#I’m really proud of the teeth shot. that was a nightmare to position and light.

[candycryptids]

-Duty Failed-

#ffxiv Roegadyn #what if you weren’t hydaelyns chosen? what if you were just somebody? what if you lost everything? #ffxiv Leviathan #ffxiv Swydghem #this is who I’ve been banging out writing for the past while btw 🥰😨 #I’m really proud of the teeth shot. that was a nightmare to position and light. #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv #making use of every tool at my disposal and getting experimental with xivs lighting and effects along with shaders #this was taken in the Sirensong Sea dungeon during Thunderstorm weather using. a lot of crimes. #did you know it can’t rain in western la noscea? the weather literally doesn’t exist.

[bibbykins]

Penumbric Commitments (M)

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!! I wrote this up real quick yesterday, so please forgive any lacking in quality, but I had the idea and absolutely sprinted with it! I hope you all enjoy and look forward to the next full length fic I post, which I gave a not so little hint in here to!

Warnings: 18+, unhealthy relationship, manipulation, yelling, rough sex, light bondage, the usage of a belt as wrist restraints (consensual), brief fingering, male cumming inside, talking about not wanting a child, daddy kink, threatening to leave, offering to kill someone, semi-graphic talks of killing someone

Word count: 3.8k

Genre: Soft Yandere, Mafia! Au

Summary: Hindsight says Namjoon so easily complying with not having children was too easy considering his position in the business and the nightmare his parents had readily become. What you didn't realize was how far Namjoon was willing to prove to you he meant what he said that day: all you both ever need is each other.

Note: this is a canon drabble apart of the Silhouetted Bonds fic linked here

It's times like these that you regret getting a traditional clock. The ticking was incessant and daunting. It felt like it was getting closer and closer to your ear with the deafening silence it was slicing through. Analogs had to be the way to go, or better yet, none at all. The last thing you needed right now was a reminder of how much time has been spent at this table. Namjoon had sprinted home the moment his mother called him after your meeting with her. 

----

"Mrs. Kim, always a pleasure." You shook the older woman's hand with a tight smile. 

She returned yours with an equally fake smile, "Please, you know you can call me mother." She chided, but nevertheless you stayed silent as you sat back down at the table in your home. It used to be mom.

It was 8 a.m. your mother in law wanted to meet, so to be petty, you stated 9 a.m. would be great. It's a shame that your relationship with her came to this, but truthfully, it was far from your fault.

While in the beginning she had been like a mother to you, things quickly took a steep downturn the moment Namjoon reintroduced you into his life. The woman who had once been lively, rebellious, and took charge became a demure, stoic, and merely content wife. She had given you talks about your duty as the wife of the boss and the expectations she expected you to fulfill nowadays as opposed to telling stories of her youth and teaching you how to bake eccentric treats. She had even admonished you for leaving Namjoon, an idea she gave you really. Since then, she had always stated your allegiance to the business and your own husband had yet to be proven in her eyes. The notion struck you to only provide her with business professional talks.

You had always known her and Namjoon's father had been a marriage of convenience, but there seemed to be intense love between them, at least at one point. You're not sure when that collapsed in your absence, and sure you felt bad,but you did not care for her patronizing tones. If Namjoon wouldn't retaliate, she almost definitely would've had you killed the moment you decided to leave her precious son. 

"Now, I understand you're a busy woman, so I'll be chaste." She spoke as she took her seat, giving you a pointed look, "Do you feel as though you've made up for your betrayal?" This was obviously a trick question in her eyes, the simple answer being no.

However, you couldn't care less, "I have never betrayed anyone close to me, including Namjoon, if that's what you mean." You met her eyes with valor, "I don't see why you feel the need to ask such a silly question each time I see you." 

She laughed humorlessly, "Maybe I'm hoping for the right answer to cross your stubborn mind." Truly, if Namjoon didn't love and cherish his parents so much you would've told her to fuck off and mind her business, maybe focus on her own shitty marriage, by now. Alas, Namjoon was a people pleaser and fiercely intent on being a filial son.

"You mean your answer to the question about how I feel?" You raised a brow, "Even when apart from Namjoon, I took no other man. I've never even lied to Namjoon, I've been nothing but an honest and hardworking wife after forgiving his own shortcoming in honesty." You watch her fist clench in her lap at the suggestion of her precious boy having a shortcoming of any sort, "A shortcoming well remedied, seeing as I'm still here." You chided lightly in spite of the heavy tension. You pitied your staff in this moment for having to watch this battle of wills.

"Sometimes husbands lie to… protect, their wives." She struggled to find the right words as she regurgitated what Namjoon's father undoubtedly told her one too many times. Misery loves company, and goodness, did she want you to be as miserable as her.

You returned her fake smile two fold before speaking, "That's lovely, but I don't need protecting from my husband, I need trust, honesty, respect." The final word made her back straighten, "I'd like to live in reality with him, not be shielded from it, but I respect what you wish for your own marriage, but this is what I like for mine." 

She hummed in faux thought, "Very well, I can leave you to reflect on what marriage should be, you're still so young." You fought the urge to roll your eyes, "However, you're not that young…" This was a new addition, "When will I be receiving a grandchild?" 

Your brows furrowed. Namjoon told you she took the news of no grandchildren quite well. He told you that she was informed of your no children rule mere days after you spoke the words. The radio silence on the topic of children each time you met with either of his parents confirmed much for you, and you had even found yourself quite proud of him for standing his ground with you. Surely, his parents are not nearly old enough to be so forgetful.

This was the first question in a while that made you falter, and you could see the satisfaction she gained from it, "Grandchildren? I'm unsure what you-"

"Namjoon told me the last time I visited him in prison, you wanted to wait for your fifth wedding anniversary before trying for children, isn't that coming up quite soon?" She raised a brow and you felt your heart shatter. 

He lied to you. Again. He lied to you mere moments after you were ready to forgive him for lying to you the first time.

You let out a bitter laugh, "He did now?" She nodded and you shut your eyes for a moment, "It seems I've been made a fool of again." You sighed before looking as confusion crossed your mother-in-law's features, "I told Namjoon the very last time I visited him in prison that I did not want kids, ever."

"You know that's not possible for him, he's a successor." She laughed at your boldness.

"You know that he is an adult man with 6 brothers, biological or not, who will all marry one day, surely one of them will adopt or have a child." She scoffed at this, "I got my tubes tied years ago." This wiped the smile off her face.

"Does Namjoon know about this?" She snapped and you nodded with a bitter smile.

"He accompanied me to the appointment for moral support." You shot back.

"Well, your tubes can be untied and-"

"No." You deadpanned.

"No?" She mimicked in disbelief.

 "If Namjoon requires a child, he will also require a new wife." Your voice was cold and you watched shock settle into the woman across from you, "With his habit of lying coming to light, he may have to find a new wife regardless."

She stood, "Don't be-"

"Please, do not waste your breath on orders I will not be following." You held your hand up to silence her.

"I'll call Namjoon, he can talk this out with you, so you can see things our way." She tried to sound reassuring as one of your staff rushed to see her out respectfully when you did not budge from your seat.

You stayed seated at the mahogany table, staring at your wedding ring. You didn't want to get a divorce. You loved Namjoon, more than anything, and yet, did he love you more than anything?

----

You're not sure how long you stayed there, questioning everything, but it was enough time for Namjoon to come home. He ripped the door open, eyes searching frantically, ready to make sure you had not already left him before his eyes landed on your figure. From there, he took his seat across from you at the table and waited until he could no longer take the silence.

"Are you going to say anything?" Your husband's voice was calm, although fear was evident in his timbre.

You sucked your teeth and shrugged, continuing to look at your freshly manicured nails, "What's there to say?" Your voice was short, as if you were already tired of the conversation before it could even start, "You lied to me."

Your husband dropped his head into his hands and sighed, "Junebug, I'm sorry, I-"

"You embarrassed me, again." You look at him for the first time all night with a sharp glare, "Are you trying to find an excuse to divorce or do you just not care about me?" 

"Neither!" His head shot up and he met your eyes with deep regret when he realized you were looking at him with the anger and hurt he found you with all this years ago, "I love you, more than anything-"

"Obviously not!" You snapped, "Do you have any idea how it feels to explain to your shitty and judgy mother in law that, in spite of what her precious son said, you had no plans to have children, that you got your fucking tubes tied?!" Namjoon sighed, either in shame or pain, "Were you just hoping that would come around? That I'm such a fickle woman that I don't mean what I say?" 

His brows furrowed, "No, if I thought that, why did I let you get your tubes tied?!"

"Let me?" Your voice was mockingly soft, "You let me, huh?" You cocked your head slightly and he closed his eyes in frustration, "How fucking charitable of you, my sweet husband, master of the fucking house, to let your dumb little wife make a choice for her body!" You stood, "How considerate of you to play supportive husband only to fold the moment your mother asks you a question-"

"You know what my duty as the only son is!" It was his turn to raise his voice, but he immediately regretted it as he saw your eye twitch.

"And you knew my stance on kids before you got out of prison." You seethed, "You know why I don't want a fucking kid, nor do I plan to fold on my stance, because I'm all I've got left there." Namjoon's mouth parted slightly before he pressed his lips together.

"It's not my fault you don't want a kid because you'd be a bad mother just like your own." The words left his mouth before he could even begin to consider the repercussions. He was about to open his mouth again to back track wildly, but it was far too late as you took a step back, the weight of his words being too much to take from across the table.

He watched hurt consume your irises for only the second time in his life, the first time being mere hours before you left him for years, before you made him promise to never betray you like that again as a condition for you to come back to him. A condition that he evident did not adhere to in your eyes. "Do you want to know what made my mother such a bad mother?" He watched as the embers of rage within your eyes were only stoked by his reflection in your pupils, although he could see a thin layer of moisture begin to build up, pain, "You know, like I would be?" Your words were almost mocking as he stayed eerily still, "An unsupportive, isolating, and shitty sorry excuse for a fucking husband." Your word hit him like a truck.

Unsupportive. Isolating. Sorry excuse for a husband.

You weren't wrong right now. He felt shitty. He knew he should've just stood his ground. His parents didn't matter if it meant losing you, "I didn't mean that, what I said about-"

"You're right." A tear fell and he felt his heart shatter, "So if you want a kid, it'll have to be with someone else."

"I don't want anyone else, I never have!" He made his way to you as you weakly stepped back, "You're all I need." His voice was soft as he went to grab your hand, but you pulled away.

"You said that last time." Your tears were beyond your control as you wiped at them in vain, "You said that mere days before you told your mom that we were going to have kids and you told me your mom took the news well." You sniffled, "You lied to me, I can't believe that you lied to me and let me just walk around like a fool believing you, again!" 

He was stunned silent again. You were right. He had lost his back bone under the strict gaze of his parents and folded under pressure. He betrayed you, and all he could do was hope for your forgiveness.

You shook your head as he remained mute, "I need some time." You went to walk past him and to the door but he engulfed you in a hug, "Namjoon!" You struggled weakly to pull him from you but froze when you heard a sniffle.

"Please, don't go." He begged as he held you close, "I can't lose you again, I'm so sorry, please."

You fought sobs from escaping your mouth, "You lied to me, and your mom-"

"I'll kill her if you want me to." He spoke and your blood ran cold at his tone. He was serious, "My mom and my dad, I'll tell them we're not having children and if they can't handle that, they can leave us alone or die."

Your eyes were wide, tears frozen in time. Namjoon loved his parents. He was always a kid intent on surpassing their expectations, and he had made that clear to you when you started dating in highschool. You were his only sign of rebellion. He was intended to marry a woman from an affluent family, but he met you. You had figured that would be where his rebellion ended, but here he was, handing his parent's hearts in your hands and awaiting orders.

"Joonie, y-you can't mean-" You sputtered to reason but he only held you tighter.

"Or even if you just want me to kill them, I will, with my own hands of course, nobody else can know." His remained headstrong in his resolve, stroking your hair, "I don't care what I have to do to keep you with me." He kissed the top of your head, "You are the only person, the only thing on this Earth that matters to me I cannot live without you." 

A sick, and extremely twisted part of you wanted to call your mother-in-law and say, "Hah!" You wanted to rub it in her face that her son, in spite of everything, chose you. Her precious boy has been yours for years now. However, your sanity slipped through the cracks as you shook your head again.

"You love your parents." You shook your head as you cried into his chest, "And if you felt that way, why would you lie to me?"

He sniffled, "I was weakened, not 100% sure you would truly accept me with open arms and I panicked when they asked." He sighed, "I know it's pathetic and I know I seemed like I knew we would make it, but I didn't know that. They never brought it up after that so I naively thought they would forget and when they asked me again, I would tell them the truth and-"

"You're so stupid." You cried harder into his chest and felt him nod, "If you're scared to face your parents, tell me, and we'll do it together." You were surely ruining his dress shirt, but he stroked your hair soothingly, "Your mom has been calling me a shitty wife for years and after today, she must truly believe it, and I-I should take some time-" Namjoon held you, arms sliding down your body as he got down to his needs and you felt your heart drop, and you gasped, "Stop, don't-" 

You tried to help him up but he grabbed your wrists as he looked up at you with tear stained cheeks and eyes as wet as yours, shaking his head at your frantic protests as he kissed your hands and your wedding ring tenderly, "I can't lose you again." His voice was weighty with sorrow at the thought of you being away from him, "You matter more to me than my duty as a successor does, than my parents do, even more than this whole fucking business." He rubbed his cheek against your hand in desperation as you stood frozen from the shock of Namjoon begging on his knees with the utmost humility. The most powerful man in the city, undoubtedly the country as well, was on his knees crying and begging you to stay, "If killing my parents is what I have to do to prove it, I will. Name how you want it done, when you want it done, and I'll do it." He was dead serious and he could tell you knew it as tears spilled onto your cheeks even more, "You're a better wife than I deserve, and all I can ever hope is to be even a fraction of the husband you deserve, and I'm sorry I've been missing the mark." This made your face twist in pain, regret. Namjoon, up until today, had been nothing short of perfect, and even now he was making up for it, "Almost losing you nearly killed me, and-and I get that sometimes people need time to calm down but I would just prefer you beat the shit out of me instead-"

"I didn't mean that either!" You cried out as you sunk down to your knees to hug the sobbing man before you, "You aren't a sorry excuse for a husband, you're just a goddamn idiot, and I didn't want time I just didn'twant to see your stupid face because I was so angry." You laughed as he did for a moment, "Above all else, you're an amazing husband. I love you, always have, I just hate when you lie-" Your voice in his ear was like heaven as he felt a weight lift of his shoulders.

He grabbed your legs to wrap around his waist before you could properly settle onto your knees. He held you close and he soothed your cries, "I haven't lied to you since, I can promise you that." He sighed and you scoffed, "You don't have to believe me. I'm just asking you to stay with me so I can prove it over time." 

"I'm...I'm not leaving you." You sighed into his neck before he pulled you back to trap your lips between his as he kissed your with a vigorous passion. When you returned his kiss with an equal amount of desperation, he began to stand with you in his arms before promptly laying you on the couch, never detaching his mouth from yours the whole time.

You settled into the velvet cushions as he ground himself into your sex, making you gasp, "I love you, my darling." He murmured into your mouth while one of his hands slid your dress up and your panties to the side before brushing his fingers across your pussy and groaning at your wetness, "Oh fuck, you're so wet, baby." His mouth went to your ear as you moaned, threading your fingers into his hair, "Was it me promising to kill for you or me getting onto my knees that did it, hm?" He rubbed slow circles over your clit and you gasped, "You get off on me spilling blood for you? You get wet by me demeaning myself to keep you right here, where you belong?" 

"Yes, daddy, I do- fuck!" You clutched his hair harder as his finger slipped in and your hips wiggled impatienly, "Just fuck me, I don't care about being stretched, fuck me." 

Too desperate to even hesitate, Namjoon undid his belt, ripping it from his trousers as he secured your wrists within the leather garment, as he had done many times before. He undid your belt as he pushed your arms up and his pants down with his boxers. He slid into you with a deep groan that you matched with a wanton moan. He fucked himself into you feverishly, wasting no time in chasing your high as his nimble finger went down to stimulate your clit, "I love you so fucking much, y/n." He groaned as he felt you tighten, "I don't care who I have to kill to prove it, I'll even let you watch the light drain from their fucking eyes if it means you'll stay with me." 

You moaned out as he whispered gruesome threats to the outside world intermingling with sweet nothings as he held the belt around your wrists,using it as leverage to fuck you harder. If you were sane, you would not be getting closer and closer to orgasm as he cursed the rest of the world into painful deaths just to have you as his wife, but here you were, clenching around him and opening your legs further so he can go deeper, "Shit, I'm gonna cum!" You cried out, arms going over Namjoon's head so you could pull him down to you by the neck and kiss his lips messily.

His hand went from your clit as he wrapped his arm around you to hoist you up and slam himself into you further, "That's right baby, cum for daddy and I'll give you my cum." He cooed in spite of the strain to keep himself from busting you before you get your release. His words only threw you over the edge as you climaxed, hurdling him into his own. He fucked his cum into you like always and you moaned lightly until he was done.

He held himself inside of you as you both gained your breath again, exchanging occasional kisses, "You don't have to kill them, you know." You spoke finally "Although, I won't be so cordial with their bullshit anymore."

He nodded, "I'm by your side, Junebug, forever and always." You smiled before kissing him.

"And I, you." You hummed blissfully.

"We have everything we need between just the two of us, I promise." He smiled against your kiss while you nodded, "You'll be the only one calling me daddy for the rest of out lives- hey!" You smack his chest lightly as you both laughed blissfully, letting the seriously twisted shit that just transpired be a simple part of the past.

"Your mom is a bitch." You giggled tiredly as he chuckled.

"Don't worry about being nice to her if you don't want to, I have my priorities straight." He gave you another kiss that you returned with glee.

As he was cleaning you up, your hazy mind allowed you to feel smug at the fact that you just saved your shitty in-laws from certain death. You were their ticket to life. You were their precious successor's priority. You were his only true love.

Namjoon watched with nothing but love as he tucked your sleeping form into bed. Thinking on it now, he doesn't know if he could even stand the idea of you loving a child as much as you loved him. He enjoyed his monopoly over your affection, and a child would only throw a wrench in that for him. Taehyung liked kids, Jungkook seemed like a family man, maybe even Hoseok if that new girl he's saying is as serious for him as he says. All it took was one kid to carry on the business, so you didn't need to worry your pretty little head about it.

All you had to worry about was staying by his side and all he had to worry about was being a good enough husband to keep you there. He kissed your forehead as he held you closer to him, texting his mom the next time she disrespects you or his marriage, there would be consequences. 

You were the only person he needed. He would do anything to make you understand that. 

The ticking of the clock was nowhere to be heard as you laid in Namjoon's arms. You snuggled into him as you caught sight of the thinly veiled threat he sent to his own mother on account of your feelings. He was yours just as much yours were his and the victory of it all had never tasted so sweet. His heartbeat was all you could hear, steady, loving, and to the beat of the drum you commanded. 

You both wouldn't have it any other way.

Masterlist

If you enjoyed and are able, please support my ko-fi!

#yandere au #yandere bts au #yandere namjoon #yandere bts #spft yandere bts #soft yandere namjoon #bts mafia au #namjoon smut #kim namjoon #namjoon scenario #namjoon imagine #namjoon drabble #bts smut #yandere bts smut #namjoon mafia au

[katsuflossy]

Soulful

Pairing: Todoroki Shoto x black! reader

Warning: Swearing

Synopsis: Shoto comes back to a deserted Alliance. Ready to go to his room, he gets the most angelic soulful performance: (Y/n) singing RnB.

Song: At your best (You are Love) by Aaliyah

A/N: This was supposed for Juneteenth but this is the Juneteenth weekend so 🤷🏽‍♀️. I was just listening to the song and everything came to me lol. So please enjoy! Btw it may be rough, I haven’t edited it. 

Taglist: @sunset-novice-writer​, @goatsenpaiultimate​ (wanna be in my taglist? Just message me!💖)

Peace and quiet, this combo hardly appeared together in the Alliance building. Even in the dead of night, occasional snores, riff raffs sneaking around to get a midnight snack, and rush awakening from nightmares were the nightly language on the building. But when this opportunity arose, you couldn’t allow it to escape you like the rise of a super moon for witches to charge their crystals and water. Izuku was the last to greet you off, highly concerned about your health, and the idea of leaving alone in the big building by yourself. You fanned him further to the door, telling him not to worry about your health. Yes, you fell from 200m off of a building but you caught yourself...this time. Recovery girl only said to rest completely for three days and this was your final day before rushing back into the hero scene of UA. With a final push, you ushered him completely out of the building, reassuring him that there was no need to baby you. He finally smiled with reassurance, the soft sunset glare rested on his skin, making highlight every freckle on his glowing skin. Dark green tresses absorbed and reflected the light like a green forest. He finally turned around and ran off but not without a wave and a “Be safe!”, before joining with the rest on their trip to a minigolf center too far from the school. With a sigh, your shoulders dropped, listening into the vacuum-like dormitory, nothing but silence. At that moment you knew what you wanted to do.

It was a party, but only with one person. You ran to the kitchen, music blasting loud and proud of ravishing the cupboards of secret snacks you snuck in since your last trip to the city. It was a typical “white girl finally at home alone scenario” with the overtly loud music but in explicit rap version, breaking out in dance but instead, it’s full-on twerking and sharp bouncing. But finally, the high energy moving died down. From your room, the view of the sunset was ever magnificent once you finally let the sunlight radiate into your room. A sense of nostalgia recreated the room, transforming the scenery to an apartment’s step. The block was bumping with your older cousin’s car 90s rap and RnB while your ears pick up on the argument on if B.I.G or Tupac was better. The cool sensation of the cherry slushie in your hand felt almost too real and your heart turned from the scene. That same sensation brought you back to the present, the snowball turning into a regular bottle of cold water.

It’s okay to admit it, you are a little homesick. So what do you do? Put on some 90s music.

It’s been a while since you’ve listened to 90s RnB. The work never stops and hardly anyone here knew the songs, except for Denki of course but it was all the mainstream ones. So the solution? A 90s RnB marathon. There, the mood was set. Songs of Lauryn Hill, Jodeci, and even Sade broke you into a bunch of musical numbers as you clean your room. Just in time for Shoto to walk into the building

Everyone decided to go minigolf to celebrate the end of exams. Both Shoto and Kastuki, however, were called in by the number one hero for work-study then he left early due to Endeavor getting called in for a “top secret” meeting that would last all day. Not that Shoto wanted to be there in the first place but it was a waste of time to go into the cursed agency and not do anything productive. The Atomic Blonde fumed beside him.  

“Why the fuck we arrived only to get shoved back out of the building. You knew he would’ve done this didn’t you?” Shoto could almost see him foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, ready to pounce on anyone in a 5ft range. 

“If I knew wouldn’t you think I would be in that meeting currently? Or I wouldn’t have come in the first place? Your lack of common sense is showing.” Bakugo teeth bared harder and his hair comically shot up higher like an intimidated cat. “Fucking IcyHot! Shut your mouth before I blast you all the way to hell!” A few grumblings carried on until they reached the Height Alliance building. Shoto knew that this evening the dorms would be empty, he was invited to play minigolf after all however Endeavor called them in and wasted his time with his friends and (Y/n).

Yes, (Y/n). Shoto has been confused about his mind constantly separate you from the rest of his friend since you entered the school. He’d stared at you for eons until nudged by Izuku slightly teasing him or Iida reprimanding him about the importance of paying attention in class. But by Gods, you’re just a sight to look at and Shoto is a perceptive tourist. That skin has an ethereal glow to it when kissed by the sun. The way your eyelashes just flutter when you blink it seems like wispy threads of the flowiest dress blowing in the wind. All the images of your face and body slide through his mind like a gallery until Katsuki broke through his trance.

“Oi! Half and Half bastard! Stop dreaming about (Y/n) and come train with me! All the shitheads left so I can finally train without distraction.” The blonde stomped off towards the training area, not waiting on Shoto’s reply. The dual-colored hair boy just sighed and entered the building knowing that he too would like to train rather than wasting time.

Now if a building was empty, would there not be any music playing? That was the thought that had crossed Shoto’s mind as he entered the dorms to put down his suitcase. It was unusual, all of 1A left the building, therefore, no music should be playing. But the melody caught the dual-haired boy off guard, trying to figure out who would leave their music on. Kaminari or Mina could be one of the suspects, maybe they’ve left their Bluetooth on connected to their portable speakers and left them? Shouto hardly knew of that type of technology, regardless, he found himself walking towards the source. His auditory senses were pleasantly confused. The reason being the music was foreign, not similar to the regular beats and melodies of the songs he hears Mina and the girls play or the “Megan” that Kaminari would put on sporadically in the main room. But it was soothing as if touching his heart, addressing his whole being. Thankfully the grand English classes his home-school teachers and the school conducted allowed him to recognize the words of the song. It was addressing him, or maybe someone named “You”. Either way, he carried on to the second floor where a familiar hallway greeted him.

With his excellent detective skills (just simply walking), he found that neither of his suspects where correct; it was actually you. For his current present, he could’ve never been so grateful to be graced by the view in front of him now. Your door was almost completely open but not completely blocking the scene in front of him.

Your entire being encompassed by the fiery sunset, setting tones to your figure, and already radiant skin. It was like watching the clouds part and enters the first celestial spirit commanding herself from the rays of the sun. And he was a repentant worshipper. Your eyelashes batted at the stuffed bear on your made bed, singing to him in the what Shouto deems angelic whispers. Your voice was soft and melismatic as you sang the chorus again.

But at your best, you are love You're a positive motivating Force within my life Should you ever feel The need to wonder why Let me know, let me know Let me know

You carried on singing, swishing your hips as you carried on cleaning your room meanwhile Shout watched from the hallway, wishing he could switch places with the now taunting bear in your dorm room. Little his knowledge, you were dedicating the song to him, the bear a symbolism of him. Your thoughts actually manifesting your crush however not in the way you had hoped. The idea of Shoto smiling as you performed your admiration and love for him was actually occurring without your awareness.

Shoto could feel his heart pumping at a higher capacity and the butterflies in his stomach fluttering in swiveling motions as you stood in the middle of the room, the amber glow cast on every inch of your dorm and on your own figure, finishing the final note with a nostalgic look towards the skies. The sunset casting the lashes on your cheekbone. His eyes widening, making sure to take in all the details of this scene, the mental photograph forever etch into his mind for the upcoming and frequent daydreaming.

As soon he made an inch to escape without being caught, the universe made other plans. His suitcase clattered against the wall he was just leaning on to watch you. Your figure jumped and ran to peer through the door, meeting a heterochromatic gaze. You paled.

“Oh my God, Shoto! I-I didn’t know you were here!” Your face heated up, his own beet red from getting caught stalking you.

“N-no.” He cleared his throat from the shock, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help to watch and listen to you sing. You have a very beautiful voice.” A small smile cast on his lips as he stared straight into your eyes. His words traveled straight to your heart.

‘Lord, if I died right now, I would die mad happy.’ Your thoughts screamed as you replied.

“T-thank you, Todoroki. I didn’t know you could’ve heard me, I thought the song was loud enough.” You peered off to the bottom of your door frame, unable to take the staring any longer.

‘Be still, my beating heart.’ Todoroki carried on with his compliment.

“I’ve never heard of this artist but your voice really sounds angelic with the song.”Your thoughts stopped in shock.

“Shoto, you’re telling me that you don’t know Aaliyah! As in ‘Try Again’ Aaliyah.” He shook his head in confusion.

“What about TLC?” Head shake.

“Mariah Carey?” Head shake.

“Destiny’s Child?!” That was his last strike before you pulled him by the wrist, your intent being to drag in in your room.

“That’s it, we are going to get you musically educated right now.” You declared as his being passed through the door frame, grateful that he gets to spend time with you alone.

You were grateful that he didn’t stalk you a few minutes before “You are Loved” came on. It would’ve been more embarrassing seeing you perform “Anxious” by Ginuwine to the stuffed bear.

#bnha shoto x reader #bnha shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto #shouto x reader #todoroki x y/n #black reader #todoroki shōto #shouto scenario #todoroki shouto headcanons #todoroki shouto x reader #poc reader #bnha scenarios #mha shoto todoroki #mha shoto x reader #mha shouto #bnha shoto #mha todoroki

[more-miserables]

Ooookay, so my friend @cubeswhump got me into this corner of the whump community, and I’m pretty hooked. So I thought I’d give it a go myself. This is my first time writing for the whump community (mostly anyway, I was in another make-your-OCs-suffer community) so I’d be grateful for feedback and suggestions. Let me know if I get shit wrong.

Also Cube told me I should tag @albino-whumpee (hello, I really love your work and art, and I’m super nervous to post this lol)

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implications of drugging, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

He thought it was an American thing. That’s where all the original stories seemed to come from. He remembered his parents’ fancy dinner parties when he was little, how all the posh folk had nattered on about what a great idea it was. A cheap, lifelong companion who would bow to your every whim. They must’ve been delighted when the idea spread across the globe, making its way across Europe and to England. He didn’t doubt his parents’ friends all had a boxboy/babe now. Maybe his parents did too; he wouldn’t know.

He never thought he’d need to go near the WRU. It wasn’t like he could ever afford one of their “pets.” But it was his only other option now, it was that or gash his wrists. He’d been fired from work, was failing university classes he was too anxious to go to and too depressed to care about, and completely alone in a grotty flat he couldn’t afford, estranged and cut off from his whole family because he was such a bloody pathetic loser. Not that they’d ever been too fond of him, but that hardly mattered now.

He’d seen the WRU adverts. They said they could cure your mental illnesses. They didn’t give much detail, but since his only other solution was death, he figured he didn’t have much to lose. He was longing to get rid of that awful tight feeling in his chest, the heavy fog of numb misery. They’d train you up and send you off to work, and you’d be treated like family in return. Honestly, he wanted a family far more than he wanted his anxiety and depression treated. A real family who hugged and kissed you, not a coldly indifferent, violent one like his own. He wanted to be loved.

He took a deep breath and walked up to the heavy wooden doors of the WRU.

***

“This one is very unstable. Scars all over his arms. That’ll lower his value. Reacting very badly to training so far. We can’t risk sending him off alone.”

“If we train him up as a Domestic, we can bond him to a more docile Companion. We can advertise them as good value if their owner doesn’t want to pay for scar reduction treatment. The Domestic doesn’t necessarily need to be pretty. And they’re both firsthands.”

“Do you have a Companion in mind?”

“Indeed.”

***

“Are you cold?”

“Shh. We can’t talk until our new owner gets here.”

“I’m whispering.” The bigger of the two boys wriggled around again, his back pressed up against the cold wood of the tight little box. The smaller one was squished in, their bare chests touching, shivering in unison in the chilly winter air. The box wasn’t doing much to protect them from the elements. Not that One expected that, of course. And he was lucky to have Two huddled up beside him to keep warm. Most pets travelled alone.

“You’re shivering,” One whispered persistently, trying to wriggle around in the tiny space to wrap his arms around Two. Since they shared a code number (156011) and attempting to remember their before-names hurt, they’d been One and Two ever since they’d met at training, when they’d been chained together by the neck and told they’d remain that way. Using the loo had been terribly embarrassing for the first few days - One winced as his temple throbbed. He wasn’t supposed to remember. That was bad.

He felt Two’s hands at his temples, stroking gently. “You think too much,” he said. “We just have to do as we’re told. That’s all.”

One sighed and thought it better to keep his mouth shut, resting his chin on the top of Two’s head. Two’s curly black hair was newly washed and soft as duck-down.

Time dragged on and on, endless in the darkness. It was freezing cold, but the air in the box was thick and breathing was difficult. One’s limbs twitched restlessly, longing to stretch. He wanted to whisper again, but he didn’t want to worry Two. He knew Two had plenty of worries when it came to him as it was. Their training had been far longer than most because of him. He’d been wilful and stupid and refused to learn. And still Two was never angry, never frustrated. He cried when One cried, held him when the sleeping drugs wore off and the vivid nightmares broke through, helped ease him out of bed when he was too hurt and sedated to stand. One knew he was supposed to be equally loyal to their new master, but deep down One didn’t think anyone could ever match Two for his affections.

PAIN. Bad thought bad thought bad thought...

They must’ve slept for a while, because they woke stiffer and colder than ever, clutching each other in alarm as the box lurched to the side. They could hear a chorus of female-sounding grunts and groans, and a male voice barking irritably at her to hurry up and get the dratted thing inside before he froze. Two squeezed One’s arm meaningfully. “Smile,” he breathed into One’s ear, feather-light and almost inaudible. One stretched his lips apart obediently.

“Open it then, girl!” The man’s voice again. It was old and raspy, but very posh and plummy. It sparked something in One’s memory - a bad memory, because it made his head throb again. He clenched his teeth and fought to hold a smile as the lid was finally lifted off and light flooded inside. It hurt after hours of darkness, but the pets knew it was unattractive to squint.

“Oh my! I didn’t know you ordered a pair!”

“You know I needed two of them. A Combination wouldn’t be able to get everything done around the house while taking care of me. Get them out, Ivy, what’s the matter with you?”

They stood up obediently, still chained at the neck. A middle-aged woman with a straggly ponytail and a very old man in a wheelchair were staring hard at them.

“Ivy, take the chain off, I have their collars for them. I don’t want you two joined together during the day, it’s not practical, but you’re to be chained together at night. I know the Domestic is a flight risk. You’d better call me Mr Stanley,” the old man said. He beckoned to Two as soon as the chains were off. “Come here, you. You’re the Companion?”

“Yes, Mr Stanley,” Two said, going to him obediently. One stiffened. This was the first time he’d been apart from Two in... he didn’t know. As long as he remembered.

Mr Stanley leaned right out of his wheelchair to examine him, nodding approvingly at Two’s smooth full cheeks, large brown eyes and his thatch of black curls. “Lovely little thing, but you’re very small. Will you be able to do the heavy lifting?” Stanley asked, sucking his teeth at Two’s petite frame and dainty 5’2” height.

“I’m stronger than I look, Mr Stanley. And One could help me if needs be.”

“Who? Oh, that one. Very nice. Position one.” Two got into the right placement immediately, feet apart, arms loose. In the background One did the same, just in case. Mr Stanley smirked. “Good. Now, I spent a good deal of money on you two,” he said. “I don’t want any funny business. If I think you’re slacking for a second I can send you back to be refurbished. You don’t want that, do you?”

They shook their heads in perfect unison, as if they’d practised.

“I’m pleased about that,” Mr Stanley said grimly, fixing an extravagant sparkly blue collar onto Two with his own shaky hands. “There you go now. My, you’re a pretty little thing.”

“Thank you, sir. I look forward to assisting you any way I can,” Two said, smiling angelically.

One watched morosely, wishing he could be as good at this as Two. He’d never have thought to say something like that, something the owners just ate up. Everyone had always told One that he held Two back in their training.

Pain again. Stop remembering things.

Mr Stanley continued fussing over Two, telling him all his duties and discussing his health problems at length. He tossed One’s collar to Ivy. “You can do his, Ivy. Fasten it tight.” It was plain brown, made of cheap scratchy nylon.

Ivy approached One warily, like she thought he might bite, sucking her teeth. “Stanley, couldn’t you pay for scar treatments?” she called, fastening One’s collar as quickly as possible. She actually shuddered when her fingers touched the icy skin of his neck, jolting backwards. “It’s turning my stomach.”

One could feel his cheeks starting to burn. No no no! Blushing was bad, any sign that you were feeling embarrassed was insulting to your owner! He had to fight not to hide his arms behind his back. He didn’t really remember how he got those scars. He’d tried to once, back in training, but it made his head hurt so much that he went dizzy and puked all over the floor. Two had held One’s unruly red hair out the way and rubbed his back. He’d be a great Companion.

One hadn’t tried to remember anything about the scars since, but sometimes - when he was really miserable - he suddenly felt like there should be a new one.

Mr Stanley scoffed. “Don’t be so pathetic, Ivy. I clearly didn’t pick that one for his looks, you know I never cared for redheads. He’s going to be holed up in the kitchen, I don’t give a damn what he looks like - and I’m not shelling out even more money to get him sorted. I’m only going to be seeing this one regularly, and he’s perfect.” His wrinkled face creased into a smile, eyes sparkling. He looked so proud of Two - and One suddenly felt something hot and ugly in his chest. He was envious. He didn’t like anyone else being around Two, not when they’d spent so much time together. Literally tethered to one another.

But this was his owner. A much more intense pain shot across One’s forehead, so powerful it was a struggle to remain in position one. The edges of his vision were fuzzy and red when the pain finally subsided, but he managed not to sway.

“I suppose I should give you a name,” Mr Stanley said to Two, tapping his nose like he was playing with a baby.

“We’d be very grateful for names, sir,” Two said eagerly.

“Ah, you’re a sunny little thing! Well, I’ll tell you what. You know what my surname is, boy? Yates. That’s me, Stanley Yates. And to show you’re a part of this family now, as long as you promise to be a good boy, I’d like you to be called Yates. Understood?” Mr Stanley said.

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much. I’d be honoured,” Two - no Yates, don’t quibble with the owner’s name choice - said, smiling. Then he looked over his shoulder. “Will One be Stanley, sir? Or will we both be known as Yates?”

One looked at Tw-Yates adoringly. He wanted him to be included in the family, just like those adverts had said. A family One never had, though he couldn’t remember why now. He couldn’t remember lots of things.

Mr Stanley peered over at One, sniffing disdainfully. He shook his head at the criss-cross of scars on One’s arms, of the thousands of freckles across his cheeks and arms and shoulders, at his baby-faced innocence coupled with a glint of defiance in his eyes, buried deep down after the training, but still present. Stanley’s eyes came to rest on One’s mop of fine red hair, sticking bolt upright and fluffing out all over the place like a dandelion clock. His hair seemed to defy gravity, both sticking upright and flopping in his face all at once.

“You can be Ginger,” Stanley said shortly.

And Ginger had to smile and thank him, because now he had a name and he needed to be grateful. He should always be grateful. Of course Stanley would like Yates best; Yates was perfect. Ginger was the scarred one, the one that reduced their value. The ugly one who stayed in the kitchen. He shouldn’t expect anything more. He shouldn’t ever think about how much easier it would be to not live anymore - he didn’t even remember where he got that idea from.

#my ocs #yates and ginger #male whump #dubcon tw #abuse tw #box boy whump #self harm tw #bonded pair #emotional abuse tw #my writing #bbu #wru #box boy #box boys #male whumpee #multiple whumpees

[mellifluencex]

Abyssal Pearl

Part 3

[Challenge]

[Part 1]

[Part 2]

Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god what is that?! How can something even be that big?! This is not where I want to be anymore I want to cry I’m probably already crying why did I come out here alone oh my god oh my god oh my god.

A sample of her stream of consciousness as she shot through the water as fast as she possibly could, the entire cavern- the entire world probably- shaking around her. Each bone numbing vibration pulse through the water. It was loud, it was terrifying it was freaking huge oh my god. She swam for her life, bending the water before her to create a stream that accelerated her further as that absolute monstrosity continued to unfurl itself. 

She had to go as fast as she possibly good, fear gripped every ounce of her body but she knew she couldn’t even spare a glance backwards; not that she wanted to. By some miracle she made it to the mouth of the pit without anything dire happening to her and thankfully there’d been a somewhat clear path further up through the ship because she certainly wasn’t slowing down. 

Under any other circumstances she might have been very proud and impressed with her aquatic acrobatics, but she was putting everything into creating distance from the ship. But still the ground shook, still the water shook. The quakes were growing louder and louder, looking back at the vessel she could see parts of the stone falling away into the cavern beneath. 

When it burst out of the ground, she could do nothing but stare in terrified awe.

Perhaps serpent was right, in the sense that it just kept on going and going... How could something be that big? How had no one ever encountered this before? Whatever it was... Well, it wasn’t right for one. She couldn’t lead this thing back to the city, even if there was some crazy citizen who could take care of something as monstrous as this, think of the damage it could do in only a few moments. 

But she couldn’t fight this; what was she supposed to do against that?! Come on, think... And better think fast; it was starting to come this way. She allowed herself a single squeal of absolute terror as she bolted towards the Kelp Forest, maybe she could at least buy some time to come up with an idea... 

Mind racing she darted through the great underwater plants and she knew it was following. This isn’t fair! They weren’t supposed to be able to come this close to the surface! Never mind be living here! Think, think! I can’t go too far out or I’ll just pass out, then who knows what would happen to the pearl... I probably can’t even hurt it, never mind fight it. I- I-...

Down in the dark and waiting fathoms, Passed pearl strung maids and whale song In the deepest, coldest chasm Stretching several miles long.

Was someone singing? Why did she feel... Heavy, drowsy...

Though she faltered for a moment, her eyes snapped open. Sirens. Here?! What is with this ocean? Of all things it had to be some of the things she hated most. Yet, she didn’t have time to even be mad; they were certainly a problem for another day. She didn’t have time to slow, and she certainly did have time to have her brain melted. 

Melted... 

Hmm. 

Curling upwards she burst out of the kelp, somewhat invigorated but then freshly gripped by that terror as soon as she got another look at what had been chasing her. Absurd... Well, absurd or not it was still coming. Pearl in one hand, she twirled her staff in the other, a shower of bright green bolts surging forward to fly towards the beast. She continued the spin and a massive, crackling ring was sent pulsing towards it. She had no doubt it would barely register as far as damage went, but this magic was meant to slow not kill. She let her staff glow bright and she bolted off again, leaving a bright trail behind her as she headed north. 

She brought herself some time, certainly, and the glowing strips cutting through the ground up ahead gave her some confidence. But once again it was gaining. Gaining on her! She’d be indignant about that later. Because there’s definitely going to be a later, happy thoughts, happy thoughts... If this was going to work, it would have to work fast; it was mostly open water out here and while she was confident in her agility, she’d only have to make a single mistake. 

Another series of green blasts were fired behind her, time to get uncomfortably close... She curled again, back towards the beast. She almost lost her nerve at the impossible magnitude of it’s form, but it was do or die now. Speed was key and she concentrated the majority of her skill and magical energy into being able to loop and dart around its form. Staying close but not so close she’d be physically stunned just by its movements. She peppered it with as many blasts of energy as she could. If there was a time to prove she really was the Tidecaller, it was now. 

From the outside it would probably seem futile, the first one didn’t seem to hurt it, and neither did the hundredth. But as with before, damage wasn’t the goal here. She activated the bursts all at once, causing a coruscating net of crackling energy to burst along the length of its body. It didn’t seem hurt, no... But its movements did so to nearly a halt. 

She’d have to act fast, bolting across the ocean floor she passed over the largest vent she could find in the Volcanic Valley, the flowing magma washing the area in a deep red. Phew... Warm. She positioned herself on the opposite side of the glowing crimson scar and slammed the base of her staff into the ground. 

The amount of water she was trying to move caused a strain on her, even if it felt like this is the strongest she’d ever been in the city. But she needed the pulses to be deep, in rhythm, seismic. Soon enough, rumbles other than her own started to shake back up from beneath the earth. And not a moment to soon; in a brilliant flash the beast had broken free from the shackles of her magic and was headed her way. 

But this time she could swim away, she had to hold her ground and time this perfectly. God, it was terrifying. But she had to do this, she had to do this. For everyone in the city, so terror wouldn’t grip their hearts like it squeezed her now. For those that couldn’t come back. For those that only wanted a home. It was coming a mouth so wide it hurt her head, with more teeth she could hope to count. She held the pearl high in one hand and her staff in the other. 

Right before it crossed the valley of lava she slammed her staff into the ground. Forcing every drop of energy she could into commanding the ocean itself  to surge down upon this creature. The pearl in her hand crackled with baleful energy and she cried out, almost losing consciousness from the pressure. But the creature’s charge did buckle, if for only a moment as the current forced its head downwards. 

Just as the base of her staff hit the earth again and a great wall of magma was expelled forth from the crevasse. Even from here the heat was painful and the light blinding. The lava churned upwards and if the strain of the magic wasn’t enough, she thought she’d pass out from the awful, burning heat. 

When a shape burst through the wall of molten rock her stomach turned. It took a moment longer to realise it was a half melted, white hot skull that continued to collapse in glowing heat. Well... She’d be seeing that in her nightmares for some time. Momentum kept it going and she had to collect herself just to move out of the way as it’s colossal body crashed into the ground... And continued to crash for some time. She let out what was possibly the biggest sigh of her life, but the effect was somewhat diminished underwater. 

Her whole body ached, especially her hand clutching the crackling pearl. Sure hope that didn’t have any unintended consequences... She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to go to sleep. Somewhat dreamily she watched the agitated lava continue to flow... Down towards one of the nearby communities.

Oh crap!

[Epilogue]

#drabble #challenge #part 3

[thatfanficstuff]

The Replacement -Bucky (1)

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares

Part 1 of 2

***

"Nice, Y/N," Steven Rogers exclaimed as you finished the round of punches onto the bag he was holding. "Great improvement. I can tell you've been practicing." He beamed like a proud parent and it made you chuckle. 

"Thanks, Cap. Once more?" you asked as you bounced on your feet.

"Absolutely." 

He braced himself and you started punching again. You were new to the team, well, a couple of months new anyway. You'd been recruited because you had the ability to pause time. Briefly. But the skill did you no good if the bad guy killed you before you could use it. So you were training. Steve worked with you on technique pretty much every day. Natasha worked with you on firearms and hand-to-hand. Clint helped. He'd originally tried to teach you archery but you were horrible at it. He vowed to try again when you'd built up your arm strength. Tony and Bruce were helping you hone your powers, trying to make them more effective. Everyone else lent a hand where and when they could. Or, more precisely, where Steve told them to.

You stepped back from the bag and wiped the back of your hand across your forehead.

"That's enough for today, Y/N/N. Great work." 

You nodded and grabbed your bottle of water to take a long swallow. "Thanks," you finally managed to get out as you lowered yourself to the floor by the wall. You needed to rest but you could stretch while you caught your breath. 

Steve sat next to you. "Everyone's really impressed with the progress you're making. I don't think it will be long before you're joining us on missions."

"Really?" The thought both terrified and excited you. But, you knew Steve wouldn't let you go unless he was absolutely certain you were ready. 

Before he could say anything in response, the gym door opened and Bucky walked in. He was wearing black workout gear and had his hair pulled back in a small ponytail. You felt a little tug at your heart as you always did when he was around. You had it bad and you knew it. You also didn't care. The man was gorgeous. It would be a crime not to appreciate it.

You smiled. "Hey, Buck."

He looked over in surprise obviously having missed the two of you sitting on the floor. He gave you a small smile and a little wave. "Hey, Y/N. Steve." He changed direction to come over to the two of you and sat cross legged on the mat in front of you. "Done training?"

You nodded. Bucky was a man of few words, but he said more to you than most of the other Avengers. Except Steve of course. Steve said it was because you were always in good spirits and Bucky needed that in his life. You had no idea if that was true or not, but you did your best to always make him feel comfortable around you. 

"Since you're both here, I should tell you that everyone else is taking off on you later today or in the morning," Steve said. "Bruce is going to some convention. Natasha and Clint have a SHIELD mission and the rest of us are heading to Austria to chase a lead."

"But, Steve..." Bucky started with wide eyes then trailed off. 

Steve gave a smile but the skin around his eyes was tight with worry. "It'll be okay, Buck. Y/N will be here. Communication will be open if you need to contact us. You're all right staying with Y/N, aren't you?"

Bucky's gaze darted between the two of you for a moment before his tongue darted out to moisten his dry lips. "Yeah. We'll be okay."

"Sure we will," you agreed with a bright smile.

***

You woke early, as was your habit. You stepped into your bunny slippers (yes, you had actual bunny slippers) and padded into the hallway. The heavenly aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. You followed your nose to the kitchen to find Bucky sitting at the small bar sipping his coffee. 

He glanced at you as your slippers slapped against the floor. "Plenty for you too, doll."

You ran your hand across his back as you passed behind him. "You are a saint, Barnes."

He snorted and coughed as he choked on his coffee. You patted him on the back until you were certain he was breathing again. "I'm pretty sure no one in my entire history has ever called me a saint before."

Walking over to the counter, you grabbed your favorite mug and filled it, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a careful sip. "Maybe you should make them coffee, Buck. Coffee fixes everything."

"I thought that was bacon?" he said, a teasing tone in his voice. You liked this Bucky. He was far more relaxed than normal. It had to be because everyone else was gone. 

"Mmm. Bacon." After setting your cup down, you wandered over to the fridge and peered inside. Eggs. Bacon. Cheese. What more did you need? You glanced back at him. "You eat yet?"

He shook his head. 

"Bacon it is," you said with a smile as you pulled out everything you needed to make breakfast for the two of you.

***

It had not taken long at all for you and Bucky to decide to take full advantage of the rest of the team being gone. Instead of training, you spent the day introducing Bucky to things he'd missed over the years. As long as it could be done from the comfort of the tower as neither of you felt like getting dressed beyond sweats and tees. 

And since Steve wasn't here to give you his disapproving frown, you ordered all the best junk food and had it delivered. You and Buck had subsequently spent the day sprawled around the theater room having Jarvis stream things and filling up on completely unhealthy snacks. When the pizza you ordered for dinner arrived, you moved to the living room to eat.

"All right, Buck. What do you want to watch now?"

He shrugged and took a bite of his pizza. "You pick, doll."

You grinned as an idea came to you. "Jarvis, play the Philadelphia Story, please."

"Excellent choice, Miss Y/L/N," Jarvis replied.

Bucky turned to you with wide eyes. "Like the Philadelphia Story?"

"Only one I know of," you said. "One of the best movies ever made."

"Have to say I agree with you there, doll." He shifted in excitement and you were glad you'd made the decision to watch something he would be familiar with.

***

You woke from a dream where Carey Grant was kissing Jimmy Stewart with a start. It took you a moment to realize you were still in the living room. You must have fallen asleep watching the movie. The TV was off and the lights were dimmed as you raised your head and glanced around trying to figure out what had wakened you. 

"No. Don't. Stop."

You glanced at the other end of the couch where Bucky had evidently fallen asleep as well. His head tossed and his brow furrowed as he whimpered. The sound tore at your heart. 

"No!" he suddenly yelled and kicked his foot out, hitting you in the leg. 

You hissed. That would bruise for sure. You hurried to shift your position as he continued to thrash and protest against whatever was happening in his dream. Deciding you didn't feel like a face full of metal fist, you wrapped your hands around his wrists and crossed his arms over his chest. 

You laid across the top of him, to keep his arms pinned. He still didn't wake. "Bucky! Wake up!" you called.

Nothing.

"James Buchanan Barnes, wake up!"

A twitch at the full name but otherwise he just thrashed interspersed with the occasional shout. 

How could you get him to wake without risking injury to him or you? Suddenly you got an idea. It was worth a shot. "Buck, it's me, Y/N. Please wake up. I need you."

He gasped as his eyes flew open. His eyes immediately found your face and your gazes locked. He panted beneath you as he struggled to recover from the nightmare and you studied his face to make certain he was okay. 

"Um...doll?" he said after a moment.

"Yeah, Buck?"

"Not that I mind, but why are you laying on me?"

It suddenly dawned on you how intimate this position actually was and you scrambled off him while your face burned in embarrassment. "Sorry. You were having a nightmare. I wanted to make sure neither of us got hurt while I woke you up."

Tension flowed from him and he nodded his head. "Good thinking. Thank you."

"It's not a problem, Bucky. We're friends. We look out for each other."

He sat up. His gaze locked with yours again, but you couldn't hold it long before your face heated again and you turned away. You cleared your throat and held out a hand. "Come on, Buck. We should get to bed."

He didn't say anything as he took your hand so you could help him to his feet and led him down the hall. Your room was first and you paused outside the door. "Night, Buck," you said with a smile in his direction. When you realized he wasn't letting go of your hand you tilted your head and looked at him in question.

He rubbed his metal hand across the back of his neck as he looked at the floor then back up at you. "Would you...I mean..." He huffed out a sigh. "I don't like being alone after I have the dreams. Steve usually stays with me. Would you mind?"

Ordinarily you would hesitate to share a bed with a man you had only known for a couple of months and weren't dating, but this was Bucky. And it was easy to tell his words were sincere. "Of course, Bucky. I don't like being alone in my room when the tower is mostly empty anyway. It's creepy." You didn't actually mind the solitude, but you hoped it might make Bucky feel better if he thought he wasn't the only one that needed someone. "Let me change into my pj's and I'll be in."

One side of his mouth curled up in a smile. "Thanks, doll." He hurried down the hall to his own room as you stepped into yours. 

You dug through the drawer where you kept your pajamas and settled on a pair of shorts with a matching tank. After brushing your hair and teeth, you made your way to Bucky's room, pillow in hand, and tapped on the door. 

The door opened a second later and he gestured for you to enter his room. He shut it behind you. "Hey, Y/N/N. I wasn't thinking earlier. If you want me to sleep on the floor or something..."

You held up a hand to stop him before he could go any further. "I trust you, Bucky."

You tossed back the blankets on the bed and threw your pillow on the opposite side. You crawled in and got settled before patting the empty space beside you. "Come on. I'm tired."

He nodded once and climbed into the bed, pulling the blankets over both of you. "Goodnight, doll. Goodnight Jarvis."

"Goodnight, sir," the AI responded and the lights went off as the click of the lock on the door was heard. You smiled at the fact Bucky's nighttime protocol was the same as yours. 

"Night, Buck." You laid in the dark for a long time, your back turned to Bucky as you stared at the inky wall across from you. It was evident he was trying hard not to move so he didn't disturb you. You bit your lip and gathered your nerve before flipping over. 

His head turned to you in the dark. "You okay? Did I bother you?"

You laughed. "Yes. Your complete lack of movement bothered me."

"Oh, sorry."

"It was a joke, Barnes. I'm going to try something. If it bothers you just say so, okay?"

"Okay?" he said sounding completely unsure.

You slid closer to him and settled against his side with your head on his shoulder. Your hand laid on his chest. You'd always been a cuddler. Bucky remained stiff for a moment longer then relaxed and curled around you. His flesh arm wrapped around you and his hand settled on your hip. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah. This is just fine, doll." It didn't take long for you both to fall into a peaceful sleep.

Tag List:  @evyiione @gabriellewritermua

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel imagine #marvel #avengers #avengers imagine #bucky barnes imagine

[meliecho]

Hearts and Heroes: One Shot - Chpt. 1 - Weekend Warriors

Summary:  Setting up for a new mission, but something doesn't sit right with Mark...

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

The dream world. Recreation room of the Markihub...

 “Hah! Connect 4! I win. You loose. Time to pay the piper, old man,” Mark waggled his fingers in the direction of the pink-mustached gentleman frowning at him across the small game table. “And by 'piper,' I mean me, and by 'old man,' I mean you.”

Wilford Warfstache speared a metallic disk that resembled a poker chip with a dagger and pointed it at his competitor. “You win this round, Markiboy.”

“What do you mean ‘this round? You lost to me 5 times in a row,” Mark’s lack of intimidation shown through in a victorious smirk. “I am the King of Connect 4. You knew this when you challenged me.”

“It’s not very sporting of you to mock the loser, Mark. There could be…pointy repercussions.”

Mark adopted a perfectly mirrored mannerism with a red game token between two fingers. “And it’s not very sporting to back out of a bet in a gentleman’s game, Warfy. You’ve racked up quit a tab, my good man. Are you going to pony up, or do you…not have the brass?”

Wilford huffed air across his bushy mustache. “Your blatant misuse of a euphemism for the dangly bits of the vulnerable nether region only shows your lack of proper upbringing.”

He dropped the impression. “Oh yeah? Well, what would you say?”

Wilford leaned back, idly playing with the disk on the end of the blade. “I’d simply take it outside and battle it out in fisty-cuffs mano-a-mano and end with a shooty to the face.”

Mark blinked behind his slim black-framed wire glasses. “You call that better?”

“I call it effective.”

He shrugged. “Eh. Can’t argue there.”

“Much as I’d like to stay and chew the fat, I have business to attend to.” Wilford stretched his arms over his head, dagger and all, and stood. “This has been a bully of a time. ‘GG,’ as the kids say.”

“Hold it, Speedy McDodgerson,” Mark held out his hand. “The Dream Points. You owe me 500.”

Wilford wordlessly flicked the dagger with the disk speared through into the table in front of him, gently rattling the remaining game tokens.

Mark removed the disk and peered through the hole. “Hey, this is only 300!”

“Compensation for the dagger,” Wilford waved it off as he walked away.

“Compen—What kind of dagger costs 200 DrP?! Who's your supplier, anyway?!”

“It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mark. Come around again soon.” And with that, the weaponsmonger escaped back to his shop of damage-dealing goodies.

“Mother f—“ Mark ground his teeth. Wilford had this planned the whole time. “Grifted by a stab-happy madman in pink suspenders. Story of my life.”

Even though he was dreaming, and knew he was dreaming, Markiplier didn't have control over what anyone else did in this hub. This constant, safe haven in the dream world was one of who-knew-how-many in existence. It was home to those bearing a glowing pink heart on their left sleeve: the mark of the hero. Even if they arrived in a tank top, the heart remained, proving that it was imprinted on the soul of the person, and would shine through no matter what they wore.

This hub --ingeniously deemed 'The Markihub' --technically belonged to him, though he hadn't heard anyone else refer to it as that besides himself. But who cares! This was his hub, so he could call it whatever he damn well pleased. He could call it the 'Hub-booski' and no one could object. ...Actually, that one wasn't that bad. He'd put it in his mental 'save' file for later...just in case. He and the permanent residents had a little more power than the others who came and went, but other than that, everyone moved around with the same level of free will.

He turned the silver dagger over in the light, then shrugged and lazily swiped his middle finger—for emphasis on this particular situation—down the air at chest height in time to a half-second thought-command of 'menu.' As predicted, the commonly used and familiar, semi-transparent menu screen popped up. He tapped on the 'Items' option listed at the top –right above 'Go Home,' the teleporter back to the hub. As a Hero Class, he was the only one here with this option. It could be extracted and given to anyone, but not replicated. This was listed above 'Wake Up' (akin to Log Out), 'Current Mission' (basic mission briefing info), and 'Party' (self explanatory with sub categories like ‘add,’ ‘leave,’ and ‘member details’).

He added this new item to his inventory under ‘weapons.’ The dagger evaporated in his hand. At that exact moment, its icon and name appeared on the short list.

“'Fate Sealer.' Ballsy name. Hopefully damage-causing enough for the price.” It might come in handy later during a rescue mission. It was a crying shame this mechanic didn't exist in the waking world. That would make carrying things much easier. He'd hack into it and add in a 'Skip Rush Hour Bullshit' option.

The second bell sent its low tone through the recreation room. A few people hanging out with their teammates got up to attend to the second shift. He left with them to pick up a few more supplies before the third bell rang signaling the third shift – his shift.

He heard the 'fwoosh!' of the portal opening to someone's dream as he passed through the center of the hub on his way to Octodad's store. The midshift teams waited patiently to go through when their assigned mission came up. A few fidgeted from nervousness.

“Good luck guys!” He called out to them. “And remember: I'm handsome. And don't you forget it.”

Some of them chuckled. Others rolled their eyes. Either way, he got them to relax a little before setting off on a mission. Objective: cleared.

He used the newly obtained DrP to stock up on mostly Ultra balls—per usual—a couple of full hearts, chicken and dumplings (those long missions can get rough, man), some hot sauce in case anyone passed out, and a piece of toast. Just one. He hated using that item with a clear and absolute passion, but something nagged at him to walk away with at least one today.

Being the dream world, everyone here was instructed to pay closer attention to said 'naggy feels,' due to one not-so-simple but obvious reason: They weren't physically here. They were spirits, souls, consciousness. Whatever label people wanted to put to it, that was them. So stuff with the physical body didn't matter here –except eating. Whatever you ate upped energy or gave you boosts in battle with their enemy, the Terrorlings. When someone gets the urge to say 'I have a bad feeling about this,' it's a good idea not to ignore it, because it's coming from their subconscious that's being a douche and not letting their spirit in on the whole plan.

Mark added the goods to his inventory, bid the 8 armed bad-human-cosplaying octopus adieu, and left.

“Hey, Mark!” A high pitched voice called out from across the hall.

“Hey, Tim. What's up, little buddy?” He looked down at his feet as the small sentient brown wooden box bobbled over.

“Good, I caught you. It's about your mission.”

“What about it?”

“You're not going alone, are you?”

“No. I've got my team.”

Tim smiled. “So you decided to quit playing solo after all?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I don't play 'solo.' I join newbies and whatever team needs help, you know that.”

“But you never called any of them 'my team' before.”

“Eh, well, they were the ones to dive into my nightmare and pull my ass out of the fire. I owe 'em. Besides, they're good people. It's not so bad being on a team. Kinda takes me back to my roots.”

Although he had his original team that always aided him in the waking world, they, too, had obligations to their own hubs in the dream world. He loved it when they could get together for those rare group missions, though.

His new team here adopted him. He wasn’t an elitist outsider tagging along. He was one of them, subjected to the same rules as they were (almost—well, he is the only Hero Class after all), but shockingly enough, he wasn’t the team leader. He had to abide by the leader’s ultimate decision like everyone else. “Anyway, is there something you need help with?

Tim held up a piece of paper. “I checked the file just in case I'd need to prep for higher damage injuries. Nothing really dangerous popped out at me, but I noticed something weird. I pulled the hard copy to make sure. Look at the initiation date.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Hm? One year ago? This is a typo. The month and day are the same.”

“That's what I thought, too. I checked it with Google. He said he doesn't make typos.”

Mark pursed his lips. “Mmhmm. Sure. Right. Uh huh. Ok. Yeah. Ask him about Google Feud next time.”

“But—”

“Relax. It'll be fine.” It was then that the upward look of concern from Tiny Box Tim surpassed the surface of 'this could be a dangerous mission,' into more poignant territory with years of personal history behind it. Mark crouched down and patted him lightly on top of his head...er...body, and his voice took on a sincere, disarming tone. “I'll be fine. Don't worry, little buddy. This looks rough on the outside, but it’s gooey in the middle. My team and I can handle it. We've been through worse.”

Tim took the paper back when Mark handed it over and looked up as the other stood, towering over him. “Mmm…Ok. But I still have a bad feeling about this. You’re not completely back to normal yet. You went through something not a lot of people can come back from. It’s only been a few weeks, and PAX stretched you thin.”

“Hey, give me a little credit here. I’m a lot better off than I was.”

“That’s true,” Tim had to agree. “And I’m proud of you for that.” He knew Mark had an excellent support system in the waking world. He was recovering, and thankfully, those who knew him and even those who didn’t, flooded his notifications with positive messages.

The ‘Mark’ that returned to an empty hub the next night after he’d defeated Dark just sat on the stage staring at all the vacant seats once filled with the souls of those who believed in their missions, and in him. Tiny Box Tim, as his first Somni and closest to him, was the only resident of the hub to remain. He could sense Mark’s raw, eviscerated state. He was a mess. Because of the negativity flooding the hub, Mark wondered if anyone would even want to come back at all. Tim assured him that they would. They’d sat alone in silence until five people suddenly appeared at the back of the room. Both of them hadn’t expected anyone to show up for a while yet, but he could tell his friend was happy that it was the five who’d saved him. Mark saw them off on their mission, but didn’t leave on his own until a few days later when Blue extended the offer to join her team for the third time. He’d accepted. He had a duty to the hub, to the people who’d found their way back, and most importantly to himself to move forward. A little bit of ‘fuck you’ energy was all he needed to give him that essential push.

“Just do me a favor and be extra careful, ok, Mark?”

“You got it. We'll be in and out with time to spare. It'll be easy-peazy-lemon-squeeze-me.”

The tiny box boy didn't look any less placated by that answer.

A slim pillar of sky-blue luminescence swirled up from the floor in the main room lasting the length of a second. The figure of a teenage girl in a knee-length blue dress and knee socks materialized within its apex.

“Hey, Blue.” Mark cast Tiny Box Tim a reassuring nod before joining his teammate.

“Oh, hey, Mark.” She smiled. Seeing her other team member, and the leader of the hub they called a second home, warmed her heart every time. She still wasn't sure why he acquiesced to her being this particular team's leader—she was ready to give up the title after extending the offer to join her team--, but she respected and appreciated his faith in her. “Where's everyone else?”

“Not here yet. You are numero uno.”

“I hope they get here soon. I was afraid I'd be late. We all decided this would be the weekend we'd go full throttle and do as much as we can.”

“You're all sleeping in?” Mark folded his arms.

Blue nodded. “That's the plan. Also fixing our sleep schedules, too. Those last few missions really threw off Peach. She blew up the group chat at 3am last night binge watching an anime Jade suggested. Went through a whole box of Cinnamon Squares.”

“Yikes.”

The areas to their left and right lit up from three more identical shifting columns of light.

Red stretched his arms over his head and yawned. Tufts of black hair stuck out from beneath his favorite, worn, red cotton beanie.

Purple waved softly to everyone with a small smile and a light, “I'm not late. Yay!”

Peach danced lightly on her tip toes. “This is gonna be the best weekend ever! I cleared all my plans to make sure I could get to bed early each night.”

“What about that show you were watching?” Blue asked.

“I finished it this morning,” she sound proudly.

Red eyed her like she'd grown a second head. “This morning? As in...'before-the-butt-crack-of-dawn' this morning?”

She nodded, still smiling. “It was so good. The feels alone!”

Purple furrowed her brow in concern. “How many boxes of cereal did you eat in the past few days?”

“I don't know, but we're out, now.” She shrugged.

The group exchanged glances, and an unspoken agreement that their weather mage's sleep schedule needed to be fixed first.

The quick 'woosh' of a pillar of light formed just outside the group. Their last team member's form appeared. “You guys are already here?” Jade stepped into the nearest open space.

“We were just waiting on you,” Mark said casually.

“I watched the whole show,” Peach's smile never disappeared. “It's so good!”

Jade's face lit up. “I know, right?”

“Please tell me there's a season 2.”

“Hell yeah! Who's your favorite?”

“I like them all! But mostly the guy with the—“

“I know you're excited, but we have a mission to go on. We gotta focus,” Blue interrupted.

“Right, right,” Peach settled down, “Sorry.”

“Ok. Everybody take five to get what you need, then meet back here. Sound good?” Blue said.

Everyone nodded and scattered to refill their supplies. A few minutes later, they returned to the main room of the hub and gathered at the wide-open area in front of the portal's spawn point. Peach and Jade took their places last, having talked about their new favorite in-common show as much as they could before embarking.

The bell for the third shift echoed its low tone through the hall, alerting everyone in the hub. People appeared within columns of light, and some filtered in from the surrounding rooms.

“That's our cue,” Red cracked his neck. “Let's do this.”

The air crackled ahead of them. A dark vortex formed from a point no larger than a thumbnail and quickly blossomed out to form a dark blue, violet, and black event horizon wide enough to easily encompass two people standing shoulder to shoulder. Its center was thick and black as ink, swirling as if time itself gave way to the will of the universe.

The first time they saw this, everyone—including Mark—felt trepidation. They were both excited and afraid to step through into the unknown. This portal created a wormhole connection into one person's dream, like an Einstein-Rosen bridge in space, but within the ethereal and mailable dream world that seemed to punt physics out the window.

Sometimes the sight of this incredible phenomenon struck him with awe at what it could do, and what it allowed him and many others to accomplish: saving the spirits of those crying out for help.

The waking world knew nothing of this.

Mark turned his back on the portal to address the team. “Normally I'd say this is one where we can go in for the snipes and be back by lunch. It seems pretty cut and dry, but...” he glanced in the distance to the hall leading to the infirmary. Regardless of his own machismo, hearing Tim say 'I have a bad feeling about this' was rare, and didn't sit well in his gut –like that ghost pepper. What the hell was he thinking? “...just remember not to let your guard down, ok? It may look tame, but very often it's a rouse; A cleaver, dubious rouse. As dubious as rouses get.”

“I don't care what it 'do,' it 'be us' who take it down,” Jade thumbed toward themselves. “We're pros. We got this. Now let's go kick some Terrorling ass!” They jumped through the portal with a loud battle cry, 'Lerooy Jenkins!'

Peach followed with a light 'woohoo!' and leaped in.

Red simply face palmed at his companions and stepped through.

“Whoever you are, don't worry,” Purple set her jaw in determination, “We'll find you.” And with that resolve steeling her bravery, she leaped through after her friends.

Blue and Mark stepped up last. “You seem a little out of it, Mark. Everything all right?”

“What, me? Nah, it's good. It's all gravy. We can take whatever this nightmare throws at us. Let's start off the weekend with a bang!”

Blue grinned at the animated finger guns and quickly knelt down at a small hole off to the side in the wall. A few tiny mouse sounds emitted from it. She smiled. “Squeaks for luck,” then gave him a thumbs up and jumped through the portal. She trusted her friends—all of them. They'll save this person and be on to the next mission before they knew it.

Mark followed through. The portal closed, locking them into the connection to the other person's nightmare. It quickly reset for the next team.

Though he had confidence in his team, he still couldn't shake Tim's warning. Something about this mission might go tits up if they weren't prepared. Mark, as a veteran of rescuing people in the dream world, knew that all too well. This one, however...felt different.

And that worried him most of all.

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

TBC

Prologue: A Light in the Darkness

Chapter 1: Weekend Warriors

Chapter 2: Something’s Suspishy

Chapter 3: Chasing the Sun

Chapter 4: The Nightmare’s Truth

Chapter 5: Light and Shadow

Chapter 6: Lifeline - part 1

Chapter 7: Lifeline - part 2

Chapter 8: Phantom Power

Chapter 9: Mark’s Past

Chapter 10: A Second Chance

Chapter 11: Learning to Breathe

Epilogue: Ad Infinitum

#Hearts and heroes #markiplier fan game #markiplier fanfiction #still going on this. It feels odd #but I keep reminding myself that these are characters and not real people. Still not breaking my rule. #Peach is an anime fan #I love all these cinnamon rolls #Warfstache is just that crafty #fanfiction #fanfic

[margarethelstone]

It’s Vanaheim

fanfiction.net

I blame @ashleybenlove​ because honestly, this story would have never been brought to life if it wasn't for her.

Then again, this story would have never been brought to life if it wasn't for her, and even though I’m sure you’re all gonna hate me for it after you finish your reading, I’m still pretty proud of writing it.

So, Ashley, thank you. Consider this story being dedicated to you :)

If you’re still wondering what on Thor’s name I’m talking about, just read on, and I’m sure you will understand ;)

Hiccup woke up with a scream.

Again.

At first, he didn’t even know where he was, incapable of recognising the familiar surrounding of his own hut. As a matter of fact, all that he was able to acknowledge at that specific moment was that he was sitting on something hard, hand pressed to his chest, breathing heavily as he rested on his other arm. Nothing felt real at the moment – nothing except his bed, his palpitating heart, and the horror he’d just seen.

Tears were sparkling in his eyes.

He lowered his eyelids, and continued to inhale, trying with all his might to calm down his shattered nerves. Toothless twitched anxiously in his sleep.

It was just a dream, Hiccup. A very bad, very realistic, very painful dream.

The young leader cursed underneath his breath, and slowly opened his eyes again. How many times would he wake up like this? Scared, shocked, with the cold sweat streaming down his back? Almost crying, because of some stupid, improbable nightmare?

“It’s not improbable,” he muttered, rubbing a hand against his face. “That’s what makes it so awful.”

The Night Fury moved again at the sound of his voice, and this time decided to raise its head, fixing its gaze on the miserable Rider. The dragon’s green eyes were filled with concern, and suddenly Hiccup felt guilty for voicing his thoughts out loud.

He smiled weakly at his winged friend, and slightly shook his head.

“It’s alright, Toothless. It’s just a bad dream. I’m fine.”

The room was definitely brighter than it had been when they went to sleep, and Hiccup easily deduced that it was just about dawn; he groaned quietly at the realisation. With the light stealing in, he was sure he wouldn’t get any more sleep.

But then again, he probably wouldn’t have anyway.

He reached for his prosthetic, and with few simple moves attached it to his leg. The noise he caused when he rose to his feet made Toothless look at him again, however, the boy only waved a hand at him.

“I’m going down, Bud,” he explained warily. “I need some fresh air to help me clear my mind, or I’ll be even more tired than if I hadn’t went to sleep at all. Don’t worry, I’ll be right before the front door.”

Having said so, he made his way downstairs, pushing away the unpleasant memories that were springing into his head. He approached the entrance, and quietly left the dwelling – only to lean on one of its walls right after, tipping his head back, so it would touch the wooden surface as well.

He closed his eyes, and sighed.

Get it together, he ordered himself for the hundredth time that morning. It is not what had happened. It is not what we saw. It’s just your unrestrained imagination, playing tricks on you with some dumb, meaningless -

“Hiccup?”

The Rider almost jumped at the sound, turning abruptly towards the person who owned it. Oh, right.

It had to be her.

“Astrid? What are you doing here?”

Oh gods, why did he even ask?

“I heard your… I heard you,” she responded uncertainly, as if she didn’t want to disturb him with her presence. “I thought it’d be better to check if everything is fine.”

Hiccup sighed again, before he asked, “I woke you up with that shouting, didn’t I?”

“What? No, no, you didn’t.” She shook her head vigorously. “I was getting ready for my morning flight with Stormly, when that… noise came from your hut.”

He laughed shortly, and yet, there was not a trace of mirth in it. “You heard a scream, Astrid. That is what it’s called. I screamed. You may as well say it out loud.”

The blonde warrior frowned, dissatisfied with an answer she’d just received, but decided not to dwell on it. She hadn’t come here to lecture him – she’d come here to help.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter what it’s called. What matters is why I heard you scream in the first place.”

The dark-haired boy slouched as another memory flickered in his mind, and winced, when the other followed. He rested his back against the wall once more, letting his arms hang along his body.

“It was just a nightmare, Astrid. Nothing serious, really.”

“The same one that’s been haunting you for the past week?”

Hiccup froze.

How do you know?

“Don’t look at me like that, Hiccup,” she responded gently to the astonished glare he’d shot at her. “It’s not the first time you left your bed at an hour at which you usually stay there fast asleep. Today it’s the dawn, yesterday it was midnight. Two nights ago it was probably some other hour. So would you please tell me what it is about?”

Her betrothed looked down at the ground, biting his lip in anxiety. Should he really answer her question? It wouldn’t change anything. It was his struggle, his fears he had to deal with… there was no reason for which he should burden Astrid with his own problems.

“How did you figure that out?” he mumbled, hoping to at least gain some more time before he made his final decision whether or not he wanted Astrid to know the details of his trouble. “You must have heard me or -”

“I hadn’t until last night,” she answered immediately. “If I had, I would’ve talked to you about it earlier; but I did notice some things. Like, when you came to the clubhouse a few days ago, the bags under your eyes were even darker than usual. You were silent during breakfast, and even more so during the day. Look, as much as I’m used to seeing you tired or under-slept, I know when it’s something more serious. So please, forget your pride for a moment, and tell me what it is you’ve been dreaming about.”

“It’s not about my pride, Astrid. It’s about the pain.”

He pulled his head back again, assuming the same position in which he’d been staying before the girl had joint him. She didn’t respond this time, and Hiccup felt grateful for that. He inhaled deeply.

“It’s Vanaheim.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Astrid blink in surprise; had it been at any other time, he would at least smile at the sight, but not now. He swallowed, setting his teeth, trying to force himself to actually start talking.

Why, if even thinking of that dream made him feel like fainting.

“It’s about Vanaheim,” he repeated after a moment, closing his eyes as if it was easier to go through all that without having to look at the world around him. “My trip to it with Dagur those few days back. I keep dreaming of it. It’s all just the same – we walk around the island, we find a huge skull, we go through a long tunnel hidden behind it. The Grim Gnashers attack us. We fight back, and scare them off. But it’s not just the events that mirror the real-life situation, but also the colours, the scents, the light. Everything is perfectly as it was back then. Every single detail is true to what we saw.”

Astrid remained silent, and only the sound of her quiet breathing reminded Hiccup that she was still there, listening carefully.

“And then there’s the hut. For some reason, it doesn’t have the Berserkers’ seal on the door, but we don’t care. Dagur hesitates before entering, and I urge him to do it. So he does. But then -” he paused, unable to go on, feeling his heart bang against his chest again. He clenched his fists. “Then it all changes. There are no signs of Oswald. No drawings on the wall, no shield on the floor, no letters for Dagur or Heather. There’s just one letter, addressed to me… and my father’s helmet lying on the ground.”

A tear escaped his eye, leaving a wet trace on his skin, but he paid it no mind.

“Every time I see that scene, I tell myself it’s not true. It’s Oswald who’s gone, not Stoick. It’s Dagur and Heather who must grieve, not me. Still, it is all for nothing; because a part of me knows that my Dad won’t be here forever, either, and that makes me want to scream so much more.”

He lowered his head, so his chin was now touching his armour.

He squeezed his eyes tighter.

“I know it may not happen for a while. My father is a strong, healthy man, and even in danger, he usually knows what he’s doing. But he’s a Viking, right? It’s an occupational hazard to throw yourself into some mess or another, no matter if it’s necessary or not. My Dad is a wise man, and a Chief, so he won’t act recklessly – but we both know that if there was a need for that, he would not hesitate to sacrifice his life in order to protect Berk. And yes, he’s been through a lot worse that some nasty Hunters, and still is in one piece. It may not be for another twenty years before he’s… you know,” Hiccup’s voice trembled a little. “- but I can’t be sure it will be that long, can I?”

Another tear appeared on the Rider’s cheek, and once again, it was disregarded. Hiccup was still breathing deeply; he raised his eyelids a little, just to make sure Astrid was still standing next to him.

“When we’d buried Oswald, I tried to convince Dagur he shouldn’t be too harsh on himself. That he really couldn’t have helped his father, having no idea how and where to find him… That even if he had neglected some things, it didn’t really matter, because Oswald had cared for him as for his son. I told him not to let guilt consume him – but Astrid, if anything ever happened to my Dad, and I knew I could’ve prevented it… If I knew it wouldn’t have happened if I had acted differently, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.”

He wasn’t looking at her any longer.

For all of this time Astrid had remained silent, refraining from making even the slightest noise. She didn’t dare to interrupt the young man’s confession with her answers, knowing that the best way to make him speak was to just stand next to him, and make sure he feels listened to; besides, what was she supposed to tell him in the first place? How could she advise him in a matter so difficult when she’d only heard his tale for the first time?

Still quiet, the girl kept her gaze fixed on him, following his every move, every change of feature, every nerve on his unhappy, tired face. Usually, when he was distressed she tried to ease him with her touch and gentle words; yet, this was different. It wasn’t a time for meaningless pep talks; the casual gestures wouldn’t have worked here. She couldn’t just cup his face and smile at him, or distract him with a peck on his lips. This was serious, and she had to act seriously as well.

At the same time, it felt so wrong to just stand there, so close to him, and do nothing. Even if she knew what to say – and gods knew she didn’t – it would still seem cold and reserved, and if there was one thing she knew, it was that at this point Hiccup needed anything but cold.

After a moment of hesitation, she shifted a little, and reached for his hand, cautiously taking it in hers. To her surprise, Hiccup reacted immediately, gripping it, and making their fingers intertwine. She smiled.

Here goes.

“Your father is a great man, Hiccup,” she whispered, hoping that the boy would answer to the sound of her voice, and turn in her direction; indeed, even though he was still hunching, he had opened his eyes and gave her an uncertain glare. Astrid squeezed his hand. “You’ve said so yourself. He’s not a brainless soldier, who’d risk his life for nothing. He’s smart, and he’s skilled. I’m pretty sure that if we hadn’t managed to back him up with dragons at the Red Death’s island, he would have taken the beast down with his own bare hands.”

Hiccup finally grinned, remembering the day they had defeated the dragons’ Queen. It was a very small grin, but for Astrid it meant more than all the laughter she could get.

Hiccup sighed.

“It still doesn’t make him immortal,” he answered. “I just… I don’t know. I’ve never really thought of it, and now I’m so… overwhelmed by the idea. Just to think that one day I may wake up and find out he’s not there, it feels absurd. I can’t… explain it… But it hurts so much.”

Astrid gave him an understanding smile. “Hiccup, I almost lost my parents once. I can relate.”

That was when he straightened up, and finally looked at her properly.

She’d almost lost her parents.

Of course. How could he not think of that?

“The point is,” he stammered after another long moment of silence. “that I can’t even imagine a life in which my Dad isn’t present. Even considering how bad our relation was for most of the time… I would never have anyone else for my father.”

“And it’s the most natural thing. He’s always been there – you literally don’t know the life without him.”

“Yes, but also… Astrid, when he… goes… with my Mum gone, I will be on my own. I’ll be alone. And I’m not ready for it.”

“You will never be alone, Hiccup. Never. I promise.”

When she said that, she certainly didn’t expect her betrothed to let go of her hand, and fling himself into her arms as a result; and yet, that was exactly what he did. One moment he’d been standing next to her – the next he was burying his head in her shoulder, with his arms wrapped around her petite figure. Again, it was different from any hug they had shared so far; there was no whispering into her ear, no cuddling, no rubbing her back. Just this firm, steady embrace tightening with every passing second.

Taken aback at first, Astrid soon understood her role. She moved her own arms, embracing Hiccup’s neck, and resting her chin on his shoulder. Her hand found its way to his hair quite easily, and Astrid stroked it affectionately.

“Thank you,” she heard him mumble a moment later. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

She smiled again, and ignoring her previous doubts, she kissed the back of his head.

“Any time, Hiccup. Any time.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

Hiccup blinked a few times, trying to fight the tears that were once again welling up in his eyes, feeling one of them flowing down his cheek already. He could hear his friends sniffing, sighing, shifting uncomfortably while wiping their own tears. He could feel Astrid’s stare at the back of his head.

It was so much more than he could bare.

“I’m not the Chief that you wanted me to be. And I’m not the peace keeper I thought I was. I… don’t know...”

It was all his fault. It was him being so foolish, so stubborn, so childish in his belief that he could change the mind of a man such as Drago Bludvist.

After everything he’d been through so far, he should’ve known better than to try.

His mother approached him from behind, and brushed her hand against his hair. He had to do his best to focus on what she was saying, so huge was the heartache he was battling right now; but even if he didn’t believe that her words would change anything for him, he couldn’t just ignore her. He owed her that much.

She spoke about his birth, about how weak he was during his first days; she admitted she was scared, fearing he wouldn’t survive; and finally, she told him what he’d been yearning to hear for as long as he could remember.

“Your father… he never doubted. He always said you’d become the strongest of them all. And he was right.”

She probably didn’t realise how much those words meant to him. Especially the first part.

He didn’t feel any less guilty at this point, and was perfectly aware that he would feel guilty for the rest of his life. It was his fault that his father was no longer there, and nothing his mother would say could take the qualms away. However, it did remind him that no matter how broken he was at the moment, he could not forget about the lot of his people.

Stoick had not only been a father. He’d been a Chief as well.

And the needs of the many outweigh the needs of a few.

The young heir took a few steps forward, fixing his gaze on the flamed ship that was slowly fading from their view.

“I was always so afraid of becoming my Dad. Mostly because I thought I never could. How do you become someone that great? That brave? That… selfless?”

He paused.

“I guess… you can only… try.”

He might have been devastated, but he knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what he had to do.

“A Chief protects his own.”

They had to go back.

As his friends were preparing to leave the island, Hiccup walked down to the misty coast again, staring at the spot in which Stoick’s ship had been. He didn’t want to go just yet. It felt unfair to abandon his father like that, even if there was a great cause for them to do so.

Of course, the reasonable part of him was telling him that the best he could to at the moment was to take care of his tribe, just like his Dad would have done. And he knew he would listen to that part, taking off to Berk as soon as they were ready.

Yet, Hiccup was determined to use every second he had left.

He felt a hand slipping into his, and gentle fingers squeezing it slightly. He turned, and faced Astrid, who was looking at him steadily, with a sight that only bore one message.

You are not alone in this.

“I know I’m not,” he smiled at her weakly, his voice barely a whisper; he tightened his grip on her hand. “Come on, M’lady. Let’s go home.”

#fanfiction #Race to the Edge #hicstrid #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #Stoick the Vast #httyd

[imgoldielikehawn]

Once Mine Always Mine Part 5

I know its been a while lol Forgive me

Enjoy!

WARNING: Abuse... Alcohol use, reference to mental illness

Present day

The steaming water was running over my body as I stood in our walk in shower. My mind kept flashing back to Bruce and me in the bedroom earlier. Sex with him was very different from anyone I had ever been with and before long I found myself biting my lip in anticipation. I got out and dried my hair, my long black tresses we’re long gone but I really wanted to dye it back. When I was seeing the joker I had bleached my hair and dyed the ends several colors. When Bruce found me I had pretty much given up. I had finally grown tired of being the scape goat in The Jokers schemes. I was standing on top of the Wayne Industries building ready to jump and end my life when I was caught by Basty himself. J spent a year trying to get me back before he found her; His new girl, Harley. She was crazy for him, just like I had been. She’d been somewhat normal when he met her but she managed to weasel her way into his heart. I suppose there would always be bitterness about someone else being with J, but that’s what happens when the love of your life is beyond sane reasoning. You don’t try to bring them back; you go over the edge with them.

 I got dressed and headed into the bedroom so I could manage my books before going to work tonight. I still ran my club against Bruce’s caution. We came to a compromise and we both decided that I could keep my club if I picked up a side hobby that allowed me to use my brain in a positive way. So I went back to school as a scientist I couldn’t choose a major so I opted for a new my old one and a new one. Being the crazy person I am I started i wonder how I really got this way so I took up psychology. I did most of my classes online, even with my crime history but transcripts were “extensively impressive” as my acceptance letter stated. So I got in without a hitch.

 I won’t sit here and say that everything about my new life was picture perfect because it was far from it. The first six months of mine and Bruce’s time together was miserable for everyone except Alfred. He was the only person I trusted. I was twelve feet deep into the loony bin when Bruce took me in, if you could call it that. He kept me locked up downstairs in his cave. I tried to kill him several times, unable to ignore my loyalty to The Joker. I refused to eat or drink anything for the first week and I didn’t trust The Bat at all. I also suffered from terrible nightmares which made sleep impossible. Alfred convinced The Bat to take of his mask and outfit and seeing Bruce is what finally won me over.

I had my days though; when the nightmares would return and I would wonder what J was doing, but that was before he got with her. Now I didn’t need to wonder he was back to his crazy ways with a new partner in crime and with Bruce being the one to chase him around I always had a current play by play. J didn’t know about me, he thought I was dead and that’s exactly how it was going to stay. Being treated like a rag doll for so long by J had really ruined my idea of love. I don’t even know what to call what we had. Torture? Now that I had been away from J for some time I could finally see myself the way others did and I was far from proud.

 I sighed and started typing of my paper for class when the voices started again.

 “You can’t ignore who you are forever!” They hissed.

“I’m not ignoring it, that was never who I was. it was someone I pretended to be!” I huffed.

“He needed you and you just abandoned him!” They were getting louder.     

 “He didn’t want us, he didn’t even love us and after everything I did for him!” they were starting to get to me and I could hear their anger creep into my voice.

 “Don’t you miss Mistah J? We know you do…” I got up from my desk and went to the closet. I kept everything from my time with The Joker inside a box hidden in the back. Turning on the light I walked inside and closed the door behind me. The box was red and black with one of my many nicknames from the joker “Doll Face” written on it. My hands trembled as I lifted the lid. The first thing that caught my eye was my favorite red stilettos that J had purchased for me. The heels were golden and the insides were black. I sifted through the bottom of the box and found the one thing I had been looking for. A red and black jacket embroidered with the words “Property of The Joker” the jacket matched my tattoo on my hip. I held on to the Jacket and lost myself in its memories.

   PAST

 “Why are you doing this to me?” I cried with my gun in hand. Id pissed him off as usual but it was only because he’d pissed me off first. He’d cut me off after two months; didn’t even come by the club to check on things. He’d been sending frost and I was finally fed up with it.

“You think you can just sleep with me and toss me away. I’ve given you everything!” I said through clenched teeth.

“You haven’t given me anything I didn’t already have!” he walked up to me and pushed the gun I held aside, cupping my face in his tattooed hand.

 “I just want to be with you and only you.” I whined through his palm.

“I don’t want you Doll, I’m done playing with you. I’m not even real. I’m just something you invented in your head!” he grinned that silver grin that sends shivers to my intimate places.

“Please, play with me. I’m bored.” I stuck my lip out.

“I don’t have time for you stupid little girl!” he flung my head to the side and walked away. I watched him put his gold jacket on over his white shirt.

“Why not, you used to have time for me.” I could feel the anger starting to rise in my chest.

“Because, you’re insane!” he stuffed his guns into the holsters under his jacket and smoothed down his green hair.

“YOU MADE ME THIS WAY!” I screamed and put a bullet into the mirror he was staring at.

“THERE YOU GO! ALWAYS FINDING NEW WAYS TO PISS ME OFF!” he turned around slowly while he screamed, yanking his jacket down.

“Well what do you expect me to do? I’m not asking for the world Mistah J, I just wanna be yours but you won’t let me! You’re actin like ya don’t even care!” I cried desperately.

 “It’s not an act Doll Face; I don’t care about anything but ME!” With those cold words he walked right past me and out of the front door.  

 I ran outside after him into the cold winter air but he was already gone. Jumping in my personal vehicle decided to find a place where I could binge drink in shame with no witnesses. What I didn’t know is that I would be doing a lot of shameful things shortly.

   When I got home I locked the doors and drew the shades, I was embracing the darkness that was growing inside and making sure the outside matched its intensity. I crawled out of my fancy shoes and clothes finding a T-shirt and slippers. Tossing my hair in a ponytail I flopped down on my couch and found something to watch, with a bottle of whiskey by my side. The first shot slid down my throat like venom but after the third one I forwent the glass and drank from the bottle. I didn’t drink often, my father was a drunk and I owned a club. Being fully aware was very important when there were people out to get you twenty-four seven. I just wanted pretend for a few hours I wasn’t miserable over some green haired criminal who wanted nothing to do with me. I just wanted someone to share in my misery with. Was that so wrong?  

“Of course it is!” I answered my own question out loud.

I pushed my black framed glasses back up to the bridge of my nose and frowned at the near empty bottle. Is this was my future with The Joker, why on earth did I want one so badly. My rational thought was dissipating with every drink and before long I started to wonder if I could survive without him. The real question was did I want to? How far would I go?

Sighing I brought the bottle to my lips once more downing the last few drops. Groaning I got up from my couch to hunt down another one.

   Present

 I lowered the jacket from my face and laid it gently back into the box, closed the box and put it back in its hiding spot. There were so many things running through my head as I closed the closet door behind me. I would never love another man as much as him. I would never allow myself to depend on someone as much as him and I certainly would never compromise myself ever again for any man either. I quickly slipped into my dress and black stilettos and headed downstairs. I needed to get out of here, id been cooped up in the manor for too long. Bruce didn’t know but I kept one of my old flats…. I needed time away.

I just hope he’d would understand

#joker fanfiction #the joker #joker smut #joker fandom #harley quinn #dc comics #bruce wayne #bat #jared leto #margot robbie #christian bale #sexy #pictures #Audrey #she demon #Followme #hurts #alcohol #abuse #suicide squad

[xwubzxbubzx]

Important Instructions

NSFW.Post-canon. Stancest. Hand jobs, masturbation, intercrural sex. 2.2k.

No one asked, yet they shall receive anyway.

Stan forgets how to take care of himself. Ford lends a hand.

The boat is rocking, gentle and soothing, tethered to port. It tugs at the rope tying it down as if begging to be free. Inside, the cabin is dark but watery moonlight seeps in front the edge of the covered porthole.

“Sixer.”

Ford rolls over, mumbling in his sleep. The humidity has caused his hair to frizz further and the sheet to stick to his body.

“Come on, Ford.” Louder this time, a warm hand touches his arm.

Ford throws an arm over his head, trying to block out the noise. He makes a disgruntled sound.

“Stanford!” It is yelled into Ford’s ear. He jerks up, barely able to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. His eyes blink open wearily and he focuses on Stan.

“What is it?” Ford is weary from a hard day’s work. He wants to sleep.

Without his glasses, Stan is fuzzy around the edges but there is unmistakeable redness in his cheeks, bright splashes of colour on his skin. “Ford, uh, I – I need your help.” His voice is high and cracking with embarrassment.

Ford does not have the patience for this, they have to be up at dawn tomorrow to set sail, to finally go on their adventure. “With what?” He snaps.

Stan makes a slight gesture to the lower half of his body. Ford can barely make out the jut of something sticking out from his boxers. His brother’s erection. He feels a little faint. “What do you want me to do?” He sounds more nervous than Stanley.

“Fix it.” Stan is blushing to his ears. Ford blanches.

“You – That is quite inappropriate; I mean, very, very inappropriate. Why is this even coming up now?”

Stan is staring at him. “Did you just make a pun?”

Ford gives him a withering look in response.

“Well, kinda. It’s happened before but they’ve gone away. This thing’s been like that for ages.”

“And why haven’t you gotten rid of it?” Ford feels like he’s in the twilight zone, or asleep. This is one of the weirder nightmare. He pinches himself to make sure.

“That’s what I was trying to say before you interrupted me, Ford. I don’t know how!” Stan sounds irritated and angry. His cock has been erect for a painfully long time.

Ford pauses. “You don’t know how?” He repeats, trying to grasp the meaning behind those words.

“I mean, I don’t remember!” He taps his head meaningfully, “I’ve only been around for a week and the important stuff has come back. This wasn’t part of it. Christ, I feel like I’m gonna die. You gotta help me.” Stan is clearly desperate. “Wait, it’s not like a disease or anything?”

“Calm down, Stanley. This is a completely normal occurrence.” He feels a sudden and overwhelming sympathy for his father, who sat them down for a very enlightening talk when they were 12 and were going through bed sheets a little too quickly. This is perhaps even worse than being on the receiving end. “Your body is aroused.”

Stan looks at him uncomprehendingly, like he did when he first saw him after being shot with the memory-gun. Shit. Maybe he should start at the beginning.

“Stan, do you know where children come from?”

“Pregnant ladies.” Stan says this slowly, like he’s only just being reminded of it.

“And how do people get pregnant?”

Stan hesitates, his face goes slack for a moment and a light shines in his eyes. “Oh. Okay, I remember that but what has that gotta do with what’s going on right now. I don’t see any women here.”

Ford puts his head in his hands. “You— you have to touch yourself.” He is proud that his voice neither wavers nor brakes.

“Ford, I’m always touching myself.” The naïve innocence is not a show.

Ford can’t find it within himself to laugh, the humour is muddied by something dark inside him that eager to tarnish and debase. He tries to draw on his last reserve of sanity and strength and takes a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant; you have to take your hand and grip the base of it.” He then mimes the universal sign for jerking off, a loose hold and a twitch of his wrists. It is lewd and puerile, he doesn’t think he’s ever had to do that before.

Stan slips a hand into his boxers, hand circling his dick—

“In private! My god.” Ford is covering his eyes but he’s left a gap between his fingers. He doesn’t think about why he did that.

“Ford, I get that this a— a taboo thing, I think? But I really don’t know what’s going on and I’d like your help. Can you teach me?” Stan sounds vulnerable, uncharacteristically sincere. It wears away at the last remnant of Ford’s self-control.

“Okay, just do it, Stanley.” His voice trembles a little bit. He’s said it, it’s out. It’s done. There’s nothing else he can do. It doesn’t really calm him.

He leans on his elbow and watches Stanley try to masturbate. His brother’s tongue is sticking out beneath his teeth, glistening. His head is cocked to the side, he is focused but muscle memory isn’t taking over. His stance is wrong, close legged and awkward. His hold is too light, it only fuels the fire, doesn’t quench it. Obviously, sexual needs have not been one of Stan’s priorities in the past 30 years. He feels a swell of guilt.

“It’s not working.” Stan is frustrated, close to tears. Stanley, who trusts him, who needs him to take care of him right now. He has to do this. He inhales. Once. Twice. He can do this.

“Listen to me.” He is surprised with himself. His voice is pitched heavy and low, a slow rumble at the bottom of his chest. “Spread your legs a little, brace yourself against the top bunk and—” He pauses, digging out the tube of lubricant he’s kept under the pillow, “use this.”

He slips into the role of an instructor, a teacher with a disconcerting ease.

Stan seems to calm at his words, tension leaving his shoulders as he listens to his brother. Ford senses a small vibration, Stan is leaning against the thin frame of the beds, his weight resting on his left forearm. His head is bent, tucked into the space formed by his bent elbow, lube held in the other hand. “This okay, Sixer?”

Ford shifts, sitting up; he can see more of Stanley this way. He wants to stop himself, Stan is coming to him in a moment of vulnerability but he has always been a little too selfish. Or altruistic. Depending on how one looked at it. “Take off your shirt.” His voice betrays none of his internal debate, firm and strong.

Stan looks up at him, hair partially obscuring his eyes and complies. He hands Ford the tube, wordlessly asking him to hold it. Their fingers graze against each other. The worn night-shirt is pulled off with sultry slowness revealing the curve of Stan’s stomach, the warm expanse of his chest, and the tight buds of his peaked nipples. It lands in a heap on the floor at Stan’s feet. The first thing he notices is that flush on Stan’s cheeks extends down to his chest, the next is that the cloth pushed out  by his brother’s dick is darker than the surrounding fabric – damp.

“Better?” Stan says sotto voce, unwilling to disturb the heat building between them.

“Yes, Stanley. Now pull down your boxers, after that extend your hand. Then resume the original position I asked you to take”

A warm curl of arousal causes his abdomen to twitch as Stan obeys, exposing the wet, purpled glans of his dick. His hand nudges Ford’s legs, the backs of his fingers trailing up the calf of one of his crossed legs. Ford takes the tube and squeezes, watching as the thick liquid collects on his brother’s palm, a melting mound, thicker and shinier than water.

“Rub it between your palms, it’s going to be too cold otherwise.”

Stan nods, and the squelch of his palms slipping against each other is erotic and obscene. Ford’s pants are tight. He has an idea, Stan may be a more visual learner. He uncaps the tube again, and the sound causes Stan to focus up.

“Do what I do.” He whispers and begins to jerk himself off slowly, gliding his hand up and down his own length, more of a tease than an actual caress. Stan does not look away.

“Ah— Ah, this feels good, Sixer. But it’s still – fuck – not enough.”

Ford slips off the bed, and Stan jerks slightly in surprise. He crowds up behind him and closes his fist around his brother’s hand and guides. Practical instruction is where Stan excels, he should have realised this earlier. He kisses the shell of Stan’s ear. “See. It’s not that hard, Stanley.”

“I swear if you make another fucking pun, I’ll kill ya.” He sounds lust hazed and his words slur together. Anger reducing into soft edged lust and need.

When Ford laughs, Stan can feel the vibrations in his chest. He can also feel the feel the press of his dick, rubbing against his ass. Unthinking, he rolls back on it and Ford moans, hot and filthy in his ear.

Ford is stroking Stan faster, smooth friction around him. The heat of his palm is other-worldly. Stan is sure this is far better than anything he could do to himself.

“Come on, Stan. You’re almost there.” Ford is panting into his brother’s ear. “Move your hips a little.”

“Y-yeah. Christ.” Stan can’t help but listen, moving with a primal need that transcends thought. Ford twists at the head, he keeps each movement of his hands short and tight, attention concentrated entirely on it and not the rest of the shaft. Stan is groaning in either complaint or arousal, Ford does not know. But he feels a tremble against his chest and Stan ruts forward, fucking into his hand. His ass tightens with each thrust, muscles in his back rippling.

Ford’s hands are wet with pre-come, sweat and lube. Stan has descended into madness and continues to move with him. They move in tandem, communicating in half-repressed moans and deep sighs. Ford has never before wanted anything to last forever but it is not to be. Stan’s breath shudders in suddenly, like he’s been punched, and he’s coming in hot spurts all over Ford’s hand. He collapses against the bed.

Ford keeps rubbing until his brother is whining with over-sensitivity. He then takes his seed spattered hand and rubs it into the space right below Stan’s balls, lubricating it. Ford is still hard. He undoes his zip and frees his erection.

“Close your legs tight.” He pushes the tip of his dick into the channel between Stan’s thighs and rocks forward. “Oh—”

“Holy shit, Sixer.”

He leans back and watched his dick disappear inside the press of Stanley’s skin, rubbing against his hole. He puts one hand on Stan’s back, a wordless command ensuring his brother will not move. “You can – ah – get off in many different ways, Stan. I don’t think you know that. Not anymore.”

The thick material of his pants must be harsh against the thin skin of Stan’s thighs. He can see the reddened impression of where the metal of his zipper must have pressed against Stan’s ass. It feels satisfying, to be fully clothed while Stan is bare before him.

“Mm… I don’t think I’ve ever been happier that I lost my memory. This feels so good.” Stan’s words are muffled as his face is pushed into the mattress.

Ford is certain that Stan can’t be hard. “Why – Nngh – do you like this?”

“I dunno. I just, I like this. Like being beneath you, close to you.”

A tightness unspools itself inside Ford, a tension is lifted. But he has to be sure. “You want this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I always have.” Stan then squeezes his legs and oh god it is glorious. Ford cannot control himself, he doesn’t think he’s mean to. He grips Stan’s hips tightly, thrusting shallowly as he rides out his orgasm.

He slips out from Stan and lies down next to him.

“I feel sticky, Ford. Fix it.” Stan complains, endearingly childish. His teeth bright as he grins.

Ford reaches for Stan’s crumpled shirt before thinking better of it. He falls to his knees between Stan’s legs. “I can do that but are you sure you’re ready for another lesson?” He’s smiling against the fragile, tacky skin on the inside of Stan’s thighs.

“You know me, Sixer. Always ready to learn something new.”

They don’t sleep much that night.

It’s amazing how much you want to write when you’re running from your problems.

On ao3.

#mild virginity kink #dom/sub undertones #stancest #incest tw #5 #my fic #my fanfic #Stanford pines #Stanley pines #gr/av/ity f//alls wb

[shannsleeve]

Fantastic Reasons & Where to Find Them

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read the first two chapters! It warms my heart and inspires me to keep going. Also, if you’d like to be tagged in updates, please reply to this post. Enjoy chapters 3 & 4! :)

Again, @teacup-occamy, thank you for the support! <3

Tagging: @sowerewolfglitter, @dorkwolf-nightmare

Note: Fic is canon compliant and follows the plot of the film.

TW: anxiety, panic attacks, depression, panic disorder

CHAPTER 3

Tap-tap-tap.

A cold breeze wafted through a small London flat, bringing with it the refreshing smell of rain and a touch of frost. The flat was composed of one bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room with a kitchenette in the far-left corner. Two large windows, one in the bedroom and the other next to the kitchenette, offered the only light in the flat, and it was dim at best. It was fairly clean, except for the massive stacks of parchment and books that littered the living room floor. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar but no one occupied the pristinely made bed at the center. In fact, several layers of dust covered the pillows and duvet. It was clear that the bed hadn’t been disturbed in some time.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Outside the living room window hovered Reginald. He carried a small parcel in his beak and was frantically clawing at the windowpane. He was tired, hungry, and ready to give his mum a good, hard peck for taking so long to let him in.

“Five more minutes!” Feather groaned from beneath a tent of teal cushions. She was sprawled out on a teal love seat, her left leg thrown carelessly over the back and her right arm laying in a strange angle on the wooden floor. “This time…for sure…”

TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!

“UGH! FINE!” she growled while forcing herself upright, causing the cushion tent to collapse around her. She glared at the front door as if her gaze could magic away whomever or whatever was causing such a disturbance. However, after a few more tense seconds, the door neither swung open nor did another knock sound from behind it. “The hell?”

TAP-TAP—

“Oh shit! Reginald!” Feather did her best to detangle herself from the remaining cushions before crawling towards the window. She offered her messenger an apologetic smile as she unlatched the pane. “Sorry, love. It’s been a rough week…”

Reginald alighted on Feather’s hand and dropped the parcel into her palm. He looked up at her expectantly, deciding that two owl treats would be compensation enough for his hard work. His mum looked exhausted and he wasn’t in the mood to peck someone who didn’t have their wits about them.

“All right, you bugger. Two treats.” Feather ran a finger down Reginald’s back and grabbed two owl treats from the inner pocket of her robes. She scrunched up her nose at the sour smell that emanated from the pocket. Right. She hadn’t changed clothes in two days…or was it three? She reached into her other pocket, searching for her wand but, after a few moments, she stopped. A proper shower would be better than a magical one.

“But first…” she murmured, grasping the parcel in her left palm. “All right, Reg, let’s take a look at Tina’s answer.” She inhaled deeply then slowly exhaled, counting aloud until she ran out of breath. “Three-two-one…here we go.” After extracting the envelope from the parcel, she broke the seal and began to read.

Feather,

It’s good to hear from you. Queenie and I are so sorry things haven’t been going well. We would love to have you stay with us for as long as you need. I’m sure we will see you within the next week or so. Your old bed will be ready for you when you get here. Also, Queenie thought you might need something to cheer you up. Enjoy!

Tina Goldstein

Feather’s cheeks burned. She couldn’t remember the last time such a wide smile graced her face. And…were those tears? Yes! Tears! She reached up to wipe her wet cheeks, stifling a small giggle.

“Goodness. I never thought it’d feel this good to…to…cry…” Her watery gaze came to rest on the Goldstein sisters’ gift. In a few moments, the parcel was unwrapped and Feather was staring at the most beautiful almond strudel she’d ever seen in her life. It was covered in a thin layer of icing sugar and two apple roses. For the first time since her stay at St. Mungo’s, she felt hungry and willing to eat. “Thanks, Queenie,” she breathed, taking a moment to silently thank any deity that would listen for her generous friends. “So, Reginald, what do you think? Food first and then a shower or the other way ‘round?”

Reginald didn’t answer; instead, Feather was greeted by his soft snores. “All right, shower it is.” She patted him on the head, placed a slow Warming Charm on the strudel, and made her way to the bathroom where a hot shower awaited her. Her little messenger boy would need all the rest he could get before she bought her ticket.

CHAPTER 4

It took a day or two for Feather to secure the steamboat ticket. Her departure was set for the end of the week. Barely able to contain her excitement and anxiety, she spent several days trying to keep herself busy (and calm) by packing and unpacking her suitcase, and dusting and re-dusting the furniture in her flat. She was quite sure that Reginald, who often perched on the back of the teal love seat to watch her furious cleaning, was suffering from whiplash. His head hadn’t stopped turning left and right since he delivered her ticket. The day before her departure, a fluffy white owl arrived bearing an envelope with the Goldstein seal and Queenie’s neat, loopy script.  

Tina lost her job at MACUSA’s Major Investigative Department. According to Queenie, her sister intervened during an altercation between Muggles – a mother and son – in front of a large group of their friends, devoted followers of some sort of cult. Needless to say, the Obliviation process was far more trouble than it was worth. Tina was demoted to Queenie’s department, MACUSA’s Typing Pool at the Federal Wand Permit Office, and struggled to take her new position in stride. Feather wrote back, offering her condolences, a big hug, and a promise to make Tina’s favorite dessert when she arrived – pumpkin-apple pasties. She sent Queenie’s owl, Charlie, and Reginald back to New York together with her reply. She felt better knowing that her little messenger would be safe until she arrived.

About a week later, Feather stood on the edge of the world, grateful to finally be far away from the place she called home. Several years had passed since she’d travelled anywhere outside of England, especially by boat. The moment she stepped aboard she was determined to make the best of the journey, and now at its end, she allowed herself to be a bit…whimsical. She stood on the railing at the prow of the steamboat, arms outstretched towards the horizon. Her eyes were tightly shut against the sunlight and a small smile graced her face as the salt spray hit her lips. Perhaps she looked silly but it really didn’t matter. Freedom, in this moment, was much more important. She had been standing here for quite some time, enjoying the rise and fall of the boat as it cut through the crests of the Atlantic. So far Feather was able to balance on the rail. The boat hadn’t hit any large crests and she was fairly proud of her ability to stand without any extra support; but, just as all good things begin, they must come to an end.  

A giant crest appeared over the edge of the rail, right in front of the ship’s prow.

“Oh bloody—“

At the impact of the crest and the prow, Feather toppled off the railing, flapping and screaming all the while. She landed on the wooden deck with a resounding BOOM! that startled several passengers who were taking a stroll about the ship.

“Oh my, child! Are you all right?”

An elderly woman with wispy grey hair and a thin, reedy voice rushed to her side. She frantically grabbed Feather’s arm, attempting to pull her up. Rather than bearing Feather’s weight to help her stand, the old woman did quite the opposite. Feather grit her teeth against the sharp pain of having her arm almost dislocated by this misguided good Samaritan.

“Y-Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” she gasped. She gently laid her hand over the old woman’s and patted it. “Just need a moment to catch my breath.”

The old woman nodded and squeezed Feather’s hand in return. “Be more careful, dear. You have so much life to live.”

A cold shock jolted up Feather’s spine at her words. She turned her head, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Those were the last words she expected anyone to say.

“Thank you.”

With another squeeze of Feather’s hand, the old woman turned and hobbled away.

The young witch’s gaze followed her retreating form. How could this woman possibly have known? A lump rose in her throat as her eyes began to water. Her body violently lurched forward and she put out her hands just in time to stop herself from hitting the deck face first. She barely noticed the creak of the floorboards as another person knelt down beside her.

“Um…hello.”

The voice was soft, gentle, and hesitant as if the owner feared to speak any louder in case he frightened her. He.

Feather’s head shot up and her eyes immediately locked with a pair of green ones. The lump in her throat grew to an unbearable size and a suffocating tightness spread across her chest. She couldn’t find her voice; it vanished, along with her ability to breathe normally. She heard the gasps before she felt them, a familiar tearing sensation in her chest as if her lungs were fighting to break free from their bone cage. In a matter of seconds, the tearing and the gasping increased – her body’s vain attempt to bring in more oxygen. She lost contact with the pair of brilliant green eyes and forced herself to stare at the weather worn deck.

“Miss!”

A pair of hands firmly grasped her shoulders. They were gentle, just like his voice, and sturdy.

“Help…”

A series of images bombarded her vision – a mop of soft, thick hair woven loosely through her fingers; a red box covered in silver script; the dark October sky stretched out into infinity before the handle of her broomstick; the girl with the fierce, piercing voice screaming at the top of her lungs about how worthless and useless she was.

“Please…” Feather rasped. She reached up to grasp one of the hands on her shoulders. She held on as if his hand were the only thing tethering her to the ship and the reality that was quickly slipping away. He was her life line now, whether he liked it or not. “Please…count…for…me…”

She half expected him to push her away and start running like so many others had done. Thus, when he leaned in close and quietly began counting, Feather almost laughed aloud in disbelief.

“One-two-three-four.”

Feather squeezed his hand a little tighter, trying to ground herself further in the moment. If she was going to get through this episode, it was time to focus.

“Five-six-seven-eight...”

The cadence of his voice was steady and strangely comforting, like the rocking of the ship in the dead of night.

“…fifteen-sixteen-seventeen-eighteen...”

Feather forced her breathing to match the steady rhythm.  Every number corresponded with one breath. Soon enough the gasping slowed and the tightness in her chest began to fade.

“…twenty-eight-twenty-nine-thirty…”

She released his hand, finally able to ground herself without needing a tangible anchor. With every intake of air, she felt her lungs expand normally. Her vision cleared and she no longer saw the images that haunted her nightmares.

“…thirty-eight-thirty-nine-forty.”

“That’s enough,” Feather murmured, turning to fully look upon his face for the first time. A shock of messy copper red hair fell over his forehead, almost concealing the bridge of his nose and the crests of his cheeks. Most of his face was covered in freckles and a few sunburns. He wore a blue wool overcoat with an upturned collar, a finely pressed, fully buttoned white dress shirt, and a brown tweed vest. A thin blue bowtie completed his ensemble. He was strikingly handsome in a shy, boyish sort of way. “Thank you. Would you mind helping me stand?”

He met her gaze cautiously and offered her his arm. “Of course.”

Once Feather was back on her feet, she saw that a crowd had gathered around her and the young man. Men, women, and children whispered furiously amongst themselves, casting furtive, frightened glances their way.

She lifted her hands in mock surrender before them. “It’s all right, ladies and gentlemen. Just a mild emotional episode. Nothing to worry about. I thank you for your concern but—“

“There were sparks shootin’ out ya pocket!” cried a little boy standing at the front of the crowd. He pointed a chubby finger at Feather and looked around with a sly toothy grin, daring anyone to challenge what he saw.  “Look! She got a hole in it now!”

Feather’s hand dove into her coat pocket. To her dismay, the little boy was correct. A large hole was burned through it revealing the stub of her steamboat ticket and the end of her wand.

“Merlin’s bloody left sock,” she muttered, grasping the handle of her wand.

“Must have been the firecrackers, eh, Molly?”

Feather started at the young man’s voice. “What?”

He was looking at her, nodding slowly, hand also in his coat pocket. “The firecrackers Gran gave you for your birthday. I told you to put those in your case.”

“O-Oh yes,” she sputtered, finally catching on. “You were right, as usual, Frank. You know me though…just couldn’t wait to s-see them.” She took her hand out of her pocket and became very fascinated in smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in her coat, trying not to groan aloud. Acting was NOT one of her strong suits.

“Well, Molly, I think we should be going, don’t you?” He leaned in close and whispered, “On ‘three’ we’ll Obliviate them. I’ll give you a hand.”

“Are you sure it’ll be enough with just the two of us?”

A playful, confident smile danced on his lips. “I’m sure it will be.” He took her arm, leading her toward the middle of the crowd. The people scuttled apart like bugs, all except for the plucky little boy. When Feather and her companion pushed past him, he jumped on her and viciously pulled on her torn pocket.

“LOOK! SEE!” he cried, yanking the fabric until the pocket ripped off completely. The ticket stub fell to the floor. Luckily, Feather grabbed her wand before it also clattered to the ground.

“Hey! Get off!” She shoved the boy away and pointed the wand at his chest.

He stumbled backward, tripping over his feet. She cast a silent Oblivate on him just before he hit the deck. And, just as quickly, she slid her wand into the sleeve of her coat.

The boy lay on his back, staring at the sky, dazed. He slowly sat up, wincing when his hand met the back of his head. “W-what happened…?”

Frantic murmurs spread throughout the remnants of the crowd who stayed to watch what conspired between Feather and the boy. In a matter of seconds, they surrounded Feather and her companion, pushing and shoving and demanding answers for the boy’s sudden bout of amnesia.

“I guess we should just say that’s ‘three,’ then?” Her companion raised his wand and looked at her pointedly, his eyes twinkling beneath his messy hair.

Feather felt her cheeks grow warm. She drew her wand. “I suppose so.”

#fbawtft #fbawtft fanfiction #fantastic beasts and where to find them #newt scamander #tw: anxiety #tw: panic attack #tw: panic disorder #tw: depression #fantastic reasons and where to find them