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magdaclaire · 2 years

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remember that summer?

dean&eileen fic with implied saileen&eileenrowena and implied deancas || technically requested by @mrcowboydeanwinchester, if one is very fast and loose about what a request is

Dean falls into his seat without much regard for how much noise it'll make- it's only him and Eileen out here, nobody Hearing in probably at least a three mile radius seeing as Sam and Cas took Jack and Magda into town, and it's only Kevin inside. They haven't taken him to a doctor since all the damage, but Dean would be willing to bet that Kev's hearing is just as bad as his now. Nothing about that will ever feel okay. He can't have a kid without failing them, even when he gets one as old as he got Kevin. Eileen falls into the seat beside him, giving just as little regard.

"It's not just me, right?" he says, turned to her ever so slightly so that she can read his lips along with his hands. His sign is clumsy after this long not practicing with anyone, but Eileen... Eileen is a safe person to practice to. She taught him in the first place after all.

"What do you mean?" she asks, which is fair. He clarifies.

"You remember that summer. 2002. You and me on the road. That happened, right?" For a summer, Eileen was like the sister he never had. Charlie before Charlie. A person like him on the wild, open road that he found all by himself, that he cared for as best as he could and was cared for in return. As caged off as they both already were back then. Eileen was angrier then than she is now, a teenager and madder than fuck about the life she'd been led into living, and so goddamn alone. It's hard to have that kind of loneliness. She doesn't look so lonely anymore.

"Yeah, Dean. You and me on the road," she says, and she flashes Dean that same grin she had when she was seventeen, lighter than her flyaway hairs and near always preceding the radio getting turned up so loud they could both feel it in their feet. Even when Eileen was mad, she was never like his father, or even like Sam. Never prone to yelling (never cared much about noise), not even prone to lash out at Dean when he was being a bit of a fuckhead. Just the quiet and music of hunting with someone just as lonely as you are, just as desperate to connect and terrified to show it. She taught him sign by teaching his fingers how to move when the ones that had been broken before didn't want to form the shapes, careless and free with casual affection like no one Dean had ever known.

"You ever miss it?" The question comes out without him really meaning for it to.

"The road?"

"Yeah. Or, well, that summer," he says, the oppressive heat and the devil may care attitude coming back to him in waves. He had tried to convince Eileen to go back to school that summer. She had shown him how to fudge the records instead. He was proud to have his GED anyway. It's November now. The leaves are crunching where he's shifting his feet.

"I think we're both better now, don't you?" Eileen asks, and Dean thinks of all of the people he's killed. All the people he's hurt. The things that he's done. He and Eileen have both died and come back since that summer. He doesn't know that he is better than who he was at 23, bright eyed and barely there, in need of a parent more than he ever needed to be one. It's hard to think of himself like that. Little. In need.

"Yeah," he says anyway, and looks away. Eileen taps the back of his hand.

"You were one of my first friends, Dean. I'm glad that I got you back. Even if it took us a while," she says, and Dean is not going to cry because of this. Coming back together as adults, Dean with his brother and Eileen with her vendetta, it hadn't been easy. They haven't even told Sam that they knew each other, once upon a time when Sam was normal. Cas knows, of course. He had put Dean back together exactly as he should have been, healed his hearing with the angel grace like it was nothing.

Dean got him to put it back where it came from not two weeks after his resurrection, the world too loud and the ring of gunshots too familiar. Everything is easier with the lights off. Everything is easier when the world is quiet.

"Sorry we both had to die to share that apartment we talked about." During that summer, they mostly talked around their issues, the homes neither of them had ever known, the reason both of them were out here on the road instead of doing something normal. The idea of Eileen seeing him in the time he lived with Lisa nearly makes him laugh, the idea of Eileen in all of that domestication and PTA bullshit. If anybody is gonna be a PTA mom between her and Sammy, it's gonna be Sam. Just like it was him.

"I like the bunker. It has a history," Eileen says, soft smile lighting up her face. Dean would hate to fuck that up for her. He speaks his mind anyway. Eileen has always liked when he was honest.

"I kinda hate it," he says, and it's something he wouldn't admit to Sam or even to Cas, and definitely not to Jack or Magda or Kevin, but Jesus fuck, it's true. He misses the windows and big front door from Lisa's place, he misses Bobby's big yard, he misses the stained glass of Pastor Jim's parish. Anything that once felt like home would be better than this, the hole is the ground that is all concrete and industrialization, he wants a home. He doesn't know how to get it. Like all the things he doesn't know how to get, he's just pushed down it down just for the want of it. But this is Eileen. Eileen is a safe person to want to. She's always kept his yearnings close to the chest.

"We could move," she says, solemn and serious, and her hand is on the back of his again. He flips his hand over for her to grab, even if he'll need it back in a second to sign.

"Get you, Sammy, Cas and Kevin out of this nerd hole? Me, Magda and Jack wouldn’t be able to manage it, Buffy Summers," he says, having to finger-spell out Buffy, which is weird. He and Eileen have decided on name signs for everybody in the bunker, workshopped with each other and even asked Sammy, Jack, Cas, Magda and Kevin for their thoughts on the matter (though some they did not heed). S-nerd. C-angel. K-prophet. M-magic. J-kid. E-badass. They usually just finger-spell Dean's name. It's not hard (Sam and Cas, even Jack wouldn't have been either, but sometimes things are just fun). Sometimes, Eileen will sign the word dean, like dean of students. It's weird. But cool.

"If anybody's Buffy, it's you, not me. But Dean... no one wants you to be unhappy. If you want to live somewhere else, you know we would follow you, right? Even if you didn't ask us to. I've hitched myself to the Winchester wagon. That's you too." Dean's breath catches in his throat. It's weird for someone to want to stay. Weird. But cool. That's kinda Eileen, isn't it? Dean focuses on the subject at hand, swallowing hard.

"What if Sam wants to leave again?" he asks, his voice small and his sign clumsy, but he knows that Eileen understands. He knows because she grabs his hand to squeeze again, and they've talked about this. Twenty-three and seventeen, 2002 and the world both large and small in front of them, he talked about his brother leaving. How Sam was barely older than she was, really, how he raised that baby. How he shouldn't have had to. She hadn't known Sam at the time, only knew Dean's side of things, but still. She knows. If anybody knows, it's her. And Cas. But Cas doesn't count. Cas knows because he built Dean from the inside out, because Dean would give Cas his heart beating from his chest, because Cas is the easiest and yet most difficult person to talk to in the world. Eileen knows because she was there. Somehow, she was there.

"You know he's just as weirdly attached to you as you are to him, right? He might have been able to do distance in the family during college, but I don't think so anymore. He missed his big brother too much. He's told me," she says simply, like she hasn't said something that could rock Dean's world if he let it. Instead, he stays on the skeptical side. Always safer to err on the side of caution.

"He called me his big brother? He hasn't called me that for real since he was nine," he says, incredulous and close to laughter. Sam? Calling him big brother? That shit hadn't even been something Sam joked about since he was in his early twenties. They're old now. Sam doesn't call him that anymore. Dean tries not to miss it.

"So maybe I paraphrased," Eileen says, and that last bit of hope that had ballooned so suddenly in Dean's chest deflates. "But maybe I didn't. There were quite a few margaritas involved." Dean skates his tongue across his teeth. Changes the subject again.

"Remember when you begged me to buy you a bottle of tequila? Didn't wanna go in and use your fake I.D. yourself. You'd probably had one for over a year by then," he says, actually laughing this time. It's not even forced, not really. He does think it's funny. It's enough to ignore the other thoughts that come with it.

"Oh yeah, definitely, but you had it so figured out, I thought. Dean Winchester, his dad is a hunter too, everybody knows to steer clear of John Winchester. As much as I got turned out of places just for not being able to hear, I never wanted to risk it in a liquor store," she says, her sign high and tight but listing as she gets to the last part, unenthusiastic and showing for it. One of the worst parts of being a kid was the fact that no one was willing to argue for him but him most the time. Bobby and Pastor Jim and even Missouri did what they could, but there wasn't much. Mom was dead and Dad wasn't around. The same old American story. Dean changes the subject.

"You know they don't have those in Indiana? You can buy vodka at Kroger. Isn't that insane?" The change isn't subtle, but Eileen smiles anyway, tipping her drink toward him. He hadn't even realized she had brought a drink out here. It's some awful Irish soda she insists on having delivered to their mailing address; he's only tried it once, and it was awful. Eileen drinks it like water when she's in a mood to drink it. It takes like milk and sadness. She loves it, though. The glass of the bottle is leaving a ring on the table. It's an outside table. It doesn't matter. He can't shake the thought that he should be wiping it off before the others get home, that he should be doing something.

"Could probably lift it from there too," Eileen says, following him down the conversational rabbit hole and unknowingly saving him from a mental one of his own. He grins.

"Oh definitely. You never did?" he asks, and Eileen snorts.

"I stole everything else, but it never occurred to me to just steal alcohol."

"Twenty two was a bit of a bad year for me," he replies simply, letting the waves of himself settle, the riptide of his emotions inside of himself coming to a stop. They both know that. It was impossible to avoid in that next year, Dean's loneliness and the cracks in his voice, the way that his hands shook when he went too many nights without sleep. The heat of summer did nothing to keep him from shivering that season with Eileen in the passenger seat, teaching each other everything they knew. Eileen huffs a laugh.

"Sixteen wasn't a great year for me either," she says, and he remembers that too. The way that Eileen bristled under the new discomfort of Dean's worry, the way that the bristle only made it harder for him at first, harder to open up and be opened up to, harder to love. He's never been easy to love.

Jesus, even he knows how Cas, Sammy and Eileen would be yelling at him if he said that shit out loud. Even if they quietly agreed. That'd be a fight too, saying that. Leave it to him to feel bad about shit that's just in his head, about himself even.

"It's a shit wagon, you know," he says. It seems like a reminder Eileen might need, getting used to him and his smartass brother and their angel. He's heard people call Cas that before. The Winchesters' angel. Enough to make your chest ache, isn't it? All the things he wants that he can't have.

Never changed the world to want. No point in getting your hopes up.

"The Winchester wagon? Buddy, I know. But it's my fucking wagon, so you better fuck off," Eileen says, and she jostles his shoulder, coming half way up out of her seat just to do it. She's like Donna with that shit sometimes- making him feel good by talking just the right amount of shit. Eileen is like Charlie, she's like Donna, she's like Jo, and she's not like anybody else. He never expected to get to be friends with somebody Sammy was interested in. He never expected to get to be friends with Eileen from that summer. His life might be shit, but it's not half bad, you know? Cas is alive, Eileen is alive, he and Sammy and Kevin and Jack are all good; shit could be a hell of a lot worse.

It's a weird standard of living out here.

"You don't-"

"Dean, are we gonna do the self pity thing all afternoon? Because I'll have to go get something else to drink," she says, and Dean stops. He just stops for a second. Is that what he sounds like when he says that shit to people? Goddamn.

Eileen probably sounds cooler than him, but he's ignoring it. In fact, it hasn't even occurred to him. Definitely not. He sighs.

"You really don't care what I have to say about it, do you?" he asks, and Eileen snorts, shaking her head.

"I'm a grown up and I can make my own decisions, Dean Winchester," she tells him, and he knows that, but he can't stop himself from the ribbing, the questions that run rampant in his head.

"Well, Sammy's technically a grown up and I don't know if I trust him to make all the decisions. I mean, do you know how many salads that kid eats? It can't be healthy," he says, and Eileen gives him a look.

"You know he is an adult, right?" Dean smiles, the curve of it just this side of self deprecating.

"I know," he says, his sign the cleanest it's been all afternoon. He knows that Sam isn't a kid anymore. He knows that Sam has been through enough in this life to make as many decisions as he wants to. He knows that he and Sam have been through too much together to ever be the same kids they once were. Sometimes, it's nice just to pretend. The illusion of control. Being able to think he can protect him still. You'd think the long string of failures would have convinced him at some point that Sammy was better looking out for himself.

"Okay, come on, we're gonna go ride a mechanical bull or some shit. Call Donna, get her to meet us in Nebraska, I'll find a bar," Eileen says, pulling him up out of his chair. He hadn't even noticed her stand up out of hers. Fuck, he's slipping.

"Wait, where do you wanna go? Nebraska? Why the fuck would we go to Nebraska?" he asks, his brows coming together.

"Because Donna is in South Dakota. This is Kansas. Nebraska is between," Eileen says, explaining extremely basic geography to him as if he is very, very small. The confusion only grows.

"Yeah, but-" he starts, but Eileen interrupts him, her hands stopping his as she just speaks aloud.

"Dancing, Dean. With friends. Still wanna go?" They had talked about this when they were kids. When she was too young to get into clubs and he was too lonely to have friends, they talked about going dancing. He had forgotten about- about all of it. The sequin dress that Eileen picked out in a store window, hand up against the glass without a worry for the leave of her fingerprints. She had picked out something for him to wear too. His Dad would have been raging mad just to see him look too long at the kind of shirt she wanted him to wear, something gauzy and longed-sleeved and terribly impractical. Dean had thought about the idea of the tie collar resting against his throat for months after that.

"Would you still wanna pick out my outfit?" he asks, making it sound like he doesn't want it, even managing to make it sound offhand. Lying without lying. His specialty. Like he hasn't, in some part of himself that he's always kept quiet and to the back of himself, always wanted that outfit Eileen had outlined in her head, like he hasn't thought about it for years. Eileen shrugs her shoulders.

"Do you want me to?" she asks, turning it back on him. Fuck. Here comes the lying part.

"If you want," he says instead, and he has to stop himself from taking it back immediately. From saying something Eileen doesn't deserve to have to see just so that he can deflect that attention from what he just admitted to wanting. "But is you, me and Donna really going out with a group of friends? Love you two, but it's hardly more than how we woulda gone when we were kids."

"Oh no, buddy, you're calling Donna, I'm texting Rowena. We're dragging Cas with us too. I don't figure he has too many clubbing experiences either," she says, and Dean lets himself think about dancing with Cas, about Cas in a club, and the very idea shakes him to his bones. He laughs instead of thinking more on that, forcing himself into calmness.

"Leaving Sammy here by himself?" he asks, avoiding the concept of Cas entirely. Eileen shrugs again, though this time she's smiling.

"Somebody's got to look after the kids."

"Kevin and Jack could handle themselves, you know," he reminds her. She nods.

"Yeah. But they don't have to. Sam already said he doesn't mind." They don't have to. Their kids in the bottom of a bunker, their safety buried in the ground. He can't think about it too much. There's a lot of things like that.

"You already asked him?" Eileen waves her phone at him.

"Always one text away, your brother. He's good like that," she says, her tone gentle and her smile gentler.

"You're happy with him?" he asks, the question coming out without much thought, but he finds he's alright with asking. He wants Eileen to be happy almost as much as he wants Sam to be happy, and it hits him all the time that they're happy together. His for-the-summer sister and his little brother. Eileen gives him a long stare, amused.

"You're asking if your brother makes me happy? Gonna ask him the other way around too? Or is this a Chris Claybourne situation? I hate to say it, De, but you're not my type," she says, and he hadn't even realized it could be taken that way, and now he'd probably be amenable to dying, if it were an option. He bursts into laughter instead.

"Ew, no. I mean, not like ew, you're gross, but like ew, you're Eileen. Well-" Dean can only be grateful when Eileen cuts him off.

"Buddy, I get it. You're gross too," she says, and he snorts.

"Oh thank god."

"You want to go get you something to wear? A quick trip before we come back and grab Cas?" she offers, and oh. It occurs to him all at once that this is actually happening, that he's going to wear an outfit that Eileen picks for him to a city three and a half hours away and they're going to go dancing. He only assumes they're going to Omaha; that's where he usually meets Donna if they're gonna meet in Nebraska. The world is quiet and anonymous meeting Donna in a city of nearly half a million people in the middle of the night, windows rolled down and Dean's laughter easier just for Donna being there.

"Yeah. Okay. Let's go pick out an outfit."

#dean winchester #eileen leahy #dean&eileen #mine #this is probably poorly edited but at least i looked at it SOME this time #ola asked for my thoughts on the summer eileen and dean were best friends #and this is dean's thoughts on the matter which is basically the same thing #donna and dean are also besties. to clarify. they're best friends #they're going clubbing. they're everything to me

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rat-bastard-fics · 3 years

Text

Post Date Night

Paul X (curvy) Reader

Summary: Paul misses date night but he makes up for it.

Warnings: Smut (outside), Seduction, Teasing, Swearing, Exhibitionism, Spanking, Squirting, Unprotected Penetration, Ripping clothing

Note: None of the pack members (including Paul) are my own creations. I do not advise having unprotected sex.

Words: ~950

Paul has a very serious love-hate relationship with leggings. He loves the way they show every single curve of my legs, the way they cup my ass. He hates the way other people notice. And, more than that, he hates how difficult it is to remove them. Ever since I yelled at him for ripping a pair—despite how much I enjoyed what ripping them led to—he’s careful to take his time. Something to know about Paul: he’s painfully impatient. Especially when he wants something—something like you.

Last night, Paul forgot date night. Instead, he spent the evening playing video games with Jared. We aren’t big spenders—mostly because we can’t afford to be—but I still felt miffed that I missed out on one-on-one time. If I couldn’t have it last night, I guess I’ll have to get it tonight.

I slowly approach Emily’s door as I reposition my shirt—well, technically Paul’s shirt. He never wears them anyways and I love the look in his eye when he sees one on me—as though it’s an outward sign of me being his or vice versa. I tied up the bottom to land at my hips to avoid covering my ass. When Paul sees these leggings, I’ll have him on lock.

“Y/n!” The boys call my name as I walk in the door, greeting me without looking away from the television screen.

“What are you guys watching?” I stand by the edge of the couch near Paul, pretending I don’t notice how quickly his eyes are on me.

“Playing.” Quil corrects me.

“Fortnight.” Embry chirps up, popping a chip in his mouth. To my side, I feel Paul’s fingertips brush against my thigh.

“Sounds fun.” I can feel his eyes raking across my skin through my clothes. “Can I try?” I step away from Paul and his frustration is palpable. Quil offers me his controller and I sit all too near him so he can show me the controls. To anyone else, this is innocent. I’m not much of a gamer—at least not for Fortnite—and Quil is probably the least threatening guy around here second only to Seth. But Paul knew the game I was playing.

“Ah shit, y/n, didn’t your mom want us to stop by tonight?” It only took minutes for Paul to speak up.

“That was canceled, remember?” I speak over my shoulder, tossing him a knowing look. He’s playing with his fingers on one hand, rubbing them together. He sucks on his tongue, making a brief clicking sound. I smile and turn back to the game.

“Fuck! This game sucks”

“Oh come on, y/n, you’re such a sore loser,” I repeat Jared’s word in a mocking tone before passing the controller to someone else. I wasn’t trying, not really. This wasn’t the game I gave a shit about. Stepping back from the game I walk over back towards Paul and sit on the armrest beside him. Without hesitation, Paul grabs my hips and pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me tightly. As I press back against him, I can feel his halfie poking against my ass. I lean my head back against his shoulder and look at him, smiling as I bite my lip.

“Last night was date night.” Immediately, he groans and leans his head back.

“Shit.” He lifts his head again and looks at me, apology clear in his eyes. He couldn’t get too soft in front of the guys and I respected that. Instead, I just smile and nod, kissing his cheek. He knows we’re good. That, of course, doesn’t mean I’m done with my game, though. I pull out my phone and begin scrolling through my camera roll. During all the downtime I’d had last night, I’d chosen to take a few risque photos--and by a few, I mean a lot. I know Paul can see my screen just as I know nobody else can. I begin to flick through a series of photos that slowly, garment by garment, position by position, get more explicit. His arms tighten, fingertips pressing into my hips, and I can feel him getting harder beneath me. I drag my fingertips along his arm--a seemingly innocent sign of affection. Paul loves when My nails are just a little extra long--he loves the feeling of them pressed into his skin, scarring his back.

I can feel myself getting aroused--I suppose I’m even better at this than I remember. I put on my best acting chops, looking down at my phone confused before getting up and walking towards the door. I pretend to call someone, pressing the phone to my ear as I step outside. As soon as I’m out of sight I begin walking towards the woods. It’s not long before I hear the screendoor slam behind me and Paul catching up. He grabs my arm and spins me back towards him, his eyes lust blown. He takes in my appearance now and my breath quickens from need alone. I grab Paul’s hand, pulling him with me as I walk backward, pressing my back to a tree. He caresses his hands down my sides, not missing a single curve, and I whimper against his touch.

“You’ve been playing with me.” He states the obvious in a possessive whisper, hot breath spreading against the skin of my neck.

“It was only fair.” I swallow hard, trying not to look as wanton as I felt, “You made me wait--”

“So you did the same to me.” His lips hover just a breath away from my skin and I arc my back, pressing myself against him. He lets out a heavy breath, trying to subdue a groan. “I want you.”

Grabbing one of his hands, I use it almost as a prop to push up the edge of the shirt I’m wearing, slowly letting the heat of his skin spread through my torso, until landing it on my breast.

“Prove it.” That’s all it takes. His lips are against mine in a raging hot need. Without hesitation, I hop up and wrap my legs around his waist, my arms draping around his neck. He catches me with one arm in anticipation and aggressively presses my back against the tree behind me. The bark scratches my skin but only adds to my arousal.

He pushes my bra aside, popping out my tits, and lowers his head to begin sucking on my nipples. One arm still supporting me, he slaps my ass hard with his free hand and I can’t help but moan. He growls--fucking growls--at this. Grabbing my waistband he looks at me and I nod, giving him permission to break my rule, and he tears them from my body. Pushing aside my underwear, he’s quick to unzip his shorts before plunging into me. I gasp as he moans, filling me up, hitting those deepest parts that ached for him and only him. He begins thrusting, reconnecting his lips to mine and now using that free hand to rub my clit. His calloused fingers add a friction far better than a smooth hand might and my orgasm quickly builds.

“Fuck, Paul, I’m so close.”

“Cum. Cum for me.” He nips my ear and my body quakes as I cum but his pace is unrelenting.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh” I moan with every thrust, my nails pressed into his back.

“Fuck, just like that. Shit. Fuuuuuck.” He groans as my nails dig deeper, the tree against my nearly bare ass scrapes my skin and I’ve never been so happy to be overstimulated. “I’m close--” he grunts and begins rubbing my clit in just the perfect way--the way I love the most. He wants me to finish again before him. He wants to make me--

I gasp and moan his name loudly, my nails dragging down my back as I spasm around him and squirt on his dick. I can feel him throbbing as he cums and he leans his head against mine. We both pant heavily, looking at each other before I laugh.

“You better not use this as an incentive to miss date night again.” He pouts briefly but agrees.

“Only if you don’t put me through damn near cumming in my shorts around the guys.” I laugh and kiss his nose.

“Promise.”

#Smut #twilight smut #Paul #paul lahote #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote fanfiction #oneshot #twilight imagine #imagine #wolf #imprint #paul x reader

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lovebykai · 3 years

Text

Savage Love

》 Hot Mess - Part 1

Word Count: 1.7K

Pairing(s): Alpha!Sanzu x Beta!Reader, Omega!Mikey x Beta!Reader, & Alpha!Kakucho x Beta!Reader

Warning(s): Violence. Light Angst. Self-Esteem Issues. Drugs.

Authors Note: Enjoy this because it's gonna be whole ass shitshow and I'm already in love with this pack of idiots. Please note these will probably be much shorter than Pretty Girl chapters. It just flows better that way.

Just a beta.

The words had been slapped on you years ago when your dynamic had presented itself. Not a leader. Not a treasure. Just a beta. Canonfodder.

Thus, you'd been handed something to prove; you were positive your parents regretted that shit.

"Wait-- waitwaitwait, I can--" You rolled your eyes, pulling the trigger. The guys screams were shrill enough it made your ears ring, but honestly you thought it was a bit dramatic.

"Please! Please, Y/N, I swear I'll get you the money!" A long drag of the joint in your free hand granted you the patience necessary to deal with people like this.

Unfortunately, it also made you soft. Letting out a sigh, you eyed him once more.

Tied up to the chair and roughed up from your guys dragging him there, he didn't look like much, but he had started that fancy little fight club of his recently. Maybe he’d be able to pay back the loan you'd given him if you left him to it. He certainly looked scared enough, and that'd been the goal, right?

"Don't make me hunt you down again." You warned, clicking the safety on before tucking the weapon into the back of your jeans.

"Of course!" He sputtered and you waved over your shoulder. Someone else would set him loose, and you had better shit to do than hang around in some dingy warehouse. Like come up with a plan for how you were planning to handle the fact Bonten was finally setting its sights on your little slice of heaven.

It wasn't even like you ran a whole gang or anything.

Well, no, you supposed that wasn't technically true now that you'd adopted a fight club, three bars, a racetrack, and some convenience stores. Holy shit you were a gang leader. Fun.

Personally you'd never really thought about it. It was just something that was -- because you'd clawed tooth and nail for every fucking piece of it -- and you weren't keen on handing it all over. The people you ran with were just employees you paid or owned via your acquisitions, but they were probably the closest you'd ever had to friends.

Friends shot each other, right?

You took another drag before ashing the joint against one of the nearby buildings and tucking its remains into your jacket pocket. Your motorcycle was tucked away a few blocks down for anonymities sake; it was for that reason alone that the universe had the opportunity to fuck you over.

The smell of roses hit your nose.

"Oh?" It took a second before your brain caught up with your body, and you stumbled backwards a few steps. Alpha.

Your alpha.

There was a weird vulnerability when you met a part of your pack. Every story you'd ever heard spoke of instant love, and you could see that. Your alpha was beautiful; his scent was intoxicating. Right away you wanted his approval. His affection. Your body was full of warm fuzzies and butterflies and you suddenly remembered what it felt like not to be so jaded.

Your alpha.

Blue eyes shined down at you, their owners head cocked to one side curiously. The two of you stared for what had to be an uncomfortably long moment before, to your shock, he scoffed.

"Just a beta."

If anyone had asked you what possessed you in that split second, you weren't sure what you'd have answered with. Rage? Anguish? Your mother's spirit trying to drag you to Hell with her-- actually, yeah, it must have been that last one because when you aimed your gun at the guys leg and took the shot, you swore you heard her smug ass voice cackling at you.

"You're just a beta, Y/N. Nobody needs a beta; most packs don't even want them."

"You bitch!" To his credit, he did not squeal like a pig, and you resisted the urge to put another bullet in him despite aiming the weapon at his forehead when he went down.

"Congratulations, alpha," You grinned at the anger coming off him. "A beta just put you on your knees. Ain't that some shit? Guess you're just another little bitch with too much bark."

"I'll fucking kill you." The dark promise just made you laugh as you started backing away. You were reckless, not stupid; turning your back on this guy screamed of bad ideas. Luckily for you, he was occupied trying not to bleed out on the pavement, so when you managed a safe distance you tucked your gun away away carried on your merry way.

Just a beta.

Fuck that noise.

* * *

After what was probably the most devastating moment of your life, you grabbed yourself some comfort food and plopped your happy ass down in a nearby park to watch the sunset. You'd been rejected. Just like your parents always warned you would happen. It gave the whole thing a little extra oomph to know they'd been right.

Stupid. It was stupid to let yourself get worked up behind it.

After all, it wasn't as if you spent most of your life tearing down entire empires in the hopes when you met your pack you'd have something to offer. Or like you'd been trying to prove yourself worthy of love. Or anything dramatic and pathetic like that. That would be for people who had romantic notions about their packbond being some kind of family, not people like--

Ah, fuck.

You rolled your eyes, wiping them with your jacket sleeve and scoffing a bit. Gross. Crying. If someone spotted you it would destroy your reputation. Ick.

But you couldn't stop; to your chagrin, it quickly devolved into sobs that were way too loud. Whatever, you could just shoot anyone who commented. That was reasonable, right?

"... fuck." A soft sigh had you tensing and turning to glare at the newcomer from behind a veil of tears. A quick sniff through your snotty nose had you barking out a bitter laugh.

"Today's just full of surprises, huh, treasure?" You eyed the blond omega -- your omega -- and noted he looked about as tired as you felt.

"You shot one of our alphas." The deadpan would have been alarming if you weren't already mid-breakdown. Instead all you managed was a slightly hysterical laugh.

"Ah, so you've got two of them. That must be awesome." Because packs came in fours, and there was at least one of each dynamic. It couldn't have been another beta, though, that would have meant the world wasn't trying to fuck you over completely.

"... you're not going to take this seriously, are you?" Instead of answering, you just shrugged, watching as his dark eyes weighed out his next move. He was pretty. Most omegas were conventionally attractive, something about the way they evolved to lure in alphas to protect them, but he was pretty even by omega standards.

"Want some?" You offered up one of the fish shaped snacks and his lips pursed with thought.

"I don't want to hurt you." He admitted, sitting just out of reach after taking your peace offering with another long sigh.

"Color me impressed. I imagine your alphas do."

"Our."

"Huh?"

"You keep saying 'your alphas'. They're our alphas-- not just mine." The entire exchange took seconds, and yet it had you bursting into tears again.

It was the way he said it, you thought. The nonchalance he had about it. As though there should never have been a question to begin with. Rubbing at your face, you tried desperately to gather yourself, grateful that he hadn't commented on your emotional outburst.

"I'm Y/N." You offered on a breath that was caught between a laugh and a sob.

"Mikey." Nodding, you returned to your snack without another word, content to share the moment. When he got up a while later and left just as silently as he arrived, you didn't comment.

* * *

The third man was not your alpha.

Not that he wasn't beautiful and enticing all on his own -- especially with the addition of your own alpha and omegas scents all over him -- but he wasn't destined for you. Not like the other two and the magical third that was still out there somewhere. It made you curious as to why the other two were acting like he was pack.

"You're kidding." It was your turn to deadpan as the four of you -- plus some security you'd decided you probably needed for this meeting -- settled down around the lounge.

"Hey." Mikey matched your tone unwaveringly and you couldn't help but bark out a laugh.

"You three run Bonten?" That actually got you a smirk from your exhausted looking omega, who proceeded to lounge back on the sofa with a shrug. It was a nice change, you'd admit. Typically it was alphas who run shit, so seeing an omega in charge -- with alphas following him, to boot -- made you smile.

"Can we focus on business?" The new alpha asked softly, eyeing you with probably as much distrust as you were eyeing him. Part of you was feeling resentful towards him, even though he had been perfectly polite the entire time.

"Mm, no need for all the seriousness." You waved a hand with a huff. "I'm not interested in--"

A gun was pointed at you before you finished, earning the pinkette a glare as you continued pointedly.

"--keeping all of this. It's gotten too big." He didn't lower the weapon despite your narrowed eyes, and the fact nobody had made him yet was reigniting the anxiety Mikey had unknowingly put to rest just days before.

A beta was replaceable.

"Seriously, Sanzu?" The new alpha grabbed the barrel of the weapon and shoved it down.

"Mikey already told you we weren't killing her." Warmth wrapped around you at the statement, and you let yourself relax back into the couch.

"What's your name?" You asked, unable to resist the impulse. His gaze flickered to meet yours, a small tilt of his lips to only indication of his amusement.

"Kakucho."

"Nice to meet you." He nodded in acknowledgement, and you smiled.

Settling things with Bonten ended up being pretty simple--

It was settling things with your pack that was going to pose a challenge.

》 Part Two 》

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destieltropecollection · 3 years

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Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 6: Firsts

24 fics under the cut

Sometimes Things Just Work Out | @vampamber

Rating: General Word Count: 1,027 Main Tags/Warnings: arranged marriage, angel Cas, royalty AU, mistaken identities Summary: Castiel is not looking forward to being forced to marry this Prince Dean person. The angel had never met him, never even laid eyes on him. For all he knew, the marriage would be miserable. Now, this human who's trying to hide in Castiel's room? It made Castiel wish that he wasn't going to be part of an arranged marriage, because he was really starting to like this green eyed stranger.

Through the Night | @smokerdean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,147 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel Out of the Empty, Soft Epilogue, First Times, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sharing a Bed Summary: The motel is the same as thousands of others Dean has stayed in over the course of his life, but it's different, it's better, because he is here with Cas.

The Report Card | @fpwoper

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,211 Main Tags/Warnings: First Time, Crack Fic, Blow Jobs Summary: The morning after Dean and Cas first fool around, Dean finds a honest to god report card.

Dragon's Den | @fpwoper

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,280 Main Tags/Warnings: First Date, Dragon!Cas Summary: Dean and Cas's first meeting is in a coffee shop they randomly chose. It's just... a little dragon heavy.

Taking one for Team Free Will | @fellshish

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,560 Main Tags/Warnings: First kiss, pov dean winchester Summary: There’s a spell that requires an angel’s kiss to work. Dean takes one for the team.

Cannibal Queen | @one-more-offbeat-anthem

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,683 Main Tags/Warnings: creature!Castiel and creature!Dean, first time, porn with plot, virgin Castiel, mild gore Summary: What's a zombie to do when he finds out his (pretty hot) roommate and best friend is a vampire? In the case of Dean Winchester, the plan is to convince said vampire that they should team up and heist slaughterhouses. But when a run goes wrong, there are some unexpected consequences...

A Sign of Affection | @clarrisani

Rating: General Word Count: 2,159 Main Tags/Warnings: First Kiss, Fluff Summary: Castiel learns that different kisses mean different things.

9x06 coda : I'm sorry | @allofmystudentsrunaway

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2,288 Main Tags/Warnings: Mutual Masturbation, Angst with a Happy Ending, AngstEmotional Hurt/Comfort, fanfic gap Summary: fan fic gap first time.

The blonde-haired witch and the little push | @chaoticdean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2,830 Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Witches, Oblivious Castiel/Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed Summary: It’s not the first time Dean’s ever had to listen to someone referring to Castiel as “his boyfriend”, but it sure as hell is the first time he has to sit through a diner listening to a witch referring to Cas as his husband without even batting an eyelash, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Which would be fine if it didn’t cause actual shivers to run down his spine. (or the one where a friendly witch gives Dean the little push he needs)

Every Part of You | @the-communist-unicorn

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,097 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Panty Kink, Married Dean/Cas, Explicit Sex (but non-penetrative so there's no top or bottom), References to Homophobia Summary: Cas discovered his husband's secret completely by accident, but now that he knew, he wasn't just going to let Dean shove it back in that shoe box like it was something to be ashamed of. Every part of Dean was perfect and beautiful, and Cas might have just discovered a kinky side of himself too.

Whiskey and Wifi | @celipuff

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,401 Main Tags/Warnings: Top!Castiel/Bottom!Dean, Dom Sub Undertones, Neighbors, Castiel Has A Panty Kink Summary: Cas may have lost a WiFi connection, but when he makes his way over to his neighbors house, he ends up gaining something much better.

At Last! | @chaoticdean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,617 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Best Friends, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Airports, First Kiss, 5+1 Things Summary: Five times Dean kept his mouth shut, and one time he didn’t.

OUR FIRST TIME | @cooloddball

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,920 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff and Smut Summary: Dean & Cas' first time together

Ghost Town Saints | @nothing-but-dreams

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,010 Main Tags/Warnings: College, House Party, Beer Pong, Marijuana, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Trans!Castiel, Supportive Dean, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: College is out for summer vacation, and that means Cas is back home with his family. Ever since he came out as trans, things have been tense, to say the least. After yet another argument with his parents, Cas needs to clear his head. Luckily, his best friend Dean is just a text away. Dean suggests the two of them escape reality for a bit and hit up a party being held at Ghost Town. As they drink and get high, they realize their feelings for each other run deeper than friendship.

It Started With Arousal | @vampamber

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,260 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, angel Cas, alpha Cas, omega Dean, soul bonds, virgin Cas, porn with plot Summary: It was when Castiel violently slammed the demon into the wall mid-fight that he felt it. The bond he had with Dean ever since he pulled the omega out of Hell had been getting stronger lately, but this was the first time that Castiel truly experienced an emotion that wasn't his own. He had expected something like this to happen eventually, but there was no way he ever would have expected such a feeling at a time like this. Dean was… aroused? He spared a quick glance at the hunter, meeting green eyes but seeing nothing that might cause said arousal. When three more demons kicked through the door to enter the room and the fight, Castiel promptly forgot the confusing emotion. For the time being, at least.

Kiss Me | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,285 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Humor, Friends to Lovers Summary: Dean’s spur-of-the-moment ideas aren’t always the best, as lots of people are able to attest. And his last one really took the cake. Because now he’s unable to forget the taste of Castiel’s lips and he’s got no freaking clue how to deal with this.

Kiss at the Drive-in | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,380 Main Tags/Warnings: fluff and smut, getting together, drive-in cinema, semi-public sex, car sex, non-penetrative sex, handjobs, shy!Dean, dirty dancing, implied Bottom!Dean Summary: When Dirty Dancing airs in a Drive-in Cinema near the Bunker, Dean really wants to go with Castiel. Of course only because Castiel’s education about movies is still bad. Not like it’s a date. Sadly.

Swayze Always Gets A Pass | @kingdumbass

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,766 Main Tags/Warnings: Bunker Fic, First Kiss, Drunk Dean and Cas Summary: After Dean and Cas get into an argument over a case, Dean tries to apologize by asking Cas to Netflix and chill. Featuring: Cas the movie critic, his drunk friend, Dean, and Dean's tired brother, Sam.

Y Tu Dean Tambien | @a-mandala-rose

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 6,909 Main Tags/Warnings: High School AU, Geek Dean, Closeted Bi Dean, Pan/Possibly Demi Cas, Referenced Homo/Biphobia, Low/No Angst, Implied/Referenced Consensual Underage Non-Penetrative Sex, Nothing Explicit, Happy Ending Summary: Dean Winchester has a crush. A great, big, secret, gay crush. Okay, more like a great, big, secret, bisexual crush, if we’re being technical. Either way though, the relevant word here is secret, because Dean lives in Kansas, which isn’t exactly known for its thriving LGBT community. In fact, he’s pretty sure most of his neighbors don’t actually know what LGBT stands for and he’d be willing to bet that if asked, at least a solid 10% would think it’s a sandwich. So yeah, nobody knows that Dean’s spent the past six months crushing on Cas Novak, the sexy junior in his Spanish II class, and it’s damn well going to stay that way. “Hola, Señor Winchester,” murmurs a gravelly voice in Dean’s ear, straight out his dirtiest fantasies and close enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck, as Dean suppresses a shiver. The smirk on the mouth housing that goddamn sinful voice tells him that while he may have resisted the full-body shudder, his red cheeks did not go unnoticed by the boy sliding fluidly into the desk directly behind him. “Hey, Cas.” Nobody knows about Dean’s crush except for Cas, that is. Cas definitely knows.

Game of Survival | @sorajinsei

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8,317 Main Tags/Warnings: Suspense, Alternate UniverseThriller,Alternate Universe - Purge, Demonic Possession, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies Summary: Who's in the shadows? Who's ready to play? Are we the hunters? Or are we the prey? There's no surrender and there's no escape.

Talk Therapy | shara (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 9,309 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean Winchester, First Time Bottoming, Rimming, Communication Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, ALL the issues Summary: "Alright fine, you can put a finger in me," Dean says one night while watching Cas go down on him. Cas pops his mouth off Dean’s dick and stares at him. "I never said I wanted to put a finger in you," he says slowly, and then stops and tilts his head. "Do you want me to put a finger in you?" ~~~~ Dean comes to terms with this thing with Cas, and with himself.

Bind Me To You | @imbiowaresbitch

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 18,184 Main Tags/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Public Blow Jobs, Mild Kink, Condoms, Mutual Pining, Switching, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Anal Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Light Bondage, One Night Stands, Strangers to Lovers, Teasing, Happy Ending, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation Summary: Dean and Cas meet in a one night stand, but lust, chance and eventually more bind them together.

Tempered Desires | @mattzerella-sticks

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 20,013 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Pandemic, Baker Dean, Dean has ADHD, Recreational Drug Use, Meet Cute, First Date Summary: Dating, sex, and finding love were the farthest things on the minds of both Dean and Castiel. There were more important things to worry about - namely the pandemic that swept across the globe and changed everything. Navigating this new environment was hard enough without adding romance. But fate never intervenes when you expect. From first meetings to first dates, we'll see how Dean and Castiel's relationship blossoms despite the circumstances.

Put That On A T-Shirt | @celipuff

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 21,524 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean’s First Time With A Man, Blowjobs, Top!Dean/Bottom!Cas, Semi Public Sex Summary: Getting blindfolded and blown by a random dude his girlfriend knew didn’t exactly sound like an ideal Sunday for Dean, until it actually happened.

#destiel trope collection 2021 #day 6 #firsts #destiel #supernatural #fanfic #saving blogs; queuing things; the tumblr business

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Note

💭hi chloe, congrats! could u do a dating ff!tommy head canon (like the ones you have for stiles and mitch) i miss him 🥺

under the cut! i will also link this to my masterlist, because I know how much y'all like these!

PDA

Tommy is kiiiiinda in a middle ground about PDA

He doesn’t feel the need to go over the top, but he isn’t shy about it either

He’ll kiss his girl when he wants, and he isn’t shy of affection either

Little nudges and pokes and a lot of random hugs

On a call together, he keeps it professional, of course

But in your own time? He’s a free man, and he’ll love his girl if he wants to

At the house, he can be extra with PDA, just to annoy everyone

If he gives you a little kiss, or does something which anybody teases him for, he goes into overdrive, just to annoy them

A lot of ‘my love’, ‘angel’, ‘light of my life’, ‘love of my life’, ‘hey pretty girl’

A lot of flirting too

“Oh, damn, good thing we’re firemen because you are smokin’.” and such

He will one hundred percent grab your ass and run away

You’ve actually become pretty used to it, actually

Little slaps, or pinches, or grabs, and then he just runs away laughing

Thinkin’ he’s doing something

But he still blushes when you flirt back, in literally any situation

Using a fire-related pick-up line

“Well, damn, lieutenant, you’d better come over here and handle me then.”

And his jaw would drop and he’d get cute pink cheeks

Which definitely leads to some PDA because he’ll grab your face and kiss you

The PDA gets more after a hard call but nobody says anything then

Hand holding and cuddling and playing with hair

Soft kisses and whispered reassurances while holding each other’s faces

Honestly, he’s not big on making an exhibition, but he will give out a lot of love

HANGING OUT

Hanging out happens a lot

For starters, there’s all day at work, especially on slow days when you might not even get a case

At the beginning of the relationship, that would be awesome, because ‘honeymoon phase’ and all

But once you’ve moved past that and into a more serious relationship, that can be an issue

Like if there’s been a dispute at home or one of you is on edge

So hanging out is pretty much never alone at work

And you try to break it up into chunks too

Making sure you have a girls night with Brenda at least once a week

And once a week he has a guys night, and you plan them on separate days

You actually have too much hang out time on your hands, and it can be a strain

Once you’ve got it down, though, it’s easy

Having TV shows that you binge together, and will never watch without the other

Cleaning and doing household chores together always becoming fun

Especially when you build a playlist for these jobs, and end up dancing and singing together

Also, cooking together

Which is actually usually just one of you cooking, and the other sitting on the counter just to chat

Grocery shopping alone, and making appointments alone

Just so that you always have time apart, to keep things distanced

DATE NIGHT

Date nights are hard to plan when you live together and have such busy jobs

You rarely ever actually feel the need to go out and about to have a date

Really, you just want to get in your comfies and relax together

At first, you both kind of force yourselves to go out

Making bookings and dressing up and going out for dinner

You feel like you owe it to yourselves at the beginning

Even though you don’t need to do the small talk and whatnot

After that, drive through dates in the middle of the night, or going on walks in the park count as dates

And after that, you honestly stop counting dates

You’re just together

Long before you move in together, you’re already basically living together

You drive home from work together, and choose who’s place to crash at

So dates as a concept are pretty irrelevant after a pretty short amount of time

SEX

Oh, don’t even get me started on this

He’s always horny after regular cases

Watching you go into ‘action mode’, he loves it

And you feel the same about him

Definitely having hooked up in the showers a few times at work while you were still in that phase

His hand over your mouth and trying not to let the sounds be too obvious

Trying to keep quiet and failing at it

You’re pretty sure everyone knows, but nobody said anything

Also fucking in one of the firetrucks and the ambulance

When you get a little more self-control, morning sex is usually the way forwards

Because you’re both always so tired after shifts

So morning sex is usually the way to go

If it is morning sex, it’s always sloppy and clingy and passionate

Slow thrusts and wandering hands and deep kisses

Shower sex is also a regular visitor in the morning sex regime

“It’s hot, and easy clean-up, and it’s hot. I see no downsides.”

He loves shower sex

However, if you’ve been out with the team, you’re probably both a little tipsy

Team nights lead to drinking, lead to Thomas openly saying how much he loves how hot his girlfriend is and getting wandering hands

Also kinda sloppy and clingy sex

But a lot hotter

Because you have more energy than mornings, and you’ve got a little liquor behind it

So it’s the times when you both get a little wilder

Day off sex is different, though

Day off sex is much more like making love than just fucking

Because it’s a lazy day, so you’re both in pyjamas

And he’s just turned on because he loves you so much

It’s quite literally just ‘seriously, you’re so cute and I love you so much’ sex

Wearing his oversized shirts and sweatpants and odd socks

And he’s wearing plaid pants or sweats and old shirts

Literally nothing sexy about it but damn you just have so much love

So those are the days where he takes you apart piece by piece

Slow and deep, so much love and kisses

Dirty talk is more just loving confessions

It’s not “I’m gonna have you screaming my name” like drunk sex or morning sex

But it more like “I’m gonna love you forever, I swear it”

Yeah, he’s always clingy, though

AFTERCARE

Big on aftercare. Big big big.

He’s always affectionate but he’s extra affectionate after sex

Brushing your hair back out of your face

If he got messy, he gets a cloth and cleans you up

Plus a lot of cuddling

“You want anything? Some water, I want some water. You want a snack?”

Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t

If you do, he helps you out on some loose clothes and makes something simple like poptarts

If you don’t he gets you water when he gets his own and brings it to bed

Always helps you get back into some kind of pyjamas afterwards

Even if it’s just throwing them to you if you’re not completely fucked out

Cuddling under the covers afterwards

And it doesn’t get awkward, either

two seconds later, once you’re all cuddled up, he’ll jump right in with “so, guess what my mom texted before-”

And he just skips into the gossip and chatter without any awkwardness

THINGS YOU STEAL FROM EACH OTHER

Ohhh a lot

You wear a lot of his hoodies and shirts and coats

He likes things to be comfortably big on himself, so they’re quite large on you

He steals your slippers and fluffy for a while

Your place has hardwood floors but his has carpets, so when he comes over, his feet get cold

He stretches out your socks and slippers

So you start buying them bigger so they’re comfortable for him

He doesn’t realise until he sees you trip over the extra-long toe length one day

So he buys you your own

You now have like 15 pairs that are alternated around

Honestly, each other’s phones

What do you have to hide from him? You work together, you live together, you have the same friends

So, you use one another’s phones

To get in the groupchat and just reply, or to call someone or send a text

It’s really just about whoever’s phone is closest

He steals your netflix account before moving in

And you steal his spotify premium

His car

It’s cooler and has a smoother drive and you like it

So you like to drive his car around a lot

He always subtly complains about it

“That car is my baby.”

“I thought I was your baby.”

“You’re my angel.”

But he always hands over the keys willingly

And he complains about adjusting the seat after you’ve used it

But he buys the air fresheners you like

PICK UP LINES HE LIKES TO USE

A lot of straight-up firemen puns

“Get rid of your smoke detector, sleep with a fireman.”

“The fire might be out, but you’re smokin’ hot.”

I’m a fireman. I’m an expert in what’s hot.”

But he’s also soft and cheesy and in love with his paramedic girlfriend so

“I’m glad you know CPR, because you just took my breath away.”

“Do you have a band-aid? Because I scraped my knees falling for you.”

“If you’re here, who’d running heaven?”

“Your hand looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

“I just stole a kiss. Want it back? Come get it.”

GOING ON CALLS TOGETHER

He's a professional little baby

He won’t let his love for you get in the way, because he knows you’ll yell at him for it

He has a job to do, and he learned the hard way that he has to prioritise that

A lot of arguments and tearful confessions and deep chats made the understanding

But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a few traditions

If it’s just a regular case with him going into a building and you staying outside, it’s the usual

Whispered reassurances as a plan is formed

Before you lock your pinkies, and pull each other close, and kiss your thumbs

It started because you kept bumping your head on his helmet when you tried to give him quick kisses

And then getting in trouble for kissing on the scene when one of the local papers reported on workplace romances

And you aren’t technically doing anything wrong but it made you both mad

So it became a pinky lock, and kissing the edges of your own hand

Because that’s the best you could get

However, if you have to go into a building, he checks your kit himself

You gave up fighting him on it

The only way he was gonna feel reassured was if he’d checked it all himself

Just allowing him to do so at this point

Bumping your helmets together softly before you go inside

When you go inside, you always walk behind him

He never directly demanded that when you were working out boundaries after an argument

But you know it makes him feel better

Always sticking close to his side, and remembering the flashlight technique he’d taught you if you wander off

After cases, when you get back to the firehouse, you always have reassuring little kisses

And that’s his time to support you

Always letting you check him over, even when he’s not hurt

Because he knows that it makes you feel better

And if you have to take a detour to the hospital with patients, he makes sure he has a mug of tea and a snack ready for you when you get back

#9ksleepover

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squishycheekanon · 3 years

Text

It’s just Business - three

Werewolf Steve Rodgers x reader

Warnings for the series: fluffness, Bucky and Sam bickering like five year olds, smutty smut, bad language.

After coming back from my ruined peaceful walk, I didn’t have the motivation to do anything other than just sitting and reading. I spent most of the afternoon and evening doing that too. It kind of brought back the serene feeling from this morning but not the same. By the time dinner and then sleep rolled around I felt unproductive.

Making a mental note to talk to Bash tomorrow, I pulled back the covers ready to get into bed when I heard a howl just like the night before. The noise caused my breath to hitch in my throat, my hands to grip the sheets. Like a siren call I walked towards the glass door in a daze. Standing out on the balcony now, I heard the howl again but it was closer this time.

The noise made my chest tighten. A pricking sensation familiar to how you’d prick your finger when learning to sow. It got stronger and stronger, almost like something was getting closer and closer.

“Alex?” I jumped screaming when a hand placed itself on my back.

“Oh Bash, sorry, you scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.” I explained.

“I haven’t scared you in years. Last time I did we were little. You seemed to be the one scaring me now.” He grinned, a smile slipping onto my face too.

“Seems that way doesn’t it?” He eyed the lake and trees with a suspicious eye.

“Do you like it here?” He asked coming to stand next to me on the balcony.

“I love it. It’s so freeing.” I stared out at the view.

“I’m sorry for what Dad had done. And, well I’m sorry for leaving you in that house to begin with.” He cleared his throat, I reached out a patted his back. I knew it was hard for him to admit his wrong doings, even if technically he didn’t do anything wrong here.

“It’s not your fault. Mother and Father would have never let it happen. And besides maybe being away from them for eight months will be good for me.” I let out a dry chuckle at the thought. Eight parent free months. Sounded amazing.

“When I was your age, that would have sounded like heaven to me.” He poked my side with a laugh.

“Bash, I spent four months trying to do this task, and I’ve already failed. How did you and JJ complete it in under a month?” I asked astonished, more about JJ than Bash really.

“When Father set us the task, I thought it was easy. And applied to every college in the world, a lot of people wanted the ‘Mayor’s Son’ on their campus, but two sons that was like a dream to them and their scouts. So when I finally picked the college I wanted, they asked if JJ would be joining me. Which he did.” Bash shook his head remembering the trouble JJ caused that university.

“Nobody wants me for my title or my grades. They just want money. How am I supposed to do this? The task is to get into a college without financial help. So far getting a scholarship from every place in the world has failed. Because they said and I quote ‘your parents have too much money’.” I pushed and hand through my hair angrily.

“I have a friend at Hitchend Uni, I called and asked if he could do something. He said he’d see what he could do and call back soon.” Bash looked over to me seeing my sad eyes. “Little sister.”

“I just wish my life wasn’t like this. I wish it were different. That I didn’t have to worry about this stupid task or the fact that if I fail they’re going to kick me out without any financial support. They won’t even let me get a job to support myself, so what money will I have to fall back on?” I tried to relax staring out at the lake. A howl sounded over to the left of the forest.

“You know that Lara and I will take you in. We could never let you be homeless.” He placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Thankyou Sebastian.”

“Ooo using my full name. You must be serious.” He chuckled pulling me into a hug. I gladly accepted the warmth.

“Now come on time for bed.” He encouraged me inside and I listened. Slipping under the covers as he shut and locked the door.

“Goodnight little sister.”

“Goodnight big brother.” He smiled and closed the door. I rested a little easier that night, knowing that when everything goes to shit I have someone to turn to. I’m not alone.

Two more days. Today and tomorrow and then the freedom is gone. My head started to hurt more and more, the closer it got to leaving. New worries hitting me at every point throughout the day. I couldn’t stop thinking about all different kinds of problems that could happen. Soon enough, the last day rolled around.

A knock on the door had Bash’s head flicking in the noises direction. We were in the middle of breakfast, I was far too busy chowing down my Frosties to care who was at the door until I heard who Bash was talking to. He’d gone to get the door and now was conversing with whoever was there.

“Of course man, come in. We’re just having breakfast.” I went to leave, for now I was beyond pissed.

“Alex.” Lara shook her head at me, but I didn’t listen. Getting up from my seat only to run right into the person I wanted to avoid.

“Good morning Alexandra.” His voice was like honey, his sweet smile pushing me to stay. Dark blue graced his upper body again. Mustering up the best glare I could and sending it his way. I left, going back to my temporary room upstairs. Only a few seconds later he was stood in the door way.

“I want there to be no misunderstanding Alexandra. I no way want you to dislike me or be uncomfortable. However we will be spending the next eight months together and I have specific instructions from your father in terms of a schedule. It would be best if we got along don’t you agree?”

He had some fucking nerve. I grit my teeth taking a deep breath before turning to him and speaking.

“And I want there to be no misunderstanding when I say I have one more day left of freedom. And I would very much prefer to spend it without you, errand boy.” I wasn’t going to be told what to do by my father’s errand boy. Well, man.

The clench of his jaw, the raise of the eyebrow, the spark in his eyes gave me a sense of pride. I had just managed to rile up a grown man and he couldn’t do anything about it. It was in that moment I decided to spend the next eight months making his life as hellish as mine.

He left the room quickly, I couldn’t help the grin that grew with each passing second. For some reason, I didn’t know what that reason was but, I really liked getting him riled up and I couldn’t wait to see what happens when I push him too far and he snaps. I wonder what it is that he’ll do.

I felt my entire body heat up, I figured it was just the adrenaline rush that came with the situation rush. But the longer I stood and pondered, I felt like I was yearning for something? Heat shot through me again, it felt like when you get too hot and the waves of hotness just keep coming until you take off your jacket.

Shaking the feeling off, I made myself determined to go back to being normal for a day. That was ultimately the goal until Mr rugged showed up at the front door. Wonder if he’s still here? I tilted my head with the thought, trying to listen and see if I could hear any talking downstairs.

“Yeah, you idiot.” Lara laughed.

“Ah my loving wife, how ever did I deserve such a glorious mate that showers me with affection daily.” Bash’s sarcasm dripped with each word he spoke.

“Eww sloppy kisses!” Lara scream playfully.

That’s a new one. Never heard someone refer to their partner as a mate before. Strange but with my family stranger things happen every day. Not wanting to take my chances that he hadn’t left I stayed in my room for the rest of the day.

“Wish I could stay.” I huffed flopping down on my bed. Tomorrow was the day I left and I wasn’t ready.

This is it. No. It can’t be.

“Alex!”

It is. Pulling the sheet above my head, I let out a groan at the thought.

“I’m leaving today.” I said to myself, as if trying to ready myself for the journey ahead.

I got dressed and packed as slowly as possible. Didn’t have the appetite to eat anything. Felt like my stomach would lurch if I did. Couldn’t bare the thought of going away from the first place that had made me feel peaceful.

“Love you lots and lots and lots and lots and lots.” Lara repeated hugging me tightly.

“Okay Lara, let my baby sister breath.” Bash chuckled.

“Our sister.” She glared not letting go.

“Love you too” I smiled pulling away and walking to Bash. He enveloped me in a hug.

“You can do this.” He whispered, squeezing me before letting me go.

I got in the car that had pulled up twenty minutes ago. I didn’t mind making him wait. I waved goodbye to the happily married couple, mustering up the best smile I could. The gorgeous fir trees passed by not helping my solemn mood. Soon the mountains came into view, seeing a few houses dotted here and there on a few of them.

The car passed by the big village. Strings of houses here and there. There was a huge house in the middle of it. People walking about, looking my way, kids playing outside and others farming the land. We pulled up to a house that was slightly away from the village and a bit bigger than the other houses. The driver opened my door for me, smiling in thanks.

“Rustic.” I quipped looking at the house.

“Thanks.” My head snapped to Steve who had been walking my way, behind him was a trail going into the forest that I assumed led up to the mountains.

“Welcome to your new home for the next eight months.” He smiled and somehow, it seemed sincere.

Oh joy.

#alpha steve rogers #steve rodgers x y/n #steve rodgers imagine #steve rodgers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers #werewolf x human #werewolf #werewolves #human reader #bucky barnes fluff #sam wilson fluff #steve rodgers fluff #Steve Rodgers smut #fluff #smut #Spotify

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yan-twst · 4 years

Note

OMG 1000 is a big number cONGRATULATIONS ! mmmM i was thinking, maybe yandere!scarabia & octavinelle with a genie! s/o ? they have the lamp like in aladdin :o

warnings: general yandere content, implied violence (in floyd’s part)

kalim al-asim

there’s been tales of genies in lamps for years in the land hot sands- there’s plenty of myths and stories he grew up hearing. of course, the chance of actually finding such an artifact were slim, nearing to impossible

so stumbling into a lamp and accidentally unleashing a genie was needless to say, a huge shock. of course, with his happy and cheery attitude, he didn’t waste any time in befriending the genie- honestly, his three wishes are pushed to the back of his mind

at first, he’s eager to show this genie the outside world. how long has it been since they saw the world? have they ever been in a huge feast? kalim says he wants to show them the world- although it’s quite clear to everyone else he’s enjoying their company a bit too much

a human courting a genie is just... unheard of. kalim’s genie is confused, but oh, he’s so sweet! they really can’t sense any dark intentions from him; and he doesn’t, really. the twisted love that blooms in his heart isn’t a bad intention, it’s simply how he loves

kalim takes full advantage of the fact his darling has been stuck to his side since they were awakened, even without he himself realizing it. they trust him; his affection seems to be so pure they can’t help but return it, he’s gifting them jewelry and silk despite them being the genie, he doesn’t even mention his wishes...

... which is how it’s just so easy to be slowly entrapped by him. oh, genies are cunning and smart: genies are supposed to outsmart greedy humans, to twist their wishes around and make them suffer by their own words. but kalim isn’t greedy, he isn’t one of those slimy creeps who try to use a genie to cheat and win at life... and so his gentle and cheery demeanor is what it takes to slowly isolate and drive his darling into a corner

when they realize what he’s doing- keeping their lamp away from them, keeping them quite literally locked in like some sort of housepet- they panic. they should be in control here. they have to give him his wishes so they can leave. but nothing can compare to the look of hurt in kalim’s face when his genie finally tells him to just go and make his wishes

“if i make three wishes, won’t you leave...? i don’t want you to leave.” kalim is serious when he says this. he doesn’t care what he could wish for (he has wealth, he has friends, he’s happy). all he wants is them. he wants them, he wants to love them; he’s become hopelessly attached

it’s a tricky situation. kalim’s hidden their lamp god knows where, claiming it’s “to keep it safe”, he’s blocked off all escape routes, and they’re technically still his, he is their master until all his wishes are completed. he keeps acting as if nothing’s weird- he almost treats them as if they were just a human lover, happily talking about the future he’ll share with them

there’s still hope, right...? kalim’s genie can only hold onto the hope that as years pass, greed will corrupt the heir and he’ll give in and cash in his wishes, and that’ll free them. of course he won’t, he isn’t the sort of person who’d do that- they... know him well enough now, to be able to know he’s just not the kind of man who’d be so easily swayed.

perhaps it’s better this way. they’re not human, but kalim seems to be trying to ignore that. if they press too much- if they try to tell him it’s just not how things should be, genies aren’t supposed to be kept around like this- it’s not going to accomplish anything. kalim may be gentle, but he’s possessive. if anything, they might get him to use up one single wish; and he’ll wish for them to stay with him forever, as his lover for the rest of his life.

jamil viper

like kalim, he’s grown up hearing stories about genies in lamps found in the land of hot sands. he also knows how cunning and sharp genies are in the stories; how wishes are turned around, how they make it so someone’s dearest wish backfires

so of course, when he accidentally unleashes a genie when cleaning what he thought was just an oil lamp forgotten in a corner of the treasury, jamil knows better than to immediately give in to his impulse of using his wishes

jamil may even taunt the genie- do they think he’s just going to foolishly make a wish and let them twist his own words against him? he also relishes on how the genie refers to him as a master; it’s... truly a nice change for once

he’s quite shocked that the genie isn’t like those described in myths. they aren’t an old or ghostly looking figure; especially once they’re entirely out of the lamp, they actually look just like any other human. if it weren’t for the slightly outdated jewelry, they wouldn’t look too out of place... they’re quite pretty, really...

jamil tells himself he’s keeping them around because he wants to “think out his wishes properly”. and it is true, he wants to make sure his three wishes are all perfect, but... he cannot deny how nice it is to have someone who’s objectively his. he is the superior here, he’s the master

is it... can he be in love with a genie? they do look so human; they’re so cute with how they try to pressure him into making his wishes, all the while trying to be respectful to their master. he adores how they squirm when he threatens to lock away or destroy their lamp if they keep telling him to hurry and make his wishes, how they’re always so grateful when he brings them food despite them not needing it

finally, jamil has his wishes done. it takes months of pondering; they have to be perfectly worded, he can’t have his darling little genie tricking him, can he? boiled down, his wishes are quite simple: he wants the viper family to be released from servitude to the al-asim family, he wants to be powerful and independent in the future, and...

oh, and he wants to own them and keep them by his side forever. he makes it quite clear- they’re going to be his lover, they’ll be nice and obedient, and do as he acts. after all, he’ll make sure to remember them that he’s still their master; not being allowed to leave despite the wishes being done, being kept in his room as some sort of housepet

azul ashengrotto

a genie in a lamp, a nearly divine creature who can grant any wish... when he was younger, that would have been azul’s dearest wish; however, now that he’s older, he takes more pride in the fact he got where he is with his own work

so finding a magic lamp all of a sudden is... jarring. he’s long past the days he’d wish for a genie or some divine intervention to make his wishes come true, to not be mocked or bullied; so when he’s asked to make three wishes... he doesn’t know

instead, he sees an opportunity. not only are genies a rare find, but this particular genie is just so beautiful; he’s careful with his words. while he thinks of his wishes, won’t they stick around? perhaps help around the lounge? it would be quite an unique experience, wouldn’t it?

he keeps the lamp locked away, trying to distract them from the fact. he’s advertising their appearance, flaunting the “real genie working in the lounge”, showing them off in the clothes and jewelry they came with when they came out the lamp

it’s easy for azul to become obsessed with them. they can grant any wish to anyone, but they’re his, he controls them now. If he has them, nobody else does. It’s his business to make deals to make people’s wishes come true- it wouldn’t be good for him to let them go, right...?

his smooth talking is good enough to be able to make requests and convince them to do as he pleases without it quite counting as a wish. it flusters and stresses them out, but to azul, he doesn’t mind

he becomes possessive over them; to the point he’ll attempt to use ‘it’s a deal’ on their ability to grant wishes. they don’t need that; they have him!

he doesn’t want them to be able to go, to be able to leave him. his wanting to keep them around for business reasons slowly becomes him craving their attention and approval. he’ll only ever use one wish: they cannot leave him, ever.

jade leech

oho, a genie? what a curious happenstance. jade seems to take the situation with his usual calm and tempered attitude

perhaps he’s so gentlemanly and perfect, that when the genie first looks at him, there’s no way for them to imagine the way this gentle-faced man will make things go

at first, jade acts innocent. so they’re a genie? how interesting- so they can grant wishes? oh, three wishes then? what are the terms? the conditions? of course he already knows the answers- myths and stories about genies are common- but it’s clear it’s working. he can tell the genie seems to be happy to explain, maybe even charmed by his ‘naivety’

jade plays his cards slowly. he’ll figure out what his genie knows and doesn’t, how long they’ve been stuck inside the lamp; oh, it must have been so lonely there! he takes his time acting like the sweetest gentleman to them, lowering their guard

and then he makes his first wish

they aren’t allowed to leave or disobey him, ever

the panic is almost immediate when he says this. he’s been a perfect gentleman, a kind master- so why now does he make this wish all of a sudden-?

once he’s made sure that he’s got them where he wants them, jade indulges in his lover. yes, they’re his lover now; it’s not like they have much choice

if they disobey, then he has no trouble shoving them back into the lamp- perhaps he’ll do so when he can’t keep his eye on them, taunting them and making them suffer

they’ve gotten so used to being around jade, of living in the world, being left back in the lamp is suddenly jarring. it’s so lonely, so cold; even though they should be furious at him, they cannot help but suddenly feel calm when he lets them out, when they’re in another being’s presence once again, even if it’s the man forcing them to play the part of his lover

floyd leech

waaah, what’s this? a genie? why’re they hiding in a lamp, like a hermit crab? that’s quite funny, isn’t it?

floyd’s first instinct is to just squish ‘em in a hug. little hermit crab is just sooo cute! why were they hiding in there, all alone?

when a very flustered genie explains they’re actually supposed to grant him three wishes and not, uh, be hugged around, floyd isn’t particularly surprised

three wishes, huh? hmm, sounds interesting

he’ll blow his first two wishes in random, useless things. maybe he’ll wish to run into riddle just to tease him, or maybe he’ll wish the cafeteria will serve his favourite food

... but he doesn’t want to make his last wish

floyd doesn’t stop hugging and being handsy with his genie- or as he calls them, his hermit crab- he can’t let go of them! they’re the perfect little plaything!

and suddenly he just refuses to make the last wish and let them go. they try to ask nicely; doesn’t he have another wish? he can ask for anything, they’ll make it come true!

and suddenly floyd holds them by the neck, eyes darkened- why do they want to leave him so badly? why does his hermit crab want to disappear from his life? don’t they know once he makes his third wish they’ll be gone? do they think he’ll let them?

floyd can be violent in impulse, and it’s clear that they have to tread carefully. trying to press him into making another wish, into freedom, is a ticket to having their ribs painfully crushed in his embrace

stuck as his plaything- a powerful genie, capable of making any wish come true- except the wish for their own wish of freedom

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #kalim al asim #jamil viper #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #yandere tw

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feralthoughtdump · 3 years

Text

Only Angel

Part Two of Kiss With A Fist

On the way to Madripoor, Bucky and his acquaintance talk about names.

Word Count: 5.5K

CW: violence, talk of killing people, TFATWS ep. 3 spoilers, stitching wounds, smut, unprotected sex, sub!bucky, technically a reader x bucky but he gives her a new name.

“So, we’re headed to Madripoor?” She questions, adjusting the straps of her harness.

Bucky adverts his eyes as she unbuttons her jeans, not answering her question, but she doesn’t seem to notice. They were standing in the back of the jet, a curtain obscuring the two of them from Sam and Zemo.

“Help me really quick. I have a holster in my bag.”

He reaches into her light blue duffle back, rifling through the articles of clothing and various weapons until his finger wraps around the leather.

“Thanks, you’re a godsend.” She chuckles. “Tell me about this mission of ours. I need to know what I should wear.”

“We’re going undercover. Zemo is just… Zemo, Sam’s going as some big shot, and I’m… well-“

“The Winter Soldier?”

He silently nods.

“You scared?”

She buckles the holster around her thigh, tightening it so it slightly squeezes at the flesh.

“Not sure.” He grumbles. “I’m worried, you know, I might end up..” his words trail off.

“Relapsing?”

“You can say that.”

She pulls her jeans down past her ankle and places them into her bag.

He clears his throat and looks away, unsure if she’s okay with him looking.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Buck.” She hymns, reaching into her bag. “What do you think? Shorts or a dress?”

He looks back up, eyeing the black slip dress in one hand, and the leather shorts in the other.

“Shorts I guess. Easy mobility.”

“Smart.”

As she’s pulling the shorts up past her waist, Bucky stares out the plane window.

“Do you still go by Angel of Death?” He asks.

She looks up at him.

“I never chose to go by that name, you know? The public did.” Her hands dig into the bag, pulling out a gun and a few knives. “Angels of death are serial killers in caregiver positions and I have nobody under my care. But they gave me that name because they saw me as some vigilante, someone who took down bad people.”

“Do you like the name?”

“I don’t really care. It’s factually incorrect but names don’t matter when you have to kill the person standing in the way of a paycheck.”

“Is that how you see them? Just another person you have to kill so you can go buy a fancy handbag?” He scoffs.

“You have no idea who those people are do you? Those people are corrupt. Evil. People who have no regard for the lives of innocent people.”

“And you think you’re any better?”

His tone is less accusing, rather it’s more curious.

“Maybe not, but at the end of the day, it’s my job. And if my job means I’m killing morally corrupt people, then I really don’t care. And if I’m as bad as them, then maybe you had a right to kill me ten years ago.”

Bucky shifts on his feet.

“You know my mission wasn’t to kill you.” He confesses.

“Then why did you stab me?”

“I think for the first time, I felt scared. I was confused and I panicked.”

“Fair enough.” She takes out a dark red trench coat. One made of soft crushed velvet. Bucky runs his flesh hand over it, taking in the feeling of the soft fabric.

“I was supposed to take you away, hand you over to HYDRA. I think they wanted you to work for them.”

She snorts, humored by his words.

“So they wanted me to be a weapon, huh. Fry my brain until all my free will is gone and come up with a few words in Russian to make sure I’ll do their bidding.”

“Most likely.” He crosses his arms. “You’re good at your job. You’ve wracked up kills in the hundreds, and I thought I was the one with the high body count.”

“Do you know why I’m good at my job?” She laughs, pulling her hair into a tight bun and securing it with a gold hairpin. “Do you know why I’m one of the best female assassins in Europe?”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders.

“Every time I’m assigned a job, I’m walking into a life or death situation. I need to be prepared for any type of outcome so I won’t get caught off guard.” She pulls a black, satin, dress shirt over her shoulders. “But do you know the real reason as to why I’m the best?”

Bucky parts his lips.

“Tell me.”

“It’s because I never let my feelings get in the way.”

“But you have to feel at least something.”

“No. I don’t think I really feel anything.” She tucks the hem into the shorts. “I haven’t felt anything in a very long time.”

He doesn’t know what to say. As he observes her concealing weapons within her outfit, he thinks about the past few decades of his life. One mission after another. He thinks about the bloodshed. He thinks about Yori and his son. Did he feel anything when he put a bullet in that boy? Not at the time. But now? All he feels is guilt. Shame. But here she stands in front of him, dressed to the nines, hidden weapons strapped to her body. I haven’t felt anything in a really long time. No guilt, no shame, no emotions. The silence hangs over them like a thick, heavy fog.

His mind wanders to their first interaction. Though he can’t remember much, he often revisits it in his dreams.

Don’t you want to know my name?

The question she asked him before he plunged the knife into her abdomen.

“Ten years ago, you asked if I wanted to know your name.”

“I did.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No. I would’ve just given you a fake one.”

She sits down on the leather seat and stuffs her feet into a pair of heeled boots. Bucky takes a seat next to her.

“What name would you have given me?”

“I was reading Anna Karenina at the time so probably Kitty.”

“Do you have a name?”

“I have many names.”

“No, a real name.”

She zips up her left boot.

“I do. Well, I did.” She sighs, moving her fingers to zip up the right. “I don’t remember it anymore.”

Bucky frowns.

“Do you want to remember?”

Her head falls onto his shoulders and she nuzzles her nose into his neck.

“Not really. Sometimes I think it’s better that I’m nameless.”

Bucky doesn’t want to say he pities her, but he does. Maybe it isn’t pitying, rather sympathizing.

“Can I give you a new one?”

She smiles, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against her skin.

“Sure.”

“I’d like to call you Angel.”

A hum of content passes her lips and she presses a soft kiss on his skin.

“I’d like that too.” She whispers. “I’ll be your angel.”

They sit together for a good five minutes, syncing their breathing together, enjoying each other’s company.

“We should go back to your friends.” She mutters, grabbing the coat.

“We probably should.”

Sam gives the two of them as they walk past the curtain. Bucky sits across from him and he watches with a slightly annoyed eye as she takes the seat across from Zemo.

“How do you two know each other?” Sam queries.

“Oh. Bucky stabbed me ten years ago.” She bluntly states.

A humored smile crosses her face as Sam’s eyes widen and darts between the two.

“He stabbed you?”

“Hey, I wasn’t really myself back then.” Bucky quickly defends himself. “Plus, she tried to kill me a few hours ago.”

“In her defense,” Zemo interjects “being stabbed isn’t something you can just forgive and forget.”

“Oh, and you know everything about forgiving and forgetting.” Sam shoots back.

Sensing oncoming tension, she quickly changes the subject.

“Bucky told me you three needed a tour guide. Someone who knows the place well.”

“I’d consider myself-“

“Oh Baron,” she laughs “after everything you did in 2017, I doubt it’s easy for them to trust you.”

Zemo’s eyes widened.

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been to Sokovia before.”

Sam furrowed his brows.

“What led you to Sokovia?”

“Business meetings.”

“Jesus, Bucky, who is this girl?”

“Oh, yeah, I never actually introduced myself. I’m Angel.” Bucky smiles at the use of her name, affection blooming in his chest. “I work for a small company based in Europe. We mostly sell cosmetics.”

Bucky’s impressed by her ability to spit out a convincing story with no hesitation.

Sam doesn’t seem to buy it, but he lets it go.

“Anyways, what role do you three want me to play?”

“Well,” Zemo shifts in his seat, “I was thinking you could be my date-“

“No. No” Bucky grouses, a deep frown cutting across his face. “Absolutely not.”

“Relax, James. I won’t try anything with her. I know you two are… close.”

Bucky scrambles out of his seat to wrap a hand around Zemo’s neck but he steps away at the feeling of Angel’s gentle hand on his bicep.

“Calm down, Bucky. Everything’s going to be fine.” She looks at Zemo with an amused grin. “Alright. I’ll play the part, but I have a few rules.” She points her thumb up. “One, no kissing.” Then her pointer. “No silly pet names. I don’t want to hear you calling me baby or kitten. It’s patronizing.” Finally her middle. “And three, I don’t drink. My tolerance is low.”

Zemo and Sam nod in agreement and eventually so does Bucky, but the anger in his eyes refuses to fade away.

It’s nighttime when they arrive, but the bright, neon lights illuminate the city.

Loud music seeps out from the clubs and the air smells of smoke and booze. They’re surrounded by crime, and Angel smiles at the familiarity. She can spot a few familiar faces, but she never bothers to say hi. It’s best she stays faceless, unknown, invisible.

Zemo wraps an arm around her waist and Bucky side eyes him. She can read his annoyance. His jealousy. Yet, his cold, emotionless expression doesn't change. He’s fallen into character and he’s doing a damn good job of it.

Whispers of ‘is that the Winter Soldier?’ pour around them as they enter the bar, but they all do their best to pay no attention.

“Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.” The bartender nods towards Sam.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.” Zemo interjects.

Selby.

Angel remembers that name. She’s heard it in whispers on the streets.

Angel takes a seat on Zemo’s lap, leaning her head against the fur on his coat.

“Who’s the girl?”

“Close friend of mine,” Zemo smirks.

“I’m Moria.” She extends a hand and the bartender politely shakes it.

Bucky glances down at his fingers. Of course, her name here would be fake.

“The usual?” The bartender asks.

Sam and Zemo reply with a nod.

The four of them watch as he pulls a snake out of a jar, cutting its organs out and placing them in a shot glass. He moves on to pour out a shot of vodka for Zemo.

She grins and runs a hand from the fur collar of his coat to his chest. A soft, flirtatious giggle slips past her lips. Oh, Bucky wanted to take Zemo’s shot glass and throw it at the wall but he can’t. Not when the stakes are so high.

She suppresses a giggle as she watches Sam struggle to down the shot.

“Got word from on high,” A man approaches Zemo. “You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker. But if he insists, he can either talk to me…”

He gestures towards Bucky.

Angel surveys the bar, observing the patrons around them. Most of them are staring at the four, suspicious eyes being thrown their way.

Her concentration is broken when Zemo speaks.

“Winter Soldier” He orders in Russian.

She remembers Bucky’s words on the plane. He’s afraid of relapsing.

“Attack.”

Compassion, something she hasn’t felt for a long time, floods her body and before he can strike, she finds herself twisting the man’s fingers. Another approaches them and Bucky takes the lead, kicking the man to the ground. Men charge towards them and she fights along with him. He’s throwing kicks, punches, a sight that Angel is all too familiar with. Bucky takes hold of a man thrown his way, slamming him down onto the table, metal arm wrapped around his neck.

They freeze at the sound of weapons around them. Her eyes dart around the room, seeing the guns trained on them. Slowly, she reaches under her shirt, feeling the knives she has strapped to her body.

Sam places a hand on Bucky’s arm and Zemo quickly stops him.

“Stay in character or the entire bar turns on us.”

They all stand as the bartender turns to them.

“Selby will see you now.”

She looks at Bucky, then Sam, then Zemo who opens his arms, beckoning her towards him. She lets him place a hand on her hip as the four of them walk away.

“You should know Baron,” Selby’s voice rings through her ears. “People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer.” Zemo replies.

“Well, a lot has changed since you were last here. By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” He chuckles. Zemo releases his hand on her.

“You’re taller than I heard, Smiling Tiger.” She purrs at Sam, who glances away. “What’s the offer? The girl?”

“No. Something better.”

He walks over to Bucky.

“Tell me what you know about the super-soldier serum and I’ll hand him over.” Fingers trace over his face, from his cheekbones down to his chin. “Along with the code words to control him. He will do whatever you want.”

A Cheshire cat smile cuts across Selby’s face.

“Now that’s the Zemo I know.” She settles into her couch. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant but right. The serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank… or condemn.” She shrugs. “Whatever side you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo inquires.

Selby stands.

“The breadcrumbs, you can have for free, but the bakery’s going to cost you.” She sighs. “Your arm candy, Baron, she’s extraordinary. There’s no way a little bird” Selby points her finger up and down at Angel “can fight like that without years of training. Come here, darling.” She beckons her over. Angel turns to Zemo, and then to Bucky, a worried expression on her face. Zemo falters for a second and releases his hand on her shoulder.

“Go ahead, darling.”

She stands and walks over the Selby, who looks her over with an inquisitive eye. Selby runs a manicured finger along the collar of Angel’s coat.

“I’ll tell you what,” Selby decides. “You hand both of them over to me, and I’ll tell you everything about Nagel.” She grins, pulling back the strap of Angel’s thigh holster and snapping it back onto her skin.

“Don’t touch me.” She snarls.

Selby cocks her head, an amused smirk on her face.

“I have to say, she’s quite the fiery one. I’d like to call her my little firebird. Have her sing for me.”

“A firebird and the Winter Soldier.” Zemo seethes. “Clever.”

Their attention turns to Sam when his phone rings.

Selby saunters over to him.

“Answer it.” She demands. “On speaker.”

Angel bites the inside of her cheek, waiting with bated breath as Sam speaks to Sarah. He rambles on about money laundering and having a banker killed until Sarah calls him Sam.

Her blood runs cold.

“Sam?” Selby questions, voice laced with accusation. “Who’s Sam? Kill them!”

Without hesitation, Angel pulls the gun out of her holster and unloads a bullet in the woman.

“We need to get out of here.” She yells, stuffing her gun back in place.

One of Selby’s bodyguards cocks his gun and Angel sends a throwing knife into his head, Bucky takes down the other, knocking him out with his fist.

“Jesus Christ, Angel!” Sam yells.

“We don’t have time to unpack that.” she pants, ripping the knife out of the bodyguard’s head. “The second people get word that she’s dead, we’ll have a million-dollar price tag on our heads.” She shoves the knife into a pocket on her holster and bolts to the door.

The four sprint out of the exit and onto the streets, laying low, trying not to get noticed. They walk at a brisk pace, shoulder forward, eyes straight.

The sound of rapid gunfire sends them scrambling.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yells.

“Oh, tell me about it!” She replies. The shock from her boots meeting the pavement sends pain up her calves. “I’ve been running in heels for years and it still sucks.”

“That’s not humanly possible. How do you do that?” He pants.

“I got used to it.”

Angel grabs her gun and cocks it. She one bullet after another and when the wind blows back her coat, Bucky can spot another pistol tucked in the waistband of her shorts.

Motorcycles start to barrel towards them and they pick up their speed. A bounty hunter throws a dagger, slicing at the skin of her thigh. Despite the gash, she can’t feel the pain. Not with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

They cut to a halt when they find themselves in an alleyway, surrounded.

Gunshots ring through the air saving them from impending death.

“Looks like we have a guardian angel.” Zemo notes, his run slowing down into a walk.

They look around, catching their breath.

“Well, this is too perfect.” The four turn to see a blonde walking towards them, gun pointed in Zemo’s direction. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” Bucky inquires. She rolls her eyes and turns to Angel.

“Nice to finally meet you, Angel of Death.”

“What? How do you know her?” Sam asks.

“I was investigating a politician’s death a few years ago. I managed to get my hands on her picture but Bucky over here caused a bit of a stir.”

She chuckles. “Nice to meet you too, Agent Carter.

“I used to be an agent, not anymore.” Sharon states.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky asks.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember?” Her words, laced with bitterness. She points her gun at Sam “I also took your wings” then to Bucky, “so you could save his ass” finally, to Zemo “from his ass. Unlike you, I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up.”

Angel stands by, watching Bucky ask for Sharon’s help, paying no attention to the cut on her leg. Unfortunately, the adrenaline finally wears off, sending pain up her leg. Her hands press on the bleeding wound, covering her fingers with blood. She hisses in pain, causing Sharon to turn to her, brows raised.

“This isn’t over.” She spits at them and makes her way over to Angel.

“You might need some stitches for that.” She sighs, handing her a tissue. “I have a place in High Town. You’ll be safe there.”

…

Bucky takes a seat next to Angel, who is tending to her wound on Sharon’s couch, legs propped up on a glass coffee table.

“She’s stitching herself up.” Sharon smiles. “Best you don’t distract her.”

“I’ll be fine.” Angel murmurs, eyes trained on the needle piercing her skin. “Thanks for the suture kit by the way. I left mine on Zemo’s jet.”

“No problem. I got myself some first aid supplies when I was on the run. Figured they would come in handy.”

“My calves hurt. You have anything for that?” She grumbles, carefully knotting the thread.

“There’s probably some ibuprofen in there.” Sharon chuckles. “Those heels are gorgeous but damn, they look painful.”

Bucky gently wraps his fingers around her ankle and looks at her.

“May I?”

“Such a gentleman. Of course.”

She places her legs on his thighs and sighs with relief as he massages the sore muscles of her calves.

“Does it hurt?”

“My calves? Or cut on my thigh.”

“Your thigh.”

She shrugs, pulling the thread.

“Not too much. It’s nothing Advil can’t fix.”

Sharon throws them an amused look.

“So, what’s going on between the two of you?”

“James seems to have formed a little bond with her. In more ways than one.” Zemo smiles at them over a glass of whisky.

“I’ll knock that drink right out of your hands.” Angel barks.

“I have to say, it’s quite ironic. James, you swore that you’d leave your assassin roots behind, yet you’ve taken up the company of one of the most prolific hitwomen in Europe.”

“He’s got a point,” Sharon says, rifling through racks of clothing. “The irony part, I mean. When I was working the Death Angel case, both the FBI and the CIA profiled you as a psychopath. Someone unable to form proper emotional bonds with others-“

“Sociopath.” Angel interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Not a psychopath. Psychopaths have no moral compass. But I’d say I do. Sociopaths are still able to discern right from wrong.”

Sam walks into the room, shrugging a jacket onto his shoulders.

“So why’d you become a hitwoman?”

Though he asks out of curiosity, Bucky still notes the way her eyes narrow, the way her lips twist into a frown.

“I was getting paid. Plus, they aren’t the type of people you’d like to have dinner with.”

“Let’s drop this, yeah?” Bucky grumbles. “I don’t think Angel wants to continue this conversation.”

Angel. She still hasn’t gotten used to that new name, but she likes it.

It was nothing like the names the authorities and the public had slapped on her. Killer, psychopath, evil, monster.

The hardened shell she had built around her has started to crack, but only for Bucky.

For the first time, she wonders what it would be like. To be free from the title of an assassin.

Maybe she’d live in a quiet Parisian apartment or a sun-filled home in northern Italy. Maybe she’d be alone. She’d be okay with that. Maybe she’ll be with someone else. Maybe with Bucky. She’d be more than okay with that.

She envied him, even if she shouldn’t. She didn’t go through what he went through. Being taken away, stripped of any control, and then having to live in a world he knew nothing of.

However, Bucky had something she didn’t have. He had good within himself.

She’s pulled from her thoughts when Sharon hands her a small pile of clothing.

“Here, these seem to be your style. I know some higher-ups so I’ll ask about Nagel. So, while I’m at it, enjoy the party.”

“Thanks, Sharon.”

“I’ll let you get changed.” Zemo stands and walks away, offering her privacy.

Sam and Sharon nod, leaving the room, but Bucky stayed behind.

“Are you okay?” He quietly asks.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” She curtly nods.

Bucky reaches for a pad of gauze and presses it to the closed wound.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He holds the gauze in place while she tapes it down.

“You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks.” She huffs. “YouTube has some great tutorials on bandaging.”

The music from the party downstairs echoes through Sharon’s home, bleeding into the room.

“Alright.” Angel stands and grabs the clothing that Sharon gave her. “I’ll change and we can head downstairs.”

She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Bucky cleans up the used suture supplies and throws them in the small trash can in the corner while waiting for Angel to finish.

He wonders what would have happened if he had successfully completed his Berlin mission in 2013. What would have become of her? Everything she does, she does it with a flair. From the way she dresses, to how she acts, even in the way she kills. She was spirited, creative, and clever. He can’t bear the thought of anyone, not just HYDRA, taking that away from her.

“Hey, Buck?” She walks out of the bathroom, holding her hands across her chest. “Can you help button me up?”

His mouth goes dry when he sees her. She’s ethereal, not of this world. The forest green satin of her dress compliments her gold jewelry, illuminated by the soft lights of Sharon’s home.

“Um,” he swallows. “Sure.”

She walks over to him and turns around so he can hook the buttons through the loops.

“Pretty isn’t it. Sharon has great taste.”

“Yeah.” He breathes.

“Do you like it?”

“I guess so.”

She turns to face him with a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean ‘you guess so’?”

“I was born in 1917, I know nothing about modern fashion. You look beautiful, though.”

Bucky sits back down and she crawls into his lap. “You’re so sweet to me. Maybe too sweet.” She giggles.

“Oh, by the way.” Her hands rest on his shoulders. “I never returned the favor from this morning.”

She leans in and presses her mouth against his, kissing him with fervor.

Bucky tucks her lower lip between his teeth and bites, smiling at her little yelp. He reaches up to cup her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin. She deepens the kiss, letting her tongue brush against his lips.

A whine leaves his lips as she pulls back and stands.

He pouts and reaches his arms towards her, hands making a grabbing motion.

“Another kiss. Please?”

“Oh, Bucky,” She giggles, lowering herself onto her knees. “You’re too cute.”

Her hands reach for his belt, undoing the buckle. She pulls his jeans down, letting them pile around his feet. He stops her hands right as they reach for his briefs.

“Wait, I-” He stutters. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” Blushing in embarrassment.

“If you don’t want to, we can stop.” She says sweetly.

“I want to.” He lets go of her wrist and lets his hand rest in her hair. “I just forgot how it feels.”

“If you want, I can take control for a little bit.” She rests her head on his thigh. “Make you feel good.”

Bucky blinks owlishly and nods.

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

That was the green light. She pulls his briefs down and Bucky kicks them aside along with the jeans. He grins as he watches her eyes widen.

“You-” She gasps. “Oh, wow, you’re big.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, reaching down to stroke himself. “You think you can take me?”

“I can try.”

She spits on her hand and wraps it around his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath when she thumbs over the tip.

“Oh.” He gasps when she licks the underside. “Oh!”

“Feels good?” She presses a kiss on his thigh.

“Yeah, really good.”

Her lips wrap around his cock, saliva dripping past her tongue and onto his skin.

He lets his head fall back, a quiet groan slipping past his lips.

“Oh, Angel, you’re amazing.”

She flutters her lashes and looks up at him.

It’s a beautiful sight, he thinks, the way she’s all doe-eyed and blushy.

He grabs a fist full of her hair and pulls her closer, letting his cock hit the back of her throat.

She gags around him and tears prick at her eyes, yet she doesn’t pull away. She bobs her head back and forth, sending electricity through his veins.

Spit dribbles down her chin and Bucky tightens his grip on her hair. He lets his other hand cup her cheek.

“Relax for me, love.” He murmurs. He holds her head still and pushes his hips forward. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto his thighs. Bucky hisses at the feeling of her nails digging into his skin but the pain is overshadowed by pleasure. Her mouth is so wet, so warm around him and he can’t get enough.

He’s only had his cock in her mouth for a few minutes but he can already feel himself getting closer.

“Wait, wait!” He gasps.

Angel pulls off, eyes wide with worry.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” She asks.

“No,” He caresses her face. “You were perfect. I just- I’m gonna cum soon and I want you to feel good too.”

She smiles affectionately.

“Oh, baby, you’re too good to me.”

As she moves to straddle him, Bucky takes hold of her waist and pushes her onto the couch so she’s lying underneath him.

“Don’t want you hurting yourself.” He kisses her nose. “Your wound is still healing.”

His hands push up the hem of her dress, the satin pooling around her waist, exposing the soft skin of her tummy and the scar he left her. He leans down to press a gentle kiss on the scar and he playfully nips at her skin.

“No biting, puppy.”

He whines at the name. It makes him feel all soft like he wants to give all of himself to her. His head rests on her tummy and he blinks at her with soft eyes.

“You wanted me to take control, so I’m taking control.” She coos, running a hand through his hair. “Give me a kiss, baby.”

He kisses up her body and when his lips meet hers, she takes this as an opportunity to roll themselves over.

She straddles his hips, letting her cunt rub against his cock. Her eyes close and she sighs in pleasure.

“You want to fuck me, baby?” She giggles.

“Yes.” He groans. “Oh god, yes.”

“What do you say?” she taunts, voice laced with authority.

“Please.” Bucky pants. “Can I please fuck you?”

“Mmm. Asking so nicely.” She muses. “Of course you can.”

His eyes roll back, chest heaving. His mouth drops open but she presses a hand against his mouth.

“Gotta stay quiet. Don’t want everyone hearing you do we?”

Bucky nods, biting down on his lip.

“Good boy.” She leans down and kisses his forehead. “So good.”

She lifts her hips and presses his cock against her entrance.

Bucky rests a hand on her hips but she intertwines their fingers and presses his hand onto the couch cushions.

“No touching.”

Unfair. She’s being unfair.

As she lowers herself onto him, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to moan.

“Beautiful.” She whispers, eyes hooded and lips parted. “You’re beautiful.”

He thinks he could cum right then and there.

“Am I making you feel good?” She whispers.

Bucky nods, quiet moans on the tip of his tongue.

She gasps and tightens around him. Bucky bites down on his lip. Hard.

“M-move.” He whimpers. “Please.”

She replies by moving her hips back and forth.

“You feel so good, sweet thing.”

Bucky hums in content.

“Thank you.”

With every movement she makes, with every sound that leaves her lips, Bucky’s convinced she’s going to kill him.

“Do you know what la petite mort means, baby?” She asks him.

“Mhm.” Bucky opens his eyes. “It’s French. It means a little death.”

They’re nose to nose, both gasping into each other’s mouths. The gold necklaces she’s wearing dangles in his face and he bites down on a chain with a smile.

“It means more than that, baby. La petit mort refers to an orgasm. And from the looks of it,” She teases, “I think you’re coming close.”

Bucky groans, letting go of the chain.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum?”

“Yes.” He whimpers with desperation. “Can I cum? Can I cum for you?”

“Tell me I’m your angel.” She whispers into his ear.

“You’re my angel. Can I please cum?” He begs.

“No, not yet.” She laves her tongue over the shell of his ear. “Tell me I’m your only angel.”

“You’re my angel. My only angel.”

She squeezes around him and quickens her movements. Her hands press down on his chest as she lifts her hips and sinks back down onto him.

She’s an angel. His angel. In this moment, he’d do anything for her. Anything for his angel.

“I’m gonna- fuck.” He groans.

“Gonna cum?” She asks, voice silvery and low. “Gonna cum for me baby?”

All he can do is nod.

“Alright.”

She lifts herself off of him and before he can protest, she’s got her lips wrapped around him. He bucks his hips forward and empties himself into her mouth.

He watches in awe, chest heaving post-orgasm, as she swallows him down and pulls off of him. With a quick swipe of her hand across she smiles.

She crawls up his body and places a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“So good. You were so good for me.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #tfatws #fanfic

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detroit-smash-my-ass · 3 years

Text

Yandere Alphabet - All For One

Masterlist

Yes, technically this isn’t NSFW per se, but it gets into topics racy enough that I’m posting it here. And c’mon, who doesn’t enjoy delving into the twisted maze that is AFO? He’s neck-and-neck with All Might as the scariest yandere in this series anyway, but that’s another can of worms.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

He’s very generous with the affection, but only if you’ve kept in his good graces. He’s not picky about doling out punishments if you act out. He keeps it fairly innocent unless the mood strikes, and even then he doesn’t care who’s in the room when he decides to seduce you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

He’s the single most dangerous villain in the history of Quirks and has no hesitation to take what he wants when he wants. I feel like that should answer itself fairly well.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He’s gentle with you, but firm. His first priority is to make you dependent on him, and comforting you even as you demand answers. Depending on how violent/aggressive you get, however, he’s not above leaving you alone by yourself in a locked room for a while to stamp out that temper. As soon as you start acting nice, he treats you kindly again.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Not in the classic physical sense. He’s manipulative, yes, but he’s not going to force you into anything -- at least, not yet. He wants your will to bend and break before he truly starts doing things with you that you might otherwise say no to. Patience is key - and lucky for him, he’s got a lot.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

He tells you very little about himself other than the basics you already know: all-powerful villain who can take and give any Quirk he gets his hands on. He might liken you to his little brother once or twice, and perhaps if in a good enough mood he’ll tell you stories of when they were both young, but otherwise he’s a mystery to you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Amused. There’s literally nothing you can do to him that hurts, and for a while he’s content to let you think you’re gaining back control, only to crush that determination at the most heated moment. If you continue to act out, however, he will start to lose his patience and will treat you harsher and harsher, outright abandoning you in a locked room with food and water delivered once a day until he feels you’ve learnt your lesson.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It doesn’t matter if it is or isn’t; chances are, he’s already won. He does enjoy watching you go about, thinking you’re being sneaky when he’s already figured out your entire plan to escape. At the very last moment when you think you’re going to get out, he enjoys seeing the hope fade from your face as you realize you’ve failed. It gives him a lot of pleasure breaking you.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Being locked in a cell, alone, with nobody to talk to until he arrives to bring you food. He only wants to isolate you like that when you’re being stubborn; otherwise, you’re locked in your shared bedroom.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

First and foremost, he wants to rule his new empire with you at his side as his loving spouse. Your Quirk is deemed helpful enough that, should you be able to, he would like a few children sired with you to see what kind of Quirks they would get (or not, in which case he’d be delighted to share one of his with them and train them to use it).

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He’s not exactly jealous, but rather paranoid. His way of coping with that is to keep you locked away. You’re his, not anyone else’s, and he wants you to accept that.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He’s very affectionate. Loves holding you in his lap as he caresses your hair, maybe a kiss or two on your forehead. He’s very charming, too; likes to joke around with you and is quite playful when you’re in his good graces.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He met you while you were briefly in Kamino Ward and afterwards desired to have you for himself. He found out where you lived and worked and started sending anonymous gifts (along with a cell number) in the guise of a ‘secret admirer’ until you agreed to meet him over text. When you did meet, you were a bit intimidated by his size, but after a few successful dates you were already falling head over heels.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Absolutely. Most of the time, he acts charming and enigmatic, but when you piss him off, everyone knows it. The sheer weight of his aura is enough to even make All Might shake in his boots, and for good reason. He prefers not to let his charismatic mask slip, though. It’s much easier to manipulate others when they believe you to be weaker than you are and think they have the upper hand at all times.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Depends on what you did. If he thinks you’re just being bratty, he may spank you, chiding you the whole time. If you piss him off? Total isolation. 24/7, 365-366 days a year. At least, until he believes you’ve learnt a lesson. You’re locked in a cell with only a cot, toilet, and shower, and he himself delivers food to you once a day as your only form of human communication. Cameras are trained on you at all hours that only he can access. He doesn’t fuck around.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

At first, he’s quite generous. He allows monitored correspondence between you and your family. He allows you to go places only with either him or Kurogiri present at all times. He allows you near sharp objects only with supervision (like when you cook dinner together). But if you piss him off, he takes everything away, including privacy. Get sick? Need an exam? He gets Garaki to check you out, and he watches the whole time.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can be exceedingly patient. His thinking is that you’re just a petulant child who needs to learn their place, and if he has to dole out a few punishments along the way he will. He just wants you to realize that he won’t let anything happen to you and that he just wants the best for you (that issue is subjective).

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

You know how he (presumably) reacted to his beloved little brother dying? That. Again. And this time, he would be less lenient on those he deemed responsible. He rules with an iron grip.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Doesn’t feel guilty at all, and absolutely won’t let you go. It’s partially his Quirk to blame; when he sees something (or someone) he desires, he just has to have it/them. He considers you to be totally his, and he won’t stand for anything else taking you away.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

As stated above, it’s partially his Quirk, partially due to being born in a turbulent time of history. Quirks were still becoming more common at the time, and he was already protective of his brother due to his perceived Quirklessness and because he was using his Quirk for good. He made too many enemies that wanted to hurt those close to him, and due to his paranoia (as well as his possessive nature), force of habit dictates that he isolate those he deems his.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Condescending pity. He dealt with that kind of behavior once, with his younger brother, and it nearly broke him then trying to get him to see how much he loved him. Now he’s older and more patient, and all he can do is try and comfort you by petting your hair and telling you that it has to be this way, he just wants the best for you, why can’t you just understand?

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

When he does lose it, he doesn’t ‘go mad’ in the classic sense -- rather, his resolve hardens and he retains his temper. His is more of a tranquil fury - it’s not immediately obvious unless he chooses to show you. He wouldn’t physically hurt you either -- well, not enough to wound you. He would consider spanking, but he wouldn’t break your legs.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Oh, honey. You really think he won’t see what you’re doing and shut it down when you think you’ve gotten free? He’s All For One. There’s not a weakness he hasn’t already thought through.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Aside from light things like spanks, no. Mentally, though? He’s a manipulative, gaslighting monster. He will not hesitate to turn you against everyone you’ve ever loved if it meant you were more dependent on him alone.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He goes the traditional gentleman route: wooing you slowly enough that you don’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late. He reveres your body in all of its beauty when you get intimate, but he rather wants you to worship him devotedly.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

If anything were to make him snap, it would be you (against all odds) escaping his grip. Maybe one of his underlings somehow slipped you out under his nose. Maybe another decided to just dump you somewhere. Either way, he’s going full lockdown mode and will not stop until he finds you. And believe me, he will find you.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

That’s probably the first thing he does if you’re stubborn/defiant enough. If you prove to be totally into it and are willing to be totally dependent on him, congrats! You get to escape with your will mostly unharmed!

#yandere alphabet #all for one #afo #yandere all for one

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advisortotheadvisor · 3 years

Text

for @grimmtober day 7: sweater (though technically it's a hoodie...same thing)

“I know Fae aren't as affected by the cold, but do you mind humoring an old woman?” She says as she hands him a folded-up green hoodie. He takes it, but only because he's a king and thus deserves every gift his subjects give him. Obviously. “I'd feel better if you had something on in this weather.”

He holds the hoodie closely to his chest. He doesn't understand the old lady, but he doesn't need to, not really. She gives him food and that’s all he needs to know. At least, until now, when she started giving him stuff like this.

“Whatever, old lady,” he shrugs.

He breaks the hoodie in, first. He rolls around in some deer droppings he finds, rubs some dirt on it. His proudest moment is when he drips some of the old lady's soup on it and it creates a nasty blue-brown stain that he doesn't think will ever come out. By the time the old lady brings him his next plate of food, the thing is practically unrecognizable. He wants for the delicious way her face is going to drop in disappointment; free food or not, he needs to keep his reputation as a troublemaker intact.

Instead she simply smiles at him. “Oh, I’m so glad you liked it.”

He snatches the food out of her hands and disappears into the forest.

He doesn't like it, by the way. It’s acceptable at best, and as a king he’s used to receiving gifts from hordes from admirers. People clamor to have the honor of giving him a gift. And just because it's from the old lady doesn't mean it's important. Nope, not at all. He only wears it to spare her probably fragile old woman feelings; he doesn't want his free meals to disappear over something so trivial.

And that's all there is to it.

He has no particularly strong feelings about thunderstorms. He enjoys collecting the mud they create and dumping it on random passerby, and he likes it when the thunder makes little kids cry, but beyond that it gets annoying quickly. There's only so many pranks he can pull when everyone is cowering from the weather like a bunch of babies and the rain feels unsettlingly similar to the human torture device known in layman's terms as a “shower.”

So when the old lady insists on him coming inside while a storm rages on, he doesn't fight her. That much. He still makes sure to track in as much mud as possible so she doesn't get any ideas about him being a good little boy. And kicks over a stack of books in the living room for good measure, though that one is ruined by Mr. Canis immediately restacking them. Spoilsport.

“Oh dear,” the old lady says, pulling at the edge of his sleeve and inspecting the tear spanning from his bicep to his elbow.

He shoves the last part of his apple into his mouth and makes sure not to swallow before explaining, “Yeah, that was from some raccoon trying to muscle in on my territory. But me and my minions showed him that nobody messes with the Trickster King.”

She pauses, then forces a smile to her face. “Ah. Well, I'm sure Mr. Canis will have no problem fixing it up for you.”

He shrugs, peeling off the hoodie and dropping it into her arms. That hole was getting kind of annoying, anyway; it was starting to fray and it had gotten caught on branch in the tree he slept in last night. That's the only reason he's letting her turn over to Canis and his weird box of sewing supplies. It's definitely of no concern to him if it falls apart at the seams. With his formidable reputation as the worst villain of all time, he could probably scare an identical hoodie off a thousand different kids. It’s simply easier to keep what he does have in good condition, even if that means re-breaking it in after the old lady and Canis wash it and give it back to him.

(It's softer, somehow, after that. He'll never admit it, but he kind of likes it better that way.)

The old lady has granddaughters. He knows that, of course, after flipping through her photo albums and poking into her mail. The letters make his head hurt, but the pictures enclosed within them always say enough. She has a family that wasn't Canis, or their dog, or him–

Not that he was her family. He's had enough of the drama and fighting and politics with his own, thank you very much. He doesn't need hers. Besides, all he had been was the weird kid from the woods she took pity on. It wasn't like he matters.

“So you found your real family?” he says. Head up, back arched, just like Father always said was befitting for royalty.

Her faces falls a little bit at the accusatory note in his voice. For some reason, it isn't as satisfying as he assumed it would be. “Puck, liebling, that isn't what this is about.”

“You said you've been looking for your granddaughters for two years, and now you found them. What else is it about?”

She inhales once, deeply. He wonders if it’s one of those dumb meditative techniques Canis is always harping on about. “I just wanted you to know so that you and the girls could get to know each other, and-"

“Hang out with a bunch of stinky girls? No thanks.” He unfurls his wings and lifts off the ground. “I get it, old lady. You found your real family, no need to keep feeding the kid you found as a replacement. No need to sugar-coat it, I’m the Trickster King. The spiritual leader of all miscreants and ne'er-do-wells doesn't need the pity of a kooky old lady.”

“Puck!” And for once, she sounds almost affronted at something he's said. He's never gotten a reaction like that, even when he threw a badger threw her window or stole an entire ham from her fridge. He would be proud if he wasn't too busy flying away as fast as he wings could take him.

He lands by his throne, chest heaving. His minions twitter around him and he ignores them. He's practically buzzing with energy, with anger and betrayal and a host of other emotions he doesn't feel like dealing with.

So he doesn't. Instead, he unsheathes his wooden sword and attacks a nearby tree. His sword's blunt blade smacks into the brittle branches, sending a shower of wooden debris over both him and the forest floor. He hefts up the abandoned microwave he found last week and hurls it towards the ground, sending glass everywhere. He throws a plastic container full of cookies the old lady gave him deeper into the woods where a particularly curious possum will find it a week later.

But it doesn't help- why doesn't it help- and furious tears spring to his eyes anyway. Okay, so maybe he was lying earlier. Maybe he, for some reason, had gotten used to the old lady, had gotten used to idea that her and him and Canis made up their only little mishmash family. But, obviously he was wrong, and he was just the best thing she could find until her real grandkids came along. She'll just have to face the wrath of the Trickster King for stringing him along. No big deal; another name on the list of adults that had made themselves enemies of the Trickster King.

So why did it still hurt so much?

He reaches up to scrub his eyes of those traitorous tears and then pauses. He's still wearing the hoodie she gave him all those years ago. He strips it off immediately- he can't go around wearing gifts from his sworn enemies! – and flings it away as though it was covered in acid or worse, soap.

He'll put it back on a few days later, after her granddaughters come into town and he'll finger his flute and revise his revenge plan with a new target- two of them, to be precise.

But for now, he simply curls up on the ground and wonders, despite his immunity to the weather, why it feels colder.

#sisters grimm #grimmtober #my writing #mine #ive been itching to do a relda & puck pre-canon bonding fic for a while and this prompt was the perfect opportunity #kind of #a sweater is just a hoodie in a different font

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

Text

I really wanted to get the next chapter of Nothing Sacred, All Things Wild up this week, but work was crazy and I also got caught up in another story (I can’t control my muse)...so instead I’m offering up a long snippet of the dystopian/space colonist fic I started off a prompt I got a while ago for an “Arranged Marriage + a/b/o” request I got from an anon.

A/B/O is not my cup of tea, so I twisted it into an arranged marriage by an artificial intelligence instead:

He wakes up angry, sweat soaking through his pillow, heart racing, stomach cramped. The alarm is buzzing from somewhere beneath the bed, where he must have knocked it.

“Turn it off,” Ygritte mutters into his shoulder, before rolling away with the rest of their thin blanket.

He complies, letting the shock of the cold floor against his feet spur him into full wakefulness. “I take the test today.” It’s raining. He watches the drops splatter against the small window near the ceiling, and he wonders if Ygritte remembered to check the bucket beneath the leak before she crawled into bed the night before.

Their garden apartment doesn’t do well in the rain. Jon still doesn’t understand why it’s even called a garden...there’s nothing green about their cramped basement residence, besides the mold growing beneath the sink.

“Oh yeah. Happy birthday...we’ll get drinks when you come home.”

“If I come home.” He could be part of the one percent, after all. That is the Institution's promise. Everyone is SOMEONE. Anyone can be part of the 1%. Are YOU?

Jon knows it’s unlikely. How could he, an orphan from Mole’s Town, have the magic combination of pheno-, geno-, and personality type to be chosen for the Colony? No...he’s just another loser of the 99% who will waste his twenty-first birthday behind the Brutalist concrete walls of the Institution’s testing center, playing lab rat for the day, until the examiners come to the inevitable conclusion that he’s just another nobody.

They’ll spit him back out on the street, leaving him free to carve out a pathetic existence on a slowly dying planet.

He doesn’t bother washing. It’d be a waste of precious water when he knows full well they’ll scrub him down at the testing center. Instead he spends his last moments at home drinking a pot of weak coffee, trying to remember anything he was taught in the schools he barely attended. His energy would be better spent bracing for the coming indignity of having every part of his body and mind exposed and dissected.

“Is the area of a circle, two pi times the radius? Or is that the circumference?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ygritte lights a cigarette at the stove before joining him at the table. “It’s not that kind of test.”

He knows that. It’s another Institution promise. The Test doesn’t ask WHAT you know. It asks who YOU are. Are YOU the 1%

How the fuck would Jon know? It’s easier for him to remember that the area of a circle is actually pi times the radius squared, than it is for him to explain who he is. He has no idea. That’s kind of what being an orphan is all about.

Ygritte could at least throw him a bone and tell him what the test is like. She took it two years ago, though she won’t talk. Most people won’t. There are no rules against it, but The Test is treated like dysentery. Unless you live behind the gates, you’re going to get it at least once in your life, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna go around describing your diarrhea to the world.

Grenn went to White Harbor for the test a month ago, and though Jon had to buy him six beers and two shots of whiskey before Grenn would shut up about his first-ever train ride, he did give Jon a few insights into the rest of the experience.

Not that the train isn’t worth the excitement, especially when the ride is paid for (another Institution promise. No matter your means. No matter the distance. EVERYONE makes it to the Test. Are YOU the 1%?) Technically, Jon has taken it once before, from Winterfell to Mole’s Town as a baby, but he doesn’t remember.

Now he can’t believe anything that moves so fast could feel so smooth. He’s topped out at ninety miles per hour on the best snowmobile Donal Noye patched together, but that left his teeth rattling and his ears buzzing for hours afterward. The train is moving at double the speed, but he could be in the godswood, for how quiet the near-empty economy cabin is. He shares it with a twitchy young man who never looks up from a cheap tablet, and a black raven perched in a large cage who spends the entire ride staring at Jon with one eerie black eye.

The testing center is located just across from the train station, in an intimidating building that used to have a name. Jon has a vague memory that it was a prison before the Institution took it over. Before that it was something else.

He doesn’t balk when a masked orderly leads him to a small room, tells him to strip, and then takes off with his clothes. He knows they’ll be returned at the end of the day. Of more pressing concern is the man and woman who enter talking too quietly to make out at the other end of the room, while a nurse rolls in with a small cart covered in collection tubes, gauze strips, and butterfly needles.

Everyone wears surgical masks, latex gloves, long white coats, and black clogs.

Jon remains naked beneath a small paper covering.

He has given blood before, and the messy, life-saving transfusion Mance performed to save Tormund three years ago was far scarier than the rapid, methodical draw that's taken from him now. Still, it’s disconcerting to think of the secrets the Institution will glean from his blood. He’s uncomfortably aware that they’ll know who his parents are before the day is over, even as he’ll continue living in total ignorance.

Another Institution promise. The Institution values EVERYONE’S right to privacy. YOU control the right to tell the world who you are. Are YOU the 1%?

Before he’s finished the recitation in his head, five tubes are full, and the nurse pats a cotton ball and a band-aid over his arm. She tosses a granola bar on his lap before rolling out of the room with her cart of samples.

Next comes a physical exam, where the other two examiners speak only to each other as they record his height, weight, blood pressure, and note his every blemish and scar in flat affect.

“Post-burn contractures across the palmar and dorsal aspect of the left hand, adduction and extension in the metacarpophalangeal joint of thumb fall outside normal range of movement.”

“Keloid scarring along the right gastrocnemius muscle, five point three centimeters in diameter.”

“Slightly hypertrophic scarring beginning at left brow and running medially down across the left orbital cavity to the cheek. No ptosis noted. No apparent damage to the eye.”

He should feel worse beneath the weight of each fault. Instead he relaxes. He was nervous for nothing. Failure was always inevitable. The Institution would never invest in a malnourished kid with a burned hand and a badly healed leg wound. They are famously secretive about their selection process, but some reasons for failure are common knowledge. As the crows like to say, no cripples, bastards, or broken things.

So, he chews his granola bar slowly and even closes his eyes for a bit, letting the examiners move his limp limbs as necessary for their measurements. He imagines himself a cadaver during the early stages of an autopsy.

As long as they don’t cut me open….

When an white-haired man enters and lays out what look to be a series of tiny torture devices, Jon wonders if he stopped caring too soon. He white-knuckles it through an excruciating dental exam that ends with his first real exchange of the day.

“Have you ever been to a dentist, kid?”

There is still a tube in his mouth, sucking up his spit and a hook pressing at his gums, so Jon just shakes his head. There are no dentists in Mole’s Town. Just Chett, who used to work at a slaughterhouse down south and will pull a rotten tooth for the price of a bottle of whiskey. Jon wouldn’t give the creep the lint in his pocket, and he sure as hell wouldn’t let him near his mouth. Instead he brushes his teeth so hard his toothbrush regularly snaps in half, and prays something else kills him before gum disease has a chance.

“You’ve got better teeth than I see behind the gates, boy,” he pulls the hook from Jon’s mouth to dictate into a small microphone hanging from his mobile workstation. “Review DEFB1 on ID 17630343BA. At some point the focus will need to expand beyond the holy 22 and get back to the basics. Who is going to care about neuron growth if every fourth planter is born with anodontia?”

Jon understands little of what the man is saying, but he’s heard enough to know he’s at least got as good of teeth or better than some of the rich tossers who live within the heavily guarded gated communities where the Colonists are actually culled from. Behind their high walls, wealthy sons and daughters of the only one percent that really matters, spend their youths preparing for the Test in homes and classrooms pumped with filtered air, where the water runs clear, and no one ever goes to sleep with their bellies cramped from hunger or disease.

The Institution promises that ANYONE can be the 1%, but EVERYONE knows that's a lie.

---

The physical exam ends at last, after several more rounds of sterile humiliation. Jon isn’t sure which was worse; having to lie within a noisy cylinder while a disembodied voice reminded him not to move, or being asked to run naked on a treadmill, wired with electrodes.

When it’s over, the last examiner provides him with a sweatsuit that is softer and better-made than anything he owns, and he wonders if there is any way he can smuggle it out with him at the end of the day. Another orderly comes in with a waxy crisp apple that hardly seems real even as a spray of tartly sweet juice hits the back of his tongue. He’s given a pill as well that he swallows down with a cup of water so clear and so cold, it’s an act of incredible will-power not to ask for more.

It’s only after, when he’s led to a small room with two chairs, a table, and a pulsing white orb in it’s center that he thinks to ask what it’s for.

“This will make the answers come more naturally during your interviews,” the man explains before leaving him alone. “We want you to answer as truthfully as possibly, but we understand that can be difficult under the stress of the Test.”

He supposes people lie all the time on the Test, trying to game the system, though Jon doesn’t have the first idea how he’d go about doing that, nor does he have any reason to try. He’s not going to the Colony. This is all just a spectacular waste of time, and it’s a race day, which means he’ll have to pull extra shifts at the Rookery to make up for what he would have made beyond the Wall.

By the time a petite woman with a neat low bun, and cracking, grey scar across half her face and neck enters, Jon is reckless with anger.

“I’d like to go home.”

“Hello, Jon,” she smiles as she sits across from him, and she’s the first person he’s seen since he entered the building who isn’t wearing a mask. She’s also the first person to call him by his name. “My name is Shireen.”

“Where’s your mask?”

Her smile dims slightly, but she maintains her gentle tone. “I’m here to facilitate the interview portion of your Test today. Before we begin, is there anything you need to feel more comfortable? Something to eat, drink, a bathroom break? Should the temperature be adjusted?”

He’s sour with anger so he takes everything she offers, suddenly eager to make everything as inconvenient as possible for the Institution. Shireen takes his requests with an easy smile, however, escorting him to the restroom herself. When they return to the room, there is a bowl of hearty soup with a chunk of bread that is soft and airy beneath it’s golden-brown crust. Beside it is a tall glass of water and a smaller cup of green liquid that Jon eyes suspiciously.

“What’s this then?”

“I thought you might like some juice. It’s mostly apple, with some kale, cucumber and celery in it as well, I suspect.”

It’s the best thing Jon has ever tasted, and while part of him wants to fling the rest of it at her frustratingly serene face, it’d be a horrible waste, and he’d be the biggest loser. So, he takes his time, savoring each bite and sip, rolling the bright flavors across his delighted tongue.

“Feeling better?” she asks after the tray is cleared.

“Is that an official Test question?”

“No.”

“Let’s get on with it then. I can’t afford to miss the train home.”

“As you may know, it is not individuals who decide the 1%. Our artificial intelligence algorithm, The Seven, determines who is the best fit for the Colony. That is how the institution guarantees objectivity in its selection process,” she taps the pulsing orb on the table. “Though we find people are more comfortable responding to another person, so I will be facilitating our discussion as The Seven records and analyzes your responses. Are you ready to begin?”

He shrugs.

“I’ll start with a series of statements. After each, please say a number to indicate the degree to which you agree with that statement, wherein one equals strongly disagree and five equals strongly agree. Three indicates you neither agree nor disagree. Do you understand?”

“Five.”

“Okay. Statement Number one: At social events, you rarely try to introduce yourself to new people and mostly talk to the ones you already know.”

Jon knows everyone in Mole’s Town, and he doesn’t want to socialize with most of them.

“Two.”

This goes on for a while, each statement absurdly divorced from anything relating to Jon’s life, but the numbers spring easily from his lips as he relaxes under Shireen’s soothing voice, and kind face, and the lovely feeling of a full belly and soft, warm clothes.

It’s when the format shifts, that he begins to feel strange. Shireen starts with questions that are easy to answer. Where were you born? How many years of education have you completed? What was your favorite class and why? What do you do for work? Describe your strengths. When are you most satisfied in your job? Do you live alone or with others? How many others do you live with? What is your relationship to the person you live with?

At this point, the questions grow more invasive; more personal. A voice tells Jon that the Institution doesn’t need to know how many times he and Ygritte fuck a week...but the answer escapes all the same.

“Four or five times a week.”

“Do you use contraception methods?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to have children with your partner?”

“No.”

“Given your age and your partner’s, without contraception, given your regular intercourse the odds of conception are--”

“She’s sterile.”

“How do you know that?”

“Most everyone in Mole’s Town is. It’s something in the water, or the air, or our weak genes. It doesn’t really matter the cause. If it’s not the one; it’s the other. She’s been fucking since she was fifteen, and nothing’s ever caught.”

“How do you know that you aren’t the sterile one?”

He shrugs. “I probably am too, but I’m not her first partner as you say. I’m not her second or third either.”

“How does that make you feel?”

He glares, and Shireen clarifies.

“Your partner’s sterility?”

“How do you think it makes me feel?” he pushes back from the table, letting his chair lean back on two legs.

Shireen only gives him a minute shake of her head, and waits for him to answer the question.

“Angry. I feel fucking furious about it.”

“So, you would like to be a father?”

“I’d like the freedom to choose. I’d like Ygritte to have that freedom.”

“What is your least favorite thing about humanity?”

She can’t be serious with that question. It’s like asking him to name all the stars. He takes a deep breath. Shireen waits. He stands up and paces. Shireen waits. He finishes his water and asks for another. Shireen calls for a refill. He drinks that too. Shireen waits.

“My least favorite thing? That we’ve given up. We let this machine,” he points at the orb, “decide who doesn’t have to. It’s like….it’s like the men in Mole’s Town who wander into the snows when winter grows too cold, and there’s not enough food or warmth to go around. Grown-ass men who could be fixing furnaces and braving the cold to find the resources their families so desperately need. Most of the time they don’t even have the fucking guts to tell anyone what they’re off to do. They just wander away one day, and winter takes them.

That’s what the fucking Institution is. We’re all those men in Mole’s Town who’ve just given up, despite the blood still pumping through our veins. We’re sitting around, waiting for winter to kill us, so that a few can live. And there’s no one left to be mad about it either, because it’s a fucking machine that decides our fate. It’s like being mad at the wind. What’s the fucking point? But just because there is no one to be angry with, that doesn’t mean the rage goes away...and winter isn’t killing us fast enough."

“So you want to live?”

“I want humanity to want to live. I want humanity to want most of humanity to live. I want us to care about more than the one percent.”

It feels radical, saying it here; behind the walls of the Institution. It feels like he’s put the last nail in his own coffin. Shireen watches him as he cracks his knuckles, one at a time, waiting for her to say the interview is over; it’s time to go home.

Instead she asks an even crazier question.

“Do you think there is an essential connection between the morality of an action and the morality of the intentions behind it?”

#my writing #work in progress #jonsa fic #jonsa dystopian au #kind of inspired by songs of a distant earth #when I get to the new planet #whenever that happens #shireen!

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anarcho-smarmyism · 3 years

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How would prison abolition deal with murderers, serial killers, paedophiles, torturers,kkk members,neo-Nazis and terrorists? Some people are a legit danger and cannot be allowed to roam society.

So I didn’t answer this at the time, because the anon who sent it is almost definitely the racist troll sending me shit I’m not going to publish (so like uhhh bear that in mind lmao), but I’ve blocked them now and it’s been a few days, so hopefully they’ve fucked off by now. Plus, I’ve been thinking about this question a LOT since before I received it. It’s a question that I think most people have about the concept of prison abolition and reparative justice, and not everyone with these concerns is asking in bad faith. Besides which, with the recent attempted coup and the way it looks like people who participated are actually going to face legal consequences for it (which alone was somewhat surprising to me tbh), I’ve been seeing a lot of leftists discoursing over whether it’s morally okay and intellectually consistent to be happy about cops beating up, killing, and arresting KKK members and Neo-Nazis, so it is now actually topical! Under the cut due to long response~

So the first thing I want to point out, is that literally every single one of the groups of “legit dangers who cannot be allowed to roam society”, are already out there right now. In our current “justice” system, it’s common knowledge that monsters often get off on a technicality, or because they just have the money to throw lawyer after lawyer at the charges, or because they outright bribe someone, or countless other ways to get around the law. You can look on my own literal tumblr blog and watch me argue with grown ass adults who will bold faced admit to consuming child porn with half-assed excuses, and you’ll find more open pedophiles on sites like twitter, reddit, or 4chan, or porn sites where “teen” is usually one of the most popular categories. Besides which, have you ever looked at the average sentences for convicted rapists, wife beaters, or pedophiles, as compared with the sentences for getting caught selling drugs? In middle school I had to walk a mile or two to get to school through a neighborhood we’d been warned had a convicted pedophile in it, who had just been released after less than 15 years. In that same city, I heard a story about a woman shooting and killing her rapist, and prosecutors were discussing giving her the death penalty for it (she was bragging and laughing about it on video, it was definitely premeditated, but still). Have you ever looked at the statistics of how many rapists and abusers aren’t reported, or if they are reported aren’t prosecuted, or if they are are prosecuted with a slap on the wrist (remember Brock Turner????) Also I notice how you didn’t even mention domestic abusers or rapists in your list of people who need to be locked up lolololol shows where your priorities vis a vis “public safety are I’m sorry, but the system just does not work the way you think it does, the we are taught it does.

People who make this argument always act like the systems we have now are efficient and nigh on flawless when it comes to “not letting dangerous people roam society”, but it isn’t and it can’t be and it never will be. That very fact ought to be enough to shake your faith in the idea that society will become a nonstop Purge of indiscriminate violence if everyone who’s committed a sufficiently despicable act of violence isn’t locked up for the rest of their lives -but you might say, “okay, but those are flukes, the system still works because most of the people who are “a danger to society” are usually locked up.” I’m not completely sold that that’s even true (have you ever heard of the opportunities cops had to bring in serial killers and murderers, who just didn’t care enough to try? Jeffrey Dahmer is a good example of this), but I’ll assume it is to move on to my next point.

Even if we assumed that the system as we have it, worked flawlessly as designed, that doesn’t change the fact that a lot of the categories mentioned here are people that are actively running the very systems that this rhetoric is defending. It’s well-documented that American white supremacists of various stripes have infiltrated law enforcement and the military for the express purpose of not just “roaming free”, but getting to exert the power of the State over people of color. Cops and soldiers kill people all the time, and not only are they not penalized, they’re celebrated for it. Agents of the State fucking torture people all the time, and I don’t just mean Guantanamo Bay or war crimes by soldiers; cops have been caught on camera spraying protesters with pepper spray and beating them once they’ve already been handcuffed or while they’re chained to trees or whatever -not because they think they “need” to, because they want to, and they know they’ll get away with it. Cops also systematically torture people in prison with solitary confinement. Heads of state drop bombs on civilians for “politically motivated reasons”, they do all kinds of shit that would be called “terrorism” if anybody but a State did it; and people might disapprove, but they don’t (generally) claim that the politicians and generals who made that call are “a danger to society” that need to get life in prison. If you genuinely believe that whether these acts of violence are “legal” or not changes whether they’re okay, or that a person who engages in illegal violence is “dangerous” but people who engage in legal violence aren’t... I’m honestly not even going to try to refute that here lol, prison abolition is level 5 shit and you’re at level -1, study how authoritarianism in general works before trying to understand prison abolition (not trying to be a dick here, it’s what i would tell my younger self when I believed the same thing).

It simply does not hold up to rational scrutiny to believe that society will collapse into an orgy of violence and mayhem if we abolish prison (or that we’ll have to resort to medieval punishments instead??? lol funny take i remember from some racist troll or other over the years), when those dangers are already present (and in some cases widely celebrated as “heroes” and given the power to indiscriminately brutalize “acceptable targets” with the State’s monopoly on violence) under the current system.

The next thing people need to understand is that contrary to popular belief and despite how counterintuitive it sounds, even the brutality of our current prison system is not an effective deterrent to crime (linked a Guardian article that looks like it has some good info on this, but I recommend a book called Unfair: The New Science of Criminal Injustice by Adam Benforado for more information). Let me say that again: the threat of prison has been empirically shown to be INEFFECTIVE as a deterrent to crime. Do you really think that a serial killer or someone who wants to blow up a building full of people is going to be more likely to follow the law for fear of prison, than regular people doing regular people crimes like selling drugs or getting into drunk fights that go too far?

I don’t think anyone is actually willing to argue that prison “rehabilitates” anyone, or does anything besides make regular criminals into angrier, more antisocial, more desperate criminals with more criminal connections and less options for any kind of a legitimate living, so I’m just going to point out that having such a large prison population arguably creates more people who have shitty lives of poverty and are surrounded by people who are in and out of prison. It’s not like that “makes” anybody into a serial killer, but I feel like you’d have to willfully ignorant to act like it’s not a factor in increasing violent crime in affected community.

So, I’ve so far argued that prison is an ineffective solution to the problems it claims to exist in order to solve, and that in many cases, it actually makes the problems that lead to these sorts of dangerous people (”regular” murderers and the radicalization of Neo-Nazis and KKK members in particular, I think) becoming dangerous, or at least more dangerous, in the first place. What I haven’t done, is talk about what I believe is the real core of the issue when it comes to prison abolition: nobody wants to fucking peacefully rehabilitate these people. I am arguing for a system that would handle these people basically as gently as possible, with the goal of releasing them back into society eventually, and I still believe these things mostly intellectually, not emotionally. I don’t want the men who sexually assaulted me and/or my loved ones to get off scot free (they did, of course, but that’s beside the point), much less serial killers or Nazis, and I’m not about to get on my high horse about wanting revenge on people who’ve committed these kinds of atrocities. The reason I’m a prison abolitionist in spite of these feelings is that I do not believe the desire for revenge, for punishment for punishment’s own sake, is an impulse we should indulge when creating social and political infrastructures that have ultimate power over millions of lives. In the words of someone talking about abolishing the death penalty, the question isn’t “do they deserve to die”, the question is “do we deserve to kill”; and here, the question is not “does anyone deserve to be imprisoned in this system”, the question is “do we deserve to brutalize people in this way for virtually zero practical benefits to our society”. What any person “deserves” is a subjective moral and philosophical question, one that no conceivable human justice system could ever actually answer. We as a society need to build alternatives to prison (and police!) that can actually address these problems, actually prevent the conditions that create and enable monsters, and actually rehabilitate (to whatever extent that is possible) criminals -even the ones we, personally, despise. Any long-term incarceration that may end up being 100% required should be designed to reduce the suffering of the person in it, no matter how despicable of a person they are. Trying to solve “the problem of evil” instead of trying to create a more functional and just society is a fool’s errand that can only lead to more evil existing, in the end.

At the end of the day, the “irredeemable” people you listed off as justifications for the continuing existence of prison, are only a tiny fraction of the people in prison, even the ones with life sentences. A full understanding of the horror and oppression the prison industrial complex enacts on the people in it and their communities (and how the system is designed to make a profit off of human suffering and death) is something you’ll have to read some actual books about in order to acquire. However, I don’t think it’s controversial to say that any horror we as a society deem “acceptable” to do to the worst of the worst, will also be done to regular criminals, as well as to innocent people who are wrongly imprisoned. Any brutality you design with a serial killer in mind WILL eventually be a punishment for a petty thief or drug dealer or sex worker, or a person who didn’t commit the crime they were incarcerated for. Is it really worth it? Is it really, really worth all the misery and oppression prison causes, to satiate our sense of justice? I don’t believe that it is. I believe that we have a responsibility both to the incarcerated and to their communities to base our policies and institutions on actually solving these societal problems however we can, and leaving our “eye for an eye” mentality in the dark ages where it belongs.

If you are interested in prison abolition as a concept, I can recommend some good books on it. You also need to understand that concept of “reparative justice”, which I’ve alluded to here but not really explained because OH MY GOD THIS POST IS TOO LONG ALREADY. Short explanation of it is that it aims to repair the harm done by the crime and rehabilitate the criminal through through therapy and trying to get them to actually understand what they’ve done and empathize with who they’ve hurt, while also providing therapy and resources to the victim of the crime (when it’s something violent and the reparation can’t just be “give them their money back plus extra for damages” or something). The point is not to satiate anybody’s sense of justice or revenge, but to proactively try to solve the problem the crime has caused and prevent the offender from doing it again. It would need to work in conjunction with the abolition of police (and replacement with better infrastructure for the few things cops do that we actually need done) and various other social programs and measures to prevent the circumstances that lead to crime. This sounds like a long shot because it is, but just because it hasn’t been done on a wide scale before doesn’t mean it can’t be, and just because it will be difficult doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.

#prison #prison abolition #reparative justice #anarchist #anarchism #prison industrial complex #asks #anonymous

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malfoys-demigod · 4 years

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“She is no longer a proud Slytherin to me.” D.M x Reader

Request from @the--queen-of-hell

-> OOOOH GURL.Hear me out. This isn't a request but if you like it feel free to use this!So, in the events of TDH, when the trio is taken to the manor, let's say reader is caught with them and brought to the manor. She's a slytherin but she fights against Voldemort..But she is also in a secret relationship with our beautiful Draco.So, Bellatrix tells the goons to take them all to the dungeon, including reader.Draco says that HE will be the one to take them, just so he can make sure that reader is fine.He tries his best to be convincing that he HATES them, so he grabs reader and pushes her around til they're in the dungeon.Omce theyre there, Draco starts worrying about her and asks her if he's hurt her, if she's okay... And while she reassures him that she is fine he pulls her close to him and presses a soft kiss on her forehead 🥺🥺🥺🥺BUT every one in the dungeon can see that, but he doesn care. HE WANTS HIS LOVE SAFE AND ALIVE. So he promises to help her...and the others... Escape.They both survive, and live happily together forever 🥺💚

Summary: During the Deathly Hallows, Y/N and the Golden Trio are being brought to the one place she wished to see on any other occasion, Malfoy Manor, to be held captive by Bellatrix and the Malfoys. Will Draco keep his guard and pretend he doesn’t care for you? Or will he save the person he loves the most in his life?

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: I finally made this request! Thank you so much, for this lovely request.

Taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @bbeauttyybbx

There was an immeasurable secret that you have been deeply pledging to yourself to keep until the moment was right to let it all out. On no occasion was there a moment in time where you could shout it to the skies and feel as free as a bird. For the last six years, on no account has there ever been a moment where you could make it known that you were the secret girlfriend of Draco Lucius Malfoy. During this evil time of seventh year, perhaps the secret would stay forever to your heart, should the plan not go as expected for Team Harry.

There were times when you couldn’t stand keeping the secret. Seeing other couples, freely expressing their love to each other. The adorable yet minimal displays of affections that lovebirds could do with each other started to eat you up inside as the years flew by as you started to blossom into a young adult.

While you watched the simple things such as someone leaning down on their lover’s shoulder as a smile crept under their soft and light faces as the other held them tightly, squeezing the love out, you were sitting alone, with your friends, who probably had the same situation going, or didn’t happen to care about the things you were watching as you sat as far away from the one person you could be doing the things you were watching.

But, no.

You couldn’t watch a quidditch game with heart-shaped eyes as your favorite seeker flew from left to right, up and down.

You couldn’t agree to go on a date to Hogsmeade with any other boy, as you tried giving the most bizarre reasons that you could think of, letting all the boys assume that you were clearly uninterested in a romantic relationship during your Hogwarts life.

You couldn’t travel down to Malfoy Manor over the holidays, knowing you wouldn’t even receive a gift at home. sent from the Manor you dreamed of visiting.

You couldn’t shout that you were in love with Draco Malfoy.

Despite deeply knowing that it was highly unlikely to go public with the man you love, there have been times wherein you just couldn’t take it anymore. You knew how much this secret should be kept safe, but there were just times where it drove you out of your mind, wherein, yes, you knew, but you just weren’t in the right state of mind.

FLASHBACK

During the evening of Valentine’s day, every student, whether single or taken, were all having pleasant meals in the Great Hall. Love was truly in the air for most people. The moment the day had started, it was like everyone inhaled love potions created by who knows, as the day was considered a jolly and carefree day for all.

Smiles were growing from everyone’s faces as they either watched adorable couples hold hands, or be in the position of those couples, smiling as wide as possible as it was a day truly made for them.

This day could have been for you as well if the world knew of your romantic relationship with Draco.

Oh, the countless romantic things he could have done for you. He had never dated anyone seriously before but the secret flirting he had experienced with you could already explain how much of a suave and gentleman he could be.

So, as you watched couples playfully spoon feed each other and make tiny messes during the process, you internally groaned, resting your head on your cupped palm as your elbow placed some weight on the table.

You had finished only half of your dinner as everything about Valentine’s day had made you lose your appetite. Spending the day pretending to be something that you weren’t, felt like any other day that you have been going through for years. Today just made things more difficult for you since these couples were expressing their love more freely, making you yearn for the things they could do.

Sick and feeling more hopeless than usual, you slowly stood up from your table, dragging your eyes and feet away from every couple that you dreamed of being as you attempted to nonchalantly exit the Great Hall as if nothing bothered you.

This attempt was a complete failure through the sneaky eyes of Draco Malfoy who was silently watching you from the ends of the Slytherin table. He had been observing you quietly from his side of the Slytherin table, noticing and feeling the emotions from inside of you.

Ever since this morning, you had been utterly quiet during classes, either staring at people you didn’t know, or trying to get the sight of those people out of your head as you were focusing in class with an uncomfortable expression.

This obviously led to realizing that it was about the little holiday that lovers were currently celebrating. He knew that there were times when you wanted to shout to the world that you were proudly and madly in love with him. He felt the same, but he was more controlling of himself, not expressing to you that he wanted to do the same thing.

During meal time in the Great Hall, he came in early, and once you entered, he could already sense the emotions boiling in your system as you slumped on the table, looking like the saddest person in the castle as you tried ignoring your friends or giving them short answers if they tried talking to you.

As you ate, you tried giving yourself the slowest bites, giving more attention and focus on the deep thoughts you were thinking about. These deep thoughts led you to not finishing the remaining half of your plate and got you to abruptly stand up from the table and exit the Great Hall, being the first one to end her meal time.

Draco obviously wanted to follow. He counted to a good ten seconds in order not to seem suspicious about following you out of the Great Hall. When ten seconds were over, he told his gang not to follow him as he had, ‘the bad stomach.’ Knowing that nobody wanted to hear that while they were eating, they told him to rush out, telling him not to worry about it.

When he stood up, he watched his own actions as he smoothly briskly walked out of the Great Hall, hoping to catch up with the girl of his dreams. If he had the Astronomy tower to hide and let out his emotions, you had the Black Lake.

You were staring at your sad reflexion by the waters of the Black Lake. It was cold outside but this didn’t matter to you anymore as the sadness had clouded your mind and body.

Watching your reflection by the waters was something you only did when you were either sad or in deep thinking. Tonight you were both.

You crept down, touching the water with a single finger, causing a ripple that made small movements, resulting in your reflection to move as well. Usually this would make you grow a smile on your face but you were too sad to do that.

Sighing, you said, “When will this end?” You asked yourself.

Then, a platinum blonde hair had started creeping up behind your reflection, standing behind you with a small smile. “When this is all over, you know that.”

You stood up, turning around to see your boyfriend Draco remove his Slytherin scarf from his neck, “Wouldn’t want to see you freezing, love.” He said, wrapping the scarf around your neck gently.

“I can’t wear this forever, you know people will know, the green apple scent, the fact that I didn’t leave my dorm with a scarf, everything.” You declined the gesture, unwrapping the scarf from your neck.

As you were doing this, Draco frowned, placing his hands on your neck to prevent you from completely removing the scarf from your neck. “Wear it for now, please, we’re still outside.”

“I won’t be for long,” you said, removing his hands from your neck as you completely removed the scarf, something he tried avoiding, as you were prepared to leave the scene.

Draco stepped to the side, guarding you from leaving him as he looked at you with a careful look on his face. “You’re here for a reason, and I would like to know why.”

“It’s nothing, I just wanted some fresh air.”

“If I’m not mistaken, dear, I think I heard you ask yourself when this secret of ours would end. Correct?”

“No, because technically I didn’t say that. You don’t know if the question is under the same context as what I was thinking.”

“What else could you be asking yourself what would end? Our relationship?” Draco asked, pouting, knowing that you wouldn’t dare question that.

“Of course not, you fool,” you rolled your eyes, “Okay so maybe I might have been asking when keeping our secret could come to an end. So, what? I always ask this.”

Draco crossed his arms, giving you a smirk as he knew the reason why you were being so odd today. You looked at him with a confused look, wondering why he was smirking.

“But it’s not always Valentine’s Day.” He truthfully said, catching you off guard as your eyes widened, seeing that Draco had gotten the answer right.

You sighed, looking down at your shoes, “I just can’t stand how we could have been spending our time together like every lovebird today. I can’t stand how we have to keep us a secret.”

Draco slightly frowned, knowing exactly how you felt. He placed his hands on your shoulders, tilting his head for you to see his face despite looking down at the ground.

“Y/N/N, my dear, look at me,” he begged, making you look up at him with a sad face, “We’re starting to live in mad times. You know that. Once everything is all over, we can live our lives freely. Hang on right, okay? This is going to be some bumpy road along the way. As long as you keep your faith in us, we will get there. Can you be a patient little lovebird for me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes after hearing him call you a ‘little lovebird’ but still nodded in agreement, making Draco chuckle and smile at your response, saying, “That’s my girl,” then placed a small and quick kiss on your forehead. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Draco.” You greeted back. Then turned around to see some students leave the Great Hall and enter the corridors despite being a little bit far away from the castle. “Would you mind if I left first to not make anything suspicious?”

“Of course, ladies first, dear.” He said, encouraging you to walk away. “See you around, you know I’ll keep an eye on you from afar, yeah?”

“Always,” you smiled, then turned around, running off to the castle, pretending that nothing happened, which slowly broke your heart a little bit.

Draco huffed in sadness as he realizes he had to do the same thing when it was his turn to leave the lake and return to his dorm. “We’ll get there,” he muttered to himself.

From there on, Draco and you had continued keeping the secret, whether either of you were weak to your knees or capable of being as strong as possible.

Through your ups and downs, the both of you had managed to have sealed lips every day. To make things easier, Draco had set up more secret meetings with you, to keep the love in the air as strong as possible.

These secret meetups were either in the Astronomy Tower, the Black Lake, or any secret place that nobody was seen occupying or passing through frequently. These times together were the only times you could express actual love to the person you pretended to see as a stranger.

Unfortunately, the battle between You-Know-Who and Harry Potter only became more intense than ever during your seventh year. This tension between the two of them had been going on for quite some time and the actual battle had to come sooner or later, and it did arrive, during your final year at Hogwarts.

You couldn’t imagine how badly things ended up for it was a traumatic experience for you and Draco to be in different teams of the battle, challenging the relationship the two of you had shared for the last few years.

When the tension had risen during the first of seventh year, Draco had secretly told you that this was the ultimate thing the two of you had prepared for mentally, emotionally, and physically. Forget the secret meet ups, forget the jealousy of wanting to be like other couples, forget it.

There was no time for either of you to hold each other tightly while the battle went on. Despite being a pureblood Slytherin, you went your separate ways as you were with the Golden Trio, fighting against You-Know-Who.

So there you were in the dark night along with the Golden Trio as fellow death-eaters had grabbed a hold of the four of you as they forced you into walking towards the place that you had always wanted to visit in your life.

Malfoy Manor.

This was certainly not the way you had wanted your first visit in your boyfriend’s house to be like but what could you do? You would rather go insane and be sent to Azkaban than become a death-eater and hold the most gruesome meetings in Malfoy Manor, serving the Dark Lord himself in plotting against Harry Potter and Hogwarts.

As you were taking a look of the Manor you had once dreamt of, there seemed to be a figure by the gates, jumping happily and crazily as the figure had seen a glimpse of four teenagers walking towards the gates with death-eaters.

“Woo-hoo!,” said the voice in a high-pitched manner, “Walk faster, I’d like to see the look on their precious faces.”

Getting closer to the gates, you saw Bellatrix Lestrange as her whole outfit from top to bottom was all in black. Her hair seemed to be the messiest hair you had ever seen, looking as if she hasn’t had the experience of brushing it properly, only to make it as messy as possible.

With her hand sticking out of the gate, she pointed at Harry, who was to your left. The death-eater dealing with him smirked and forcefully pushed Harry towards the gates where Bellatrix grabbed him by the shirt.

She scanned up quickly, as her eyes flew up and down Harry, grinning crazily as possible, probably thinking of something horrible to do with him. She let out a small laugh, “Get. Draco.” she whispered, making Hermione grunt in anger as she tried removing the tight grip the death dealer assigned to her had on the girl.

Your eyes widened upon hearing the familiar name that she had mentioned. It was only a matter of time for Draco to appear in this situation. After all, this was his house, so it was obvious that he had to be there.

As Harry was still up-close in front of the maniac Bellatrix, the madwoman extended her arm, holding a tight grip on Harry’s shirt, followed by the death-eaters who were doing the same to you, Hermione, and Ron, tightening their grips on the three of you as they watched Bellatrix nod, giving them a signal they had been prepared to do.

You were all apparated into the interior of Malfoy Manor. It was quite uneasy after being apparated for the first time. You stumbled a bit, causing to lose balance but gained it in a few seconds as your eyes were now making themselves familiar with the new surroundings you were in.

Scanning around the unfamiliar manor, there was a grand white fireplace that had no fire in it, there were tables, and other furniture placed by the sides, giving the whole middle area of the room enough space to move around freely.

This must have been the lively living room that Draco had mentioned to you before.

Speaking of Draco…

As Bellatrix had pushed Harry down to the floor, grunting and breathing in pain, there happened to be a group of footsteps, casually walking towards you and the rest of the captives. Despite not looking up yet to see the faces of the people who were walking towards you, you exhaled nervously, knowing the possibility of knowing one of the owners of one of the footsteps.

Carefully, you looked up to see Draco Malfoy, now standing tall in front of you, wearing his trademark of an outfit. He was wearing his black suit gracefully as his parents were wearing the same color, so was Bellatrix. His eyes were on you for a second, and it seemed like there was a mixture of fear and anger as he gave you a quick look.

Holding himself properly, he then turned his view to Harry as Bellatrix aggressively pulled him up, now kneeling and still breathing in pain. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were too looking at the boy who lived, judging him with such distaste and superiority as if their lives depended on it. They motioned the death-eaters of Hermione and Ron to pull them to their side, pushing them to the other side of the room.

Forgetting to wonder why they didn’t have you pulled to the other side as well, your eyes were still glued on Draco despite the fact that he was now looking at Harry with the same judgemental eyes as his parents, but there was only a small hint of nervousness or confusion in him.

Bellatrix started to grow impatient as the Malfoy’s were just staring at the person she had been holding tightly. “Well?” she reminded, pushing herself to continue with the smile she had on her face.

Draco scanned Harry, up and down quickly, “I can’t be sure,” he shakily replied to his aunt.

“Draco,” Lucius warned him, walking towards him as he held him by the neck, shaking him slightly as Draco looked uncomfortable with the situation, causing himself to look down to the ground, “Look closely.”

Then Lucius turned back to Narcissa for a quick second, then back to Draco, still holding him in the neck, “If we want to hand Potter to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven! We will all be as it was, don’t you understand?” he pleaded with Draco, trying to get a nod from his son, who only could give a small shaky nod as he was looking closely yet terrifyingly at his father.

“Now we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?” said one of the death eaters with an insulting attitude.

Lucius didn’t bother look to see who had insulted him as he looked away, scolding, “Don’t you dare talk to me like that in MY OWN HOUSE-”

Narcissa rushed to her family’s side, holding his husband, pleading, “Lucius,” she whispered, managing to hold and walk him a few steps backwards, leaving a more terrified Draco, inhaling and exhaling quicker.

You were desperately holding yourself from going to him, comforting him and telling him that everything was going to be alright even though the chances of that were really difficult to talk about at the moment since you were now in the hardest situation in your life so far. ‘

But Bellatrix spoke before you could think more about Draco, “Don’t be shy, sweetie,” she encouraged her nephew, having him walk slowly closer to her and Harry, “Come over,”

Draco knelt down, closing some space between him and Harry, feeling uncomfortable.

“Now, if this isn’t who you think it is and we call him, he’ll kill us ALL. We need to be absolutely sure.”

Draco analyzed the boy in front of him, seeming slightly confused aside from being overly terrified. “What’s wrong with his face?”

“Yes! What IS wrong with his face?” Bellatrix asked, sounding actually curious.

“He came to us like that,” spoke a death eater, “Something he picked up in the forest.”

“Right,” Bellatrix whispered to herself, then turned around to Hermione and Ron, “Was it you two?” she pointed at them with her wand. The two of them remained silent, watching Bellatrix carefully as they were still being held tightly by the death eaters.

Draco’s eyes were now glancing at you, now that Bellatrix wasn’t able to see that his attention was now on you. He remained the same, just looking at you heavily as if he was trying to mentally tell you something. You looked at quietly, with soft eyes as if you wanted to tell him, ‘Oh, Draco’ with a sigh.

But seeing that the two of them did not give her an answer, she turned back to you, as you were still by Harry’s side. “Or how about you, dear Y/L/N?”

Surprised, you asked, “You know me?”

“Course I do, little miss Y/L/N, pureblood Slytherin, daughters to respected death eaters who I’d pay good galleons to see the looks on their faces if they were here to see how disappointed and embarrassed they’d be if they were in the same room with their selfish little blood traitor daughter of theirs!”

Embarrassed but at the same time angered at the words coming from her mouth, you silently looked down to the ground, muttering to yourself that you needed to keep yourself together from lashing out and making things worse. You held your words from coming from your mouth, closing your mouth strongly.

There was a slight angered emotion in Draco’s eyes as he was pained to hear what his aunt said about you. If this was like any normal day, he would hex a nasty spell at whoever dared say something cruel to the nicest person he had in his life. Still kneeling down facing Potter, Draco slowly started removing his wand, trying to stop the temptation of hexing that spell on his aunt.

Thinking that Draco was pulling his wand for other reasons, Bellatrix happened to have a lightbulb switch on above her head, giving her an excellent idea.

“Give me a wand,” she said, now looking at Hermione, “I wanna see what her last spell was,” she demanded.

Hermione turned around stiffly, watching Bellatrix walk past her, as she was in the process of getting a wand. Bellatrix started laughing, pointing at Hermione, “Ah, got you!”

She continued laughing again, taunting Hermione, as she looked so happy to see that all was going well again now. The smile on her face eventually dropped when she looked forward, seeing what was in front of her with a shock on her face.

“What’s that?” she asked in curiosity mixed with fear.

She was looking at a sword, which was held by a death eater, who seemed not so scared yet nonchalant about his situation.

“Where’d you get that from?”

“It was in her bag, when we searched her,” he truthfully replied, “Reckon it’s mine now.”

Without hesitation in her system, Bellatrix waved her wand, vanishing the death eater that had been holding the sword, as it was now in her hands. Hastily, she then choked the two other death eaters with the wave of her wand, putting them in fear.

You were also in fear yourself just by witnessing the madness your boyfriend’s aunt had in her. The Golden trio as well were also watching with terror in their eyes, not knowing what to do as they were standing, frozen like an ice sculpture.

“Get out!,” Bellatrix demanded, showing the death eaters that she had choked, away from the living room. They were limping, trying to get away as fast as they could.

“Sissy,” she said, walking past by her sister who was pointing her wand at the two, to make sure that they wouldn’t do anything as Bellatrix was now walking towards her. Bellatrix held Ron’s shirt tightly, as he looked at her with fright in his eyes since we were ever so close to Bellatrix, “Put the boys in the cellar!” she demanded.

Narcissa followed her sister’s command, pushing Ron and now Harry to death eaters who were about to show them the way to the cellars.

Bellatrix went to Hermione, “I’ll have a little conversation with this one,” she said, “Girl to girl!” she shouted, giving off the same closeness as what she did with Ron.

Thinking Bellatrix had forgotten about you, you looked at Draco for a fast second, who looked at you back with suspense, knowing exactly what you were about to do. He tried giving you small, pleading eyes, trying not to be obvious, but mentally begging you to not do what he thinks you’re about to do didn’t work. You shook off the death eater that was still holding you, walking right to Bellatrix.

“I don’t think so, Bellatrix,” you warned her, which made the death eaters assigned to Harry and Ron stop from bringing them to the cellar. “You’ll have to include me in this little conversation of yours before you could lay a hand on my friend.”

Feeling like she was threatened, Bellatrix turned to you with such rage in her eyes. She raised her wand, preventing you from walking closer to her, “Uh, uh, uh,” she warned you, causing you to stop walking, “Stay where you are, Y/L/N, you’re welcome to join our conversation, that is, before I-”

“That’s enough of this monstrosity!” Draco demanded.

Bellatrix lowered her wand slightly from you, looking slightly surprised that her nephew found the courage to actually speak now, since he was quite quiet earlier.

“Is there a problem, Draco?”

Draco nodded, looking at you with wrath, “Of course there is, it’s the audacity of this blood-traitor to talk to you in such a bloody way.” he said, pointing at you with such disgust.

Bellatrix flashed a proud smile at her nephew, placing her wand down to give a nod in agreement, “Why, you’re absolutely right, dear, Draco!” she said, playing around as she walked towards him to pat him in the back, “I suppose you can agree that she deserves a proper lesson from me?”

“Let me handle that for you, aunt.” he replied, giving Bellatrix a mischievous smirk, “I am far more disgusted to be in the same room as this blood-traitor. I stopped considering her an ally and a person worthy of respect and prestigiousness the moment she decided to humiliate her proud, well-known name. She is no longer a proud Slytherin to me.”

“Oh?” Bellatrix asked, letting out a fake gasp as she looked at your ‘hurtful’ face.

“You have no right-” you were interrupted when Draco advanced forward, pushing you as his grip was now on your arm, “Shut up, blood-traitor,” he scolded, “They are all going down to the cellar on my command now. I will teach them all a lesson.”

Draco thought he successfully won the argument as he started motioning for you and the boys to move when Bellatrix yelped an, “Ah!”

Everyone including you and Draco turned around to see that Bellatrix was holding onto Hermione, who looked like she was whimpering in internal fear.

“I believe this mudblood and I are going to have a conversation, the rest of the blood-traitors can go with you, Draco.” she held Hermione now in the shoulder, waving away Draco and the death-eaters.

“Very well,” he nodded, “Onto the cellars, you filthy rats.” he said, pushing you.

While walking away from the living room, you managed to turn around to give Hermione an encouraging look on your face as she was now about to have a little conversation with one of the most psychotic wizards alive.

She tried giving you the same encouraging look considering that you too, were about to go through some serious things as well. Although, something told you that with Draco’s stellar performance of pretending to despise you, you were going to be taken cared of well.

So you gave Hermione another facial expression before turning back, it was a slight frown at her, realizing that you were leaving a good friend of yours in serious trouble while you were probably saved from that kind of treatment.

The short trip to the cellar was quite quiet on your hand. Harry and Ron were speaking of horrible things about Draco to each other, knowing perfectly well that Draco could hear them.

Walking down to the cellars, Draco looked at the death eaters handling the boys and nodded, “I can take it from here.”

They simply nodded, walking back up the stairs to return to living room. Draco painterly waited for them to be out of sight as his eyes were watching the shadows of the death eaters starting to vanish.

When their shadows were long gone, Draco let out a huge sigh, dropping the superior aura he had been carrying all day long as he slouched, opening his arms to envelope you tightly into a massive hug.

“Oh, my dear, my dear, I missed you!” He confessed.

You hugged him back, rubbing his back as he started inhaling and exhaling with such pace. “I missed you more, Draco, are you alright?” You asked, pulling away from him, cupping his face with one hand.

He smiled, raising his hand to hold your hand which was softly rubbing his cheek now. “I’m not the same without you. I could ask you the same, please, are you hurt?” He sounded so cautious, looking at you, up and down to scan if you were alright.

“I’ve had better days,” you joked, causing him to smile.

“I know,” he said, “But honestly, my love, I have missed you. I couldn’t stop thinking of every worse situation that could have happened to you. Every night, I pray to Merlin, asking him to keep you safe and alive. I-I have nightmares of you, getting hurt, and not being able to save you, and it pains me, Y/N, I can’t lose you, okay? I’m so fortunate that you’re here alive. I would be so lost without you, I don’t think I could keep this up anymore had I known you were gone.”

You felt like your heart had just melted as your-not-so-secret boyfriend confessed his love to you in front of the most important people of the battle. If you could see your exact reaction to what Draco had just said, it was like the most sincere puppy eyes you could give him. It was like you were about to tear up and wail like a pained animal.

Placing your hands on your cheeks, you melted, “Aw, Draco,”

Draco, without thinking twice, pulled you in, closing the space between the two of you as he hugged you even more tighter than the first hug you gave each other just a few seconds ago. He rubs your back this time, softly stroking it carefully as he remained silent, knowing it was your turn to confess your feelings to him.

“I don’t want you to ever think about the worse things happening to me, okay? We will get through this together. We are a team, remember? It’s just you and me forever, Draco. I think about you every second of my life and I will never stop doing that because you and I are meant to be, forever. We need to continue watching each other’s backs, okay? We’re the only way we can keep going in life. When I’m far away from you, just remember I’m always in your heart. You got that, Dray?”

“Mhm,” he replied, covering his face on your shoulder, to hide the emotions he was displaying from Harry and Ron, who were shockingly witnessing a relationship that was kept a secret for years and now had gone public.

Pulling away, he wrapped one arm around you, so he could turn to the shocked Harry and Ron and quietly said, “I will help all of you,” he muttered, “I will help all of you escape.”

“Thank you, Malfoy,” Harry whispered, giving a nod of respect to Draco, who looked at you with a small smile on his face.

This was certainly not the ideal way to publicly reveal yourselves as a couple but the love couldn’t keep you and Draco Malfoy from hiding the secret another minute or two longer. The separation the two of you had ever since the battle had started getting more intense had made it harder for the two of you to see each other, or even communicate by owl.

Seeing each other after such a long time made it very clear that it was time to show everyone what they have been missing for years as the two of you had let go of the very secret you both swore to keep shut until it was the right time.

Smiling, you looked up to see your boyfriend seem very eager with his word. Knowing that you were looking at him, he turned to you with a relieved smile. He slightly towered down with his head, kissing you in the forehead, which made you giggle slightly, knowing that he enjoyed giving you small forehead kisses.

Perhaps sometimes love can be unpredictable when it comes to time.

#Draco Malfoy x Reader

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