#*barely manages to hit Win+Shift+S through the fucking tears*

[akans-dead-at-sea]

It's alright

30 second timelapse:

#ofmd #ofmd s2 #ofmd fanart #our flag means death #“I am a brave boy and will NOT cry while getting reference screenshots of Ed” he said. #*barely manages to hit Win+Shift+S through the fucking tears* #I'm sorry but this is the only decent OFMD fanart I got in me for now #I'm shit at drawing people with faces/head and I still gotta learn and find a style but god knows the gay pirates are gonna help me practic #I still need to recover from this scene- this episode- this season- this show goddamnit #ngl at first I liked how I drew Ed's hair but the more I look at it now the less I like it >:C #did I forget to post this? no nope nuh uh I don't know what you're talking about #this absolutely blew up on twitter- lowkey hope tumblr dot com likes it too :> #ed teach #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd s2e8 #tw blood #blood #akans art

[multifictionx]

Predator - Hybrid Y/n x Mafia ATEEZ OT8

Chapter one: The Escape by multifictionx

Warnings; Gore, HEFTY amount of profanity, slow burn, murder, torture, Mafia v. Mafia, eventual OT8, eventual mature themes, MDI please..

Teaser

Y/n

Why is life so cruel to me... What have I done

to deserve the pain.. the suffering I've endured..

Feet treading through the long grass as I frantically search around me hoping I'm going in the right direction. Blinded by the tall grass that surrounds me, and feeling utterly helpless. But I know I saw the forest going this way. I speed up upon hearing the voices of them gaining on me.

"Little bitch went this way!"

"FUCKING CATCH HER! IF SHE GETS AWAY

WE'RE SCREWED!"

Their ruthless voices shout profanities, as they rush around the grassy outskirts of the building. All this is unknown to me.. my senses are going haywire. The fresh air along with the natural smell of nature is so refreshing. Busting through the tall grass I'm met with a vast forest line.

Thank the stars

I couldn't be more elated, my feline eyes moving around in the dark. The sound if their voices is alot closer now. I'm an no longer worried now though

If they want to come get me they can, cause in

here they're dead.

Now having the advantage, I shift into my panther form. Running faster as I sprint into the woods now completely unseen. Now stalking around the entrance of the woods. I watch maliciously as two men leave the grass line.

"Fuck we lost her.. where'd she go.."

"Shit we're dead if we show up without her!"

They are going to die either way

I leap from the woods slashing both men across their faces. Their screams doing nothing to stop me from tearing through them. My rage growing more when I see their bodies go limp. My labored breathing now the only thing heard. They could've suffered more...

Their pain will never compare to mine.

But I can't stay here long, hearing the several footsteps approaching the grass line.

I sprint into the darkness of the woods, taking my small win. The adrenaline rushing through me has me running faster than ever before. Yet the sedative I was forced injected with, has everything slowly starting to get hazy.

I am finally free

The breeze going through my fur feels amazing, as I run with excitement. The woods at night with nothing but the full moon to light the darkness, is such a beautiful sight even this state

I can't believe I'm seeing this for the first time

in my life. Feeling this..freedom

*Screech* *Bam*

Fuck...

The last thing I see with my blurry eyes, is a pair of nice dress shoes, then darkness.

--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_--_-

Narrative pov

"The 6ix are planning to take area B3, they've

managed to place their troops along our

borders discreetly."

The right-hand man states dryly. As he reads off the paper he prepared before the car ride.

"How were they even able to scheme up a

plan like this without our knowledge."

The youngest ask' rhetorically, obviously the most annoyed with the current situation.

"I believe we have a mole amongst our men."

The leader enlightens seemingly nonchalant. A wicked smile stretches on his features.

"Looks like someone is going to die"

The leader adds sinisterly, fingers itching to end the life of whoever the traitor is.

"This is a pain in th-"

The youngest is suddenly cut off, when the driver abruptly steps on the breaks. The sound of a thump following shortly after.

"Dooyoung what the hell did you just hit?"

The blonde haired man, demands now even more annoyed.

"Um.. S-Sir Yunho-ssi, I'm not really sure.. I could barely see it when it barreled out of the woods.. i-it looked like a big black cat"

The driver hastily explains himself, not trying to piss them off even more.

"I-i'll go check.."

The driver offers, but gets halted as a member has already opened their door.

???(San)

A big black cat? Is he delusional, there's no

way a panther is here in Seoul..

Nevertheless I fix my suit as I exit the car. Now walking along side the long vehicle. Though as I approach the front of the limo.

Are those.. legs?...This is quite interesting..

Now crouched down in front of the vehicle. My brows pulled together in a frown. Eyes on the unconscious woman, both injured and completely uncovered. But that's not even the most bizarre thing about this whole thing.

Those are definitely cat ears.. that is a tail..

I remove my dress coat to drape it over her much smaller frame. Grabbing her without much thought, already moving to get back in the car.

Please leave feedback- Should I continue?

Also please repost, it would really be appreciated! I'm new to posting on Tumblr so bare with me, but my request are open just dm 🙂

#ateez #ateez jungho #ateez wooyoung #ateez yeosang #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez seonghwa #ateez hongjoong #ateez yunho #ateez fanfic #ateez mafia au #ateez don't stop #ateez smut #hyrid au #ateez fanfiction #ateez x reader #ot8 x you

[outofsstyles]

So much for summer love and saying “us”

a/n: hola! this is my very late fic for @helladirections’s Summer Feeling Challenge!! My prompts were beach + summer rain so yeah! If yall know me you know I could not have miss Taylor release a whole album and not get inspired by it (for this piece particularly it was the song August) so yup this is it. Anyway no more rambling, let me know what you think :)

Word count: 6.8k

Warnings: angsty 🤭

Also this takes part after *this blurb* you don’t have to read it to understand but I do recommend it!!

Salt air, and the warm summer breeze messes with your hair. Your fingers get caught on the knots as you run your hands through it, feeling grains of sand lost in the strands, trying your best to untangle it. Even with your attempt to restrain your locks, some still manage to dance along with the wind, whipping in your face in the process, and taking your attention out of the open book resting on your thighs.

With a huff, you pull up your sunglasses from where it rests on your nose, holding your hair back as you use it in a last attempt to repress it. Looking up, now without the darkened vision due to the lenses, you realize the weather has toned down considerably. You pick your phone from where it rests under your legs, pressing the lock button just to check the time and you realize it’s been almost eight hours since everyone first strolled down from the house and settled on the mild pale sand.

Not long ago, the sun was shining proudly in the clear blue sky. It wasn’t as hot as it had been around lunchtime, when you went up to the house to fetch the sandwiches you and Mary made for everyone, almost burning your feet on the heated cobblestone in the process. Instead, it was like a warm hug, a nice contrast to your cooled skin from when you and the rest of the group went out for a swim.

Now, however, the sky was painted in a grayer tone. The sun hiding behind the clouds, no longer shimmering on your skin, reminding you of the rapid approach of summertime.

No else seems to notice (or care) about the change in the weather, really. Maya still reading her book on her beach towel set next to yours, lying on her belly as she flicks through the pages, humming along to the distant song blasting through the speaker. The boys were playing volleyball not too far from where you two lie -- well, at least the best they could with two people on each side. You look in their direction for the first time in the last hour, letting your urges win as your eyes set on the one person you’d been avoiding for the whole day.

The whole week, actually.

It’s been just about a week since your drunk confession to Harry. When you’d said you loved him with your whole chest right as he was about to press play on Coraline. You still cringe at the memory, especially when you recall his reaction, saying it back in the most calculated voice you’d ever seen him use -- you’ve decided he only said it for your sake, as to not make the moment more embarrassing than you’d already made it. He had promised to talk in the morning, but you feel like you can’t be blamed for running away as soon as your eyes fluttered open, and the events of the night prior hit you like a brick in the face.

You feel a pang of guilt about it, of course, for completely avoiding him like you are. Not like it’s a simple task. You live together after all, but you still managed to do it for a whole week. With your term being over, you fell into a routine of meeting with the girls for breakfast in the mornings and hanging around at their flat until the sun was setting and you had to catch the subway before it got too dark. As soon as you got home you’d lock yourself in your room and fall asleep to an episode of Stranger Things.

It was the easiest way, though. Limiting your interactions to a casual ‘Good morning’ or ‘There are some leftovers in the fridge’. No discussion of feelings. No explanation of your remorseful confession. No putting him in the place of having to reject you. No straining in your friendship.

You just pushed back the pain in your heart that came with having to look at his face twice a day and tried your best to ignore him to the best of your abilities.

That is until you couldn’t anymore.

This summer trip has been planned for months now. Since one of your mutual friends explained he’d have his family’s vacation home to himself all summer at a Christmas dinner and wanted to have everyone over for a week or two. It was exciting, of course, having a two weeks getaway with your group of friends seemed like the perfect idea to start your summer break on the right foot. What you’d never expect was that by the time the trip came along the last you’d want was to be in the same house as Harry without having anywhere else to run to.

Sighing, you gaze back at your forgotten book, your eyes sweeping over the words, not able to fully concentrate on them. And just as you give up, opening your mouth to announce you’re joining Mary in the house, a ball hits the spot just below your feet, making the sand around it jump and a small squeal to leave your lips.

You reach for it, leaning forward to hold it in your hands before looking up at the presence approaching you. It’s hard not to feel the jolt in your heartbeat as you meet his jade eyes, there’s almost a hesitance to his steps as he gets closer. You force a smile to tug on your lips as you hand him the ball, ignoring the electric hush that shoots down your spine when your fingers brush just slightly -- it’s the first time you’ve touched him in a week.

“Thanks.” It comes out rushed and you almost miss it. You think he’ll turn around and join the game again but he lingers for a moment, expecting you to say something.

You simply nod, not sure what to say, and that sends him back to where the rest of the boys are waiting for him. It’s hard not to stare as he walks away, the muscles of his broad back moving with him, skin tanned and a bit reddened around the shoulders. If things were normal, you’d have made him put on sunscreen after going for a swim, knowing how easily he gets sunburnt, and you’d pester him for not listening to you once he asked you to help apply the moisturizer that soothes the pain. You’d smooth your hands on his skin and spread kisses along his neck when he flinches as you rub a sore spot. You’d be mindful not to drag your nails through it once he had you under him, panting his name as his head rests between your thighs.

Looking back down at the cover of The Shining, you shake your head at yourself. Things are not normal, and they probably never will be again.

“I don’t even recognize you two anymore.” Maya’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. She closes her book, setting it down on her towel as she looks up at you from behind her sunglasses.

“What do you mean?” You run your eyes from the stare, choosing to gaze at the ocean instead, noting the way the waves are crashing closer to where you lay than they were in the morning.

“You know what I mean.” She shifts to lie on her back, propping herself up on her elbows. “Ignoring him like this is not the solution you know.”

You sigh, fidgeting with the loose strands at the hem of your towel. “I know.”

“You’re just hurting him.” She presses further, taking her sunglasses off and letting it fall on her stomach.

You look at her, eyes silently begging for her to drop this conversation but you know now that she’s brought it up she won’t let go easily. “Maya--”

“It’s the truth, and you have to hear it.” She sits up fully, turning to face you as she crosses her legs. “How long do you plan to keep going like this? You can’t just avoid him forever.”

“I-- I don’t know.” You say honestly, adjusting your glasses on top of your head nervously as you trow a quick look to his direction, making sure he’s still occupied with the game.

“Talk to him.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Well, it’s what they say, life is not simple, darling.” She argues, “You’re hurting with this just as much as he is.”

Your shoulders drop, just barely, hating how well she knows you. “But not for the same reasons.”

“Really?” Maya’s voice pitches as she tilts her head. “How so?”

“He doesn’t see me like that.”

“You don’t know that.”

Looking up, you take a deep breath, feeling your throat tightens. “But I do know that, Maya.”

“You don’t.” She says softly, leaning forward to reach for your hand. “He loves you.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t--”

“It’s true...” She squeezes your hand, shifting closer so she can rest her head on your knee, eyes searching for yours. “You’ve slept with him every single weekend, for... What? The past year?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” You wipe away a stubborn tear that slides down your cheek. “You don’t love all the men you fuck.”

“Well I don’t live with them, thank god.” She tries to humor, her smile still tender as she rubs her thumb on your hand.  “You two don’t just fuck, you know that, babe.”

You let out an exhale, chewing at your inner cheek as you let the sounds of the waves and the whistle of the wind fill the air between you two. She’s right, even if you hate to admit it, you can’t go like this for much longer. As easy as it is to ignore your feelings, you know they’re still there, and at some point, you’ll have to face them. The longer you wait, the worse it will be. But you can’t help but feel like any chance of fixing it has slipped through your fingers already. Your relationship with Harry - whatever that was - seems so distant now it’s like an image you can see but can’t quite reach. And it’s all your fault.

Maya sighs after a beat too long of silence, squeezing your hand, “Talk to him, please.”

“I--” you start, but you’re interrupted as thin raindrops begin drizzle from the sky.

It’s gentle, a summer rain clearing the warm air that hugs you with cold drops running down your skin. You and Maya jolt up from where you sit, quickly gathering your towels and patting them against your skin to get rid of some of the sand that stuck to it. Thankfully, Mary took the rest of your belongings with her when she went back to the house, so you don’t have to bother with them as you wrap your towel over your head, hugging your book close to your body so it doesn’t get ruined by the droplets of water. You can hear the commotion behind you from the boys as they interrupt the game, but you don’t turn around, only rushing towards the few steps that lead to the house in search of a cover.

The cobblestone is slippery as you jog in the patio barefooted, and you have to mindful as not to slip down and make matters worse to you with a broken back. But you manage to make it to the covered area without any accidents, thankfully, your feet only sliding slightly against the floor. The double glass doors that lead to the living room are slid open, and you can see Mary sitting on the L shaped couch inside, scrolling through her phone.

She peeks up at you when you approach the door, Maya coming not too far behind you. “Leave your dirty towels on the chairs outside, I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

You do as she says, hanging the towel on one of the rattan chairs arranged in a semi-circle next to you. Mary appears on the doorframe, leaning against it as she crosses her arms under her chest. She’s no longer dressed in her teal bikini set, one you’d complimented as soon as you saw her wearing it. Instead, she’s in some pink pajama shorts, hugging a cream ribbed cardigan close to her body as a rougher strand of wind rips around. Her hair is damp and pushed back behind her ears, you reckon in the short time she was alone in the house she must’ve taken a shower. Which is probably something you should do as well, you think.

Before you can walk inside, though, someone calls you out from behind you. Turning around, you see as the boys approach the house in much less of a hurry you had been in. You find the voice that screamed for you belongs to Declan as he’s leading the rest of them, a taunting smirk painting his face.

“Are you two made of sugar or what?” The words all but stumble out of his mouth and you have to suppress a giggle, he’s probably still drunk from the numerous White Claws they’d consumed throughout the day.

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to get a cold, thank you very much.”

“You’re no fun.” He stops just before entering the covered area, the rain still pouring on his body as he wiggles his hips. “C’mon loosen up a bit.”

You take a step towards him, opening your mouth to bite back but before any word can come out he’s reaching for your arm, drawing you to him. “Declan, no!” You giggle, trying to set yourself free from his grasp but he starts walking backward, pulling you with him. “Stop!”

His other hand that’s not wrapped on your arm is holding the Bluetooth speaker, waving it over his head as he presses his thumb on the volume button, turning it up. Starships starts blasting in the air, blending with the sound of raindrops hitting the ground. You can barely contain your laugh now, wondering how in hell this song even ended up on his playlist. Declan takes the opportunity to fully pull you out in the rain, hugging his arm on your waist and moving his hips along to the beat, bumping it against yours.

He points at Mary who’s still leaning against the door frame, watching the scene with an amused grin.  “I know you love this one.”

“Not a chance Dec.” She calls back from where she stands, earning a loud ‘boo’ from the boy.

His arm doesn’t leave you side as he keeps moving along to the song, his voice slurring the lyrics so loudly next to you it almost swallows the sound coming from the speaker. The drops tickle down your skin, as the rain pours down your body, soaking you as if you’d just dove into the ocean. Your hair is weighing down on your head, and you reach up to push it out of your forehead as you try to follow Declan’s moves but he starts jumping around, making it harder for you.

You watch as Maya decides to join in, skipping to her boyfriend. Looking over your shoulder, you notice the rest of the boys haven’t gone inside and are still standing in the rain, much like Declan. You’re still laughing, almost incredulously, at the scene unfolding in front of you. Seemingly, it’s a clear consequence of the alcohol still very much present in their bloodstreams. But as a sober observer, you can’t help but giggle at the sight of four shirtless men barely keeping their balance as they dance along to Nicki Minaj.

Once the last chorus comes up, Declan unwraps his arm from your waist, reaching for your hand and without much notice spins you around. You stumble on your feet at the sudden move, trying your best to keep yourself from falling down. He doesn’t give you a second to recompose, repeating the move once more, but just as you’re turning around, he lets go of your hand. Without anything to hold on to and keep you steady, your feet slide on the wet stone.

There’s a brief sense of panic that strikes on your body as you feel yourself falling back. But before you can hit the ground, a set of arms catch you, holding on to you a bit awkwardly. You don’t need to look behind you to know who they belong to, the ink hugging his skin being all too familiar to you. Harry’s chest is damp against your back, and his arm is draped around your stomach, the contact of his skin against yours almost burning as you become aware of it.

With his help, you quickly stand back on your feet, untangling yourself from him as soon as you’re on your feet again. Turning around, you don’t miss the way his face is scrunched in a frown, a crease set between his brows and lips tugging downwards. It tugs at your heartstrings, so you give him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he nods.  

For a moment you just look at him, lips parted, feeling as if you should say something else. It’s way too similar to the interaction you had only a few moments ago down at the beach. Or more like all the other interactions you had for the past week, really. His eyes are searching for yours, asking a thousand questions that are left unspoken. Lingering in the air between the two of you. His hand reaches to push back a damp lock of his hair stuck to his forehead, you note how his usually hazelnut strands have taken a darker shade. Much like his tattoos, standing out on his skin, glimmering as the raindrops dance freely down his body.

You know it’s been a beat too long of silence for it to start feel a bit awkward. And can’t help but set a silent prayer for something, anything, to take you out of this situation. You wonder if it would be too bad to just turn around now and pretend nothing happened, pondering if it’s the best decision to run away once again. Thankfully, as if on cue, a thunder roars in the sky, interrupting your thoughts as you squeal, jumping slightly, startled. A chorus of curses follow up from behind you, the rain starting to shower rougher from above.

“Okay that’s enough fun in the rain, everyone back inside now!” Mary screams from her spot, motioning with her hands for everyone to leave the outdoors.

“You must be really fun at parties, sweetheart!” Declan shouts back, you notice he’s managed to go all the way around the pool.

“Unless you’re feeling like getting hit by lightning from dancing next to a pool, I suggest you all come inside now.” She yells with a roll of her eyes, her voice taking a stern tone. “I’m not cleaning up anyone’s body for being stupid.”

He lets out a mischievous laugh, jumping his way around the edge. “Okay, mom.”

The towel scratches on your skin slightly, due to the grains of sand still stuck to it, as you try to dry yourself to the best of your ability. In the background, you can hear whines coming from Maya, complaining about not being able to have a bonfire tonight. You linger long enough to hear someone suggest a movie night instead. But as they begin the discussion of a film choice, you’re soon walking past the double glass door and into the house. Wanting to tuck yourself inside your room as soon as possible.

At this moment you give yourself a mental pat in the back for choosing the only room located downstairs. Regardless of it being the smallest, thus being the easiest one to claim, it was an easy choice for you. Not only you’re the furthest from the other rooms (and being on vacation with a couple, that’s a big pro) but you also have a bathroom all to yourself. Of course, it can barely fit two people inside if it came to it - not that it will - but you don’t mind the narrow space. On top of it all, you’re the closest to the ocean. Meaning that, when you’re drifting to sleep, it’s almost as if the waves are crashing at the end of your bed instead of the cool nightly sand, meters away from where you lay. So soothing you can easily ignore the creak of the wooden steps of the stairs right next to your door every time someone feels like coming down for a midnight snack.

The same creak that you hear as you pace your way on the light oak floor, careful to avoid the rugs that come on your way as to not soak their fabrics. And soon enough, you’re alone in the small space you get to call your own for the week. Away from any potential awkward interactions or silent pleas. The loudest noise filling the air being the raindrops knocking on your windows and your thoughts swallowing you whole.

You don’t rush on your shower. Letting the warm water run through your body in a smooth massage, allowing your muscles to relax as you breathe in the coconut-scented steam surrounding you. It does help to soothe you a little, but the weight in your chest still makes itself present.

Leaving the bathroom hugged in your comfiest set of pajamas, you make your way out of the room. As you enter the living area, you notice Mary sitting alone in the same spot she was on the couch, leaning back on the cushions and scrolling on her phone. Her eyes peak up once you approach her, letting the device fall to her chest when you come to a stop at the end of the couch.

“Everyone still in the shower?” You ask.

“Yup,” she nods, picking her phone back up. “Boys left a wreck for you in the kitchen, good luck with it.”

You huff, already regretting volunteering for the cleaning up duty today. Turning on your heals, you make your way towards the archway leading to the kitchen.

“We’re watching Mamma Mia later, by the way!” You hear Mary call out from behind you. “If you wanna make popcorn, I won’t be opposed.”

Throwing her a look over your shoulder, you shake your head as you look at her face, puppy eyes illuminated by the screen of her phone and lips pursed in a pleading pout. You disappear in the kitchen without giving her an answer -- even though you both know you’re also not opposed to the idea of it.

Analyzing the scene you’re met with, hands coming up to rest on your hips, you realize it’s not as bad as Mary made out to be. It’s messy, sure, but manageable. The cooler lies on top of the counter, a puddle pooling around it, and lid crooked on top as someone probably didn’t bother to close it properly. A couple of dishes from lunch still sit inside the sink, waiting to be washed, but not enough for them to pile on top of each other.

You start with them, humming along to a beat that’s been stuck in your head but you can’t quite put a finger on it as you rinse the plates until they’re shimmering clean, the white porcelain reflecting the ceiling light. It doesn’t take you long to get through all of them, lining them on the rack that sits right next to the sink. As soon as you’re finished, you turn your attention to the cooler, taking the lid off completely so you can check the inside. The ice that filled the box has completely melted, as you expected, pooling at the bottom of it. A couple of empty cans, amongst filled ones, float on top of the water.

Picking them up, you try to fit all of them in your hands as to make a single trip to the bin. When you manage to do it, you give one last check inside to see if you missed any. You look up from it at the same time that Harry steps through the archway into the kitchen space. The sudden appearance makes you stop midstep. He also seems to be taken back by your presence, stopping on his track as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. The pang in your heart doesn’t fail to make itself present once again.

He’s fiddling with a water bottle in his hands. Much like you, he’s probably already taken a shower, now dressed in a pair of ash grey sweats and a graphic white tee -- your favorite one, with a blue cartoonish drawing of a smiley bee in the middle and the words “Enjoy health, eat your honey” circling it. Your lips twitch in a smile as you take notice of it. It’s the shirt you love to steal from his closet in hopes of him not missing it, even though he does every time it happens, but still lets you do it cause he says it looks better on you anyway.

He realizes where your gaze has gone, peeking down at his clothes. The smile that takes over his lips, even if small, helps to soothe the knot in your stomach.

Clearing his throat, he breaks the silence this time, voice coming out a bit hesitant. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You nod.

There’s another beat of silence before both of you realize what you’d been doing before being interrupted by the other. And as if on cue, you start walking almost coordinated, crossing your paths as he makes his way to the sink and you reach the bin across the room. You can hear the tap opening and the water filling the inside of his bottle. As you turn to walk back to the counter you watch his broad back facing you, his hair curling at the base of his neck and you can tell he’s looking at the dish rack.

“Did you wash the dishes?” He says, peeking at you from over his shoulder. You meet his gaze, nodding once again as you watch him turn the tap off, turning around as he closes the cap of his bottle. “Shouldn’t have done it all by yourself, you know, could’ve helped you.”

“It was fine.” You reassure with a shrug, placing your hands on the cooler, looking for something to do as you feel him staring.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you can almost hear the wheels in his head turning above the light tapping sound of raindrops outside. You keep your eyes fixed on the cans as you begin taking them out of the cooler, even when you hear him call out your name, only offering a light hum to let him know you’re listening. “Do you, uhm--” He pauses, sighing as you keep yourself focused on the task in hand. “Do you think we can talk?”

You take a sharp inhale, coughing slightly to cover it up as you move the lid to close the container. Chewing on your lip, you keep your eyes trained on your hands as you rest them on the counter, not ready to face what you’ve been so desperately pushing back. Still, you remember what Maya said to you earlier, and you know you can’t keep running away.  “Sure.”

“Love,” his voice comes out pained, tightening a lump that’s forming on your throat. “Can you at least look at me?”

You meet his gaze, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks as you meet his eyes. “Harry--”

He shakes his head slightly, shoulder dropping. “‘S killing me.”

A mesh of voices interrupts your conversation before you can even process what he just told you. You can tell by the sounds of the steps along with the creak of the wooden floor that they’re coming down the stairs. Turning your head, you try to listen closely to foresee if they’re about to enter the kitchen or not. They get louder as they approach, but you can tell they stopped at the living room when Mary’s voice joins the conversation. Harry’s watching you, but the crease settled between his brows tells you he’s also paying attention to the chatter happening outside.

“Maybe we should talk after the movie.” You say after a moment of trying to figure out the loud chatter in the next room.

“Can you meet me in my room?”

“Maybe at mine?” You suggest.  “It’s just more… secluded from the rest, I guess.”

“Okay.” He nods. “After the movie, then.”

The rest of the night blends together as a bit of a blur if you’re honest. And not due to the poorly made strawberry cocktail you have in your hands -- considering you haven’t had more than a sip off of it, and, thankfully, everyone else seems to be too buzzed to notice your untouched cup. No, it’s all thanks to the anxious feeling that has been eating you from the inside out since your brief conversation with Harry. For what seems to be the hundredth time in the past hours you feel your eyes wandering back to him. He’s fiddling with his filled drink, leg bouncing nervously as he leans back on his seat. As if he can feel your eyes set on him, he glances up, meeting your gaze with a raise of his brows.

It’s a simple gesture but you understand the silent question that comes with it, wondering when you’ll be able to sneak out to your room. You had thought that throughout the movie the rest of them would slowly get knocked out, feeling the long day under the sunlight weight on their eyelids, allowing you to settle back in your room without causing any commotion. Surely, Mary was snoring quietly next to you within the first chorus of Honey Honey. But seems like you underestimated everyone else’s capacities of staying awake, for as soon as the end credits were scrolling up on the screen, Declan was up on his feet to suggest a cocktail night.

So here you are, a wink past midnight, watching your friends stumble on their feet at, yet another, Just Dance battle, barely able to understand a single word slurring drunkenly out of their mouths.

You hold Harry’s gaze for a moment, pursing your lips as you ponder how to slip out for the night. Mary’s still sitting next to you, her body relaxed so deep into the cushions it’s like she’s swallowed by it. Her head has fallen back, chest moving along lazily with her breaths, if it wasn’t for the occasional blinks, you would’ve assumed she’d fallen asleep once again. You lean forward, setting your filled glass on the mahogany center table before turning back to her.

“Tired?” You ask.

Her head falls heavy on her shoulder as she looks at you, a small smile tucking on her lips when she nods. “If they decide to take out UNO, I swear to god…”

“I don’t think they ever sleep if I’m honest.” You chuckle just as the last few chords of Sugar come to an end. The sound of the boys’ laughs takes over the brief silence that set in the room, their chatter mixing with the sounds of the wind shaking the glass on the now-closed doors that lead outside. Shifting closer to your friend, you lower your voice just enough for her to hear it, “Feel like now’s the best chance to call it a night.”

“You know,” she sighs. “That was probably the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

You smile, sparing one last look to Harry, only to find him still watching you. Giving him a small nod, as to let him know your intentions, you scoop to the edge of the couch, standing up with a big stretch.”Okay, guys think my bed’s calling me.”

“What?” Maya’s voice yelps on top of the chorus of protests. “But I was about to get my Twister mat!”

“Some of us need to sleep.” Mary’s voice speaks up as she shifts to get up from her cozy spot, her movements much more lethargic than yours. “Shocker, I know.”

You hear echoes of objections and teasing mumbles but don’t really register their words, only sparing a final wave to the group before making your way towards your room. You make a quick stop at the bottom of the staircase, binding Mary a goodnight and watching her for a moment as she ascends the steps, dragging her feet lazily on the groaning wood. Once you finally make it to your door, it takes everything in you not to glance over your shoulder. The back of the chair he’s sitting is facing you, but you wonder if your eyes will meet once again. If he’s searching for yours as desperately as your searching for his.

You don’t look, though. Closing the door behind you as fast as you open it. As if the barrier between you two will somehow help dull the aching in your chest that’s now growing stronger with the realization that you have nowhere to hide from your feelings anymore. Taking deep breaths, you back away until the back of your thighs meet the smooth fabric of the blue comforter hugging your mattress, crossing your legs as you sit back on it.

The room is dark, as you didn’t bother turning on the lights when you first walked in, the only illumination coming from outside, due to your curtains still being pushed open. Thankfully, the rain from earlier is long gone, clearing the night sky so the moon can shine proudly and fully amongst the sea of stars dotted around it. It gives the space a silver glow, giving you an odd sense of calmness as you look out the big window across the bed. The whispers of the wind are still loud against the tree branches, as well as the waves crashing angrily at the shore. Still, the sounds of nature do nothing to quiet down the laughs that come from the other side of the door, even if faint, they’re still loud, and it snaps your attention back to the reason why there’s an anxious twist set in your stomach.

It feels like hours have passed of you sitting alone, chewing at the nail on your thumb, feeling your thoughts drowning you. Every so often your eyes dart to the door, waiting for a creak of steps or a soft knock. But every time you’re met with silence, the door still closed, almost mocking your nervousness. You wonder if he’s given up, you know he hasn’t forgotten about it, there’s no way he would, but maybe he just realized there’s no reason on fighting for whatever’s left between you two. Or maybe he’s just giving you a taste of your own medicine. Letting you sink in the silence and doubt until it floods every cell of your body. Or maybe he’s just trying to find the words to reject y--

The moment you fall back to your cushions, the lump in your throat becoming suffocating at this point, a sound you’ve been waiting for breaks you out of your mind: a quick knock followed by the door opening. The lights of the hallway creep in the room along with Harry, as he pokes his head in.

“Come in.” You clear your throat when your voice comes out in a whisper. Watching as he opens the door wider, just enough to fit the rest of his body, shutting it behind him with a click. You shift a bit, motioning to the spot on the bed in front of you as you try to untie the knot that tightens in your chest.

“Sorry it took me so long,” He sits in front of you. “They really insisted on playing a round of that fucking game.”

“It’s fine.” You give him a weak chuckle. “I was just…” You trail off, shrugging as your eyes set on your lap. “I don’t know, thinking, I guess?”

He nods. “Yeah, I was thinking, too.”

“So…”

“So,” You can feel his eyes searching for yours, so you glance up. There’s a crease set between his brows, his whole body tensed as he chews on his bottom lip. “How do we even start this?”

“I don’t know.” You answer truthfully, trying to find the words to explain everything that’s been flowing in your mind for the last week. But before anything, you know you owe him an apology, so you sigh, the words slipping out of your mouth shakier than you’d intended. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize.” He says in a blink, shaking his head softly. His voice is low, but tender, “I want to understand what happened.”

“I--” The crack in your voice makes you exhale in frustration, blinking rapidly as you look up at the ceiling, focusing on the pattern of shadows cast due to the moonlight slipping through the tree branches outside. You don’t want to cry.  “I don’t even know, just…” Taking a deep breath you meet his eyes again, knowing there’s no reason to beat around the bushes anymore. “That night, I was so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“Cause I was drunk and--” You rub your hands over your face, wandering your eyes anywhere but on him. No need to beat around the bushes, you think again, you should just go straight to the point.  “And I had a stupid breakdown after kissing someone else.” “

“It wasn’t stupid, lo--” He cuts himself off, and you’re sure if it wasn’t for the loud thumping of the wind he could hear the crack of your heart from where he sits. “Your feelings aren’t stupid.” You watch as he looks down at his lap, fingers fidgeting with the string of his sweats as he shuts his eyes tight. “But you didn’t have to shut me off.”

The emotion behind his words is so clear, even with the darkness surrounding you, that you can’t help but scoop closer to him, hesitantly reaching your hand to rest on his shoulder. “I know.”

“Do you know how much it killed me to have you not even look at my face?” He looks up again, his waterline glossy, pooling with tears, only twisting the knot that’s settled in your chest. When he speaks again, it’s just above a whisper, “It’s like I lost you.”

You’re not sure why is it that as soon as the words leave his mouth you recoil from him. His declaration feeling nearly unfair to you, only serving as for increasing your frustration at the whole situation in hand. So you can’t help as to increase your voice slightly, a pinch of anger hidden behind it.  “Well I’m not--” You stop yourself as it comes out louder than you’d intended, the annoyance quickly dissolving into pure sadness as you register what you’re about to say. “I wasn’t yours for you to lose, Harry.”

The breath he takes is audible, your words hitting him like a brick. He nods, more to himself than to you, shrugging slightly as he looks dows at the wrinkles on the comforter, the empty space between the two of you. “Maybe I want you to.”

You blink at him, lips parting as it takes you a second to understand what he just said. “What?”

“You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“I’m sorry.” You can’t help but repeat yourself, unable to control the tear that trickles down your cheek. Sniffling, you rub it out, “I was just…”

“Scared?” He finishes as you trail off, now it’s his turn to shift closer to you, hand cupping your cheek as he caresses another tear that trails down your skin.

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared too, baby.” The petname slips off his tongue, sending a spark of electricity down your spine and tugging a smile on your lips. You don’t hold back anymore, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tucking your head at the base of his neck. Breathing in, the familiar scent of his shampoo mixes with the faint whiff of his cologne, and even a hint of sunscreen. It hits you all at once, how much you missed the closeness to him, the feeling of his arms wrapped around your middle, and the softness of his lips pressed on the side of your head. His voice is muffled by your hair, “Hate that we’re like this.”

“I hate it too.” You nod against his neck, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to, H.”

“Shh, I know.” His hand comes up to massage your hair, the action so loving your hands grab at his shirt trying to pull him even closer. “We can fix this, though, okay? Me and you?”

“Yes.”

“No running away anymore.”

“I promise.” You fall silent for a moment, simply enjoying each other’s embrace. When you feel him press another kiss at the side of your head, you pull away, just enough to lock your eyes on his. “Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

“Can you stay tonight?”

“Course.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Can stay every night you want me to.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb

[hubbytaeil]

hello! i've been into taeil lately, so i was thinking about requesting him with prompts 46, 55, and 93, if possible. thank you in advance! 🌝💛

Taeil + #46 What’s this between us?, #55 Ruin me, #93 Don’t tell your parents

genre: angst, friends to lovers to strangers(?)

word count: 1k7 (this is taeil’s fault I swear)

warnings: smoking, slightly suggestive

a/n: now im s a d lol, this is what happens after bing watching sex and the city

-ˏˋ⋆ ̥  prompts ( send in your requests if you want <3)

This could be a dream, and yet it feels more like a nightmare. When you walked into your go-to bar, like you always do every other Friday, Taeil was the last person on Earth you thought you’d run into. The place is packed and certainly there isn’t enough space for you to run away and hide so you decide to just stand next to the counter with your friends, hoping he doesn’t come up to you.  

“Well, look who it is.” your blood freezes in your veins. You turn around in your heels slowly, preparing yourself for what you should say. “Hi, it’s been a long time.” You had broken up with him years ago and you hadn’t seen him after that. You knew that he was working for some corporate in the city but that was it. You had never run into him, not even once. To be fair, you had pictured how your eventual meeting would’ve turned out many times before, however all your fantasies can’t exceed this exact moment. Talking to him feels unreal, like being teleported back in time, a time before responsibilities, anxieties and fears. “You’ve grown taller, I see.” Taeil looks up at you pointing at your shoes. You hear your friends giggling behind you. “And you haven’t lost your sense of humour.” “That’s my only charm, you know that.” He swings his gin tonic in a circle before taking a sip. “C’mon, we both know that’s not true.” You reply gently tapping your fingers on your glass of Chardonnay. It’s definitely hard to keep eye contact, something is keeping your eyes glued to the counter. Taeil can feel it too, as he adjusts his tie.  

Fifteen years ago

“What do you mean you broke my mother’s favourite vase?!” “Exactly what it means, y/n. Oh God, please don’t tell your parents.” “Well, I’m not taking the blame again! Why the hell did you bring your football inside the house?!” “I’m sorry-” “That’s it, I’m never inviting you to my birthday party ever again.”

Those were the kind of fights you would have; you were only thirteen, life had only just begun.  

The days were filled with stupid notes passed during Math class, making fun of each other at lunchtime, eating ice scream at the park. If anyone could’ve ever been your first love, it would’ve been Taeil. You joined the music club just to spend more time with him, but you never said a word on the matter. You have such a clear memory of sitting through hours of rehearsals just to hear him play the piano. It was just a mere crush, you thought, it would fade away eventually. Yet, even now, every time you hear someone playing the piano you are taken back to that sweaty auditorium, you are taken back to the first time ever you had ever felt anything for someone. You are taken back to him.

“Do you still play?” you ask after letting your friends exchange pleasantries with Taeil, introducing him as an ‘old friend’. Inevitably, when one of the tables was cleared, they asked him to join in along with his friends.  

“Sometimes, not as much as I used to. Do you still sing?” Taeil mocks you and you cover your eyes in embarrassment. “Oh God, no.” Your conversation reaches the ears of everyone at the table. “Y/n, you didn’t tell you could sing!” “It was a school thing, I was awful.” An echo of disapproval invades your ears. “Don’t believe her!” Taeil shouts slapping a hand on the hard wood as if to prove his point. You go on saying how Taeil plays the piano magnificently to shift the centre of attention.  

The night goes on between a few drinking games and ridiculous anecdotes about college. Suddenly you ask Taeil if he’d like to accompany you outside to smoke a cigarette. “Since when do you smoke?” he questions, his tone is not judgmental in any way. “I don’t really smoke...” you begin to answer as you try to light up the cigarette. A gentle wind is blowing so Taeil helps by cupping the lighter, you thank him with a nod. “...only when I drink.” you finish after inhaling. Taeil raises an eyebrow in disbelief before pulling out a pack from his pocket. “I guess that makes two of us.” You start to grin and you find yourself unable to stop. “What it is?” “Nothing.” you respond as your grin transform into a full-on laughter. Taeil glances at you and finally gets on the same track as you and joins you. “Man, we’re old.” he exclaims taking a deep draw. “I guess.” “But you haven’t changed much since I last saw you.” You mean when I dumped you. You shut down the little voice of guilt. “Really? I don’t think so...” “You’re still gorgeous.” all of a sudden, the atmosphere is heavier.  

Ten years ago

“I think I’m love with you, y/n.” Taeil told you after making love for the first time. You stared at him in disbelief, unable to wrap your head around the concept of someone loving you back, more than anything your middle school friend who you had known for so long. Even after confessing to him your feelings, him saying he felt the same, all your friends congratulating you because they knew you two would’ve ended up together, you still couldn't believe you were holding the boy of your dreams right in your arms. But when you’re eighteen it’s hard to accept love, even if we long for it with such ache. For a while, you two had your share of fairy tale. For instance, when he kissed you on the first New Year’s Eve you spent as a couple in a square full of people. The fireworks reflected in his eyes but you ardently affirmed how those were in fact stars.  

So where did you go wrong? Why did what you had grow cold one day? During college you realised something was off. You thought the distance between you and your boyfriend Taeil couldn't jeopardise your relationship. However, as time went by, the physical distance slowly became emotional as well, you two being so invested in your lives.There lied the problem, you were starting to lead different lives. The few times you two could meet it didn’t feel genuine, you were trying to act like the people you once were. But those two were mere ghosts at that point.  

“Taeil, what’s this between us? "During the Christmas break of your senior year, you finally sat down with him to have the so dreaded discussion. It went on for hours, but Taeil wouldn't hear any of that. “No, I don’t believe this.” “Taeil, we’ve changed. Everything’s changed and I don’t know if we can go on like this. I don’t want to ruin your life by chaining you up to me.” “Ruin me, I don’t care.” It was like running in circles. The fight burned out eventually, leaving you two exhausted. You both looked up and you knew. “So, it’s over?” you nodded, unable to come up with an answer. He asked you if he could walk you up to your car one last time and you let him. “You know I’m going to win you back one day, right?” Taeil had tears in his eyes but he managed to smile at you. “We’ll see.”

It’s getting late and the bar is slowly emptying. Your friends begin to take off as well, leaving you and Taeil alone. “Do you want to share a cab, y/n?” “Oh, no thanks. I live just five minutes away.” “Oh.” Taeil hesitates before speaking out again. “If you want, I can walk with you. Only if you want.” “That would be nice.” your answer is sincere, not only because you’re kind of scared of walking alone at night, but because you want to keep talking to Taeil. You want to hear about everything you’ve missed, anything at all.  

You start walking side by side into the night, two pair of hands in your respective pockets. Taeil makes fun of the weird noise your heels make when hitting the sidewalk. “Oh, shut up! You’re just jealous!” “Yeah, you’re right. Do you have an extra pair? I could use the few inches.” It definitely doesn’t feel like chasing ghosts anymore. No, you’re just two childhood friends picking up where you’ve left off.

“Okay, I’m going to pop out the big question.” “Shoot.” “Are you seeing anyone?” you knew it was coming, sooner or later. You run through your possible answers and decide that there’s no point in lying. “Absolutely not.” Taeil assumes a shocked expression. “Why so categorical?” he chuckles. “It’s just... I haven’t had much luck.” You go on, counting down mentally how much time you have before you reach your door. “Good.” Taeil says point-blank. You glare at him not expecting him to call you out like that. “Excuse me?” “That means karma is real.” You both burst out laughing yet again. “What about you, mister Karma? Are you dating anyone?” Taeil stays silence for a bit before looking at you dead in the eye. “Absolutely fucking not.”  

“Well, this is it.” You point at your door with you finger. Now you’re both facing each other in front of the stairs. You’ve reached the endgame, and you’re dying to see how all of this will end. “This was nice, y/n.” “It really was.” another break of silence and you feel your heart giving in. You know you both want to say something, yet it feels impossible to make the first step. “Is it okay if-” Taeil stops mid-sentence which sticks a dagger in your chest. “Yes?” you barely whisper, anticipating whatever he’s going to say. “Is it okay if we see each other again? I mean, not as... but as friends. Is that alright?” Those words bring you a kind of happiness you never thought could be felt again. You take a good look at your old friend. His eyes still sparkle and you thank whoever it is that brought him back to you. “I think we can arrange that.” You don’t what’ll happen next, but it doesn’t scare you. In the air there’s a feeling of expectation which you breath in as you walk up the stairs to your door. “Y/n!” you turn around immediately, Taeil is about to get inside a cab. “Remember what I told you!” and just like that you watch him disappear into the night. This scene somehow looks familiar.

Can it be that It was all so simple then? Or has time re-written every line? If we had the chance to do it all again Tell me, would we? Could we?

#nct au #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct scenarios #taeil au #taeil scenarios #taeil imagines #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fluff #nct smut #nct angst #taeil fic #nct taeil #moon taeil #nct drabbles #nct dream scenarios #wayv imagines #nct dream imagines

[angst-fairygodmother]

prompt 53 with diego!!!

A/N: Welcome to Shye’s Fic Casino! Step right up and spin the Angst-o-matic. Spin three “I can’t”s to win! (Grand prize is a brooding boyfriend trying to break up with you for your own good but fuck that because he doesn’t get to make decisions for you. Usual terms and conditions apply.) I wasn’t certain on this, but I went with #53 on the most recent list I had reblogged when I got this message. Please let me know if I got it wrong. Word Count: 1873 Content Warning: Violence, blood/injury

It wasn’t often that you regretted dating your boyfriend. He was sweet, surprisingly funny when he wanted to be, and always there for you when it really mattered. Which is why you weren’t scared, not really. But as the three men backed you into the corner of the alley out the back of your store, you were…nervous, just nervous.

“Listen, fellas,” you said, hands up, palms held outward in as placating a gesture as possible. “Let’s not do anything rash…”

“Shut up!” one of them growled, taking a menacing step forward and swinging the bat in his hand toward you.

You flinched with a yelp and stumbled another step backward, feeling the press of the dumpster against your back.

“I’ll let you into the store, you can have whatever’s in the till…”

“You think this is about money?” the second snapped.

“Um, yes?” you couldn’t help the incredulity in your tone even as they menaced you.

Rather than responding, the third, who had managed to creep up beside you, took a swing. Unable to dodge all the way in time, you felt his fist connect with your ribs, stinging as the barbed wire wrapped around his gloved hand bit into you. You caught the bat between your hands as the first man swung it again, twisting it and wrenching it from the grip of the first man, the training Diego had given you kicking in to help you defend yourself.

“If we wanted money, we wouldn’t be at your stupid little place,” the man speaking threw a series of quick jabs your direction, putting you on guard and off balance so that wire-hands could get in another good hit to the soft flesh of your stomach.

“You’re that vigilante shithead’s little pet,” wire-hands hissed. “And our boss is getting sick of his crap.”

You swung the baseball bat back at him, missing, but hitting the original wielder, catching him with a hit to his collarbone and causing him to stumble back with a yell, only he kept going back further than you thought he should have, the flickering light from your shop’s backdoor glinting off something shining protruding out of his shoulder.

You couldn’t keep the smile off your face, knowing what that flash of light meant. Still, you weren’t going to rest on your laurels or play the damsel in distress. And wire-hands seemed to have taken up a vendetta against you. He ducked under your second swing of the bat and swung at your knee. You dodged, but he had been planning for that and got his third hit to your core.

You wheezed from the impact, the breath knocked from your lungs and you couldn’t seem to get it back. After that, things happened in a blur and before you knew it, Diego was slipping one of your arms over your shoulders to lead you back inside, the three men on the ground and well taken-out.

“Patch will be by to get these assholes shortly,” he growled, kicking the door open in front of you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, trying to hide your wince and keep him from fretting over you too much. “Yeah, I think I managed to avoid the worst of their swings, thanks to your tutelage.”

He stopped moving, looking around the room for something, and you took the opportunity to nuzzle your face into the side of his neck.

“I would have been really screwed if you hadn’t showed up,” you mumbled. Almost immediately, you felt him stiffen under your touch and regretted your words.

“I heard them. They came after you because of me, Y/N,” he said tersely, shifting you into one of the high-backed stools behind the curio shop’s counter and moving back.

“Diego…” you sighed, reaching out for him even as you felt him pulling away.

“No, Y/N. I put you in danger…if something had…” you watched his face darken at the very thought and saw him turn, knew he was going to leave.

“Diego Hargreeves, don’t you dare.” You threatened, trying to keep your voice steady even as the tears formed in your eyes.

He didn’t say anything, as he started pacing, each pass drawing him closer to the door, shoulders hunched. He hesitated at the sound of his name from your lips and you took the opportunity to lunge out of your chair to seize his hand. As you moved, you felt sharp pain shoot through you and you cried out, nearly collapsing. Diego’s arms shot out on instinct to catch you, cradling him close as he guided you back to the chair.

“I thought you said you were fine?” he snapped, concern coming out as anger.

“I…didn’t want you to worry,” you admitted, voice barely more than a whimper.

He grabbed the first aid kit from the back room, and you took a moment to wonder how he knew where it was. Then he was kneeling in front of you, warm, calloused hands trembling slightly as they pushed you back so you were sitting up straight.

Spots of blood seeped through your sweater, staining the soft green material dark. His eyes seemed to focus on it, your stomach and left side obviously marred, and he swallowed thickly.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I’m sure,” you whispered, fingertips curling against his jaw to pull his face back up to meet yours.

“A-a-are you h-hurt any…where…else?” he stammered, and you frowned.

His speech impediment hadn’t been severe in years, mostly now only coming out when he was extremely upset. It being as bad as it was right now worried you. He must have been more scared than he showed by the fact that you had gotten hurt. You wanted to pull him in close, to hold him and reassure him that you were fine, so long as he was by your side.

“No,” you said confidently. “It was just a couple of punches in the gut. You tried your best to keep your tone casual so that he would calm down.

“I should take a look…” he said hesitantly, already moving his gaze back down to your middle.

He saw now that some of the spots where the bleeding was worst had tears in your sweater, and in the skin beneath. An icy hand clenched around his heart and shame made his face grow hot. Here you were, practically in ribbons and you were reassuring him. It should be the other way around, or better yet, this should never have happened.

He prodded gently at one of the worst spots and you winced, sucking a pained and startled breath through your teeth. There were sweater fibers in the wound, and the now fluttering material made it difficult to get a good look at anything.

“You need to take off your shirt.” He said apologetically.

“Why Diego Hargreeves, are you trying to get me naked?” you teased, voice high and light and almost normal.

He chuckled, unable to resist your charms even if he’d tried.

“You know me baby, I can’t ever resist you,” he countered. “Even when you’re bruised and bloody.”

“Hey, if I can put up with it after your boxing matches and vigilante prowls, you can deal with it now.” You smiled, glad that you had found the thing that put him back to his regular self.                

“I’m serious though, Y/N. I need to take a look at those wounds.”

Gingerly, you guided the sweater up, Diego quickly coming to your aid as the movement jostled you suddenly and you gave a short shout of pain.

He hissed at the sight of you, the skin around the wounds already inflamed and puffy, discoloring quickly as bruises settled into your ribs. Your sweater was tossed to the side as he began to root around in the first aid kit. Eventually he found everything he needed and set about methodically cleaning and dressing each rending of flesh.

“You should keep an eye on these, keep them clean and dry,” he said, trying to remain detached so that he could remain steady for you. “They could get infected pretty easily, especially since they were caused by some old barbed wire.”

“Hmm…” you nodded sagely, a small smirk that he didn’t see forming on your face. “Maybe you should come stay with me then for a few days, to make sure I’m…properly taken care of.”

His gaze rose to meet yours, something sparking behind it.

“I mean, unless you’re still planning on running away and leaving me so helpless and alone.” You pouted dramatically at him, lower lip jutted out and eyelashes fluttering.

He swallowed thickly at the tone of your voice as he leaned in to kiss you. The press and pressure of his movements, lips harsh and almost demanding, spoke of desperation, of fear that he could have lost you. You reached up cautiously to run your fingers through his short hair, thumb tracing along the thick scar-line above his ear. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer so you almost slid off the chair, but careful that he did not disturb your injuries. You parted your lips for him easily, moaning as his tongue began to dance across every centimeter it could reach.

“Ahem,” someone said, clearing their throat pointedly.

The pair of you sprang apart, Diego turning around sheepishly to look at her while you gave Patch what you hoped was a charming smile.

“Everything alright Eudora?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “You called me.” You thought you heard her mutter something about wondering if pigs could suddenly fly since he had decided not to take matters completely into his own hands for once. “I need to take statements from both of you.”

“Right, of course,” you said.

The three of you stayed there, looking expectedly at each other. All of you were puzzled and slightly concerned at the behavior of the other two. None of you spoke.

“Independent statements,” Patch said, finally breaking the silence. “That means alone?” She looked pointedly at Diego, telling him to go away for now, using her eyes alone.

Finally, he seemed to take the hint, though not as quickly as she would have liked. You watched him deflate at the thought of leaving your side when you weren’t ‘alright’ and gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll be fine Diego. And the sooner we do this, the sooner you can take me home, okay?”

He gave your hand an answering squeeze and sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

Reluctantly, he released his hold on you and crossed to the other side of the store where, as long as you kept your voices low, he wouldn’t be able to hear you and Patch.

“Do you want a blanket or a jacket or something?” she asked. “I’m sure Diego was doing an excellent job of keeping you warm, but you might catch a chill now.”

There was nothing in her tone other than friendly teasing, but still you found yourself blushing and apologizing for the state of yourself and the one she found the two of you in.

“It’s fine, Y/N. I’m glad Diego found someone, and that you’re alright. Now, can you tell me what happened in the alley?”

#Diego Hargreeves x Reader #reader insert #I don't know why I was feeling the angst and hurt/comfort #but I hope you enjoy it anyway #otherwise just beat me with the no-angst stick #The Umbrella Academy fic #TUA #also sorry it took so long #blame NYC realtors

[quixotic-writer]

Bermuda Love Triangle

Request: @gionline and anon(s?)

Summary: Flirting between Sal and Q had always been a little quirky joke between them for entertainment value until they both catch feelings. Sal plays it up, Q plays it off. When Sal seemingly moves on though, jealousy brews in Q and he doesn’t know what else to do but finally say what’s on his mind.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––

Truth be told, Q was a bit of an idiot. He was well aware of this and knew it often caused him to get into situations he sometimes couldn’t escape from. There was nothing he was more oblivious to than emotions. He was more specifically blind to romantic feelings, be it his own or others.

The moment he heard about vulquinn, he and Sal both played it up for their audience just for the reactions and their own personal entertainment. The need to always be right next to each other at live shows, their own podcast filled with inside jokes and personal stories, the way they managed to communicate through only their eyes, and the countless compliments and jokes about being romantically involved with the other.

‘If chicks can do it and be simply best friends, why can’t we?” Was his thought process. And it was true, it was just simple little gestures to one another that was merely just platonic affection. That was until it started bleeding into their regular life and the pair found themselves doing their little “act” for an audience that was non-existent around them. There was no one to get a good laugh or reaction out of, so they just tried to laugh it off.

Hidden behind those laughs was a realization within Sal that he had actually started falling for his best friend hard and fast. The flirtation slowly didn’t become an act, it melded into meaningful gestures. He found that his heart would race when Q would wrap an arm around him to bring him closer, when they made eye contact he could feel the butterflies burst from their cocoons into his stomach and tickle his throat, and the way that no matter where they would, the flirting never stopped. It all felt so real and he believed it was real too.

Q felt the effects of it all but had chocked it up to typical feelings for your best friend. Everyone felt comfortable with the thought of kissing their best friend… right? Cuddling your best friend during a scary movie and letting them hide in your arms was totally normal, all simply platonic… right? So on he kept saying how Sal was his “best friend,” little did he know exactly how much it hurt Sal to hear them being only that title and never anything more. Sal kept quiet about his feelings and never said anything not wanting to destroy or lose everything the two had built up.

One tour though, the tides quickly changed and shifted.

“Bri! This is Chris Distefano, he’s gonna be an opener for our shows!” Sal introduced Chris to Q. In that moment he got a look at this guy, he thought he looked way better than him and Q felt something inside of him coil up and make him sick. He passed it off as some nerves from being around someone new, so he remained civil and made his best attempt to make a good impression on this guy.

As the tour progressed, Q noticed that Sal wasn’t attached at his hip so much anymore. He was busy chatting things up with Chris. What he saw had made this fire ignite in his head, a jackhammer was what it felt like. He saw Sal leaning up against him, crying tears of laughter, hands folded over his stomach pushing out more laughs, and Chris in the same condition as the other. Q had thought he was one of the few people that could get Sal to laugh like that, and seeing Chris effortlessly do something he thought only he could do made him unreasonably upset.

As he lay in his bunk on the tour bus, Q couldn’t help but wonder: ‘What is going on with me? Why do I feel like this? I should be happy he’s making other friends.’ He barely got sleep that night and he was a total drag up until they were called up onto stage for their next show.

“Hey babe!” Q had never whipped his head around so fast at the sound of the familiar voice and he almost thought he was gonna get whiplash or pull something. As it turned out, Sal’s words were yet again not to him, but to Chris instead who greeted Sal with a wide smile and a warm hug. Q didn’t realize his jaw and fists were clenched so tight until Murr had pointed it out and he allowed it to relax and all the pressure in his head eased a bit and his hand stopped throbbing.

“Just a bit of pre show nerves, heard it’s gonna be a big crowd tonight.” He lied through his teeth and to himself too.

Tour had come to a close leaving Q within the four walls that he had grown familiar too along with the silence that accompanied it. He was finally able to have time to self reflect and really think about what was going on with him. It had been so long since he had even felt this strongly about anyone in his life and for so long he had kept trying to tell himself that everything they did was strictly platonic and nothing more. But Q seeing Sal with someone who was, in his opinion, much more attractive than him and doing basically everything that they used to do together had flipped the switch that this wasn’t just simple friend jealousy.

“Fuck…” He said out loud to himself, “I’m in love with my fucking best friend.” He finally admitted it out loud and buried his face in his hands as his cats nuzzled around him demanding immediate attention. Q’s head felt like it was spinning, he felt almost sick. “Why am I so stupid?!” Mentally beating himself up for not realizing things and sorting it out sooner. Now that he finally realized what that feeling was, jealousy, every other emotion attached had felt so much more intense. Magnified even. He had called Sal for lunch to get together.

“Maybe Chris could join us?” Sal asked curiously.

“Can't just be us?” Q said in quick opposition and realized he sounded like a jealous boyfriend without actually being his boyfriend, “I mean, we haven’t had a day with just us in a while.” He quickly back paddled and covered those secret emotions.

When the day rolled around, he convinced himself that he would finally confess everything. All he wanted was to finally have it all out in the open and hold nothing back. It felt weird keeping secrets from his best friend. Everything was going great, they were catching up on some things, sharing some little life updates, and as always they shared a few good laughs and stories.

“You know Q it’s great we had this day because I have exciting news that I wanna share with you! You’ll be one of the first to hear it.” Sal sat across from him in the booth they were in and had a big beaming smile plastered on his face. He looked as thorough if he didn’t get whatever it was out in that moment, he was just gonna implode.

“Well i’d love to hear what the news is!”

“Chris and I are starting a podcast together!” Q’s stomach sunk like the titanic. It felt painful and he knew he couldn’t mask any of his emotions after trying to build himself up. Sal quickly picked up on all of it and could read Q’s signals well, “Is there something wrong with me doing that Bri? I can read you like a book. You’ve been acting strange lately, what’s going on?” Q doesn’t know what came over him, but his emotions swirled him like a tornado and consumed everything.

“What’s going on? Sal, I know you’re smarter than this.” He forces a chuckle as he rubs his forehead staring down at the table. Sal had an inkling as to what it was, but he wanted to hear it out of Q.

“I don’t think I know what you mean…”

“For god’s sake Sal I like you okay! More than a friend should. Seeing you with Chris… It just…” There it was. The confession. But, for some reason it made Sal mad. All this time, the hints he kept dropping, the countless moves he tried to make. Only when Sal started taking interest in someone else did Q finally show up and show out what he had been wanting for so long.

“Does it make you jealous Brian?” Something about the way Sal said his name made it feel like his veins were wrapped tight around his neck and were suffocating him. “Only now that i’ve started showing interest in someone else do you care. I liked you too, okay?! But you couldn’t be bothered to notice my desperate hints. You just kept throwing ‘friend’ and ‘buddy’ around so I just gave up trying to win you over.” Guilt riddled Q and he felt paralyzed in that moment.

“Sal, i’m just so stupid.”

“Yeah, you are.” Both of them knew Sal didn’t mean it, but it still stung Q like a jellyfish wrapped around his leg. “I’m tired of the mind games Brian.” His head hung low as Sal left without another word. More than ever, Q had felt like the biggest clown in the circus he called his life. He tried to finish eating his food, but all he could do was pick around at it and wallow in his own self pity. By the time he left the diner, he came to the conclusion that this discussion wasn’t done and shouldn’t be left where it was.

He had made his way over to Sal’s house, approaching the front door and about to hit the doorbell

“Q?” All motions come to a quick halt as he turns around to see Chris standing there. He feels the jealousy and anger slowly building again, “What are you doing at Sal’s man?”

“What are you doing here?” It was a little sharper than he intended to sound.

“I asked you first!”

“And I asked you second!” He didn’t want to dish out any info about him and Sal, especially to the guy that Sal’s found a new interest in. Chris takes a deep breath, looking at Q with almost hurt eyes.

“Do you hate me or something? You just seemed to not want to be around me, especially on that tour. What did I do?” Before saying anything else, Q takes a moment to step back before making another mistake he’ll regret. Chris stood there with hands in his pockets waiting for an answer.

“Listen, I don’t hate you. Guess I was just getting a little jealous…” He admits not giving away too many details as he rubs the back of his neck. Looking at Chris though, he could tell he was able to piece some things together with that sentence alone. A moment of clarity hit him.

“Of me and Sal?”

“You just seem to make him happier than I have, you’re a lot more attractive than me… like honestly really attractive…” Q was trailing off and slowly understood Sal’s attraction to Chris.

“Don’t be like that, you’re quite the looker yourself babe.” Q’s cheeks rose in heat and he found it a bit hard to speak.

“You just seem to make him happier and get him to laugh really hard. Guess I let jealousy get the best of my emotions. Maybe… Maybe it’s better he has you. I should… I should just go.” Q began backing away from the door and was gonna leave, but Chris placed a hand to his chest and stopped him.

“Funny, it’s you I should be jealous of. Not gonna lie, I am interested in Sal but he told me he liked you, Q.”

“Wait what? When did he say that?”

“When… we got back from the tour..?”

“Well he just got done telling me he liked you. That’s actually why i’m here.” They both stood there in silence for a moment looking at each other. Their eyes wandered to Sal’s front door, then back again to one another. In a mirrored movement they both went right to the door and rang the doorbell. Footsteps grew louder as they got closer, the door unlocked and cracked open.

“Chris!” Sal said with a smile. Chris moved his hand out opening the door more to reveal to Sal that he had more than one visitor and his eyes grew wide. “And… Q…”

“You’ve got quite a bit of explaining Sally.” Q said with a devilish smirk as Sal broke out into a nervous sweat. When Sal looked to Chris, he wore a similar smirk.

“Yeah, babe. Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?”

#what would their ship name even be?????? #Sal x Chris x Q #sal vulcano #brian quinn #chris distefano #suki writes #angst #only a little bit though

[madamskk]

Cigarettes

Based on the LOVELY @shoyokuns post found here (with their permission of course)

Lmao this got wayyyyy longer than expected, very h word

Warnings: (Intended as consensual but could be taken as non so I’m putting this on my DC list to be safe) Sadomasochism heavy, D/s in parts, human furniture sorta, pet names, mentioned (but desired) punishment, exhibitionism, begging (for it), f!reader, please read with caution

I just picked a couple characters from each category because I couldn’t make up my mind.

I’m so tired lmao I’m sorry for typos

Starts after the cut so I don’t hog your dash

“Makes you hold your mouth open for him to use as an ashtray:” (Oikawa and Osamu)

Oikawa:

Oh god do your knees hurt. He didn’t give you your kneeling pillow this time, so you only have the low-pile rug protecting your kneecaps from the cold floor. You hadn’t been waiting in your proper place once he got home like he wanted you, so you don’t get the extra comfort today. He’s clicked his tongue at you about it, but just settled into his grand reading chair regally, popping a cigarette between his lips and lighting it with one hand. The other was busy, running through your hair, until it suddenly yanked your head back. You stifled a moan about it, but you hold the position he’s put you in.

Those fingers plunge into your lips, spreading them apart and pulling on your tongue until it’s strained out of your open jaw. He fingers your soft insides a moment longer just to enjoy the texture, the obedience, before he focuses on enjoying his smoke fully, wiping your slobber off his hand on your own cheek.

Your eyes are trained on your king, sitting just to your left, soft lips wrapped around the end of a cigarette. A smooth inhale later, and he’s puffing the smoke out, and the tip goes back between his lips like he doesn’t want a single breath of fresh air to break up the nicotine.

Your mouth would water if it wasn’t so dry from being open for him. 

You watch the ashy end grow longer as he inhales, waiting, waiting, waiting for it to get to the right length. Barely blinking.

Your tongue stretches out of your mouth the moment Oikawa looks at you. He reclines his head on one propped up arm as he watches, smiling, hand moving above your expectant face.

One twitch of his wicked long fingers and dry, powdery, warm ash hits your mouth.

“Good pet, don’t want to ruin the new rug, do we?”

You might ruin it anyway with how much you’re dripping.

Maybe in a few minutes, once he’s done with this cigarette and you’ve swallowed everything for him, he’ll let you grind your aching sex on his shoe and let you swallow something else.

Osamu:

Good ashtrays don’t talk. Good ashtrays don’t move. Good ashtrays barely blink. 

You focus on your breathing, keeping it shallow, trying not to squirm your heel between your legs to get some relief. 

And Osamu is slouching forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, smoking. He’s had a long day. You can see it in the bags under his eyes. His hand running through his pretty hair as he sighs. He hasn’t acknowledged you once during this smoke session, slowly trying to relax the tension from his shoulders by rolling his head and filling his lungs with nicotine. His eyes are hazy as they stare at the ceiling. He leans back into the chair, blowing the smoke upwards like it’s aimed at something.

And there you are, being so good.

And being totally ignored. Because you’re a good ashtray for Osamu.

You love when he’s brooding like this, how threatening he looks with the cigarette hanging from his lips and his biceps bulging every time he shifts. Love being his good little ashtray to make him feel better.

You patiently wait, holding back how you want to whine the longer the ash gets on his cigarette. The more ash there is, the more likely you’ll breathe some in and choke on it, and ashtrays definitely don’t choke.

Being ignored is getting to you, stoking the fire in your belly, making you more and more needy. But you hold still. Waiting, hands on your knees, for everything he wants to give you.

You might just have to hold your breath! That isn’t his problem, after all.

He doesn’t even glance your way when his arm swings over, and you have to shift to catch the ash he flicks, mouth wide open for the ash like you're desperate for it, tongue swallowing it down immediately before opening up for more, hoping you weren't too obvious.

“You moved” he says, and when you see his smoldering, narrowed, dark eyes on you, you feel your thighs press together.

You’d point out that he missed, but that’d get all your orgasms ruined for a week.

“Wanna be a brat today, huh?”

Yes, that’s exactly what you wanted. 

Because sometimes even good ashtrays need punished.

And right now, you want to be used. Which is exactly what you’re going to get!

“Smokes during sex and puts them out on your tits:” (Sakusa, Kageyama)

Sakusa:

Some days it’s almost impersonal when he fucks you. On the days he’s stressed enough to smoke, which he thinks is nasty, he wants to avoid any further mess.

But he also wants to use your cunt until the stress totally leaves his shoulders and that space between his eyebrows can flatten.

So he’s conflicted between wanting you creaming on him, and wanting you to not spill a single drop anywhere.

However, he makes an exception.

He keeps his ashtray on the night stand so he can get relief via nicotine and via you at the same time. Pressing down on your torso with one huge hand to keep you against the trashed bedsheets, he stands between your legs fully upright, as little skin-to-skin contact as he can manage while he’s fucking you. This way, he can reach over to the ashtray when he needs to.

He can also watch the way your tits bounce with every plunge into you cunt, hard enough that it’s moving the mattress on the frame. He can hear your needy cries that it’s too deep.

But you aren’t safewording out.

You see the glow of the cigarette in the dim room, red hot, illuminating his face as he inhales the last time. He didn’t even bother taking his mask off when he got home, or undressing at all besides unbuttoning his pants to get himself off.

His eyes have been on your perfect, round, bouncing tits the whole time. Thrusting harder just to see them jiggle more. And he sees the little discolored scars from all the other times he’s done this. You know exactly what’s coming. After you hit an orgasm so fierce that your eyes roll back and your back arches like you’re asking for it, he presses the end of his cigarette right to your sensitive nipple.

The ash gets everywhere, but it’s the only mess he’ll put up with right now. His one exception.

Because with you thrashing for a whole different reason, he finally cracks a smile.

Kageyama:

He’s grinning the whole time. When he gets home and snatches you away from whatever you’re doing to throw you on the bed.

You bounce and laugh.

He’s smiling when he slips into your arms, kissing you breathless. And you don’t suspect a thing, when he leans up and his shirt is tossed over his head in a gorgeous display of firm muscles as his torso rolls with it. You salivate at the sight.

But he’s still smiling?

You catch on only when you’re naked and wanting beneath your boyfriend, and his fat cock is spearing you open, when he reaches for the nightstand.

“I just bought a new pack,” Kageyama says, and your eyes go wide. Now you know. He’s had a really, really shitty day. And his mood is sadistic.

When he’s slamming into you again and again, your legs wrap around his hips and your arms around his shoulders for some semblance of stability, sweat slicking your bodies with every down and forward motion of his cock, he’s smiling as he takes another drag of his cigarette. He lets the ash cover your bed in grey smears, the smoky smell mixing with the scent of sweat and the scent of Tobio, filling your lungs. 

And then he blows the smoke right in your fucking face to see you splutter and your eyes tear up.

He loves that look on you, so he does it again. Stops his thrusts so he can kiss you firmly. Forces you to open your mouth, where he holds you until you inhale his lung-full of smoke, choking on it. 

You wheeze when he shoves his cock forward again, not having a second to recover. He doesn’t give you an inch of space. Hell, you’re surprised he hasn’t singed your ear each time he takes another long drag.

When he finishes this cigarette, you’d wonder where he was going to put it out if your brain hadn’t leaked out your eyes and your pussy.

He’s still smiling.

And it only gets bigger when you feel the white hot mark of his cigarette on the delicate underside of your breast, and he presses it there harder as you silently scream, orgasming around him. Kagayama drinks up the sight, commiting every shudder and goosebump and cry to memory.

He wants you to feel this, his mark, every time you put on a shirt for weeks.

“ Tells you to hold out your arm in public so he can put it out:“ (Atsumu, Iwaizumi)

Atsumu:

It’s another fucking press conference, at least this one isn’t as big, only 5 or so stations represented in the interview hall. Atsumu has always been talented, and now he’s talented at smiling for the camera even when they get annoying. He’s got that chaotic fire hidden behind his teeth.

But he has you by his side! You’re holding hands, and that small connection to you always helps him breathe evenly. He glances down at your entwined fingers as a reporter lists out a question, brings your hand to his lips to kiss it with a tiny glance your way.

Cameras flash and you smile, leaning into his shoulder. He’s the sweetest boyfriend, truly.

He interrupts another personal question to address the reporters gathered in the room.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” 

After hearing scattered affirmations, he lets go of you briefly to cup his hand around the cigarette between his lips so he can light it. Inhaling, exhaling, he grabs your hand again. 

“Sorry, you were saying?” he tells them, winning smile made even more so by the attractiveness of him smoking.

You tried not to gawk at him. Atsumu could be a model if he wanted, it wasn’t like he didn’t have offers. And you love it when he smokes. The smell alone turns you on now. The man loves smoking while you blow him in back alleys and back porches, so your mouth waters automatically. You bring a hand up to your blouse sleeve, touching the last scar he made there. You’re his favorite person ever, and the best smoking partner he could ask for, always so obedient, trying not to thrash too much even when your skin sizzles from his cigarette butt.

And his sharp eyes notice you looking. You know that look.

He wouldn’t, would he? Not here.

If you ever think those thoughts about Miya Atsumu, be prepared to be proven wrong. Because the moment he finishes his cigarette, he turns to you, interrupting the reporter again.

“Sleeve”

A simple order, loud enough for the newscasters to hear, and you go a little pale. But you want it! But you don’t, too. There’s so many people, wouldn’t this ruin his reputation?

“Sleeve” he says again, a little more insistent. But he gives an out. “Unless, you don’t want to?” 

You glance at the reporters watching so closely, filming live. And at Atsumu, waiting on what you’re going to do, smirking wider every second, seemingly saying “tick tock, baby” as the cigarette threatens to burn away.

Before you can think too hard, you unbutton your cuff, rolling up your sleeve so he can see your smooth forearm.

And he grabs it tight in his other hand to force you still. Wouldn’t want it to be too messy! 

Sizzle

There’s a gasp you bite your lip bloody to contain as your body lights up with the pain, and you see cameras flashing, and smell a scent that reeks like burning flesh because that’s exactly what it is.

Iwaizumi:

There’s a new movie out!! Mattsun texted Makki and Iwaizumi about it last week, told Iwa to bring you and you’d all have a movie night at his place. Makki agreed to bring the popcorn if Iwa would bring the eye-candy. You, the eye candy in question, laughed, but Iwa sent you a glare. Your boyfriend called Makki a dumbass and refused until he promised to bring a carton of cigarettes for the three to share to make up for his joke (he had a new part-time at a place that’d give him a generous discount, he’d said).

You four pile on the familiar couches, you snuggled into Iwaizumi’s side with old blankets and a big vat of buttery snacks, and someone hits play on the movie. 

Iwa could never hold back from nicotine for long, not around those two. He mostly smokes socially, but Mattsun and Makki smoke all the time, and that’s why the house is already hazy when you and Iwa show up that Friday.

Makki makes another flirty comment that you giggle at, used to his antics, but you guess Iwa wasn't feeling his bullshit today since his hand tightened on your waist.

You press a kiss to the possessive man's temple, quietly murmering "only you, Haji," to soothe him, and it works a bit.

But you watch Iwa.

You supported his desire to stop smoking so often, but god does the man look ridiculously sexy in the dark room, soft glow of the cigarette hitting his strong fingers and strong cheekbones. You’ve missed the purse of his lips, too much like a kiss, the glow on his tanned skin, the casual air he exhales with. The quick and natural flick of his fingers into the nearest ashtray. You don’t realize you’re staring until his eyes catch on yours.

You flush a little, caught. But you keep looking. 

Iwa huffs a little laugh, holding the cigarette by his forehead as he grins at you. But it isn’t a kind grin, per say.

“You want it?”

That’s hard to deny when you’re squirming under his heavy arm. nearly itching at your skin. You remember when you were a little younger and he smoked like this all the time, how he’d turned you into a writhing little masochist beneath him.

You’re yanked into his lap, getting the attention of Makki and Matsun, feeling their eyes solidly on your squirming body. Maybe he's still feeling territorial, maybe he just wants to drive you crazy. Iwa’s hard chest is against your back, one hand still on the forearm he used to pull you with, while the other is holding the cigarette to his lips. You feel his lungs fill on a loooong inhale, and your own breath speeds up. You can’t help how you gush at knowing what’s about to come.

“Gimme your arm.” tone quiet.

You can’t, in front of Makki and Mattsun-

“Gimme your fuck’n arm.” still that quiet tone, 'quiet' not to be confused with a suggestion. It's a command.

“Beg, baby. If you’re so needy, then beg.” he’ll never get enough of embarrassing you, and then making you beg for the very embarrassment you blush about.

With a whimper, you turn your face away, and slowly, reluctantly present the arm he isn’t holding.

But it isn't enough.

There’s a small moan to the side of you, but you can’t tell who from. It makes your cheeks hot.

“Please, please put it out on me, Hajime please-”

A quiet ‘fuck’ from one of his friends, and you can feel Iwa smile cruelly into your neck.

“Good fuckin girl”

And he presses the butt hard into the skin of the inside of your wrist, the most painful spot manageable. The most possessive.

And then you’re forcing your arm still while the rest of your body strains away, going tense and jolting, legs kicking out, but just his hand on your other arm holds you tight in place. Totally at his mercy. You aren’t screaming, you’re moaning so loud your voice cracks, eyes rolling back and cunt tingling with the burn.

You swear if he touched your clit right now, you’d squirt all over Mattsun’s raggedy couch.

#kageyama x reader #oikawa toru x reader #iwaizumi smut #osamu miya x reader #sakusa x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu smut #18+ #god what have I made #can you tell I'm h word for kags #and sadism is my favorite thing ever #madamsKK-off-menu #god I'd hate to be atsumu's publicist #especially after that one #iwa letts makki and mattsun hit it after i stg

[splendidlyimperfect]

When Natsu runs into five-year-old Sting and Rogue at the Grand Magic Games, he thinks they’re cute kids with a serious case of hero worship. But when it turns out that they’re both Dragon Slayers and they belong to the ruthless Sabertooth Guild, something doesn’t feel quite right. Natsu and Gray quickly grow protective of the two little kids, and they do their best to build a relationship with them to try to keep them safe and figure out what exactly is going on at Sabertooth.

Chapter Summary: Natsu and Gray work through their feelings as they fight to win the Games.

Chapters (3/?): 1 | 2 | 3 Fandom: Fairy Tail Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Natsu/Gray, Rogue/Sting

-----

Jiemma refused to let Natsu train the kids.

“They have everything they need here,” he sneered, refusing to even look in Natsu’s direction. Natsu ground his teeth – the irritation that had been mounting ever since they’d found Sting and Rogue alone in the square was starting to twist in his stomach and make him want to scream. They hadn’t even been welcomed inside. Jiemma had summoned Yukino to take Sting and Rogue away and had nearly closed the door before Natsu had been able to broach the question.

“There aren’t many Dragon Slayers,” Natsu tried again. Something cool brushed his clenched fist – a puff of Gray’s magic as a gentle reminder to keep himself composed. “It’s a unique magic, we—”

“Don’t presume to lecture me,” Jiemma interrupted curtly. “You’d be better off focusing on your own guild – that is, if you want to win tomorrow.”

Then the door slammed shut and Natsu and Gray were left in the quiet dark of the street.

Continue reading on AO3

“That motherfucker,” Natsu hissed, glaring at the door. “I’m gonna—”

“Natsu.” Gray grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the inn, shaking his head. “Use your brain. You can’t do anything.”

“I can kick him in the teeth,” Natsu suggested.

“And forfeit the games?”

Natsu growled, holding on to the anger for a few more seconds before sighing and rubbing his face. “I hate it when you’re right,” he muttered.

“I know,” Gray said, bumping his shoulder as they turned and headed back toward their own inn.

They both fell silent as they walked, letting the gentle quiet of the night surround them both. Natsu chewed his lip, willing himself not to think about the distressed look on Sting’s face when Yukino had led him and Rogue away toward their rooms.

“I just wish…”

“I know.” Gray’s shoulder brushed Natsu’s again. “I wonder what happened to their parents.”

Natsu shook his head. He’d been trying not to think about it. He couldn’t push the thoughts away, though – he’d never been good at letting things go. Everything raced through his mind, a jumbled tangle of memories and worries and the fear that he was making a terrible mistake.

He jumped when a cool set of fingers brushed his, and the heat was immediately back in his cheeks, rushing up his arms and across his chest where it made his heartbeat stutter. Gray moved to pull away, but before he could change his mind, Natsu returned the touch. They stayed like that for a second, both keeping their gaze ahead as they walked, before Gray slowly, carefully ran his fingertips across Natsu’s palm.

Natsu let out a shaky breath at the gentle touch. It pulled him back to warm summer afternoons at the river, lying on their backs side-by-side while they held hands and found shapes in the clouds. The unsettled sensation in his stomach twisted into tentative excitement, and he slipped his fingers between Gray’s. They hadn’t held hands in so long, but it felt so natural, like they fit together. Belonged together.

“They’ll be okay,” Gray said softly, tightening his hand around Natsu’s. They ducked out of the alley and onto one of the larger streets, making their way through the yellow pools of light under the streetlamps.

“I hope so,” Natsu said. He let Gray pull him a little closer. They were silent for a bit as they made their way back to the inn, and Gray had just opened the front door when Natsu said, “I miss my dad.”

He was glad Gray couldn’t see him in the dark. The unexpected urge to cry hit him as he thought of his father – of their long afternoons in the forest trying to tame Natsu’s wild powers. Remembering the proud look on his dad’s face when he’d managed to summon a controlled flame for the first time made Natsu’s heart hurt.

Tears welled in Natsu’s eyes as Gray ran his thumb comfortingly up the side of his hand. “Sorry,” he said roughly, wiping his face with his sleeve. “I dunno what—why—”

Gray shook his head, a movement Natsu could barely see in the thin moonlight that spilled through the door. He tugged on Natsu’s hand and pulled him inside the inn, letting the door swing shut behind them. Then he glanced down the hallway toward the common room.

Natsu tensed, swallowing hard before managing, “I don’t want—they’ll worry, I just...”

“I know.” Gray nudged him down to the opposite end of the hallway. While the team had been sharing a larger space out of habit, several private rooms were available and empty.

Gray hesitated in the doorway of the last room on the left. He didn’t turn on the light and Natsu was glad for it. The tears were still coming, hot and spilling down his cheeks. He didn’t trust himself to talk so he just squeezed Gray’s hand instead.

“C’mere.” Gray kicked off his shoes, then let go of Natsu’s hand and settled down on the far side of the bed. Natsu followed him, curling up on his side. They lay like that for a few moments with a gap between them before Natsu reached out and touched Gray’s hand.

Gray immediately held both arms out and Natsu shuffled into the embrace, letting out a muffled sob as Gray pulled him close.

“’m sorry,” he said, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. “I dunno why I’m so—fuckin’...”

“Shut up,” Gray said, voice soft and affectionate.

Natsu managed a laugh through the tears, shifting even closer and pressing his face to Gray’s shoulder. The awkwardness and embarrassment he expected never came, just a warm sense of comfort. Gray ran his fingers lightly down Natsu’s arm, letting a chill follow the touch. It calmed the racing in Natsu’s mind but didn’t stop the tears. They were like a living thing – now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t cried in such a long time.

“I’m sorry,” Gray said quietly once Natsu’s shoulders had finally stopped shaking. “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

Natsu shook his head. “’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t want—it was so hard when dad died.” The word stuck in his throat. He could feel Gray’s nod against the top of his head. “They’re so little, and Jiemma’s a fucking…” He trailed off, then quietly added, “I just feel useless.”

“You’re the farthest thing from useless,” Gray said, so quietly that Natsu barely heard it. He seemed like he was going to say something else, but instead just exhaled and shifted to grab the pillow and tuck it under their heads. Natsu curled up closer against him. Something about the dark made it feel safe.

They both stared out the window for a while, watching soft wisps of cloud pass across the faint outline of stars in the sky. The moon cast a soft white glow that spilled into the room.

“Why did we stop doing this?” Natsu asked before he could stop himself. He gestured between them vaguely.

Gray froze for a second, then let out a noisy sigh. “I dunno.” His fingers drifted across Natsu’s arm, drawing gentle patterns on his skin. “It was easier when we were kids. It didn’t…” He hesitated. “It wasn’t confusing.”

“But it’s confusing now?”

Gray nodded.

“Why?”

The question hung between them for a while with no answer, and eventually Natsu started to sink into sleep. Gray shifted to hold him closer, then a cool set of lips brushed his forehead.

“Go to sleep,” Gray said softly. “We’ve got a tournament to win tomorrow.”

~

Gray had no idea if they were winning.

He exhaled, pressing a hand to the bruise on his stomach and prodding gingerly at his ribs. Nothing seemed broken, but everything ached. He tipped his head back against the wall of the alley, staring up at the sky as he tried to catch his breath. The orb in his hand flickered and pulsed as it pulled at his magic.

“Looks like you’re almost out of time.” A quiet, ominous voice came from the other end of the alley and Gray looked up to see Minerva standing there, hands on her hips. “I’ll take that.” She held her hand out for the orb and Gray scoffed.

“Like hell,” he growled. His fingers tightened on it and he cursed at himself for losing his jacket somewhere along the way. Pockets would have been useful right about now.

“How long have you had it?” Minerva asked coolly. “You look awful.”

Gray managed a laugh. He brushed his sweaty bangs out of his face, trying to summon more of his magic to bring his temperature down. The orb thrummed again, and he glared down at it. Minerva was right – he needed to hand it off soon before it completely drained the little magic he had left. But nobody was around, and he was so close to their base. Just a little further.

“You love capture the flag,” Natsu had insisted when the final game had been announced. “We played it all the time when we were kids.”

“Yeah, but that flag wasn’t trying to kill me,” Gray had muttered.

Gray stared down at the orb, heat flushing to his cheeks as he thought about Natsu. Waking up together, legs tangled, holding hands, had been almost too much for him. He’d thought about running away, but Natsu had just held him tighter, so they’d watched the sunrise through the window together, instead.

“The rest of your team is down,” Minerva said, pulling Gray out of the memories. “And you can’t make it back on your own.”

“You’re full of shit.” Gray rolled his eyes at Minerva, wincing as he pushed himself away from the wall. The orb pulsed and he glared at it. It was a deep blue, but the surface was covered in thin white lines of frost where it was slowly siphoning his magic.

“How are you going to—”

“Shut up.” Gray glared at Minerva. “I’m trying to think.”

There was an indignant sound from her end of the alley, but he ignored it as he ran his gaze over the cracks in the opposite wall. He wasn’t sure if his end of the alley was blocked – Orga had chased him in here but hadn’t followed. He had no idea who was still left in the game.

“If you use any more of your magic, you’ll pass out.”

Gray turned to look at Minerva, narrowing his eyes as he studied her pale face. He had expected her to attack ruthlessly as usual, but it was clear that she had also already suffered the effects of an orb’s magic drain. There were four orbs in the game – one from each guild’s starting area – and the game ended when all four were in one zone, or the other teams had been eliminated.

“Come get it, if you want it so badly.” Gray held up the orb and grinned when Minerva’s hand twitched, but no magic appeared. “That’s what I thought.”

Then he darted to the other side of the alley, leaping up and digging the toe of his shoes into one of the narrow cracks. Years of chasing Natsu through the streets of Magnolia gave him the skills he needed to quickly scramble up the wall, and when he reached the roof, he started running and didn’t turn back.

From his new vantage point, Gray could see the arena more clearly. An enormous dome of one-way glass separated the contestants from the throngs of people watching from the stands, giving the illusion of being under a sunny summer sky. The area was split into four sections for each of the guild bases, and all of them were modeled after the twisting streets of Crocus. He could see a head of bright blue hair around one of the corners, quickly followed by a tidal wave that washed over two blocks of buildings. Lightning followed, arcing up into the sky, and Gray grinned. Laxus and Juvia’s new Unison Raid was sure to surprise more than a few people.

He took a few deep breaths through the pain of his bruised ribs, scanning the rest of the streets before dashing across the rooftop and jumping to the next building. The magic-draining power of the orb pulled at him, making his limbs heavy and his chest tight.

“Gray!” A shout from the ground caught his attention and he looked down to see Erza holding out her hand. She had a bruise on her forehead but otherwise looked fine. He exhaled in relief, taking a quick look around before tossing the orb down to her. “Natsu’s almost back at base,” she said as she caught the orb and made a face at the immediate power drain. “Go help him.”

When Gray caught up to Natsu he was backed against a wall. A thin shield of flame was the only thing blocking him from a barrage of Orga’s black lightning that arced and danced across the street. Just past Natsu was the base, and Gray could see Lucy standing in front of the platform with the indentations to hold the orbs. Scorpio was in front of her, blasting sand at Yukino and a spirit Gray didn’t recognize.

Gray placed a hand on the roof, quickly molding a ramp of ice that ended in another barrier in front of Natsu. He slid down it, landing next to Natsu and wincing at the pain in his ribs.

“How long have you had it?” he asked, gesturing to the orb. Natsu’s face was pale and bruised, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. He leaned against the wall awkwardly, supporting himself on one leg. “You look like shit.”

“You’re one to talk,” Natsu managed. He hefted the orb in his hand. Bright orange flames flickered inside it.

“We’re almost there,” Gray said. He jumped as another blast of lightning hit his flimsy barrier, cracking it into pieces. Orga grinned at them. Black sparks crackled around him – he clearly hadn’t had any of his magic drained.

“Fuck,” Gray muttered.

“I have a really stupid idea,” Natsu said slowly. “But I need you to trust me.”

Gray sighed, reaching out and grabbing Natsu’s hand. “Always.”

“Don’t block it.”

Another blast of lightning burst from Orga’s hands and snaked toward them, and it took everything in Gray to hold back from shielding them from the attack. His trust in Natsu overrode the instincts though, and instead he closed his eyes and turned his head away.

The air around them crackled as Natsu opened his mouth and devoured the lightning. He gasped, tipping his head back as it coursed across his body and made his hairs stand on end. For a second he shivered, making a soft, pained sound, but then his flames flickered along his arms, tinged with a black-and-white glow.

Oh.

Natsu opened his eyes, grinning at Orga as he pushed Gray behind him and opened his mouth. The lightning burst back across the street, mixed with the bright orange of Natsu’s flames. The blast hit Orga straight in the chest, hard enough to fling him back into the far wall and cause the stone to crack.

Then Natsu slumped against Gray, energy spent. “Your turn,” he managed.

Gray looked down at his hands where his magic pulsed weakly, then back up at Orga. He was stunned, but it wouldn’t last long. There wasn’t enough magic in Gray to get them to the base though – the last spell had nearly drained him.

Unless…

He clenched his hands into fists, closing his eyes and reaching down where the devil slayer magic lived. It burst up eagerly, tearing across his skin and filling him with the wild power that left him breathless. Dark purple energy crackled around the two of them as the black marks spread, banishing the exhaustion, and narrowing his focus to the distance between them and the base.

Gray moved quickly, grabbing the stone from Natsu. It shimmered, but the exhaustion he was expecting never happened. It couldn’t touch him. It couldn’t take this magic.

He crouched down, slamming his palm into the ground, and making a sheet of purplish-black ice that covered the street toward the base. “Hold on,” he said as he wrapped Natsu’s arm around his shoulder, then reached out behind them, blasting ice behind them that rocketed them forward.

It was exhilarating. They moved so fast that wind whipped across their face, sliding over the glass-like surface as Gray’s power carried them toward the goal. Natsu started to laugh – a bright sound that filled Gray with joy.

Another blast of Orga’s lightning raced toward them but Gray blocked it easily, freezing the bolt in midair. It hung there for a second, then fell to the ground and shattered. Within seconds they were across the line into the base, stumbling forward and up the stairs to the pedestal. Erza had beat them there and was standing next to Lucy, sending a barrage of swords toward Yukino and her serpent spirits.

“Go!” she shouted as soon as she saw them. “It’s the last one!”

A thunderous crack sounded behind them as Orga stormed forward, glowing and crackling with the brilliant power of his god slayer magic. His eyes were white, sparks flying from his fingertips as he summoned a dark cloud above him, and a ball of lightning started to crackle and form between his hands.

Gray pressed the orb back into Natsu’s palm and shoved him toward the pedestal, just as the torrent of lightning raced toward them. He turned back to Orga, holding out both hands and summoning all the magic he could muster. The devil slayer power tore out of him in a blast of shadows that slammed into the lightning and started to push it back. Orga snarled and stepped forward, but Gray shook his head, planting his feet and calling on all his magic. The marks slid down his forearms until his hands were entirely black. Power poured off him in waves, pushing at the lightning until hit Orga in the chest and slammed him to the ground.

Then the victory horn sounded, and Gray let the magic drop, collapsing to his knees.

A cheer rose around them as the dome over the stadium lifted, exposing the thousands of spectators in the stands. Gray’s vision was hazy, but he could just see the points tally for each of the teams. The bright purple of Fairy Tail slowly switched places with Sabertooth and moved into first place.

“The winner of the Grand Magic Games is Fairy Tail!”

Another roar burst through the spectators. The screen panned across the crowd, showing their teammates cheering and hugging each other. Then it slid over to Sabertooth. The entire guild looked sullen, except for Sting and Rogue. They were both leaning over the railing with enormous grins on their faces. Gray could tell that Sting was holding back the urge to jump up and down and wave at them – likely due to the harsh glare from Jiemma behind him.

A shadow appeared in front of Gray, and he looked up to see Natsu with his hands held out.

“We did it,” Natsu said, pulling Gray up and gripping his forearms tightly.  They were both out of breath, panting from the exertion of the chase, sweaty and dirty and bleeding from various scrapes and bruises. Natsu’s smile was blinding, though. A thin sheen of purple ice clung to his hand where it touched Gray’s arm.

“We won.” Gray couldn’t help the grin that broke across his face. The lacrima screen was playing a recap of the event behind them, but Gray didn’t care. He couldn’t look away from the deep brown of Natsu’s eyes, the curve of his smile, the heat of his fingers on Gray’s arm. They stared at each other, hearts pounding, and then Gray grabbed Natsu by the front of his shirt and pulled him in to kiss him.

Natsu made a surprised sound, then moved closer, shifting his hand to the back of Gray’s neck and twining his fingers in his hair. His lips were soft and warm against Gray’s, moving eagerly like he’d been waiting for this forever. The roars and cheers from the crowd faded into the background. All Gray could feel was Natsu – his hands and his lips and the soft spot on his throat where his pulse fluttered frantically under Gray’s fingertips.

Then reality slammed back into Gray as he realized the lacrima screen was now trained on them and everyone was watching them kiss.

“Shit,” he whispered, cheeks immediately starting to burn. He didn’t pull away, though, just pressed their foreheads together. “Everyone’s looking.”  

“Don’t care,” Natsu said, grinning and bumping Gray’s nose with his own. “Let ‘em.”

~

The next few hours were a blur. Natsu held Gray’s hand tightly as the entire guild ran out into the arena to hug and cheer and tease them. Some of Gray’s devil slayer magic still clung to him – a soft purple glow that lit up his arms – and Natsu felt a deep sense of relief when Gray didn’t seem ashamed of it.

Natsu kissed him again, a small brush of lips against his cheek, and the smile that crossed Gray’s face made Natsu feel like he owned the world.

Eventually he had to let go of Gray’s hand. Late afternoon gave way to twilight, and there was a blur of healing, showering, and changing into formal clothing before heading to Mercurius for the formal ball. The castle gleamed, bright and colorful against the dark backdrop of the sky, and the gardens out front were lit with tiny lights that looked like fireflies.

It was nearly half an hour into the event when Natsu finally found Gray again. He was on the outskirts of the ballroom floor, leaning against a pillar and fidgeting with his sleeve. When he saw Natsu, the corner of his lip curved up in a smile.

“Hey,” Natsu said. Gray’s jacket was deep blue, almost the same color as his eyes, with intricate gold braiding along the edges. “You look…” Natsu trailed off as warmth rushed to his face.

“You too,” Gray said quickly. His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink.

They both stood there for a second, staring at the space between them, and then Natsu asked, “Wanna dance?”

Gray looked at the dance floor uncertainly, then gave a small nod and let Natsu take his hand.

“I’m not great at this,” Natsu admitted as he stumbled over the first few steps. Gray laughed at him, adjusting his hand, and shifting him to the right position.

“That’s because you’re a klutz.”

“I resent that,” Natsu stuck his tongue out at Gray, who rolled his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said. “Your shirt isn’t even done up right.” He reached out and touched the collar of Natsu’s pink shirt. He adjusted it, then let his fingers brush Natsu’s neck. Natsu let out a soft breath, then tipped his head into the touch and brushed hips lips against Gray’s palm.

Gray swallowed, keeping his eyes on Natsu’s as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. His cheeks were flushed, but Natsu wasn’t sure if that was from embarrassment or the champagne.

“We should probably talk,” Natsu said quietly as they moved across the dance floor.

“About?”

“You kissing me in front of sixty thousand people.”

“Ah. That.”

“Yeah. That.”

Gray hesitated, chewing his lip as he moved his hand down to Natsu’s shoulder again. “I, um. I wanted to. And it… you…” His cheeks flushed darker and he looked down at the floor. “You seemed like you… wanted to. Too. And it just, um. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“And what about now?” Natsu asked softly. He moved closer and ran his thumb across Gray’s knuckles. “Do you still…”

“Yes.” Gray quickly leaned in and pressed his lips to Natsu’s, just once, soft and sweet. Then he pulled back, blushing furiously. “I’ve wanted to for—a while, and I didn’t think… I wasn’t sure…”

His words were interrupted by an excited shout and something crashing into the back of Natsu’s legs. Gray caught him by the forearms and pushed him back to his feet.

“You winned!”

Sting stood behind them, bouncing on the balls of his feet with Rogue not far behind him. Rogue was dressed in a suit like Gray’s, with a red silk shirt and matching braiding along the sleeves. Their long hair was pulled up into a ponytail with a few strands falling in their face. Sting, on the other hand, had lost his jacket and was only wearing a button-down shirt in a soft shade of yellow. It was already dirty, and the sleeves were pushed up past his elbows.

“Hey, bud!” Natsu crouched down and Sting immediately launched himself into his arms, wrapping his arms around Natsu’s neck. “You two look fancy.”

“Yukino saided we had to.” Sting pulled back and made a face. “I don’t like it.”

Natsu laughed, brushing some of Sting’s wild curls out of his face. It looked like someone had tried to brush his hair, but it had a mind of its own. “That’s okay, I don’t like being fancy either.”

Rogue, who had been standing politely with their hands behind their back, moved around Natsu and Sting and stood next to Gray, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“You did the special magic again,” they said, an uncharacteristic note of excitement in their voice. “Like mine!” They hesitated for a second, then wrapped their arms around Gray’s legs and hugged him tightly. Natsu laughed as he watched Gray’s cheeks turn pink.

“Gray gived you a kiss,” Sting said seriously, staring into Natsu’s eyes. “Are you married?”

Gray made a choked sound and Natsu laughed. “No, we’re not married.”

“Oh.” Sting frowned. “Are you gonna get married?”

“Um.”

“Are you in true love?”

“Uh…”

“’cause Yukino read a book with Princess Buttercup and Westley and they were in love and kissed an’ then Westley got turned into a pirate and Buttercup was sposed to marry a guy who was mean but she didn’t want to ‘cause she said Westley was her true love and then Westley comed back in the end of the story and they kissed and rode horses. Did you ever ride a horse?”

Natsu laughed, ruffling Sting’s hair again as he stood up. “No, I haven’t ridden a horse,” he said, glad he was able to dodge the question of true love for the moment. “Are you hungry?” he asked before Sting could ask anymore awkward questions.

“Super hungry!” Sting exclaimed, jumping up and down. “The tables are tall and I want a cookie.”

“Please,” Rogue said, looking at Sting with an air of exasperation. “You have to say please.”

“Please,” Sting said quickly. He reached out his arms to Natsu and pointed to the table. “Please I can have up and a cookie?”

“Sure you can.”

“Are little kids supposed to have cookies?” Gray asked, frowning. He had already lifted Rogue up onto his hip

“I’m not little!” Sting said indignantly. “We’re both big!”

“Yes, you are,” Natsu said, reaching down and lifting Sting into his arms. He swung him up above his head and settled Sting on his shoulders where he could see over the crowd. Then he grabbed Gray’s hand and squeezed it. “They’re going back to Jiemma after this,” he said with a grin. “They can have as many cookies as they want.”

#fairy tail #ft fanfic #gratsu #stingue #gray fullbuster #natsu dragneel #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #let me be your haven #fanfic #my fic #update #new chapter

[legosi-and-louis-are-in-love]

What if Louis had went to Legosi for comfort tho...

Louis stood in front of a drab, rusted metal door. It looked so appropriately plain he couldn’t help but think to smile. His mouth didn’t receive the message, though.

The past few days had been hell for him, to say the least. He couldn’t get the faces in the crowd he had seen at the funeral out of his head. He did not recognize a single one of them aside from the butlers, and aside from them not a single one of those faces seemed to hold any grief. Was he doomed to follow in his father’s footsteps and die with no friends or loved ones? 

He recalled that this was the train of thought that brought him here, into this ancient rotting building his closest friend called home. He had never been inside but he knew where it was, and a quick inquiry at the desk had brought him to the appropriate room. It was late enough that he was sure the wolf was home, although no sounds emanated from the room to suggest this. 

He had fought the impulse at first. Legosi was busy training. He needed to focus if he was going to win this thing and live. Louis desperately didn’t want Legosi to rely on his other leg. Louis needed to give him space and keep the wolf’s head in the game. Even if it burned him to the core thinking about how quickly he had become attached to his long lost childhood friend who now gave him no time of day. 

This was probably the other thought that brought him here. He remembered last year when he derided Juno for being selfish, and she asked him why that was seen as a bad thing. That memory pushed the switch in his mind from ‘no’ to ‘yes’ when he asked himself if he could go see Legosi. He was selfish. He needed to be with someone else right now. 

He looked down at his emaciated form, holding his hands up and staring at them. His right hand clenched and moved forward. Slowly but surely, it inched toward the door until it made contact noiselessly. Why was he so nervous? If anything, Legosi always seemed to be the nervous one around him. He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to talk to an animal you had eaten a part of. Was it torture for Legosi to be around him? Was this all a big mistake?

No. Louis was selfish. He knocked once, and a thud soon resounded from behind the door. What followed were sounds of scrambling and claws on wood and soft grumbles. His mouth finally caught the signal from before and formed a smile. 

The wolf that opened the door had very obviously just woken up. Legosi wore an old t-shirt that he either outgrew or had shrunk in the wash, exposing his soft, fuzzy stomach. Below he wore a simple pair of briefs. His expression turned from tired to tired-yet-surprised when he realized who was in front of him. 

“L-Louis-san? Uh...hi! This isn’t...well it’s not...you...” 

Louis simply crossed his arms and let the wolf try and figure out what he wanted to say. He was gesticulating frantically, a trademark of his. 

“...s-so you see, I wasn’t expecting company, so I don’t have anything to offer you or...” 

Louis decided he had let him suffer long enough. With a raise of his slender hand, he hushed the mutt up. “It’s fine. Can we talk?”

Legosi’s irises dilated slightly. “Sure!” He proceeded to not move. 

“...inside?”, Louis suggested. 

Defeated, Legosi’s ears wilted slightly. “Okay...” He turned around, and Louis noticed his tail wagging lightly. Legosi could have a good pokerface sometimes, but never a good pokerbutt. 

Louis commended himself silently for his little joke. 

As Legosi had said, the place was a bit of a mess. What little clothes in his possession laid haphazardly along the floor and across some furniture, as they had likely not been picked up when they had been stripped off the wolf’s body. A recently used futon lay in the corner, and immediately to Louis’s right was a stove, minifridge, and small cabinet. Aside from the small table in the center of the room, that’s all Legosi’s home consisted of. 

Louis walked over to the only zabuton by the table and sat upon it, leaving Legosi to stand awkwardly for a moment before he opened the cabinet in the “kitchen” area and pulled out a box of crackers and a paper plate.  “It’s fine, Legosi. I’m not hungry.” 

“Your stomach is growling.” Legosi looked at him with concern, and Louis attempted to cover up his body. 

A few seconds later, the gracious feast was placed on the table, and Legosi sat upon his bed, facing Louis. He looked expectantly at him. Louis grabbed a cracker and nibbled at it.

“So, what did you want to talk about, Louis-san?”

Louis placed the barely eaten cracker down. “Well, I just wanted to check in and see how the training is going.” 

Legosi’s ears twitched. “Oh! Well, I think it’s going well. Knowing Kyuu-san trained with Gouhin-san gives us a connection. I still don’t think I can hit her, though...”

Louis wanted to cover his ears and scream. Why did he have to ask that question? It was time to switch gears. “So, this dump, eh?” 

Legosi cocked his head, unprepared for the sudden subject change. “Well, it’s about the only place I can afford. I had to get rid of my cell phone to even afford it consistently...” 

“So that’s why you never asked for my number? We need an easier way to contact each other.” Louis felt lightheaded as he said this. He reached back for his unfinished cracker. 

Legosi stared for a moment. “So, you’ve thought about trying to become a Beastar with me?” 

Louis finished the cracker. “Sure. We should at least lay some groundwork, no?” “Well, there’s a landline in the lobby you can contact me with.”

“Alright, old man.”

Louis ate from the plate as the room entered silence. Legosi played with the covers beneath him as he very obviously tried not to stare at Louis’s prosthesis, which was showing from where his pant leg was being pulled up by his sitting position. 

“My dad died a week ago.” 

Both animals held a shocked expression. Louis covered his mouth and looked away. Legosi was on his hands and knees, but still kept his distance. 

“Wh-wh-wh-why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay? Do you need anything? Did you have the funeral already? How did it happen?”

The wolf’s endless questions turned into a buzz in Louis’s ears. He just stared blankly at him, feeling numb. 

It took a while before he realized Legosi had stopped talking. “It was a car accident. I had to arrange the funeral and pick up all his business dealings. I’m the CEO of Horns now.” He delivered the information in a monotone voice, trying to distance himself from it. 

“I-is that why you look so sick?” Legosi, blunt as always. 

“I suppose.” 

“You need help! Maybe a doctor! Is anybody helping you? You should have told me!” 

Louis stared back, noting how Legosi still positioned himself too far away to make contact. He noted his large hands lifting off the floor a few times, but they always found their way back to their original position. He recalled the first Adler performance when he had woken up in the nurse’s office. Weak and frail. Was that how Legosi was seeing him right now. 

The image in his mind shifted. Now they were atop a concrete slab outcropped from a bridge on a cold, winter night. Legosi bleeding heavily. The warm feeling in the deer’s eyes back then returned. The wolf in front of him blurred. 

Dammit, what was it about him that brought this disgusting feeling? 

Seeing the tears drop from the deer’s face caused Legosi’s arms to raise up farther, and he scootched forward on his knees slightly, but alas, he remained out of reach. Louis stayed planted on the zabuton, crying silently. 

“Wh-what should I do, Louis-san? Please, tell me what I should do!” Legosi sounded desperate now, and Louis equally so. 

“Wh-what can you do?”, he managed through the tears. 

“Yes!” 

Louis looked Legosi straight in the eyes, brows furrowing, teeth and fists clenched. 

“COMFORT ME, GODDAMMIT!” 

Pure surprise washed over Legosi’s face, and Louis buried his own in his hands. It was pointless. Legosi couldn’t be what Louis wanted. What he denied he craved. Every time he stared at his large, carnivore body, he disgustingly felt safety instead of danger. He had continuously tried to deny his affinity for carnivores. It was a spit in the face to the suffering he had endured as a child. At best, he should hold power over carnivores to assert his strength. Protection and affection were desires best left in his subconscious. He needed to leave. 

Fortunately, Louis found he couldn’t move. He opened his eyes and now found himself tucked snugly between Legosi’s legs. The wolf sat cross-legged on the futon, enveloping the deer as best he could with his limbs while also being conscious of his antlers. His cold nose pressed onto the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, causing Louis to shiver and grip at the soft, gray fur of his best friend. 

The sobbing started. “I-I miss him, Legosi! I miss him so fucking much! I never thought I could miss him this much!” 

“I know, Louis-san! It’s okay, I have you! You’re okay!” 

Louis choked and gasped. It was amazing, the feeling of Legosi around him. It was something he had unconsciously been desiring ever since that night he and the Shishigumi had found Legosi snooping around in the Black Market. He now understood why he had let that hug go uninterrupted for more than a few seconds. He wouldn’t make the same mistake pf pushing him away this time. 

Even if he tried, it would have been fruitless. The wolf had a firm grip on him. If he had been prey, he would have been dead. Louis dragged his snot-filled nose across Legosi’s neck, making pitiful noises. Only Legosi could see this side of him. Just as he had on New Year’s. It was only appropriate. 

The light-headedness returned, and Louis saw stars. His arms turned cold as he felt himself go limp. 

~       

Louis awoke to the sound of a tea kettle whistling. His head was propped up a bit more than it should have been. The blanket covering him was soft and smelled bad. He looked to his left, and saw Legosi at his oven, pouring hot water into a cup. He perked up when he saw Louis.

“Oh, thank goodness! You’re awake! Here, I have some tea!” 

Louis tried to sit up but found he was unable to. Legosi noticed this and went to his side, crouching down and holding the cup down. 

Louis stared down at it, feeling the steam on his nose. “I-it’s too hot, Legosi.” 

Legosi whined softly and sat down, holding the tiny cup humorously with both of his huge hands. “I got this tea from Sebun-san. She’s my neighbor. She’s taught me a lot about adult living.” 

Louis laid his head back as Legosi anxiously rambled. He was well aware of the burden he had placed on the wolf now. But he was selfish, so he tried not to care. The warmth of being held so close returned to his mind. It hadn’t just been a dream. A wall in their relationship crumbled. 

“I’ll try that tea now, Legosi.” 

“Oh, y-yeah! Sorry.” 

The tea tasted bitter, unsurprisingly. Louis never was a fan. He drank down the whole cup, letting the warmth run through him. Not as warm as Legosi had been, sadly. 

“You should rest here for the night.” Legosi stood up and went back to the kitchen area, cleaning up. Louis’s eyes followed him, and he noted the rest of the room had been tidied up as well. He felt his heart suddenly hammer in his chest. 

“What about you?” 

Legosi looked back at his guest. “I can stay at my neighbor Zaguān’s place. He lives a floor above me. It’ll be fine.” 

The warmth granted from the tea left Louis’s body. “Legosi.” 

He turned to face Louis fully, looking attentive and concerned. “Yes?”

Louis swallowed, and a shaky arm pulled the covers down as he moved his body toward the wall. “Sleep next to me.” 

Legosi’s face immediately went flush. “A-ah I-I don’t know if that’s such a good idea!” He was trying to repair the wall they had just worked so hard destroying.

But it was a good thing Louis had accepted the selfish side of himself now. He sat up, willing his eyes to convey all the pleading and want he now felt. He armed his tongue and teeth with a potent weapon. The target: an adorably clueless wolf. 

“Please!”

Payload delivered, Legosi stood there speechless. Louis could have sworn he saw tears, but whatever had been there was quickly blinked away. He slowly lumbered over, hands playing with themselves nervously. He towered over the prone deer, mouthing inaudible words. 

Louis looked up at him, smiling weakly. “Please...comfort me...” 

Legosi dropped to his knees, and he slowly slipped under the covers. Louis felt giddy as the heat radiating off of him made contact with his personal space. He had been so alone the past week. He needed someone. He needed Legosi. He needed the most important animal in his life next to him. 

Legosi laid on his side facing him, and Louis turned to do the same. He often forgot just how much bigger this wolf was compared to him, but from that position it was undeniable. He reached down and grabbed one of Legosi’s hands, kneading it with his own. The wolf audibly gulped, sweat forming on his forehead. 

“Hey...relax.” Louis still couldn’t believe Legosi could so reliably look pathetic in situations where he held complete control and power. “You’re not gonna eat me again, right?”

Legosi cleared his throat loudly. “I-it’s not that...” 

“Then what is it?”

Legosi untangled his hand and folded his arms. “Well...remember what we talked about in the hospital?”

Louis tried to recall. “How you defend herbivores mostly because you’re in love with them? Yes, I remember.” He smiled at the absurdity of it all. 

“Well...I mean...you’re an herbivore...and I’m feeling...feeling...” 

Now it was Louis’s turn to turn red. He never thought of himself as an herbivore, or rather, he tried not to. But now that he realized it...

Feeling rather bold, Louis lobbied a question: “So, what? You don’t love me, too?” 

The riskiness of the question was worth it just to hear the high pitched squeak that escaped the wolf’s mouth. 

Louis moved closer to him, unable to control his body now. “After all we’ve been through. Even after saying you want to become Beastar with me and change society to our ideals...you don’t love me?” 

Legosi was now blabbering nonsense, still crossing his arms. Louis scowled and reached for them, trying to pry them apart. Eventually, they untangled and Louis inserted himself into them. 

“Well, Legosi...”, Louis squirmed, as if his body was fighting the vulnerability it was instinctively showing now. “I can’t think of anybody else I love more than you...” 

It was such an obvious statement, but Louis was still shocked that it had left his lips. 

Legosi’s strange nonspeak stopped, and Louis could very clearly feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. The arms around him started to hold him with purpose, and his long legs curled forward, catching Louis’s as they entwined. 

“L-Louis-san...” 

“Yes?”

“I...I do...” 

“...what?”

“...love you.”

Not a noise could be heard for a few moments, aside from the cars outside and the pitter pat of rain against the window. Someone downstairs closed a door a bit too loudly. 

Louis chuckled. “I love you, Legosi.”

Legosi’s own soft laughter joined the deer’s. “I love you, Louis!”

“I love you, Legosi!”

“I love you, Louis! I love you!”

“I love you!” 

The nonsensical back and forth went on for longer than it probably should have, and eventually the enthusiasm and energy in their declarations faltered. Nevertheless, they continued to mumble those same words to each other as they fell asleep embracing each other. 

#ok this is a lot longer than i expected #i just really wanted to write something with them at this point in the story #because Louis just can't stop pining for Legosi it seems #beastars

[skaashis]

hunger. 

➤ you are miya osamu

wc: 2.7k 

warnings: food, op is hungry, miya osamu centric, manga & anime spoilers

note: I'm 1-2 days late to the funeral/party but pls accept this really short miya osamu character study (kind of. barely. There was hardly any studying as i’ve allowed the spirit of writing take hold of my hands for a solid two hours.) as my elegy/offering to haikyuu season 4’s finale and the 40 tabs of poetry & fics that crashed on me earlier this evening. 

You are Miya Osamu, seven years old, and eating in the new ramen restaurant that just opened up for dinner. The place was apparently highly-anticipated as it’s apparently the first Hyogo Branch for an infamous ramen chain that's apparently rated with two Michelin stars. The interior is traditional and neat. The walls, floor, and furniture are of finished wood in varying shades. The staff look old, the chefs look older. You, Atsumu, Pa, and Ma are seated with menus and gurgling stomachs, and walk out with takeout. Hands chained together, you all walk towards the parking lot and Ma lets out a squeal of satisfaction saying, “that was real good wasn't it, Atsumu, Osamu?” 

Atsumu being the dimwit brat he is, nods viciously as if his eyes aren't already drooping as a sign of an incoming food coma. He proceeds to say he’s reaaaaaaaal full! And how he really liked how soft the noodles were and how rich the broth was and how soft the noodles were. Ma hums in a smile then looks down to face you, asking you for your own opinion. You only shrug and say, “I’m full. Just not satisfied” 

Ma looks at you, mortified. Pa guffaws his lungs out and manages to wheeze out how you better be thankful that you’re out of the restaurant's vicinity for you might have gotten your first lawsuit at seven! You don't completely understand what he means but knows it's something bad. In the car ride back home, you stare out the window and wonder why. 

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You are Miya Osamu and think that Aran Ojiro is hella cool. He’s got a hella cool name, hella cool physique, and hella cool lunch he brings to school one day. They’re pancakes. Not really the ideal lunch meal, but hella cool either way because they’re nop ordinary pancakes. They’re corn pancakes, except, as Tsumu (his new name that you both proclaimed post-meeting Aran-kun) says after taking a bite, there’s no corn in it. It just tastes like corn. You pull out your own plastic chopsticks from your bento to take a taste as Aran explains. He says there’s something his mom puts that called ‘cornmeal’. Before you could take a piece, Aran halts you and shuffles for something in his lunchbag, only to pull out a mini tupperware of freshly chopped green onions. With glimmering eyes, he recommends that you try it out with the green onions garnished above before you take a bite. You nod, take his advice, and your mouth explodes with colors. It’s beyond sweet or savory or spicy or umami. Pancakes have always been either flat or fluffy alone, never so interesting and flavorful until now. 

Ma picks you and Tsumu up later that day and you ask her to buy some cornmeal and extra green onions the next time she goes to the market to buy groceries. 

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You are Miya Osamu and it's New Year’s. You’re also yelling at Tsumu too keep it up, who in return, is also yelling at you to keep it up. Ojiisan is chortling in endearment, Obaasan is cackling her lungs out. When the Mochi is finally done, you and Tsumu exchange glares with your arms folded in a huff. Tsumu mutters how you, Samu, is so stupid and dumb and slow, when you know for a fact that HE’s the one who’s stupid and dumb and slow. Obaasan, being the ever observant granny she is, hitches a brow teasingly and asks if her precious grandsons have changed their precious names into something else. You and (a)Tsumu splutter up a string of apologies and excuses, only for her to cackle once again, this time simultaneously hitting you both on the back as she does so. Ojiisan is the one to tell your Obaasan to calm down now as he distributes the mochi. 

Obaasan smiles with the softening of her eyes after taking a bite of the mochi and says it's good. Both your and (a)Tsumu’s hearts swell in pride. She then smiles with her dentures flashed in a wide, cheshire grin, adding how it could’ve used a little more oomph! She says it’s good because food is always good when you’re happy. And you’re happy when you make decisions for yourselves. And when you’re making decisions for yourself, you’re supposed to make a decision that you think will make you happy. You and Tsumu nod while reaching out for your own mochi and she’s right, it’s too soft. 

But you think, huh. It does taste a lot better. 

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You are Miya Osamu and firmly believe your brother is a curse. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. You’re the curse. Ma never told you who’s older or younger, and probably (likely.) (definitely.) for the best. Though, you’re also one half of the newly infamous Miya Twins™ (synonymous with: chaos incarnate) who have recently shaken the ground of the volleyball world. The other half of the Miya Twins™ is Atsumu, who puked in the bus before the first game in your first nationals that no one, everyone, would have expected you’d win. Of course, you only reach the semi-finals, but that alone is a feat in itself. Still, on the bus ride back to Hyogo, while your eyes aren’t swelling with tears anymore, they’re mapped with veins and your heart’s the one doing the swelling, but with distraught and a promise to give it your all until the very end as one half of the Miya Twins™. 

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You are Miya Osamu and the team that stands before you across the net is Karasuno. Whom no one, everyone, would have expected would come this far. They’re an amalgamation of rookies, geniuses, and straight up monsters. They’re an odd bunch but so is your team. You’re both standing in the court, in Tokyo, match being ingrained into the minds of every person watching whether live or through National Television that'll either last forever for them to talk to their grandkids about or just fleet away the next day. Either way, the memory of such alone is proof that they’ve come this far. So are the jerseys being drenched in sweat, bruises blooming on their forearms, and the muscles being more and more conditioned as each three centimeters of a second passes by. 

“Hey ‘samu? I’m startin’ to feel hungry.”

“Me too, ‘tsumu.”

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You are Miya Osamu, scarfing down on the third best gyudon you’ve had in your life. It’s served in the Tokyo branch of a well known gyudon chain and only the third best ‘cuz Ma’s is and will always be the best, and yours will be the second best because you’re seventeen and self-proclaimed one hell of a home cook. It’s third best probably because of the garnish or the beef’s quality or how well-cooked the rice is. Or the fact that you’re eating it right after a loss. Food is always better when it's used as comfort or a coping mechanism. If it’s decent and you’re feeling like shit, your brain always registers it as the best thing in the world for at least the next few days. But you’re smarter than Gin who’s ordering his third bowl because it's the best gyudon he’s ever had in his life. But also, food is always better when you’re happy, when you make a decision for yourself that you deem would make you happy. You’re not happy, but you’ve decided that you’re gonna be the junior Kita-san’s forever gonna brag about. 

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You are Miya Osamu and practice the next day is grueling. Even fiercer and vicious than the already fierce and vicious practices your body had been accustomed to pre-nationals. Not completely by coach’s order, rather by the hunger born as an aftermath from yesterday's events. It’s also a water break. The mere three minutes your body is given to repair its own muscles before another set of serves. Riseki mentions how yesterday, Kita went on another one of his strange speeches in the midst of the match. He reiterates how Kita believed everyone on court were monsters and all, that's really the bare minimum Riseki’s pea brain, in comparison to Kita-san’s argentinosaurus of a brain, was able to absorb. You nod and hum in acknowledgement, after all, you thought the same too at one point of the match. But now- 

Your gaze shifts over to ‘tsumu who’s across the gym and trying to create a heimlich by punching his chest. God knows what he’s choked himself up on again this time. 

-your face twists into nonchalance. Even from the other side of the gym, you feel tsumu giving you the stink eye as Aran’s obligatorily assisting him. It's probably the twin senses. The guy’s no monster. Even if he was, monsters are supposed to be terrifying. Like the ones scaring you from under your bed. Or crawling up from a well and out of the TV screen. Or dipping fingers along with a french fry into a ramekin of ketchup in a team outing, like what Tsumu doe— Ah. 

(Later that night, he does it again. He’s no monster, just a stupid fuckin idiot.) 

(A disgrace to humanity.)

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You are Miya Osamu, it’s the week after the last Spring High National Tournament, 1AM, and you should be asleep. Instead, you’re googling: what the fuck do retired athletes do when they’re retired. Your back isn’t aching and you dont smell funny yet, but you’re a teenager and tired and your brain whirrs in the strangest of times. The search results are blurry as like does a black hole, sleep succumbs and swallows you into itself. 

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You are Miya Osamu, holding your brother in a headlock. The catalyst to the impromptu wrestling match in the gym was you admitting to Atsumu that you’re no longer playing volleyball after highschool. Some delusional part of yourself hoped for some kind of peaceful talk. Y’know, with puffy gowns and smiles and chamomile tea. But Tsumu’s childish and you’re apparently a FUCKIN’ [REDACTED] [REDACTED] HORSE-CRAP-LOOKIN’ [REDACTED] BITCHASS [REDACTED] [REDACTED] SHITTY SCRUB. As per usual, you throw each other, yells (Communication between the Miya Twins™ was either inarticulate yelling or twin telepathy alone and nothing in between.), and punches around. There’s no real winner or loser in your quarrels as either Ma’, the coach, or Kita-san is always quick to end it. This time, when Tsumu yells at you that when you’re in your deathbeds, he’s gonna say that lived a happier life, you grin fierce, proud, in pain, and attempt to keep tears from streaming down your eyes. There’s no winner or loser to this fight as it doesn’t, and will never end until you’re on your deathbeds trying to deem who lived a happier life. 

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You are Miya Osamu, sweating profoundly, and the touch of the ball your brother set to you barely quarter a second ago is faint. The Twin Quick Attack, Minus Tempo. He gives you a look that says “are ya still thinkin’ about quittin’?” You slam the ball down along with returning a look that says “fuck yeah.” The ball creates a deafening echo as it ricochets off the ground. 2014 Spring High National Tournament: Inarizaki High School vs Karasuno High School (2:1)

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.

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You are Miya Osamu, swearing you’re about to go blind because of the continuous flashes of cameras being sent your way in your graduation. Ma’ and Pa’ are in tears, so are a few of your classmates and teammates and juniors. Some people say that they wished highschool would never end but that’s a load of bullshit. Highschool sucked. Calculus sucked. Everyone many Some people sucked. ‘Tsumu definitely sucked. Playing volleyball— didn’t suck. It never sucked. 

.

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You are Miya Osamu and adult-ing sucks. Taxes, landlords, income— Never have been fond of economics and likely never will. They said that when you become an adult, you’re finally gonna be thrusted into the world of freedom and happiness. Freedom is for everyone, children and adults alike. Happiness on the other hand, is temporary and reserved for times like a good lunch, and only permanent for people swimming in bills and coins and gucci. You? You’re just some guy making equilateral riceballs for a living. The food industry is always a gamble. To make a name for yourself, you’ve gotta keep thriving. To keep thriving you require consistency in improvement. That means more branches, more flavors, and more investment while making sure the quality never drops. It's difficult and mentally taxing. It also makes the whirring of the ceiling fan seem louder than it should be, making you feel smaller, more alone, than you should feel. You take another piece of manchego and narrow your eyes into the list of potential new flavors you could sell. A high-pitched DING! from your phone causes you to lose the staring contest you’ve had with the sheet of paper in front of you. 

From: Kita-san 

I’ve prepared the rice for pickup. See you tomorrow, Osamu.

 You grin at the notification and text him a quick thanks. You stand up and flip the paper around in order to get read for bed. Something tells you you’ll figure it out somehow and soon. 

(you do. Spicy pickled cucumber onigiri is fresh and a well selling item in Onigiri Miya the moment its introduced.)

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You are Miya Osamu and firmly believe your brother is a menace, but also a nuisance. Yet here he is, likely (definitely) unaware of the splatter of soy sauce his cheek is smushed upon that you weren’t able to clean up from the former customer as he’s too immersed in his own personal venting. He’s whining on and on about how he can’t seem to perfect this new special serve he’s been working on for a while now. You’re familiar with this co called “special” serve he’s trying to pull off as it’s been the only thing he’s been texting you daily about. Because you’ve heard of it a hundred-or-so times and you were also supposed to close up ages ago, until he came waltzing in with that stupid pout and blonde hair of his. He’s a menace and nuisance but also your brother, so you offer him your own two cents and fresh onigiri. The night goes on with you both talking about Kita-san and life and the time Bokkun got his hand stuck in the pipe system back over in the MSBY dormitories. As you close up the shop and part ways, Tsumu yells at you saying he hasn’t figured out the serve yet, you yell back at him that he’ll figure it out somehow. 

(he does. he debuts the new menacing northpaw serve, entitled the “hybrid serve” the next match the MSBY have.)

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.

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You are Miya Osamu and formally meet Akaashi Keiji for the first time. You recall him as one of the setters for Fukurodani, the highschool that often appeared in lists of participatory schools in the nationals as well as the former abode of your brother’s teammate, Bokuto “Bokkun” Koutaro. The dude’s nice. Probably needs more sleep, but generally nice. Seeing him and so many other people from highschool all gather up in Sendai for the match fortifies its already well-established significance. The crowd quivers and roars in awe as the MSBY win, some of shock, others of pride, many over at the Adlers side in goodbye to the sum of money they’ve pooled into bets. You quiver and roar in a grin, proud of your brother and the incoming flock of hungry customers coming over to your stand. 

.

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You are Miya Atsumu and your brother is Miya Osamu. No surprise he’s 60+ and still making those stupid equilateral riceballs of his. Probably because he’s got his life up together. Definately because he’s a FUCKIN’ [REDACTED] [REDACTED] HORSE-CRAP-LOOKIN’ [REDACTED] BITCHASS [REDACTED] [REDACTED] SHITTY SCRUB. You enter the shop and the doorway is no longer one you’d have to duck for in order to enter. The place is really neat. Sumiko-chan (16, working part time) welcomes you back and says Osamu-jiisan’s break is still in an hour or so. You wave her off saying you’re just gonna get a minced tuna and spring onion onigiris to go. She nods and tells you to wait for five minutes. You do so and in those five minutes, you watch ‘Samu smile as he’s heartily making those stupid equilateral riceballs of his out of rice and love and whatever the fuck each flavor requires. 

He’s probably happy. You're probably happier. But he’s definitely happy.

#miya osamu #haikyuu!!

[impulsive-astrophile]

Find me defenseless (Chapter 4)

(Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3)

Summary: “How did you get Mulder’s phone?” She asks, praying she’s wrong.

“Haven’t you guessed?” Comes the voice. “He’s with me. Say hi, Fox.” A pained grunt is the only response. “Now, now, Fox, what have we said about using our words?”

A muffled “fuck you” comes through the speaker then, followed by a chiding, “manners! Where are your manners?” and the sharp sound of skin on skin.

Scully’s heart races, anger making her feel red-hot. No one touches her Mulder. “Don’t you hurt him, you son of a bitch!”

OR:

Mulder is called to Des Moines, Iowa, without Scully to profile a serial killer targeting young men with military/law enforcement backgrounds - but without Scully there to watch his back, Mulder is kidnapped by the killer.  When Scully gets a taunting call from the killer, she flies to Des Moines and raises hell to get him back. Mulder’s hers, and she’ll be damned if anyone stands between her and whoever dares to hurt him.  

Words: 2995, Chapters: 4/5, Language: English

Fandom: The X-Files

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category: F/M

Relationship: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully

Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Various minor OCs

Additional Tags: Case fic, Casefile, Hurt Fox Mulder, Fox Mulder Whump, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Dana Scully Angst, Protective Dana Scully, Actual Puppy Fox Mulder, Dana Scully Would Flip Tables For Her Man Okay, Profiler Mulder, No betas we own our mistakes and cry about them like men

Read it on AO3, or below the cut!

Fox Mulder’s Hotel Room Des Moines, Iowa June 8 2327

A squad car pulls up outside the Motel 6 where Mulder had been staying. The tires have barely come to a stop when Scully wrenches the passenger door open, stalking toward Mulder's room. The shitty motel wall shakes with the force of the door slamming behind her.

"Get some rest, Agent Scully. You look like you're going to collapse," Skinner had said, not unkindly. "I'll have an officer drive you to Mulder's room and wait outside to take you back in a couple hours." She'd tried to protest, but he'd held up a hand, silencing her. "I'll make it an order if I have to, Agent," he'd warned. "Just go. Try to get some sleep. You're no use to Mulder if you're dead on your feet."

She'd wanted to protest, ask him when he'd last slept, why he wasn't 'getting some rest', but she'd bitten her tongue. He was her boss, and she wasn't going to win. Pick your battles, Dana.

Still, she was angry - at the officer in the car, for taking her away from the search, at Skinner, for being right, at her body, for betraying her and needing rest when Mulder was helpless at the hands of a serial killer. What was a day or so without sleep compared to what Mulder was probably suffering right now?

A haphazard stack of files in Scully's path, unnoticed by her, sends her sprawling to the floor, face landing in a suspicious stain on the carpet. She curses quietly to herself, nose wrinkling as she quickly pushes herself back up and crosses to the bed, which is as cluttered as the rest of the room. Mulder probably hadn't used it once.

She sighs; can't bring herself to care about scattering the files as she pushes them off and flops face down on the bed. The truth is, she is tired - she'd been in a near-constant state of hypervigilance and irritation since she'd arrived, and it was draining.

She's almost considering actually trying to get some sleep when her cell phone rings. The phone is in her hand before she consciously registers moving. "Agent Scully," she answers, breathless.

"Dana," a hauntingly familiar voice greets her from the other line. "It's lovely to hear your voice again."

Scully nearly trips in her haste to get through the door and out to the squad car, hissing, "it's the killer," and gesturing with the phone in her hand to the officer who had climbed out of the car to see what was wrong. The officer scrambles for her radio, calling into the station for a trace.

On the other end, the killer continues. "I feel like I know you. He always dodges my questions about him with a random fact about you. It'd be cute if he wasn't doing it to try to convince me I'm wrong about him. But I'm not dumb, no matter what he might think." The killer's disgust is clear in his tone. "I see right through him. It's actually kind of pathetic." Then his tone turns considering. "He begs for you, you know. When I'm hurting him. He begs you to save him. Do you want to hear?"

She really, really doesn't - but when she throws a questioning glance at the officer and the officer shakes her head, she knows she's going to have to. They need more time for the trace. "Don't hurt him," she threatens, steel in her voice that doesn't match her trembling body.

"Oh, Dana," the killer laughs, "it's a little late for that. But don't worry - I'll just give him a little cut, to get his attention. He's pretty out of it right now." Scully can hear muffled shuffling as the killer moves around, then, "Fox, I have your partner on the phone. Can you say something to her for me?" A pause, followed by a sharp hiss. "Dana," the killer addresses her again, "would you say something to Fox? It might help him to hear your voice."

"Mulder, can you hear me?" Scully says, not allowing her voice to tremble. "Mulder, I'm coming to get you, okay? Just hold on for me."

"S-scully?" A whimper comes over the line. "Scully, please, help me! I'm so scared!" Mulder's voice is desperate, and Scully feels tears gather unbidden in the corners of her eyes. She can’t stand the image of him that comes to mind - alone, hurting, terrified out of his mind.

The killer's voice returns. "See what I mean? Pathetic." The sound of a wet smack and another whimper from Mulder greets Scully from the receiver.

Scully slams her fist against the squad car, trembling. "Damn you! I'm going to kill you!"

"You're welcome to try, Dana." The killer sounds amused. "But you'll have to find me first."

Click.

"Damn it!" Scully whirls around, addressing the officer. "Did we get the trace?" At her nod, Scully all but pushes her into the driver's seat and rounds the car to climb into the opposite side. They tear out of the parking lot before Scully's door is fully shut.

Scully clenches her fists, using all of her restraint to resist telling the officer to go faster. They're already going 20 over the speed limit. Hold on, Mulder, she thinks. I'm coming for you.

-

Brady Hoover’s House 41.4544508, -93.7130393 (A.K.A. Bumfuck, Nowhere) June 8 2332

Brady Hoover hangs the phone up on the wall, crossing the room to where Mulder hangs, suspended inelegantly from the ceiling by two chains, manacles rubbing his wrists raw. "Your partner will be here soon," Brady says simply. "We don't have much time left." Mulder bites back a whimper as Brady brushes the skin of his arm, reaching up to roll the drip on the IV wide open.

Sometime during day two, Mulder had managed to escape from the chair. He's not sure, now, how he did it, but he wishes he hadn't. His head still hurts where Brady hit him with the bat, and he's had enough cracked ribs to know what the sharp pains he gets when he dares to breathe mean. But that wasn't the worst of it - Brady had also hooked him up to an IV that kept him in a constant state of panic and made even the slightest touch agony.

He doesn't feel the effects of the opened drip right away. Emboldened by the knowledge that Scully's on her way, Mulder spits in his captors face.

Brady's expression shifts to fury as he wipes away the saliva and delivers a swift blow to Mulder's stomach. "You're going to regret that, you little brat." Mulder's heart begins to race as Brady turns away, pulling a cart up from out of his field of vision. The cart has a bucket of water on it, in addition to a few electrical instruments and several blades, long and short.

It’s less of a selection than he usually brings, Mulder thinks to himself absently as Brady approaches, a smirk creeping across the killer’s face. Mulder’s pupils dilate, muscles clenching and heart pounding so hard he wonders how it hasn’t beat its way out of his chest yet. Panic threatens to overwhelm him. Fuckfuckfuck, please get here soon, Scully.

With the last of his composure, he chokes out, “Scully is gonna kill you.”

Brady chuckles humorlessly. “I know. In fact, I’m counting on it - but she’ll watch you die first. Now,” he indicates the door at the top of the basement stairs, “we only have about twenty minutes until your partner busts in here, and I still plan to have plenty of fun with you. Let’s get started, shall we?” He selects a short knife, holding it up to the light as if to inspect it. The blade gleams ominously.

Mulder’s vision is blurry as he watches the knife find a home on the skin over his breastbone. He forgets to breathe as his world narrows to the sharp, burning path the blade slices down his front. The cut is shallow, barely bleeds, but to Mulder it’s agony. A scream tears its way out of his already raw throat and he chokes on a sob.

Worldlessly, Brady drags the blade across the planes of Mulder’s chest, back, thighs -- painting him with anguish and savoring his broken cries.

Mulder is pure sensation. Pain dances down his back, up his thigh, burns across his shoulders and curves over his ribs. Eventually, he feels something slick, dripping down his skin, and the pain changes. It starts with a point; a tingle that spreads and rapidly builds into a crushing, stabbing pain, his muscles jumping with the force of it. It comes again and again and again and he forgets what it was like to feel anything else. He has never known anything but this.

To Hoover, this is bliss, this is relief. Someone is finally paying for what his best friend had done to him. He can feel weight lift off his shoulders with each cut, each scream making his heart sing. The electricity brings a new pleasure; the body beneath him dances and gasps, soaked in its own juices. Each shock breathes life into his soul and he forgets what being broken feels like. He will never know a greater joy.

-

Just Outside Brady Hoover’s House Bumfuck, Nowhere June 8 2350

Scully and the officer screech up outside the house in a cloud of dust, lights and sirens blaring. Scully jumps out of the car, gun drawn, as soon as the tires have come to a stop, ready to charge straight into the jaws of death to get her partner back.

The officer dashes after her, grabbing her arm. “Agent Scully, wait! We don’t have any backup. For all we know, we could be walking right into a trap. It’d be suicide.”

“He’s my partner. I’m going in.” Scully wrenches her arm away, watching with satisfaction as the officer stumbles back.

But the officer doesn’t back down. “Agent Scully,” she grabs her arm again, shaking her, “Dana, it’s going to be a shitshow in there. If we go in without backup, we could get killed. We could get your partner killed.”

Three years ago, Scully would’ve agreed with her. Three years ago, she would’ve played it by the book and waited faithfully for backup. Three years ago, she would’ve let him die.

But three years ago, she hadn’t met Fox Mulder; hadn’t spent late nights on the road with him driving to the middle of nowhere, hunted ghosts and shapeshifters and aliens and cannibals at his side. Hadn’t learned to be fond of the way he cracks sunflower seeds at all hours, or how he can’t sit still for five minutes, or how he could go on for hours about everything and nothing. Hadn’t known what it was like to follow someone to hell and back thirty times over, crawling out side-by-side, beaten and bloody but still alive.

How could she not follow him into the dark one more time?

Resolute, Scully wrenches her arm out of the officer’s grip again. “You don’t understand,” she says, looking the officer in the eyes. “He’s my partner. I’m not leaving him in there for one more second.”

Something that might be understanding flickers in the officer’s gaze. She nods at Scully, drawing her own weapon. “Okay. Let’s get your partner.”

The pair approaches the house side-by-side. The officer breaches the front door and the two work quickly to clear the house before finding the door to the basement. This door opens out, so Scully decides to try the knob before trying to kick it down; God must be smiling on her that day, because the knob turns easily and gives way to a set of cement stairs.

On the count of three, Scully and the officer charge down the stairs, speaking in unison, “FBI, freeze! Hands in the air!” “DMPD! Stay right where you are!”

The sight they’re met with when they reach the bottom stops them in their tracks. A blond-haired man, about 5’10’’, stands in front of Mulder, a cattle prod held loosely in one hand. Mulder hangs limply from chains attached to the ceiling, angry cuts and burn marks littering his body. His muscles twitch sporadically and his eyes are glazed over as if he is no longer present.

It seems to take the man a moment to register their presence, but once he does, the look in his eyes turns a little manic and he drops the cattle prod in favor of a knife. In a flash he has the tip pressed to Mulder’s thigh, right where Scully knows the femoral artery is. Mulder lets out a little gasp at the contact but otherwise doesn’t react.

“Don’t come any closer,” the man warns, drawing a pinprick of blood from Mulder’s leg. “I’ll kill him!”

Grip on her gun tightening, knuckles white, Scully counters, “Drop the knife, and I’ll consider not killing you.”

“Oh, but I want you to,” the killer says. Scully falters at this. What? “I’m going to kill your partner, and you’re going to kill me, and I’ll finally be at peace.”

The scream Mulder lets out when the killer plunges the knife into the soft flesh of his leg will haunt her for a long time.

Before she knows it she is squeezing the trigger - but all she gets is a click, telling her the clip is empty. What? I know I had a full clip when we got here… she looks down, seeing the crumpled form of the killer, a puddle of blood forming beneath him. There’s a bullet hole dead-center in his forehead, and she suspects that when an autopsy is done they’ll find the rest of her clip center-mass - but as far as she’s concerned, he got off easy. If the situation had permitted, she’s not sure she would’ve been able to prevent herself from beating the shit out of him - not entirely sure, for that matter, she would’ve wanted to.

But none of that matters now; he’s dead, and Mulder’s bleeding out.

Scully drops her gun -- barrel still smoking -- and rushes to Mulder’s side. “Help me get him down,” she demands of the officer, who rushes to comply.

Scully grabs Mulder around the waist, grunting with effort as she hoists him up as much as she can to ease the tension on the chains he’s suspended by. The manacles around Mulder’s wrists are secured firmly by padlocks, but the officer doesn’t waste time looking for the keys, choosing instead to shoot them off. Scully spares half a thought to be grateful for her quick thinking as the two of them work to get Mulder laid out on the floor.

With Mulder on his back, Scully gets a closer look at the damage to his leg - and breathes a sigh of relief. The knife hadn’t gone too deep, and by sheer dumb luck, the killer had managed to miss the femoral artery entirely.

Sometimes she thinks Fox Mulder might just be the luckiest unlucky son of a bitch in the world; his sister had been kidnapped when he was a kid, his mother had almost died, he frequently found himself at the heart of near-deadly government conspiracies - and yet, despite all of this, his would-be killer had somehow missed the artery he’d been perfectly poised to sever. He would’ve bled out in minutes, and there would’ve been very little Scully could do about it in such a remote location.

Scully pulls off her blazer, whispering hushed apologies to him as she presses it firmly around the hilt of the knife. He whimpers. She glances up, noticing his hitched sobs and the rapid beat of his heart visible through his chest. Her eyes search out the officer, jerking her chin toward Mulder’s leg and snapping, “hold pressure here. I need to check him for other injuries.”

The officer complies immediately, sure hands replacing Scully’s around the wound. “Backup and an ambulance are two minutes out,” she tells Scully, and sure enough, the sound of sirens blaring approaches rapidly.

Scully jerks her head up and down in acknowledgment, hands already probing Mulder for further injuries. She notes at least 10 long but superficial lacerations in various locations along his body in addition to several burn marks -- mostly electrical -- of varying degrees of severity, taking particular notice of the way even the slightest touch makes him gasp out in pain.

Finally, she locates the cause: an IV taped to Mulder’s arm. That explains heightened stress response and sensitivity to pain, she thinks to herself, reading the label on the now-empty bag.

“Oh, Mulder,” Scully says, discarding the bag and pulling Mulder’s head into her lap. She runs bloody fingers through his hair and silently curses his tormentor, wishing she could’ve put a couple more bullets into the man. Mulder whimpers, trying to pull away. “It’s okay, Mulder. You’re going to be okay,” she whispers to him.

He blinks up at her with unfocused eyes. “Scully?”

“It’s me, Mulder,” she assures him.

“Scully.” He closes his eyes, wincing but leaning into her touch all the same. “Hurts,” he gasps out.

“I know, sweetheart,” she says, pet name slipping out unnoticed as she strokes one hand, feather-light, through his hair. The other flutters around his forehead, face, chin - anywhere she can reach, trying to ground him without causing more pain. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.” His hands grasp at her slacks, shifting so he can bury his face in her stomach.

He cries.

He cries, pulling her impossibly closer, and Scully’s heart breaks. This has to be hurting him, she knows, but he’s so desperate for comfort that he’s willing to take the pain if it means he can be closer to her.

Tears slip out of her eyes unbidden as she whispers, “you’re safe now, Mulder. You’re mine, and I have you, and no one’s going to hurt you again.”

(chapter 5)

#fic #xf fic #mine #my writing #msr #The X-Files #X-files #casefile #case fic #protective dana scully #actual puppy fox mulder

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 11

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit/18+ warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark 

There was a weird sense of urgency and purpose when the soldiers appeared to collect her from the kitchens. They weren’t frantic per say, but she was definitely aware of a certain energy around them. As soon as Bucky walked through the doors, he made a beeline for her and swept her up into his arms. The pair were pretty touchy feely with her as a rule, but this was different for some reason. 

Most of Penny’s irritation had dissolved with the excellent meal she’d received. Chef Cohen had prepared Shakshuka, a very traditional dish that she hadn’t eaten since her mother had died. She’d burst into tears at the first bite and thanked him profusely through the meal. He was a very kind man in his late 50’s who explained that he was at her disposal whenever she was hungry, literally at any time, and would make whatever she asked for. She didn’t even have to know what she wanted specifically, all she had to do was ask for food and he would whip something up in less than an hour. 

She wasn’t sure if he understood her circumstances. He never let on that he had any idea what the situation was and she was too afraid to tell him and potentially put him in danger. He was so nice, had told her about his family— she couldn’t do anything to jeopardize him. And if he did know, she decided she’d rather him not tell her. He felt like he could be a friend if not a confidant and she couldn’t ruin that. 

“Did you have a good breakfast precious?” Bucky’s voice was nearly a coo, burying her into his arms and nuzzling against the side of her face, “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry we didn’t realize how hungry you were. We should’ve noticed, we should’ve taken better care of you.” 

Penny didn’t get a chance to answer before Steve came up behind her, pressing against her back and wrapping around the both of them, “we’re gonna do a better job from now on, doll, I promise.”

“We’re gonna take you to see Bruce for a check up, okay?” the brunet pressed against her brushed his lips over her temple, “Peter said you haven’t been to the doctor in a while, he’s just going to make sure you’re alright. If there’s anything you want to talk to him about, we’ll step out of the room.”

For a moment, she considered not answering. She hated that they were making her do anything, that they were telling her what was going to happen instead of asking, but she hadn’t been to a doctor in nearly 10 years. In fact, her desire to go to the doctor was outweighing her irritation. The food had helped too. 

“Yeah, okay,” she nodded in agreement, ignoring their mutual smiles as Bucky pulled back and wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her close before beginning to walk back towards the elevators. 

It didn’t take long to get to the doctor’s office, which was actually a lab. In the back of her head she remembered Tony saying that Bruce was a scientist that Peter liked to learn from. It would’ve endeared the man to her, if he wasn’t so fucking complicit in her kidnapping. The same thing had happened with Clint; he seemed like such a decent guy, they could’ve been friends in any other situation, and yet he wasn’t doing anything to help her. 

“Hey guys, come on in, I’m just finishing this up,” Bruce called from behind a computer, gesturing towards a table that almost resembled the chair from a doctor’s office. 

Steve lifted her up, setting her on the edge and giving her what was—fuck that was winning smile. She refused to let her heart race, remembering back to once upon a time in the coffee shop when she’d thought he was incredibly attractive and so, so nice. It was almost distracting. He leaned down and brushed his nose against hers sweetly, pressing a kiss there a moment later before backing away. 

“Alright Penny, I went ahead and pulled your medical records,” Penny didn’t want to know how he’d done that, what an invasion of privacy, “but we’re going to need to go through a lot of it now since you haven’t seen a doctor in so long and you’re a lot older now. If at any time you’re uncomfortable answering questions in front of Bucky and Steve, all you have to do is let me know and I’ll send them out, okay?” 

“Okay,” nervousness was thrumming through her a bit more now- God she hadn’t been to the doctor in so long, she wasn't sure what to expect. 

An arm came around her shoulders, a metal hand settling over the top of her arm. Bucky had saddled up as close to the table as possible, trying to offer comfort through his presence. She would absolutely never admit that she leaned into his heat a little, or that the attempt was even fractionally successful. 

The appointment wasn't as nerve wracking as she'd expected; there were a lot of questions about her past medical history and family medical history, her habits regarding smoking and drinking and exercise, he looked in her eyes and ears and listened to her breathing, did she have any allergies or take any medications? It was a lot of things she remembered from going to the doctor as a kid.

There was only one time when her heart felt like it might burst out of her chest: Bruce mentioned wanting to do a blood test. It was important in part because she hadn't ever had one, but also because she was Jewish and there were dozens of diseases passed genetically through the population. She knew of them of course, Tay-sachs and Gauchers and a slew of other things, but she'd never considered she could have them— there was no time. 

Luckily, he'd decided it wasn't a good time since she had barely been eating. Escape had been on her mind almost constantly since waking up in Stark's home but never so critically as when she thought there would be needles involved. Penny's fear of needles had started as a child and overtime had become an overwhelming, if irrational, phobia. The kidnapping via injection certainly made it worse too. 

Bruce finished up, continuing to address her rather than Steve or Bucky. It seemed peculiar for some reason, that he was being sure to treat her like her own person instead of the soldiers' property. 

"Have you ever had blood drawn Penny?" 

"Uhm, no," she did her best not to shift, not wanting to show weakness, "I'm sure it's not really necessary. I feel completely fine and—"

"There are certain genetically linked diseases I can test for with a blood panel. The fact that you probably have anemia is a little worrying because of your heritage. Now we can’t do the test today, you haven’t been eating or drinking enough, but we’ll keep an eye on your recovery over the next few days and schedule one. That being said, I want to hook up an IV for a few hours, you’re very dehydrated.”

“No, thank you,” Penny stood up from the table, composing her face carefully and putting her hands on her hips, “I’d rather just drink water.” 

“Penny I can tell you haven’t been getting enough hydration for days,” Bruce stated, ignoring the semi-panicked looks the soldiers sent each other, “Whatever your reasoning was, it’s hurting you. A drip will rehydrate you relatively quickly and you can get on with your day.” 

“I’m not in any critical danger, drinking water will be enough,” usually she wouldn’t argue with a doctor but if he came near her with a needle she would throw down. 

“Doll, it’s not an option.” 

God, how many times had she heard that. It’s not an option. It’s not an option. Nothing was ever an option. She’d been kidnapped, was being held against her will— fuck, she refused to list their sins against her again.

"I'm an adult, I get to decide what medical procedures I do and don't consent to."

"Baby, did you hit your head again? I think we're a little past consent." 

How many times would she have to physically fight these motherfuckers before they gave up. 

"I hate needles," she snapped, glaring at Steve with as much rage as she could muster, "no blood draws, no IVs, no vaccines, nothing."

Bucky stepped closer to her side, an imploring look on his face, "your health is suffering right now sweetheart, if Bruce says you need an IV, you're going to get it. We're going to take of you, Penny." 

They'd done a real stand up job of taking care of her in the last several days for sure. She'd only ended up drugged, concussed twice over, half starved, dangerously sleep deprived, and enraged. The skepticism must've shown on her face because Bucky visibly winced at the implication while Bruce had to turn and pretend to cough to cover his laughter. 

"Sweetheart, I understand that it makes you uncomfortable," Steve somehow managed to manifest in front of her in the blink of an eye and she startled backwards a step. 

The blond was freakishly fast and Penny was beginning to suspect that everyone calling him and Bucky 'super soldiers' weren't just mocking their demeanors. Steve had been strong enough to snap the lock on the bathroom door like twig, could bodily lift her with just one arm, and he moved a fraction of an inch too fast to be normal. Bucky was similar in the strength department, plus he had that arm. But instead of nearly vibrating with restrained power at all times, Bucky was almost preternaturally still. Even when she moved in the middle of the night and startled him awake, the only way she knew was because his eyes would open. He was so still sometimes she wondered if he even had to breathe, was his heart even beating? 

The brunette's arms came to wrap gently around her shoulders from behind; the way he held her was more reminiscent of a loving cuddle than a restraint but it worked all the same. If they didn't want her to go anywhere, it was going to be very hard to run off. The doors to the lab swept open abruptly, as if beckoning her to escape, but no one came through. JARVIS, always looking out. 

"I'll make your lives hell," she hissed through gritted teeth, eyes locked on the blond in front of her while Bucky backed them up and sat on the exam chair, tugging her into his lap, "if you come near me with a needle I'll shove it through your eye." 

"Penny, be sweet," Bucky's tone was firm, his arms squeezing around her in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture, "it'll all be okay and you'll feel so much better after."

Penny's eyes were dragged away from Steve when she caught movement, zeroing in on Bruce. He was fiddling with something in crinkly plastic and her blood froze in her veins when she realized it was a sterilized needle. He was preparing an IV despite her protests and panic began coursing through her like poison. 

"W-wait, wait I don't need an IV, I swear I feel fine, I'll drink a ton of water, don't do this—" 

"It’s gonna be alright babydoll," Steve cooed, understanding that her anger in this case was 100% a result of sheer terror, "Buck's gonna hold you the whole time. Bruce will give you a shot to numb the pain and—" 

"No, n-no, no, no please," Penny could barely move as Bucky locked his arms in place, holding her steady while Steve moved to block her view of Bruce, who was filling a syringe with lidocaine. 

"Shhhh, just watch me, baby," the blond brought his hands up to cup her face, manipulating her head to face him dead on, "don't pay attention to Bruce, just keep your eyes on mine." 

Tears of panic and fear began falling from her eyes, overwhelming terror beginning to consume her. There was no rationalizing the phobia, no talking herself through the fear, all she could think was I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die. When she could hear the doctor's footsteps shift in their direction, she opened her mouth and started to scream bloody murder. Thrashing wasn't effective in the least but she did the best she could, jerking every inch of her body as violently as possible. She couldn't hear anything any of them were saying, she couldn't even hear her own screams; all she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears and the mantra, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die over and over again in her head. 

"Dr. Banner, sir is currently on his way and asks that you wait to perform any procedures until he arrives." 

Bucky tensed under her but Penny barely noticed. The edges of her vision were going dark and Steve wasn't so much holding her face in place anymore as trying to caress her cheeks and jaw. She could see the doors to the lab, still open as if waiting for her to run.

Instead, Stark came through them. There was a tightness to his usual swagger and she wondered if she was imagining the irritation in the lines of his face. 

"You know I thought I had sound proofed all of the labs, but I can hear my poor girl screaming from three floors away," he commented casually as he swept in, easily pushing past Steve and stealing Penny from Bucky's lap,  pulling her into the cage of his arms, "now this is over an IV, correct?"

"Please, please, please—" Penny's voice choked off in a sob as she tried to tug away and make a break for the door. 

"Shhhh, angel, look at me," Tony carefully manipulated her head, making her look up at him through her panic, "you're going to drink plenty of water and relax all day, understand? You're going to eat plenty and drink so much water you have to pee every thirty minutes." 

"N-no needles—" 

"That's right baby, no needles," he pulled her into his chest and hushed her, stroking her hair gently while giving the three men behind her a careful look, "with supervision you'll be fine without an IV, but you have to be good, do everything you're told. Can you be a good girl for me, Penny?"

Steve and Bucky watched as their girl nodded against the man's shoulder, still crying. This wouldn't be strike two, not quite since she'd gotten so upset as a result of them trying to take care of her, but apprehension was setting in. Tony was their friend, but he wouldn't put their feelings before Penny's and that was a dangerous position to be in. Especially considering JARVIS had all but jumped ship on them and was firmly on Penny's side. 

"Now, is there anything else Brucie Bear? Because I think Penny here is gonna come with me to the labs and watch Peter try to make a robot." 

Somehow, despite the fact that they knew Penny hated Tony just as much if not more than she hated them, he was the one who managed to get through to her. Tony Stark was her mortal enemy, the kidnapper, the pedophile, and yet he was the one holding her while she cried in distress. Bucky and Steve watched on in amazement and disbelief. 

There was something about Tony that was just a touch unnatural. The way he could manipulate people was almost beyond comprehension. It showed in his friendships, the way that people who were sent to kill him were so easily turned to his side. People who didn’t want anyone, who didn’t want friends, found themselves enfolded in his presence. It was also apparent in the way that Peter had almost accepted his new situation, how he was so quickly coming to terms with the way his life had changed. Tony Stark was, as far as anyone knew, not enhanced in any way, but some of his companions had started to wonder. 

They watched as the older man spirited her away, talking loudly and keeping her tucked under his arm as they walked. Steve and Bucky were left in the dust, feeling dejected once again. 

“Leave it to Tony to decide he has more medical authority than me,” Bruce gave a low snort, rolling his eyes, “does he have 7 PHDs? No, he doesn't.” 

“We keep fuckin’ it up, don’t we?” Bucky groaned, watching the doctor step back towards his computer system, “We’re gonna end up dead. World War II and HYDRA couldn’t kill us but Tony fuckin’ Stark sure will.” 

“Hard to compete with a Goddamn witch,” Steve muttered, running a hand through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You two need to be doing what Tony is with Peter,” Bruce interjected before the super soldiers could continue to lament their situation, “he panders to him just enough to keep him happy. He can give an inch and Peter thinks its a mile. You’re strategic geniuses, master interrogators, use your strengths.” 

The ‘dumbasses’ was implied at the end of the statement. In all fairness, he was right. 

Steve exhaled through his nose, a stabilizing breath, before turning to regard Bucky, “A garden, to start. She had a lot of things on her Pinterest account, we’re gonna look through there. JARVIS? Can you please make sure our kitchen is stocked with plenty of kosher foods?” 

“And is there anyway we can get the extra room in the apartment turned into a garden? Maybe a rooftop garden?” 

“Sir has given me full discretion to green light any construction projects that will aid in Ms. Parker’s adjustment. A section of the roof can easily be cleared for a garden and greenhouse. The east facing wall of the spare room can be replaced with floor to ceiling windows and UV lights can be installed. Might I also suggest a knitting area?”

"Yeah, that," Bucky nodded, "any other suggestions JARV?" 

"On her Pinterest Ms. Parker has shown interest in softball, soccer, crocheting, yoga and video games."

"Can you have everything she needs for those things sent for and brought to the apartment? And have everything set up as much as possible considering the renovations that'll be made for the garden room?"

"Yes sergeant, although I would suggest making room in your personal gym for Ms. Parker do to yoga."

“Good idea JARVIS,” Bucky felt a bit of relief that the AI was willing to help, even if it was only because it would help Penny in the long run, “I know we talked about keeping her secluded but I think we should show her the game room, introduce her to Thor and Sam so she can play video games with them.” 

Steve looked hesitant. The brunet knew why; they’d waited what felt like so long to find a girl who appealed to both of them. They were possessive by nature and having so little over time, growing up in the Great Depression followed by fighting in the war, only to suffer a hellish betrayal and go into the ice for so long, meant they were covetous. Sharing their girl so soon was uncomfortable and just the idea made both of them chafe. 

“Yeah, we should,” he choked after a moment, clearing his throat. 

“We’re gonna build a life, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly, stepping closer to the man and putting his hands on his shoulders, “we’re going to work this out with our girl and eventually, she’ll want to be with us as much as she can. But until we get to that point we have to make some concessions.” 

“But she’ll still sleep in our bed.”

“Yes Stevie, she’ll still sleep in our bed.” 

#steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!mcu #let's review #let's review chapter 11

[turning-dreams-into-chaos]

My Fault

*Not My Pic*

Request: Okie dokie. So I would like a bellamy x reader imagine where reader and bellamy get into a huge fight and he ends up sleeping with raven. She finds out and runs out of camp and dies somehow. Prompt list #1 with prompts 5,6,8, and 13 please😊

Requested by: @eat-some-cake

Post Date: 8-25-19

Paring: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

~Master List~

~Prompt List #1~

~Prompt List #2~

Requests open for the 100

“Why can’t you just see my side for once!” You yelled as you entered your tent, Bellamy following soon after. You ran a hand through your hair, stepping as far away from Bellamy as you could.

“What do you want me to do when I see a guy checking out my girlfriend?” He yelled back as you crossed your arms, glaring at him and shaking your head.

“I want you to believe that your girlfriend would be loyal to you and not sleep with anyone who makes a move on her!” You were practically seething at this point, your throat hurt from your yelling as Bellamy looked pissed off, knowing there was no way either of you would win this argument.

He bit his lip, trying hold back his argument before he couldn’t anymore. “And how do I know you would’ve been.” Your mouth dropped at his statement and you couldn’t believe he said that.

“Go to hell.” You managed to say in the calmest voice you had. Bellamy was scared, you were never like this, typically when you guys fought you both would yell a little and then solve things, but this? This was new.

He took a step closer to you. “Y/N-“ he said as you shook your head, pointing towards the exit.

“Get out.” Bellamy didn’t move. “Get the fuck out Bellamy.” Your voice didn’t change. Bellamy scoffed, not seeing the way you clenched your fist to keep your emotions at bay or the way your eyes were screaming at him to stay and fight back. To fight for you. But instead he turned on his heel and left your tent, leaving you staring at his retreating figure. The day had just started and you were already done. What bugged you the most was the way he just left, like he wasn’t gonna do a thing to get you back.

By mid-day it seemed like the rest of the camp was having just as bad of a day. An idiot of a kid managed to set all the food on fire and hunting parties went out. You were never really good at hunting so you opted to stay in camp, helping in any menial tasks needed. More than anything you wanted to talk to Bellamy, but like hell were you going to make the first move. You watched him go through the day as your mood shifted from wanting to talk to him to needing to stay as far away from him as you could. But the thing was you needed to talk to someone and he was first and foremost your best friend. By the time almost all the hunters got back, save Clarke, Finn, and a kid named Miles, you couldn’t take it. You marched right towards Bellamy’s tent, only to collide into someone leaving. When you saw it was Raven at first you were about to push it away until you realized she was fixing her clothes.

Her eyes went wide as she pushed past you, avoiding any contact as you stared at Bellamy’s tent. Your heart was pounding and your stomach felt like emptying all of it’s contents, right here and right now. You pushed it down, hoping that It was nothing as you slowly walked into the tent.

Bellamy’s back was to you. His shirt thrown on the ground as he finished pulling up his pants and buttoning them before he froze. He turned his head to the side and saw you out out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He knew it was a mistake to sleep with Raven, he knew it the moment he did it but he couldn’t change anything now. He faces you fully, looking at how your face drained of all color and you didn’t say anything. He reached down to grab his shirt finally covering himself as your eyes met.

“You... slept... Raven?” You mumbled out as his heart broke. He took a step closer to you as your breathing sped up. You were breaking and you couldn’t hold this back your emotions. He stretched a hand out, trying to help keep you calm as you pushed it away, not bottling it up anymore. “No! You slept with another girl Bellamy! You left me when I needed you the most! How could you do that? How-How could you just throw it all away like that? Huh? Do I really mean that little to you that you could just fuck the chick who threw herself at you?!” Your voice cracked along with your heart as Bellamy wrapped his arms around you and you struggled against him.

“Y/N, please just listen! I’m sorry! She didn’t- she didn’t mean anything! It’s you! I love you!” He tried to reassure but you weren’t having any of it. You shoved his chest, causing him to stubble on his bed and look up at you.

“You love me? You lo-? God! I hate you! I hate you with everything in me!” You gave him one last look before storming out of the tent. Raven was the first person you saw. It looked like she had been crying but you choose to ignore it, giving her a dirty look before heading into your tent. Your head was spinning and you truly felt like you could’ve collapsed any second but you didn’t care. It felt like you were suffocating and you needed to get the hell out of there. You picked up your knife, shoving it into your boot as you left your tent, left the camp, and tried to clear out your emotions.

You didn’t think that Bellamy would’ve done that, but you shouldn’t have put it past him considering before you started dating he had slept with half the damn camp. You made your mind clearing trek through the forest as you listened to the wildlife, loving the way you couldn’t hear the chatter of the delinquents. Yet the time out did shit for you because in the end you realized something.

You’d never be able to forgive him. But you still loved him.

You sat yourself down against a tree, pressing your back up against the scratchy bark. Tears started to come out slowly before streaming down like a waterfall, not planning on stopping anytime soon. Unfortunately they didn’t have much of a choice. A shadow appeared in your vision off to the right. You pulled the knife out of your boot, holding it in front of you as you stood up. You looked around for the source of the shadow only to come up empty. You wiped away any last tears as you slowly walked backwards, watching out for anything. When you thought the coast was clear you were about to turn around to sprint away but instead smacked into a tree that most definitely wasn’t there before. You finally turned around, gulping as you stared into the face of a grounder covered in a mask. You wanted to scream, or run or do anything but the next thing you knew you were in fact screaming. Only it wasn’t you screaming in fear or for anyone to help you, you were screaming because of the knife sticking out of your stomach. The grounder pulled the knife out your body almost as fast as he put it in. Your body hit the ground in a matter of seconds when your legs gave out, giving the grounder the perfect opportunity to run. You brought your hand up to your stomach before pulling away seeing the dark red coat your fingers. You let out a small whine as the taste of copper filled your mouth and you had to spit, a steady flow of blood coating your lips. You weren’t ready to die. You needed to see him again, just once more, just to let him know you didn’t hate him. Your last words to him couldn’t be that you hated him. You stared up at the sky the brightness of the stars starting to blur together before the lights began to fade from your vision.

Yells played in your ears as you peeled your eyes open. Cries for Clarke, Finn, and Miles filling the forest but the only voice you were focused on was yelling your name.

Bellamy.

You tried to move, to get up, but pain just shot through your body leaving you gasping for breath only to cough up more blood. Your hand was pressed against your side, trying to stop the bleeding but nothing was working. You could hear their footsteps hitting the ground and sticking to the leaves, they seemed to be so close but they hadn’t seen you. You slowly turned your head, ignoring the pain as you stretch your fingers across the ground, pushing the dirt as you grab a broken stick on the ground and tapped it against the tree next to you. You doubted they could hear you but you needed to try, you weren’t going to last much longer. You started to pound louder as a face came around the trees.

“Bellamy! It’s Y/N!” Raven yells as she catches sight of you. Bellamy was at your side the moment he heard your name, holding your face in his hands. Your eyes were practically closed as the stick slipped from your fingers, crashing onto the ground as Bellamy let a sob go.

“I’m here. I’m-I’m here.” He cried as he kissed your head, brushing his hand on top of your hair as you groaned from the movement. He pulled away to look at where your hand was pressed to your side. He couldn’t breathe as he stared at your black shirt soaked in your blood. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t. He was about to speak before you threw your hand to his cheek, barely cupping it and smiled.

“You can’t save me. I’m already dead. I’ll be fine, B-Bell. I promise.” You ran your thumb over his cheek before it was to hard to hold it up by yourself. It started to slip a little before Bellamy put his hand on top, nuzzling into your touch as a tear met your adjoining hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry baby. I’m sorry!” He could see how hard it was for you to stay awake. Your head was falling to the side before you tried to keep it upright and blood coated the side of your mouth as your lips started to move a little.

“I-It’s okay B-Bell. I f-forgive-e you. I-I’ll a-always-s forgive you.” Your words were quiet as you moved your bloody hand off your stomach, wiping some of the blood from your mouth before barely bringing it to his face, pulling him down for a last kiss. Bellamy kissed you for the last time, not pulling away until he absolutely needed to because there was no way he could ever do this again.

“I love you.” You whispered as you stared into Bellamy’s eyes a small smile on your face. Bellamy smiled, trying to not let the last thing you see be him crying. His brown eyes met your Y/E/C ones as he watched the life leave them. Finally breaking down, he let his head fall on your chest. You were gone, and if he hadn’t slept with Raven then maybe you’d both be in his tent right now, bodies pressed against each other as you breathed. Instead, your limp body was pressed against his as you lay in his arms making the walk back to camp in silence. The first thing he did when he got back was bury you, his mind going blank as he did the only thing he knew to do. He hadn’t said anything since he talked to you, not even Octavia could get him to talk as he headed into his tent. His head fell into his hands before pulling away, only to realize one of them was covered in a faint layer of blood. He brought his hand up to his face, feeling the blood coating it before he slowly rubbed his face. It was your blood, and he didn’t want it on him anymore. He started to rub faster, faster and faster until his skin burned and a new stream of tears fell. His heads fell into his hands once again as he rocked himself, needing to get your dying face out of his mind.

“It’s all my fault.” He mumbled to himself. “It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”

It’s all my fault.

Thoughts?

All Taglists Open

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @just4muggles @saturn-aka-six @nathaliabakes @whyamihere-bro @colored-confetti @wiseeggspickleslime @sadn0va @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust

Bellamy: @jodiereedus22 @nyxxxwtp @danielabetancourth

#bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake fic #bellamy blake the 100 #bellamy the 100 #bellamy x reader #bellamy imagine #bellamy blake imagine #the 100 bellamy #bellamy blake #the 100 series #the 100 fic #the 100 x reader #the 100 imagine #the 100 #raven reyes

[thetunewillcome]

Heaven’s Grief, Hell’s Reign

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley

Rating: M (to be on the safe side: sexual content, mentions of torture, drinking)

Tags: Crowley’s imagination, post-bookshop fire, first kiss, grief/mourning

Word Count: 1,802

Whumptober Prompt: delirium (@whumptober2019)

“I thought of angels choking on their halos.

Get them drunk on rose water, see how dirty I can get them,

Pulling out their fragile teeth and clip their tiny wings.

Anything you say can and will be held against you,

So only say my name: it will be held against you.

If Heaven's grief brings Hell's rain,

Then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday,

(I know I'm bad news.)

For just one yesterday.

(I saved it all for you.)

I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way.

Still, I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday.”

- “Just One Yesterday,” Fall Out Boy

Two bottles of Talisker, a singed book, a mountain of splinter-sharp regrets.  Pick one from the pile and hold it to the light.  Never mind how it cuts into the pad of your thumb and draws blood.  You need to look – you need to bleed – because you fucked up and now he’s gone.  The bar around you blurs at the edges, disappears.  Look.  You deserve to spend the last hours Earth has left examining each chance you had to do it differently.  To save him.

Here is one.

“That won’t happen.  You’re so clever.  How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

And in his memory, he feels his hesitation, sees himself climb back into the Bentley, toss a cold lie in the angel’s direction, and speed away.

Here is what he should have done.

(Continue reading on AO3 or below.)

“That won’t happen.  You’re so clever.”  Two quick breaths.  Then, “don’t you know what you’ll lose if your lot wins?  What you’ll suffer if they don’t?”  Because he must not have.  If he had known these possibilities, he would have shared in Crowley’s panic.  He would have taken him up on his offer.  So he must not have known.

Crowley should have shown him: first one and then the other.  To show Aziraphale what he had to lose, all Crowley had to do was grab hold of his lapels and pull him forward, finally, to shatter the pristine space that had hovered in between them like a polished pane of glass for six thousand years (look, don’t touch) in a collision of lips and teeth.  He would have kissed him with the frenzied hunger of a starving man, and Aziraphale would have kissed him back: yes, he would have, after a moment’s baffled stillness.  This, he would think, a hand clutching at the side of Aziraphale’s jaw, this is what we’ll lose.

And when Aziraphale started to see it, Crowley would tear a shaking hand away from him just long enough to move them to the privacy of the bookshop.  Now for the hard part, the lesson that Crowley regretted knowing how to teach, but in this revised narrative, he would have had the courage.  Now, Aziraphale’s trust, the light that had once caused Crowley to fall for him, was blinding him to what lay waiting in the shadows.  If he did not want to lose Aziraphale, he would have to pull the brimstone darkness out from inside himself, provide the shade needed for Aziraphale to open his eyes.

Guiding with a grip that dug into Aziraphale’s hips, Crowley pushed him backward until his heels and shoulders hit the closest bookshelf.  His surprise at the collision broke the kiss, and Crowley stared into his blue eyes, thought a silent apology for what he was about to do, and began.

“They like to pull teeth,” running a thumb across Aziraphale’s lips.  “To start out.  Slowly, one by one.  Clouds your thoughts, that kind of pain does.”  Kiss those lips while the words sink in, before he has a chance to object.  Worship what they would use against him.

“I saw them, once,” he murmured, biting his way down Aziraphale’s neck, “make a demon drink holy water.”  Shivering from the tangle of terror and need, he tugged Aziraphale’s shirt free from his trousers, slid a hand up underneath to touch skin.  “You can imagine the burns, from the inside out.”

“Crowley, hush,” low and breathy.  Avoiding lingering eye contact, he checked Aziraphale’s face, hoping for and finding lust and fear, substantially more of the former than the latter.  Aziraphale swallowed thickly but pressed on, picking at the buttons of Crowley’s vest with nervous fingers.  Yes, need me; know what I know; give up your stubborn, misplaced hopes and save yourself.  Come with me.  With an impatient groan, Crowley shrugged out of his jacket, ripped the vest out from under Aziraphale’s hands and tossed it on the floor, then slid Aziraphale’s coat from his shoulders.

Another kiss, hand sliding into white curls, twirling them around nimble fingers and pulling lightly.  “Before they’re even close to finished, some rip their own hair out, patch by patch,” he whispered against Aziraphale’s lips, “mad from the pain.”  Aziraphale’s hands fell still, but Crowley moved his own deftly, making quick work of the bowtie, waistcoat, dress shirt.  Crowley pressed a reassuring kiss to his lips, reminding him: I am here, and I am not them, and I hate it, but I have to do this.  You need to know this fear.  Then, he vanished his own shirt and tie.

By now, Aziraphale had caught on, accepted the words that accompanied Crowley’s eager hands.  Their time here was growing steadily shorter, and that first kiss had started something Aziraphale was desperate to finish.  

When bare skin met, Crowley slipped a little, a quiet “angel” escaping his lips in an exhale as he spread his hands on Aziraphale’s strong shoulders.  Six thousand years of wanting this, and it had to happen now and in this cruel way.  But if not now, then never at all.  If not Crowley’s hands, then theirs, and they would make good on his hollow threats.

Aziraphale’s fingers working at his belt jolted him out of his thoughts.  “I know,” Aziraphale said, voice heavy with wanting, “I know what they are capable of.  Please, you don’t need to explain.  I’ve been wanting this, wanting you, for so long, but I never…”  Crowley’s pulse thundered in his ears.  “While they’re all preoccupied, we can,” a warm hand moving under fabric, “enjoy this, now.  And if this really is the end… Crowley, I – ”

A moan climbed up Crowley’s throat, escaping through clenched teeth.  “It doesn’t have to be. If you would just, mm, listen,” he hissed, knowing Aziraphale still was not convinced.  Time for the last card in his hand.  “Wings.  Show them to me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in surprise.  Until this point, the talk of torture had only mildly affected him.  Once, Aziraphale had led a platoon of angels into battle, guarded a gate of Eden.  From his time on Earth and the disconcerting attitudes of his superiors, he had developed a nervous energy in his hands, a hesitating lilt in his speech, a tendency to over-think and doubt.  He would do all he could to avoid violence, but that did not mean he feared it.  Any fear he felt up to this point had been for Crowley, thinking of how Hell would punish him for his disobedience when they finally caught up with him.

This request, however, gave him pause.  To bring out his wings was to make himself more vulnerable than he had ever been around Crowley.  Aziraphale needed time, time to process all of this, but time was exactly what they did not have.  He looked up and into Crowley’s dark lenses, silently questioning, hesitating even as Crowley’s hand moved up his back to rest between his shoulder blades.  “Angel,” Crowley warned, “now.”  Like this, so close, Crowley could sense the beating of Aziraphale’s heart, feel how much Aziraphale wanted him.  Crowley knew he was considering refusing.  If he did, this would all be gone so soon. Slowly, Aziraphale closed his eyes.

Suddenly, the air around them rushed away, finding itself displaced, bookshelves shifting back, and Crowley was enveloped in white.  Looking at the pristine feathers around him, he forced himself to focus.  To remember the day, hundreds of years ago, when he had ventured down to turn in reports and overheard the murmurs about a captured angel.  That day, choking down bitter fear, he had found the right holding cell and peered in.  He had almost collapsed from relief when he saw it was not Aziraphale, but it easily could have been, and what they were doing to brilliantly white wings just like his… Crowley forced himself to remember and search for the words.  Pull.  Tear.  Break.  Burn.  Feather by feather – he thought as he reached out and reverently touched the tip of one, Aziraphale watching him – they would destroy you.  

But the words died in his throat.  Those pale blue eyes did not flicker with fear; they shone, full of love and trust.  Fingertips hovered on the waist of Crowley’s trousers, waiting, and he was tempted to abandon everything that did not involve those fingers on his skin.  Continue.  You must, Crowley thought.  If anything good could come of his sinful existence – his suffering, his darkness – it was this, now, but only if he could finish what he had started.  

“Your wings, they,” he managed in a rough whisper, and then he looked up at them again and saw the flash of lightning, heard the clap of thunder, the patter of rain: the memory of the last time he had stood under these wings, in Eden.  Without his permission, his facade crumbled away and he pitched forward, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and burying his face in his shoulder.  The angel did not deserve to know the horrors demons knew.  Aziraphale had not questioned and fallen and earned that darkness, and Crowley loved him far too much to cast a shadow on his gorgeous light.  He could not carry on.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, holding Crowley’s trembling body.  “Dear, it will…”  His voice faded, as if he knew better now than to say it will be okay, as if he knew it couldn’t be.  Not because Crowley had convinced him to give up his hope and run, but because Crowley had failed.

Even in an imagined memory, one you had control over, you failed.  Too weak to leverage all the wickedness that She cursed you with when She cast you out of Her grace.  What was the point, then, of your Fall?  The flames, the blackened feathers, the sharpened tongue, the scorched faith: all utterly useless against the inferno that torched your world and killed your best friend.

Remembering where you are, you motion for the bartender.  “Same again.”  Pick up another fragment of regret.  Stare at it so your eyes don’t linger on the empty chair across from you.  Wait for the rest of the Earth to follow suit and fall to ashes.

#whumptober2019 #no.3 #good omens #aziraphale/crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #grief #what if #inspired by a song #tw: mentions of torture #tw: sex #feel free to reblog

[aphelionsam]

cold // s.w.

pairing: (soulless) sam x reader warning(s): typical show violence, angst word count: 2k writing prompt by @rosesphoenix <3

-

The door of the black Dodge Charger slammed shut behind you, reverberating in the deserted parking lot. The light of pale dusk shone feebly on the scenery. You slumped the heavy duffle bag over your shoulder, wincing as you felt the bone giving in slightly under the weight. Blood spotted your clothes and its smell came in strong, irony waves, yet you didn’t really mind. Your nostrils greedily inhaled the slight scent of upcoming autumn in the air, grateful to finally escape the smell of heated leather and strong air fresheners that dominated the car. 

The motel room was quiet, dark and moldy, but the stiff, king-sized bed resembled heaven when your sore body sank into its sheets. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes and momentarily enjoying the silence before it was broken by Sam’s heavy steps. The last sliver of evening light died when he closed the door of the room. “You got any weapons that need cleaning?” His smooth, warm voice bounced off the walls and you mentally winced. And this is how your plan of ignoring him went straight to shit. “Um, just the machete.” You mumbled, never daring to look into his kaleidoscopic eyes even if you could feel the burn of their gaze. They felt like icicles stabbing through your soul whenever you stared into them. Empty shells holding the crumbling remains of who he used to be, an explosion of colors that hid no emotion. “I’ll take care of it later.” You knew you could’ve easily brushed off the question and he wouldn’t have cared, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat every time he spoke. Sometimes, when you could only hear his voice, it awakened buried memories of the tenderness it used to hold. For just a second, you felt as if he came back to you. Like he had never been gone in the first place. You quietly relished in the sound of his voice, even if was oftentimes monotone and drained of any inflections. At the end of your peripheral vision, you could see him shrug and grab his own bag, slamming it on the table and sitting down on a chair. The sound of clinking metal was the only thing that perturbed the stillness of the room. You wanted to say something, anything, or at least to find the will to get up and go drink your thoughts away. But somehow you felt like no liquor could match the bitterness in your heart. Not even the idea of a (mostly) warm shower soothed you, it was like all the energy in your body had been completely drained. Maybe having to chop the heads off of a vampire pack hadn’t been so easy on your body, and the fact that you had to work with a disinterested Sam and his overly critical grandfather surely didn’t diminish your frustration. It was your thousandth vampire case and surely not the last since these specific monsters were your specialty. You had proven yourself worthy of your “title” on multiple occasions and Samuel’s gang seemed to enjoy chopping heads off as much as you did. This time hadn’t been an exception. You had managed to kill about five vampires with not much of a struggle, and it had seemed like you were on the winning team. Until you had felt the sharp, unexpected sensation of teeth trying to sink into your jugular and a strong hand pulling roughly on your hair. You had fruitlessly tried escaping the vampire’s grip, but it had been too late. You’d been taken by complete surprise. Thankfully, Gwen had been quick to use her machete on the monster and you’d escaped with only two red spots on your neck. She had worriedly asked you if you were okay, and you had nodded, offering her a tight-lipped smile. What she didn’t know was that the physical pain couldn’t even compare to the feeling of having Sam watch your life being put in danger and do nothing about it. The adrenaline hadn’t allowed you to feel the full force of the emotional blow at first, but after it was all over and Sam climbed in the car without asking about your physical or emotional well-being (since his grandfather had spewed words of contempt at you just three minutes prior), it truly hit you. Sam didn’t care. You’d always known it, deep in your heart. Ever since he had shown up at your door, a day after you’d seen him jump into the cage, you had sensed a change. In the way, he had hugged you, short, cold and distant, or the way he’d just smirked in response to your happy tears and genuine smile. In the way he kissed you, hungrily, dominating and lustful, but not the least bit tender. Even the way he touched your body felt numb like it was all driven only by primal instinct. At first, you had tried convincing yourself that maybe his time in the Cage had taken an emotional toll on him and he needed space. You had deliberately ignored the frozen, dead look in his eyes. But your heart had crumbled and broken into a million pieces in that quiet night when he’d left your shared bed and came in next morning with red lipstick marks on his neck. In other circumstances, you would’ve been outraged, furious. But the only thing you did was let him slip out of your arms night by night while never mentioning it. It was a sentiment you couldn’t quite place, but one thing was for sure: he had slowly stopped feeling like home to you. You didn’t know what he had experienced in the Cage and how it had affected him, but it had produced a great change in him. Sometimes, you felt like your Sam had never truly come back, and you were living with a broken shell of a man. The sound of him getting up from his chair and clearing his throat awoke you from your thoughts. His weapons had been thoroughly cleaned and tucked back into his bag. And he hadn’t taken his shoes off, which could only mean one thing. You barely glanced at him while attempting to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I’m going out.” He deadpanned, throwing you one quick, numb look before heading for the door. Your heart stung in your chest and for a few seconds, all air was drained from your lungs. If he would’ve just left and slammed the door shut behind him, it would’ve hurt less. Yet having to hear those words coming out of his mouth crushed you in ways that not even you could understand. “I miss you.” You only realized that you have spoken out loud when his hand froze on the door handle. His jaw visibly clenched. “Y/N…” “You don’t have to explain yourself, Sam.” You exhaled slowly, desperately trying to keep your voice from trembling. Even his name sounded distant to you. “I know you’re… different. You’re not him. Not anymore, at least.” You paused, swallowing back the salty taste in your mouth with great difficulty. Sam turned away from the door. He was standing tall in the middle of the room.  his eyes giving you the sympathetic puppy dog look that he’d thoroughly exercised. That gaze usually made your heart swell, yet now it felt anything but genuine. His pink, plump lips parted to form some half-assed excuse, but you spoke before he could. Sam, ever so polite. “Please, don’t say anything. Just…” You couldn’t stand to see him fending sympathy, so you let your gaze fly pointlessly out the window. “I’m not trying to blame you for anything. I just miss him. His warmth, his tenderness. And you look like him, you talk like him… and it hurts that I can only have him in my memories.” Sam sighed, the heavy atmosphere making his shoulders slump slightly. “Maybe we didn’t have the best lives, but at least we had each other, you know?” You chuckled bitterly, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Fuck, it hurts.” You could see him shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of your eye and you exhaled, clearing your throat and chasing away the tremble in your tone. “Look, I know you don’t give two shits about this. But I think I’m about to start crying, so if you could just…” your gaze eventually turned back on him, “If you could just hug me and pretend you care for two minutes, then you’re free to go and fuck some random whore at a bar or whatever.” The last words acted like a knife stabbing through your heart, and you couldn’t help the stray tear that fell down your cheek. His delicate features were contorted into an expression you couldn’t quite figure out, yet he never broke eye contact as he seemed to contemplate the situation. You honestly expected him to just open the door and leave, letting you wallow in your tears and dead memories. Or, even worse, laugh in your face. But you sure as hell didn’t expect him to nod and open his arms slightly. You hesitantly stood up from the bed and walked over to him, a wary look in your eyes and suspicion rising in your gut. Despite lacking any kind of empathy, Sam was still excellent at reading people, and he sensed your hesitation immediately, trying to soothe it with a weak smile. Eventually, you gave in, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his chest, the way you used to do before when he was all yours. His arms engulfed you immediately and even if his hug lacked warmth, you were encased into his scent and the familiar sound of his heart pounding steadily against your ear, so you were content. Tears and sobs ran freely out of you as his hands clumsily caressed your back. Only now you realized how much you had missed his touch. He let you cry into his chest as much as you needed, never trying to interrupt you or break the hug and you appreciated his efforts. You knew he didn’t care, you weren’t going to fool yourself, but you could tell he tried his best. Maybe out of politeness, or for the sake of what you two have had before, you had no idea. You just knew that you never wanted to leave those arms, even if they were clumsy and cold. “Uh…” Sam started, and you instantly tried breaking the hug, assuming that you’ve made him uncomfortable. Yet his arms remained wrapped loosely around your small figure. “I don’t… care about you like he did. And I’d be lying if I said that I wish I could.” You sniffled, nodding softly as one of his hands wiped a stray tear from your cheek with surprising gentleness. His eyes were still as empty as before, but you could tell that he was being honest. “But I still have his memories. I remember all the moments you’ve had together, I remember the way he felt… and he loved you. He loved you so much that it’s almost… vivid still.” You smiled feebly, your gaze lost somewhere around his shoulder. In the following second, his lips were on yours, kissing you with a gentleness that almost resembled your Sam. At first, you were completely caught off-guard by his actions and you couldn’t quite respond. But soon enough, your eyes fluttered closed and you lost yourself in the kiss, your hand involuntarily reaching out to cup his jaw. His kiss was different. Your Sam put everything he had in his kisses and you could feel the passion coursing through him, showing through the way he always cupped your face into his large hands or the slight whimpers that escaped him. He always used to tell you that he couldn’t get enough of your kisses. Present Sam was gentle, a big step from his previous roughness, but it lacked passion. Sure, it was nice, a bit mechanical, probably guided by what he could remember. And of course, not sincere. Sure enough, he broke the kiss soon. “Thank you. I… I needed that.” You mumbled, slowly backing out from his arms. He licked his lips, nodding nonchalantly. “You know what?” He spoke all of a sudden, breaking the silence in the room. You looked up at him, surprised. Why was he still there? Why wasn’t he bolting for the door? “I have to look through a case that Samuel gave me, so… Guess I’ll stay in tonight.”

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester one shot #supernatural #sam winchester fanfiction #masterlist #soulless! sam winchester

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

Gonna take a lot.

Awesome prompt from @highoffcobain set in S.3 when Ian goes to join the army. xx

‘Philip?’

‘It’s Lip.’

‘It’s just Gallagher now. Get on.”

Ian feels an absolute thrill at those words. Just Gallagher now. Not ‘Ian’, not ‘Red’ and definitely not fucking ‘Firecrotch’. Just Gallagher. Anonymous enough to finally let him get out from being one of six but allowing him to keep that connection to his home. He tugs his scarf a little closer and hitches his bag a little higher on his shoulder, the guy behind him has fumbled his ID and it gives Ian a legitimate couple of seconds to savour this moment.

He balances one booted foot on the coach platform and takes a deep breath, his last of the frosty South Side air for at least four years, long enough to get over the hurt and the pain he has been living with for months. Long enough to stop seeing glimpses of perfect white teeth and bright blue irises every time he closes his eyes. Long enough to stop craving the touch of tattooed fingers and the scent of pomade. Long enough to feel whole without someone who has done nothing but push him away.

A car horn blares loud and close enough that Ian jumps back from the bus reflexively and several people in the queue scatter as a battered sand coloured car with familiar cracked headlights screeches to a halt in front of the bus.

Ian barely has time to register what is happening before Mickey is throwing the car door open and throwing himself out of it, not even bothering to kill the engine.

“GALLAGHER?!”

Mickey yells at the group of recruits, apparently unaware of the seven automatic weapons that have been instantly trained on his chest by the military personnel present.

“Civilian! You can’t park there!”

The officer beside Ian barks, drawing Mickey’s attention toward him. Ian considers throwing himself onto the bus and hiding from the situation unfolding in front of him but that is not who he is, it never has been, it’s why he can’t settle for what Mickey can offer him.

“I’m not fuckin’ parkin’. I’m collecting.”

Mickey glares and barrels forward.

“Step back, Sir!”

Ian hears seven rifles cocked in unison and panic floods his mind, pushing him forward before he has a chance to think about what he’s doing.

“It’s OK! Don’t shoot! He’s … He’s with me.”

He yells throwing his arms wide, shielding Mickey from the pointed guns, his knees almost buckling in relief as the weapons are lowered.

“Don’t ... what? These fuckers are gonna shoot me? Jesus fuckin’ Christ! No wonder the fuckin’ terrorists are winning!”

Mickey peers around Ian to yell at the military men and women who are all looking at him like he is pond scum.

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey! I’m sorry, he’s sorry. We’ll just be a minute.”

Ian implores and the sergeant with the clipboard clearly thinks the hood-rat with the piece of shit car is going to be more trouble than it’s worth to try and make him leave by force.

“Sort this out and get on the bus, Gallagher. Tell your friend he has two minutes to move his car or we’re going through it.”

“Yes Sir, Thank you.”

Ian nods before rounding on Mickey with absolute fury fuelled by adrenaline

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Mickey counters and Ian shoves him in the chest, hard

“Is this a fucking game to you?

“Oh yeah, I love games that nearly get me killed by G.I Joe and fuckin’ Jill over there!”

Mickey throws another filthy look and middle finger at the men and women in uniform and Ian grabs a fistful of his sleeveless hoodie, dragging him back towards his car.

“Get in your car and go home.”

“Not without you.”

Mickey snaps, slapping Ian’s hand from his top and stopping dead on the tarmac.

“Why? What do you see happening, huh? I come back and just wait for you to bend over once or twice a week?”

“Hey! Keep your damn voice down!”

Panic flutters across Mickey’s face and Ian buries his head in his hands with a frustrated, humourless laugh.

“Jesus, Mickey! You just crashed an army recruitment drive – pretty sure most people here have figured you’re gay, even if it’s still a mystery to you!”

Ian rubs his fingers into the socket of his eyes as if warding off a headache and sighs.

“Go home to your wife, Mickey.”

“She’s not … I don’t know how to … You …”

Mickey fights for the words but they won’t come and he can see Ian losing what little patience he has left.

What he wants to say to Ian is that he doesn’t know if exactly what he feels, he doesn’t know if Ian means everything to him and he doesn’t know if he can give Ian everything he clearly needs. But Ian makes Mickey feel something and that is more than anyone else has ever done and Mickey doesn’t want him to go.

Mickey draws his lower lip inwards and twists it between his teeth until there is a sharp pain and the faint metallic taste of blood blooms on his tongue. He looks up at Ian and sees everything that he stands to lose reflected in those beautiful green eyes that he sees in his dreams every night without fail.

“Don’t go, okay? Just stay. I can make more time for you. Whatever you need.”

The words sound weak and too small for all the emotion they contain. Mickey closes his eyes, embarrassed and utterly wretched. He sounds like a little bitch but worse because at least bitches normally manage to say something flowery. All he can manage is a pathetic plea and an offer of no substance. It is everything Mickey has to give him, but it is still not enough.

Ian is clearly thinking the same because he reaches out and puts a warm hand on Mickey’s freezing shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed the temperature until Ian touched him and the irony makes Mickey want to cry. Even his body is useless until Ian shows him what it should be feeling.

“I can’t stay just to be your mistress. You have a wife, you have a baby on the way and you won’t admit you’re gay. What can I do? Hmm? What can I do, Mick? What life is that for me?”

Ian speaks gently but every word slices the wound his departure opened in Mickey a little further.

“You chased after me, drove across town and nearly got yourself killed but when it comes to it that’s all you can do. You race to the brink and then you stop. I can’t keep stopping with you. I have to take a leap of faith somewhere. Maybe this is it. Go home, Mickey.”

Ian leans down and gently kisses Mickey’s cheek, tasting the slightly bitter salt from his earlier tears with only a faint surprise. Ian had cried too, but long before now and he simply doesn’t have any more tears to give.

Mickey touches his fingertips lightly to the kiss and swallows heavily, his eyes fixed on the back of Ian’s head as he walks back toward the bus. There is a roaring sound in Mickey’s ears and with every step Ian takes it seems to get louder and more insistent until it fills him completely, blinding him as well as deafening him. He shakes his head to clear it and see’s Ian’s face in profile, the strong line of his chin and the soft curve of his nose. The smattering of freckles across his cheekbones and the auburn sweep of his eyelashes. Loss hits Mickey like a thunderbolt and he takes a shuddering gasp before closing his eyes and letting the words he can no longer subdue tear out of his throat into the freezing Chicago air

Ian turns sharply and stares at him incredulously

“What did you say?”

“I said, I love you.”

Mickey opens his eyes wide and raises his eyebrows challengingly

“There. You happy now?”

Ian blinks at him mutely and then a small smile touches the corner of his mouth and he turns toward Mickey. He lets the bag fall from his shoulder and takes five quick strides forward until they are chest to chest, close enough that he can see the puckered flesh on Mickey’s pale arms, white with cold and the faint chapping on his lips, bitten and a little cracked. He can smell pomade, tobacco, and the musky vanilla scented soap that Mickey likes. He can see his future shifting shape and it might be better it might be worse but it no longer feels like it matters.

“Yes. If you mean it, then yes.”

Ian nods and Mickey runs a terse hand through his hair.

“I mean it. I don’t know the fuck I’m gonna do about it, but I mean it.”

“You can let me kiss you. Right here.”

Ian smiles and Mickey rolls his eyes, pressing his lips together tightly at the thought of it

“You better be getting your ass in car immediately afterwards.”

“Yeah. I will be.”

Ian gently cups the back of Mickey’s head and presses his lips softly against Mickey’s own. His kiss is gentle and reassuring, nothing like the fiercely passionate kisses that they have shared before, which have been all tongues and clashing teeth, an extension of the rough foreplay that Mickey needs to relax.

Ian pulls back and opens his eyes but Mickey remains frozen in place for a split second longer, eyes closed and lips slightly parted and Ian realises he has probably never been kissed like that before in his life, so he does it again.

This time Mickey responds, his hand coming up to mirror Ian’s own, running through the short red hair, his thumb caressing the shell of Ian’s ear with more tenderness that Ian realised Mickey’s hands were capable of.

The officer with the clipboard smiles and thinks of his own husband at home and neatly crosses Philip Gallagher off the list.

“We won’t be needing you on this bus, Gallagher. Mix up with the paperwork. Get out of here.”

He calls and then frowns at Mickey

“And you! Move your fucking car!”

*

Mickey drives and Ian watches the recruitment bus in the rear-view mirror until it is out of sight as they round a corner. Mickey glances over and tongues the corner of his mouth, eyebrows knitting together guiltily.

“If … ah … if you still wanna do this shit when you’re eighteen – I’ll deal with it, you know? Gotta live your dreams, man.”

Ian smiles and lays his hand lightly on Mickey’s thigh

“What about your dreams?”

Mickey snorts and shakes his head.

“I don’t have anything like that. Fuck fighting for this shit hole country! But I like redheads and I got one so, yeah. Maybe I’m okay with just that.”

Ian laughs and grins at Mickey before rolling his head languidly across the headrest to look at him properly

“I love you too, you know that right?”

Mickey startles and half looks at Ian before turning his eyes back to the road.

“No, I didn’t know that.”

His voice is quiet and a little subdued but there is a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth and after a moment his fingers begin to drum a quick little beat on the steering wheel. He is clearly and unmistakably very fucking happy.

Ian puts the radio on and the car is filled with the jingling opening of ‘Africa’ by Toto. Ian begins singing softly, deliberately exaggerating the pull of the words across his lips and Mickey laughs

“Man, this car don’t need to get any gayer!”

“… it’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from youuu”

Ian ignores him and closes his eyes dramatically, pumping his fists in time with the music. Mickey is trying to watch the road but his gaze keeps flicking back to Ian and as the drums signal the next chorus he licks his lips and joins in, his voice rough but surprisingly tuneful. The song continues and their voices get louder and more exuberant as it reaches its finale

“I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AAAAAFRICAAAAAA!”

Both boys bellow the words, laughing as much as they are singing, pumping out of the windows, pointing at other cars and generally enjoying one stolen moment in a lifetime of thousands.

Ian leans forward with his iPhone camera and snaps a photo of them both. Mickey is pouting like a fucking rock star and Ian sets it as his background without hesitation. 

It is a new chapter and the future is limitless.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fanfiction #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #gallavich #Gallavich Love #shameless fluff