchen, eyes roaming around at the mess and then he steps around the island, dropping to the floor and tossing the gun aside. 

“Poppy? Oh God Poppy? Can you hear me?” He cradles her head in his lap, tears flowing down his cheeks. Her color is pale and he can’t tell where the blood is coming from exactly. But then she blinks and he lets out a choking cry as she looks at him.

“Hey baby! Don’t move. I’m gonna call someone.”

“C…Cl…Clint…” Her words are choked and he can tell she’s holding back tears.

“Ssshh don’t talk, baby. You’ll be alright. I’m here now.” He reaches up on the counter, hand tapping around and landing on the phone before pulling it down to him. He quickly dials 9-1-1, barking at the responder to send an ambulance immediately before Poppy calls his name again and he drops the phone.

“They’re coming, Poppy. Just hold on.”

“Clint…I…I love you.”

“Hey now, none of that. You’re going to be ok, you hear me?” His throat is tight, his stomach churning as he pets her head, wiping the blood onto his pants. 

“Please..be happy. I want…want you to be..be happy.”

“I will be happy because you’ll be here with me.” He cradles her head in his lap, the tears falling harder and she reaches up, a wavering hand smeared with blood that she places on his cheek. Their eyes meet and in them he can see her resolve, her sorrow not for her own life but for him, for not being able to be here for him.

“Be happy, Clint. Have..have a good life. I can’t wait-” she gasps and closes her eyes for a moment before blinking them open and he can already see the glossiness in them. “-can’t wait to hear..all about it. I…I love you, Clint.” 

He swallows hard. “I love you too, baby.”

She smiles, one last time before she slumps, the light in her eyes that hard brightened his life gone, snuffed out too soon. Clint wails, yells, screams, and sobs into the empty house, holding her close. The pain is too loud, too raw and real, threatening to overtake him. But then people are in their house, his house, trying to take her from him. He fights back, yelling and screaming they can’t take her from him, and then he feels a sting in his neck before the world blacks out around him. 

It’s a bright and sunny day, the sky a vibrant shade of blue, and just the right amount of fluffy, white clouds in the sky. Poppy would call it the most perfect of days, warm but not too warm, the perfect day to spend outside. 

Clint blinks in the sunlight as he watches them lower 2 caskets into the ground, one considerably smaller than the other, the priest saying some sort of prayer over them as the people gathered around shed their tears. Clint picks up a handful of dirt, holding it in his hand for a few moments while he stares down at the wooden boxes that contain his family, his future, all taken from him in the blink of a violent eye. He always thought he’d be the one to go out that way, in a bloody mess. But not them. They didn’t deserve this.

Clint tosses the dirt on the caskets and steps back, letting her parents toss handfuls on top as well, not really hearing them when they bring him in for a hug and mumble something about coming over for dinner. He doesn’t hear any of them as they file past him, patting his shoulder, telling him if he needs anything to just call. That they were all here for him. But what he needs the most, they can’t provide. No one can bring them back, bring her back.

Clint returns home, skipping the wake at her parents’ house for some quiet contemplation. The house is nearly silent, only the clock on the wall and the hum of the appliances make any sort of noise. Clint sits at the little table they had in the kitchen, staring down at the floor where he had held her for the last moments of her life. 

He had cried so much since then, wailing and screaming at the world, begging whomever is listening to take him instead, that he would gladly switch places with them, give up his sorry life for them to have a chance. But of course, nothing happened besides his throat hurting, his eyes stinging from overuse. 

But as he stares at the floor, depression and sorrow washing over him, a small thought ticks at the back of his head. He initially had thought it was a random break in, not all uncommon in Oakland. But when he had picked up the pieces of his broken life, he had noticed that nothing had been missing. All of Poppy’s jewelry, despite most of it being costume jewelry, was still there, so was the tv and pretty much everything else. It hadn’t clicked then, too preoccupied in his immediate grief to really think. 

This wasn’t a random act of violence. This was targeted. This was specific. This was for him. 

Clint hates himself anew, burying his face in his hands at the idea of him being the cause of their death. But then it hits him, washes over him and changes his purpose. Once it was to take care of her, of his family, but that had been ripped away and so had his future, his purpose. 

Vengeance. 

He had nothing left to lose. Nothing that anyone could possibly take from him. So why not go out in a blaze of violence, taking down everyone that was connected to his wife and child’s death.

Clint pushes his sorrow aside, locking it away gently as he gets to work locating those who would soon meet their day of judgement.

Several months later…

Clint sits in his truck, staring at the entrance to a seedy bar, watching a few wayward souls enter, one punching the other in the arm before the door closes behind them. He glances down at the paper in his hand, triple checking that he had the address right. He takes out a lighter and burns the paper, waiting until the last embers fade out before getting out of his truck and heading inside. 

He sits at the bar and orders a drink, taking a few sips before flagging down the bartender again, asking him if he recognizes a few names. The bartender, a middle aged man with eyes that had seen war, stares at him for a few moments before nodding towards a corner, a small group of men standing around the pool table. Clint thanks the bartender, leaving a large tip on the counter before turning in his stool to watch the men. There were 4 of them and they were already towing the line between buzzed and drunk, slightly stumbling around before taking their shots. 

Clint moves silently over, quietly sliding his blade into 2 of them, not waiting for their bodies to crumble to the floor before the other two even noticed he was there. One tried to swing at him, which he dodges easily, his blade quieting the man’s movements. The last guy, Rick, backed into a corner, desperately fumbling with something he had in the back of his pants, presumably a gun. Clint takes 2 large steps towards him, a second too late to see the man stop searching for the gun and grab a knife instead, swinging it wide and slicing into Clint’s side.

Clint stumbles, grunting for a moment before straightening up, dodging the man’s swings, ignoring the yelps from the other bar patrons as Rick swings wildly, knife cutting into the air just in front of Clint. He gets a few more blows in, pain searing into Clint before he grabs Rick’s wrist, turning it with a crack, Rick yelping in pain as his knife drops to the floor. Clint gets his knife to Rick’s side, pinning him against the wall.

“You killed my family.”

“Wh..what?”  

Clint presses the knife a little harder and Rick grunts in pain. “You killed my family.”

“Look look look. I don’t know who you are, man!” Another small push and Rick yelps again. “Can you be more specific?”

Clint glares at him. “In my kitchen. Woman. Pregnant.”

The color seems to drain from the man’s face as he recognizes the situation. “Oh..oh..well, listen, we were just given’ the assignment, right? No hard feelings. We were just doing what we were told!”

“Who told you?”

“Ah, look man. I can’t just-” Clint pushes the knife further, feeling warmth start to seep out around the knife. “-ok ok! Fuck, stop! I’ll tell you!” He whispers a name to Clint, a name that sounded vaguely familiar. Frances Stokes. He thinks he’s worked with him before.

“Is that all?” Clint barks out.

Rick furiously nods his head. “Yes, yes!”

“Thanks.” Clint drives the knife further in and up, waiting for Rick to slump over. But when he turns around, the barrel of a gun is pointed at him, the bartender obviously nervous.

“Get out of here, man! Just go!”

Clint doesn’t need telling twice. He doubts anyone in here will say anything, each of them involved in their other dark dealings to be in a place like this. Clint makes it to the front door, stumbling out onto the sidewalk, his hand clutched to his side. He glances down at his hand, seeing the crimson shine in the street light. He glances up and for a moment is transported: a woman, the same hair as Poppy’s stares back at him, only a few feet away, eyes wide as she takes him in. 

“Look out!” She yells at him, just in time for Clint to turn, stopping the man that had been running up behind him with a fist to his stomach. They both fall to the ground, rolling and punching before Clint gets on top, letting his fists fly as the guy’s head slams against the pavement. Clint shifts off of him, turning to see the woman still there, her hair like a shining beacon before he feels himself falling backwards, the blackness swallowing him.

Sunlight warms his face and for a moment, Clint feels transported. Like he was at home, safe in his bed with-

He blinks awake, reality slamming into him as he remembers punching the guy out before blacking out. His head feels like it’s splitting in 2, and his side hurts bad, like he had been stabbed - wait. He had been stabbed. He tries to sit up, groaning and laying back down when his head felt like it was splitting open.

“Hey, he lives! I wouldn’t sit up just yet.” 

Clint blinks rapidly a few times, the disembodied voice trying to permeate its way into the meat that is his brain right now. But then a person moves into his vision and it all comes flooding back: the woman from outside the bar. The one with hair just like Poppy’s.

“Where..” Clint coughs, just realizing how dry his mouth is. 

“Take it easy. I have some water here with a straw.” The woman grabs a cup off the side table and holds it next to him, pinching the straw inbetween her thumb and pointer finger so it stays in place. Clint debates for a moment on taking the drink from a stranger, but then again, if she had wanted to kill him, she’d have left him on that sidewalk. So he takes a few greedy sips before she pulls the straw from his mouth.

“Take it easy. Small sips.”

“Throat..dry.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve been out for 2 days. But you have to take small sips so you don’t overload your system.”

Clint nods and the straw returns. He does as she says and realizes she was right. She sets the cup back on the side table.

“Where am I?” Clint lets out a small cough.

“You’re at my apartment. I couldn’t just leave you there, not after you took care of that man.”

The man. Right. “He ok?”

“I shouldn’t have bothered checking him, not after he nearly attacked me, but I’m a nurse and I took an oath so,” She gestures vaguely around the room. “He died on the sidewalk.”

Well that’s one less thing he has to worry about. “You don’t seem shaken about that.”

Her eyes go somewhere else for a moment before she blinks. “I’m no stranger to death.”

Silence rules the room for several long moments. 

“Are you hungry? I have some pain pills but we should get some food in you too. I also have some clean towels and clothes in the bathroom if you’d like to shower.”

“I think food sounds good.”

She nods and heads out of the room, distant sounds coming from the kitchen. Clint looks around the room. It was obviously her bedroom, sparsely decorated but a few photos of presumably family sit in frames on her dresser, as does an empty vase. She has a random poster on the wall, a movie poster for The Thing. The blanket he has is soft and light blue, but not frilly like he’d expect. But it is warm and comforting. She comes back in with a tray, a bowl of vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich sitting on it, a glass of water off to the side. She places it on the dresser and walks to him. 

“Let me help you sit up.”

“Oh, I don’t want to mess your sheets up.”

She waves her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I can always get new sheets.”

She helps him sit up, Clint holding his head for several moments before the searing pain abates. She puts the tray over his lap, tapping on the tray next to 2 small pills. “Make sure to take those now and eat some food after. I’ll let you eat.”

Clint reaches for the pills. “Thanks, Flo.”

She cocks her head and looks at him. “Flo?”

Clint pops the pills in his mouth, taking a few more sips of water to swallow them with, hoping they act fast. “Yeah. Like Florence Nightingale. The nurse?”

She smiles and tells him her name. “But Flo. I like it.”

That night, Flo insists he takes her bed again, that he needs the space to recover. He tries to argue but she’ll have none of it, promptly telling him goodnight and to yell if he needs anything before closing the door most of the way. 

The pain in his side keeps him from getting a good sleep, pain throbbing out from the wound Flo had stitched up. He didn’t want to bother her, he could just grunt through it, but then she was there, softly pushing the door open and rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

“Fuck, didn’t mean to wake you, Flo.”

She yawns and stretches, her sleep shirt lifting a little and exposing a sliver of skin. “You didn’t. I have to get up for work anyway. But I can see you’re in pain. The meds not working?”

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“That happens sometimes when you gain consciousness. Give me a minute.” She disappears into the other room and returns a few minutes later, some scrubs tossed quickly on. She has a small pill bottle in her hand and she shakes one out, handing it to Clint.

“You can have one of these now but not another until I get home, ok? It’s pretty strong so don’t go mixing it with alcohol or anything.”

Clint nods. “Got it.” He pops the pill and swallows it, thanking Flo as she sets down some food next to him. 

“I’m going to be home this evening, but if you need me, here’s my work number. Just ask for me.” She sets a piece of paper down next to the phone on the nightstand. She pauses for a moment and looks at him. “I’ll uh..see you tonight.”

The meds kick in when she leaves and mercifully, they knock him out, Clint finally able to get the sleep his body desperately needed.

Fuck, getting injured at his age was not fun. Stabbings hurt a lot more than they used to. When Flo gets home she brings him more food, then has him take another pain pill. He passes out again, his dreams carrying him to dark places with familiar violent themes. He thrashes about, trying to rid himself of the images, and is yanked from his nightmare by a hand squeezing his shoulder. Clint’s eyes fly open and Poppy is standing there, her hair framing her face. He reaches out to touch her cheek, his fingers barely touching her soft skin.

“Poppy?”

She’s saying something that he can’t make out, so he shakes his head and blinks a few times. But when he opens them, he sees Flo standing there, worry etched in her features. 

“Clint! Are you with me?”

He puts his hand to his head and nods. “I…I think so.”

She puts her hand on his chest, trying to help him slow his breathing. “Are you ok? You were making a lot of noise.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. Are you ok?”

He takes a moment, his head still foggy. “I…will be. I think.”

She stands there for another moment. “Who’s Poppy?”

Clint's eyes harden as he glares at her. “What did you say?”

Flo pulls her hand back, regret in her eyes. “Poppy. You were calling her name. Is it someone I can call for-”

“NO! Don’t ever say that name again! Get out!”

Flo nods and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Tears immediately fall down his cheeks and he buries his face in the pillow, remembering the first and last time he’d seen Poppy.

It was nearly a week before he could tolerate not being on those heavy pain meds. Basic ones now worked just as well and his head started to clear. He was having flashes of memories from the week but nothing concrete. He did feel like he needed to apologize to Flo but for what, he couldn’t clearly remember.

Clint walks to the kitchen, the movement feeling good. He puts together a dinner of sorts, random things he can find in Flo’s fridge that seems to just have ingredients, nothing premade. He just sits on the couch, taking a bite of a sandwich when the front door opens and Flo walks in, gently shaking out her coat before hanging it on the hook. 

“Raining?” Clint asks, his mouth still full of sandwich.

“Oh, hey! Yeah. Not so bad here but it was pouring by the hospital.” She moves around to sit next to him on the couch, her eyes studying him. “How are you feeling?”

“So much better. I really can’t thank you enough.”

She glances down at his plate with his small sandwich. “Why don’t I whip us up something warm? Just give me a few minutes to wash off the day.”

“Oh you don’t-”

“I have to eat too. I’ll just make more.”

She made something called pesto pasta, which Clint had never heard of before. It was different but he would eat it again for sure. They watched some game show and then the news before Flo was yawning. 

“You want to take your bed back tonight?”

“No, that’s ok. You take it. I’ve got my own little nest going out here.”

Clint chuckles. “If you’re sure.”

He gets ready for bed and sits down to get comfortable. It was then he noticed that he had left his medicine in the living room. Before he could do anything, there was a soft knock at the door and Flo comes in carrying the pain meds. 

“You forgot these. Figured you’d want them.”

“Thanks.” Clint takes the bottles and pops them open, swallowing the pills with the glass of water on the nightstand. Flo turns to leave but Clint stops her.

“Wait. Can I ask you something?”

Flo turns around to look at him. “Sure.”

“Did I…did I do or say anything to you when I was on those big meds?”

Her face hardens slightly. “Nothing I’m not used to. It’s ok.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry. What did I say?”

“It’s ok, really. I’ve had worse.”

“It’s not ok to me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Flo, please. Tell me.”

She hesitates a moment, her eyes bouncing between his before she sits on the bed. 

“You were making a lot of noise one night and I came in to check on you. Your eyes opened but I don’t think you were really seeing things. You kept calling me Poppy. And when I asked who she was, you flipped out.”

Clint’s jaw tightens as the memory floods back. Her hair. That’s what made him think…

“Listen, you don’t have to tell me, Clint. I just wanted to know if I needed to call someone-”

“Poppy…was my wife.”

“Oh.”

Silence stretches on for several seconds before Clint swallows hard, continuing.

“She was…the love of my life. Made me a better man. Great woman. We got married…got pregnant. And then…” Clint clears his throat, blinking back tears, Flo waiting patiently, letting him take his time.

“I came home one day and they were…I held her while she…died.” He whispers the last word, but it’s like he yelled it, screamed it. He’d never talked about it with anyone, not even Poppy’s parents. 

Flo puts her hand on his and squeezes. “I’m so sorry, Clint.” He just nods, trying not to lose his shit in front of her. 

“You have her hair. It’s almost exactly like hers. So I guess I saw it and mixed with the meds, I thought…you were her.”

Flo nods, squeezing his hand a little harder. “I understand.”

Clint looks at her, his eyes hardening slightly. “How would you understand? How would you know what it’s like?”

She takes a deep breath before puffing it out. “I was engaged once. High school sweethearts. We were waiting to get married until we were out of school. Anyway, he was taking night classes and one night, this other guy decided it would be super fun to get drunk and drive….I lost my future that night. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Fuck. So she did know exactly how it feels.

“You remind me of him sometimes.” She says it so quietly Clint almost misses it.

“I do?”

“Yeah. It’s not…it’s in your small movements, the way the light hits your hair sometimes. So..I get it. Honestly, it’s just nice having someone else here. Someone who gets it.”

“Yeah. It is.” Clint squeezes her hand back and she looks at him, her eyes big in the lamp light, the glow bouncing off her hair and looking just like Poppy’s. 

Their hands stay intertwined for several long moments, Clint rubbing his thumb gently over the back of her hand. She scoots a little closer to him, her hand gently sliding up his arm. Clint’s breath picks up as her hand cups his cheek and they lock eyes, both silently asking the other if this was ok. Clint hesitates for a moment before slowly lowering his head to hers, their lips gently touching. Flo’s lips are soft and a little more plush than Poppy’s, but her tongue timidly brushing against his lips is all the permission he needs. 

His hand slides to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulls her close, his tongue dancing with hers. She moans softly, clutching at his shirt and he feels his pants growing tighter. Flo pulls back slightly, resting her forehead against his. 

“Bedroom. Nurse’s orders.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Flo takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom, the door closing behind them. For a moment they stare at each other, another moment of confirmation before she starts to pull her shirt off, the rest of her clothes following. Clint matches her actions, his own clothes falling into a pile on the floor. His eyes roam over her body before stepping forward, pulling her face to his again. Her fingers glide up the sides of his body, her warmth pressing into him and it all feels so intense, but not bad. He walks her backwards, her legs hitting the bed and she breaks the kiss to climb up it, Clint crawling over her, Flo’s legs opening to give him space. Her hands lightly squeeze his biceps, which feels nice but then the light from outside hits her hair a certain way and for a moment he’s transported, sees Poppy. 

His hips push against hers as his hand grips her hair, her heat enveloping him as she moans, her legs wrapping around him. He blinks and it’s Flo again, but as he works his hips against hers, the light catches every now and then in her hair, he gets flashes of Poppy.

Fuck, this feels good. It had been so long since he’d held someone, felt them touch him like this. He had been alone for too long, not letting himself live fully. He felt guilty, even with Poppy telling him to live his life. His eyes find Flo’s and he can tell she goes somewhere else occasionally too, his guilt slightly lessening at the thought he’s bringing her some comfort like she is him.

He can feel himself getting closer to the edge. He licks his fingers and snakes them between their bodies, teasing her between her legs. He can feel her starting to squirm, her breaths starting to pick up. Clint grabs her hand with his free one, lacing their fingers together as he pushes her hand into the mattress slightly above her head. Her fingers dig into his skin but the second she tightens around him he comes, burying his face in her hair. 

When he rolls off of her, Clint pulls her to him, feeling her nuzzle further into his chest before falling asleep. He stays awake a little longer, gently tracing shapes on her back as he thinks.

In the morning, just before the sun rises, he gets dressed, gathering up the handful of personal items he had. He hesitates briefly, staring down Flo as she sleeps. He presses a kiss to her head, silently thanking her for everything she had done for him before he steps out into the morning light, back into his life of violence.

A Few Months Later…

“You thought you could just kill my family and nothing would happen?” Clint twists the knife he had in the man’s leg, smirking when he screams out in pain.

“N..no!”

“Then why did you come for them?” Clint taps the knife and the man whimpers. 

“I wasn’t…we weren’t going to.” Tears were streaming down the man’s face, fear at seeing the end of his life.

“But then you decided to try and find me? Why?”

The man takes a shuddering breath. “Will you not kill me if I tell you?”

Clint grips the knife and the man cries out. “How about I’ll kill you if you don’t?”

“OK! OK!” He takes another breath, inhaling sharply through his nose. “We weren’t trying to seek revenge. But then one day, we get invited to this house and get handed everything on you. Who you are, where you live, all of it.”

Clint cocks his head. “Who gave it to you? Why?”

“They..they said they would give us a chance at revenge. Only if we promise to…to take you out.”

“Take me out. Why did you kill my wife?”

The man blinks, swallowing hard. “We were told to since she was…since your line would be carried on.”

Clint had to take several deep breaths so he didn’t turn this man inside out. He still needed one more piece of information. Someone had betrayed him, and he had a strong feeling he knew who. He swallows down his rage and looks the man in his eyes.

“Who?” He grunts it through gritted teeth and the man shivers. 

“He’ll kill me.”

Clint twists the knife hard and the man screams, jerking around against his restraints. “Who?”

The man seems to rethink his situation. “The….The Guy.”

That was the answer Clint was hoping not to hear but had a suspicion he would. It was the only thing that made sense. The Guy didn’t want him to quit, his best hitman. He knew the only way Clint would come back would be to have someone take away his new life. And The Guy made sure of that. 

Before the man could beg, Clint yanked the knife from his leg and slit his throat, waiting until the gurgling and sputtering stopped, his body still before he sighs, getting to work on cleaning up the mess. But his mind was elsewhere, planning and plotting. Which is why he didn’t hear another man coming up behind him until it was too late, his body falling sideways and slamming into the ground. 

The man gets on top of him, pulling out a knife. Clint dodges as best he can, but he does get a good knick on his shoulder. Grunting, Clint throws his body weight and the man, a lot skinnier than him, gets thrown off balance. Clint pushes up and manages to flip them, gripping the man’s wrist and slamming it against the floor, the knife clattering across the ground. No weapon in hand, Clint reaches for the man’s head, but his shoulder sends searing pain down his arm. He must have dislocated it when he hit the ground. Instead, Clint grabs the man’s hair, slamming his head into the ground until he stops moving. He gets off the man and sits for a moment to catch his breath, his shoulder throbbing.

Well this will make cleaning up suck. 

He can’t go to the hospital, but he knows he needs stitches. He can’t do it himself because of his fucking shoulder, which is just violently throbbing at this point. He knows where he can go, but should he? Finally, he gives in, knowing he has no other option. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see Flo, he does. He really does. But that’s the exact reason he shouldn’t go. He doesn’t need to bring his shit to her.

He sighs, knocking on her door. It takes a moment but the door opens and there she is, almost glowing, just gorgeous. And for a moment, he’d forgotten why he was there.

“Oh! You’re bleeding!” Flo takes his hand but he jerks it back.

“Shoulder is dislocated.”

“You’re just all kinds of fun. Come on in.” 

Clint heads inside, kicking off his boots before following Flo into the kitchen. She pulls out a chair from the table and motions for him to sit down as she goes to get her med kit. She returns a moment later and sets it on the table, moving to stand next to him. 

“I take it you’ve had a dislocated shoulder before?” 

Clint looks up, her eyes big and round and he momentarily wonders why he had left. He nods, preparing himself while she gets into position, gripping him.

“Ready?”

“Just do it.”

Flo nods, looking down at his arm. “1…2…I’m pregnant.”

“What?! FUCK!” His arm pops back into place, the initial sharp pain quieting down to a dull ache. Flo hands him some pain meds and a glass of water but he pushes them away.

“What the fuck did you say?”

“Take these. You’ll need them. I’ll also sling your arm.” 

“Fuck the sling. Flo, you’re…you’re pregnant?”

She takes the sling off the table, not meeting his eyes yet. She helps him get situated in the sling and reaches for the alcohol to start dabbing at his other arm. Clint had completely forgotten about the knife gash. But before she starts, he grabs her wrist, giving it a little shake so she’ll look at him. She sighs and meets his gaze, worry etched in her face.

“I..am.”

“Who…am…am I…”

“I’ve only been with you since the accident.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He didn’t mean to get her pregnant. Fuck, this is not what either of them need. It’s not that he doesn’t want the kid. He would love to be a dad, was going to be a dad before…fuck. He has to kill The Guy or he’d find them and kill them too. FUCK. He has to protect them. Clint is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t even feel it when Flo starts to sew his wound, tying it off and putting a bandaid over it.

“You should be all set. Just try not to fuck with that shoulder too much.”

Clint’s mind clears and he focuses on the main objective: to keep Flo and his unborn child safe. He can’t let them die for him, for his mistakes. He will never let that happen again, even if it kills him.

“I’ve gotta go.” Clint abruptly stands and pushes past a bewildered Flo, grabbing his keys and closing the door gently behind him. It never occurs to him to say anything to Flo. She doesn’t need to know about this. About any of it. He’s so absorbed in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the sobs coming from inside the home as he walks away from it. 

It takes him another month to locate The Guy’s new hiding place. He imagines it would be difficult for anyone to find - anyone who doesn’t know The Guy like he does. Clint watches from his steakout point, his eyes hardening and his brain sliding into his job mode, compartmentalizing what he needs to do to protect his family. What he should’ve done before.

The bodyguards at the door hesitate when Clint walks towards them, but soon they are silenced, slumping to the ground before they even had time to draw their guns. Quietly, Clint moves inside, making his way down the hall, silencing another several guards. The Guy really needed to hire better employees. He pauses outside of what looks like a main door, listening. From inside, he hears a familiar voice, a voice that has commanded him to do so many violent things for him.    

“I don’t care what it takes, I want it done!” A phone slams down, The Guy sighs. “I swear, it’s so hard to find good help these days.” 

Clint listens for a few minutes, hearing no other movement behind the door aside from The Guy, assuming he was alone in his office. Clint takes a deep breath and stands straight, holding his gun at the ready before pushing in the door and aiming his gun directly at The Guy. When Clint enters, The Guy glances up, all color draining from his face. He was totally alone and he knew from looking at Clint that the cat was out of the bag.

“H-hey Clint. How’s retired life?”

“Why?”

Beads of sweat start to drip down The Guy’s temples. “Why what?”

“Why did you kill them?”

He seems to debate for a moment, settling on the truth instead of pretending he didn’t know. “Look man, good workers are hard to find. And you were the best. You did everything for me and so when you wanted to leave….well, you knew too much.”

“So you took out my family?”

The Guy shrugs. “I figured maybe you’d come back if you had nothing left. Besides, I couldn’t have you continuing your line if they’d go to work for someone-”

POP!

Clint fires his gun, hitting The Guy directly in the forehead, his body crumbling to the ground. He listens for a moment, but no one comes running. No one else is here. Clint lowers his gun, dropping to his knees and buries his face in his hands, wailing and screaming, as he gets closure on the last chapter of his life.

Clint stands in front of Flo’s door, hesitating for a moment before knocking. He had been sitting in front of her apartment for another 2 weeks, making sure no one was casing the joint. But no one would - Clint had taken out the remainder of The Guy’s associates. No one would be coming for them. 

The door opens and Flo stands before him looking absolutely breath taking. Her eyes widen and her mouth nearly drops on the floor.

“Clint?” She whispers it, hesitating for a moment before reaching her hand out. 

“It’s me.”

SLAP!

Clint rubs at his cheek, chuckling a little to himself at the assault. He deserved that. He deserved more than that.

“What the fuck Clint? I tell you I’m pregnant with your baby and you just leave? Not even a word?”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Flo. But I had to…had to make sure you were safe.”

“I don’t expect you to be involved, but you could’ve- safe?”

He nods. ”Can I come in?”

She studies him, her eyes somehow seeing through him and she nods, opening the door. “Lock it behind you.”

This time, he decides to tell her everything, about his past life, about what happened to Poppy, what he’d done now to protect them. How he couldn’t let it happen again, not when he has the chance to have a family again. To his surprise, when he was done, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him, holding him tight. He hugs her back, swallowing down some tears and melting into her embrace. It’s several long moments before she pulls back, cupping his face with her soft, warm hands.

“It’s not your fault, Clint.”

He looks down, shrugs a little. “But-”

“You can’t control what other’s do. Poppy knew that. Why do you think her last words were of love and not revenge? She doesn’t blame you, Clint. She would want you to be happy. So, be happy. Even if…even if that’s not with us.”

His eyes snap to hers and he’s surprised to find tears there. “Do you want me to leave? I understand if you-”

“No!” She grips his face a little tighter. “No. I want you here, but I need all of you here. We need it. But if you can’t, I understand.”

“You…you want me? Even though I’ve…I’m a violent…”

She cuts him off by pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Look, I knew you were in some shit when we met. I’m not stupid. You came tumbling out of that bar stabbed and then tussled with another guy. I had to patch you up and you bled all over my floor. I figured you were in some shit. This is Oakland. But..you were also gentle with me and patient, even when I told you about my past and I thought…we had that moment and I know we were both a little in our heads during it, but it was..fuck, it was nice having someone, especially someone who..gets it. I like you, Clint. I don’t expect you to like me in the same way, but however you want to be involved in our lives, that’s fine with me.”

How the fuck did he lead such a violent and fucked up life, all the shit he’s done, and he managed to find not one but two amazing women who just cared for him despite it? Poppy never knew exactly what he did, but Clint always suspected she knew he wasn’t really a delivery driver. She just never pressed. Just carried on loving him. 

Clint reaches forward, cupping her face in his hand this time. “I want to be involved with the baby. And I’d…I’d like to see where this goes,” he gestures between them and she smiles, realizing his intent. 

“Really?”

“Really. But know that no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for both of you.”

Clint and Flo dated for a month or so before they decided it was easier to just move in together. They found a little place for their growing family, a little 2 bedroom place in a better area of town. Clint had had some extra money after taking out The Guy (and raiding his safe) and happily moved them all in. Clint is there for every weird craving, anytime she wanted something at 3am, foot massages, all of it. He loved being there for her, talking to her belly, but also being with her. Flo was the first person to help him realize that he still deserved love. And even if he didn’t believe it, he knew that Flo deserved it and he would spend the rest of his time making sure she had it. 

Their son Christopher came screaming into the world right on time. They got him cleaned up, wrapped in blankets and a little tiny hat and handed him to Clint. He gently takes Christopher in his arms, walking over to Flo who was still laying on the bed. Tears well in his eyes as he stares down at his son, Flo leaning her head on his arm and he sighs, happy that he’s finally getting the life he wanted. 

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings   

#clint x reader #clint x you #pedro pascal #clint x f!reader #clint x female reader #clint #freaky tales #freaky tales ff #freaky tales fanfiction #freaky tales fanfic #clint fanfic #clint fic #clint ff #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal characters

[mykoreanlove]

sexy brain wasn’t having it

3.25 am.

Once again Namjoon lay awake at night, anticipating the next disaster. His thoughts were racing, fueling the anxiety that was rooted deep in his heart.

„Joon“, you mumbled sleepily as you twisted in his arms.

You calling him caught him by surprise, a welcomed yet unnecessary surprise.

„Why are you awake, love?“, he whispered in his deep raspy voice.

You chuckled as you patted his buff chest. „Well Sherlock, my precious darling is awake so I can’t sleep either.“

Namjoon smiled widely as he placed a sweet kiss on your forehead.

„Sorry.“

„Is something on your mind?“

He sighed, not really knowing how to articulate his thoughts.

„Do you remember when I told you about my ex? The one that cheated on me?“

You nodded silently.

„Do you also remember the girl that shot daggers at you when I took you out to dinner two days ago?“

„The one with the crazy eyes?“

A sad laugh escaped his lips. „Yeah. Actually, same person.“

„No way“, you gasped, suddenly fully awake. „Why didn’t you tell me?“

„Honestly? She did some crazy things back then so I just wanted to forget her. I don’t want you to be near her. Ever.“

You tightened your grip around your boyfriend, deeply touched by his concern for you.

„You really care about me, huh?“

„Slightly“, he bickered back, making the both of you laugh.

„Are you afraid that she’s gonna do something to us?“

Namjoon closed his eyes and sighed deeply. „I expect her to.“

You drew circles on his chest, hoping this would make him calm down and drift off to sleep. It seemed like it worked, until it didn’t.

Frantic sounds alerted you both, someone was ringing the bell like crazy.

„Namjoon. Namjoon!! Open up, please.“

Her whines were slurred and chaotic. You felt him tense under your touch, unsure what to do.

„Just ignore her, Joonie. I’m sure she’s gonna leave in a minute.“

„Joon!! God damn it, Joon!!! Open the fucking door!“

Namjoon debated if he should get up, but he also feared hurting you. Suddenly, the door flung open revealing a very bad tempered Jungkook.

„Hyung, please. Go talk to her. I can’t sleep and I can’t keep listening to her begging for you. I beg you talk to that lunatic.“

You squeezed Namjoon‘s hand, encouraging him to go.

„I love you“, he whispered in your ear.

„I know“, you stuck out your tongue.

„Namjoon, fucking rap monster open this door no-„

Namjoon‘s ex swallowed her tongue as she actually succeeded with her plan - her ex was standing before her, ready to listen to her tantrum.

„Joon“, she tried hugging him but he pushed her away.

„You know what time it is?“

She nodded her head, slightly ashamed. „Joon, I am sorry but I need to talk to you. Breaking up was the worst idea we ever had.“

He rolled his eyes at her, trying to stay calm.

„Cheating on me was even dumber if you ask me.“

„I never“, she tried to defend herself but bit her tongue as she saw the hurt in his eyes.

„I’m sorry. What I did was wrong. It’s just, I couldn’t handle our love back then. You’re such a grown up and I.. I am a mess.“

Flashbacks of all the tantrums she created flashed his mind. She always argued with him, accusing him of the most disrespectful shit. Looking back he could simply laugh about this, wondering how the hell he kept up with her frantics for so long. He didn’t care about the past, nor her anymore. He only cared about you.

„I call you a cab“, he stated sternly.

„NO!“

Namjoon sighed in annoyance.

„What do you want from me? Why are you here? Do you honestly think I’d take you back? After all you put me through?“

„Why not? Because of that bitch?“, she spat out.

His nostrils flared up instantly. Namjoon would never resolve a conflict with violence, especially not with a female. He’d rather contort to hurting one emotionally.

„I don’t want you to talk about my girlfriend like that. Ever again. Understood?“

„That should be me! I’m supposed to be your girl, Joon. Don’t you remember how great we were?“

„Nah“, he replied dryly.

His ex scoffed, too many blows to her ego. „Oh please, I’ve seen her. Since when do you date someone so basic? She’s half of me anyways.“

Namjoon took out his phone and ordered a cab, making an end to this nonsense.

„What are you doing? Joon, listen to me! She’s not the one for you, can’t you see?“

He raised his left brow, holding back what he truly felt.

„She’s average. Basic. Boring. I think you should dump her. I think you should get back together with me. I think you and I should become Korea‘s hottest couple and live a beautiful life together. I think I am the love of your life!“

A real, heartfelt laugh left his lips. His ex‘ eyes widened in expectation, anticipating her victory over you.

Namjoon however disagreed.

„Thank you for telling me what you think. I however, don’t think about you. At all.“

He turned around and went inside, hoping to never end up in a situation like that ever again.

#mykoreanlove #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts namjoon #namjoon #rm bts #rm x y/n #rm x you #rm x reader #bts rm #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon reaction #namjoon one shot #namjoon au #namjoon scenarios #namjoon smut #namjoon drabble #namjoon x oc #namjoon bts #namjoon bangtan #bts x fem!reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts x reader #bts one shot #bts reactions #bts imagines

[yuurei20]

Grim Info Compilation part 15: Grim's Experiences, Forcing and More

Grim is often surprising the other characters with all things the does not know that are considered common knowledge: Lilia exclaims, “How could someone in this world have truly never heard of Halloween?” with the ghosts explaining that it is one of their world’s biggest events.

Grim surprises Ace and Deuce by not knowing about the Starsending event, with Deuce saying that it is “hard to imagine someone not knowing what it is.” (Ace: “Do you know anything!?”)

Grim does not know of “The Righteous Judge” or “The Kindly Bell Ringer” from Glorious Masquerade, and seems to have never seen a barber’s pole before. Similarly, he did not know any of the “Great Seven.”

Grim also had never heard of Beanfest or Spelldrive, despite it being a “world-famous sport.”

Back in Book 1 it seems Grim had never heard of “overblot,” despite being a magic user himself.

Other things that Grim does not seem to know about are corn dogs (originally: takoyaki), the word “holiday,” or what skiing is.

He is also revealed to have never heard of “Wonderlinks,” described as an extremely popular gaming console.

It is not unusual for Grim to whine and plead until he gets his way: he throws a tantrum when Jamil refuses to let him join the Firelit Sky event until Kalim convinces Jamil to relent, harasses Crowley into allowing him to attend the social in Glorious Masquerade, invites himself to lunch with Jack and Ruggie during Port Fest and demands to attend the Tamashina Mina event, despite never being invited.

Grim and the prefect share a smartphone.

Grim may not have the best personal hygiene, saying that he washed his hands a day before, so he shouldn’t have to wash them again before he eats.

How warm Grim’s fur keeps him may be a point for debate: during Harveston he is unfazed by the cold, saying, “I got this nice, tick coat to keep me warm" (also mentioned in Book 4, though he says his "nose is gonna freeze over"), but he complains about being freezing cold during Vargas Camp.

During Vargas Camp 2 Grim is swallowed whole by a catfish.

#twstgrim #grimfacts #twstfacts #twisted wonderland #grim

[probablyasocialecologist]

While enslaved people were mostly overseas, in colonies, out of sight, slavery funded British wealth and institutions from the Bank of England to the Royal Mail. The extent to which modern Britain was shaped by the profits of the transatlantic slave economy was made even clearer with the launch in 2013 of the Legacies of British Slave-ownership project at University College London. It digitised the records of tens of thousands of people who claimed compensation from the government when colonial slavery was abolished in 1833, making it far easier to see how the wealth created by slavery spread throughout Britain after abolition. “Slave-ownership,” the researchers concluded, “permeated the British elites of the early 19th century and helped form the elites of the 20th century.” (Among others, it showed that David Cameron’s ancestors, and the founders of the Greene King pub chain, had enslaved people.)

But as Bell-Romero would write in his report on Caius, “the legacies of enslavement encompassed far more than the ownership of plantations and investments in the slave trade”. Scholars undertaking this kind of archival research typically look at the myriad ways in which individuals linked to an institution might have profited from slavery – ranging from direct involvement in the trade of enslaved people or the goods they produced, to one-step-removed financial interests such as holding shares in slave-trading entities such as the South Sea or East India Companies.

Bronwen Everill, an expert in the history of slavery and a fellow at Caius, points out “how widespread and mundane all of this was”. Mapping these connections, she says, simply “makes it much harder to hold the belief that Britain suddenly rose to power through its innate qualities; actually, this great wealth is linked to a very specific moment of wealth creation through the dramatic exploitation of African labour.”

This academic interest in forensically quantifying British institutions’ involvement in slavery has been steadily growing for several decades. But in recent years, this has been accompanied by calls for Britain to re-evaluate its imperial history, starting with the Rhodes Must Fall campaign in 2015. The Black Lives Matter protests of 2020 turbo-charged the debate, and in response, more institutions in the UK commissioned research on their historic links to slavery – including the Bank of England, Lloyd’s, the National Trust, the Joseph Rowntree Foundation and the Guardian.

But as public interest in exploring and quantifying Britain’s historic links to slavery exploded in 2020, so too did a conservative backlash against “wokery”. Critics argue that the whole enterprise of examining historic links to slavery is an exercise in denigrating Britain and seeking out evidence for a foregone conclusion. Debate quickly ceases to be about the research itself – and becomes a proxy for questions of national pride. “What seems to make people really angry is the suggestion of change [in response to this sort of research], or the removal of specific things – statues, names – which is taken as a suggestion that people today should be guilty,” said Natalie Zacek, an academic at the University of Manchester who is writing a book on English universities and slavery. “I’ve never quite gotten to the bottom of that – no one is saying you, today, are a terrible person because you’re white. We’re simply saying there is another story here.”

#slavery #british empire #uk politics #history

[aphrogeneias]

𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 — 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

summary: it's getting harder and harder for eddie to hide his feelings for you, and an unexpected visit from his bandmates may accidentally change everything.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: eddie's pov, some playful jealousy. "you give love a bad name" only came out late 1986 (october, i think?) but i could not resist mentioning it here.

author's note: changes were made here as well, some major editing was done.

series masterlist

3.

“You just like them because you think they’re cute.”

This wasn't the first time he'd had this conversation with you. Beside your daily debates where you seemed to always be on opposite sides of, Eddie liked teasing you about liking mainstream artists for their looks — it wasn't because he secretly liked fantasizing about himself being the rockstar who was the object of your desires.

Not at all.

“Is that jealousy I hear?”

From where he stood, following you around the store as you went through the rows of records, carefully re-organizing the mess left behind by a full day of customers, Eddie felt his face redden, heat rising from his cheeks as you playfully mocked him. “That’s not what I meant…”

“Don’t worry,” your eyes caught his, and instead of hiding, he just melted under your gaze, “I’m sure Jon Bon Jovi isn’t gonna come sweep me off my feet any time soon."

Pretending that the image of a man — any other man but him — sweeping you off your feet didn’t phase him, because it shouldn’t phase him at all, he just mumbled a “Who says I’m worried?”, under his breath.

“Besides, you were humming to You Give Love a Bad Name just the other day when it came up on the radio, don’t think I didn’t hear you.”

“What can I say? That shit is catchy.”

Eddie’s flustered state, grumbling and fidgeting with his rings while you seemed unaware of his predicament, didn’t just come from being caught red handed, letting himself get jealous over a band you liked. He was scared, scared that you’d find out he’d caught feelings for you. Somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing you as the girl who kept him company on his lonely days, someone who he liked talking to, and started seeking comfort in your presence, longing to be near when he was away, dreading the times where he had to leave.

It was too late to tell himself not to get attached, he was already past that point.

He wondered if you knew. It wasn’t like he was such a great actor, you’d caught him staring at you more times than he could count - all the times you’d made him a question and he didn’t answer because he was too busy looking at the way the light hit your eyes, or at how delicate your hands were compared to his, and thinking about how it would feel if you were to touch him, or what it would be like to touch you under those annoyingly tight band tees you were always wearing. You had to at least suspect that he wasn’t coming all the way here just to annoy you with his incessant shenanigans.

Before he could gather his thoughts and change subjects, the bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of two people. It startled Eddie to watch Gareth and Jeff walking in, shoulder to shoulder, matching shit eating grins on their faces.

He felt his heart racing as he mouthed at them from where he stood beside you, “What are you doing here?”

When they got to the aisle where you were in, while you were still blissfully unaware of the company of his bandmates, Eddie tried, and failed, to act as casually as possible.

“Hey, man. Aren’t you gonna introduce us to your girlfriend? It’s about time.” He knew Gareth must have practiced this, intended on making a fool out of him, and it was working, because Eddie was speechless.

“She’s not my girlfriend, dickhead.” He deadpanned. While he was struggling to keep it together, you looked amused, looking back and forth between the friends. He composed himself enough to introduce you to his friends, finally telling them your name.

“So, this is the infamous Corroded Coffin.” You recognized, greeting them with a bright smile, making Eddie feel that surge of irrational jealousy all over again.  “I heard a lot about you.”

“What a coincidence, we heard a lot about you too.” 

This wasn't supposed to be happening — but Eddie should have seen it coming.

They weren't exactly lying when they said they'd heard a lot about you. The first time he had ever mentioned you to his friends was when he was late for rehearsal one afternoon, after losing track of time while he spent time with you. Since then, they’d been relentless, teasing and accusing him of hiding you from them, talking about you during Hellfire meetings, which made Dustin and Mike get on his ass about you as well, questioning him about who’s the girl that had finally gotten past his façade.

Maybe they were onto something when they said he was hiding you from them. He wasn’t doing it on purpose, but the moments he had with you were special, they were his, and he didn’t want to share it with anyone else. The days he spent with you, in your own bubble inside the record store’s walls, pretending as if the outside world didn’t exist and his only focus was you - watching you work, sharing more than just music with you, making you laugh - were his, and he didn’t want to risk losing that.

Losing you, though he never really had you in the first place.

“What have you been telling people about me, Munson?” He could tell you were having fun by the way face lit up, shouldering him as he stood by your side. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Oh, no, only the best.” Jeff commented. “Honestly, he’s head over…”

“You know what? I know why you’re here!” Eddie pushed forward, interrupting his friend before he could make everything worse than it already was. He kept his act, now standing between the two boys, passing his arms over their shoulders, “I’m late, aren’t I? I’m late again, and we have to leave!”

“C’mon, Eddie, they just got here!”

“Yeah, Eddie, we just got here.” Gareth echoed your protests with sarcasm. “What if we just wanna buy some records, huh?”

“All you want is to be a pain in my ass, that’s what you want.” He gritted through his teeth, turning to Gareth, and already pulling the boys by the collar of their shirts and away from you. “I’m sorry about these miscreants, sweetheart, we’ll be taking our leave now.”

A chorus of Sweetheart? and I thought you only called your guitar that left his friends’ mouths, which only made his face burn more as he guided them out of the store and into the street. Inside, all you did was laugh, an adorably befuddled adorned your features as you waved your goodbyes.

He would never be able to live this down.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic

[eddiemunsonswhxre]

Will you make a sequel to infidelity?

yes <3

let go / eddie munson (infidelity part two)

part one

cw: angst, heartbreak, mentions of drugs and alcohol use, i cried, kinda short? maybe a part three idk...

six months later, you and eddie finally talk

--

  for the rest of school year, you avoided eddie like the plague. for six months, you tried your hardest to not talk to him at all. which was proven difficult when for those six months, all eddie tried to do was talk to you. today, the last day of school, he came up to you once again.

  eddie was timid. he knew you hated him, but he’d be damned if he just gave up on you. you were sitting in the library by yourself during your free period, as you normally did, reading a new book. he bit his lip, trying to calm his racing heart before approaching you. he took the few steps towards you, his chains clinking as he walked.

  your eyes snap up at the sound, making eye contact with the metalhead. your heart clenched in pain. everytime you thought you were getting over him, you’d get hit with that pain all over again. he stopped in front of the table you were sitting at and looked down at his hands before he caught his lip in his mouth. “hey y/n,” he whispered, voice sounding scared.

  you gulped a bit as his eyes raised to meet yours. “eddie,” you reply, trying not to feed into him too much.

  eddie twists a ring around his finger and it caught your attention. it was the ring you had gotten him after a few months of dating. of course he wouldn’t take it off. “i just um… i thought you’d wanna know that i uh, i’m graduating this year, with you,” he says, starting out confident but it fading into more of a murmur.

  you feel the knife twist your heart as ‘with you’ echoes in your mind. “that’s great, eddie. i’m… i’m proud of you,” you smile. luckily the bell rings so you’re able to get out of there before he decides you need to have a longer conversation.

  eddie lingers as you leave the room and he feels hope blooming in his chest. maybe there was a chance for you. 

  the two of you didn’t talk again until after the graduation ceremony. you were standing with your family, eddie’s uncle having already left in order to make it to work, and he decided he wouldn’t get another opportunity. he approached you, your family noticing him before you did. he ignored their stares and lightly placed his hand on your shoulder. you turned, knowing it was him by the chill that ran through your body. you hated how your body still reacted to him. “i’m sorry to interrupt, can i talk to you for just a quick second?” he asks, hand still resting on your shoulder. you look back to your family as you debate it before sighing.

  “real quick,” you mutter and follow him to a less crowded part of the cafeteria. 

  you look at eddie expectantly while he tries to put the right words together. “i don’t want this to be the last time i see you,” he rushes out. your heart falters at his words. “can we maybe hang out in the next couple days? i wanna talk about some stuff, way too much to talk about here,” he asks timidly.

  a frown sits on your lips. you know you need to say no, but you both deserve more explanation. right? “tomorrow, um at four we can go to shelley’s,” you say, giving the name of the small diner in town.

  “okay, okay cool, i’ll pick you up?” he says, excited but trying to hide it.

  you purse your lips and glance over to your family. “no, i’ll just meet you there. i gotta go,” you mutter, leaving before he could protest. his excitement fades a little, but at least you were going to talk.

  that’s how eddie ended up sitting in a both at the diner by himself. he held a coke between his hands, taking a sip every once in a while as his leg bounced uncontrollably from nerves. it was 4:06, and you weren’t here yet. he wanted to cry at the thought that you were going to stand him up. you were always early and you weren’t the type to just not come. oh god, had something happened to you? this is why he should have picked you up because what if you got into an accident?

  his worries were soothed when you walked in a moment later. his eyes scanned you, looking effortlessly beautiful as always. “hey,” you hesitated as you sat down. you just hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

  “hi,” he replied, voice a bit shakier than usual. “um, i didn’t think you were gonna come,” he said, sipping his coke.

  you shrug and look down at your lap. “got caught up with steve and robin.” eddie feels his chest tighten with jealousy as he hears you say steve’s name.

  but, he knows he can’t show it so he just nods. “you’re friends with them now? that’s cool,” he asks in fake interest. he already knew you had become friends with them.

  “they are pretty cool, super sweet,” you recalled, a smile covering your lips as you thought of some of your adventures.

  eddie swallows as the waitress comes up to ask if you’d like a drink. you order a sprite, not surprising eddie. “so…” eddie trails, tapping the table with his rings.

  “eddie, just say what you want to say. i can see it’s eating you alive,” you sigh, feeling bad for him.

  eddie looks from you to the table top and shifts uncomfortably on the bench. he bites his lip, scared he’ll scare you away. “i still love you, you know?” he whispers, refusing to meet your eye. it’s silent, and then the waitress is bringing you your drink. you murmur a thank you to her and begin stirring it with a straw. “y/n, i’m being honest…” he insisted.

  he squeezes his eyes shut while waiting for you to respond. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth. you didn’t want to break him. “eddie…” you sigh quietly. that’s when eddie feels his heart break. he had thought that you still had a chance, but no. this hurt more than anything.

  he opens his eyes, keeping them downcast as they begin to water. “you don’t love me anymore?” he chokes out. your own eyes sting when you hear the lump in his throat.

  “no, eddie, i don’t,” you say apologetically. you hated yourself for saying that, but you figured it was better to just rip off the band aid then give him more hope.

  eddie’s head was swimming. he’d really thought… he didn’t want to lose you. he couldn’t. yeah you’ve been separated but he kept hope. he kept a list of things he wanted to tell you about once you got back together, he’d bought you things he knew you’d like, he even planned on asking you to move in. all that, for nothing. “you’re lying,” he denies, pressing his palms into his eye sockets.

  “eddie, i’m not. i care about you still yes, i’m sure i always will. but, i know this is going to hurt to hear, but there’s not gonna be an us again eddie,” you tell him and a shaky sob leaves his lips as his world shatters.

  a tear falls from your eye as you see the man who was once your everything crumble right before your eyes. “b-but why? i stopped talking to chrissy you know? i’ve never talked to her or any other girls since we fought. i never should’ve talked to her in the first place, i know and i’m really sorry. i was stupid and i ruined it all. but i’ve fixed it and if you- if you please just let me i can make you fall in love with me again. i promise i’ll be the best boyfriend ever and- and y/n, i don’t want anyone else but you, i love you,” he rambles, more and more tears streaming down his face.

  you sniffle, this is hurting more than it should for someone you don’t love anymore. “even if i did want us to work out, we can’t,” you say softly.

  “but we can! i’ll do anything please, y/n! i’ve already got a job lined up and i’ll be making really good money, enough to rent us a house and-and buy the stupidly overpriced muffins from that bakery you love so much-,” he goes on, trying his hardest to convince you.

  but you cut him off. “eddie, i’m moving,” you state harshly. his breathing falters and his eyebrows furrow.

  he scans you, trying to see if you were serious. “wh-what?” he croaks.

  you sigh, taking a drink of your soda to calm down a bit. “my family and i, we’re moving to nevada in a week,” you say, avoiding looking at him.

  eddie’s face drops. “nevada?” he questions with a heartbroken twinge. you nod slowly, glancing up at him and his swollen face. “a week?” his voice now high pitched. you nod again and eddie’s lip trembles once more. “you can’t go,” he whimpers, feeling pain spread through his body, stemming from his heart. 

  “i have to,” you whisper, trying to will back tears.

  eddie shakes his head no, reaching to you and grasping your hands desperately. “please, don’t leave me,” he begs, tears free falling. 

  you close your eyes as his words pierce you. “eddie, i need you to let go,” you try to say levelly. 

  “no, no, y/n, please don’t go. please, i need you,” he sobbed. luckily the diner wasn’t too crowded.

  you shake your head trying to pull your hands from his. “i'm not going to stay here, now come on, you gotta let go,” you say softly, stroking his knuckles as a bit of encouragement. “i’m sorry, eddie, but i gotta do this for me,” you say as he lets go of you. you set down some money on the table to cover your drinks, and then push yourself up to go. you leave the diner and don’t look back.

  eddie watches you leave, feeling more alone than he ever had. he officially lost you. and there was no chance of getting you back anymore. on the day you left, he sat in his van down the road from your house and watched as you left in the moving van. the whole time you pretended not to see him. he cried more in those two weeks than he ever had in his life. eddie would love to say he was able to heal from that but he didn’t. he distanced himself a lot and picked up way more hours than were healthy at work. he stopped playing with his band for a while, stopped playing dnd, and only spent his free time drinking or smoking. you had ruined him. but he could never blame you for it. you were the love of his life.

~~

okay i'm gonna try to tag everyone who asked for a part two (before i published this one) here;

@iheartyouyou @jessyballet @f-o-a-writer @alicefallsintotherabbithole @domiscre @mylovelycrazyworld @bambi-laufeyson @darklingbrekksov @eddiemunsonscumsock @chiquitobananas-blog @soph69420world @crustlover @suzie18 @eddie-swhore @snoopwashere @cherryscentedbabe-xo @chquifairy @romanticfall @ladyapplejackdnd @its-nowheregirl @tayburkulosis @ka55iesworld @lexthemess21 @eddiesmunsonsgf @musicmyheart @plk-18 @phantomxoxo @tracymbcm @lovena222 @eddiiemylove @shenevertricks1831 @sweet-creature98 @kateshit841 @meliemelie @yourbutterflyeffect-blog1 @littletittygothgirl @carebearsoftie @todoroki-slut @totallytubular-turtles @chanaaaannel @booksteaandarainyday @100layersofdaddyissues @eddiemunson4ever @pariyak17 @shgehufsdjhfdr @mushroommmsworld @buckay @abiwebb12 @urmomsnumber1 @avobabe87 @totis-things @yeolliedokai @elegantpaperoperatormaker

#stranger things eddie #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #stranger things #eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #angst #heartbreak #i cried

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Futaba Sakura and Makoto niijima (separate) with a delinquent boyfriend that they find out is actually extremely smart like a futaba level genius but they cover it up and intentionally get average or bad grades. The reason is that in the past they were made fun of and an outcast throughout their life because of how smart they are.

I would like you to consider this your Christmas Gift from me to you my friend, I've been working on this for a while to get the style just right.

NOW! YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!

You and Futaba ran into each other through the most random of chances.

On a day she came into LeBlanc a tad later than usual, the bell rang as you stepped in, knuckles skint up, and wiping blood from your nose.

Sojiro, of course, gave you flack about how beat up you were.

You in turn teased him about his habit of adopting whatever downtrodden kids walked through his door.

Meanwhile, Futaba was wondering who in the world you were, and debating if this was the opportunity to try and put into practice what her and Joker were working on.

Then Sojiro asked her to grab the first aid kit under the bar.

And Futaba decided to at the very least try.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“H-here you go!” Futaba stuttered as she gave Sojiro the small white case from under the bar.

“Thanks Futaba.” Sojiro said with a smile as he went to open the box before clicking his tongue.

“Damn, I knew I should’ve checked this when I went to grab some things for the shop.” Sojiro muttered.

“Hey, Futaba, do you mind keeping an eye on this jackass?” Sojiro asked, giving you the side eye as he spoke.

“S-sure I can, Sojiro!” Futaba responded.

This was her chance… to talk to another person!

“Thanks, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to. This guy however has a bad habit of running off to galavant, kinda like that other guy in a way.” Sojiro groaned as he turned to grab his hat from off the hanger.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Futaba fidgeted nervously on the stool as she looked at you.

“How the hell am I supposed to do this!” Futaba screamed in her head before her eyes locked onto your jacket’s pocket.

A featherman pin…

Futaba could work with this!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

After that, the two of you hit it off quickly.

As it turns out, tv makes great conversation starters.

As it also turns out, you were a lot sharper than Futaba gave you credit for.

Almost as sharp as her if not just as.

It makes her wonder what you're doing as a delinquent…

Eh, who cares.

…

…

Okay, Futaba cared.

Especially when she told Sojiro how she felt after you left.

Because that's when Sojiro started teasing her about having her first crush.

And after the allotted period of denying and panicking over it, Futaba was forced to admit.

She did, in fact, have a crush.

On someone who liked the same things she did.

She applauded herself for having such good taste.

So, after a lot of prodding and poking from Joker and Sojiro, she managed to gather up the courage to ask to have dinner with you at LeBlanc.

It snowballed from there.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Hey… if you don’t mind me asking, why are ya a delinquent?” Futaba asked as she kicked her legs in the air while reading Manga.

“I’m not a delinquent, I’m a-” You began before saying in union with Futaba.

“Alternative School Security!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I don’t think most security guards would beat the heck out of anyone who tried to bully others. Probably.” Futaba stated.

“Well, it's a boring story, not something that will keep you entertained.” You said as you leaned back in your chair.

“Try me, mister delinquent~!” Futaba teased.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Within the next few minutes, Futaba Sakura was ready to absolutely murder a lot of people.

Why would they do that?

Why?

That's just cruel!

Futaba knew what the Phantom Thieves' next mission in Mementos would be!

Oh she was gonna absolutely throttle those shadows!

You made an impression on Makoto when the two of you first met.

More specifically, you made an impression on some guy's face.

Several guys in fact.

You see, when the two of you met.

Makoto Nijimia, was being mugged.

Then you, the local delinquent stepped in.

And seeing as this was your turf…

You doled out some… fitting punishment for those trespassers.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Makoto prepared to step in as the first and leader of the men charged you.

She may not be in the metaverse, but she still does know how to fight.

However, Makoto learned quickly that you did not need any help from her when you dodged the first punch and countered by hitting him with an uppercut to the chin that sent him stumbling back and then another punch to the nose which knocked him out cold.

Needless to say, the two minions of that man ran off immediately after.

Or they attempted to, as it turns out being clotheslined and having a bent metal pipe tossed at someone tends to stop the person on the receiving end of that in their tracks.

You were content to leave it at that.

Unfortunately, a pretty lady with short hair and who was also a stickler for rules decided otherwise.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“So then, get mugged around here often?” You asked the young woman next to you.

“I am SO sorry about this…” Makoto groaned as she put her face in her hands.

“Oh don’t worry, I just love spending my nights in handcuffs!” You stated sarcastically as you raised your hands from the table, or as far as you could with your hands cuffed to it.

As it turns out, a known delinquent walking into the Police Station with three unconscious guys and an innocent young woman tends to send the wrong message.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

And that's how you and Makoto Niijima met.

Needless to say, you and Makoto were attached at the hip after that.

Then one thing led to another and then the two of you just…

Started dating. 

It wasn’t really anything big, it just… happened.

Then Makoto noticed something.

All of your schoolwork was…

Exceedingly average…

Everything was actually perfectly average…

To the exact point…

This warrants a call to a friend.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Hey, Futaba, can you check something for me?” Makoto asked Futaba over the phone.

“Sure ya can Queenie! Is this about your new beau?” Futaba teased.

“H-how did you- *Sigh* Yes, it is. I need you to check his grades, his all time grades.” Makoto told her friend with a sigh.

Futaba was silent on the other side of the line for a moment.

Then Makoto heard Futaba let out a whistle.

“Wow! This guy is good! Really, really, really, good!” Futaba exclaimed excitedly.

“Wha-” Makoto tried to speak before being cut off by Futaba.

“Aces in everything, on every assignment, every test, in every subject, and I mean everything, and a spotless record to boot! At least until… last year. Then it's all perfectly average work, and constant write ups about getting into the middle of fights and punching bullies out.” Futaba told Makoto, the clacking of a keyboard coming through the speaker of her phone.

“Looking at this guy’s record… Makoto, be sure to avoid telling him what your after school job is, yeah? I don’t doubt the shift manager would want the help, but Mona probably wouldn’t be all that happy with a new guy to drive around.” Futaba told Makoto, warning her about the way you might react to the Metaverse if exposed to it.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Shortly following this conversation, Makoto asked you about your grades.

You dodged the questions as best as you could, but Makoto, your wonderful girlfriend, continued to press the question.

It took her a little while, but you did answer.

You told her about how, once upon a time, you were the top of your class, unparalleled in basically anything you learned, constantly earning the highest possible grades with ease and even used as a shining example of what a good student should be.

But then, at the beginning of the last school year, the perception around you turned sour due to envy.

A group of bullies started harassing you and, no matter what you said or tried, the school did nothing.

So, you dropped out of the spotlight, avoided the reputation you had and managed to transfer schools.

After that, you gained a new reputation for completely average work and stopping bullies that the school would refuse to do anything about.

The rest, as they say, is history.

In response to this, Makoto asked only for the names of the bullies and the teachers.

By this point you already figured out what Makoto’s “After School Job” was.

But that doesn’t mean you didn’t give her the names without any lip.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The following day, you received a series of calls and texts.

All of them being apologies.

All of them from the people who bullied you.

#futaba sakura #futaba x reader #futaba sakura x reader #makoto nijima x reader #makoto niijima #persona 5 #persona 5 x reader

[catindabag]

The fifth set of ✨Academy Photos✨ in my TBOSAS Crack!AU. Here are parts [1], [2], [3], & [4]. And as for our new readers, read [this] for context.

Energetic Clemmie with sleepy Coryo and sleepy Lucy Gray sneaking out of the zoo first thing in the morning to buy expensive coffee for everyone except Mizzen. #plsdonttellthedean #sneakysneak #sejanusisjealousrightnow #tastycoffee #notmymoney #classfundmoney

Hilarius Heavensbee “accidentally” breaking Wovey’s handcuffs to play Patty Cake and Pictionary with her. To be fair, they quickly got bored of answering Dean Highbottom’s weird questionnaires. #gotademerit #sorrynotsorry #gametime #withWovey #dontblameme

Festus Creed and Lucky Flickerman debating (again) on the importance of adopting and raising a rabid raccoon for protection. #round2 #prorabidraccoon #antitalkingbird #debatewithFestus #WeatherBoi

Palmyra, Clemmie, and Festus secretly inviting Tanner and Lamina to Pluribus Bell’s Nightclub to drink expensive wine as promised. #getdrunkwithFestus #nogremlinsallowed #nomoreHungerGames #Tannerisalreadydrunk

Wovey taking a photo with Vipsania and Clemmie. Meanwhile, Felix, Sejanus, and Lamina are at the back silently judging Hilarius Heavensbee’s photography skills. #newcamera #fromdaddy #plsstopjudgingme #withWovey

Mizzen the gremlin taking a selfie with Reaper and Marcus using Persephone’s phone. FYI, he shamelessly stole it from her. #sorryPercyPrice #itscalledborrowingforever #willtradeitbackfor100boxesofpizza #gremlin4life #donttellCoral

The Great Lizzie Vickers embarrassingly forgot to call her stylist before the day of the Mentors’ last big interview with Lucky Flickerman and Lepidus Malmsey. Domitia and Vipsania are just secretly judging her decisions right now. #emergency #nostylist #plscallTigris #ASAP #Ihavemoney #Coryohelpme

Hilarius Heavensbee trying and failing to make a good strategy with Wovey on how to win Ravinstill’s annual ✨Three-legged Race Competition✨ for extra cash. He might as well just carry her and run to the finish line. But Coryo Snow, Sejanus Plinth, and Lucy Gray would rather cheat before that happens.😂 #realheightdifference #tallpeopleproblem #withWovey #helpme

#tbosas #crack #crack post #crackship #coriolanus snow #president snow #sejanus plinth #lucy gray baird #clemensia dovecote #hilarius heavensbee #wovey #mizzen #reaper ash #lucky flickerman #lysistrata vickers #festus creed #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #hunger games #suzanne collins #alternative universe #thg #thg fic #thg incorrect quotes #tbosas fic #tbosas incorrect quotes #snowjanus #snowplinth #coriolanus x sejanus