#Pit of Unmentionables

[seecarrun]

Eddie wakes up on the lawn outside of the collapsed Niebolt house, wet, exhausted, covered in unmentionably gross slime, dirt, and grime, annoyed, relieved, and possibly most concerning, alone.

He doesn’t remember anything after throwing the fence post to save Richie, which is also incredibly concerning, but he can’t fathom worrying about the gap in his memory and the whereabouts of his friends until he’s at least had a nice, long, hot shower.

The Townhouse is empty and quiet when he gets there, which unfortunately isn’t too surprising, so he doesn’t hang out under the spray quite as long as he wants, and once he’s out, he puts on the most socially acceptable comfortable clothes he has.

It’s only as he’s pulling his cell phone out of the plastic baggie he stuck it in before they went into the sewers again, that he hears some muted commotion downstairs in the lobby and allows himself a sigh of relief. The Losers are okay, which means he can be justifiably pissed at them for abandoning him outside of Niebolt.

“Hey you assholes,” he snaps, stomping down the stairs. All of their heads immediately snap to him at the top of the stairs, their eyes wide. “What’s the big fucking idea, leaving me at Niebolt, huh?” he demands, crossing his arms in a huff.

“E-Eddie…?” Bill gasps.

Next to him, Richie immediately pukes, and then promptly falls to the ground, fainting.

Oh, Eddie thinks to himself, a pit opening up in his stomach.

Something is very wrong here.

#reddie #if you squint lol #car’s fanfiction #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter two #this would be fun to finish someday maybe #losers club

[spiribia]

i think minecraft is one of the cutest games to watch people play with each other. you are just collaboratively building a house with your friends that you can live together in. and also making an unmentionable pit of virtual cow suffering that everybody feels almost morally bad about 

#talks #and like you know how this feels because everybody knows this

[dragonsarecool]

Whumptober Day 4 - Hidden Injury

Four: Hidden Injury

A/N: Set a few weeks after 'Explorers on the Moon'

"Are you sure you're not coming, Captain?" Tintin finished tying his shoelaces, gazing up at his friend. "It really is a great market! Some of the stall food is to die for-"

"No thank you! I've had enough of traipsing around for a while," Haddock flipped over the page in his newspaper, his gaze firmly focused on the words in front of him.

Tintin let out an exasperated sigh. "Captain, it's been four weeks since we came back from the moon. You can't stay at Marlinspike forever-"

"Are you sure about that?! I think going to the moon made me realise why I hate travelling - because we somehow almost always get killed! So, no thank you, lad!" The Captain ruffled his newspaper for emphasis. "I'm going to stay on my couch and enjoy my country air."

"There is air at the market as well, Captain, and plenty of it," Tintin smirked. "But if you're sure-"

"Believe me, Tintin, I am sure! I am not budging from this seat! And nothing is going to make me change my mind!"

Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, Tintin nodded and opened the front door. "Just make sure to look after Snowy while I'm gone, okay?"

"Of course, Tintin!" Haddock lowered his newspaper to look at the young man. "But why isn't he going with you?"

"As I told you yesterday, Captain," Tintin buttoned up the front of his coat, "it's a pet-free market. Besides, I think he's rather comfortable where he is, wouldn't you agree?"

The Captain scowled as he looked below his newspaper. Snowy had taken up residence on his lap almost as soon as he'd sat down for his morning coffee, and was now currently engaged in licking his tail clean. "Er…yes, well, t-that's another reason I'm not going-"

"Goodbye, Captain! I'll be back for dinner!" Tintin pulled the front door closed, his laughter muffled through the glass.

Haddock shook his head fondly as he gave Snowy a brief scratch behind the ears. "I'd rather you were a cat, but at least you're clean."

Leaning back into the couch, the Captain resumed his examination of the newspaper, enjoying the faint sounds of morning birdsong. Why Tintin had decided to make a trip to Brussels this early in the morning for a market, of all things, was beyond him. Regardless, he was glad the younger man still maintained a thirst for travelling, even if was only a local day trip.

Haddock glanced over at the clock. It was just after eight AM, and the sunlight streaming through the front windows was already quite bright. He lowered his gaze to Snowy, who had progressed to licking his unmentionables, and Haddock instantly regretted looking. "You, my friend, have nine hours to get off my lap and do yer business elsewhere."

Snowy grunted in reply, and continued his morning hygiene.

*******

Luckily, for Haddock's sanity, Snowy had indeed removed himself from his lap. Granted, he would've let the faithful dog stay longer if were not for the protests of his bladder.

And besides, he needed that lunchtime whiskey.

While the Captain was aware that Tintin did occasionally get distracted while he was out, he'd come to admire the young man's sense of punctuality. On the other hand, however, the lad also had an unfortunate habit of being kidnapped while running his daily errands. The last time it had happened, Tintin hadn't returned until well after midnight, and had in fact fainted outside the front door.

So when the clock struck nine that evening and there had been no phone calls from Tintin, the gnawing pit of worry in his stomach continued to fester. Haddock perched himself in the front living room, sipping a bottle of whiskey in the hopes it would calm his nerves. Snowy had seemed to sense his distress, for the pup had taken up residence on a cushion next to Haddock.

Despite being incredibly worried, the dull patter of the rain on the windowpanes was enough to send Haddock into a light doze. Snowy, however, remained vigilantly fixated on the front door, his tail wagging with impatience.

The clock ticked over to ten thirty, the faint chime ringing through the empty hall.

As if on cue, the front door squeaked as it slowly opened, causing Snowy to let out a bark as he jumped off the couch and ran to greet his master.

Haddock shot up, pretending as if he'd never fallen asleep. "Blistering barnacles, Tintin, you know how to give an old man a fright!"

But when he finished rubbing his eyes and saw the state of the young man who collapsed through the doorway, his mouth quickly fell open. Haddock threw himself off the couch and sprinted to his friend, his concern mounting every second.

Snowy was barking furiously at a semi-conscious Tintin, who was struggling to lift his head off the ground. The young man was absolutely drenched, his thick brown coat having turned several shades darker as it was plastered to his skin. A giant bruise was forming on his left cheek, and Haddock noticed he was sporting an impressive, albeit very swollen black eye. His upper lip seemed to be split, a trail of blood creeping down his mouth and onto his sweater.

What worried the Captain the most, however, was the suspicious stain on Tintin's sweater that he was wrapping his arms around.

It took Haddock a few attempts to force his mouth to work. "Tintin! Blistering barnacles, what the hell happened?!"

"…Captain, I-" Tintin grimaced. "…I'm s-sorry I'm late…"

If Tintin hadn't looked like a walking corpse, Haddock thought he would've laughed. He grabbed the young man by the shoulders and held him upright, quickly realising that despite the multiple layers of clothing, Tintin was shivering. "Thundering typhoons, lad, I couldn't care what time you walk through the door! But what on Earth happened?!"

"…I-It's nothing, Captain…" Tintin gasped, seemingly unable to focus.. "…J-Just a disagreement, o-only a couple of punches—"

"A disagreement?! Lad, you look as though you got thrown off a roof!" Haddock placed his palm against Tintin's forehead, biting his lip in worry. "And yer developin' a fever already! Lad, you were only gone for a few hours!"

The fact that Tintin didn't laugh was immediately a cause for concern. The reporter weakly went to wipe his mouth on his sleeve, only for his arm to fall limply at his side.

Haddock watched in horror as Tintin's eyes rolled backwards, his battered body falling through Haddock's arms onto the carpet.

"NESTOR!" The Captain bellowed, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Nestor, call a doctor!"

The faithful butler came flying down the grand staircase, still carrying his feather duster from the evening chores. His eyes widened at the sight of a bloodied and beaten Tintin lying in his master's arms, and instantly sprinted towards the nearest telephone.

Haddock wrapped one of Tintin's arms around his shoulders, ignoring the searing pain that appeared in his spine as he tried to hoist the young man off the ground. Snowy continued to bark at his master's feet, which made navigating the unconscious man to the couch without stepping on the loyal animal a challenge.

The Captain groaned as he lowered Tintin onto the couch, placing a pillow behind his head. In the light of the living room he could better see the young man's injuries, and his stomach churned as he realised there was much more blood on Tintin's face than he first realised. He felt along the side of the younger man's neck, wincing at the lump his fingers danced across. Don't tell me he's going to have another concussion…

Tintin suddenly stirred, a small groan escaping his lips. He began to squirm on the couch until Haddock gently pinned his arms down, shushing him. "You're alright, lad, you're at Marlinspike."

"…Cap..tain?" Tintin's voice was small, and it made the Captain remember how young the lad actually was. "…Hurts…"

"I know, lad, it looks sore. But Nestor's just called a doctor, so you're going to be alright," Haddock kept his voice calm as he grasped Tintin's hand tightly. His eyes were once again drawn to a suspicious patch on Tintin's sweater, which seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. "Tintin, lad, you need to let me take a look at this-"

"No…hurts!…" Tintin croaked as a fresh wave of pain wracked his body. He weakly went to cross his arms across his stomach, only to let out a strangled cry as he passed out again.

Sighing deeply, the Captain gingerly raised the younger man's sweater. He nearly retched at the sight of Tintin's flesh, which was decorated with various shades of blue and brown bruising; Haddock had seen enough injuries in his time to know Tintin almost certainly had internal bleeding. A deep gash ran from the base of the young man's sternum to his navel, exposing the layers of skin that Haddock couldn't pronounce.

"Oh, lad…" Haddock muttered. He sprung up and dashed to the kitchen, snatching the first clean tea towel he could find. Tintin stirred as he pressed forcefully to slow the bleeding, weakly pulling himself away from Haddock.

"Shush, lad," Haddock felt sick as he heard the tea towel squeak as it absorbed the young man's blood. "It'll be alright, Tintin, we've just got to keep on top of this, ay?"

As a mercy to both of them, Tintin passed out for the third and seemingly final time, his shivering body growing still. Haddock had sat there with his finger firmly pressed against Tintin's neck until the doctor charged through the front door, desperately willing the boy's weak pulse to keep going. Come on, lad, don't you die on my couch…

****

"…Captain?"

Haddock startled awake, dropping the magazine he'd stolen from the hospital waiting room. He blinked furiously, his vision clearing to reveal a groggy, bloodied but alive Tintin in the bed in front of him. Bags of fluid and antibiotics hung above his bed, connecting to an intravenous port in his hand. A thick bandage was wrapped around the young man's head, and Haddock was pleased to see that the swelling in Tintin's left eye had gone down significantly. "Oh, lad…God be praised…"

"Captain?" Tintin's voice was hoarse. "What…happened?"

"You don't remember?" Haddock sighed. He'd forgotten the doctors had said Tintin did indeed have yet another concussion. It's a wonder this boy doesn't have brain damage. "Not surprising, lad, given what you've been through. Let me put it this way: next time you come home after bein' beaten half to death, lad, make sure you give me a list of yer injuries before we go to the hospital, alright?"

Despite the pain it caused him, Tintin let out a soft chuckle. "I'll do my best, Captain."

"And for God's sake, stop coming home with gashes spurtin' everywhere! Nestor spent ages cleaning the front doorstep!"

Haddock had intended it to be humorous, but was disturbed to find a dark expression settling on Tintin's face. "…You alright, lad?"

"The knife," Tintin spoke quietly, his hands resting to his stomach "…I remember the knife. He-"

"You're lucky he didn't do more damage to you, lad," Haddock interrupted. "You're also damn lucky I noticed it bleedin' through your clothes! The doctors said they had to do lots of internal-"

"He was aiming for my heart," Tintin whispered. He took in a shaky breath and stared at the ceiling. "…H-He was aiming for my heart, Captain…H-he didn't have very good aim…"

Tintin trailed off and the two men fell into silence, each unsure how to respond to the other.

They knew this wouldn't be the last time this happened, but for the moment, they were glad it hadn't ended differently.

#tintin #the adventures of tintin #adventures of tintin #fanfiction #whumptober2022 #whumptober

[angieloveshua]

"Lu Feng, you have information that can be used against me, does it feel good, toying with me like this?"

The hand on my neck continued to tighten, until I couldn't breathe and until I was unable to open my mouth to utter another word out.

He didn't want to hear any defences I came up for myself.

"Since you always pretend and assume an altruistic persona of 'only I know of your unmentionable illness', and 'only I can help you to get out of this pit', do you get a burst of satisfaction from it?" His voice was laced with a cold, merciless killing intent, as if all he needed was to just apply a fraction more strength to completely snap my neck in two. "You went to jail and now you've become so selfless, this wasn't your train of thought previously."

"Don't you remember, you were also one of the people that dragged me into this abyss?"

Mmm, I guess Lu Feng going to jail for him really messed him up. I would like to know more about his perspective of things.

#flying gulls never land #飞鸥不下 #回南雀 #hui nan que

[theveryconfusedartistsart-blog]

Imagine being Asriel, and your self control has been overcome by anger and hatred. You just want to kill something.

And you do. You let the humans know all the pain you felt in your first death.

But it's not the same as when you were a flower. You hate humans far more than you could ever hate monsters, yet even then, the euphoric high after a kill keeps diminishing faster and faster, and your stomach becomes an empty pit that fills with nausea and vomit.

You forgot how messy human deaths are. Killing their physical bodies is so much worse than killing their souls. The screaming, the crying, the blood, the gore, the disgusting and unmentionable things a human body does after it dies. It's what made Chara's death so horrifying.

Monsters just turn to dust. How can humans stand killing each other when it's this gruesome?

So then you resort to burning everything. It makes you feel better, it gets rid of the sights, the horrible smells, and it's the kind of excruciating end humans deserved. Yet even then you feel sick. Why does it still hurt so much? You killed your own mother and father and it didn't hurt the way killing humans did.

You spot the orphanage. The damn orphanage. How dare they use their Best Friend's name. They don't deserve it. You burn it like the rest.

You see a human crash through a window, clutching a child. Another wretched creature trying to escape your punishment. You move to take their life.

But then they lift their head, and you're horrified. It's Frisk.

They ignore you and turn back to the burning orphanage to save more children. You grab their wrist, telling them not to. It's no use. They don't have to risk their life like this.

They ignore you. They think you're a hallucination, but your grip is something no human can break. Then they slap you, and the shock allows them to break free and charge back in. You chase after them. Lava might burn, but a thousand degree fire is nothing to you.

You didn't see the debris through the smoke. You could have stopped it from falling on them. You could have saved them.

No...that's not how it went.

You killed them.

You killed Frisk.

They did nothing but help you. You cared for them, and you killed them.

Humans always tried to kill you every time you revealed yourself.

You still hate them, but for the first time, you think they were right to do so.

I really like the idea of Asriel steadily becoming more and more disgusted by violence, it once was entertaining to him but the more he matures and grows and experiences humanity (good and bad)- the more he strays away from violence.

I also have rules about my version of Frisk, one is that they are a strict Pacifist, they never preform any violent action, they even refuse to use violent language (even if they mean no harm)....unless they're forced to (just like in the pacifist route where both Asgore and Asriel force them to fight, which is ironic because Frisk has the ability to be an excellent fighter)

So with that said- I was about to say something until I realized that he was stopping them from rescuing a child, 'this beautiful and scary hallucination needs a SLAP!'

Asriel would definitely blame himself in this situation.

Great writing btw.

#fanfic monster in the mountain talk

[lavaridgexflannery]

❛  just lie back and let me take care of you.  ❜

Soft Dirty Starters: NSFW Meme: Accepting~

@night-stalker-joe

They had been here more than once but...Flannery was still not used to someone else tending to her..'needs'.

Flannery was already half laid down on her couch after their small date. And yeah...her shirt and jeans were already taken off. Leaving the red haired female in just her unmentionables.

She panted softly looking up at him,biting her lower lip as anxiety slowly built up in the pit of her stomach. "A-are...you sure..? I mean..you d-don't have to ya know..?"

Her nervous voice aside, Flannery was actually trying to hold back as much as she could so she didn't go overboard. Even if the rather wet spot between her legs was betraying her.

#night stalker joe #tw:nsfw

[thatsbelievable]

#Midnight Mystery #word of the week #fear #Professor Speen #Dundridge #G'lorth the Ravenous #Pit of Unmentionables

[collisiondiscourse]

meet you in the middle // bkdk (ch. 306) fic

Katsuki meets him at the edge of the world.

Standing on the rubbles of a once-thriving city that his people had called home, Katsuki sees him at a distance. A lone figure, standing beside broken statues that overlook a cliff of failures and broken promises. Katsuki sees him at a distance and feels something inside him break like a dam of something unmentionable. The glass beneath his worn combat boots crunches and cracks like the remains of his heart, every step heavy with the weight of the world around him slipping unto drooping shoulders. He says nothing, knowing the other runaway could hear his approach all the same.

Deep purple bruises set themselves under dull viridian eyes, the mixture of color out of place but lovely all the same. His hair’s a mess--greasy in the way that tells Bakugou he hasn’t showered in days, yet Katsuki would love nothing more than to bury his face in the tangled mass of green. The suit and armor he wears is torn, dented, fractured, dirty; it’s scarred like the skin it tries its best to hide. Deku stands still and watches him approach.

The blond halts in his steps.

In that moment, when red and green meet at the edge of the world, time stops completely. The broken concrete beneath their feet feels like a vast and endless void of nothing, silence wrapping around them beautifully and painfully. Between them, the few meters feel like blocks, to miles, to lightyears apart.

It is endless.

Between them, there is pain and sorrow. There is a hurt so deep that neither of the boys could begin to comprehend it--old scars and fresh wounds mending and tearing open, pace akin to the shift of the weather. Between them, Katsuki can feel things that feel like they should be impossible but aren’t. Between them, Katsuki can feel the contradictions that ripple beneath the surface of their skin.

Between them, Katsuki can feel it all.

The distance is staggering. It chases after the two of them like they had chased each other, something like a curse that pulls them apart while simultaneously keeping them at arm’s length.

Katsuki used to beg for it, he knows. (God, does he know.) He used to spend day-by-day stretching that distance, yanking the string that kept them tied together in hopes that eventually it would snap.

Yet that same distance had become something he’d grown to hate. He hated it in the way that it caused Izuku to close himself to the world and nearly cost him his life when Shigaraki had pierced him in battle. He hated the way it shut doors and cuffed him to his hospital bed when he’d found out that Deku was in a coma.

And he hated that distance the most when it brought Deku all the way here.

“Kacchan,” Deku says, the old nickname leaving his mouth simultaneously like a prayer and a pained gasp of fear. “Why are you here?”

The ‘why’ rings in the blond’s head like the sound of a gunshot, piercing and painful at the audacity to even ask such a thing. Why? Why did I come here? Why did I leave everything I’d ever dreamed of in order to chase your dumbass here?

Because. Why the fuck wouldn’t I come here, Deku?

“I got your letter,” Katsuki grunts out instead. His hands clench and unclench, tired and a little bit pained from his journey to find Izuku as fast as possible. The stupid fucking paper rests inside the pants pocket of his hero costume, setting his insides ablaze and leaving the taste of battery acid at the back of his throat.

“You still shouldn’t have--”

“--Shouldn’t have what, Deku?!” He inevitably yet suddenly explodes. The green-haired boy startles from across the building’s roof, jaw shutting with an audible click. “Shouldn’t have dropped out of UA? Shouldn’t have left every single person that loves me and sent myself out on a suicide mission? Shouldn’t have left my fucking mother without even a proper ‘goodbye’?!”

Deku snaps, “You damn well know it wasn’t that simple, Kacchan--”

“It never fucking is! It never fucking is that simple, Deku! You think I wanted to abandon our class? You think I didn’t care about the fucking fact that I just dropped out of UA and will probably never become a fucking pro-hero because of it? I destroyed my own dreams, you idiot!”

“Then go back!” the other boy replies, furious tears welling in his eyes. Katsuki feels paralyzed, unable to move through the surge of emotion that overtakes his mind. Deku takes a step forward, shaking so hard that the blond fears he might pass out. “Go back, you ass! Don’t let me take anything more from you, Kacchan, just please don’t. I can’t handle something like that! Go back and become the number one hero like you always promised, please.”

(A dozen meters apart.)

Izuku’s voice trembles and wavers, desperation seeping from his figure as teardrops fall to the tarmac below. He stands firmly on his two feet, but Katsuki can feel the way his heart begs on its knees. Bakugou’s glare softens.

“I can’t do that, Deku.”

He sniffles. “Why not?”

Tentatively, Bakugou takes a step forward, pacing himself. He opens his mouth to answer, but can’t seem to find the right words and looks away with a frustrated snarl. Deku’s eyes, red-rimmed with agony, peer up at him through his unruly green hair and the wound on Katsuki’s abdomen throbs with heat.

“...Because. I nearly died for you, didn’t I?” the blond eventually replies. “Because I know you think that that means you have to go and fucking do things alone because you don’t want me to nearly die for you a second time, but that’s exactly fucking it.” Katsuki huffs. He takes another step further, watching Deku crumple to the ground as sobs rack his figure.

“Kacchan got hurt, but it wasn’t your battle. It’s mine,” he chokes out anyway, stubborn as he is in the way Bakugou had grown to admire. As much as the blond’s soul rattles with anger, with hatred at the society that forced his childhood friend to bear the weight of the world upon his shoulders, he forces himself not to shout.

(Five meters apart.)

“‘Wasn’t’, was the word. Now, it is. I’m not letting you do this alone whether you fucking like it or not, shitty nerd.” Katsuki sucks in a breath. “You never gave me a choice, did you? I didn’t have a choice into knowing about your cursed fucking quirk, I didn’t have a choice into you leaving us to fight Shigaraki alone, I didn’t have a choice in knowing whether you’d be okay or not in the hospital after I myself nearly fucking died--and now that I finally goddamn do have that choice, you better make sure you let me have it, Deku.” Another step.

Deku lets out an anguished gasp for air between his hiccups and tears, and wails, “But why? Kacchan, you have the choice to be safe and let yourself win without One for All getting away! Why would you let me bring you more harm like this?!”

“Because you never fucking let me apologize to you, shithead!” The blond succumbs at last, yelling in hurt and in pain. The distance between them is so small, yet every goddamn particle feels like a world’s away in which Kacchan and Deku were made to fall apart. His skin prickles, air buzzing with the energy of a feeling so big contained in something so small. The moment suspends itself in time, fragile as glass and broken shards twice as painful, “I wanted to say that I was sorry, okay?!”

“Kacchan--”

Bakugou growls, “No. Let me say this, Izuku.” He waited, so goddamn long, for an opportunity to say what he wanted--no, needed--to say. The distance that felt like a whole galaxy between them burned something fierce, a serendipitous inevitability that felt like it was reaching its boiling point as the world around them reduced to ashes. The blond musses up his hair and exhales heavily, letting his angry demeanour calm for Izuku’s sake.

“I used to resent you. So much.” Katsuki starts. He’s close enough to Deku that he can see the subtle way the shorter boy scrunches his brows together, letting out a shaky breath of incredulousness. “When we were in middle school, I tormented and bullied you under the guise of hating you for something that you couldn’t control.”

“The truth is, that wasn’t why I resented you.” He blows out a breath. Deku looks up at him in shock, so Bakugou ploughs on. “I resented you because I didn’t understand you. At that time, I couldn’t understand how anyone, especially someone virtually powerless like yourself, could somehow still be a better person--hell, a better hero--than I was.”

Ruby red eyes gazed at the horizon.

“I always thought myself to be the best at everything. Always knew I was destined for victory. That hasn’t changed,” Katsuki swallows as Izuku pulls himself back on to his feet. Now standing, Izuku looks at him as if he’d suddenly had the revelation of his life, (which, Bakugou assumes, was paramount to this in any case.) “What has changed now though… is that I think I finally get it.”

He coughs.

“... I think I finally get you,”

(Two meters.)

“Katsuki… I’m--” Deku swallows, eyes shiny again as he tries to compose himself. He nods at the blond and in that instant Katsuki knows he’s been forgiven a long time ago. The distance tugs at the pit of his stomach, feelings of something warm and strange writhing inside. What once was a flood of misunderstanding that crashed and pulled the two of them apart had dried into a lively valley. Deku takes a step closer.

“But it isn’t just that anymore,” the blond is quick to blurt out. He looks at Deku and for once instead of a regretful past or an ongoing development, he thinks he sees a future.

“If this were all for atonement, I wouldn’t have left UA like you said. It’s… deeper. I’m workin’ on it, but there’s just something that pulls me to do this. It pisses me off, but it also makes me want to keep you at an arm’s length.” Katsuki shakes his head at the bullshit that spews out from his own mouth.

“I don’t fucking know what it is, but I know how it makes me feel.”

Izuku stares into his eyes, wide and innocent in a way that used to make him angry but now only makes him… dazed. “And how does it make you feel, Kacchan?”

He huffs a laugh of rueful acceptance. “Fucking weird. Like I suddenly want to chase you to the ends of the fucking earth just to make sure you’re alive. Like I want to be close to you again and again and again even in our next fucking lives.”

Katsuki takes another hesitant step forward.

“I want a lot of things now. I want shit that I can’t name but I sure as hell know won’t relate to becoming the number one hero. I want to keep you within sight, keep you close and alive because of the fact that it’s you and nothing else. I want…”

(Three feet.)

The distance around them is reduced to a little less than an ache. Issues like theirs aren’t solved overnight, but for the small distance they have between each other it feels less like a curse and more like the moment before an inevitability. They can’t quantify all that they are to each other--can’t begin to measure it in fickle things like centimeters or miles or inches or lightyears--but in that moment Katsuki supposes one could label what they have as ‘love’.

He’s never spoken this much in such a short amount of time, never let himself be wordy when his concise speech was efficient and easy. Yet, something about freckles and scars and green hair makes him want to run his fucking mouth off and list his every feeling under the sun. The vice-like grip over his heart that had been there since the moment he’d woken up in the hospital eases a little, and Katsuki’s broken heart feels like it is coming home.

(Two feet.)

“You want…?”

Katsuki looks into Izuku’s eyes, really looks. He looks and he sees life and salvation and something that he’d been missing for so long that tasting it for the first time has left him wanting like a man in a desert. He reaches out an arm, now fully within reach and gives Deku a pleading and weak stare that says everything and nothing at once.

“I want everything that I can get. Everything you can give me. No matter what the cost.”

(One.)

Deku crashes into his embrace, pulling him close and meeting Katsuki somewhere in the middle as the chase finally fucking stops. To Katsuki, it feels like the birth of a star as the warmth engulfs him fully, setting alight to every one of his nerves. The feeling of holding Deku fills him with all the words he cannot name and it feels like he’s reached some impossible height at the top of the world.

The war has not been forgotten, and the road ahead of them is long, but the distance between Kacchan and Deku--Katsuki and Izuku--is now nothing more than a physical concept. The hug blurs the line between the two young heroes, shaping itself until it is indistinguishable where one ends and the other begins. There is a sensation, one that is burning like an inferno but comforting all the same because at this point in time, Katsuki vows to run after and find Izuku Midoriya in every lifetime after this, in every world that they’ll be in. He vows with all his heart that he’ll be the one to watch Deku while Deku watches the world, to protect Deku while Deku protects the others. Katsuki vows to take Deku for everything that he is and isn’t, wholly and unconditionally because the distance is gone and there’s nothing now that can stop him from following this boy to the ends of the universe.

Katsuki Bakugou vows all this because here, right now, on top of the ruins of a city he’d once known and arms full of a boy he’d been trying to chase for a lifetime--Katsuki comes home.

(Zero.)

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakudeku #katsudeku #ktdk #bkdk #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #decchan #bkdk fic #bnha 306 #katsuki bakugou #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #codi.docx #DONT LET THIS FLOP ITS SO SEXY

[dame-nervy]

“You just don’t care, do you? ” (Tony Stark x Reader)

Being an Avenger and being in love with Tony Stark wasn’t working out for you.

[angst]

It was hard working with the infamous playboy Tony Stark. It was harder when you started saving the world with Iron Man. And it was always difficult being in love with him. It wasn’t as simple anymore, not that it was simple being in love with my boss before, but at least before I wasn’t living with him. At least before I could pretend his playboy antics weren’t as drastic as they actually are, but now, more often then not I’ve got a front row seat to it. The playboy wasn’t who I fell for, it was the man behind it all. The scientist, the inventor, the hero. It was the Tony that I spent countless hours with in the lab, the Tony that protected me during missions, that was the man I was in love with. Not the guy who was currently surrounded by four women at a party.

“My money’s on the girl in red.” Bruce said from next to me as he caught me looking over at Tony. Bruce and I had become close friends during all the time we spent in the lab together and while I had never openly admitted to anyone my feelings for Tony, Bruce probably had a high suspicion, or just knew. “I don’t know, he can’t resist a pretty blonde.” I told him as I took a large drink from my wine glass. “Not entirely sure if it’s the hair colour he’s interested in.” Bruce suggested and I had to turn away from the image as I downed the last of my drink. It was a common occurrence which I should have been used to by now, but it still clenched at my heart. “Want another drink?” I asked Bruce as I was already walking away, barely hearing his decline as I made my way to the bar. I stayed at the bar long enough to down a shot, before coming back to Bruce with my new drink. “You were right.” Bruce said pointing to where Tony had been, only to find him and the blonde gone, leaving the three girls behind and a all too familiar pit to form in my stomach.

-the next morning-

Myself and some other members of the Avengers were sitting around having breakfast. It was a slow, quiet morning, with the more rambunctious members having drunk more and decided to sleep in there was very little chatter and noise as we ate. Steve suddenly stopped eating and looked behind me, nudging Bruce as he did so. This caused me to look and see the blonde that disappeared with Tony last night. Her hair was a mess along with her makeup, she was holding her shoes along with a large clutch in her hands, and she was looking around looking utterly lost. “Lost my appetite.” I muttered as I stood up and made my way over to the girl, directing her to the exit while having FRIDAY call her a cab before heading down to the lab where I knew I’d find Tony.

“Your one night stand made an appearance at breakfast.” I said as I walked into the lab. Tony was hunched over a scarp of metal as he tinkered away. “Did you offer her some pancakes?” He asked, not even giving me a sideways glance. “Seriously Tony?” I sighed as I walked over to Tony, leaning on the bench next to him. “What? It’s the least you could have done.” There was a tone of amusement in his voice as he said it, which ticked me off. I grabbed the tool out of his hands, causing him to finally look at me. “The girl was humiliated. And I’m not your assistant, I shouldn’t have to deal with your unmentionables.” I told him off as he just looked at me with confusion written all over his face. “I don’t know what part of it makes them unmentionables.” He countered, seemingly trying to keep the conversation causal but I was well past that point. I let out a sarcastic laugh as I shook my head and placed down the tool on the bench with a bit of force. “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” He frowned at my comment, something in his eyes showing recognition that I wasn’t going to ease up. “You think it’s completely fine to flaunt your conquests to anyone around, like it’s not insensitive or completely inappropriate.” “Why are you getting so worked up about this? I’ve been doing it longer than I’ve known you.” Tony shot back, and while he was only telling the truth, I just didn’t believe that to be completely true. “It’s a shitty personality flaw and I’m sick of it.” I told him with edge in my voice, crossing my arms as I saw his frown deepen. “It’s who I am!” Tony yelled as he gestured to himself. “That’s not good enough! You’re a grown adult. You’re Iron Man for crying out loud. Fix yourself!” I yelled back at him, jabbing him in the chest for good measure.

“I don’t need fixing because you can’t get over a stupid crush!”

My heart caught in my throat as I watched Tony’s face go from anger to realisation, before looking away from me back down to his project. “What?” I managed to ask, barely above a whisper that he probably won’t have heard if we weren’t standing so close. He didn’t look back up at me, nor did he answer, dropping the room into an uncomfortable silence as I desperately waited for him to clarify what he’d said. “I know about your feelings for me. Have done for a long while now.” He finally said, and I had to brace myself on the bench behind me as I comprehended his words. He knew. All this time he knew. My knuckles became white as I gripped onto the bench for dear life, possibly being the only thing keeping me tethered to this heart wrenching moment. It wasn’t until Tony called out to me before I looked up at him and asked “You’ve known all this time and still actively went out of your way to not only talk about but shove your love life in my face? Did you not think how that would make me feel?” “I thought it’d help you get over it quicker.” Tony said sullenly as he looked away again. “It’s not a cold that I could just get over with some chicken soup and a couple days rest Tony! These are my feelings! Feelings I’ve had for years, you don’t think I would have “gotten over it” if I could?” I raised my voice at him, but the anger and fight I’d had before was no longer within me. “Well I’m not the idiot that fell in love with a world renowned playboy.” Tony’s voice raised as well as he looked at me like I was an inconvenience, like I and my feeling don’t matter. I shook my head at him in disbelief, tears starting to well up in my eyes. “You just don’t care, do you?” The look on Tony’s face was as if I’d slapped him across the face, but this whole conversation had made me feel as if he’d ripped my heart. Neither of us spoke for a long while before he picked up his tool and went back to tinkering. I watched him for a moment before putting my hands over my face, as I started shaking my head. “I can’t- I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be here anymore. Not with you.” I muttered before going to leave the lab, Tony stopping me by grabbing my arm. Though it wasn’t a strong grip, it was more the action of being touched by Tony like he was expecting me to break, so gentle and restrained. “Y/n-.” “It would have been so much easier and hurt a lot less if you’d just told me you weren’t interested. Break my heart like a normal person, not as a douchebag.” I cut him off, being the one to not look at him now. A tear fell from my eye and Tony let me go.

He didn’t try to stop me from leaving a second time. Nor did anyone else as I got in my car and drove off. Leaving most of my things behind and not returning for several days. I ignored everyone’s attempts to talk to me, only replying to let people know I wasn’t dead. Eventually I told Bruce I wasn’t coming back and to just pack up my things for me. Tony didn’t try to contact me at any point, which I’m both glad and disappointed by. In the end we were friends, at least, I thought we were.

#Avengers #x Reader #Iron Man #Tony Stark #Iron Man x Reader #Avengers x Reader #writing #one shot

[queenangst]

Prompt: a fear/distrust quirk that makes them wary or their allies. It could affect multiple people and make them afraid or mistrustful of each other, making them uncoordinated or attack each other, or it affects 1 person and make them afraid or mistrustful of others, or everyone else is afraid or mistrustful of them (for the 1 person affected, aizawa & student(s) being afraid of him, izuku being afraid of others, or shinsou w/ either, would be nice, but any characters are good!)

for my 30 min fic challenge / read more: ‘30 min fics’ tag

hold your heart fast [read on AO3]

When the fight was over, Izuku bounced from rooftop to rooftop, scanning the ruined streets and pushing through the sting of smoke as he searched. He tried not to think about all the worst outcomes, but that was never Izuku’s strong suit.

As he landed on the flat roof of a library, Izuku spotted who he was looking for. The surface under his feet groaned as he leapt down, activating One for All so he could land safely.

He used too much power—under his feet, the ground cracked, but Izuku didn’t care. His gaze was locked on the head of bone-white hair he’d found from above. A little girl, stranded alone in the streets.

“Eri!” he called, and her head jerked. He watched her hair ripple with the movement.

Izuku was next to her in an instant. He couldn’t describe the relief that swept through him, like a breath of fresh air, and pulled down the mouth guard that he’d kept up against the smoke.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Eri looked at him. For a second, she seemed relieved, and then suddenly her entire expression shifted. She stumbled a step back.

“De- Deku?”

His name sounded strange in her mouth. She didn’t say it like she usually did, the way Izuku treasured; when they were laughing together, she said Deku with the sound of bells in her voice, and when he was the only person who could comfort her after a nightmare, she said Deku like she was looking at a hero. He always kept those moments close to him. Aizawa-sensei had once said Eri felt safe around Izuku, and that was important.

Izuku crouched down and made himself smaller, less threatening. He offered Eri a smile.

“Hey, squirt,” he said. “I’m sorry we got separated earlier. But the villain—the villain’s gone, okay? I’m here to take you—”

He had to pause for a moment, thinking, and then finished, “—home.”

Izuku didn’t move, but Eri took a step back. Her eyes were wide.

“No, you’re not,” she whispered.

His heart began to pound. What did she mean? Maybe the villain attack had scared her too much, or something had happened when Izuku was forced to leave her. Izuku bit his lip.

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s all over now.”

Izuku held out a gloved hand, hoping she’d take it.

Eri shook her head. “You’re going to take me somewhere dangerous,” she said.

His heart squeezed. Izuku wanted to scoop her up in his arms and just run, until he could find Aizawa-sensei or the police or anyone to help, because he didn’t understand what was wrong. But then he would hurt Eri, and he didn’t want to.

“What’s wrong? Eri?” He inched closer. “ Please come with me.”

When Izuku reached for her, Eri cried out. Izuku drew back.

“Don’t come any closer,” she shouted, and threw out her hand. Izuku glanced at her horn. If she was scared and activated her Quirk by accident, on instinct to protect herself…

He held up his hands. “Okay. Okay.” Think, Izuku. “What- what if I called Aizawa-sensei? You- you’ll listen to Aizawa-sensei, right?”

The response was immediate. She nodded, and Izuku sighed and thanked the heavens.

Aizawa-sensei picked up after the first ring.

“Midoriya?”

“Sensei!”

“Where are you?” Aizawa-sensei demanded. Izuku almost cried, even though Aizawa-sensei sounded kind of upset, because just hearing his voice made Izuku feel better. “Is Eri with you?”

“Eri’s with me. She’s—” he looked over and lowered his voice. “Something’s wrong. She’s… scared of me, or something. I don’t know. Please hurry.”

Izuku gave him a location, and then Aizawa-sensei was there in what seemed like both half a minute and eternity. While waiting, Izuku kept trying to talk to Eri and ask her what was wrong, but eventually Eri went completely silent and refused to speak to him.

In the distance, a figure in black cut through the shapes of the buildings. He was running.

“Sensei,” Izuku whispered, then burst to his feet and into a shout. “Sensei, here!”

“Midoriya!” Aizawa-sensei shouted first. “Eri!”

Eri didn’t look back. She went to Aizawa-sensei, barrelling into his legs and clinging tightly. Aizawa-sensei looked down, murmuring something quietly, and then took her hand.

It kind of hurt, to be honest.

“Sensei,” Izuku said, “sensei, I took down the villain, well, one of them, and then I came looking for Eri—”

Aizawa-sensei’s eyes flashed. For only a split second he activated Erasure, and Izuku felt One for All lash out and then die down as Izuku’s Quirk disappeared. Then Aizawa-sensei frowned, shaking his head, and rubbed his temples.

“You…” he started, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Please,” Izuku said, “not- not you, too.”

Aizawa-sensei looked conflicted. He activated Erasure again like he wasn’t even aware he was using it.

“You’re my teacher,” Izuku tried. “You- all those times, you saved me, I don’t know what’s wrong but I promise—”

Aizawa-sensei pushed Eri behind him. Like he was protecting her, shielding her from a threat.

Not just a threat. Izuku.

The air was knocked out of his lungs. He gasped, trying to get it back, head spinning.

Eri was scared of him. Refused to go with him, and now Aizawa-sensei… Izuku didn’t get it. He didn’t get it at all.

“You know me,” he pressed.

Something seemed to click in Aizawa-sensei’s gaze. He stood straighter, lifting his head and expression smoothing over into something that was more neutral.

“Follow me,” he said, voice clipped, and that was that.

Eri wouldn’t stop peeking at him as Aizawa-sensei carried her to safety. When their eyes met, she would go back to hiding against him, cradled in Aizawa-sensei’s arms.

Aizawa-sensei took them to where there was already a makeshift medic section set up on the sidewalk. There were plenty of civilians there, and a few heroes, too, but Aizawa-sensei walked with confidence.

“Here,” he said, and waved down a medic. “My student. He’s bleeding.”

Izuku didn’t understand the change of tone, but he stepped forward, and the medic flinched.

“I can’t treat him,” the medic blurted. Her eyes flicked to Izuku and then away. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Aizawa-sensei’s face hardened, but he nodded.

“That’s alright,” he said after a moment, and Izuku looked down at his only injury, a cut on his arm from when he’d been a little careless. It wasn’t deep, though it did hurt. A pit formed in his stomach. He was being turned away, and Aizawa-sensei was allowing it.

“Sensei…”

“Just tell me something,” Aizawa-sensei said. “Are you scared?”

The medic paused. Swallowed.

“Yes,” she said finally, and Aizawa-sensei, who had one hand hanging by his side, clenched his fist. Izuku saw white knuckles.

“I see. Come on, Midoriya. I’ll treat you myself.”

They must have made a strange sight, sitting on the curb as the world moved around them. Aizawa-sensei carefully cleaned and began to bandage Izuku’s arm. His mouth was tight.

Behind him, Eri kept tugging on Aizawa-sensei’s sleeve.

“Let’s go home,” she would whisper. “Aizawa, please, I want to go home.”

And every time, Aizawa-sensei would say, “I know. I’m helping Deku.”

Patient, the way Mom was with Izuku when he was younger, and seemingly endless.

“You shouldn’t,” Eri said, so quietly Izuku almost missed it. But he didn’t.

“I have a theory,” Aizawa-sensei said suddenly, filling the negative space with his voice. “Concerning you, problem child. Something hasn’t made sense to me.”

For some reason that made Izuku laugh. “Nothing’s made sense to me.”

Aizawa-sensei nodded. “I think… the villain you were fighting. Supposedly she could manipulate emotions.” He tied off Izuku’s bandage. “But—it’s not quite that.”

“Wait,” Izuku said, mind whirring. He put his hand out; his fingers were trembling, too, held in the air. “Wait. When you asked—and—you’re scared of me?”

The corner of Aizawa-sensei’s mouth turned up. “I thought it wasn’t very logical,” he mused. He knocked the side of Izuku’s head. “Why am I scared of you?”

“But you’re helping me.”

“I live with fear,” Aizawa-sensei said, and before Izuku could figure out a response to that, he continued. “I’m scared of a lot of things. I’m just good at hiding it.”

“Oh,” Izuku said.

“And I’m more concerned about hurting you than you hurting me,” Aizawa-sensei admitted. “I’m always scared for you—not of you. It’s not your fault, I think. It’s a Quirk.”

Izuku felt his mouth tremble.

“You know you don’t have to be scared of me.” He caught Eri’s eye over Aizawa-sensei’s shoulder. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Aizawa-sensei shuddered, but he nodded. Took Eri’s hand, and pulled her gently closer.

“I’m trying to tell myself that,” Aizawa-sensei responded, and held out his other hand. It was shaking; Izuku’s hand still was, too, but they bridged the distance past their fears. Izuku held his breath as Aizawa-sensei guided Eri’s fingers until they were just touching.

“It’s alright,” Izuku promised. Eri’s face was pale, but she didn’t let go. “Eri. I know you’re scared, but it’s still me. I’m still Deku.”

Holding her, the soft wash of Rewind healing him; her fingers closing around Mirio’s cape; carrying Eri to a brighter world where she would be safe from harm, and safe with Izuku.

“You’re safe with me. Alright?”

“Deku,” Eri repeated in a shaky voice. Izuku promised to save her. Over, and again. This time, she didn’t say Deku like she used to; but she didn’t say Deku quite like she was scared. Almost—hopeful. “Okay, Deku.”

Taglist: If you’d like to be added or removed from this taglist (tagged when a new fic is posted), please let me know. If your blog is unmentionable, I cannot tag you.

@happi-tree @soyoudneverguess @granny-griffin @zannish @liarielle @ashemberss @gwogobo @honeyandsonshine @cinammon-cinner @paralumanleadmehome @ship-toast @gabs-2002 @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear @weird-skittle @sapphire363 @fr0znmang0 @in-honor-of-you @cheese490 @anakinthetrashking @proheromidoriyashouto @lust-nd-love @firefletch @mamamiamia @frankiealexquin @crossroadofinterests @bornindundee @bleusmainpage @fleurie3am15inspo @scheherahzade

#bnha #bnha fanfic #izuku #eri #aizawa #my fanfic #30 min fics #anonymous

[ttttaehyungie]

masked | myg x reader

masked | min yoongi x reader oneshot

☘  pairing | min yoongi x vigilante superhero!reader ☘  genre | college au, superhero au, humor, romance ☘  rating | NC-17 ☘  word count | 5.2k ☘  warnings | swear words, major violence/fight scenes, some childhood trauma, sexual humor (it’s like,,, one word but i’ll just tag it anyway) ☘  summary | Between academics in the day and crime-fighting at night, and your dumb rivalry with that one pain-in-the-ass, fellow vigilante Vulture, you simply don’t have time for dating. But, damn, is it hard when your partner for project work is as cute as he is. ☘  a/n | y’aaallllll this was so enjoyable to write :’) I hope you all have as much fun reading as I did writing this!

Submitted as part of BWC’s 1st Anniversary Contest.

A fist flies towards your face. You dodge leftwards. You grab the hooligan’s arm where it lingers in the air from the failed punch. Twist. He yelps. But you show no mercy. You hold tight to his arm and spin sharply on your feet. Using the momentum from your movement, you throw him over your shoulder. Thud.

He’s dazed. You seize the chance to kick him over onto his front. Locking his arms behind him, you pin him down with a knee as you fumble around in your backpack for the ropes to bind him.

A giddy excitement bubbles up, effervescent in your chest. Finally! After weeks of failed attempts, you’re so close to a solid capture. It’s just a pickpocket; small fry, really. But it’s a capture nonetheless.

Just as long as- you peek upwards to check- ok. It seems you’re in the clear. Vulture isn’t here. Wait-

Something rustles to your right. You jump in shock.

The thug takes advantage of the shift in your weight. He wrestles his arms free and pushes himself up, and you go tumbling off him. Before you can recover, he’s already sprinting off into the distance. No! He’s getting away!

In panicked desperation, you raise a hand and shoot out a force field. Dumb move. It only boosts him forward, aiding his escape. Ugh. Your victory slips like sand through your fingers.

Crack. A flash of blue pops into the middle of the street.

You roll your eyes. Part of you is relieved that the thief is not getting away. But for the most part? Unbridled annoyance.

You slump back on the ground to watch Vulture teleport in, capture the thief that you’d spent the last twenty minutes pursuing, and teleport out. All under two minutes.

Just as he’s been doing for the last few weeks. Damn. When will you ever catch a break?

“Rough night?”

Seems like your stifled yawn was not concealed well enough. Feeling slightly self-conscious, you shoot him a sheepish smile.

“Yeah. Busy fighting those assignments, y’know.”

He hums in understanding. “Let’s take a five minute break. I’m getting tired too.”

You nod. Yoongi stretches his arms out above his head and leans to the side to get in a good side stretch. Meanwhile, you avert your eyes. The sliver of skin that peeks out from where his shirt rides up has your cheeks growing warm.

“I’m gonna fill my bottle,” you announce, getting up from your shared table. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

The water fountain is just outside the library, but the short walk from the discussion pod and back is enough for you to shake off the drowsy haze you were in. By the time you return to the tiny room- they really weren’t kidding when they called it a pod- the spring is back in your step.

Yoongi looks up as you step back into the room and flashes you a smile. It’s small, but disarming as hell. Your heartbeat picks up.

“Recharged and ready to fight this project?” he jibes.

Right. The project. The project that you’re paired up for, literally for no other reason than sheer convenience. You just happened to be sitting next to each other when it was announced. But it’s fine. You’re chill, Yoongi’s chill. And that’s why you knew it was ok to just turn to him and ask, “Wanna pair up?”

The project is the only reason the two of you are talking. It’s not that you didn’t have any other opportunity to. Not at all. You’re both in the same course and you live in the same dorm.

And it’s not that you dislike the guy. In fact, far from it. If you’re being totally honest, Yoongi is 100% your type. Chill, and a laidback sense of humor with his light jokes. And not to mention, real easy on the eyes. With his platinum blonde hair- his dark roots just beginning to peek through- and striking eyes, all topped off with that heartstopping smirk of his, there is only one conclusion to be drawn. Yoongi is objectively attractive.

You’ve acknowledged this the moment you set your eyes on him at your dorm orientation tour. His blonde hair was freshly bleached at that point and pulled back in a snapback, showing off the bold, black brows that complemented his sharp, feline eyes.

It was uncontrollable. He’s just the kind of attractive that exerts a magnetic pull on your gaze, drawing you in relentlessly no matter how many times you avert your eyes.

And the kind of attractive that makes you lose track of what’s happening. You realized belatedly that you’d zoned out from the tour.

“-survival tips. Make sure you collect your laundry from the dryer promptly. One, because people who hog the machines are inconsiderate assholes. Two, because the dorm cat has a habit of stealing socks and underwear. So unless you like the idea of your unmentionables as surprise gifts for your neighbors- in which case, you’re a psychopath-, please just collect your laundry on time.”

A quick glance at the group around you confirmed that you’re not the only one bewildered by Jin’s words.

“Oh!” Jin’s voice cut through the buzz of confusion. “Just one last thing. There’s a strict no dating rule between the RA and students. I know, I know. It’s hard resisting this gorgeous face. But let’s all give it our best attempt, alright?”

You remember scoffing internally at Jin’s words. There’s just one simple rule you have for yourself in college. No dating.

Between your studies in the day and crime-fighting at night, you simply don’t have the time for it.

And it’s this same rule you have to remind yourself of as you tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi casually running his hand through his hair as he contemplates the project.

Just one last loop and- fuck. Did the loser call for backup? You drop the ropes to throw up a force field. The aluminum bat gets flung off into the distance, careening off your invisible force field. Thank god you heard the heavy footsteps approaching. You’ve been on the receiving end of baseball bat attacks, and let’s just say you’ve come to empathize greatly with baseballs after that experience.

You swivel to face him. Block his hook. Uppercut. The thug staggers backwards, clutching his jaw.

There’s movement in your periphery. The first guy has disentangled himself from the ropes. You spot him just as he breaks into a run. Shit. He’s escaping.

A kick lands itself in your side, sending you to the ground. Snap. A cold sense of dread fills the pit of your stomach as the visual of your wrist bent at an awkward angle registers in your mind. The tingling pain blooms as you shake it out.

But you don’t have time to take care of that right now. You’ll have to rely on the adrenaline to keep you going.

You take a second to check if your mask is still in place- alright, you’re good. Turning your attention back to the asshole that attacked you, you fix him with a glare. Before this, it was just a moral obligation to stand against lawlessness. Now, it’s personal.

You recover into a squat. Swipe a kick at his feet. He lands heavily. From his crumpled position on the ground, he makes a grab for you. But you shoot out a force field. The wind’s knocked out of him with the way he’s sandwiched between your blow and the hard asphalt.

Your kick is unnecessarily hard as you roll him onto his front. But an eye for an eye, y’know.

Learning from your earlier mistakes, you tie this one up swiftly.

“Ooh, kinky,” he mutters.

Your sharp retort sits tantalizingly on the tip of your tongue. But it’s too risky to speak. It’s far easier to get recognized by your voice than one would think. You would know. Even after over a decade, the memory of that gravelly voice still haunts you.

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Smash! “I repeat. Where’s the safe?!”

No, you’ll never be able to forget it.

The thug beneath you grunts as you tug the knot extra tight. He deserves it anyway.

Now here’s the only part you hate about successful captures- lugging the offenders to the police station. It’s times like this you really wish you had a different superpower; superstrength, or superspeed, or, dare you say it, teleportation. You’ve considered using your force fields to lob the criminals forward, but all superpowers have their limits. It takes too much out of you to do that and you’ll be too drained to get back to the dorm by the end of it.

And so, with little care for how unglamorous it looks, you drag the thug all the way to the police station two blocks down.

It’s as you’re nearing the station, tasting the sweet relief of your task finally coming to an end, that you hear it- crack. The flash of blue pops up right before the station.

If it weren’t for the flash of blue and prominent crack sound, you wouldn’t have noticed him. Dressed head to toe in black- much like your own get-up-, Vulture manifests out of nowhere, together with a burly, scar-faced man. The other thug from earlier.

This is the closest you’ve been to Vulture. Before this, you’ve only ever seen him in the distance as he pops in to pick up your thugs and pops back out. But now, you’re close enough to pick up on the narrow gold trim that subtly lines his otherwise midnight black mask.

The thug in your hands groans at the sight of his accomplice having been caught. Vulture’s head whips towards you, finally alerted to your presence. Hurriedly, he drops ol’ scarface at the doorstep of the station and teleports out.

Damn, looks like you’ll be playing ding dong ditch by yourself again tonight.

Depositing the thug next to his accomplice, you thump on the door of the station twice and sprint back into the cover of the night.

The pain is truly setting in now. The adrenaline from earlier is all gone and there’s nothing sedating the pain. As if indignant from being ignored, the gnawing pain in your wrist comes biting back now with a vengeance.

But you’re already on campus grounds, so it’s just one more dash across the green, skirt stealthily around the building, up the tree to your second-storey dorm room, and you’ll be home free.

Your wrist throbs. At this point, you crave nothing more than to be showered and tucked into your bed in your jammies. Exhaustion from the entire ordeal laces your bones as you sneak your way back to the dorm.

Ok, it’s just round the corner now and- your heart leaps in your chest when you spot the shadow. Shit. In your impatience you’ve become complacent. You spin to identify the source and oh, thank god. It’s just the dorm cat skulking around in the quiet of the night.

Climbing the tree into your room has never been the easiest thing, but it’s made ten times harder with your wrist out of commission. But somehow, you manage it.

After a quick shower, you head to the shared kitchen to grab some ice for your wrist. You opt to leave the kitchen lights off, the shroud of darkness like a comforting blanket.

“Fancy seeing you awake.”

You jolt. Oh. Yoongi. You weren’t really banking on anyone else being awake.

“I could say the same to you,” you say, hand over your heart. “What are you doing up? It’s three am.”

He raises his water jug in reply. “What about you?”

“Lost track of time doing assignments,” you make up on the fly. “And then I tripped over my books in my sleepy state and busted my wrist.”

“Oh damn,” he says, hoisting himself off where he was leaning against the counter. “Can I take a look?”

His fingers are gentle as they turn your wrist to examine the damage. You try not to stare at how long and pretty they are. How is this even fair? How is it that even his fingers are attractive?

“It’s pretty swollen.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Let me get you an ice pack.”

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod, and move to sit.

He digs out someone’s bag of frozen peas and places it gently over your wrist where it lays on the table. The next fifteen minutes is spent in quiet conversation. Despite his quiet exterior, you discover that Yoongi is surprisingly easy to talk to. Of course, you’ve talked to him during your project meetings. But the content of your conversations then are largely restricted to the task at hand.

But here, in the midnight darkness, you find that the hushed words and laughter flow with such easy chemistry, and you desperately try not to fall any harder for him.

You take the peas- half-melted and dripping now- and dump it on the table. Wiping your wrist off on your shirt, you retrieve your bandage from your pocket and attempt to tie it yourself as Yoongi watches.

“Need help?” he offers.

“M’fine,” you reply distractedly.

“Really?”

Your family’s always lamented your obstinate nature, and you guess it’s not baseless.

Yoongi’s hand grasps yours. “Let me.”

Before your hand starts shaking from the nervous energy that’s growing in you, you let go of the bandage resignedly.

His expression is plain as he binds your wrist, as if this is a daily occurrence for him. Maybe it is. His movements look practiced, and the bandage is just tight enough that it restricts movement without cutting off blood circulation.

“You’re good at this,” you say. “Is there some secret side to you that you’re not revealing?”

He laughs a little. “I used to play basketball, and injuries were really common.”

You watch in fascination at the expert movements of his hands. Tucking the end of the bandage in, he pats your newly bandaged wrist lightly.

“All done.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Take care of yourself. I still need you alive for our project.”

Accompanying the usual morning bleariness that plagues you whenever you have just woken up, this morning it’s coupled with a dull ache in your wrist. Right. Your sprained wrist.

Shifting carefully to avoid placing any weight on your injured arm, you sit up to inspect the dressing. It’s a little mussed up, but its structural integrity is largely intact. Good, you won’t have to redo the bandaging then.

Or worse still, ask Yoongi to patch you up again.

Memories of the dimly lit kitchen come back to you, the faint glow of the corridor lights falling on the contours of his face, the high planes illuminated in an orange luminescence.

In the low light, the way his hands moved as they wrapped your wrist up wasn’t any less elegant and entrancing. The pressure that it exerted on your tender flesh was gentle, taking care not to aggravate the swollen injury.

Fuck. As if you weren’t already having a hard time holding off your feelings for him. Feelings had been bubbling up in you ever since orientation and they grew ever more persistent with each project meeting.

Why did he have to be attractive and nice? It would have been much simpler if he were just an asshole. But no, his personality just had to be as attractive as his appearance, didn’t it?

You stretch to work out the residual sleepiness, but your right rib aches in protest. Lifting your shirt and inspecting it in the mirror, a purplish bruise greets you. That sidekick really did a number on you.

Mornings like this really make you think twice about your decision to walk down the vigilante path. Mornings when the twinging pain of injuries sustained and the fatigue from having spent half the night patrolling the streets is just a little too much to bear. Mornings like this really have you wondering if you should just give it up for a normal college student’s life.

It’s truly tempting. The prospect of getting more than three hours of sleep per night is so delicious. Cuts and bruises would be a rarity. And the fluttery feeling of having a crush on a cute guy wouldn’t have to be marked as a distraction and suppressed into oblivion anymore. You want it. So much. Mornings like this, you really want to call it quits.

But your memory prevents you from doing so.

The way your mum’s hand trembled around yours as she urgently pulled you to the backroom is seared into your mind forever. Even now, your hand quivers.

Her eyes are wide with fear as she whispers, “Stay quiet.”

“The supers will be here soon, right, mum?” you ask.

“That’s right, ____.” She tucks your hair behind your ear with a shaky hand. “We just have to wait for the supers to get here.”

With that, she closes the door and the darkness envelops you. The padlock clicks just outside the door.

“Where’s the safe?” A gruff voice asks. Shivers trail down your spine.

“The cops are on their way,” you can hear your dad respond. Pride fills you at his bravery. “Look, you don’t have to do this. You can walk away right now and-”

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Smash! “I repeat. Where’s the safe?!”

You can hear your mum’s pleas between hiccuped sobs.

“Well if you’re not going to tell me,” the voice continues, “I’ll just have to use brute force.”

More destruction ensues. You wince with every crash, keeping a lid on the whimpers that threaten to escape you. Where are the cops?! Where are the supers?!

“A locked door. Is that an indication of something?” The voice is close now; only the door stands between you.

Bam! The door before you rattles violently. You, too, shake in fear.

“I’ll tell you where it is!” Your dad panickedly relents. “The safe. I’ll tell you where the safe is.”

“Glad you changed your mind, old man.” The footsteps retreat.

And as you emerged from the room later that night, your nine-year-old eyes taking in the wreckage and the distinct absence of help from the police or from the supers that supposedly kept your city safe, your dreams shattered just like the glass shards that laid scattered across your parents’ store.

Ever since you discovered your powers at age five, it became your ambition to become a super. With a flashy power like yours, the chances of it happening were reasonably high.

But all that changed when your parents’ store was mugged. The supers you so admired were nowhere to be found. They were simply too busy fighting other bigger fish out there. And the police? It was a known fact that they’d gotten complacent ever since the advent of the supers.

And that left smaller stores- stores like your family’s- unprotected and susceptible to attacks by ruffian gangs that reigned in the streets. No one cares for petty crime. Not when there are bigger battles to fight out there. It was a flaw in the system.

A flaw that you aim to address through your vigilantism. What use were your flashy powers and lofty ambitions when you just remained frozen in inaction when the time calls for it? The gnawing guilt morphed into a thirst for redemption. You would become the defender of the streets.

So as lonely and draining as it is to live this life of masked identities, you can’t possibly give it up. Your conscience won’t let you.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come out to the streets just days after sustaining your injury. But after icing and resting it for a day, you swear your wrist is feeling much better. Plus, you skipped your usual nightly patrols last night, but the guilt and worry had left you restlessly tossing and turning in bed. So here you are, mask on and back out on the streets.

The thug takes a swing at you. Normally you would have countered it with a block to follow quickly with a punch of your own. But with your wrist out of commission, you choose to duck down. Even your force fields would cause your wrists to absorb some impact, so the moves at your disposal are severely limited today.

You land a roundhouse kick to his side. He sputters. But he responds swiftly with a counterattack.

You’ve tried to attack mainly from your legs. Even so, your wrist feels the effects of the fight. Wrapped in its bandage, albeit sloppier than Yoongi’s expert dressing the other night but still secure enough, your sprained wrist throbs dully from the exertion.

In an attempt to soothe the ache, you roll it out- ah, the pain flares up your arm. You take deep breaths to work through the pain. You have to keep moving.

But it seems the thug has noticed your weakness. He moves quickly. Grabs your wrist and twists.

“AHHH!” The shrill scream of agony that escapes you is reflexive.

Somewhere in the midst of the white hot pain, you manage to scrape together enough sense of mind to shoot out a force field. It’s weak, and it adds yet another layer to your pain, but it’ll suffice. The thug stumbles back off-kilter.

You cradle your aggravated injury to your chest and blink back the tears. This was a bad idea. Maybe you should just give it up for tonight. It won’t be the first time a thug has gotten away, after all.

But it seems that he hasn’t had enough. He storms towards you, his face curled into a sneer.

You clench your fists. It protests in pain, but you ignore it and lower yourself into a fighting stance. You’re not sure what you can do now with the state that you’re in, but you have no choice.

Just as he picks up into a run, he’s yanked back. The immensity of the relief that washes through you as you hear that crack is so overwhelming, your legs go slightly jelly.

Vulture materializes, in his usual all-black attire, from beanie to combat boots. The gold trim of his mask glints ominously under the moonlight.

The thug takes a knee to the stomach. Vulture’s movements are so quick and sharp, the thug retches slightly. A right hook follows, without missing a beat. The thug veers to his right from its impact. But Vulture doesn’t give him an inch. He throws a left uppercut. A solid kick to the chest seamlessly completes the combo. The thug collapses in a heap on the ground.

Vulture moves like a predator on the hunt. The pace at which he stalks forward is completely unhurried. The lowlife attempts to crawl away, but he’s jerked back by the collar.

Still clutching your wrist, you watch dumbly as Vulture teleports away with the thug before you can get a word of gratitude in.

When you finally rouse from slumber the next morning, it’s from being jolted awake by the unmuffled blare of a car horn. The soundproofing in your room is shitty, but not normally this shitty. Turning to the window through which you slipped into your room last night, you realize it’s open. You were probably too tired to remember to shut it last night.

You pad over to the window, meaning to close it, when you step on something cool and smooth, but very unfamiliar. You retract your foot and look down.

Icy fear grips you. The sensation of it under your foot may have been unfamiliar, but the sight of it is definitely not. Laying on your floor is a black mask lined with gold trim.

What does this mean? Is it supposed to be a sign? Is it some sick joke? Has Vulture figured out who you are? What does he want from you?

Picking it up in your hands and skimming your thumb over the textured leather, you recall the way Vulture defended you last night. Sure, you get frustrated when he swipes your captures. But you can’t deny that, ultimately, you’re on the same side.

But having operated wordlessly all this while, and only coming in for the kill, Vulture remains an enigma. You can’t be sure of his real agenda when you’ve never fought side by side with him, let alone exchanged a word. But you can’t blame him either. You haven’t been one to break the silence either.

Perhaps you will have to now.

As it turns out, you don’t get the chance to. Break the silence, that is. For the third night in a row now, Vulture is a no show.

And for the third night in a row, the criminal gets away.

You’re tempted to blame it on your sprained wrist. But you can’t help but recall all the times thugs have slipped out of your grasp, only to be picked off by Vulture. Honestly, these last three days have you reluctantly acknowledging that your job is much harder without your silent partner.

You strain your ears in anticipation of a crack sound. But for the third night in a row, you’re left disappointed.

What’s up with all these no-shows lately?

You groan as the call gets diverted to voicemail yet again. It’s the seventh call you’ve dialled to Yoongi. Checking the time, it’s now half an hour past your agreed upon meeting time.

You slam your laptop shut. This is ridiculous. Does he think that his cute face will let him get away with everything? Just because he’s produced nothing but quality work in your pairwork so far doesn’t excuse anything.

Ok. Maybe you’re being a little harsh on him. Maybe.

But can you be blamed for being in such a crappy mood? After the shit show that was the last few nights of crime-fighting, you’re already in a foul mood. And now, hauling your sleep-deprived self out of bed and to the library at eight in the morning on a Saturday morning, only to have your partner pull a no-show? Who wouldn’t be pissed?

You shove your things into your bag and trudge back to the dorm. If you get to his room and he’s still in bed… No one can hold you responsible for what you’ll do next.

But you spot him, squatting by the shrubs that line the dorm, as you’re making your way across the green, and he’s very much awake.

You march up to him, intending to tap him on the shoulder and give him a piece of your mind.

“That damn cat,” you hear him mutter. You pause, curiosity piqued. “THIS is why dogs are man’s best friend, not cats. Holly would NEVER.”

“Looking for something?” you ask. He jumps, and turns around.

“Oh, ____,” he says, standing up from his crouched position. “Yeah, I lost something.”

“Funny, because I was looking for something too for the past-” you check your watch dramatically “- half an hour now.”

He gasps. You can pinpoint the exact moment the realization hits him. “I’m so sorry! It totally slipped my mind.”

You sigh. He’s honestly too cute. As it turns out, the answer is yes. His cute face will indeed let him get away with everything; your anger is completely diffused.

“Let’s just take a break this week,” you say.

“You don’t have to do that on my account. Just give me five minutes to grab my stuff.”

“Nah, we’ve made sufficient progress on this assignment that we’ve earned it. And you look like you’re too troubled by whatever you’ve lost anyway,” you say with a wave of your hand.

You pause, weighing your next words. But damn your soft spot for him. “Hey, do you want an extra pair of eyes to help you look?”

He considers your offer for a second. Then, hesitantly, he says, “Ok. Yeah. That’d be great actually.”

“So what are you looking for?”

He purses his lips. Did the cat really steal his underwear? Whatever he’s lost must be pretty embarrassing if it’s this hard to tell you.

Finally, he sighs and spits it out. “I know it sounds weird but I’m looking for a mask.”

You feel your jaw go slack.

“A mask?” you echo hollowly. “Like a ski mask?”

“No, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Y’know what, forget I said anything. I’m sure I’ll find it myself.”

He turns back to inspecting the bush. But now you have to know.

“Is it a black mask? With gold trim?”

Yoongi freezes for a second. It’s all the answer you need.

He laughs, and you can tell it’s forced. “Have you seen it?”

“No way.” It’s a mumble at first, then it all comes tumbling out of your mouth. “No way. No way! YOU’RE Vulture?!”

“Vult- What?!”

“Right. Sorry. That’s just the name I gave you because you keep swiping my thugs. And yes, I’ve seen it. Seen it every night you pop in and steal my captures.”

“Wait,” he says, his eyes growing wide as he comprehends what you’re saying. “YOU’RE that hot vigilante with the cool force fields? The one who can’t keep the thugs restrained for nuts?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Hey. You have no grounds to complain. Not when you call me Vulture.”

“I’m so tired,” you manage to whine through a whisper. “We bagged three criminals tonight. Can’t you just teleport us back to the dorm?”

“You know we can’t do that, love,” he whispers, rubbing your back. “My powers aren’t the most stealthy. And c’mon, we’re almost there.”

Behind your own mask, you smile contentedly. The lonely nights of crime-fighting have become not so lonely after all.

As it turns out, your synergy with Yoongi is not limited to academic work. It’s been a month now and your teamwork functions like a well-oiled machine, your force fields weakening the thugs and directing them to where Yoongi waits in the shadows to teleport them off to jail where they belong.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, barely maintaining your hushed tone. The dorm cat slinks round the corner, yanking you out of your thoughts.

“That damn cat,” Yoongi mutters.

You pinch his ear, one of the few exposed parts of his body in this attire. “If not for ‘that damn cat’, we wouldn’t have gotten together. You have much to thank this cat for.”

You can’t see it but you know that he’s rolling his eyes.

“You have no defence because you know I’m right,” you taunt.

“Fine, you are,” he says and begins to lift his mask to lean in for a kiss.

You pull it back down. “Don’t get distracted now. We can cuddle later when we’re back safe, ok?”

He huffs, but there’s a spring in his step that was not there before.

And as the two of you round the corner to clamber back up to the safety of your room, the dorm cat watches with eyes aglow in the moonlight.

Your window clicks shut. It’s safe now. Jin shape-shifts out of his cat form and smirks to himself. He still remembers the mutually stolen side glances from orientation. How could he not ship your two dorky asses?

And all the sneaking around that both of you were doing every night, unaware that you both had a masked companion in each other?

But ah, it seems that you’ve finally got your shit together. All he did was nudge you in the right direction. Looks like it worked. Mission accomplished.

#btswriterscollective #ficswithluv #btsbookclub #btswritingcafe #btsguild #bts college au #bts superhero au #bts humor #bts romance #bts oneshot #bts fic #bts x reader #yoongi college au #yoongi superhero au #yoongi humor #yoongi romance #yoongi oneshot #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #myg college au #myg superhero au #myg humor #myg romance #myg oneshot #myg fic #myg x reader

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: F*** Your Contract {One-Shot}*

Henry Cavill x Famous Reader

Warning: Cursing, Angst, NSFW, Mild Smut, 

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Reader is a successful actress in her own right and has been in a relationship with Henry for the last year. The relationship has been difficult to maintain because the two of you are always on opposite sides of the globe with little to no time to spare for the other. Henry makes a surprise visit out to the set of your sci-fi movie only to find you in a situation he did not expect.

 ***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊

“I miss you so bloody much.”

 You leaned back on the couch you were sitting in and sighed as you rested your head on your hand that was braced on the back of the couch.

 “I miss you too baby.” Henry groaned as he leaned back on the headboard of his bed. He looked amazing. Henry rubbed his chest and your eyes dropped to his very hairy chest. You loved it. your eyes ravaged him slowly. You didn’t even realize when your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

 “Don’t look at me like that love, please.”

 You smiled and shook your head. “Can’t take it?”

 Henry laughed loudly and you smiled at his full-on smile, the one that showed almost all of his teeth. You called it his dork smile. It was one of those smiles that looked like it should come with a snort. You loved it more than anything.

 “I think you know the answer to that. It’s been what, two months?”

 “Almost.”

 He groaned and hit his head back on the headboard, sank down just a bit then bit his bottom lip. “Wanna go in the bedroom?” You snorted from the way he rose his eyebrows. It gave him the most delightful mischievous look. A look you knew he gave plenty of times as a boy.

 “Why?”

“Well, I just thought you’d want to get more comfortable as you get more naked.”

 Again, you laughed loudly and shook your head. “I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, but I don’t just get named over FaceTime. There has to be a reason.”

 Henry pouted and gave you the sad puppy dog eyes. You almost felt sorry for him—almost.

 “I thought helping out your poor, lonely, affection, attention and love deprived boyfriend get through the next month or two of separation would be something you’d be open to.”

 You gave a look as if you were thinking about it. “Hmm, okay, I mean it doesn’t sound like a bad job, but there is just one thing. If I go in that bedroom, get naked and comfortable for my poor, lonely, affection, attention and love deprived boyfriend; what’s in it for me?”

 The camera slowly scanned his muscular bare chest down to his impressively defined abs. your jaw dropped as you gawked at his beauty. He was gorgeous, he knew it and you knew it. for a brief second the camera fell to his lap where you saw a noticeable bulge that made your mouth water. The next thing you saw was Henry’s face which was decorated with a smirk. He knew just what he did.

 “Yep. Going to the bedroom now.”

 You got up from the couch and made your way through your hotel room to the bedroom. Once inside you arranged the pillows at the foot of the bed and placed your iPad before them using them as a wall to angle the device. When you climbed in you adjusted it to ensure he had the perfect view.

 “There you are beautiful.” His smile was the best thing you’d ever seen, and it reminded you how much you loved him.

 The night was spent using FaceTime for just what it was meant for—human connection of the most intimate kind.

 Two weeks later the two of you had barely had any time to make your planned FaceTime dates. His filming schedule picked up and yours went haywire. You missed him. The number of times the two of you missed each other with your attempts to talk was crazy, either you were asleep when he called or he was in the middle of a scene, or even the service connection was bad thanks to him being on location. You both were getting antsy to see the other.

 “Is your head in the game Y/N?” You shook your head and looked at your costar Tyler whose smile was wide. He was a cutie.

 “Hey Tyler, yeah. Is yours? The most intense scene of the movie.”

 He shrugged then fanned you off. “Eh, not that intense for me, more so for you. I have the easy part.”

 He was right. You looked around at the six crew members that would be the only assigned for the particular scene that was being filmed. You’d done a very good job of compartmentalizing things. It was a job and nudity wasn’t really a big deal for you. you shrugged.

 “Eh, it’s just boobs.” Tyler laughed and nodded.

 “You’re right, just boobs. No big deal. We’ve all sucked one.”

 You laughed louder and pinched your lips trying to stop.

 “See, that’s the spirit. A guy like you has sucked more than one I’m sure, just add mine to the list.”

When you first read that there was nudity in the movie you never once hesitated with wanting the role. It was a good script, a chance to work with a great director and you knew the film would do well on release. A minute tops of nudity was no big deal; Emelia Clarke was fully nude for one or more of her scenes in Game of Thrones and she handled it like a boss and looked amazing.

 “All right Y/N, Tyler. Ready?”

 You stood and nodded along with Tyler and walked to the set that was made up for the scene. When Tyler took off his robe he wore a modesty cloth that covered his unmentionables but showed off just how buff he was. You could tell why some girls went crazy over him; you though were immune. You loved, wanted and craved only one man.

Tyler took his place and soon you did as well right on his lap. As you waited for everyone to take their places you got into the mindset of your character for the scene. “I’m sorry,” Tyler began.

 “What? For what?”

 “I know we’re both professionals and can get through this but I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, just the principle.”

 You smirked and nodded. “Apology accepted.”

 “All right, ready Y/N?” You nodded and untied the robe you wore. One of the set workers approached and peeled it off just as you covered your breasts.

 “All right, in 3, 2, 1.”

 At one, you lowered your hands in prep for action and began the scene. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss which prompts both of you to moan. Tyler’s hand raises to your back and claws down your skin to stop at the flesh just before the swell of your ass. You begin grinding on his lap. Suddenly Tyler stands and holds you against him in the air easily supporting your weight. He then plops you on the desk. His lips leave your lips to trail to your neck before kissing along your collar bone. You drop your back onto the desk and arch giving the view of a bridge. You look directly into the camera that is in front of the desk and play up the pleasure your character was supposed to be feeling.

 Just off to the side, you saw Henry watching. The pit of your stomach fell and that was when Tyler cupped your breasts in his hands and dropped his mouth to one of your nipples. Fuck, you thought. The tight clench of Henry’s jaw was hard to miss. He was angry. Closing your eyes, you tried to blot out the image of him in your head and stay in character and in the scene. Tyler moved to your other breast and nipple and you hugged his head to your chest. That was when the rocking started that was to imitate the motions of sex. You panted and moaned as you raked your nails across his back. Tyler kept one hand on your breast as he lost himself to the character and the scene.

 When you heard “cut” Tyler grabbed a robe from one of the set workers and covered you first. “Thanks.”

 When you sat up Henry was gone. Panic raised in you. “Uh—can we take ten or fifteen please?”

 “Sure, Y/N. Prep for scene thirty-four.” You nodded and scooted off the desk while putting on the robe. You hurried to your slippers and quickly walked off the set and looked around. You didn’t see him anywhere. He could have left and after nearly ten minutes you began to think he had. when you opened your trailer door and stepped inside there he was with his back turned. you didn’t know if you should run and throw your arms around him and tell him how much you missed him and loved him or apologize profusely.  Before you made a decision he turned and the anger in his eyes was so clear that you knew this was the beginning of a fight.

 “What the bloody hell Y/N!”

 “Calm down,” you began.

 “Calm down? You’re kidding me. I just walked in on you having sex with your co-star.”

 “Sex, really Henry that’s a big exaggeration.”

 “Is it? Your nipples were in his mouth, his hands were on your breasts. What the fuck was that?”

 You hadn’t gotten around to going into detail about the sex scene. When you told him about the movie you mentioned there was a sex scene but eluded that it was a mild one.

 “That was anything but mild. That was porn!” He was angry and you knew his anger was rising.

 “Okay I’m sorry, I should have been straight with you about how graphic the scene was. I just knew it would make you uncomfortable.”

 “Uncomfortable would be knowing you’re filming a sex scene; this was way past uncomfortable. Do you know what it feels like to see that?”

 You took a few steps to him, but he stepped aside not allowing you near him. “No. you are not going to try to make this go away like you do everything. Do you know what it feels like?”

 “Henry, this is my job. It’s your job too. I don’t go off the rails when you have to shoot scenes like this. I’m sure in The Witcher has scenes like this, I’ve played the video game and I was at the screening for the first season.”

 “That is completely different. I told you everything about that. I gave you a play by play of what to expect. You were not left wondering anything or surprised by anything. That—that was a surprise Y/N!”

 “It’s in my contract,” you blurted out.

 “Fuck your contract!” His voice boomed off the walls of your trailer and you knew whoever passed could hear.

 He was right. You should have told him. you didn’t expect him to be in the audience watching. You didn’t expect to see him for another few weeks. How were you supposed to prepare for him to walk in? You sighed, closed your eyes and tried to think of a way to make this better. When you looked at him you could see how furious he was. There were levels to Henry’s anger. There was being bothered, being annoyed, pissed, angry and downright seething. He was seething.

 Slowly you approached him as if walking to a skittish deer who would bolt at any second. You had to take this slow if you had any hope of smoothing this over.

“Baby,” you softly began getting closer. When you were a few inches from him you stopped. It was a strategy.

 “Look, I know I should have told you exactly what the scene was, I should have, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.” Slowly his eyes met yours, he searched yours for any hint of a lie.

 “Is there something going on with you and him?”

 “What! No. Oh my god, no baby. Tyler and I are just friends, costars. There is nothing there. You and me, we’re real.” You closed the space between you and clasped his face in your hands. “You mean everything to me. You and only you. I love you, Henry.”

 It killed you that this one omission had him questioning you. “Tell me you get that.” He shook his head and stepped back from you, again creating space.

 “Y/N, I—I can’t be here right now. You’re touching me and I hear your words, I do, but I can’t just forget what I saw.”

 You stepped closer again, it had him stumbling back to sit on the couch there. You took the opportunity to straddle him and press your lips to his in the same breath. He moaned and tried to push you away but instead, he pulled you closer and intensified the kiss. Soon his lips were battling yours and his tongue was wrestling yours into obedience. Your moans mingled together, and chaos ensued with the both of you ripping layer after layer of clothing from his body. When he was finally naked he pushed the robe off of you and threw you over the couch. You panted in anticipation for what you knew was to come.

Henry slammed into you pulling a scream from your throat. It had been months since you’d been together like this. He didn’t wait for you to adjust to him, he snapped his hips forward again and set the pace early letting you know just what this was. He was angry, he was trying to get it out but wrestled with his love and need for you. when you tried to throw your backside back onto him he pushed you down onto the couch restricting your actions. He held your hips in place and plowed into you with bruising thrusts that turned into fast and shallow storks. You couldn’t keep up and gripped the back of the couch hoping it was enough to hold you together as he tried to rip you apart.

 “Fuck! Are you mind Y/N?”

 “Yours!”

 “Do you deserve it?”

 “Yes baby, I deserve it. Fuck me!”

 Henry didn’t need to be told twice. The pace in which he fucked you increased and the force behind his thrusts was giving you whiplash. You moaned and screeched and held on for dear life.

 “What’s my name?”

 “Baby.”

 “What’s my name Y/N!”

 “Henry.”

 “I can’t hear you.”

 “Henry! Fuck!” You didn’t care how loud you were at this point, everything he was doing felt too good.

 Henry grunted loudly once, then twice and you felt his release, even as he released his thrusts didn’t slow down for several minutes. Then he pulled from you and dropped onto the couch panting. You moaned and already felt the soreness from the pounding he’d just delivered.

 “Baby.” You touched his cheek and felt his jaw clench.

 “I need to clear my head Y/N.” He stood and dressed in silence then walked out of your trailer. He was definitely still seething, and you had no idea what you would do or how to make it right.

 You tried your best to finish the day on set and tried to remain present and focused, but it was difficult. Everyone could tell you were distracted, but no one brought anything up. you kept an eye out for Henry, but he didn’t come back and you were worried. Between takes you called him and left him two messages, both of them apologizing and reminding him how much you loved him. you knew he knew it but what else were you supposed to say.

 When you left set it was nearing two in the morning and you were exhausted. The drive to your hotel was not a long one. You stared at your phone the entire time fighting the urge to call him yet again. You knew when he was this angry calls and texts were not his priority. He needed to cool down. He hated arguing and went out of his way to prevent arguments and defuse the situation. Usually it meant he walked off and left you be for a few hours. This was different though; he’d seen another man with your nipple in his mouth. It wasn’t something he was prepped for either. You knew it was a major blow to the ego. You hated seeing the video of his sex scenes and made it a point never to be anywhere near when he filmed them.

 When you got off the elevator on the floor of your penthouse you felt horrible. Hoping a shower would help, you immediately got in and washed the day away and used the hot water and steam to relieve some of the stress and tension that was in your body. An hour later you only felt a little better. As you checked your phone you groaned seeing not one message from Henry. It was now almost four in the morning. He could have gotten back on a plane and left town for all you knew. Angrily you called him and rolled your eyes when it went to voicemail.

 “Look, I get you’re pissed at me and you didn’t want to see what you did and it’s my fault you did but it’s not fair to ignore me all day Henry. It’s been hours. I don’t know where you are, I don’t know if you’re hurt. This is not okay.” You ended the call and tossed your phone to the side and dropped onto the bed and sighed out.

 You heard the chime of the door and walked through the penthouse to the door. When you opened it there he stood with his elbows braced on the sides with his head hung. When his eyes met yours, you could tell he’d had a few drinks, but you also saw sadness and vulnerability.

 “I’m sorry,” Henry began. Those words melted away any annoyance you felt. You stepped to him and threw your arms around him holding him close. He slightly bent and lifted you into his arms. With your legs wrapped around him, he walked inside and to a seat.

 “I’m sorry baby. I should have told you. I’m sorry,” you expressed.

 “I was jealous—am jealous.  To see someone touch you like that, be like that—it cut me up. I love you Y/N. you have to know that.”

 “I know baby, I love you too. It’s only you for me. You have to know that. I don’t care about anyone else.” After searching your eyes for a few seconds, he nodded and rested his forehead on your chest and sighed out.

 “I’m a jealous man,” Henry finished.

 “You have no reason to be. You have me, all of me—for as long as you want me.”

 His eyes locked with yours and he caressed your cheek before he spoke.

 “Forever.”

 You smiled and softly kissed him. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” you whispered. Henry smiled and gave you a rakish look that had your belly doing backflips before he stood and carried you to the bedroom.

#f*** your contract one shot #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill smut #angst fanfic

[nvtm1]

𝐜𝐨 - 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠    —    @btchrs​  as  ray  the  butcher:        “you’re too scared to do it, aren’t you?”

THERE’S  A  LOT  SHE’S  SCARED  OF.  petrified  of,  even.  spiders  still  make  her  jump,  she’s  had  an  irrational  fear  of  being  buried  alive  ever  since  sarah  made  her  watch  double  jeopardy  when  they  were  both  too  young,  and  her  employer  is  like  patrick  bateman  on  some  frightening  hybrid  fashion  drug.  and  all  that  combined  somehow  pales  in  comparison  to  the  situation  she  finds  herself  in  at  this  moment.

2:17  P.M.  WE  NEED  TO  TALK.  GET  HERE  ASAP.  they’ve  been  talking  a  lot  lately,  she  and  ray      —      conversations  range  from  things  as  mundane  as  the  setlist  for  the  week  to  more  serious  ones,  like  why  she  was  late  to  work  friday  night.  which  camp  this  specific  one  was  going  to  fall  into  was  a  mystery,  but  one  thing  was  certain:      ray  never  liked  to  be  kept  waiting,  and  she  wasn’t  stupid  enough  to  press  her  luck.  plans  were  dropped  and  twenty  minutes  later  she  was  walking  through  the  doors  of  inferno  and  escorted  up  to  the  office.

five  minutes  later,  here  she  stands,  pistol  in  hand,  acutely  aware  by  the  weight  of  it  that  there’s  only  one  bullet  in  the  chamber,  locked,  loaded,  and  every  eye  in  the  room  is  on  her.  she’s  not  sure  what  unnerves  her  more      —      the  fact  that  she  can  feel  ray  breathing  down  her  neck  in  anticipation  of  what  happens  next,  or  that  the  man  tied  to  the  chair  in  front  of  her,  bruised,  beaten  and  clinging  to  consciousness  is  begging  her  not  to  pull  the  trigger.  bits  and  pieces  of  what  he’s  saying  go  in  one  ear  and  out  the  other,  her  head  feeling  like  she’s  been  pulled  deep  underwater  by  a  powerful  undertow.  

prove  your  loyalty  to  me,  jordan.  a  demand.  

                                   prove  to  me  that  you  belong  here.  always,  a  demand.

it’s  an  impossible  decision,  and  one  she  has  to  make.  if  you  don’t  pull  the  trigger,  he  will.  he  won’t  be  happy  if  it  comes  to  that      —      she  knows  that  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach,  just  like  she  knows  she’s  trapped  here.  one  way  in,  one  way  out,  and  it’s  not  pretty,  no      —      in  fact,  she’s  staring  directly  at  her  future  if  she  decides  to  try  and  leave.  all  this  keen  awareness  and  it  only  makes  everything  more  difficult.

                                                you’re  too  scared  to  do  it,

it’s  hard  to  read  him  off  of  voice  alone.  is  he  angry?  amused?  disappointed?  smug?  does  it  matter?  deep-seeded  uneasiness  is  slowly  burned  out  by  a  smoldering  frustration      —      at  her  situation,  at  the  last  couple  of  months  at  inferno,  at  him.  at  herself.  look  at  this  fucking  mess  you  got  yourself  into,  jordan.  how  many  years  had  she  starved  looking  for  a  shred  of  success  in  this  city  that’s  become  her  personal  hell?  look  at  how  badly  you’ve  fucked  up  your  promising  future,  jordan.

no.  no.  no.  everything  up  to  this  point  has  been  a  distinct  move  to  further  her  survival.  working  two  dead  end  jobs  and  living  with  people  she  can’t  stand.  dancing  through  audition  after  audition  until  her  feet  bled.  hearing  rejection,  after  rejection,  after  rejection.  and  then  ray  comes  along  with  more  money  than  god  and  the  promise  that  all  this  torture,  all  this  suffering,  can  go  away  if  she  just  follows  him  to  his  club  and  sings.  it’s  that  simple,  until  it  isn’t.

                                          aren’t  you?

                                                                                      BANG!

he  doesn’t  have  the  time  to  punctuate  that  thought,  and  jordan  only  flinches  at  the  amount  of  blood  and  other  unmentionable  pieces  of  this  man  she’s  never  seen  before  and  will  never  see  again  that  splatters      —      across  the  walls,  the  ceiling,  the  tile.  across  her.  another  impossible  decision  made  to  ensure  one  thing:  survival.

she  tries  to  pay  no  mind  to  how  much  heavier  the  pistol  feels  in  her  hand  now.  grip  slackens,  and  she  turns  the  weapon  over  to  ray,  only  to  tighten  it  when  she  feels  him  move  to  take  it.  gaze  sweeps  up  to  meet  his,  burning  with  what  could  only  be  called  contempt  as  she  decides  that  yes,  this  is  worth  pressing  her  luck.

                                           ❛  don’t  you  ever  tell  me  about  me  again.  ❜

she  doesn’t  care  if  she’s  heard  by  his  men,  who  have  been  composed  this  whole  time,  who  have  undoubtedly  seen  worse.  she  doesn’t  care  that  she  hasn’t  been  given  permission  to  leave.  gun  is  surrendered  and  she  walks  at  an  even,  rhythmic  pace  out  the  door,  intent  on  getting  cleaned  up  asap.

after  all,  she  thinks,  the  boss  doesn’t  like  it  when  his  songbird  isn’t  perfectly  put  together.

#𝒊. answered — in character. #guns / #violence / #murder / #under a readmore bc of content and length #also uhhh #yeah #YEAAAHHH #btchrs

[clearwillow]

Mating Fever: Cuddle Puppy

This one takes place sometime in the beginning of chapter 6. Just a bit of filler after they get the jewel shard and before Kagome goes back through the well. You can read the Mating Fever here if you haven’t yet.

Kaede didn’t ask questions when the group returned to the village. It wasn’t hard to figure out that things hadn’t gone well between the aggravated looks, Kagome’s change of clothes, and the absence of Sango, Shippo, and Kirara. She shook her head and continued with her work. If they had bothered to ask her advice, she would have suggested not getting on the road, but hindsight was pointless now.

Kagome had retreated to their borrowed hut, preparing the fire pit for another night of instant noodles. Miroku went to collect water, needed to get away from the constant bitching he’d had to listen to all the way back. Inuyasha had left as well, mumbling about getting some meat because the ramen wouldn’t be enough. She had a feeling it was an excuse to maim something with purpose, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. As it was, she wasn’t particularly happy either, having had to wash youkai guts off in the nearest spring with no privacy and wear a spare sundress back. The uniform had been wrung out and stuffed in a mesh bag that she’d used to collect fish, so on top of the acrid smell of bile and other unmentionable scents, her school clothes smelled of fish. Once she had the fire prepared she removed the wet clothes from the bag and hung them up inside the hut to dry. She’d still have to take them home and pray the washing machine could get them clean, but it’d be better than having them mildew.

Throughout her tasks she hadn’t said a word to either the youkai or human forms of Inuyasha, who sat on opposite sides of the fire pit. Human Inuyasha didn’t dare comment, knowing that she was unhappy, and as much as he wanted to fix it, he wasn’t the one who had fucked up. The youkai on the other hand, knew full well that he was to blame. His first mistake had been to tell her not to fight. His second had been following her into the spring. He’d had the best intentions of course, to help his mate get the gunk out of her hair. She hadn’t seen it that way.

Miroku stopped by with the containers of water. “I’ve been called to lend a hand,” he said, passing the water to Human Inuyasha. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.” Then he bolted.

Kagome snorted, taking a seat by the fire.

“You seem disbelieving, Ka-go-me.” Youkai Inuyasha drew her name out, unable to hide the grin at her reaction. She’d deny it, but he knew even without using his nose that the shiver that came over her when he said her name like that meant she liked it.

“Given what happened earlier, can you blame him for not wanting to be here right now?”

Human Inuyasha looked up from stoking the fire. Her tone spoke volumes. “Do you wish to return to your time tonight?” It would suck not having her there, but if she wished it he’d walk her to the well right then and deal with the hanyou when he returned.

“No…I still need to figure out how I’m going to explain to Mama what happened. It’s not like she’s expecting me back tonight or anything.” She huffed, crossing her arms. “How am I even supposed to tell her when I don’t even know what really happened!”

Human Inuyasha didn’t have an answer for that. He looked over the fire at the youkai to see if he had any input on the matter, and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘That idiot is going to get himself sat through the floor of the hut,’ he thought as he watched the youkai crawl across the floor and lay his head in Kagome’s lap. He was too focused on watching the shitshow that was about to go down to acknowledge that the hanyou had stepped into the hut with meat for their dinner.

“The fuck is going on here?!”

Kagome was just as surprised as Inuyasha sounded, but she couldn’t look away from the seemingly innocent looking red eyes that stared up at her. “What-“

“Is this alright, Ka-go-me?” He drew her name out in a purr again, hoping to get her permission. He knew that the human had gotten the opportunity long ago to lay his head here, and he’d been jealous. Not that he’d admit to being jealous of the human; after all it had been his dumbass that had gotten poisoned in the first place.

She swallowed, looking down at Youkai Inuyasha. She couldn’t really use the beads in this instance without doing damage to herself, and Inuyasha didn’t do anything to warrant being sat. ‘I guess it’s not hurting anything,’ she thought. “On one condition,” she said softly. “That I can rub your ears.”

Human Inuyasha looked up at the hanyou with raised brows. Inuyasha could only look on in horror as his youkai side grinned widely.

“You can touch me however you want, Ka-go-me.”

Inuyasha sputtered at the words as he dropped the meat into the pot to cook, nearly missing it entirely. Kagome let out a small laugh and he looked up to see her tentatively reach out and brush her fingers across the youkai’s ears. He’d never understand her fascination with his ears, but it looked like the youkai had pleased her with his answer. She continued to rub the soft flesh between her fingers, and he lay still in her lap, watching her with something Inuyasha didn’t want to think about.

It was adoration. The youkai watched Kagome like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

His human side continued to watch the food since Kagome was indisposed at the moment. He’d seen her fix the ramen enough times to know when to add the water to the cups. It was when he got up to get some rice to have with the meat that he heard Kagome giggle louder. Human Inuyasha looked over and felt relief at seeing Kagome’s irritation from earlier melting away. The youkai continued to snuggle in her lap, a few times making her squeak in surprise, but she never made him move.

“You’re just a big cuddle puppy aren’t you?” she laughed as he shifted again.

Human Inuyasha snorted in laughter, not so much at Kagome’s words, but at the look on the hanyou’s face. He’d gone an interesting shade of red and couldn’t form a simple sentence. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad while they figured things out.

“I’m your cuddle puppy, mate.”

“Stop saying that to her!”

“Inuyasha, he didn’t mean anything by it-“

“On the contrary, I meant every word. It’s not my fault you have a stick in your ass, hanyou.”

Then again…as long as he steered clear of the line of fire, perhaps he’d be entertained. At least the beads had no effect on him.

#fanart #inuyasha #kagome #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #I'll make a post on ao3 in the near future with these fic bits #I have no idea how many there's gonna be #we'll just have to wait and see

[killed-by-cas-confession]

A ficlet thing I wrote when I was having an anxiety attack from my GAD. Dean’s been kidnapped by witches and thrown under a spell after the events of 15x18 (with the bonus that Jack rescued Cas from the empty but... ya know, Cas comes back to the bunker ofc) (That anxiety ficlet I mentioned that I was contemplating adding more plot to. Still might do that and throw it on AO3 but I’m focusing on my Season 16 fix-the-unmentionable-finale-that-doesn’t-exist-fic so maybe later) I just have it on my phone and edited it sloppily because I want it out somewhere, so I’m throwing it on here. TW: Anxiety attack and the thoughts one has during one, Canon compliant Violence mentions, John Winchester mention, Self Worth issues. Not beta-read, barely proofread.

His heart is going a mile a minute. Its pounding in his ears, bashing against the inside of his skull like a jackhammer. His breaths are shallow, quick, too quick, too much.

It's all too similar to the buruburu case in Colorado, taunted by his mind about his time in hell, about returning, after he was saved by an angel, by god he wishes he could be saved by that angel again.

Please. Please. Someone save me, please-

It's all too much, it's too much, it's too similar to those years spent in the pit, the torture he suffered, and it won’t stop, won’t stop, please stop-

Time somehow is passing at a crawl and a mile a minute. His throat feels tight, like he’s being choked, and he has been, so many times before, but then he could fight against it and now, despite how much he cries out, only half aware of every plea that leaves his lips, they simply hang in the empty, foreboding space. Every assault on his mind comes like he's thumbing through a flip book, the images intense and gone as quickly as they came only to be replaced by ones just as hellish as the last. 

He simply exists, thrashing and falling in this agonizing space, in this spell-induced hell, this anxiety filled pit.

He sees John one minute, hears his angry yells. He can feel every punch and kick and breaking of bones he’s ever taken  the next minute, and then, then he's seeing the faces of all the monsters he's ever almost died to, the animalistic rage behind them; something twisted and evil and gnarled and aimed right at him- 

He can see the pit, feel the rip and tear of hell hound claws that dragged him down. He may as well be buried in a pine box because there can’t be oxygen in this damp basement he's locked in, because his lungs refuse to take any in.

Above it all is the ache splitting his ribs, for every death he's had to watch and carry on through- every victim he couldn't save, every family member he's ever failed- Sam, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Charlie, Mom, Cas-

Cas, help, help me, help me please—

It's a plea, a prayer, for help, for forgiveness, an apology for it all; the fighting, the lies, for not listening to him, for not helping him, for not saving him; from Crowley, from Rowena, from Lucifer, from Asmodeus, from the Empty. 

It's an apology for not saying it, for not stopping him, yet again, when he left him in that dungeon months ago, when everything was falling apart just like he is now.

He's only able to duly note that there’s a bang above him. A shot. A yell and a burst of energy. It's too far away, too far outside this bubble of torment that he's stuck inside and can't escape. He can’t bring himself to pay attention to the blood leaking down his face, the swollenness of his left eye socket and the pressure building steadily there. He knows at some point he tried to move, to curl in on himself, to somehow protect himself against the mental hits, forgetting the chains keeping him prisoner against the cold cement wall, and his ribs protested harshly. He's sure some are broken but he can't bring himself to care, because it's just more pain, more nausea inducing fear.

None of it can really matter now, ever since the spell that has his lungs gasping for breath and hot tears staining his cheeks as he struggles to calm his pulse, to not shake against his shackles. He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, is the spell finally killing him? He knows it's the spell, he knows, he knows, but he keeps seeing flames on the ceiling, Sam's back bleeding red onto his palm, burnt wings on the ground around him, everyone he loves leaves, dies, he corrupts everyone who touches him, why do people keep touching him? 

He just wants it to stop, please, please make it stop, please make it quiet, please end it, because he can't watch Sam fall into the pit, he cant watch the blue white glow and hear Cas's scream-

Cas, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, I'm sorry-

He clings to Cas, like he did being half carried down the bunker halls that day, begs the thought of the angel to ground him somewhere; the movie nights, the car rides, the late night phone calls with Dean sitting outside his hotel room in the driver's seat of the impala so he doesn't wake Sam but those happy thoughts feel so far away, like it isn't him in the memories, and they're easily replaced by the tears sliding down Cas's cheeks as he says his goodbyes, Death pounding on the door like his heartbeat in his skull, boom, boom, boom, until Dean's lungs bottom out as his back hits the wall-

"Cas!!"

"Dean!"

He twists his face, screws his eyes shut tight; no, no he can't hear his voice, can't hear it saying what he can't say back-

"Dean, I'm here."

Stop, stop; Cas is safe and home, but he can't be, maybe Jack didn't bring him back, maybe it's all been a cruel joke. Maybe he's still in hell, suffering the loss of a love he's never known.

Dean has to be still sitting on the dungeon floor, twisting and jerking to free himself from the chains that hold him there, his body protesting, his throat caught between a sob and a yell, both so broken by pain, forced to lose his best friend, forced into silence by the trauma, unable to scream or whisper it back and he opens his eyes, tries to see through the blur of tears, only to be taunted by blue eyes staring back, wide eyed and scared, scared of him, scared to be saying it, scared of dying.

"Cas, please-" he hiccups a sob, willing Cas to stop looking at him, to stop the rough hands yanking at his wrists, rougher hands still frantically gripping his shoulders-

"Dean, Dean it's us, its Sam and Castiel--it's me, stop-"

Stop, and he's sure Cas is lying broken, on the floor beneath him in the bunker in a mess of books and wood splinters, a moment from death at Dean's own rage-fueled, bloodied hands-

And then Cas is cupping his face and he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look into the blue eyes peering back at him, and he can't help but to rest into the warm palms, to get relief in any way, uncaring if Cas kills him here in this crypt over this tablet now.

"Cas-"

"They're coming, hurry-"

"I'm getting it, just--...I got it, help Dean, I’ll cover--"

And then the chains are free, and Cas is lifting him from Hell, lifting him from the pit, an arm around his back, a hand around his wrist but this time it isn't restraining and restrictive; no it's carrying him through the gunshots, through the bunker halls, up wooden steps and into sunlight, into leather seats where he can collapse back, his head lulling forward to stare at the dark floors that should be the dirt at a lake house, marred by burned wings-

"Dean, I've got you."

"Cas..." He whimpers out, aching on the movie nights, an old western playing over them in the dark where he can blame the closeness on booze, on tiredness, on just accidentally shifting closer trying to get the popcorn. He aches to let himself fall into Cas's hands, closing his eyes against the touch that he knows he shouldn't want, and yet he thinks Cas wants now, somehow, someway in front of a neon cross-

"Dean, it’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me...look at me."

He shouldn't want to peer up into those blue eyes and imagine the cosmic energy behind them and yet he does, to just selfishly grasp at the possible love behind them, to feel the words ‘I love you’ over and over again; that he's loved, that he's a loving, cared for, selfless, kind person, all the things he's still not sure he is and yet he wants to be, wants to be more than anything and yet how can something as otherworldly as Cas be wrong?

"I've got you. Take this, for me, it’s okay."

How can he deny someone like Cas, when he's looking at him so purely?

Cool glass meets his lips and a liquid snakes down his throat and its somehow vile and yet holds a ginger root scent that’s warm and kind of smells like that trench coat or maybe that's coming from the fabric itself that he’s gripping like a lifeline now, head curling against the angel's warm palm. Cas is staring so mournfully sweetly at him, and suddenly his entire body is full of warmth and intimacy and safety; kindness and love and he can’t help but whimper in awe at it.

"Shh. It's okay, Dean. It’s okay."

It's okay.

It’s okay to finally let himself ignore the old western on the tv, Sam and Jack, to let his head lull onto Cas's shoulder, to let Cas guide him against his chest, to let Cas wrap an arm around him. It's okay to cry at the sensation of Cas's warm palm against his cheek, to focus entirely on his thumb stroking his skin.

He can hear Sam asking Cas a question, he's sure he hears his own name, but it isn’t accusing, it isn’t judging, it isn’t hateful; Sam's asking if he's okay. Because of course he is.

"He will be."

Maybe he will be.

No, he will be because Cas has got him.

Cas has got him, like he's always had him; once more he's lifting him up from hell, and he's safe in his arms, curled up against his side now, the safest place he could be, and finally his body and mind drift away from the exhaustion of it all; lulled to sleep by Cas's warmth against his side, the rumble of baby's engine, the low Led Zeppelin track on the radio, and the knowledge that he'll be okay.

#destiel fanfic #deancas #casdean #destiel #ficlet thing #cee rambles about things #i wrote this in like an hour to cope with bad levels of anxiety #and it helped #this is the second time ive written an anxiety based fic to cope with anxiety #anyone else do this #reblogs welcome #god i just love commas dont you

[kewltie]

Bakugou Katsuki is eighteen years old and is about to graduate in a few of months on a stellar academic and battle record, with a sea of offers from various hero agencies lining up for him to join them afterward. His future is bright, burning with a forward trajectory, but then he heads home for a break and it all goes batshit.

As soon as he steps a foot into his home, his mother shoves a screaming toddler into his arms. "Her name is Kasumi," she tells him with a glare, "and she's yours. Be careful. Don’t drop her."

Katsuki freezes with the child – his baby, what the fuck – in his arms and almost drop her.

He stares in horror at the living and breathing thing in his grip, who just won't stop crying. He sees her blond hair, the fierceness of her tantrum, and the way her tiny clenched hands hit his chest as she fights against his hold, there is no a doubt in his mind that she is his. It’s all wrapped up in her scent; burnt sugar and everglades.

Then she turns her tearful eyes at him and it's green. That same fucking shade of green that had haunted him nearly all his life, and he knows, he knows what a fucking mistake he'd made and the reason for her presence here, because this is all his fault.

Fucking Deku.

There only ever been one person, one omega who makes him all twisted up inside, who fucked him up like nobody else. Midoriya Izuku has been the bane of Katsuki's life since he’d took first sniff of him and he isn’t even here right now, but Katsuki can feel his presence contained in this small existent in his arms.

"Where is he?" Katsuki demands, holding the baby away from his person like she's an infectious diseased. "Where's Deku?!"

His mother levels an unimpressed look at him as she takes Kasumi back from him. "He's gone. Five days ago he came to the house and left as soon as he'd dropped Kasumi-chan off with us."

“And you didn’t tell me then?!” he demands furiously.

His mother narrow her eyes slightly, just enough to carry her message through; she’s not putting up with his bullshit blustering. “You were coming home anyway, and we thought it would be better for you to find out in person rather than on the phone.”

Katsuki runs a frantic hand through his hair. "What the hell." He shakes his head. This is too absurd. Ridiculous. It can’t be happening. Not to him. Not right the fuck now. "I’ll fucking kill him! He can't do this to me!"

"Congratulation," his mother says dryly, patting Kasumi's back consolingly as she finally quiets down in her arms, "you won the lottery of life. You're a father now."

"Papa?" Kasumi sniffs hopefully, head swiveling around the room as she searches for the ghost that haunted both of their life before landing on Katsuki once more.

"Oh, no, sweetie, that's your daddy," his mother says, pointing toward him. "Say hi to daddy."

Kasumi's curious gaze falls on him, looking at him intensely before her face scrunches up in disgust and she wails, "No! Papa! Papa! Papa?!"

His mother sighs. "Look at what you did and she'd just stopped crying. Stop upsetting her."

Katsuki sputters in outrage. "What?! I fucking did no such thing, hag!"

Kasumi wouldn’t calm down after that until his mother takes her out of the room and kicks Katsuki to somewhere else. The less interaction between the new acquainted father-daughter pair the better, it seems.

He only known this little shit for five minutes and she's already making him lose his mind just like Deku; fucking great.

People often spoke of fatherhood as this life altering thing, like it's some goddamn revelation and a humbling experience as though that will get Katsuki to stay even more than a minute in the same room with her. He'd spent the first day home, avoiding her as much as possible. But her cries had followed him wherever he go. It permeated through the walls, shook the skeleton beams that hold up the roof, and soaked into the foundation of the house. Her despair was a palpable and angry thing that chaffed at his skin as she lamented the loss of her Papa.

Fatherhood sits uncomfortable against him like a cheap, oversize coat that was haphazardly thrown on him. He doesn't know what to do with her. She's too loud, angry, and hurt. The few words that she spoke are that to call the name of someone else, someone who had left her behind.

He doesn't know if babies that young can even comprehend such things, but he sees how she always orientated her body toward the entrance of a room and the surprised hitch in her voice when someone enter then the disappointment that followed afterward written all over her round face.

He never makes any effort to try to reach out and comfort her in any of those moments. Can only watch as his parents gently held her in their arms, cooed gentle words, and offered the world up to stop her from hurting so much like they had done this a hundred times before. It's an old war wound revisited even before he’d arrived at their doorstep.

He doesn't understand her pain. Doesn't feel connected to her like his parents are because sometimes it's like she's speaking in a foreign language that he only has the most rudimentary skill to comprehend. It's the truth. She's alien to him and he doesn't know how to love her properly.

Maybe if he was there from the very beginning to witness her birth, saw her first steps and heard that first word that tumble out of her mouth, maybe, maybe then he wouldn't feel so cold and indifferent to her and her cries.

And this is all Izuku's fault for denying him this right.

He could have it all, all those first times and more. Perhaps even the rumor parental love that comes with it but all he got is a crying stranger with a bucket load of anger and abandonment issue. It's not fucking fair.

How dare Izuku leave him with this unwanted responsibility?!

Katsuki has no time for this bullshit. He's going to graduate soon. There’s an vacant spot with his name on it at some toptier agency. The no. 1 hero position is his to seize. And the world is open up for his taking. He can't have a baby holding him back now. No. No, absolutely not.

Fuck this. Fuck Deku. And—and fuck her too.

Somewhere in the midst of sinking into his own pit of despair and uncontrollable rage, he'd forgotten that he isn't alone in this awful maelstrom. His parents may have fair better than him, but they got trapped into hellhole like he did. They didn’t sign up to be grandparents like this, to have a one year old grandchild dropped into their lap with no words. His parents doesn’t deserve this, but they stand firm by him and is there to catch the fallout of his mistake.

Beside one other unmentionable person, they understands him best and though he doesn't say it, they can tell by way his body stiffened up around Kasumi, how he'd never call her by her name, or look at her in the eyes - it's the same damn eyes that had fucked over. They know.

His father gently pulls him aside one night and looks at him somberly. "You don't have to be here if you don't want to." The ‘you don't have to do this’ is left on spoken. "We'll take care of her." He smiles at Katsuki with an understanding, no judgment that he can decipher. "Her arrival was unexpected, but not unwanted."

Katsuki lets out a shuddering breath that he didn’t even know he was holding this entire time like a heavy weight is lift off of him and he can finally, finally take breathe at last. “T-Thanks, dad," he says, staring down at his clenched hands. It's a relief, but bittersweet.

A week after Kasumi was shoved into his arms by his mother, Katsuki is set to go back to U.A. He thinks if he was a better man, a better father, he would stop and race back and tell his father that no, he want this, want her, but he doesn't. He walks out and doesn't look back.

#bakudeku #fic snippet #series: re:kasumi #au of an au LOL /o\ #where what if izuku left kasumi w/ the bakugou & she's raised by the katsuki instead #or katsuki is a single dad w/ a terrifying lil girl that he knows he doesn't want #but one day she'll be his everything