#And Cliff like rips his head off or something because this run seems so fucking mean

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

We can bring back Peacemaker disobeying orders but only the funny ones by having his arc in doom patrol end with like his random superior officer telling him he cant go fight the doom patrol on his own or something and then he immediately shoots the guy in the head and goes off to get beat up by Cliff

#Doom Patrol writer are you listening. #And Cliff like rips his head off or something because this run seems so fucking mean #I do think Peacemaker seeming like a good army boy who relies on authority until someone tells him not to kill people is #like his funniest trait it NEEDS to come back #Nobody realizes Peacemaker doesnt actually care that much until its too late and hes like #ripping the comms out of his helicopter and throwing it into the ocean so he can go shoot at the suicide squad

[jayke0]

You Know I Love It When You Beg

Pairing: Steven x fem reader

Summary: kinktober day 2, Public Play

Rating: 18+

Warnings/content: public play, vibrating toys (cock massager and insertable vibrator), Dom!Reader, Sub!Steven, teasing, cum in pants, cumming easily, who ever cums first gets fucked, mention of pegging, light mocking, name calling (just mild British insults), lmk if there's anything else i should add :).

Word count: 1,071

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

...........................................................................

"Love, can we try something?"

Steven's voice echoes from the hallway as he approaches the kitchen where you're sat, phone in one hand and tea in the other.

"Mmmm depends... if it's anything like those cardboard tasting crisps, then absolutely not." You chuckle, but as you see Steven's nervous face your laughter is cut short, "Sure darling, what's up?" You put your mug down.

Steven chews the inside of his cheek (a habit you'd tried to get him out of months ago but to no avail) as he places the boxes on the table, sheepishly occupying the seat opposite you. 

You examine one of them before holding it up next to your face. "Vibrators? Why are you so nervous about this? Not like we haven't used them before—" 

"I wanna go out with them on, maybe to like, a posh restaurant or something," he quickly interjects. "I think it'll be... fun, if that's the right way to describe it. I'm sure I'll regret calling it that later." He chuckles a little uneasily.

"Oh."

The idea fills you with excitement, and that's evident by the grin that creeps across your face. "You sure you can handle that, sweetheart?" You batter your eyelashes at him and reach out to take his hands "You know how fast you cum." 

Steven huffs in response. "All the more reason to do it! You're just as easy to work up, dear." He raises a brow at you before leaning closer "What's wrong, you scared?" The evil grin now plastered on his face instead.

"No! No... of course not— take that goofy look off your face—" you shove his head gently which results in a giggle from the man. "So you'll do it then?" He asks eagerly, and it's hard to say no to his stupid happy face.

You'd both agreed not to turn them on until you've actually reached the restaurant, otherwise it'd kind of ruin the whole fun of it… given how easy you both get worked up, despite how you argue that you don't.

Fortunately, you get seated in a somewhat closed off booth, and you notice how steven seems a little relieved at that.

"Steven."

"Yes, dear?"

"You look very handsome this evening." You compliment, and he's about to thank you for your kind words, but he's cut off by his hand slapping over his mouth.

"You bugger..." He manages to groan as he feels the vibrations already buzzing through his slacks.

You give him a smug look. "Oi, that's not a very nice way to talk me after i compliment you! Maybe I should turn it u—"

"No!" Steven's hand flies over your phone to protect his dignity. "Not yet... please." He breathes, giving those big puppy dog eyes that you always fall for. 

"Oh baby, you know I love it when you beg."

That warrants a quiet whimper from Steven, and honestly you're surprised how he's already getting worked up over this; he must've been fantasizing about it for a long time. 

Steven is patient though, always is, and that's one of the things you both love and absolutely hate about him, because he can edge you for hours sometimes, bring you to that cliff just to rip you away from it for the 6th time. He waits till you've relaxed before striking, waiting till you ask the waiter to take your orders to pounce on you.

A shiver runs up your back as you feel the buzzing perfectly stimulate your clit, the sudden feeling making you bite down on your lip hard. You briefly give Steven a death stare before continuing your order… only to feel him turn it up further. The vibrator is pressed against that sweet spot inside you, and you find it difficult to not rock back on it with the waiter breathing down your damn neck. You hide your moan with a cough and thankfully get through the order, and once the waiter is out of sight you turn Steven's all the way up.

His sly smirk is quickly wiped from his face as his hips buck forward instinctively and he hides his face in his hand.

"You prick," you mumble to him, now slightly rocking against the buzzing like you wanted to a couple of moments ago, "you handsome prick." 

Steven looks at you, and you can see how fast his chest is rising and falling now, but the look he's giving you is one of complete submission; was it really that easy?

"Oh c'mon, you're not gonna cum yet are you, sweetheart?" You mock lightly while your hand rubs his shoulder. You lean in towards his neck and take in the smell of his cologne (your favourite one) before nipping the skin. "Don't cum Steven, I wanna get fucked tonight."

That, of course, only makes his situation worse, his face now beet red. "God, I can't help it, shit it feels so good." He moans softly and reaches for your phone to turn it down.

You let him, since you don't want it to be over too early… and you at least want your starter.

You're still rolling your hips towards the pleasure vibrating through your underwear when the waiter brings over your desserts, the starter and main having gone surprisingly easy despite both of you now huffing and arousal seeping through your underwear. 

"Thank—yOU—" another moan hidden by a cough when Steven tries to embarrass you again.

You look at him darkly before running your hand over his thigh, resorting to the one thing that you know works on him; fuck cares if it's cheating.

"Please baby, I want you to cum for me..." you whisper in his ear with your best desperate tone, "Just want you to make a mess in your underwear, can you do that for me, sweetheart?" 

And boom, that's all he needed as he shrinks in on himself and hunches over, his body shaking a little while his hips wildly buck against thin air. He can't moan, but there's pants reminiscent of whimpers that leave his lips, until eventually he calms down.

"Good boy." You praise and pepper kisses over his neck and cheek, hand running up and down his back comfortingly.

"I want you bent over the bed when we get home, yeah?"

All Steven can do is nod enthusiastically, his cock already growing hard again at the thought of you fucking him just the way he loves.

...........................................................................

Prompts by: @/flightlessangelwings

Tagging people: @cowboymarcs @sad1st1c-wh0re @poopoobuttsy @boredzillenial @mllover260 @simpforbritgents @saevenswelt @partssoldseparately @keira-kaz2y5 @theincredibleinkspitter @l-lune @red-hydra

#moon knight smut #moon knight fanfiction #moon boys #moon knight #kinktober #steven grant #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Rut.

Pairing: Malleus/Reader (Twisted Wonderland)

Written for a lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 2.0k.

Synopsis: It’s hard for a human to learn about fae biology, especially from fae themselves and their distaste for the topic. So, when you agree to help your careful, composed boyfriend deal with his upcoming rut, your expectations might differ from reality.

TW: Afab!Reader, Dubious Consent, A/B/O Dynamics, Overstimulation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Breeding Kink, Slight Corruption Kink, Mentions of Blood, and Knotting.

Lillia said it was kind of like a vacation, for Malleus.

It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was more of one than you’d gotten from the other Diasomnia students. When prompted, Silver only shook his head, mentioning ‘medical needs’ and something about the fae hierarchy, and Sebek was too flustered to say much of anything, going red as he told you not to talk about things so vulgar, whatever that was supposed to mean. Lilia’d laughed, though, when you asked him why Malleus went off-campus every few months, always returning a little less irritable than he had been, when he left. He’d explained that, among a certain type of fae, this type of practice was normal, almost ritual. Hormones clouded judgment, urges beginning to overwhelm coherent thoughts, and Malleus just needed a few days to clear the fog, preferably as far from a brittle, breakable human as he could get. Just for caution’s sake, of course. Just to be safe.

But, you weren’t just a human. You weren’t breakable.

You were Malleus’ human, and that meant you were safe.

He’d been hesitant, when you offered to help during his next rut, but by the time his eyes were glazed over more often than not, his opposition stopped at a half-hearted warning and a disgruntled huff. It was almost strange to see him so out of it, his usual composure dulled and watered-down into a hazy, tired awareness. Even now, kingdoms away from Night Raven, he could barely seem to stay on his feet, taking any excuse to drape his arm over your shoulders or nuzzle into your chest or, in this case, slot himself against your back, his chin coming to rest against the back of your head as you bent over, supporting yourself against the stone windowsill. You didn’t push him away, obviously. You weren’t sure he’d be able to stand, if you did.

So, you admired the view as he made himself comfortable, keeping your eyes fixed on the landscape below. Malleus’ chosen safe-haven was scenic, to say the least, an isolated tower miles away from the nearest village, surrounded by woods and cliff-sides and little else. Even with a pane of glass separating you from the outside world, you could still see the breeze rustling through leaves, hear birds singing in the distance, practically feel the sunlight, just bright enough to make you squint. You were here for Malleus, of course, but you hoped you’d have some time to explore. Just a few hours, towards the end of the week. Hopefully, he’d be--

“(Y/n).” A whine pulled you out of your thoughts, drawn out and throaty, so unlike his usually poise. You were caught off-guard, but you still managed to chuckle, your smile only growing wider as he bent down, rubbing his cheek against the side of your neck as he went on. “You… you’re so beautiful, and you smell really--” He cut himself off before he could say something he’d regret. “You kept me waiting.”

Now, that was your Malleus, the bratty prince you knew and loved. You crossed your arms in front of you, leaning into the self-made nest as his hands found your hips, holding you in place as he ground lazily against your ass. It was a jerky motion, eager and unpracticed, but neither of you seemed to mind. “No need to rush,” You chided, playfully, rolling your eyes. “We’ve got plenty of time. At least help me find a bed, first.”

Something ripped, a sound like tearing fabric, and suddenly, you could feel cold skin against yours, clamping down around your waist in an iron-clad grip. “I’ve been patient enough.”

You didn’t have time to argue. Whatever thread of restraint Malleus was still holding onto snapped in the space between one second and another, and by the time you’d opened your mouth, he was already growling, barely remembering to let go of your waist before lifting you off your feet, dropping you onto the windowsill unceremoniously. You were stunned, for a moment, too surprised to do anything but clutch at the square edge and let your legs dangle off of the stone slab, but Malleus didn’t seem to have a similar problem. He was already falling to his knees, sharpened talons cutting through clothes and skin alike, leaving red, angry lines across your now-exposed thighs and Malleus, pressing fleeting kisses into the damage by way of apology. You almost stopped him. Part of you wanted to, in your stupor, if only to ask him to slow down, but this was supposed to be about him. If he needed to…

Your logic faltered quickly.

Oh.

His mouth was cold.

It felt strange. You almost couldn’t register it, even as he lapped at your cunt like a man starved, his tongue thinner than it should’ve been, longer than it should’ve been. It was alien in a way that made you more sensitive, more prone to writhing as he traced shapes into your entrance, to mewling every time he paused to tease your clit. It was a graceless sort of rhythm, a pursuit with the sole goal of getting you to buck against his face, to squirm, to do whatever you could to bring him closer. You tried to bite back your whimpers, incessant and hitched whenever he found a new spot to abuse, but your resolve broke as soon as you felt Malleus’ tongue fuck into you, drawing out a shaking, unabashed moan. It was too deep. Already, it was too deep.

You didn’t think, only lurching forward, latching onto the first thing you found - his horns. They were solid under your palms, smooth and so easy to squeeze, the pressure alone enough to make Malleus groan, the slight vibration only forcing you to hold him tighter. It didn’t seem to hurt. If anything, it only spurred him forward, two fingers soon taking his tongue’s place as he drew away, barely giving himself time to take a staggered breath before he was lavishing your clit, sucking on it, making that abrupt, awful, agonizing tension all the more unignorable. All the more terrible, in the blissful way Malleus’ touch happened to be.

He didn’t stop when you came, when your thighs clamped around his head and your entire body went tense. He didn’t even slow down, not until the sensation was more painful than pleasurable, not until you’d taken to pulling his hair, not that it did anything to deter him. Overstimulation came and went, pangs becoming constant, electrical jolts before all of it seemed to fade, leaving you trembling and shivering, barely able to hold yourself up. It felt painful. It felt great. You loved him, but you might’ve been beginning to hate him for it, too.

When he was done, when he was finally done, he kissed you. Your slick coated his chin, and you could taste yourself on his lips as they crashed against yours, the gesture hot and heavy and more aggressive than it had any right to be. There were going to be bruises tomorrow, on your legs and your waist and your jaw - his thumb digging into your skin just a little too harshly as he stopped you from pulling away, but if Malleus cared about the aftermath, he couldn’t find the strength to show much concern. With a nip to your collarbone, he was standing, towering above you with an expression somewhere between anger and concentration. For a moment, you let yourself linger on the irony - his shirt was still half-buttoned, his pants barely edged downward, while your clothes were torn to shreds, cuts and scrapes littered along your thighs and calves. By the end of the week, you were going to be a mangled mess. Malleus would be lucky if he’d even taken off his boots, by then.

Unsurprisingly, his voice did little to ease your concerns. “You’re already so worked up,” He teased, using the pad of his thumb to push an idle, painstaking circle into your clit, if only to watch the way you tried to squirm away. “Such a delicate little thing. How do you expect to take my cock like this, my love?”

You never got a chance to answer. One second, you were opening your mouth, the next, your breath was caught in your throat, an airy gasp taking the place of anything you might’ve said. There was a sting, and you couldn’t choke down the ragged, uneven sob you let out as he bottomed out, his hips soon slotting against yours. Malleus hushed you, a hand coming up to entangle itself in your hair, encouraging you to lean into him. To enjoy this, or to be aggregable enough to let him enjoy it for you. “It’ll only hurt for a second,” He assured, his tone soothing. “Let me take care of my mate.”

You couldn’t help yourself. Despite everything, you couldn’t help yourself. “I’m… I’m your mate?”

Malleus only chuckled, letting you bury your face in his chest as he pulled back, starting with short, shallow strokes. It was less of a comfort than it should’ve been, every slight motion only making you feel smaller, only making you feel more full. His patience must’ve been running short, though, because before long, he was hissing through gritted teeth, pumping into you like his heart would stop beating if he so much as slowed down. You swore you could feel him in your stomach, in your throat, every keen and every rut only making it tighter and hotter and worse. What little composure you’d managed to regain was gone in an instant, replaced with something malleable and desperate and needy. As eager to take as Malleus was to give, in his current state.

He was no better, but somehow, it seemed like he was. He was just so much taller than you, so much stronger, it almost felt patronizing when his teeth ghosted over your neck, his canines soon burrowed in the sensitive space just above your jugular. Even after he drew back, after he made sure your shoulders were riddled with those same bleeding, burning puncture wounds, his lips lingered against your skin, the contact muffling his words. “You’re so perfect,” He muttered, more for his sake than yours. “A perfect mate. My perfect mate. Perfect to--” He was interrupted by a stuttered grunt, low and animalistic. “Perfect to breed.”

In his defense, you didn’t object. You couldn’t have, not with his hand wrapped around your throat, not when your back was suddenly flush against the windowsill, your legs wrapped around his waist, every thrust so violent, it felt like he was trying to fuck your cervix rather than your pussy. Moaning wasn’t an option, anymore. Pitiful, whiny little sounds escaped before you could choke them back, making your cheeks burn and the slick, wet clicks slowly filling the room impossible to block out. “P-Please.” You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but you were sure you needed to beg. Malleus’ grip tightened, but  you didn’t know if it was a signal to go on, or a sign that you should do anything but continue. “Malleus, please, I love you, I can’t--”

“Quiet.” He was growling again, but this time, you didn’t have to guess why. You could feel it - stretching your cunt, leaving you babbling and clenching around him, your vision going white and your back arching as he split you open on something too heavy, something too big. “Just take it,” He grunted, finally bottoming out. “For me, love. Just- Fuck--”

It was hot, more than anything. Smoldering, scalding, filling you up to the brim as the tension broke and Malleus slumped forward, panting. You were too disoriented to do anything but stare on as a small, reflexive smile tugged at the corners of his lips. This time, his kiss was soft, something feather-light and distant, barely tangible enough to lean into, but you tried regardless, whining as he pulled away. You couldn’t bring yourself to mourn the loss, though. You needed to sleep. You needed to rest. Or a bed, at least, something softer than stone and mortar. He must’ve needed a break too, after that. Anyone would, fae and human alike.

And then, Malleus started moving, and you had to wonder how long this week would really last.

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere imagines #yandere scenarioes #yandere oneshots #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #yandere twst #twst #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #yandere fantasy #yandere fanfiction #yanderecore #yancore

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi Hi!!!! So I've been following your account for a little while now and I love every single comedy bomb you drop on what you write so I was wondering....

How would the boys react to their S/O who is usually reserved when at the lair, doing a full 180 when at April's? Like they could be April's roommate or something?....

Like crackhead energy, dishing out memes and vines and literally having a duel with Casey about leftovers in the fridge?... Yeah I know it's very specific 💀

I don't know.....the idea just popped into my head but I lack the creativity and comedy skills for that...so I was wondering if you could do something with this?.....

It's totally fine, if not 😁😁

This is... 100% me. I love this and I'm gonna pour my soul into it. Also I have started mentally referring to these as comedy bombs and I refuse to stop.

Also, I hope you don't mind that I wrote these in oneshot form instead of bullet points. It just made more sense for my brain.

TMNT Oneshots

The boys with a partner whose reserved at the lair but an absolute crack gremlin at home 🤣

Donatello

Donnie may have been a man of science, all logic and facts and numbers and things. But he absolutely believed that everyone had three separate faces, you were direct proof of that theory. While the purple terrapin had known you for nearly a year you’d only started dating a month ago and it shocked him that he was still uncovering new things about you. He loved it, sure, but it had a tendency to give him figurative whiplash.

He’d always known you to be calm and collected, maybe even a bit shy. He swore you’d explode if more than one person tried to talk to you at the same time. So it wasn’t an over exaggeration for him to say that your behavior at home nearly made him break his neck.

He was only there to help April fix a bug in her laptop and to confirm your next date, he was excited to see you since you’d had no contact in person for a week because of your schedules. Just lots of phone calls and exchanged text messages. You both missed each other like crazy and your roommate had neglected to inform you that your boyfriend was coming over.

Hers was already there and he was driving you up the wall, you’d never actually thought about committing a murder but Casey was pushing you very close to the edge of snapping. And he might as well have crane-kicked you off your cliff of patience and into the rushing river of “you little fucking shit I’m gonna piss on your grave” below. You hadn’t even heard Donnie come in through the window much less his conversation with April over her computer.

All you knew was that Casey had come parading into your room like a tyrant eating the leftovers in the fridge that you had specifically put your name on. That did it. Your eyes had skimmed over the top of your textbook to meet the asshole in front of you.

“Casey?”

He couldn’t speak through the mouthful he was trying to chew and grunted in pathetic response.

“Is that my cheeseburger?”

You’d never seen a living person imitate a pug’s facial structure so well, the man’s eyes bugged out of his head and he tossed the takeout box on your desk before turning and bolting out of your room. You followed about two steps behind with a bottle of shampoo in your hand. No, you weren’t entirely sure where you’d grabbed it from, all you knew was that it was your weapon. And it quickly became a very messy problem when it missed your target (Casey’s head) and slammed into the wall, exploding on impact.

You didn’t think you’d thrown it that hard.

“April April help help help helpppppppppppppp-'' The two on the couch had looked up during the chase throughout the apartment, Donnie was mostly curious at what Casey was screaming about. Not a lot usually made the guy make that noise. He was then distracted by April grabbing the laptop and passing it to him, she then clambered over his legs to sit behind him.

“YOU UGLY ASS CROISSANT! FUCKING PANINI HEAD- IT HAD MY NAME ON IT YOU DAFT AVACADO!”

Your boyfriend almost went vertical upon watching you tackle Casey to the floor and knee him in the groin. You shook the terrified man under you and slammed him a little harder into the rug.

“Touch my shit again and I’m gonna make the beaches of Normandy look like a goddamn family vacation.”

Then you climbed off of him and stood, brushing your disheveled t-shirt off with a huff. Donnie caught your attention and you raised your head to grin excitedly at him.

“Hi Dove! April didn’t tell me you were coming over,” you practically skipped over to the couch to peck him on the cheek, “I missed ya, are we still on for Saturday?”

He nodded in complete shock, his gaze flitting from you to Casey, who was still wheezing on the floor and clutching his dick.

“Uhhh yeah! Yeah, yep, Still good for Saturday. Uhm, completely unrelated question, where the hell did you learn to grapple like that?”

You shrugged absentmindedly, already walking to the hall closet to grab cleaning supplies for the puddle of shampoo in the walkway.

“Just kinda picked it up I guess? I’ve watched you guys train enough.”

Leonardo

See, Leo had always known that you were hiding something from him. Be it your true personality or some deep dark secret. He wasn’t really in a rush to find out, you’d tell him when you were ready. The leader enjoyed your quiet disposition anyways, you gave good advice and liked to meditate with him, what more could he ask for? What more could he want?

Well, maybe if you got along better with his family, although he supposed that wasn’t your fault, you always had been a bit shy. Even six months into your relationship with him, Leo only hoped that you’d warm up to his brothers eventually. You seemed to do alright with Splinter, that was a plus for the situation. It wasn’t that you were mean or impolite to the others, you were just… avoidant. Distant, quiet, whatever word you wanted to use. You just didn’t seem comfortable at the lair.

He was excited that April had asked to host a game night though, maybe you’d come out of your shell (haha, see what I did there?) and socialize, even for a little bit. They’d all shown up a few minutes early to make sure April didn’t need help with anything, she’d assured them that everything was handled and made sure to inform Leo that you would be back shortly with Casey from your snack run. Mikey had joked that you’d ditched the get together to avoid them but they all knew it ran the possibility of not being a joke.

You unlocked the door and held it open so Casey could get inside without tripping himself before entering yourself and kicking your shoes off. Leo looked up to meet your eyes and you sent him a wild grin, your entire face lit up with amusement.

“Hi babes! Are you ready to get your ass kicked at Monopoly?”

All the poor turtle could do was nod.

“Good. I did grab drinks by the way, April there should be a mixer in the cooler bag, Donnie there’s some of that lemon lime stuff that you said you wanted to try, Mikey, orange crush as usual, Raph I tried to go for Dr. Pepper but they were out so I figured that root beer was a safe second. And Leo they had a new boba flavor that you haven’t had yet so I grabbed one. If you don’t like it then you can have mine, I just have the peach royal.”

Beverages were tossed and they were lucky that their surprise didn’t throw off their catching skills. You and April shared a quick word in the kitchen as you took your coat off and ran a hand through your hair.

After some arguments team captains were decided and Donnie nearly had a heart attack when you picked him instead of Leo or either of your friends. He even went so far as to point at himself to make sure you weren’t joking. You declared that while you loved your boyfriend his morals were too strong to be competitive, Donnie’s were not, he said so himself.

They were all surprised that you’d remembered that conversation.

It wasn’t until halfway through the game that things started getting heated, you and Mikey were nearly jumping across the table at each other. And it visibly took all of your strength to not burst out laughing when he started yelling.

"YOU KNOW WHAT? THIS IS CHEATING! YOU'RE CHEATING! GET ON TOP OF THE FRIDGE!"

April and Casey were snorting into their arms as you got to your feet and walked towards the kitchen, making a poor attempt at climbing the appliance.

"THIS HOUSE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!"

Raphael

Raph had always been under the impression that you were never really 100% yourself around him, he knew for a fact that you weren’t when you stayed over. He’d never seen someone so aggressively avoid someone, except himself of course. You were his partner of almost a year and it seemed like you were never going to let your true self shine. However you did seem to lighten up when you were alone with him, he supposed that was normal, but you may as well have been a pair of old earbuds that only work when you held them a certain way at the lair.

He honestly hadn’t expected that to change tonight, not given the text that Casey had sent him informing him of April’s recent breakup with whatever guy she’d been dating. So when he climbed in through the window and saw both you and Casey sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom he really didn’t think that the words out of your mouth would be-

“April you’ve got another twenty minutes of this then I’m ripping the door off the hinges!”

Casey shot you a look and you shrugged nonchalantly before getting to your feet and walking over to your confused boyfriend.

“Hey, sorry about this. Casey only texted you as a last resort if he needed someone to stop me from tearing the door off.”

Raph found that peculiar, “Uh, couldn’t he do it himself?”

The man in question looked up from his spot on the floor.

“Nah dude, they’re crazy. Last time I tried stopping them from doing something they nearly knocked my damn tooth out while screaming, and I quote, “If you put your hands on me I’m gonna fucking rip your face off” and quite frankly I don’t have the balls to test that.”

“No no dude, that’s valid. I wouldn’t either. Babe, why are you so-”

You raised an eyebrow at him over a glass of water, “Violent? I’m not Raph. These two just have little bitch feelings.”

He found it hard not to laugh at that and fifteen minutes later when you left his side to approach the door again it sent him reeling.

“This shit’s temporary April. You’ve got nice teeth and a fat ass, stuff your feelings down!”

Michelangelo

There would never be a time where Mikey wasn’t a prankster with you, it was just simply non-negotiable. You were cool with that and he was aware, he was also aware that no pranks were to be pulled at the lair. So he’d reign it in while you visited, just for a short while. But you’d never said anything about the apartment and Mikey was a creature of opportunity.

Unfortunately Leo talked him out of it and forced him not to pull anything while they visited. The leader was already on edge so when he walked in with the others following closely behind you were the first person to see him. Your eyes caught Mikey’s instantly and you might as well have been telepathic at that moment. But you took one look at Leo’s solid, angry face and seized your moment.

They weren’t at all ready for the scream.

“GET YOUR FUCKIN’ DOG BITCH!”

And they also weren’t ready for Mikey’s response of, “It don’t bite.”

And Leo was not ready for the pillow that got whipped at his face at incredibly high speed.

“YES IT DO-”

So when Leo finally realized that they were yelling at him his mood did not improve at all and in fact declined sharply into a pit of “oh fuck”. And that was how you ended up on Mikey’s shoulder getting dragged away from any sort of repercussion for your actions.

These got a little short near the end but I hope you like 'em and I hope I was able to capture what you had in mind! 😁

-Mars 🌠

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt headcanons #tmnt x reader #tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #writing blog #writing requests #ask box #ask response

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Hello! For Mermay can you do Lambert x Aiden and #11 - courting season? ♥️ ♥️ ♥️

thank you for this one, I have been meaning to write more Lambden and this was an excellent excuse to do so!  ❤

warning for monster anatomy and smut

It's a good thing the Cat school has long since been disbanded because if any of Aiden's peers knew what he was doing, he'd never live it down. There's still the caravan, but Aiden has never associated with them, so he couldn't care less what they think about him and Lambert is more important to him than their opinions. The only problem is that Lambert isn't, in the strictest sense of the word, human. Technically, Aiden was hired to kill him, but that's just details.

What's important is how Lambert makes him feel. Because he doesn't do sappy shit like fuck the same person more than once, but Lambert makes him want to. It's been months and he still keeps coming back.

It started with a contract back in the autumn; local fishermen had complained about a creature ripping holes in their nets and stealing the fish for itself. Petty squabbles that could likely be solved by other means, but Aiden won't say no to a job that easy, so he accepted it. It turned out to be a misunderstanding; Lambert was simply getting back at the fishermen who had wronged him or the villagers in town - he pretends to be rough and grouchy, but deep down he's actually quite soft. And Lambert had been very thankful when Aiden had cleared things up, assuring the fisherman with complaints that the creature was now dead and wouldn't bother them anymore.

So, if Aiden has come back a time or two, he can hardly help it. Lambert's a great lay and doesn't mind the weird bits that others usually shy away from. And, regrettably, Aiden likes him for more than just the sex. Because Lambert's a snarky bastard and he's funny and he's a great storyteller if he can be coerced into it. But the worst part is when they're just lying there, usually immediately after sex, and it's quiet except for the breaths mingling in the sea air. And they can just be. When Lambert will tentatively reach up and curl cool, webbed fingers around Aiden's and pretend like he's not, but he'll just lie like that for as long as he's undisturbed. It does something funny to Aiden's heart that he tries not to look too closely at.

But this time, when he arrives at the secret beach they've designated as a meeting spot, Lambert isn't there. Aiden can smell him still, so it hasn't been long since he was here - he probably isn't hurt, or anything - but he's just not around. He frowns to himself and sits down at the water's edge to wait. Maybe he had to do something last minute and he's just delayed.

Aiden leans against one of the rocky cliffs that juts out of the ground, stretching his legs out almost all the way to the next. The opening to the sea here is quite small and it's a wonder he ever found Lambert in the first place, but it affords them some privacy from the town on the other side of the cliffs. He shuts his eyes, letting the warm summer sun beat down on him and crosses his arms behind his head to wait.

After half an hour, Lambert still hasn't shown up. But the smell of him still hangs in the air. He's lingering somewhere, just on the edge of Aiden's range of sight or something and he's sick of it. Whatever his reasons for not showing up, Aiden's had enough of it. It's been months since he's seen him and, as much as he's tried to deny it, he's missed him.

"Hey," he shouts, clambering to his feet, "hey asshole, get out here, you're late."

There's nothing, not even the sounds of water rippling and Aiden frowns.

"Lambert, I know you're here, just come out and see me."

Nothing, again. Aiden sighs and shuts his eyes.

"Lambs, if something's wrong just tell me. If you don't come and see me I'm gonna assume something happened and I'm gonna have to go on a rampage through the village and-"

"You don't have to do that."

Aiden turns to see Lambert's head and shoulder just breaking the surface of the water. He's frowning at him, but Aiden beams.

"There you are," he says, crouching down next to the edge. "The fuck kept you?"

"Can't do it this time," he shrugs and Aiden's grin turns to a frown.

"Why not?"

"Just… not now. Come back in a couple weeks or something, I don't know."

Aiden pauses, doing a quick once-over of what little of Lambert he can see and he realizes he's tense. Unusually tense. He reaches out to him, but Lambert flinches away and that's the last straw.

"Look, if something's wrong-"

"Nothing's wrong," Lambert snaps, "just get outta here."

"Lambs, if you're in pain or-"

"Go."

"I'm not going," Aiden says stubbornly, dropping to sit cross-legged across from the merman. "If you want me to leave, you'll have to give me what I want."

"Which is?"

"You."

"Bribing me for sex now?" Lambert scoffs. Aiden just laughs at him.

"Like I'd need to. But I wouldn't. I just… I missed you, idiot, 's been a while."

"Told you," Lambert grumbles, a little quieter, almost regretfully, "come back in a week."

"You don't have to hide anything from me. I'm happy to go if that's what you want, but can you tell me why?"

Lambert crosses his arms and sulks, turning away from him and Aiden isn't sure what to do. He's never seen him like this before and he wants to help, but Lambert is sensitive and he doesn't want to press. He waits as Lambert continues to ignore him, but eventually, it becomes evident that Lambert is not backing down.

"Fine," he mumbles reluctantly, "see you in a few weeks, I guess." He's just about in the middle of the field when Lambert's voice breaks through the silence.

"Wait." Aiden is too stunned to even be smug about it and he turns back to him. "Don't... don't go."

"Gettin' some mixed signals here, Lambs. What do you want? Stay or go?"

"Stay," he mumbles quietly, "please."

Aiden turns back and crosses to sit between the cliff faces again, looking down at Lambert where he's still in the water. He crouches down, elbows on his knees, and raises an eyebrow.

"You wanna tell me what's going on now?"

"Mating season," Lambert mumbles, almost silently. "Hate this time of year." Aiden can't help the sigh of relief that accompanies him flopping to the ground again.

"Gods, Lambert, I thought something was really wrong."

"Shows how much you know."

"Then tell me." Aiden shifts closer to the edge, so his knees hang over the ground when he crosses his legs again. Lambert sighs but swims right up, resting his elbows on the rock as he grumbles.

"Everyone else is off building nests or picking mates and I- I'm not."

"Look, if I'm the problem-" Aiden starts, ready to get up and leave again and never return if it means Lambert's happiness. But Lambert stops him, lifts a hand to settle on his knee.

"No," he says quietly, "it's not because of you. Just the same bullshit as always; why would anyone want me?"

"Does it matter?" Aiden asks gently, "if you choose a mate? You've always got me."

"'S not the same. And it's hard... to be around you right now."

"I'm... sorry?" Aiden says.

"Never been like this before," Lambert mumbles, "never felt so strong before."

"What hasn't?"

Lambert's cheeks flush and he frowns at the rock beneath them. Aiden slips a hand over his where it's still resting on his knee.

"Whatever you're afraid of, you don't have to be."

"This time of year," Lambert grits, "I- we- it's some stupid shit to ensure the continuation of our species or some dumb shit."

"Oh," Aiden says, realizing with a start, "oh. You're in heat?"

"Fuck off."

"Oh, Lambs," he grins, tipping forward onto his knees to lean over him, "if that's what it is, I can help. But I've been here before in the summer and-"

"You can't," Lambert says abruptly and Aiden drops back on his heels.

"Right, of course. It has to be another mermaid right? or a merman? merperson> I'm sorry-"

"No. It doesn't."

"Then let me help? You know I can make it good for you. What you need, Lambert, let me help."

"Can't ask you to."

"Why not? We've fucked more times than I can count, why not now?"

"Because it's different. Because usually that's all I want - to fuck - but this time I want you."

"And here I am." Aiden grins, spreading his arms wide and Lambert just gives him a look. It takes him a second, but Aiden realizes it's not just sex he's talking about. It doesn't take him any time at all to make a decision.

"If you want me," he starts, "I'd be your mate. If that's what you want."

"Fuck off, Witcher."

"I'm serious Lambs, please." He shuffles closer and this time, when he reaches out, Lambert lets him touch. He runs his thumb over Lambert's cheek and draws his fingers up under his chin. "I wouldn't keep coming back if I wasn't interested," he breathes and Lambert just stares at him.

Aiden knows he won't make the first move, he leans down, getting his hands under Lambert's arms and tugging him up and out of the water. Lambert eventually assists and they land in a heap, Lambert fitting nicely between Aiden's legs.

"I want you," Aiden whispers, bringing a hand to the back of Lambert's head and drawing him close. He kisses him softly, but when Lambert squirms, Aiden can feel the long length of his cock, already free and hard where it presses against Aiden's sodden thigh.

Lambert tenses for a moment but Aiden runs a soothing hand down his back and he relaxes, following the motion. He whines softly against Aiden's lips and reaches up to run a hand through his hair. It tugs a little, webbed fingers not being the greatest for combing through hair, but Aiden just smiles against him and slips his hand a little lower, moving over the swell of Lambert's tail.

"That's it," he mumbles, "let me take care of you."

Lambert doesn't speak, but he buries his face in Aiden's neck, whimpering as his hips rock urgently, pressing his cock between Aiden's thighs. He's still completely dressed, but Lambert seems unconcerned, nipping at his shoulders and jerking against him. It's hot as fuck and Aiden can't bring himself to do anything but watch, sliding both hands to Lambert's tail to help him keep steady.

"Gods, you're gorgeous," he mumbles, "gonna come for me, Lambs? Fuck my thighs and come just like this?"

Lambert whines loudly and seizes up abruptly, shoving his hips forward and biting down on Aiden's neck. Warmth seeps into his trousers and Aiden groans as Lambert's hips slow to a stop and he flops on top of him.

"Fuck, you really needed that, didn't you?"

Lambert rolls off of him, embarrassed, but Aiden moves after him, circling an arm around him and rolling him back again.

"No need to be embarrassed," he mumbles, tipping to kiss Lambert's mouth, "I know you, I want you, and seeing you like this is… fuck, Lambert." He winds a hand around Lambert's wrist, tugging his hand down to press against the front of his trousers. He's hard already and Lambert's hand closes around him reflexively.

He strokes a little, tentative, and Aiden is stunned to see him like this, so soft and nervous. He rocks into his palm eagerly, biting down on Lambert's lip.

"Touch me," he says, "don't hold back. Do what you want with me, I'm yours."

Lambert lets out another stifled moan, then shoves him onto his back, kissing him firmly even as Aiden laughs. He's pinned under Lambert's weight, delighting in the heavy warmth of him as he squirms back to settle between his legs. Strong fingers tear at his shirt, barely bothering to get the buttons undone before tugging it off of him and then he's pressing sharp claws into Aiden's chest, just shy of painful.

"Need you," he rasps and Aiden reaches up to cup the back of his head, drawing him into a fiery kiss. Lambert slumps against him, all but limp in Aiden's arms and he doesn't resist when Aiden pushes him back over.

He gets on his knees above him, sliding one hand between them to wrap around Lambert's cock, already fully hard and slick again, and stroking straight up to the tip. He presses his thumb inside, stroking slowly as Lambert bucks beneath him and doesn't withdraw until Lambert breaks the kiss to curse at him.

"Gonna set me off again like that," he pants and Aiden knows he wants to sound angry, but he comes across desperate and it's sexier than it should be.

"Want me to?" Below him, Lambert's dark eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open. "I will if you want. Whatever you want, Lambs."

"Please," he mumbles, "Aiden, please."

Aiden grins wickedly at him, bending to kiss him again as he presses his thumb deeper, stroking the outside of his cock with his fingers as Lambert jerks into the touch. He's never touched him like that and heat rolls up the back of his neck, the thought of being allowed to do this overwhelming. Lambert is so solitary, so private about anything other than what annoys him, and yet he opens himself immediately to Aiden when they fuck. So Aiden takes what he's given and does everything to give back.

He thrusts gently, careful not to push too hard, but Lambert throws his head back in a moan and arches off the ground, so he must be doing something right. But Lambert wasn't kidding when he said he could come like this. Before long, Aiden's entire hand is slick with pre-come, sliding easily into him and Lambert writhes under him, cursing and whining in equal measure until, as Aiden slides a second finger into him, he comes.

Lambert's hips buck and he covers Aiden's hand and most of his arm with his spend, but he's too lost to even notice it, letting Aiden guide him. It takes him a few minutes to calm down and Aiden holds him through it, kissing him softly and running his hands up and down his back. He hums softly against Lambert's skin until he squirms with impatience again.

Lambert squirms out of his hold and gets his hands on Aiden's trousers, getting them undone quickly and shoving them down so he can touch his cock. Aiden sighs as smooth fingers slip around him and he shifts lightly into the touch, rocking between Lambert's fingers. It feels good and he would be happy to come just like this, but he has a feeling Lambert isn't done with this yet. Lambert's cock is already swelling again and Aiden wants him, wants to touch him and feel him. He wants to make him come and see that look in Lambert's eyes when he finally tips over the edge into bliss.

Lambert draws him back to the present, reaching down to squeeze his balls and Aiden groans loudly, eyes flashing open to watch him. He rises onto his knees, staying low on his elbows so he's close to Lambert, so he can kiss his neck and nose at his jaw. He mouths at the skin as Lambert gets both hands around him, squeezing and stroking him firmly.

Aiden loves the feel of his hands, smoother and silkier than his own. He doesn't know if it's because he's a merman or just because it's Lambert but his hands feel better than any hands that have ever touched him.

He rocks into the touch, dropping to kiss Lambert's mouth, breathy and stilted. Pleasure zips up his spine and his cock jerks hard in Lambert's grip, earning him a small groan of approval.

"Mm, you gotta- oh, fuck Lambert- gonna make me come like that-"

Lambert just laughs and surges up to kiss him again as he slips one hand further down to play with his balls again. Aiden's eyes roll back with a groan and he grabs Lambert's wrists in one hand, pulling his hands off of him and rolling off to the side.

He lets go of Lambert's wrists and wiggles one arm under his waist, tugging him close so they're nose to nose. Lambert's breath catches and Aiden kisses him swiftly, nipping at his lip as he pulls away. Aiden presses a hand to his chest, slowly sliding it down Lambert's stomach, down past where his flesh meets scales. He loves the otherness of his scales, loves feeling like even though they are so different, they can still bring each other pleasure, can still care for each other.

He runs his fingertips down the entire length of Lambert's cock, pressing a little firmer as Lambert pushes into the touch. Lambert rocks forward and Aiden slips lower, pressing his fingers into the slit where his cock protrudes, fingering the base and pressing as deep as he can and circling around him. It makes Lambert squirm and Aiden makes a point of pressing more firmly and squeezing around the base of his cock.

Lambert's cock pulses under his hand and Aiden strokes right up to the head before pulling off altogether. He slips down again, pressing his fingers along the seam of Lambert's second slit, pressing in and rubbing into him. Lambert groans and Aiden slips deeper, pressing into the hot slick of him and Lambert pushes onto him, shifting closer to keep Aiden's fingers inside him.

"Mm, you like that don't you, sweets? You want me to fuck you, you want my cock?"

"Yeah," Lambert breathes, pressing in to nuzzle Aiden's neck, "please, fuck me."

"I think you can wait just a little longer," Aiden hums and Lambert groans at him, but when Aiden presses deeper into him, his protests fade into soft moans. "That's what I thought."

He curves his fingers, seeking out the little ridged area that he knows drives Lambert up the wall. It had been a fun discovery the first time around and now he just likes making him lose his mind. One day, he'll make him come like that, just his fingers inside him, but not now. Now, he's aching to fuck him and he doesn't want to tease too much, not when Lambert genuinely seems to need this right now.

He knows as soon as he's found the spot because Lambert's tail twitches and he curves in on himself, rocking forward and doing anything he can to get him to press harder. And because Aiden is feeling particularly generous, he does.

"Oh fuck, oh gods," Lambert rambles, "fuckin' love you, fuck."

He doesn't seem to catch the slip, but Aiden does and it takes all his focus not to slip in his ministrations. He keeps rocking into him, massaging that same spot until Lambert is all but crying with the need to come, writhing against him and whimpering into his skin. But Aiden's mind stopped some time back, still stuck on love you. He should know better than to put any weight into confessions in the middle of sex, but this is Lambert who would rather be caught dead than admit he loves his brothers.

All at once, everything makes sense and Aiden knows everything he's been feeling is more than just lust and respect for Lambert and he aches to tell him, but he doesn't want to spook him. Lambert is so flighty with feelings and emotions, that sometimes it's best to trick him into it, but his head is too foggy for that right now.

"You want it, love?" he asks and Lambert doesn't seem to even notice the pet name, just nods and nips at his shoulder. "Okay. Fuck, I've wanted you for so long," he mumbles.

Aiden withdraws his fingers, running briefly up the length of Lambert's cock before moving to his own dick. He rubs the head against Lambert's slit, teasing the slickness, but he wants it too badly. He slips forward, pressing into him, and Lambert rocks forward, abruptly taking him deep.

Aiden groans and pushes him onto his back, straddling him with both hands above his shoulders. He rolls his hips slowly, inching forward until he's settled deep in Lambert's body, slick heat completely engulfing him. He shuts his eyes, barely shifting his hips until Lambert squirms beneath him and commands him to fucking move.

When Aiden looks down again, Lambert's prick is dark and swollen, leaking from the tip, and he knows he's desperate to come again. He can't help but wonder how long it'll keep up for - not that he's not prepared to stay for a week if that's what it takes to get Lambert through this. But Lambert jerks again, pulling him from his thoughts, and Aiden picks up the pace.

He fucks into him steadily, forehead pressed to Lamberts as he shifts his weight to stroke Lambert's cock. He brings him off twice more like this and he's barely keeping it together himself when Lambert really starts to squirm.

He's barely recovered from his last orgasm and his cock is still soft against his stomach, so he shouldn't be ready to come again so soon. Aiden does everything he can think of to give him what he needs, but nothing seems to work. He fucks him harder, softer, quicker, kisses him, but Lambert is still twitchy and not in a good way.

"Tell me what you need," Aiden pants, "let me give it to you, love."

Lambert just groans and buries his head in Aiden's neck. "Come on Lambs, tell me. I wanna give it to you, what do you need?"

"Want you to bite me," he mumbles and Aiden could laugh. He's an idiot, it's so simple.

"Well, if that's all," he smirks, but Lambert presses a hand to his chest to stop him leaning closer.

"Not just… I want you to claim me. Bite my neck, make me bleed. Mark me."

"Oh." Aiden's mind races because this is different than a slip of the tongue; this is deliberate. "Yeah, darling, anything you want. Just tell me what to do." He rocks his hips quicker again, thrusting forward hard as Lambert stares up at him.

"Right here," Lambert breathes, tilting his neck and tapping his skin right where his neck and shoulder meet. "If you mean it, bite me here."

"Fuck," Aiden groans and his cock throbs as he sinks into him again. He shouldn't be so stupidly turned on by the idea of claiming Lambert as his own, by the idea of keeping him, but it's making his head foggy and it's hard to focus.

Under him, Lambert is fully hard again and Aiden gives him a quick couple of strokes before draping himself over his chest. He props himself up on his elbow, running his fingers through Lambert's hair and ducking to lick at the spot on his neck. He licks and sucks at the spot, teasing with kisses then running his teeth along it slowly.

And the swell of arousal rises, pushing him forward until he's pushing his luck with every thrust, so overwhelmed he can't hold on any longer.

"Gonna come," he mumbles and Lambert nods and mumbles something inaudible.

"Bite me."

Aiden bites down gently and it's enough to push him over the edge, coming hard still buried deep in Lambert. He tenses up and bites down hard, teeth breaking the skin and sinking in and it's so fucking intense he can't even focus. He doesn't even realize Lambert's coming too until he flops against his come-splattered chest.

For a few, sweet minutes, neither of them says anything and Aiden lifts his head just far enough to catch Lambert's lips in a soft, lazy kiss. It's more desperate breaths than kissing, but Lambert hooks an arm around the back of his neck and Aiden has never been happier.

It seems to take an eternity to come back from and Aiden's still feeling a little breathless when he finally finds the energy to throw himself into the ocean to wash off. It's the same thing he does every time and usually, Lambert goes with him, but this time when he pops his head above water, Lambert isn't in front of him. Aiden turns and finds him sitting at the edge of the rocks with his neck craned, looking at his reflection in the water. Aiden grins to himself and swims over, careful not to disturb Lambert's reflection.

From here he can see how he traces his fingers along the edge of the bite mark, still lightly bleeding, and stares at it in awe.

"Something wrong?" Aiden asks.

"No. Never thought I'd ever-" he cuts himself off with a huff and turns away, but Aiden reaches up and runs a hand down his arm.

"Hey," he says, "I am damn lucky to have you." Lambert looks down at him with the hint of a smile in his eyes and Aiden pushes himself up but finds himself held down.

"Can I bite you?" Lambert asks, one hand on Aiden's shoulder. "So you don't forget." Aiden laughs out loud, reaching an arm up to pull Lambert down into a quick kiss.

"I will never forget," he whispers, "but I'd be happy to have your mark to prove it."

#aiden x lambert #lambden #courting season #spicy #the witcher #Anonymous #mermay 2021 #rex writes

[baguettehead]

Quarry days

Stan Uris x they/them reader

warnings: some curse words, richie tozer, lil bit of angst, possibly based off of real situations, lil bit of Reddie ;)

Summary: You’ve always had a thing for the brown eyes and mop of curly hair, the voice that made you melt like a Popsicle, but what if you added in scheming friends, darkness, missing gas, and maybe a turtle.

_____________________________________________________

   You had known the losers since 6th grade. That was the year your parents decided to make the move from Michigan to Derry, Main. You moved around a lot, and you weren’t even an army brat, your parents just seemed to enjoy hopping from place to place. Your parents owned their own business, all the work was mostly online so it was pretty easy to just up and leave. You were born in Washington state, lived their for a while, then you lived in California for a few years, Colorado for a singular year, Michigan, and now the shithole that is Derry, Maine.

    You had no idea why your parents chose Derry, there really wasn’t much here. A few nice shops, a pretty decent arcade, old people with sticks up their butts, and what you thought to be a normal group of neighborhood bullies.

    When you moved to Derry you had no one, and at this point you didn’t care enough to try and make friends, you didn’t know if you were staying long. After an tantalizingly long day of being forcefully introduced to classmates and eating lunch alone, in the library, you honestly just wanted a nap.

  Leaving the school you were suddenly pushed into the wall next to you, your bag thrown off your shoulder, and coming face to face with the wonderful scent of vodka and utter shit. Must be Bowers. He held you by the shoulder of your shirt with his right hand and with his left he put his forearm on your neck, effectively trapping you to the wall

  This was your first encounter with the infamous gang, but you’d heard about them from the few conversations you’d had with kids in classes and passing periods. Let’s just say, he was as disgusting as you’d heard. Has he ever tried a toothbrush before??

  “Look at this” he spoke, looking back to his gang of douchbags “Fresh meat” his goons laughed a little while you just rolled your eyes, you’d dealt with your fare share of bullies and asshats that you simply couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore

 “look” you said in an exasperated sigh “i don’t have cash, my mom packs my lunch”

  “well then” Bowers said “you’ll just have to pay me in another way darling” a disgusting grin overtook his face and his goons began laugh and cheer like they just took a shit on the toilet for the first time

  “i’m good” you spoke calmly as you attempted to leave his grasp. Bowers just stared down at you confused for a second before he snapped back into action and held you a little tighter

 “it wasn’t a question” he seethed through closed teeth

 “and i wasn’t giving a suggestion dipshit”

 Henry’s jaw tightened and you could practically see the anger bubbling inside him while his group of misfit toys got real quite

“now listen here you little bit-”

“no you listen asshole” you cut him off  “i don’t have time to deal with insecure little boys who didn’t get mommy’s attention as a child and now take it out on all those around him” you spoke quickly faking a pout and slowly worming your way out of his grip “your just some stuck up prick who relishes in the hurt of others because you are so hurt that your deranged little brain finds pleasure making other miserable so that you can fake happiness. News flash, hurting others won’t make you happy, you’ll always be an attention deprived, whiny ass child who probably won’t live past their 30′s, will definitely have a substance abuse issue, and even as a 15 year old attempts to drown his sorrows in vodka and punching kids smaller than him for fun” you finished your little rant, taking in a short breath “now” you continued, marveling at the befuddled looks on all their faces “i have a can of pepper spray in my back pocket and if one of you little rascal looking ass children comes any closer i’ll mace you in the face. Got it”

 As soon as you finished you slipped from his grasp and starting running like hell towards your house. You could hear him screaming profanities, and you knew you were now on his hit list, but you really couldn’t find it in yourself to give a shit.

 Once you knew you were far enough, you knew he wouldn’t follow you but didn’t want to risk it, you sat on the curb to catch your breath. Almost immediately you saw 4 bikes coming around the corner, the occupants stopping in front of you and throwing their bikes down.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT THAT WAS INCREDIBLE”  the one with coke bottle glasses screamed at you practically screamed at you, you returned a weak smile

“H-h-he’s gonna f-f-fu-fucking kill you” another rushed out

 You shrugged your shoulders “ive got a at least a few days” you told them “i wounded his masculinity, gotta build that back up” you muttered

 “I can’t believe you did that” the one with the fanny pack stated as he started to pace in front of you “i mean, now bowers and his whole gang are gonna be on your ass” he stopped in front of you and made direct eye contact “your gonna have to watch for him at all times” he deadpanned and you grimaced a little bit

“don’t worry” coke bottle glasses spoke up again “bowers is always on our asses so we can show you the best place to avoid him”

 “a-and the hallways to a-a-avoid h-him” the dirty blonde spoke up

you smiled up at them “i’d actually quite like that”

“Then welcome to the losers club y/n” the forth boy spoke up as he held his hand out for you, the one with curly hair and amazing eyes. You had him in two of classes and he always seems to catch your eye. You took his hand and he helped you off the curb before they gave you their unofficial, official, tour of the town.

 After that you were practically glued to the four boys, you did everything with them now. And if it wasn’t all of them, you were with at east one practically at all times.

You told them about your moving adventures, even opening up about your constant fear that your parents are gonna pack up and leave forcing you to leave them, and earning Richie’s nickname for you Cali. For some reason Richie couldn’t seem to let go of the fact that you lived in California, asking questions about it whenever there was downtime, and telling you about his dream of living there one day and making it big. You always told him that he could do it, because you truly believed he could.

Soon Bev, Mike, and Ben joined the group, making it 8. You gained your ‘secret’ clubhouse, and Bill, Mike, Stan, and Richie all got their licences.

 Now its junior year, you’ve made it almost 5 years in Derry, and you’ve gained the closed friends you’ve ever had

_________________________________________________

“You guys wanna go to the quarry after school?” Richie asked, his mouth half full of turkey sandwich and pretty much yelling over all the noise in the cafeteria. You shuddered and watched as Eddie slapped his shoulder and scolded him for talking with his mouth open, Rich pouting like a child. You loved watching them, a knowing smile on your face.  

 “sounds like fun” Bev voiced “y/n and i just went swimsuit shopping and they looked killer in their suit” she smirked at you from down the table while you blushed and rolled your eyes

“i mean i’d prefer to see the suit on the floor but whatever your comfortable with” Richie commented

you threw a baby carrot at his face, which he caught in his mouth promoting cheers from the others and for you to dissolve into laughter

“i is s-s-s-supposed to be like n-n-ninety degrees today” Bill added in

“oh fuck that” you groaned as you lent your head on stand shoulder next you and continued munching on your carrots, missing how he smiled down at you

“quarry it is!” Richie exclaimed before everyone else fell back into their conversations

“sooooo” you heard Stan draw out from above you, moving your head to look up at him but leaving it resting on his shoulder “will i get to see this new suit you apparently look amazing in?” he questioned while wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive way. You simply laughed, shoving his shoulder and telling him to shut up.

You’ve had a crush on Stan since 7th grade. You always thought he was attractive, like REALLY attractive, but after getting to know him and spending time together you knew you were fucked.

Bev has tried convincing you that he likes you back but, something in your brain just can’t accept it. She’s gone on and on about how ‘different’ he acts around you, how hes “not such a stuck up prick, he like, actually kinda nice and soft”, her words exactly. But, that was just the Stan you knew, the one you always saw. Caring, kind, funny, and enjoyable.

Bill drove you and Bev to her house, where your suits where from the last time you slept over like 4 days ago, and then took you both to the quarry. Once you got there you saw all the other cars and heard splashing and screaming.

“Those assholes went without us” Bev cried as she ripped the car door open, bolting for the cliff and immediately jumping off. You and Bill just laughed and sat there for a moment.

“r-ready m’lady?” Bill asked as he left the car and extended a hand for you

laughing, you took his hand “Of course good sir”

Bill was already in his trunks so after the short walk up the hill he plunged into the water , full cannonball, soaking almost everyone except Mike who swam out of the way. You watched from the top, laughing as they splashed each other back and forth. Sometimes it was nice to just watch their antics and relish in the moment.

“you coming sweet cheeks” Richie yelled up to effectively drawing every ones attention you

You blushed at the sudden attention “Whatever Tozier” you yelled back before you began stripping down to your swim suit.

Unbeknownst to you at the top of the cliff, you had some effect on poor Stan down in the water. He sat with his eyes glued to you as you exposed more and more skin. He’s seen you in a swimsuit before, hell he’s even seen you in your panties, but every time it still manages to make his mouth go dry and eyes widen.

“They’ll catch you drooling if you stare too long” Richie quipped with a smirk

“Shut it Tozier” he murmured lowering into the water to hide his blush right as you jumped from the cliff.

The eight of you spent hours in the water. Chicken fights, splash wars, and Richie attempting to dunk you, Bill even found a turtle which he claimed meant good luck. You only got out of the water for a bit to dry off before leaving. You and Bev lie on the rocks to dry off and maybe tan, that was, before Mike carried a bucket of water over and splashed you both with started yet another splash war. You finally got out when the sun started to set. You sat around and talked, told stories, before you had to leave. You were all still pretty wet but you didn’t care.

Stan had offered you a ride earlier and you happily agreed, knowing you’d get some alone time with him and ice cream if you begged hard enough.

You layed back on the rocks, to watch the sunset and see the stars starting to pop out.

“alright were heading out” Richie suddenly said

 Mike had already left, taking Ben with him due to their stricter curfews. But Rich was taking Eddie and Bill Bev.

“What, why?” Stan said, narrowing his eyes as if he knew they were plotting something

“j-just tired is all” Bill replied casually before he began walking to his car

“bye” Eddie chimed in

“Bye Edds!” you called back

“wait why can she call you that” Rich argued walking side by side with Eddie

“cause i actually like them” He replied casually with a shrug

Richie just huffed and pouted like a child before Eddie nudged his shoulder and he was all smiley again

“See you at school” Bev called, sending a wink in your direction which you replied to with an eye roll

As they walked towards their cars and began to drive away Stan turned towards you “That was suspicious right?”

“completely” you replied climbing down from the rock you previously lied on

“Okay good, it wasn’t just me” he said with a sigh

You laughed a bit “But when are they not suspicious?”

“You got me there” he said before he leaned back on the rock behind him

You crawled over to sit next to him, laying your head on his shoulder and just admiring the sunset. You both sat like that for a while, surrounded by comfortable silence.

One thing about Derry was that no matter how hot the days were the nights seemed to always be freezing, accompanied by wind. You crossed your arms over yourself in hopes of generating more body heat.

“Are you cold” Stan asked taking notice of your shivering form

“Just a bit” you answered not wanting to ruin the comfortable bubble you’d found yourselves in

“i have a blanket in my car” he started to stand up only for you to groan and cling on to his arm. Laughing, he sat back down and you cuddled into his side.

“you’ll catch a cold babe come on” you blushed at the pet name and melted even further into his side when he started combing through your hair with his fingers. Noticing that you weren’t going to budge he huffed a bit, though, he didn’t want to move either.

“I’ll get you ice cream” he sighed

You bounced up with a goofy grin on your face, pulling his hand towards the car

“Lets not waste time” you started “i’m in critical condition, need creamed ice immediately” you feigned sick with a hand to your forehead and pouty eyes. He only laughed, getting up and heading to the car, his hand never leaving yours as you walked to the car.

“what the fuck” he muttered as you reached the car

Tucked under the windshield wiper of his car was a note that said ‘use protection’, clearly in Richies handwriting, and a roll of condoms

You blushed lightly, giggling a bit. Stan looked to with a puzzled expression on his face “i don’t know” you shrugged trying to prove your innocence.

“I don’t understand half the things he does” you comment as you climb into the passengers seat

“does anyone?” he questions with a laugh

Stan throws the note and condoms into the center console before starting up the car. Your bouncing in your seat, the anticipation of ice cream making you giddy and Stan laughs at that. Well, the car doesn’t start. Stan tried multiple times, clearly getting frustrated

“uh Stan” you try and grab his attention, it works, anytime you talk Stan always has his full attention on you. You point towards the gas meter, which displays empty.

 “I literally got fucking gas on the way here what the fuck” he exclaims as he gets out of the car, you follow. You see him stop and stare at the gas tank opening

“what?” you question before reaching the other side of the car and falling silent

Right below the gas tank, on the ground, lays a rubber pipe.

“Did they fucking siphon my gas?!” He yells

You stand there for a moment longer, staring at the gas lined pipe, before you break out into hysterical laughter. The pure kind that comes from the belly and leaves you gasping for air with side cramps

“its not funny” he yells

you try to talk but it just dissolves into more hysterics and soon enough Stan is laughing with you, your laugh is just contagious and your radiant smile that could light up the entire galaxy never fail to make him follow along.

After you both calm down, clutching your bellies, you break the silence

“so, what do we do now?” you look over to Stan who’s sitting next to you on the curb

“i guess i’ll call Rich and have him come pick us up” you nod

He stands up, pulling out his phone and calling Rich. You sort of zone out, guess you were more tired than you thought, but your brought back to earth by Stan yelling into the phone. All you could catch was

“what?! No! Hey no no no” and “Fucking asshole” as he ended the call. You new what was coming but you asked anyways

“so?”

“He said hes not coming” Stan sighed in defeat as he sat next to you and lied his head on your shoulder. Your hand immediately immersed itself in his hair, gently scratching his scalp and brushing through his curls. You sighed wondering how the fuck you were gonna get out of this one.

“what about Mike and Bill?” you questioned

“in on it” he sighed out and you hummed in response. You both sat there for a moment, in comfortable silence, trying to calm Stan down.

“did he say anything els-”

“do you like me?” Stan’s head rose from your shoulder, looking you in the eyes and cutting off your sentence. You felt your mouth go dry, eyes widening, cheeks getting hot and probably bright red.

“i- uh- well” you stuttered out, really having no clue how to answer that question

“I mean” he started, sighing and nervously running a hand through his head of wild curls “not in a …. friends way” he finished slowly, meeting your eyes

He had a blush of his own covering his cheeks and his marvelous brown eyes danced all over your face as if looking for the answer there. You sat there staring at him for what felt like forever, running over your choices. Just as the though of running away and joining the circus came into your mind you felt a surge of confidence and smashed your lips into his.

He tasted like mint, salt, and something you could only describe as Stan.

Your lips moved together perfectly, dancing around each other in the best dance you’d ever preformed. Teeth hitting teeth as the years of desperation and pining were finally put to a rest. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into his lap to straddle him, as yours wound around his neck and wove into his hair.

You both pulled away panting. His lips barely leaving yours, still ghosting over them like a precursor for whats to come. You stared into his eyes, you could get lost in those brown orbs so easily, drowning hopelessly in their beauty and dying happily. Stan was the first to break the silence

“yes?” he questioned

you threw your head back and laughed heartily. The sight alone made him melt in your hands and the sound dug his grave. The brilliant smile you flashed him afterwards felt like the afterlife and when you leaned down to capture his lips one again he knew he was in heaven.

“yes” you breathed as you pulled away from him, as difficult as it was

Stan smiled so brightly and let out a little cheer before falling right back into your lips and kissing you more passionately than anyone ever has and you doubt anyone ever will. There you sat, Straddling Stanley Uris in an empty parking and kissing him until you were gasping for breath.

You pulled away from Stan, leaning your forehead on his, pressed into his chest, barely inches away. He leaned up and peppered your face in small kissing causing you to break into giggles.

“I love you y/n y/l/n” he spoke softly into the night air

You stared into his chocolate eyes, in complete euphoria

“I love you too Stanley Uris” you told him with the most confidence you have ever had in a statement.

#it #it cast #stanley uris #it book #it movie #stanley uris x reader #x reader #reader x stanley uris #stan the man #it fic

[softomi]

butterflies

prompt: I read in a book once that blue butterflies symbolize many things but I think my favorite was that they are wish-granters. So if you see a blue butterfly, make a wish.

pairing: atsumu x reader

word count: 3.3k

general taglist: @graykageyama

Between the twins, Osamu was always your favorite and it was clear that Osamu preferred you over his brother. Atsumu was the bane of your existence ever since they moved across the street from you. Seven years old, the parents happily introducing themselves, the children staring at each other awkwardly. One held a volleyball, the other staring at you. They were supposed to be your new friends, though all of you were seven, technically you were older. You were a grade above them having just made the cutoff to enter school early, that didn’t stop Atsumu from addressing you as though you were younger than him.

“Ow.” You fell onto your butt, Atsumu had harshly pushed you, “Tsumu.” You began to whimper, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

He didn’t mean to push you so hard, he just didn’t like that your cooties were going to stain him. There’s a pretty blue butterfly pin in your pigtail braid and when he reaches out, your cries lessen. Your eyes widening, perhaps he was going to help you up. His fingers tug on one of your braids, a little too harshly that the butterfly pin falls out. You begin to wail more at how hurtful he was being.

“Tsumu!” Osamu rips Atsumu’s hand away, shoving the boy to stand between you and his brother. Osamu has dirt on his face from playing far away, he had left momentarily to dig through the ground but as soon as he heard your cries, he came running, “Don’t be mean!”

Atsumu doesn’t know what he did wrong, was it so bad that he was interested in your braids, “She’s the one being a cry baby.” He sticks his tongue out, scowling at you for ruining his fun.

The twins parents have emerged from the home, their mother helping you up and dusting off the dirt from your dress. Osamu lunges at Atsumu, they’re pulling each other’s hair, Atsumu is shoving his brother’s face with his palm, Osamu’s knee is pressing against his brother’s chest. Their father lifts Osamu off Atsumu, scolding the boys loudly for starting a fight.

“Apologize!” Atsumu’s head is forced in a bow by his father.

Atsumu’s fingers are clenched in a fist, “I’m sorry.” He’s gritting through his teeth. He has a scar on his cheek from his brother and he watches with a heavy glare at the way Osamu has his hand in yours, leading you into the home with their mom.

Atsumu plays by himself outside, his father watching him throw around the volleyball for an hour. He catches the ball and holds it still when he hears the door of the home opening. For a second he turns thinking Osamu has decided to come out and play but he scowls when you’re walking to him with your pretty blue polka dot dress.

“I brought you a cookie.” You have a plate in your hands, chocolate chip cookies looking freshly made. He reaches but his hand knocks the plate out of your hands, the cookies sadly falling onto the floor.

“Miya Atsumu!” His father’s stern voice sends a chill down his spine. Before he knows it, he’s being dragged into the home by the back of his shirt.

Atsumu thinks, it’s your fault he’s always getting in trouble.

After Osamu walks you home, Atsumu is allowed to come out of his room. He’s back outside and when he walks through the grass, something shiny attracts his attention. His fingers reach out, gripping the butterfly pin he remembers in your hair. He stuffs the pin in his pocket, running to throw around the volleyball with his brother.

As time went on, Atsumu, Osamu, and you fell into a respective trio dynamic. You were close-knit with Osamu, sharing similar interests in movies, games, and books. With Atsumu, you bickered and spat with him over every little thing; he stopped pulling your hair but that only egged him to think of other modes of torture. Osamu was always there to beat his brother up for you, someone’s got to knock him down a peg and that’s exactly what Osamu did.

By the time the twins entered junior high, Atsumu was beginning to notice he was the third wheel and the only way you’d ever look his way was when he tormented you. He’d spill his drinks on you, eat your food, purposely poke your sides to make you jump, scare you from around the corner, and even just plainly verbally hurt you.

“Did you gain weight?” Atsumu poked your stomach. You slap his hand away, trying to ignore him until Osamu arrived. You should have known better than to walk with Atsumu. He slings an arm around your shoulders, “Did you look in the mirror today when you got ready?”

His cackle is blow to your heart, you jab an elbow into his side, your palm wiping away a stray tear.

“Are you crying?” As much as Atsumu doesn’t want to laugh, because he doesn’t, he feels guilty, horrible even, but his automatic reaction is to chuckle, “Hey, I’m“ His apology is cut off when a fist forces him to step back.

Osamu blows on his fist, he looks at his brother with a grin, “Call it twin telepathy, I just knew you were being mean.”

Not much changed in high school, him a mere second year and you a third year. The only change he can think of is the fact that now you had a whole team to back you up. Kita was rather sharp in detecting Atsumu being a little prick to you, Suna took pride in tripping the blonde if he as much tried to approach you, the other’s seem to take more of an approach of just being near you. After all, you being their volleyball club manager was more important than Atsumu.

“Hey.” Atsumu’s voice stops you dead in your tracks before you can even step foot into the gymnasium to start setting up, “What’s with that on your face?”

Your hand instinctively flies to your cheeks, “What?”

His hand wildly gestures to his own face, “You trying to impress someone? Make-up won’t do you any good.”

You didn’t think anyone would notice the thin layer of foundation you put on or the minimal line of eyeliner; even your eyeshadow was so sheer, you wondered how he even saw it. You give him a cold shoulder, “Go fall off a cliff Atsumu.”

He follows you into the gym, setting his bag down onto one of the benches. He makes his way behind you, his finger dipped into your skirt, pulling at the waistband, “Oi, you have a rip in your skirt.”

“What are you doing?!” Osamu drops his bag at the entrance of the gym, he’s running, tackling his brother to the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” Atsumu is shoving his brother.

Osamu is digging his brother’s face into the floor, “You’re being a perv!”

“Fuck you!” Atsumu is on top of his brother now.

You could clear up the situation if they weren’t so engrossed in murdering each other. They continue to roll on the floor, taking turns shoving the other’s face into the ground. You use their distracted minds to pull your skirt around. He was telling the truth, it was barely noticeable but there was a tiny rip on the waistband, probably where he had been pulling.

Atsumu is biting the insides of his mouth, he had been scolded by Kita when Osamu explained what had happened, and even when you explained he had no ill intentions; Kita still lectured him on how it isn’t appropriate to touch a girl without her permission. Now he’s running laps around the gym with the rest of the team while you fiddle with the fabric of your skirt.

“Here.” You look up at him, Atsumu had disappeared for ten minutes and when he returned, he towered over you, in his hand a small sewing kit, “If you keep playing with it, you’ll end up ripping the entire skirt. No one wants to see that.”

Even when he’s being nice, he has to throw in a blow to your self-esteem.

“Thanks.” You say bitterly, “But I don’t know how to sew.” Your finger scratches against your head, “I know, I’m stupid.”

You’re not. Atsumu wants to say.

You shift uncomfortably when he suddenly takes a knee. He pulls the thread from the kit, looping it through the needle to make a small knot.

“Can I?” He’s asking permission to touch you and you merely nod.

Compared to his usual self, Atsumu’s touch is soft. You stare at how concentrated he is, stitching the ripped fabric so that it looks almost brand new. Though your uniform skirt was black, the thread he chose was vibrant red. He leans his head near your hip, he uses his teeth to sever the rest of the thread. His breath hot, you could barely feel it through the fabric of your shirt. Your cheeks tint with a blush when he briefly catches your gaze, he looks away quickly.

“What are you doing now?!” Osamu has returned from his long bathroom break; his hand pulls his brother back by the neck of his shirt.

“Samu!” You wave your hands around, “It’s alright, he was just helping me.” You point to the red thread of your skirt.

Atsumu has his hands up in mercy, Osamu eyes him, “I’m onto you.”

“What? Why?!”

Osamu throws a volleyball at his brother’s head, “Because! You’re an asshole!”

“We’re twins, so by default, you’re an asshole too.”

Atsumu starts to run, Osamu tackles him pretty quickly.

There’re girls piled at the door of Atsumu’s classroom, one by one they come in as though they’re presenting their sacrifices to the king himself. He has chocolates stacked to the ceiling, the teachers are already spreading news that they can’t yell at him since they are gifts and if he was forced to throw any away, the female student body would wreak havoc.

The second-year girls slink back when they spot you, a third year that has all the second-year boys turning heads. Some are boldly stopping you to present their own chocolates which you take sweetly. They sigh happily when you walk away.

“Please accept my confession!”

You enter as the class falls dead silent, you’ve come to the second year classroom to give your gifts to the volleyball boys but you’ve stumbled into what seems to be a public love confession to Atsumu. He leans back in his seat, balancing on the back two legs of the chair as he looks up to the girl. She’s shaking from anxiety with her chocolates out for him, the students begin to whisper the longer he takes to answer. You pity her because Atsumu is a complicated person, you just never know what he’s thinking or what he’ll do next.

“Sorry sweetheart, can’t accept any more chocolates. Teacher says I have too much.” Atsumu settles himself onto the four legs of his chair, “You can try Osamu.”

Some of the students let out audible gasps at his comment. You watch her lower her head, brushing past your shoulder in a dejected fashion. The class goes back to bustling rather quickly. Suna sits straight up when he spots you at the door, he taps on Osamu’s desk, the male turning away from the window. Atsumu turns to look over his shoulder, his lips in a thin line when you walk towards the three.

“Happy Valentine’s day.” You have three bags in your hand, you settle one on Osamu’s desk, one falls into the hands of Suna and the last lingers between your fingers. Atsumu stares at it, he notices you have scribbled his name on the side.

The longer you stand without giving it to him, the more he gets irritated. His leg bounces rapidly, he notices the ugly boxes of chocolates squished between your arm and side; pathetic boxes given by pathetic guys. He could do better.

“I just came to drop these off.” Your voice is starting to fade as you notice the last bag still in your hand. You flip the bag around, Osamu and Suna stare at it, a weak glance to their setter, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Osamu got cookies and a gift card to the café he’s been dying to try out. Suna got cookies and a cute little fox plush. Atsumu got nothing but a blow to his pride. He’s sitting arms crossed, knee bouncing against his desk as he refuses to look at Osamu and Suna. Atsumu wonders what you had put in the bag for him.

He had thought long and hard about his gift, Atsumu wasn’t planning on getting you anything for Valentine’s day but the team insisted that it would be a good day to show their appreciation for their manager. When Atsumu asked Osamu what he had gotten for you, Osamu showed him the mug he bought that had a bunny on it. Apparently, the bunny changes color depending on the temperature of the drink. When Osamu asked what Atsumu had gotten, the male simply shrugged his shoulders but the butterfly pin in his pocket pokes at his skin.

The group chat with the team has signified that he’s the last one who hadn’t given his gift yet. He can’t seem to find the time to pull you aside and he can’t find the courage to waltz into your classroom looking for you.

Meet me after classes, near the garden shed.

You reread the text just to make sure that it was correct. A part of you thought maybe his text was a joke meant to leave you hanging outside in the cold but as you near, you can clearly see his tall figure. His back is to you, he’s kicking the snow on the ground, it’s freezing and you’re jogging slightly to reach him.

“Hey.”

He whips around at your voice. His nose is red, trying to hide himself in his scarf. His eyes fall to your hands, you still have the bag but you’re making sure that the side that has his name doesn’t show. His hands are dug into his pockets, he’s twirling the butterfly pin.

“Atsumu?” Your voice shakes him, your eyes wide and just waiting for him to say something, anything.

Snow begins to fall, you look up, your hand lifted to catch the snowflakes that melts immediately in your palm.

“I.” Atsumu can’t find his next words because as you look at him, his heart is pounding in his chest. His eyes are falling and he catches the faint red thread on your skirt; he was sure you had thrown the skirt out, he recalls you telling Osamu that you had ordered a new skirt, “I’m sorry.”

“Hm?” You lean in, “What?”

Atsumu’s clenching the butterfly pin. He’s remembering every moment he’s ever had with you, all the hair pulling, all the nasty words, all the dirty tricks, “I said I’m sorry.” His lips are chapped, cheeks turning red from the cold, or maybe from the way he feels his heartrate accelerating, “Okay?”

You’re confused, “Did something happen? Did you get into a fight with Osamu again?”

Osamu, Osamu, Osamu. Is that all the two of you will ever talk about? Is that the only topic of common ground that you had with him? Osamu this, Osamu that.

“No.” He presses his thumb on the hairpin, “Whatever.” He sighs, his hands are removed from his pockets, in his palm you stare at the pin, “Happy Valentine’s day loser.”

Your finger brushes against his skin and you stare with wonder at the butterfly pin you recall bawling to your parents for losing, “Where’d you find this?” You’re smiling, for the first time, you’re giving him a smile.

“It’s not really important where I found it.” It sat on his dresser for years, some days he forgot it was there, other days he stared at it when getting dressed.

You’re giggling with glee, you’re pushing the hairpin to pull back strands of your hair, it’s bright blue jewels contrast against the falling of snow. The pin rests above your ear, Atsumu stares in awe. A snowball smacks against his neck, it jolts Atsumu out of his trance and he’s alarmingly looking around.

“What are you doing?!” Osamu screams from a distance, Suna’s phone out had captured the accurate shot.

“Goddamit Samu!” Atsumu screams, the cold torturing his skin. Atsumu quickly forms a snowball, you scream when another snowball hits Atsumu’s side, it exploded and struck you as collateral.

Atsumu chucks the snowball at his brother, though he tried to run, Osamu was hit straight in the face. You let out a gasp in unison with Atsumu, Osamu is building another snowball and just as he’s about to throw, Atsumu grips you by the arms, putting you in front of him.

“Tsumu! No!” You screech.

His stomach jitters, you called him by his nickname. Osamu chucks the snowball and to protect your face, you turn in Atsumu’s hands, your fingers clinging to his jacket and you’re laughing. God, you’re laughing with him.

The snowball sends you forward, your cheek pressed against his chest, your laughter vibrates onto his skin. He’s burning, he’s hot, he’s sweating. He’s suddenly gulping, thirsty, aching to drink something. Another snowball is thrown, this time it hits him in the shoulder.

“Don’t use y/n as a shield, ya dickhead!” Osamu is approaching, this time he nears with a snowball in his hand.

You’re just realizing now that you’re exposed legs are freezing. You shiver into Atsumu briefly before pulling away from him. You escape from his grasp to skip over to Suna. You’re clinging to Suna’s arm, teeth chattering, and you watch through Suna’s phone as Osamu smacks the snowball into his brother’s face. Of course, this causes Atsumu to tackle Osamu; Suna stops the recording.

“I got like ten million videos of them rolling on the floor.”

Atsumu ruffles his hair, he’s looking in the mirror to make sure all the dirt and snow mixture is out. Osamu approaches next to him, running his hand under the water. They don’t meet gazes but as they stare into their own reflections, it was like they were looking right at each other.

“Don’t do it.” Osamu states. He’s pulled one of the paper towels, wiping his hands as he doesn’t break eye contact with his reflection, “Don’t go acting like you loved her this entire time. You treated her like shit and now suddenly you think you’re in love.”

Atsumu feels guilt build up in the pit of his stomach. Osamu leaves the bathroom, leaving Atsumu to grip onto the sink. The feeling of you pressed against his chest makes blue butterflies swirl in his abdomen. He shoves the feeling down, he tucks it into the back of his heart, he puts you on the back burner.

His cell rings, Suna’s text tells him that everyone has decided to head to the gym first. He takes the time to wipe his hands, throwing the paper towel into the trash, he spots a brown paper bag next to the door of the bathroom. His name is scribbled on the side in your handwriting.

Atsumu got cookies, a volleyball keychain with his name etched into it, and a card. He sits in the bathroom, card in between his fingers, streaks of tears down his cheek while he stuffs the cookies into his mouth.

Thank you for helping me that one day with my skirt. I was going to buy a new one but then cancelled the order since I’ll be graduating any way. I never did get to thank you so I’m doing it now.

The card continues with a different colored pen.

I love the butterfly hairpin, thank you for finding it. I hope that we can become friends.

Atsumu heavily breathes, you were so nice, for someone like him, you were incredibly nice. You were so nice his heart was clenching and somewhere in the world, blue butterflies are flapping their wings.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu scenarios #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #hq scenarios #hq atsumu

[darthspideys]

by your side

 -- din djarin x jedi! reader 

-- the reader I use in this is the same as the one in my din series antithesis (it’s the pinned post on my blog if you want to read it) but you don’t have to read it to understand this one 

-- SPOILERS FOR THIS WEEKS EPISODE, like tons of spoilers, the whole thing is a spoiler 

-- summary: you help Din complete his mission to get the coordinates to find the child, but when he comes back you can tell something is wrong 

When everyone else has given up their very good reasons for not being able to get past the scanner, Din looks at you. You don’t say anything at first, because you think he’s just looking at you until he can think of another option, but when he keeps looking you realize he thinks that you are a viable option. For starters, you don’t want to do it, because seeing stormtroopers of any kind fills you with a sudden urge to bash their heads in which would not be helpful in scenario and secondly, you are definitely not making it past the scanner. Suddenly, as the staring from Din continues, everyone else starts to look at you too. “I can’t do it either,” You make eye contact with every person in the group as you say it, “I killed the emperor, I am definitely in the system.” 

All eyes turn away from you at the same time except for Mayfield who narrows his eyes and takes a posture you are not happy with. “I thought Luke Skywalker killed the emperor.” 

Short answer: he did. Long answer: “I was there,” You cross your arms over your chest, “I helped.” He looks like he doesn’t believe you and suddenly it’s not just the stormtroopers head you're getting the urge to bash in. He opens his mouth to say something else, but you pull your lightsaber and ignite it suddenly, holding it in your hand absentmindedly just to remind him who he’s talking to. 

Din puts his hand out in front of you, the armor brushing against your chest. “Okay,” He says, looking pointedly at you in the way that he does the child when it eats something it shouldn’t. “I’ll go.”

Now everyone’s looking at him, including you. Mayfield speaks up again, “I’m a smooth talker but I don’t think they’ll let in a Mandalorian in full armor-” 

“-good thing I won’t be wearing it then.” 

And so the plan emerges: Mayfield and Din go and hijack the transport with help from Cara and you, then get into the refinery and get the coordinates you need. Easier said than done, as always but the little team that Din has managed to put together since you left Tython is actually impressive in it’s own way. You’re used to working in groups, but this is something completely different more like a mashing together of a lot of different people than a melded unit. Of course you know that this is the best you're gonna get to a team to take down Gideon and get the baby back, which is what you're going to need if you even want to stand a chance. 

Taking the transport is easy, and surprisingly nothing even comes close to blowing up. Din changes into the stormtrooper armor as Mayfield babbles on about something from the back of the vehicle. Din comes out from around the corner, decked in that protective stormtrooper armor and you can tell how uncomfortable he is just by watching. The way he walks shows that he’s used to the heaviness of beskar, and probably the security that comes from wearing it. He’s exposed, even if his face isn’t. 

He looks at you for a long time when he hands you the bag that contains his armor. You take it into your arms, think for a little too long about how heavy it is, and then reach over to squeeze his hand. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you, and you want to know what he’s thinking but all you can feel is that determination to get the child back. That’s all you’ve been able to feel from him since Gideon took the child, that determination to get it back, not any grief, not any fear just the determination masking all of it, and that worries you. “We’re going to finish this,” You tell him, “You’re gonna get the coordinates and then we’re going to make Gideon eat fucking concrete.” 

He laughs, “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, I mean like slam his face into a wall or something,” You try to stop yourself from smiling, “I am trying to be supportive here, this is a very serious situation and I am being supportive.” 

“I don’t think that you're physically capable of being serious in any situation.” 

You roll your eyes, “I fought in a war, Mando.” You use the nickname you used to call him to make your point. “I am capable of a lot of things you’re not keenly aware of.” 

“Are you lovebirds done yet?” Mayfield says, “We’re still on the clock here.” 

You flip him off without even looking in his direction. He laughs from behind you, and Din shakes his head before walking off to join the other man. You stand by Cara’s side as they take off in the transport, and then head off to join Fennec at the next position. You both walk through the brush in silence, until suddenly a feeling jolts through your body. You freeze, and almost keep walking but then suddenly it hits you: Din. 

Something is wrong. You look out over the edge of the small cliff you’re standing next to, and see something small zoom off in the direction of the transport, and then something else of similar size at the same speed. You don’t wait before you start running, Cara calls your name but suddenly you are just rushing to get to the transport as fast as you can. You’re trying to get down the cliff without falling on a large rock when you hear the first explosion. It stops you in your tracks, and almost makes you fall down a very steep incline. You stand there for a moment consumed with the feeling of independent doom that’s been guiding your decision making thus far. A couple of seconds pass and another explosion sounds out and shakes the ground beneath your feet. You start off again. 

Finally you can see the transport to your left off the side of the cliff, and you can see what it’s fighting against. There are two hovercrafts full of pirates trying to get onto the top of the transport, trying to get to the substance inside to blow it up most likely. You can make out a small figure on the top of the transport, and you know it’s Din. Somehow you have to get down there, or both of them and the mission might be a goner. 

You take a couple of steps back, and repeat a mantra in your head: rock, tree, transport. Rock, tree, transport, and if you mess up on any of those then you’ll be dead which is something you're trying your best not to think about as you run and jump off the edge of the cliff. You make it onto the rock, and then use the force to guide you to the top of the transport. 

As soon as you land a pirate takes a swing at your head. You duck, fast as lightning, and then stand up and kick him off the side of the transport and onto the ground below. For some reason that only makes the rest of the pirates angerier, one charges at you and you duck again, rolling right under him. This inadvertently causes that one to pick Din as his new target, a fact which you realize a little too late. 

“I got it!” Din yells over the sound of the vehicle and the pirates growling. 

You turn your attention to the pirate in front of you, readying his spear to attack. Your hand reaches down for your lightsaber but you decide against it, suddenly remembering that you’re dangerously close to an empire base and fighting with a lightsaber could very easily tip them off. You’re going to have to rely on hand to hand combat, which you haven’t had to in many years, but there’s no other option. You suck underneath the spear, trying to get in hits while not getting skewered. Eventually you have the position to rip the spear from his hands and throw him off the back of the transport. That also clears another pirate out of the way and for a moment you think that the danger has been averted. 

That doesn’t last long. 

More pirates jump onto the transport, overwhelming you and Din for the time and suddenly a few of them make it to the compartment where the substance is being held. You and Din both see it, and he screams something at Mayfield that you can’t quite make out. You try and get the pirate off of your ass as soon as you can. Then you hear the sound of a thermal detonator being attached to one of the canisters. You and Din look at eachother with a renewed sense of urgency, and you throw the pirate off the side and run over to the canister. 

You stare at the detonators, unsure of what to do. 

“What are you doing?” Din yells. 

“What the fuck do I do?” 

“Just pull it off and throw it as far away as you can!” He shouts.

You use the force to pull the detonators off the canisters and throw them off towards the rest of the pirates a few feet back from the transport. It blows them out of the air, and you turn around to see Din still struggling to get rid of the last one. You throw the pirate right into the cliffside and fall onto the top of the transport. 

Din walks over and brushes himself off before holding out his hand to help you up. “How did you know?” He asks. 

“Just had a feeling,” You blow a piece of your hair out of your face. “I love you, okay? You can do this.” 

He squeezes your hand quickly, “I love you too.” 

You wait until you see an opening and hop off the transport and into the tree line. You head back to the meeting place with Fennec and Cara, finally free of the feeling that something was going to go horribly wrong. The rest of the mission goes in a blur, Fennec, Cara and you manage to keep enough imperials away for Boba to pick up Din and Mayfield off the roof. When all is said and done, Mayfield is released into the wild, and you're off to gather up your plan to get the child back from Gideon, you get a feeling again. 

This one isn’t one of impending doom, it’s of conflict, you can feel the turmoil and you can feel that something terrible has happened. The feeling is coming right from Din, but he seems to be avoiding you. When you settle down on Nevarro, and the various members of your team are out completing tasks for the eventual mission to get onto Gideons cruiser, you finally corner him. 

“You seem upset,” You tell him, “What happened?” He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even look at you, just keeps his eyes on the floor. You put your hands on the sides of his helmet, not to take it off, because you know not to do that unless he does, but to try and let him know that you're here no matter what. 

“The coordinates required a facial scan, and I had to do it,” He says, and though you're surprised you don’t flinch. He pauses, “And then this commander insisted that me and Mayfield get a drink with him. I don’t even know how many people saw my face.” 

“Love,” You say, so many questions burning in your mind. 

He pulls away from you and shakes his head, looking down at the floor again. “I shouldn’t have even put this back on, I don’t deserve to wear this helmet to wear any of this armor.” 

“You did it for the kid, Din. That kid is your family, and you have to do everything that you can for your family. It doesn't make you less of a Mandalorian, it makes you a human being, we all have to do things we’re not proud of. We do them, and then we try to move on and do better.” 

He sighs, and starts back towards you. “I feel like a fraud.” 

“Love,” You say again, “You are so strong, caring and smart and everything. You are not a fraud, and you’re not a traitor. You are a person, a human being who's allowed to make mistakes, and who will do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves.” You lean your head against his, “And you are everything to me.”

“I love you,” He half whispers. 

“I love you too.”

#I wrote this in like an hour #idk where it came from and why its so long but here?? #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin imagine #din djarin one shot #gabby writes

[ptergwen]

the last time

warnings: angst and swearing

summary: here

-

“in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love.”

it feels like your stomach just dropped all the way down the cliff you’re standing on. peter grips your arm, pulling you away from the cloaked man. you know what you have to do.

your dad sent you and peter to vormir to get the soul stone. they’d both been to space once before this, and it didn’t end well. they were lucky to survive. most of the universe didn’t. now you have the chance to fight for the same thing they did. the other avengers needed all the help they could get to pull this off, so here you are.

you’ll hopefully be able to bring everyone back. you just didn’t realize you’d have to die for them to live.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, y/n. don’t listen to him.” peter rubs up and down your arm to calm you down, squinting his eyes at the man. you give him a halfhearted smile. all the words are stuck in your throat. you know he’s right, that one of you has to go. you’re not going to let it be peter.

you turn to face him with the same sad look. he shakes his head a bunch of times before you can say anything. “it’s true, peter. you know how nebula said gamora was here and never came back? he must have had to sacrifice her.” “no. no way. she... she could’ve gone somewhere else after-“

you cup both of peter’s cheeks, willing him to look at you. he puts his hands on top of yours and meets your eyes. nodding, you smooth your thumb across his skin gently.

“peter...” your voice breaks. you wanted to be strong for him, but it’s all hitting you at once. this is the last time you’ll see him. this is the last time you’ll see anyone.

“there’s gotta be another way, right? we’ll figure it out. you’re so smart. i know you can think of something.” he’s in denial. “no, peter. i can’t. i’m not my dad.” you let out a teary laugh, sniffling a bit. peter pulls you into his chest and holds you tightly against him. your arms hug his middle after a few seconds.

this is it. your final goodbye. you’ve been with peter for years, seen each other at your worst moments. nothing compares to what you’re going through right now. it’s never been so hard to let him go.

he presses his lips to your hair, which only makes you cry more. you’re finally able to pull away from his chest and crash your lips into his one last time. hands grasping at your waist, he kisses you back with tears running down his own cheeks. it’s messy and salty and heartbreaking, but it’s you guys. you wipe at the tear stains on peter’s suit and give him one more peck on his cheek.

“i love you the most, y/n. you know that, right? i’m so fucking in love with you,” peter chokes out, pressing his forehead against yours. you take a shaky breath and put your hands on his cheeks again. “i know, pete. i love you so much. so, so much.” you stay like that until both of you silently agree it’s time.

“now that you’ve said your goodbyes,” the red skull chimes in, “which one of you is it going to be?”

“me,” you and peter both say at the same time. huh? he looks at you with wide eyes. you’re just as confused as he is for once. “y/n, what? i thought we both decided it was gonna be me.” “no, that’s what i thought. you’re not doing this.”

the red skull sighs impatiently from behind you.

“please, y/n. i made a promise to your dad that i’d keep you safe out here. i can’t break that.” “i promised myself i wouldn’t let you die.” you give him a stern look. “maybe this is me dealing with some self-sacrificial stark shit right now, but i can’t break that either.”

ignoring everything you just said, peter moves to put his mask back on. you take it out of his hand. “uh, what the hell?” “peter, you‘re gonna do amazing things. you already do now. i can’t imagine what you’ll accomplish in ten years, or even one. you‘re not going yet.” he squeezes his eyes shut. “stop that. you will, too. just give me my mask back, y/n.”

you throw your hands up in disbelief, still holding it. “being rich isn’t amazing, peter! you have more going for you than i do. admit it.” he can’t help but frown at what you’re saying. this shouldn’t be your last memory together.

“baby, what are you talking about? you got to join the team, you make awesome high-tech stuff, you’re a genius. come on.” “here’s your mask.” you shove it into his hand, letting your touch linger for a moment. “i really do love you more than anything.” you suddenly make a run for the edge of the cliff before peter anticipates it.

he moves fast and shoots a web to pull you back, rushing over to you. “oh my god, y/n! what are you thinking?” “i’m thinking you need to get the stone. don’t worry about me.” you get yourself back up, only for peter to push you down again. so, he wants to fight you for this.

you knee his stomach from the ground so he falls over, taking the opportunity to jump for real. peter manages to lean over and shoot a taser web at you before you go too far. that one stings. you yelp and hold your arm where he got you, but you’re not giving up that easy.

“sorry, babe. didn’t mean to hurt you,” peter calls out, getting back on his feet. you walk the short distance over to him. “i’m doing this because i love you, okay? that’s all.” he whispers to you. with a fake smile, you take his hand. peter thinks that means you’re done. then, you use it to flip him onto his back. he groans in pain, not trying to get up this time.

now that he’s out for good, it’s really happening. you’re at peace with what you have to do. you take one final look at peter and start running. you run until you get to the edge of the cliff. peter must’ve realized what’s going on because you hear him calling your name. you forgot how much endurance he has in him.

“y/n, y/n stop!” he yells, already behind you. you stay put. “it shouldn’t be you! listen to me, it’s not too late to change your mind.” you don’t bother turning around to see him. you’ll give in if you do. “remember what i said, pete. all of it.”

with that, your heart beating hard in your ears, you throw yourself off the edge of the cliff. peter uses everything in him to web you to the side, but he can only get one out, so you grab onto a rock. not because you changed your mind. because you owe him a real final goodbye.

“wh- how am i out? i’ll come get you, just- fuck.” peter leans over the edge, looking down at you with watery eyes. you hold up his extra web cartridge and smile sadly. you took it when you were hugging earlier since you had a feeling he’d try to stop you.

“it’s okay, peter. you’ll be okay.” “y/n-“ you let go of the rock and fall fast, hitting the ground while peter cries out. “no!” he grips at the crumbling ground where you first jumped. your lifeless body is staring up at him. he could’ve stopped this. he drops to his knees as a loud sob racks through him, still looking down at you.

“no,” his voice is quiet, small, out of energy and broken. there’s no one here to dry his tears anymore.

-

peter isn’t sure how it happened, but he wakes up underwater. he pulls his head up with a cough. his eyes still feel puffy, so he couldn’t have been out too long. there’s something glowing in his hand. slowly, he opens his shaking hand and immediately recognizes what it is. the soul stone. red skull was right. peter lost who he loves all for a stupid fucking stone.

-

the whole team arrives back at the avengers facility at the same time, like bruce said they would. everyone seems so happy. thor got mjölnir back, scott is buzzing over steve, tony is laughing at one of nat’s jokes. tony. how is peter supposed to tell him what happened? his kid died, and it’s peter’s fault. he bursts into tears again at the thought of it. he’s surprised he even has more left in him.

tony is the first to notice. “parker, what’s wrong? why isn’t y/n with you?” the rest of the team rushes over to him. peter chokes out a sob, everything replaying in his head.

“she- she.” he can hardly breathe let alone speak. tony puts a hand on his shoulder. “kid, you’re scaring me. i can’t fix it unless you tell me what‘s up.” he waves for everyone else to back up so peter has space. bruce and nat share a look. “she’s gone, mr. stark! she’s not here. i re- i really messed up.”

peter throws the stone that he’s been holding at the floor. silently, rocket picks it up.

somehow understanding what he means, tony pulls peter in for a hug. he hurts like hell too, but this kid needs him right now. peter has always had a habit of blaming himself for things he can’t control. tony is pretty sure this is one of those things. he hugs him back as tight as he can.

“i’m so sorry, mr. stark. i’m so sorry.”

-

five years later and peter is numb. another stark left him, and he sort of gave up in life. at 21 years old. without a mentor, he got lost in the superhero world. spider-man went from being an avenger to party entertainment for kids. it’s an easy way to make money. the people loved him before, they’ll love him again. all he does now is book birthday parties and drink the nights away.

the only emotion peter still feels is anger. he hates the world and he hates what he’s done, or hasn’t done. every time he puts on that mask, it reminds him of the night you died. he has to fight the urge to rip it to shreds. if he didn’t need to pay the bills, he would’ve at this point. most of all, he resents himself for letting you down.

you sacrificed yourself for peter to lead a full life, and look what he’s done with it. he’s a drunk loser. that’s not what you wanted for him.

one day, it all changes.

there’s a knock at peter’s door. he grumbles something about paying his rent, expecting it to be his landlord. he opens it to find you instead. thinking he’s had too much to drink, he shuts the door in your face. you‘re a little bit shocked, but you knock again.

“um, peter? that’s you in there, right? pretty sure you’re the only peter parker in queens.” you call from the hallway. “whoever’s trying to fuck with me, just get out of here. i’m not in the mood today.” he flops back down on his couch, taking a sip of his nearly finished beer. you’re already fed up, so you open the door yourself.

“i said-“ he shuts up when you sit down next to him. “are you real? you can’t be... you died years ago.” “peter.” you take his hands. he’s confused, but lets you. it’s weird seeing him, both of you being adults now. you’ll have to get used to it.

“when you brought everyone back, it worked for me too.” he stares at you with his mouth hanging open for a minute. “that’s not possible. we did that a few days after you... you know.” “i know it sounds insane, but i came back on vormir. i had to find a way back to earth, which took a really long time. i’ve been looking for you since then. there’s no perfect way for me to explain all of this, but i promise it’s really me.”

you being here, it’s like peter was in a five year trance and he snapped out of it.

he throws his arms around you, you laughing and threading your fingers through his matted curls. he’s convinced you’ll disappear again if he lets you go, so he holds you even tighter.

“y/n, baby. oh my god. i missed you so much. i’m sorry it’s such a mess here.” you wind your arms around his neck. “you haven’t changed a bit, pete.” “i brought you back, you brought me back.”

#peter parker #peter parker angst #peter parker x avenger!reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland angst #marvel #mcu #spiderman #tony stark #tom #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker fluff #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n

[ffangirlingsince2001]

The Princess and the Witcher: Extinquished

*not my gif*

Geralt x Reader

Geralt of Rivia is not a babysitter, he is not a bodyguard, and he has no interest in transporting princesses across the continent. Until gold is offered and for the next 90 days he’s saddled with a chirpy, bubbly, princess, who is betrothed to the prince of Narok and has a desire to see everything before she’s trapped behind another set of walls.

A/N: A little early post to ease off the cliff hanger from the last post, but I am also sorry to say, this is the end, so please enjoy (as much as you can)

Warnings: ANGST

“You’re here to kill me.”

Geralt didn’t think he had heard her at first.

What his ears were convinced they had heard was so absurd he wanted to howl with laughter until no sound came out and he was just shaking. This was all some silly joke, she was trying to get back at him for something, no doubt.

It was a trick, to calm him down after she dropped the news about the prince, or the lack thereof. She was afraid and it was the first lie her childish mind had come up with, something so absurd it was only told in stories about Witcher’s that were meant to frighten children. Now, she was just trying to spare herself his wrath, and honestly, he was prepared to forgive her for everything. There was no prince and she was all his, they even had a home to grow in.

He knew he would live much longer than her, but every moment would be worth it. He would bask in every moment that he could love her. He would enjoy every smile, every soft touch, every worried look she would cast him when he came home from a particularly detrimental kill. She would be his wife, of course. They couldn’t have children, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying. Oh, he was already toying with all the ways they could try to have children. In the loft, in the fields to the west, on the beach to the east, and here in this little house that they would make a home.

All he had to do was forgive her, and hold her, and assure her he was mad no longer, and then they could begin their life together. But, when he moved forward to hug her, she took a solemn step back, tears still running down her face.

“Y/N, I’m not mad, there is no need to lie,” he whispered but all she did was drop to the table and bury her face in her hands, sobbing without restrain. He wasn’t sure what to do. She was lying… and yet. No, she had to be lying. There was no way she could be telling the truth, not when this proclamation was so horrible his hands shook at the thought of it. “Y/N…”

“Please, sit down,” she cried, still hiccupping with tears. He did as she said without a word, dropping his sword for good measure. She eyed it and then turned the teary irises back to him. “I’m not lying. I wish I was, but I am not.”

“Then I have misunderstood you.”

“You have not.”

“Then you must have hit your head as you fled.”

“Geralt, you have to kill me,” she snapped, slamming her clenched fists against the table. He was silent as he stared at her hands, they were so small and undamaged.

“What makes you say such terrible things, Princess?”

“Because they’re true. That’s why we’re here. That’s why you were chosen.”

“Chosen for what?” he yelled, irritation growing as he grew more frantic. He just wanted her to admit it was all a sick joke.

“Do you remember the first night we laid together, in the inn?” she asked, and he nodded. “I told you, you were chosen because you would do whatever it takes, this is what it takes. You were chosen because my father, his advisors, and I all knew that you would do it, when the final hour is upon us you will draw up your sword and end my life.” Geralt stood from the table, shoving it into her stomach as he did so.

“If you are to die, why the trip, why not kill you in your home?”

“Because I wanted to see the world before mine came to an end. It was never to end up like this, you were never supposed to know, not until the very end. And I never meant to become so close, it was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be easy,” she cried, reaching for him.

“You’re lying. You’re fucking lying, you don’t want to be married so badly that you want me to believe I am supposed to kill you, to end your life before someone can control you. Well, you’ve made one error, I do not kill people, I kill monsters.”

“All the better,” she replied, voice dangerously steady as she straightened herself in the stiff, wooden chair. There were still tears in her eyes, but she meant business. “Please sit down, so I can explain.” He considered leaving, shearing off a piece of her hair and marching back to her father to demand the gold he had promised him, but instead he sat as instructed. She tried to take his hands, but he pulled away. Hurt etched itself across her face but he did not search for restitution.

“It happened before I was born, I didn’t even know it had occurred until a few years ago, and even then, I found out on accident. I assume they wouldn’t have told me until today if they could have avoided it, they would want to spare my sensibilities.”

“Tell you about what?” he snapped, jerking her out of her ramblings.

“The curse.” There was a beat of silence as she waited for him to respond but when he remained quiet, she continued. “Like I said it was a few years before I was born, my father was trying to find a queen to rule along side him. He was looking for someone with royal blood, but even commoners were invited to the parties he was throwing, in hopes of creating something so extravagant that it would attract a woman just as lively as the parties.

“Among the guests was this woman. My father says she looked like an angel that had dropped from heaven like gold from a sunset. He was captivated and mesmerized, so taken aback he was nervous to approach her. He thought about it the entire first night, never quite prepared to introduce himself to the woman he was sure he would marry.

“Because he failed the first night, he hosted another party the following week, and then the one after that, trying to produce something that would be as magnificent as her. On the third week he finally succeeded in approaching her. He introduced himself, and as he nervously stumbled over his name, she must have grown enchanted, because the parties ceased, and she was brought to the palace to be prepared for the wedding.

“Much to the disgrace of the royal family, she was a commoner, nothing more than a milkmaid, but my father was enamored, unwilling to part with her even when his father threatened to send the couple far, far away. The wedding drew nearer, and they were both so happy, so in love.

“And then war broke out. Our borders were shredded to nothing more than desolation, fires ripping across our crops until our farmlands were black scars against the rich earth. The wedding was postponed and for her safety, the lovely bride was sent away to hide. She waited years, and suddenly the war abruptly ended, and she returned to the palace, prepared to wed my father. Yet, when she entered the throne room, she found another sitting on her throne. My mother, the princess of the warring country, had stolen away her place by my father’s side. A marriage of treaty was formed while she was away, and she was left heartbroken and alone, an outcast in the palace that had once welcomed her as their future queen.

“I don’t know if she was a witch or a mage, or maybe she hired someone to do it for her, but the curse was cast on me. A curse that now hangs on the cusp of erupting into violence and bloodshed, a curse that you must end before it begins.”

“What is the curse?”

“A transformation.”

“Of what kind?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then how do you know it is worth your life? How do you know your death is undisputable?”

“Because I know it’s bad. I can feel it in my bones. I could feel it when I killed the monster. I can feel it every time I look in the mirror and my eyes seem a little more animalistic. I just know, call it intuition, call it paranoia, I know that I am destined to be a monster.”

Geralt roared in frustration, slamming the blade of his sword into the door, lodging it in the soft wood. “You can’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I cannot kill you, especially not on the gut feeling of a princess who has not left the palace before three months ago.”

“We’ll know tomorrow, and you will have to be prepared. If you are right and it is nothing more than ugliness you can leave with your sword clean, but if it is what I know it to be, you must kill me. You cannot allow another monster to exist in this world.”

“There must be a way to break the curse, there is always a way,” he growled, head resting against the split his sword had created. He could hear her standing, inching her way towards him.

“You don’t think we have tried? You don’t think my father spent eighteen years trying to find a way to free me of his mistakes? We have tried, I’ve taken every motion, endured every experiment. It still lingers just beneath my skin like thick, black smoke, ready to turn me into a nightmare.”

“I can’t kill you,” he whispered and she took his face in her hands.

“You must, for the world and for me. I would rather die than ever have to kill another living creature.”

“You are so selfish it hurts.”

“I know, but I need you to do what it takes, and I need to remember what you promised me.”

“What have I promised you?”

“That you will not linger on those you kill. You must forget me, move on and continue to do good in this world.”

“Y/N, I love you, you cannot dare to ask me to kill you, let alone forget you.” She seemed taken aback by his confession, but as she pressed her lips to his he could feel the return of her feelings.

“You must, for the world and for me.”

 *******************************************************************************************

Gold is not gold.

Some is tainted with blood and loss.

And Geralt had no interest in coins that would cause him agony to spend. He was not even sure if he had wanted the gold if he would be able to enter the throne room without severing the kings head.

They had spent the night before her birthday making love. They had whispered confessions into one another’s ears long into the evening and into the night, basking in the secrecy of their affair. When she laid beneath him, he was unable to imagine her dead. She was so full of life, even with the sadness that settled itself in her eyes.

They imagined a future together, both silently and aloud. He could imagine her old and still kicking, like age couldn’t hold her back and she spoke of a twin on each hip, a boy and a girl that would talk just as much as she had when they first met. Beneath the candlelight and the peppering of kisses it was almost easy to forget it was all fake.

Then, the night had begun to draw to a close and she had lead him to the shackles attached to the wall, the hooks he had once mistaken as a tether for horses. He had begged her not to make him to do this, all while he assured her she would be okay.

The chains were tight and as the sun rose over the mountains, she was proven correct. In between screams of agony as her body transformed into a creature of no natural creation, she promised she loved him, that she would be with him, that even as his blade ended her life she would know him for nothing but sincerity and kindness.

And then he killed her, staring back into the eyes that did not change with the transformation. They seemed grateful, relieved that he went through with it, she clearly had doubts that he would be able to do whatever it took.

He buried her, it was the only life he had ever taken that he had buried, but he felt unable to leave without hiding her beneath the earth.

And then he left, in the opposite direction he had come, knowing that he would only be able to keep half of his promise.

He could kill her, but never in his lifetime would he forget her.

                                                        The End

@mallorydoesstuff @facelessfiction @aphadriel-fanfic @raspberrydreamclouds @thegreattodd @saint-hardy @ravenclawsstolemybunies @queenofmankind @britty443 @lonewolf471 @utterlyhopeful-fics @persephonehemingway @fuck-me-gently-with-a-slurpee @josis-teacup @gabbysblogthingy @sadttitude​ 

#the witcher #the witcher angst #the witcher x reader #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #the witcher imagine #the witcher fluff #the witcher smut #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia fluff

[samsoleil]

you can now read the homeschooled au on ao3! or you can keep reading here. in this installment, the boys go to a mall for the first time and have an Experience™

(cw for sensory overload, if that's something that doesn't quite butter your bread roll)

One day, Sam realised that their dad was just a person.

He can’t remember the conversation, if it could be called that, in its entirety. But what he does remember with a surreal vividness is seeing Dad’s face, cold and hard with rage and frustration, and thinking, I don’t understand. Real life doesn’t have those scenes where the camera cuts to the perfect moment to explain the characters’ motivations. Dad had a whole life before Sam and lives most of his existence separate from Sam, with his own ideas and interpretations and some sort of equation that added one dead wife and two kids and came up with the mess that’s been Sam’s life so far. This experience of the world, a mark of being human.

And that thought was like a spotlight had been shone on Sam’s little corner of the world, this glaring thing, an unavoidable truth. It isn’t always there but, when it is, it’s inescapable. If Sam’s honest, it’s fuelled the fire in more than one of his arguments with their dad. Sam wonders if this is how Eve felt after biting into the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, cursed with a realisation that can’t ever be unlearned.

But Dean’s different. Dean’s life isn’t this impossible, untouchable thing like Dad’s is; it’s Sam’s life, too, this thing they share, and Dean lives life more than anyone else Sam's met. Admittedly, Sam can name the amount of people he's actually met, beyond the handful of cashiers he's made uncomfortable eye contact with, on one hand. But he can't imagine that anyone who's ever spoken to Dean has left the conversation thinking, Well, he doesn't experience life as much as I do.

That’s not the point. The point is, Sam’s become accustomed to the concept that people in the real world have thoughts and feelings and lives that Sam will never know. But he and Dean had wanted to try going to a mall for lunch, instead of their usual cafés, and Sam had no idea that you could find this many people in a single place.

"Wow," he says, standing with Dean in the doorway.

There really are just so many of them. Parents with their kids, old couples, gaggles of teenagers laughing and shouting. Sam sees a group of girls around Dean's age in bright colours, hair falling in a sheet around their shoulders. He sees two young parents with their baby, jostling them up and down as they wail, drawing dirty looks from a couple of older women chatting over coffee. Everything is fluorescent bulbs and colour and sound. It's wonderful. It's horrible. There are so many of them and Sam has no idea who any of them are. It’s the Tree of Knowledge again, if biting into fruit was comparable to plummeting off a cliff, and he doesn't think he’d be able to handle feeling like this all the time. It's almost too much, to think that everyone here is just as alive as Sam and Dean.

Sam reaches out slightly to tangle his fingers between Dean's. Dean's hand relaxes easily, less soft and larger than Sam's, and grips him reassuringly after Sam's fingers are threaded with his. He feels better, after that. He watches the small family as the baby suddenly stops crying, their mother pressing a pacifier into their mouth and receiving a gummy smile. Genetically, a person's DNA is half their mother and half their father. Sam has a matching theory about himself as a whole. Half of Sam is characters from books, TV shows, movies, and half of Sam is Dean.

He follows after Dean as they move out of the doorway, away from Sam's sudden movie moment, and they melt into the crowd. It's even worse once they get in there, and Sam keeps overhearing snippets of conversation, fragments of this bustling chaos of lives.

"-working Friday, and I don't know if-"

There's a girl with an ear full of piercings, silver and solid, wearing all black with ripped jeans and a leather jacket-

"-assignment? I haven't-"

-and the sun streaming in through one of the windows flashes off the glass of one of the stores, momentarily turning Sam's vision white, and it's enough to make his eyes sting-

"-Sarah, Katy, wai-"

-while the air is filled with the scent of a hundred different foods, sweet as spun sugar one second and then the smoky thickness of meat, and Sam's head turns to follow the smell of flowers carried by the curls of a dark-skinned man in jeans-

"-long black, two sugars. Do you ha-"

-who greets an older woman with greying hair, and Sam turns back to face the direction they're heading and sees a crowd of people too thick to move through.

"-believe, I mean, it was so-"

He squeezes Dean's hand. Dean squeezes back. Sam squeezes again, and they have a back and forth for a minute or so as they wait for a space to open up in the crowd ahead of them. Sam knows what the person at the counter is ordering and what the people at the table behind them did for their weekend and what Donnie did to Amy, did you hear?

I heard, Sam thinks viciously, Everyone in a ten mile radius heard, can you shut up?

And then he feels bad, because it's not their fault it's so loud in here. He can barely hear himself think. He can't even hear himself breathe, can just feel his lungs inhaling and exhaling in his chest. The functional unit of the lungs are small sacs called alveoli that have walls one cell thin, and the culmination of Sam's can usually run a five minute mile but today, now, they're barely keeping him standing.

"-diagnosis, it all happened so fast-"

It's been a minute since he last squeezed Dean's hand, so he squeezes again. And Dean squeezes back, hard, and that seems to help the frantic energy building in Sam's body, so when Dean starts to relax his hand Sam squeezes again and he doesn't let go.

"-don't know what I'd do-"

And Dean looks back, and something must show in Sam's face, because then they're moving, the crowd be damned. Someone brushes against Sam and he feels every part of it, too aware of the fabric of their shirt brushing against Sam's flannel. Someone else steps on the side of his shoe and he wants to step on them back, wants them to finish the job, wants to break out of his body. Dean's squeezing Sam's hand hard enough that he feels the bones in his hand shift, but it's all he has, right now. The rest of him is too busy paying attention to everything else.

"-rotten leaf in my salad, I want-"

There's a group of children laughing and stumbling over their feet, their mothers following behind with gentle smiles and chattering conversation, and Sam feels this tug of want-

"-failed my midterms, so I just-"

-and there's someone in a bright, multicoloured jacket holding hands with a girl dressed in all denim, laughing as they reach up to gently grasp her chin and lean in-

"-loud in here, do you want-"

-so Sam looks away, and no matter where he looks there's another person, another family, another store, another thing bright and beautiful and he can't take it, okay, it's just too much-

"-I said, that's crazy, no way-"

-for him to handle right now, the everything of it all, the thought that, all this time, the entire world has existed just outside of their motel room and he's barely a part of it.

"-beautiful, Mary-"

Sam's heart jolts in his chest.

I can't do this, he thinks desperately, still moving with Dean, pulled along by him, his hand encompassed by Dean's. He tamps down the visceral urge to just lie down here, press himself into the tile and be consumed. He sidesteps a puddle of someone's chocolate thickshake, his stomach turning over. He can feel the slick of his sweat between Dean's large, warm hand and his own. Part of him wants to tug away to dry his palm on his jeans, but he feels like he might fall apart if he does.

Dean leads him into a store and the temperature change shocks him, sending shivers cascading down his spine, and Sam feels suddenly unwell, like when he has the flu. But it's quieter in here, the cacophony of the mall muted by the racks of clothing. The fluorescents take all the red away, leaving Dean wearing an ugly brown flannel, and that sick feeling grows stronger. Sam closes his eyes, letting Dean guide him. He flinches at the clatter as Dean pulls something off the rack, the hanger tapping plastic against metal railing, and lets himself be swept along, around a corner and into a changing room, Dean pulling the curtains closed.

Sam bypasses the bench to sit down on the floor, gaze fixed on where the curtain brushes against the faux wood linoleum. He can still hear the chatter in the store, muffled as if underwater.

Dean crouches down in front of him, breaking his line of sight, but Sam can't move. He can't stay still. He's going to fall apart. He's going to turn to stone. He wants to run, run, out through the mall and back home, he wants to crawl into Dean's chest and stay there forever and never go outside again. Fuck outside. Outside is overrated. Outside is filled with people who couldn't give less of a shit about Sam, going about their days while he falls apart in the middle of a food court. Outside is filled with people who aren't Sam and Dean, living TV lives while they spin out on some highway in Nowhere, America.

"Sammy?" Dean says, and it's so loud, what the hell, Dean.

Sam untangles himself from his little ball of limbs to silently shoosh him, and he watches as the tense line of Dean's shoulders relax infinitesimally from where they were hitched up around his ears, all worry. Dean bats his hands away gently, fine, fine, he'll be quiet.

What happened? asks the moue of Dean's mouth, the furrow between his brows.

Sam shrugs.

That's not an answer.

And Sam knows it's not, but how is he meant to explain it when even he doesn't know what happened? It was just everything, all at once, and it crept under Sam's skin and into his head and he couldn't escape it. He looks up at Dean, helpless, and Dean's hands come up to cradle his face and it's alright. It'll be okay. Sam tips his head into the warmth of Dean's skin, lets his eyes fall closed.

Someone laughs from in the store and Sam flinches, then feels Dean's hands move to cover his ears instead. Sam sighs and leans into Dean's chest. He expects to hate it, being touched, worries that he'll want to shed his skin in a heap at the feeling of it, but it's Dean. Sam presses his forehead into Dean's ribs firm enough to bruise, and Dean pulls him along as he reshuffles on the floor so that Sam is between his legs, wrapped in warmth, anchored to the world. He moves his hands away from Sam's ears and Sam, with a bitter-sick feeling of betrayal, clamps his own over them, pressing hard. But Dean puts his hands on Sam's back instead, rubbing soothingly, and that's better than anything else.

A few moments pass, quietly, just the two of them. Sam’s still stuck in his head, which is tuned into the world like a radio turned up too high, but he does his best to focus on the smooth movements of Dean’s hands up and down his back, fingers running over the knobs of his spine. They’re called spinous processes, and they lengthen throughout the cervical spine but are mostly the same size in the thoracic spine. Sam checked. Dean kicked up only a little bit of a fuss. And when Sam realises that he’s playing that memory in his head, eyelids heavy, he notices that he’s feeling a little better.

As if reading his mind, Dean moves his hands to rest on Sam’s arms, and Sam settles back. He takes his hands away from his ears, blinking hard. His chest feels a bit tight, but he’s okay. He conveys as much to Dean, who looks over him, expression doubtful. But when he sees Sam watching his face he plasters on a grin, rubbing Sam’s arms quickly through his shirt before he moves back, too.

Dean signs for Baby. They don’t have to stay.

Part of Sam wants to leave, but it feels like giving up. And he wants to try the mall, was excited until he became overwhelmed and, if he tries, he can make the adrenaline feel more like anticipation.

“I want to stay." He accompanies the words with their signs. “Can we get pizza?”

Dean kept bringing it up in the car, subtle as a truck, and Sam saw some slices of a vegetarian pizza through the glass of one of the counters. It’s an easy choice to make. Sam doesn’t really feel like pizza, but he knows that Dean will try to cheer him up the same way he cheers himself up. And it works, for the most part. Dean just hasn’t quite realised that the main reason why is because Sam likes seeing Dean happy.

And, fine. Sam knows Dean needs him to be happy, too, and maybe that plays a bigger part in it all than Sam would care to admit. He knows that if he asked to leave, they would be as good as gone. It's enough to make him feel lightheaded, sometimes, the things that Dean would do for him. And it's not even because he has to. He chose Sam, over their dad, over hunting, over the chance to be free from Sam's drama forever. So they'll stay, and they'll get pizza, and they'll buy jackets and underwear and Dean's paraphernalia, and then they'll be gone. Sam just needs to hold on for a few more hours.

Dean beams and Sam feels his cheeks flush in response. Dean's so, so proud of him. He circles Sam's heart through his shirt and Sam feels something bright and beautiful settle in him. It’s contagious.

"That's my boy," Dean says, ruffling Sam's hair.

Sam pushes him away gently, reaching up to fix his hair, and Dean rocks back, still wearing that easy smile. Sam has to look away, eyes settling on the amulet sitting on Dean's chest and shining dully in the crappy change room lighting. Sam doesn't know how he does it. Sam knows better than anyone that life isn't always sunshine and roses but, even with Sam losing his grip over and over, Dean's still here. Maybe it's selfish, but Sam can't help but be desperately grateful. He wouldn't trade where they are now for anything. They're alive now in a way they weren't before, and Dean seems to be genuinely enjoying it. Sam wants to love existing that much.

Dean stands and offers him his hand.

One day, maybe I will, Sam thinks, and he reaches out.

#spn #spn hssd au #spn fic #supernatural #stanfordsweaters #still tagging you in these! #spn sam #spn dean #kael.txt #YALL I AM STILL LOSING IT OVER THIS AU..... i will not recover i will not improve that is a promise #if anyone is reading this and wants to see something. please please let me know.

[broken-balance-baby]

forgotten idols and their intertwined destinies (chapter 3)

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26

PRIY PITA

The girl was small. As they pushed her body to her knees, Diego wrapped his hands in cloth and turned to the soldiers still in the area. They stood on a hill outdoors of an abandoned compound— one of Pagan’s underlings, if he recalled correctly. One of them had a slope down to the lake below, 

“ Ahora ve por esa cuerda y átala .” He ordered, and the soldiers grabbed the rope and locked her arms back. He realized her head lolled backwards, and as soon as one soldier drew near her face he had lurched back from a headbutt. 

She tried to fight, kicking and spitting at the soldiers around her, but as one brought out a baton Diego ceased the commotion. 

“ ¡ Detente!” he said. “Leave this to me.” 

The girl’s head hung loose in her seat when they left. He approached her, taking her by the chin and tilting her head up. 

“Who are you?” Diego asked. 

“That’s my question.” She hissed. In the light of the day, he noticed how her eyes were colored brightly. They shone almost like gold, but upon closer inspection it seemed to have become green. 

He tightened his hold on her head. 

“You will answer me. You will tell me who you are working with. You will tell me,” Diego said, running his hand down her hair before pulling it up, making her wince as he spoke. “What. I. Need.” 

“Or what?” she replied in a harsh whisper. The grip on her head tightened and she was met with a punch to the face. 

The laughter of another woman came from afar, soon closing into his ears. Diego ignored it. 

“She’s fun— I like her.” Dani remarked, hovering over her and making eye contact with Diego. His eyes darted between them while the girl was still recovering from the punch. 

“ Bhenchod. ” she muttered. Sisterfucker, if Diego was right. 

“I said tell me who you are!” Diego raised his voice. 

“ C á lmate , Diego, we’ll be here all day!” Dani’s voice echoed through the valley— almost so real that Diego swallowed, looking away. Those bloodshot eyes still followed anyway, but he heard  the woman  say something. He tilted her head backwards, and Dani left him.

“What did you say?”

The woman mumbled louder.

“Speak up.”

He heard the wheels of a car pull up. Out came King Ajay Ghale— Pagan’s successor, as he’d apparently learned the moment he stepped out of the helicopter. The man’s stepson proved to be not much of a conversationalist, but he seemed adamant in being involved in affairs regarding the reclamations. Unlike Pagan, as he recalled, he was more than just invested. 

“No—” she snarled, ready for another punch to the face. 

As Diego was about to swing, though, Ajay caught him by the wrist and pulled him away from her. 

“NO!” Ajay yelled.  

“QU É CARAJO ACES?!” Diego ripped his hand away from Ajay’s grasp. Ajay stepped closer to him. 

“You’re not going to hurt her.” He said, glancing back at the woman. Her cheek was bleeding, so he took out his handkerchief to wipe out the blood. Diego’s eyes widened, brows furrowing in befuddlement as he watched Ajay tip her chin up to check for bruises. The girl attempted to bite his fingers. 

“Who is this woman to you?” Diego asked. 

“She…” Ajay trailed off, sighing and rubbing his temples. “I promised someone I wouldn’t hurt her. You can take anybody , just not her.” 

Diego stepped closer to him. He tilted his head, confused. “We need to get our information from somewhere, and you are letting her go because of a promise? What the fuck am I here for?” 

The girl seemed to scowl at Ajay’s presence. “I’m not telling you anything—”

“ Silencio .” Diego scowled back, pressing his foot onto her chest. 

“Let’s just keep her prisoner—”

“Ajay.” Diego whipped his head back to the king. The king held his breath, watching anxiously as the force of his foot started to push her to the edge of the cliff.  “If she is that special to you..” He began, before pulling his leg back and kicking her off the cliff. 

‘We’ll see how special she really is.” 

“FUCK YOU!” she screamed. 

“NO!” Ajay yelped, stumbling to his knees as the woman dropped into the river. He looked back and stood up.

 “What the hell, Diego?! You were brought here to HELP!”

“I am helping! I am cleaning off the stains of your country, and now you do not want it?!”

“No, I—” Ajay held himself back, “I want it with everything else but her .”

“Whoever this is—”

“Her name is Bhadra.” Ajay glared back at him, forehead creasing in wrinkles. “You have to remember that.”

Dani came back, only this time with Isabel in tow, staring down at the water before she turned her head back to Diego. 

“... If she made it to the water, she’ll live.” Diego said. 

Isabel smiled at him. Diego blinked, and both the women disappeared. As they came back to their cars, Diego found a radio sitting in the trunk where they confiscated that girl’s things. 

“Sakshi— anybody there? Meet us in Moksha!” 

“Leave that first.” Ajay suddenly said, arms crossed. “Meet me back at the palace.” 

Diego huffed. “Fine.”

Bhadra.

She looked familiar. 

#wrt.txt #my fics #far cry 6 #far cry 4 #ajay ghale #bhadra #diego castillo #bhadiego #forgotten idols #crazy old tyrant au

[noonmutter]

Revelation pt. 2

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 17: Spellbinding/Disappointment

It took very little time before parts of his skin were burnt to an unnatural crisp. Terry knew a lot of injuries very well, burns among them; human flesh didn't do this when it was burnt. Not outside of an incinerator, anyway. He reflected that the Ember Ward might well qualify; the sheer intensity of the heat from the light might well just be that hot. But then he remembered that all he needed to do to counter the instant scorching was some clothes or one of those ridiculous parasols he'd seen, and that went out the window. Yep, just magic bullshit. He could sort out what it did, but he'd never be able to sort out why it worked.

He would have been content to hole up in one of the destroyed buildings, but they were, unsurprisingly, all claimed or constantly drawing in hopeful tenants. Terry was not up for that kind of fighting, not anymore. His body simply hurt too much, and he could feel himself moving slower and awkwardly to accommodate his wounds. He hadn't missed having a gun so badly in a very long time. None of these fancy morons had firearms, he would've been set for life. Or, well. Whatever this was. Unlife? Eternity? Whatever it was, it sucked. It sucked, and he was hungry.

And thirsty. He'd been offered tea by a particularly giggly venthyr with some insane hair and no shirt, but he wasn't about to trust that. He wouldn't have trusted that from a normal venthyr, he wasn't about to trust it from one that laughed that much. The guys with bags on their heads seemed safer, and following them had led him to insect hives that he'd been willing to risk. He couldn't identify them, they weren't tasty, and even a handful of them didn't amount to much, but Terry had very little left to lose. If he shat himself to death, he'd be very disappointed, but hey. At least he'd be done with this.

He hadn't been counting on hallucinating, though he probably should have. It was awfully mild, as bug-induced hallucinations went; just noises, a rising and falling ringing in the ear like he'd taken a blow to the head. Nothing visual, at least not that he'd been able to catch. It didn't interfere with his ability to move any more than he'd already been impaired, so he moved on, seeking more shelter. There was a temptation to either dig a hole and bury himself, or, more concerning and more powerful, to throw off the coat and just let the light take him. He ignored both of those with a quiet grumble of "Bugger tha'" and trudged on.

---

Terry found himself wondering for the thousandth time how long he'd been doing something, in this case, walking. It was maddeningly dull: Find a shady place. Rest a minute. Look for another shady place close by. Check clothes for holes. Go to new shady place. Repeat. Sometimes he'd have to fight someone or something off; sometimes he simply had to run to a new spot on the fly, earning a new scorch in the process. And all the while, he wondered where he was going. It was hard to remember what his original plan had been; was that the fault of the heat, or was that just part of the torment of the Ember Ward?  

The damn ringing noise had only gotten louder as time went on, which just seemed unfair. It was really the only solid proof Terry had that time HAD gone on, though, aside from touching his face to check for stubble. For the thousandth time, he reached up to do so, but this time, he spat a curse and tried to scoot back before he realized how stupid that was; he couldn't distance himself from his own arm by backing away from it. The newest burn had left a nasty, rip-like line of blackened, papery skin on his forearm, but this time, he spotted the angular golden lines and circles emerging from it.

He hadn't seen those in quite a while, as he thought back on it. For a brief moment, he felt comforted by it, but he chased that thought away with a hard shake of his head. Just because it was familiar didn't mean it was good. It was still someone else's mark on him, a visible sign of interference in his life, of subverting his will, and dammit, now the ringing was even LOUDER.

embrace it

Oh good. It was a voice now. Terry covered his ears with both hands, knowing perfectly well it wouldn't accomplish anything but needing to do something. Defiance was rapidly becoming his only salvation. He had only survived as long as he had by refusing to die, refusing to be beaten. Shouting "No" to the universe was the mental equivalent of punching himself in the thigh to dull the pain of a bullet in the shoulder.

Heat surged against his face, and he forced his eyes open, worried that he'd accidentally put himself out in the light again. Instead, the light had come to him, coalescing slowly into a humanoid head and torso, though it lacked a face beyond a pair of white eyes nigh-indistinguishable from its glowing golden frame. Terry froze; it didn't, raising a hand toward the sky and drawing energy into its palm.

With an irritated, incredulous "Shit," Terry bolted.

---

What had he done to this fucking thing to piss it off this much? Why wouldn't it give up? He'd already run so far, ducking under crags, diving behind walls, hiding under bridges, and even climbing a tree once. It had found him eventually every time (the tree was just idiotic desperation, really), announcing itself with a blast of light that rarely hit its mark, but was steadily burning away more and more precious cloth with each near miss. Terry was too slow for this, especially when every scrap mattered. If it weren't for the damned light he would have thrown the coat at the elemental and made a sprint for it ages ago. It felt like hours, it could've been minutes for all he knew.

His legs burned, his lungs burned, his whole body burned, literally in many places, but all he could do was run and hide. The stolen rapier had predictably snapped the first time he'd tried to use it and done nothing but earn him a direct blast to the chest for his troubles. Nobody he passed had any interest in lending him a hand. One of the little runty guys had yelled a request to keep his shoes when he died. In a better time and place, Terry might've shouted back an agreement, but he couldn't spare the energy.

let go

And that damned voice wouldn't shut up. Every time he narrowly avoided a beam, every time he caught a glimpse of his skin covered in glowing yellow circuitry, every time he had to flee, it chimed in. Almost literally, it was like a great bell by now, trying to rattle his brain and make everything even harder. Embrace it, let go, stay; it wanted him to burn, and he refused all the more. He'd rather have shat himself to death after eating demon bugs than choose oblivion willingly.

When a second elemental appeared, he realized he might not have to anyway. As ever, he clung to his defiance to find the energy to run, but he could feel himself running on fumes. He'd already been weak to begin with, and it had been a long, long chase. Even a madman spurred by sheer spite like him ran out eventually. Admitting it was the first step on the final decline, but he couldn't stop the thought from coming.

He was losing.

let it save you

He was tired. He was tired of running, tired of hurting, tired of fighting, tired of longing, tired of loneliness, tired of hunger, tired of nightmares, tired of fear, tired of suspicion, tired of dying... He was just so tired. He was tired of thinking, and thinking ahead, and overthinking, and re-thinking, and questioning thinking, and--

He caught himself losing track of the now, but it was too late. His ill-fitted boot caught on a rock, and Terry pitched forward, head over heels, feeling the coat tear away in great hunks. It took some skin with it before he could bring himself to a stop, narrowly avoiding rolling off the edge of a cliff.

He tasted blood. That, like the lines absolutely covering his body by now, was familiar, but it wasn't a good familiarity. An exhausted, distant part of his mind that had already thrown in the towel was kind of impressed he could still bleed. As more of his flesh burned, the handful of elementals converged on him, and he looked back over his shoulder. It was a long way down, enough that the bottom blurred into an indecipherable grey mass. He'd probably die if he jumped. But maybe he wouldn't?

He was definitely going to die if he didn't. If the sky didn't do it, the elementals would. They were gathering energy in unison like a creepy glowing firing squad, and they stared straight through him while they did it.

But in that moment where he tensed his legs in preparation to launch into the unknown, he hesitated. The bell sounded again, thundering loud enough that his ears bled and he nearly fell ass-first off the edge anyway.

a leap of faith

A dry, crackling wheeze of laughter escaped him. With one last look at the firing squad as they brought down their hands, Terry tore off the last tatters of the coat and fell backward into the abyss.

( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

#my writing #and so arrives terry #dwc

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Fight

CW: Ableism against a child, references to attempted noncon/assault of a survivor, religious references to the Bible, conditioning, trauma recovery, trauma response

TIMELINE: Immediately post-Creepy Pet Lib Guy. Links in piece.

She hears his footsteps, the soft motion of him through the living room and into the den, where a single lamp is on in the corner on the side table next to the old couch Paul never could bear to throw out. Ronnie doesn’t look over at him, instead picking at a bit of duct tape affixed over a ripped spot while sipping her beer straight from the bottle.

There’s a show on the television - they have a new one finally, but Ronnie’s never thrown out a damn thing that wasn’t broken just because it got replaced and she’s not about to start now, so she moved it in here - but she’s not watching it. Not even sure what the show is, only that the laugh track is tinny and never seems timed to the moments of actual humor. 

The house is mostly silent, this late at night. There’s no sound but the occasional gurgle from the ice machine in the fridge, the soft hum of electronics that she never notices except when the power goes out, and then only because of its sudden absence. 

No sound but the television’s off-key laughter and the footsteps of her son, creeping up behind her. 

“Mommy?” His voice is so high and soft, fuzzy with sleepiness, and she turns with a tired smile to see him dragging his favorite blanket behind him along the floor. It’s a quilt she bought at a church’s Christmas market when he was two, and it had buttons sewn in with the patches, giving the cats the quilt is decorated with three-dimensional button eyes. 

His face is rounded and so like his father’s, even so, his face and eyes and his hair are all Paul’s, through and through. He’s an echo, a clone of his father, in a lot of ways… up to and including navigating a world that has already labeled him as difficult, and he’s only six years old.

“Hey, baby. What are you doing up?” She’s twenty-three with a six year old son, and doesn’t that seem strange, some days? So many of her friends from high school are still out until dawn, posting photos of their drunken shenanigans on Facebook, and here Ronnie sits… twenty-three, with a husband who works nights, and a six-year-old son whose teacher calls him hopeless, right to his fucking face.

“I, I, I had a bad dream,” He says, and his eyes are so, so big in his small round face. Paul’s eyes are like that, big and green and soulful. She’d fallen into them, her junior year, and she’d never wanted to climb back out. No matter that her friends thought he was weird, no matter that yeah, okay, he is weird - he’s her kind of weird, and she and Paul understood each other right from the start. 

“Oh, no.” She pats the couch cushion beside her and he clambers almost eagerly up to tuck himself in beside her. Her throat nearly closes as he carefully spreads his blanket out to cover them both, the simple gesture of care and love. How do you look this boy in the eyes and tell him he can’t do something? “What was your bad dream about, do you want to tell me?”

“Monsters,” He says, as if that single word relays all the information she could possibly need. Maybe it does, really - at least the monsters her son dreams about are easier to vanquish than the ones Ronnie has to help him learn how to face on his own as he grows.

“Good thing I monster-proofed this house before we moved in,” Ronnie teases. She moves her arm around his shoulders and he smiles, faintly, eyes closing as he leans his head against her collarbone, his ear right where he’s always wanted it, ever since birth - over her heart. Listening to her heartbeat. Sure enough, his fingers find their way to her stomach and start to tap in time with it, and Ronnie sips her beer again.

“Monsters aren’t, aren’t, aren’t real, actually,” He says, speaking quietly and without opening her eyes, and Ronnie thinks if her six-year-old well, actuallys her one more time… she read all the parenting books and has a whole shelf of parenting memoirs she’s picked up and not a single one mentioned that little kids are fucking know-it-alls. Not one.

“Well, if they’re not real, then why are you buggin’ Mommy at midnight because of dreaming about them, huh?” She keeps her voice light and affectionate, just this side of teasing. Tristan doesn’t react well to any kind of perceived anger or rejection, moping for a day or more around while his brain tries to process that she didn’t stop loving him just because he did something that bothered her. Tris as a toddler broke her heart more than once with terrified insistence that you, you, you don’t even like me anymore after time-outs or discipline.

He’s just being manipulative, her mother had said once, but Ronnie knew better. 

He’s three years old, Mom. He’s not trying to manipulate me, he’s scared.

He’s just doing what works, Veronica, you can’t always give in to it.

Mom. He is a little boy. Do you realize how you sound?

Now his teacher is repeating the same tired circular logic that cycles round and round her son without ever seeing him. Ronnie is staring down the barrel of another round of meetings, talking to administrators to try and get around the teacher’s rigidity and hostility, arguing for Tris to get moved into a new class, and all the while he’ll fall further and further behind in his in-class work - while at home he rockets through the homeschooling workbooks she buys, a six-year-old already doing second-grade reading and writing work, first-grade math, obsessed with a kid show about science that they have to watch every single day or he has seriously informed her he might die.

The knowledge is there, and his love of learning hasn’t been throttled by school yet, and Ronnie can’t do anything but try to work within a system that tells her that her son needs to be changed or cured in order to not be kept locked away from everyone else.

Monsters are pretty fucking real, in Ronnie’s experience. 

One day her son will have to learn that all the monsters are human beings.

God, she’s so tired of fighting, and so very aware that she’s not going to stop until the whole damn world remakes itself to give space for Tristan, until the world deserves how unreservedly her son loves it.

She takes another drink, then sets the beer bottle carefully down on the coaster - she ordered them last year, and they all have little stylized drawings of the three of them on it, faceless sketches of a man, a woman, a child - man and child red-headed, woman with brown hair. 

When she’d gotten the positive pregnancy test, right before Thanksgiving her junior year, she’d thrown up and cried for a week and been sullen and silent at the holiday table, trying to figure out what to do next.

But Paul had never hesitated. When she told him, his response had been to go home to his dad and ask to start working part-time with the Garden, running packages he never looked into, playing lookout outside of bars while the Garden met inside. His first pay - cash handed to him in an envelope - he’d spent some of it on a onesie, a baby blanket, and a stuffed puppy with fur so soft Ronnie could barely stand the fluff. 

Then he’d spent some more on ginger chews and ‘Preggo Pops’, lollipops that were supposed to help with Ronnie’s morning sickness, and three books on pregnancy for her and one book on becoming a dad for him. 

Paul did what Paul always did - took one look at a cliff he had to cross and simply leapt headfirst and hoped for the best. That impulsiveness that she loved and that had gotten him in so much trouble in life, the enthusiasm that carried her long with it.

There are monsters in the world, Ronnie thinks, running fingers through her son’s fine, soft hair. But there are people who help you fight the monsters, too. Even if the monster is just the stares from other students at school as her stomach grew, the way her friends’ parents stopped letting her come to their houses, the thin-lipped disapproval of the principal handing her a high school diploma as she half-waddled across the stage, refusing to be shamed, engagement ring on her finger. Even if the monster is a world that tries to shove her son into boxes that he can’t fit into, or a teacher who sends him home in tears convinced he’s too stupid to learn anything.

Her jaw sets.

Veronica Higgs has been headstrong since birth, and she’s never made a decision she didn't follow through on. Never turned away from a fight. She’s not about to start now, not when it’s her son.

Ronnie has never turned away from the sweet baby that had looked at her with such dark-eyed seriousness when he was born, the infant who cried for reasons Ronnie couldn't’ fathom, the toddler who screamed that the lights at Target hurt his skin, the little boy who lined up dinosaurs and cars and toy horses in perfect color gradients, the boy who rocks in her arms and hums when he’s happy, the boy she hopes will one day be able to live on his own without her, because…

Because if only Paul and Ronnie are going to fight for him, then they’re going to have to be a fight so fierce that everyone else can’t possibly hold out against them.

The doctors said he might not talk - and he talks a mile-a-minute, about any-fucking-thing that comes into his mind. They said he wouldn’t make friends easily, but he goes on sleepovers with his gymnastics buddies, just went to a party at Chuck E. Cheese with a little preparation so he wasn’t scared of the games and lights and noise when he got there. They said he would struggle in school, and-

Well, he does. But only because of the adults who refuse to understand that Tris learns just fine… if you let him listen in his own way.

“Hey, Tris?” She smiles down at him and he turns those big green eyes up to her. There’s a chapped spot on his lower lip that looks like he might have messed with it until it opened into a sore, and she reminds herself to get some vaseline on it. “You want to stay here with me for a bit? We’ll watch one of your shows, and then back to bed. How’s that sound?”

He smiles at her, and nods a little, still tapping along to her heartbeat. “Oh, oh, okay, Mom. Can, can, can… can-can… can we watch Dino King?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ronnie hates that show, but really - he loves it, and it’s one night, and she could use the way his open, brilliant happiness helps her forget that he’s going to have to work harder and harder to hold onto it as he grows.

She picks up the remote, brings up the menu, switches to a streaming network, and listens to the grating, familiar theme song start to play as her son’s eyes move contentedly to the screen. 

He watches the show, but he never takes his head away from her heartbeat.

---

Natalie Yoder has had easier nights than this one, that’s for fucking sure. She leans over the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of her, trying to figure out where they went wrong. This is one of their biggest grants, it’s a bit of funding that she has always relied on, and… denied approval for the upcoming fiscal year. 

Thousands of dollars she needs to feed and clothe and house her rescues, gone up in smoke, denied with a bloodless email and no ability to fight back, not for this one. Not this year. It could be a simple error, something she overlooked, sure. Or maybe the association that gives out the grants is suspicious of her story about transitioning homeless people into permanent housing, which really is exactly what she’s doing, isn’t it?

Just… not the kind of homeless people the grant givers are imagining.

She’ll have to call Vince to beg for him to help her fill in the gap, and that will mean time for him to speak with his finance guy and get another couple of shell companies to funnel the money through so it doesn’t go back to him. He’ll give it to her, to be sure - Vince could give her the money to run this place flat out for the rest of his life and still be one of the wealthiest men in America, thanks to his low-key lifestyle and strong work ethic meaning he spends more time filming or producing than he does doing anything else.

Nat knows why Vince doesn’t want to be home, to sit up alone with a bottle or a glass in his hand. She knows his work ethic is simply escaping the demons that will never stop haunting his footsteps, what he traded away for his success, what he lost, what the money and fame can protect him from but can’t remove the stamp of it already written over his soul.

He’s famous, and rich, and Owen Grant can’t touch him now… but the tradeoff of Vince’s survival was that some innocent kid was abducted and turned, through drugs and torture and horrifying assault, into Kauri.

Kauri, who hasn’t answered the phone or sent a text in a week.

Not since that fucking group meeting where Chris was assaulted and Kauri stood up for him. Not since Kauri’s intuition that Kyle had some less-than-savory interest in Chris had proven correct, because… it wasn’t intuition at all.

It was experience. 

Nat groans, rubbing her hands over her face, closing her eyes and reminding herself, teeth ground together, to try and stay calm. It’s not unusual for Kauri to disappear for a while, a week or more. It’s not a sign that something is wrong. He was hurt by Nat pushing him, he needs time to think. 

He’ll pop right back up again, smiling like nothing happened, like he isn’t giving Nat gray hairs (well, new ones, anyway) trying to tell herself he’ll be okay.

All she can do is trust that he’ll come back when he’s ready.

... and castigate herself for letting that fucking predator get close to Chris without picking up on what he was planning, and for not realizing Kauri wasn’t just being overprotective of a younger rescue, but - in his own way - waving giant red flags that Nat, and Jake, and everyone else just didn’t see.

That, and then losing the grant, have made for one hell of a fucking week.

Nat takes deep breaths. Her hands smell like dish soap and a hint of the roasted garlic she’d put in the soup for supper lingering. The kitchen still smells like the garlic, roasted parsnips and rosemary. Chris had never had parsnips before-

Not that anyone knows if he really hasn’t or not.

“Oh, Nat, you are a mess tonight,” She mutters to herself. “Just full-on moping, huh? That’s how we’re gonna play it?”

Then she hears the soft scrape of a foot on the tile and looks up, blinking, to see Chris in the doorway, leaning against the wood of the frame, the big purple fuzzy blanket she’d gotten him a few weeks back wrapped around his narrow shoulders, the hints of faded muscle that still linger there. Usually he’s draped in Jake’s clothes but tonight he’s only wearing his basketball shorts, no shirt at all.

The rare glimpse of so much of Chris’s skin - she hasn’t seen so much of him since the night he arrived in the pouring rain - tells Nat more than anything else that Chris isn’t okay, either. 

“Hey, Chris. What’s up, sweetheart?” Nat glances over at the oven, squinting at the clock, and then groans. “Jesus, it’s nearly 2 am. I lost track of time, I guess.”

Chris doesn’t move from the doorway, not at first. He’s gone quiet again, since the assault, regressing back into periods of stillness and silence that they were so sure he’d gotten past. Jake says he’s testing again, trying to push Jake and Antoni into repeating the patterns that were tortured into his mind as normal, reacting with relief at their rejections - and then testing again, within hours, reminding himself that they’ll never say yes.

Nat looks at him, the shadows under his green eyes, and tries, “Did you have a nightmare?”

He slowly nods, and she watches his hands twist a little into the soft fabric of his blanket, rhythmically twisting to the side and back, nearly invisible with how well he can hide what he does to soothe himself, a skill taught in all the worst ways, learned in a desperate attempt to keep himself sane.

“Hm. I can see that. Was it about the meeting, the other night?”

His eyes dance away from hers, move to the ceiling, and he’s staring upwards at the rough texture up there as he nods, chewing on his lower lip with his top teeth, worrying at a spot that she knows he’ll eventually work to bleeding, sooner or later. He pauses and says, softly, “Kauri… didn’t come find me. That was, was my... my dream. And... it. It hurt.”

His voice, slow drips of speech, hits Nat like a knife to the heart. She nods, slowly, and pushes herself up, chair scraping back across the tile. Chris flinches minutely at the sound, curling a little into himself. “I understand, sweetheart,” She says, softly. “I’m so sorry we didn’t know sooner.”

She thinks, looking at him, of Daniel in the lion’s den, an old Bible story that’s never left her. Daniel trusted God and walked out unscathed, but she’s always thought maybe he wasn’t quite as unscathed as the Bible wants you to think he was. 

It’s one thing to have faith that you’ll survive being thrown in with monsters - it’s another to be so inhuman that you don’t wake with nightmares, for months or years after, that you were never saved at all. She is certain, deep down inside of her, that Daniel dreamed of a lion’s teeth and a promise broken, a prayer unheard.

The stories talk about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in a furnace walking out of the flames untouched, but of course the flames had still touched them. Scars aren’t always written openly on your skin. 

Of course they dreamed of flames scorching their skin, curling their hair, smoke stealing breath from their lungs. They, like Daniel, must have woken gasping, certain that their faith had been misplaced, that their trust that someone stood between them and the monsters who would destroy them had been betrayed.

They must have breathed, panting, in the middle of the night, and sworn they could still see the smoke in the air, feel the heat against their skin. 

They must have needed to come fully awake to remember - and believe - that they had been rescued. They must have needed the reminder.

Chris has no scars from walking with monsters - all his scars are inside his head. Chris’s scars come in his fear that she will not want him, that no one really wants him, when he can’t fight back or say no or defend himself, when he needs someone else to be his defense, to go to war. They come in his insistent, constant testing of Jake, pushing to see if it’s all been a lie, if they only want to use him the way he has been taught he is made to be used.

“Kauri was smarter than any of the rest of us,” Nat says, feeling suddenly exhausted. “We should have listened. I shouldn’t have had to step in. You deserved better.”

Chris deserves a fucking angel to lead him untouched out of the flames.

All he has is Jake - and Nat. 

She fills a saucepan with cold milk while he watches her, his eyes on her back a tangible, palpable weight, and pops a lid on, turning the dial until the flames flicker up from the burner to start heating it to a simmer. 

“I’m going to have hot chocolate the old fashioned way,” She announces, pulling down a bag with some discs of melting chocolate in it. They cost too much and mostly nobody notices the difference, but tonight… tonight, she thinks the extra effort is worth it. “You want whipped cream on yours, when it’s done?”

“Yes, please,” He whispers, and she looks over at him with a small smile. His hair is mussed still from sleep, a hint of red on his cheek where he must have had it pressed into a pillow. His freckles stand out in the thin light of the kitchen’s overhead light fixture. 

Next door, at Miss Ruth’s, a light turns on, and Nat glances through her own window to see it. Jaden, probably - that kid sleeps about as little as Chris does.

“Well, good, because I’m having some, too.” She pauses, leaning her back against the kitchen counter. There’s a long silence that draws out between them. The milk heats, bubbling just the tiniest bit around the edges in the saucepan, and Nat carefully drops in the chocolate discs to melt whisking until the liquid is a rich brown, thickened, ready for her to pour carefully into two mugs and top with the spray-bottle whipped cream she keeps in the fridge.

Nat sets the mugs down on the kitchen table, pulling Chris a chair up right next to hers. He relaxes a little at the tacit, silent request for closeness, drops into his chair with a slight smile playing over his face. He picks up the mug with both hands and takes a sip, getting whipped cream at the end of his nose, wiping it off with a scrunched-up expression that lifts some of the fatigue that dogs Nat’s muscles in the early-morning hours.

“I know the dreams are scary,” Nat says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his back. He looks over at her, with those giant green eyes in his narrow face, searching for something in her. Maybe just for certainty that the promises she’s made to him will be kept. “But Kauri did come to help you. And you’re safe here, with us. We’ll always come for you, Chris, no matter what.”

He leans over, with slow inevitability, until the top of his head brushes against her neck, his head just at her collarbone. She lets her arm slide around his shoulders, her hand moving to run fingers slowly through his fine, soft coppery hair. “I, I, I forgot how to say no,” He whispers, and presses his head against her. 

“I know, honey. But that’s okay, we get back up and try again, right?” Nat sips her own hot chocolate slowly, and Chris holds his cupped warm in his palms, but even as he keeps taking sips, he doesn’t pull away from her. Eventually, he puts the mug back down on the table and shifts a little, so his ear is just over her heart.

“We, we, we try again,” He whispers. “But, but, but I don’t want to, to, to, I don’t-... want to be, um, to be scared again, to… have someone-”

“I know.” Nat swallows, her throat closing, briefly, but she fights it back and keeps her voice - and her hand through his hair - steady as she speaks. “There are going to be bad people out there, Chris, who want to hurt you. But you’re not alone.”

She thinks again of Daniel, waking from nightmares of gnashing teeth, maybe kicking off blankets and pacing a room, his skin written invisibly with the aftermath of a terror that never punctured skin. She thinks of three men in a fire, dreaming again and again that the fourth never arrived to lead them out of the flames.

She thinks of promises made, and kept. Prayers spoken in desperation, and answered, although so often far too late.

She thinks of the prayers for mercy, in the cold white rooms, that are never heard at all.

She’s tired, but she loves them - all of them, who have passed through her doors and gone on to other places - and she can’t imagine being anything but their army, their defense, the wall they can hide behind to rebuild themselves until they fight on their own. 

Not on their own, though, never really on their own.

She may never know what happened to him, to bring him here to her doorstep - but she knows that he doesn’t have to face the monsters, the flames, the danger alone. Not anymore.

“You’re safe here,” She says, gently, and turns her head to rest her chin on top of his head. “You’re safe here, and loved, and there’s nothing we won’t do to make sure you’re safe. Whatever comes at you, sweetheart, we’ve got you. And we’ll fight it for you, every time, until you can fight for yourself.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he asks, in a whisper, “Do, do, do you you-you promise?”

“Promise, Chris. Cross my heart and hope-”

“Don’t-... don’t say the, the end of it.” His voice weakens. “Please.”

“Sorry, sweetie.” She tightens the arm around his shoulders a little, and feels him snuggle closer in response, a low sigh of relief at the reassurance in the embrace. “Swear on everything. I’ve got you, and Jake has got you, and we’re not gonna disappear. I don’t-... I don’t know if we can always save the day for you, Chris, but I can promise you that we will always try.”

He hums, eyes closing. One of his hands slides over her stomach, and begins - slight, soft, barely-there - to tap. 

It takes Nat a few seconds to realize that he is tapping along to the beat of her heart.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

#chris the strawberry blond romantic #ronnie higgs #tristan higgs #natalie yoder: here to help the rescues #caretaker and whumpee #memory loss #trauma recovery #trauma response #past noncon referenced #past torture referenced #ableism tw #referenced whump of a minor #Chris's Two Moms #religion reference #attempted assault tw #abuse survivor tw #conditioning reference #bbu #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #box boy #found family #caretaker #hurt/comf #in a way #comf #all comf no hurt #comfort fic

[buckyskorpion]

11 hours - part six

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: so i was gonna leave this on ANOTHER doozy cliff hanger but i genuinely thought i would get lynched so i decided to just leave it at a baby cliffhanger. a lot happened in this chapter and a lot of seeds have been planted for future chapters..... so lemme know what you think hehe. predictions?? angry letters?? pitchforks??? lemme know!! i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist 

“You’re very calm for someone with a gun to their head.”

Honestly, you had been thinking the same thing. Sure, your stomach feels like a snake pit and your hands are sweating and you don’t think you’ve ever been more aware of your own heart beat, but other than that - you don’t understand why you aren’t panicking more. There are three men standing in front of you, one behind, all with guns. They’re wearing matching leather jackets with an octo-head patch on the sleeve, and they all look very scary. Briefly, you wonder if Bucky has a jacket like this, with a patch on to match his family. It’s an irrelevant detail you can’t help but fixate on right now.

Bucky. Hopefully listening on the other end of the phone you have tucked in your back pocket which your kidnappers haven’t been bothered to check yet, thankfully. You flex your wrists against the zip ties holding you to a chair and ask, “Where am I?”

“You should know,” your stalker turned kidnapper says with a condescending sneer. “You followed me here.”

“The Lerna?” you clarify, for the sake of hopefully someone on the other end of your mobile picking it up. You glance around at the old-style bar; chipped wood and beer stains, a rickety pool table one of your stalker’s friends is using as an arm rest. You curl your nose up at it - a little proudly, you note it has nothing on Sam’s bar.

“Do you recognise the place?” your stalker asks. That throws you. You want to ask what he means by that, why you would recognise this gross bar you’ve never stepped foot in, but you clench your teeth and school your face.

Once your dad sat you down in a chair much like this one, in his office at the house you grew up in. You were eleven, maybe, and you didn’t quite understand why he was tying your hands to the back with a necktie but you went along with it. He did this, sometimes - would orchestrate some strange lesson when his nightmares got really bad, his ghosts chasing him inside the house until he saw enemies in lampshades and kitchen cabinets. To keep you safe, he would say, and then he sat opposite you and asked what you would do if anyone ever put you in this position against your will.

“Kroshka, they will use anything against you,” he had said, and you see that now with the way these men are looking at you for any weakness. But you didn’t understand then, you were a kid thinking your dad was spiralling again, so he had cast around until he found a beer bottle on the coffee table. “See, like this. When the label is flat it’s fine, but as soon as one little corner lifts you can’t help it - you have to peel it all the way off. Don’t give them any corners, kroshka.”

You blink, once. The man in front of you scowls when you don’t answer, presses forward into your space in a show of intimidation. You try not to flinch, but that fear you were missing before is starting to set in real fast. What did he mean, do you recognise it? And why the hell are you so prepared for a situation like this, almost as if your dad has been training you for it since you could remember?

“Fine,” your stalker says, his breath fanning over you with how he’s leaning into your space. “Maybe you can answer something else, about your boyfriend.”

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” you say. It’s not a lie - technically, you hadn’t had the ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ chat with Bucky yet. This man is not appreciative of your loopholes. He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, pressing his glock into your neck. You shiver, both at the pain and the cold of the metal. Through gritted teeth and mild hyperventilation, you say, “As a matter of fact, I dunno who you are either. That’s kinda weird, dontcha think?”

You can practically hear Bucky in your head telling you to shut up, but he’s not here right now. No corners, just like your dad said. Doesn’t mean you can’t try and find some corners of your own.

What you meant as a question to buy some time, with a bit of attitude on the side, sends your stalker reeling back from you. He’s confused, eyebrows drawn down low and his friends behind him look to each other with the same expression. Now, you’re confused as well. Everyone in the room stands (or sits, in your particular predicament) in a pure state of what the fuck is going on. It would be funny, if there wasn’t still a gun to the back of your head.

“You don’t know the patch?” the man asks, gesturing to the sleeve of his jacket. When you don’t respond he continues, slowly, reiterating his question from before but as a statement, “You don’t recognise this place.”

You have zero idea what’s going on, but whatever you’ve said seems have thrown your kidnappers for a bit of a loop, so you decide to roll with it. You say, and hope to god the man standing behind you doesn’t shoot you for it, “I’m starting to think you’ve lost control of this situation, pal.”

From the corner of the room behind you, a familiar husky-toned red head says, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Shots ring out, shattering the windows as one by one your stalker’s friends drop like dominos. Someone crouches behind you and cuts you lose with a knife, and you hear it clatter to the floor as they launch over the back of your chair feet first into your stalker. Natasha. The flash of her red hair over your shoulder as she sends him flying is unmistakable. You scramble from the chair, fumbling for the knife she dropped but your hand slides through something thick, wet. The man behind you with the gun lies dead, throat slit, his blood now all over your fingers. It mesmerises you in a sickening way, making your stomach turn and your vision go fuzzy.

You’d never seen a dead body before. Now they are all around you, the bar smelling like blood instead of beer and the sound of bullets pinging off glass the only noise other than Natasha grappling with your stalker. She’s so small compared to him but she has her thighs clenched around his throat and he gasps for breath, clawing at her legs. You watch, stunned, as he gets a grip on her and throws her off, sending her crashing into the wall with a groan.

She hits the floor and you see red - all you can think is that’s Bucky’s family and that man is walking towards her, his gun trained on her body as she tries to pull herself to her feet, so you stop thinking at all. You picture the back of your stalker's neck like the dartboard at Sam’s bar and you throw.  

Bullseye. Just like your dad taught you.

The man drops, knife buried in his neck and haemorrhaging blood. He gurgles this awful, awful sound as he clutches at his throat, trying and failing to push the blood back in. Natasha looks from your still outstretched hand, trembling in place, to meet your gaze. You can’t begin to decipher her expression, nor do you want to. You feel like you’re going to throw up, or choke, or scream, or all three. The man you just stabbed in the neck groans in pain, eyes rolling, coughing blood from his mouth in thick clumps. You can’t feel your hands anymore.

The door bangs open and you flinch, stumbling back until you trip on the chair you had been tied to and fall to the floor in a crumple of limbs. It’s Bucky, eyes wild and larger than life with a rage you’ve never seen before. He has a huge sniper-rifle slung over his back as he strides into the bar, stepping right over the writhing body of your stalker.

“I’ll deal with you in a second, Rumlow,” he practically growls, kicking aside the man’s hand that tries to grab for him. You scramble to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to get to Bucky. Doesn’t it say something about you that you run towards the man responsible for the death all around you?

You crash into Bucky hard, the force of the impact knocking the breath right out of you and once it’s gone you can’t get it back. It feels like his arms encompass the entirety of you as he holds you so tight your feet leave the ground. His chest rumbles with words but you can’t hear him, your ears are ringing and your chest is tight because panic attack, you dumbass. You press your face into Bucky’s neck and hope that’s enough to escape the scene unfolding around you.

“Get her out of here, I’ll deal with this,” you hear Natasha say somewhere behind Bucky but you refuse to lift your head to see.

Bucky attempts to pull away from you to look at Natasha, you can feel him try and twist his head but the inarticulate whine that rips from your throat stills the both of you. It’s mildly embarrassing, the sound you’ve just made, but it’s out there now. Bucky shifts his grip so one big palm rubs soothing strokes up and down your spine and you feel yourself becoming boneless with every pass of his hand.

“I’m not fucking lettin’ him get away with this,” Bucky says, low, threatening - if you were this Rumlow guy bleeding out on the ground, you would be afraid.

“And he won’t,” Natasha says, and then like she has to remind Bucky of his own thoughts, “but you have other priorities right now. Get her out of here.”

You feel Bucky nod, his scratchy chin moving against the top of your head. He kisses your temple and holds the back of your skull with one big palm, pressing your face further into his neck. It means you don’t see the carnage of the bar when he moves to place an arm around your shoulder and steer you out the door, stumbling under his guidance on shaky, cotton-fuzzy legs. He’s hurrying you, but as gently as he can. Once you feel the bright burn of sunlight on your skin you pull back from Bucky’s neck, blinking in the now empty street and Bucky’s piercing gaze as he looks down at you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, his hand dropping from your skull to squeeze the side of your neck. You still feel like you’re sipping each breath through a straw but you nod. You can see in his eyes he needs you to be with him right now, to get out of here, so you try and blink away the fuzzies in the corners of your vision and focus on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and christ, now is not the time for that stinging pressure behind your eyes you hate so much. You hope Bucky understands - sorry for not listening to him, sorry for getting you both into this mess, sorry for not being strong when he needs you to be.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, tugs you in harsh and strong by the grip he has on your neck to press a bruising kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter close at the fierce way he holds you, presses emotion into your skin like the tattoos littering his skin - a brand of your own, in the middle of this eerily empty street with the blood of strange men on both your hands. The thought makes you shake, so you twist your fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and breathe him in deep.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says, then pulls away from you. He grabs one of your hands from out under his shirt and links your fingers, beginning to drag you down the street. Looking back over his shoulder, he says with a grimace, “We gotta go.”

He leads you to his bike, squeezed between a brick wall and a dumpster in a side alley a block away from The Lerna. It roars to life before you’ve properly swung yourself on the back, and you aren’t bothering with helmets this time as Bucky eases the bike out from it’s tight spot with unsettling ease. All you can do is hold on tight and close your eyes as Bucky leads you away, weaving through the city in nonsensical loops before you feel the air open up around you and the familiar sounds of Brooklyn.

Bucky takes you to Steve’s tattoo in Red Hook, the first time you’re been back there since that fateful run-in with Natasha. You’ve checked out completely by the time Bucky parks - he has to lift you off the back of the bike because your legs won’t work, and he all but carries you inside. Steve is quick to rid the shop of the two customers looking at designs out front as Bucky settles you on the couch by the tattoo beds. You sink into the faded red leather without feeling a thing. Distantly, you notice the kid who usually mans the tills looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you suppose you deserve that.

“Stevie, I think she’s in shock,” you hear Bucky say, and the childhood nickname makes you smile. You watch Bucky’s face crease up deep concern at the dreamy look on your face, so you suppose you should stop smiling like a crazy person. A giant blonde head swims into your view, just as concerned, and he drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyebrows drawing down as you fumble for his hand. He squeezes your fingers and mumbles something to Steve who leaves you again, his voice mingling with the kid’s somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder but you can’t focus on that. All you can do is swim in the back of Bucky’s too-deep stare and say, “I killed him.”

“No, no,” he says, shifting closer between your thighs as he kneels on the floor in front of you. This would be funny to you in any other moment, something to tease him for as he takes both your hands in his and squeezes them together, silently imploring you to stay looking at him. He says, “That’s not on you, sweetheart, it ain’t. You didn’t kill him.”

You’re crying now, properly, which you suppose is a good sign because you don’t think people in shock can cry. You watch as something cracks in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you break apart, but you can’t stop now you’ve started. You say, “I did, I killed him. How do you do it? How do you just- I feel like my throat’s gonna close up. How do you live past this?”

Bucky’s face darkens, smoothing out to something stone cold and frightening. You don’t feel scared, though, as he leans into your space so close you almost feel cross-eyed trying to stay glued to the blue of his eyes. He searches your face for something and says, no room for argument, “You did not kill that bastard, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No,” he says, simply, and that’s that. “The only reason you were in that position is because of me, doll, so no. You didn’t kill him. It’s on me, and I live with that so you don’t have to. You got that? You don’t ever have to live with that.”

You don’t know how he makes you feel like he’s physically reached into your chest and pulled out your guilt through your throat, but he does. You can see it clenched tight in his fist, his eyes shuttering down dark as he shoves it between his own teeth to hold. It’s too soon for the feelings clawing at your ribcage but you feel them just the same, that cigarette burn he left on your heart aching so bad you could scream from it. You extract a hand from his to run down his cheek, along his jaw, cupping his face in your palm. He closes his eyes, shudders as though swallowing down the guilt for the both of you.

I love you for that, you think to the soft flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. I’ll love you forever for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Natasha returns to the shop, and Sam bundles in not long after that, the four bikers sit around Steve’s prematurely closed tattoo shop and have a family meeting. You can’t help but feel like the kid who’s stayed up past their bedtime to try and hang with the adults, the words flying over their head and sleep pulling at their eyelids but they fight to stay awake anyway. Bucky pulls your head into his lap as he sits on the couch beside you, so you lie there and let him stroke your hair while they discuss what happened over the past two hours.

Two hours, and that’s all it’s taken for your whole world to spin on it’s axis. You’d learnt to throw knives at tree trunks with your dad as a fun, albeit unconventional after-school activity. And now you’ve buried a knife in someone’s neck, you’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair and watched Bucky gun down men from a rooftop with his sniper rifle. He pulled the trigger with the same fingers he’s carding through your hair now, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your toes tingle. How is that at all ok?

“We’ve started a turf war with Hydra, now,” Sam is saying, sitting backwards on a chair facing Bucky and spreading his hands out in a placating gesture as Bucky bristles. “It was unavoidable, alright, I’m just saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha says. “Rumlow has had a vendetta against Bucky for years. He could’ve been acting alone.”

“It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” Steve says thoughtfully. He is pressing an icepack to Natasha’s back, already bruising from where this Rumlow guy threw her into the wall. She’s lifting up her t-shirt and you can see a glimpse of a back piece standing out stark against her pale skin. Giant, feathered wings and a talon, a mosaic piece of what looks like a large hawk spanning the length of her spine.

“When Pierce finds out it was us that shot up his bar, though,” Sam says, making meaningful eyebrow movements to the group. They all nod thoughtfully and fall into silence.

None of these names make much sense to you - Hydra, Pierce, even Rumlow who you’ve gathered by now was your stalker. Was, because he’s dead now, and the thought turns your mouth dry and rusted. You shift in discomfort, drawing Bucky’s attention down to you as he gives you a concerned once over. He had done a thorough analysis for any injuries, even after you’d assured him you were fine, but you can tell he’s still unconvinced.

Unfortunately for you, all your wounds appear to be mental. They’re getting deeper by the second.

“I keep thinking,” you say to Bucky, “why was he so surprised I didn’t know where I was? Or who they were?”

“Hydra is our biggest rival,” Bucky says, and huffs a laugh at your crinkly brow so he clarifies, “They’re another gang, one we’ve had a lot of run-ins with. Rumlow especially. He wasn’t our biggest fan.”

“So he expected you to have told me about him, and Hydra,” you say, the name unfamiliar on your tongue. He nods, and you have to ask, “Why didn’t you?”

Bucky frowns at that. “I already told you - the more you know, the more dangerous it is.”

“And I already told you, no secrets,” you say, frowning just as deep. A beat passes and Bucky doesn’t budge, just glares down at you like he can physically bore his opinion into your brain and make it yours. Exasperated, you say, “Bucky, it didn’t matter anyway - the danger found me. Telling me things like that isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It would’ve if you’d listened to me and not done the stupid thing,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He may have a point, but you aren’t going to back down that easily. Bucky knows you, he knows if you see a loose thread you’re going to pull it. The fact he thought you’d listen to him tell you what to do at all is laughable.

“This gang is your life,” you say, and you don’t bother to hide your frustration now, “They’re your family. I’m no safer not knowing what’s going on - I got stalked and kidnapped regardless. Clearly, it’s dangerous no matter what, so just tell me, Bucky. Whatever it is.”

Bucky stares at you for a long time. Steve, Natasha, Sam - they cease to exist in this room with you. Those first few weeks, when you refused to stay the night in Bucky’s bed and would only see him to fuck - you used to be scared of looking into those eyes for too long, for fear of getting lost. Now you dive head first, a part of you hoping you do get lost so you never have to find your way back out again.

Eventually, Bucky clenches his jaw tight and says, “You’re right.”

You blink, surprised. You hear Sam whisper to Steve, “did you record that?”, and honestly, you wanna ask the same thing. Except the way Bucky is look at you- dread curls thick and choking in your gut. You look up at Bucky and he seem so far away, out of reach even though you feel him all around you. He continues stroking your hair but it’s absentminded, his mind far away too.

You are drawn back to the tattoo shop by Sam saying, “I gotta say, Barnes, your girl is smart as hell. Keeping your phone on you and out-smarting Rumlow in a hostage situation? Pretty badass.”

Bucky smiles briefly down at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You turn to Sam and say, “I got the impression out-smarting Rumlow isn’t really that hard.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bucky, and it clears away some of the dread eating away at your stomach. But it’s still there, acidic and bubbling no matter what you do to smother it.

Eventually, they grow tired of talking in circles about Rumlow and Hydra and the possibility of the feds showing up (Bucky assures everyone the cops will find no rifling on the bullets and won’t be able to pin them to the crime scene, but Sam mutters heard that before and an argument erupts about some debacle in Bucharest so you tune out). Bucky takes you back to his apartment, tucked securely in his leather jacket in the best kind of shock blanket you could ever ask for.

For the first time, you noticed the tiny embroidered star on the sleeve of his jacket. You wonder if all Bucky’s friends have the same star on their jackets, because they’re not just friends, they’re a gang. One you feel suddenly, irrevocably intertwined with since they’re the only reason you aren’t sitting in a jail cell for murdering someone.

You feel jittery as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, almost nervous. It looks the same as this morning, the coffee cups you used for Steve and Bucky still in the sink and hoodie of his you’d worn last night draped over a chair. But everything is different, now. It’s all changed, there’s weird new shadows over everything long after Bucky turns on the light. You linger in the doorway to Bucky’s bedroom while he rummages around for sweats and jumpers, laying out a pair for you before he begins changing himself. He shucks off his t-shirt and you see his tattoo sleeve, the mottled scars hiding underneath, and your heart flies out of your throat before you can stop it.

“So do you guys have a fun, spooky name like Hydra or what?” you ask, closing your eyes with a grimace as soon as you ask the question. What are you, twelve? Bucky doesn’t answer and you’re too afraid to open your eyes too see the look on his face.

You’re startled when you feel him kiss your cheek, sensing his large frame towering over you and blocking out some of the soft bedroom light. You open your eyes to find him smiling down at you, laughing at you with his eyes as he says, “Not so spooky. Steve named us, he called us the Howling Commandos. The HC, for short.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and he flicks the tip with his ringed fingers. You say, “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Nat teases him for it all the time,” he says, “She calls us her barbershop quartet.”

You smile, imagining Bucky in suspenders playing the accordion, and say, “Now that I like.”

The longer Bucky looks at you the more sober he becomes, mouth becoming pinched and jaw muscle ticking. He holds you soft by the biceps and walks you back until you hit the wall, still gentle, but bracketing you in now so all you can see is the weight of whatever complicated thing is running across Bucky’s face.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me today,” he says. He shifts, grips your jaw tight so his rings dig into your skin with none of the gentleness of before - he means this. “Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, twisting in his tight grip to press a kiss to his fingertips. He softens, allows you to pull him in flush against you by his waist, his bare skin so warm under your hands. “And, thank you. I don’t- I guess I’ve never had someone come save me before, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He kisses you, a rough press of chapped lips against yours and is gone again before you can react. Says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Come back,” you say with a pout, and you have just enough time to see Bucky smirk down at you before he’s kissing you again. It’s just as fierce, almost painful, but the rough slide of it distracts from the burn in your chest and your racing thoughts like razorblades. You lick into his mouth, chasing away the ghosts nipping at your heels, and he presses you back into the wall with a thunk hard enough to leave a bruise on your tailbone tomorrow. You don’t care. It feels good to hurt in a way that’s physical.

The ease with which Bucky picks you up makes your head spin. It’s all you can do but pepper kisses along his stubbled jaw as he carries you to the bed, lips suddenly ripped from his skin as he dumps you on the covers. He is quick to follow, squashing you down with his tongue in your mouth before you can take another breath. This, you know. All the messy feelings and heartache and fearfearfear that beats in time with your heart, that maybe you’ll lose him or he’ll lose you and you came so close today, is unfamiliar to the both of you. But arching your back off the bed so he can take your shirt off, scrubbing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck as he peppers kisses across your tits with a trail of goosebumps left behind - this is how you know Bucky best.

He makes quick work of your clothes and you fumble with his jeans, laughing into his mouth as he bats your hand away to do it for you. Bucky bites your bottom lip in playful admonishment and you chase his mouth as he tries to pull away. He places one big palm on your clavicle and pushes down, holding you against the bed. He shakes his head at you with a smile.

“Stay,” he says like he would to a dog, grinning wide as you glare at him. But you do as you’re told as he leans over you to grab a condom with his left arm. Maybe you bend the rules a little to trail kisses up the bits of his outstretched forearm you can reach. Over a shadowy skull, the stem of a rose, what looks like military windings near the crook of his elbow and tiny handwritten letters that spell S N S. Sam Nat Steve, because Bucky might be a tough guy to most but he’s a giant sap deep down.

Bucky shudders at your touch, and it makes you wonder if the scarring under his tattoos is extra sensitive. Or maybe he is just sensitive to anyone touching him in such a vulnerable place. You flick your eyes up to watch him watch you, lip drawn between his teeth and a dent between his eyebrows you ache to soothe if he wasn’t still holding you down. You don’t stop, even though he looks physically pained with every brush of your lips against his skin. You trace the edges of another small wolf with your tongue, like the ones on his chestpiece, and watch as his eyes flutter closed when you get close to the paper-thin skin of his inner wrist.

That hits Bucky’s limit. Suddenly his hand on your chest slides up to your neck and he’s leaning over you, left arm braced by your head and his mouth swallowing yours. You groan against his lips at the rough drag of his hands down your sides, gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He makes your brain go fuzzy, the only coherent thoughts being Bucky and touch me more. He seems to understand. His fingers find your clit, smoothing slow circles which spark embers in the pit of your stomach. Bucky’s mouth falls open as yours does, as if to breath in the whine he draws from you.

“Fuck, you always sound so good,” Bucky groans. He buries his face into the side of your neck, taking advantage of your thigh trapped between his legs to rut against you while he continues playing with your clit. Every time Bucky gets filthy with you it’s like the first time, shocking and almost embarrassing in the sexiest way possible. Heat floods your cheeks and makes you lightheaded, unable to stop the moan he draws from you. You’re rewarded by Bucky’s teeth in your neck, the sensitive spot just over your pulse point, and if you’re being honest you could come just from this.

Bucky’s cock growing harder against your thigh, as his hips shift in rhythm with the circles he draws on your clit, becomes too difficult to ignore. To gain his attention you twist and nip at the closest piece of skin you can find, Bucky’s ear, and he engulfs you in a kiss which steals the breath right out of you. You buck your hips, hoping to nonverbally convey the demand get in me right now, and Bucky doesn't need any more hints than that.

He fumbles with the condom for a second and you take the time to sit up on your elbows and look at him. Bucky is so beautiful, drawn in harsh lines and stark contrasts. Tan skin turned paler against the opaque black of his tattoos, colour swirling in-between and it should be jarring, but you think he just looks like art. Bitten red lips, startling blue eyes pinning you to the mattress as he catches you staring - such bright, primary colours because he is a statement piece, and one you could look at forever.

Bucky grins almost bashfully as you stare at him, leaning back over you to kiss you soft and sweet in a sharp juxtaposition to the rough tumble which got you here. Again, he sends your head spinning when the tender kiss is punctuated by the unexpected push of Bucky’s cock in your cunt. He bottoms out before you can blink, throwing your head back out of the kiss with an untamed groan - both pleasure and pain, in the good way. Bucky drags his teeth from your lips down your chin and neck, biting a mark into your collarbone to set the tone for the bruising pace he creates as he pounds into you.

He doesn’t do anything in halves, you think. You gaze up at him with an almost dopey smile while Bucky fucks the literal breath out of you. You lift your hips to meet him as he bottoms out with every thrust, watching in awe as his face creases up in ecstasy - it’s you who brings him there. He palms your tits like he can’t help himself, loses control in your pussy because you make him feel that good, and the thought makes you giddy. Drunk, almost, as you drag your nails down his chest and nearly come once again just from the moan you draw out of this brilliant, dangerous, gorgeous man.

“You take it so well, baby, fuck,” Bucky pants, eyebrows creasing as the pleasure gets almost painful in its build. You know the feeling. Bucky’s mouth is always your undoing, rolling your eyes back into your head and the sounds you’re making turning positively feral. He kisses you again, more a slam of mouths than anything finessed, and says, “Never gonna get over this, never gonna get over how good you feel.”

“Bucky, you gotta-“

“I gotta what, huh?” Bucky grins at the pleasure-addled panic he brings you too, not wanting to come too fast but also needing to let go before you actually explode. He knows exactly what he’s doing, balancing on one hand to thumb harshly at your clit as he says, “You want me to stop? I don’t think so, sweetheart, I think you wanna come on my cock just like this, wanna hear me tell you how good you are, how sweet you are for me all laid out like this-“

Everything whites out as you come, hard, all your muscles spasming like crazy with the orgasm that rips through you. Bucky’s voice is drowned out, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying anymore, he’s made you feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. Bucky thunks his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you as the fluttering clench of your cunt around his cock becomes too much. His thrusts turn sloppy, his breath hot and ragged across your face as you press lazy, barely-there kisses to his cheeks - all you can muster in your fucked-out haze.

Bucky comes with his eyes closed, eyelashes tangling with yours, and you cling to him with all four limbs as he shakes through his orgasm. The release was so needed for the both of you, the events of the last twenty-four hours frying your nerves to the point where it was either fight, cry, or fuck. It feels so good to have Bucky on top of you, inside you, all around you in every single sense and it warms your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. Until Bucky.

Maybe that’s the afterglow talking, and you should stop. But you can’t help but press another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and another, over his nose and across his still-closed eyelids until you reach his mouth and he can kiss you back just as soft. You hope he gets it. You hope he feels it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You go to see your dad, eventually. The chaos of yesterday kept you attached to Bucky’s hip - you showered together in the morning, and he allowed you to pretend it was just the water and not tears soaking your face. But he made you cuddle with him on the couch and fed you an omelette like you were incapable of feeding yourself, and maybe you were, because the reality of what happened in that shitty Manhattan bar was starting to eat away at your executive functions. It took all of your strength to convince Bucky you would be ok and that you’d come back to him as soon as you were done, but it was time to pull on a thread you’ve been ignoring for far too long.

It turns out, that paranoid over-questioning part of your brain doesn’t turn off even during a traumatic event. Your dad lets you in without a word, tugging you into a side hug as you both walk to the kitchen to make tea.

The house you grew up in has taken on a different light since the Lerna. The kitchen chairs aren’t the same, reminding you too much of ziptied wrists and a gun in your face. Why can you superimpose the memory of Rumlow holding you hostage to one you have of being eleven and tied to a chair by your father? You shouldn’t be able to do that.

He nudges your hip, jerking you out of your staring contest with the dining chairs, and offers you a mug of tea. You both sit at the table, either end, the fruit bowl a mediator between you. He looks tired, old, like he always has somehow in your memories from childhood. He’s still your dad, the same man who always been there because he’s all you’ve ever had. He loves you, you know does. Ya lyublyu tebya, luna. But he has always been the first to say your paranoid streak runs a mile deep, and once you find a thread-

Well. Everyone knows how that ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” your dad asks, and it’s like he knows you aren’t here to ask for boy advice or moan about a case or your skyrocketing rent.

There’s a lot you want to talk about. Why did I learn to throw knives instead of joining the soccer team, like normal kids? Why did I learn how to survive an interrogation instead of going to sleepovers, like normal kids? Why did you train me to question everyone and everything in this world, but I’ve always blindly believed you? Like a normal kid would, you suppose, the only normal you’ve ever really gotten. Always believing your dad is the superhero of six-year-old dreams, someone who would never keep you in the dark.

“No,” you say, taking a sip of tea. It burns your tongue to numbness, but you can’t bring yourself to care. We had the secret language for only us - why did I never think you might have secrets from me as well? You grimace into your tea and say, “Not right now, I’m sorry.”

“Tayny budut presledovat tebya vechno, malysh,” he says. Secrets will haunt you forever, little one.

You don’t dare look up from your tea as you say, “Ya dumayu, ty by znal vse ob etom.” I guess you’d know all about that.

He gives you leftover curry in a carry bag when you leave. Kisses you on the cheek and lets you go, but you can feel him watching you the entire time it takes you to walk down the street and out of sight. As soon as you round the corner you retch into the nearest bush, a well-manicured rose which you silently apologise to as it gets covered in your bile.

This guilt isn’t something Bucky can save you from - it feels like it’s eating you alive. You had never, ever thought you would get to the point where you’d be leaving a bug stuck to the underside of your dad’s kitchen table, but you suppose you never thought you’d be stalked and kidnapped either. You wipe the your mouth with the back of your hand as your stomach finishes emptying itself of tea and betrayal, and try to tell yourself you won’t find anything, you're just being paranoid. But you know you will.

Maybe you always have, and that’s why you’ve been too scared to pull on the thread you’ve known has been dangling in the back of your mind since you were a kid. Just one secret you wanted to leave, one dark corner you didn’t want to shine a light into. That’s never been in your nature. You spit the foul, acidic taste from your mouth onto a poor, innocent rose bud and think with just as much bitterness as the bile coating your throat, that’s not who my dad raised me to be.

Part 7

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes x reader fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #reader insert #reader insert fic #pov #pov fic #biker!bucky #biker!bucky fic #biker!bucky au #biker au #11 hours #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #brock rumlow

[descendantofthesparrow]

Shuffle playlist - Rewrite - Part of Your World - Harry Hook x Reader - part 5 - the isle.

warning: talk of non-con selling of sex in last bit of chapter

(note: (n/n) means = Nick name)

=

Mal took a heaving breath as she led her scooter towards the edge of the cliff, facing towards the isle of the lost. Harry repositioned behind her, tightening his grip on the cushion below him.

Mal let out a few sputtering sobs and lifted her goggles off the bridge of her nose and placed them on top of her helmet. she swung her backpack off her shoulders and grabbed her spellbook from her bag, hurriedly shifting through the pages to find the correct spell. There it was. “Noble steed/proud and fair/you will take us/anywhere”

The scooter glowed purple for a moment before it went back to normal, and Harry could swear the barrier had shimmered purple as well.

Mal stuffed her book back in her bag and shrugged it back on, turning to Harry while reshifting her goggles back onto her nose “hang tight, and onto me, I know it'll be uncomfortable but I don’t know if this will work, and I still can't swim” Harry sighed and released the cushions, wrapping is arms around Mal's torso and leaning against her.

“okay, hoo” she took a deep breath again, revving the engine of her scooter “please work”

“Mal if this doesn’t work and we die I am going ta kill yeh!” Harry yelped as Mal suddenly swerved to the right towards the steep slope down towards the beach and lead the bike onto the ocean.

The bike hopped on the surface a couple of times before smoothing out, Mal looked over her and Harry's shoulders back to Auradon and let out a breathy laugh, she was free!!!! Free from the pastel dresses, the invading press, the bobby pins, the painful too small at her toe heels, the rules, everything!

She could finally be herself again.

She and Harry let out a gasp as the barrier shimmered over them, the feeling of her magic draining from her was probably the worst feeling she had ever experienced, yet the scooter was still running atop the water. “odd” she muttered to herself, slapping the handle of her scooter as she remembered FGs explanation of good-intentioned magic being allowed to exist behind the border.

And she was doing everybody a favor by going back to the isle, so it had to be good-intentioned…right?

She took a hard right, making Harry yelp, and rolled into the wharf market that was near the Core fours hideout. Harry finally looked around, fixing the black motor helmet over his head as he passed his fellow isle pirates.

Mal suddenly stopped, looking to her left and taking off her goggles, Harry looked away from the market and towards her, raising his brow as she tore down the defiled poster with her and Ben on it and bunched it up, she threw it over her shoulder and replaced her goggles. She drove the scooter down to the next block and parked it in the slot next to the ascending stairs up to the core fours apartment. Harry quickly slid off the back and ripped the helmet from his head, shaking around to get rid of the squished feeling on his ears.

“I’m never doing tha’ again” Harry growled, his icy blue eyes locking with Mals now dull green ones as she passed by him and walked over to the entrance of her apartment. She picked up a rock and chucked it at the yellow sign with the words ‘danger flying rocks’. the sign swung back and the metal fence door lifted up.

Mal glanced back at Harry and gestured to the hideout, inviting him into the safe space. He shook his head and held his hands up, the weight of the helmet in his left hand shifting a bit “nah, I swore never ta step foot in tha’ place, I’ll be at meh apartment for a bit till I go talk ta Uma” Mal tilted her head at him.

“why do you want to talk to Uma?” she asked, leaning over the railing of the steps. Harry gave her a look.

“I need her ta know I haven’t abandoned her” Mal's mouth made an ‘o’ shape as she nodded, realizing what Harry was talking about.

“I get it….sorry, I know I was part of the distraction that prevented Ben from getting more kids off” she sighed, scratching the back of her head. “I've- I wish I could’ve done something more- I-I just” Harry held his hand up again, shaking his head.

“I know, lemme say this from (y/n)s perspective because from mine I would just blame yeh fully” Mal let out a little snort, if anything her and Harry's distaste of each other hadn’t changed in the last 6 months, which was nice. “yeh were under a lot of stress, and it’s not yer job ta make sure Ben follows through on his promise to bring more vks over” Mal shook her head, pushing up on her toes and pouting at Harry.

“but I could have helped with moving it further along, it was my fault that he kept blowing you and (y/n) off on those meetings for the vks, I could have…I don’t know made him think we were having a date in his office and then you two just make him sit through the meeting or something” Mal sighed, leaning her cheek on her hand.

Harry shrugged again, looking down the alley “aye possibly, I’ll be back at meh apartment if yeh need meh, Jay will know where it is” Mal quirked her brow again.

“huh?” Harry smirked up at Mal, rolling his eyes.

“did yeh really think those three would jus’ leave ye ‘ere? and yeh know once (y/n) finds out I’m ‘ere too she’ll drag me off by meh ear” Mal rolled her eyes.

“I guess….though I was kinda betting on someone coming over and taking me back, I’m really just here to get away from it all” Harry nodded at that.

“aye, once we crossed the barrier yeh regretted this a bit didn’t yeh?” Mal nodded a bit.

“…yeah, that feeling of magic being drained from me it was just….made everything come back, now I remember why we all wanted to leave so bad….I guess the stress from Auradon made this place seem a lot better than it was” Mal sighed, looking up to the dark grey sky.

Harry nodded again and started to back away “aye, when the rest of em get here, just tell (y/n) I’m at meh apartment and Jay can lead ‘er there” Mal waved him off and watched him disappear into the dark alleys towards the wharf. She tapped her heel against the steel stairs nervously as he left her sight.

God, she hoped Hook wouldn’t find out about Harry’s presence on the isle.

She couldn’t bear to hear those sounds again.

=

You sighed as you leaned back in the cushioned chair in Ben's office, watching him quickly write down on the papers for cotillion. You had bust into his office about an hour ago, waiting until he finally talked about his fight with Mal. He stopped, looking up at you through his lashes before sighing and leaning back against his chair. “I really screwed up didn’t I” he finally muttered, crossing his arms and looking up at the ceiling.

“yep” you popped your lips, smirking as he groaned and rubbed his face in stress.

“but she lied to me! She lied about everything and thought she could get away with it! And-and” you rose your brow as he looked back to you. “-god I was just so angry at her for doing that but then….god I fucking compared her to Audrey” you blinked at that.

“you-I-wow Ben, that’s….alright then” you chuckled, pinching your nose and standing from your chair, walking over to bens desk and leaning on it “alright imma say it straight, and before you ask, I’m from a world where yall are a movie remember?” Ben nodded, slightly confused at the last part, leaning back slightly as (y/n)s disappointed look turned to a glare. “you are valid to be mad at Mal for lying to you about using her magic, you are valid to be mad at her for doing that. But you have to understand, she.is.not.you. she is not Evie, she is not Audrey, and she is not from here.

She is from the isle, where EVERYTHING was different for her, there were no rules, there was no press, there was no dress code, there was no nothing, she could just do whatever she wanted. Going from that, to having a billion rules and demands from everyone, is extremely stressful”

Ben tried to speak up but you silenced him with a glare “you may say ‘but I never asked her to be anything other than herself’ you never told her that, when she started to try being the perfect Auradon girl, you never told her that you liked it, you never told her you didn’t like it, you just let her keep going, which in her head translated it as ‘oh he likes me better this way, I’ll keep going’ I know you have that stained glass window with her in her full isle style self, but that window would have been helpful two months ago when all this shit started. She's having an identity crisis Ben, she needs support and guidance, now I don’t mean she needs her hand held, she needs someone to say that she's doing the right thing, that she's not screwing anything up.

she needed someone to say that she didn’t have to change because she was already perfect, yes, her attitude and shit needed work but as a whole? She was fine, she didn’t need to change the way she spoke, or walked, or dressed, or smiled. She just needs to learn that it's okay not to be okay, and to ask for help. She JUST learned that she wasn’t the only person in the world 6 months ago, and now she needs to learn that it's okay that she's not doing okay.

And you haven’t helped her with that, you have just stood by and acted like nothing was wrong, and that’s what is wrong Ben, you live in this world of lollipops and sunshine, that you don’t see what’s two inches in front of you! And that’s not a bad thing, I love that you’re an optimist, but when It comes to not seeing that something is wrong with your friends, that’s when it becomes a problem.” You sighed, leaning back and cracking your neck.

“again, I will say you being mad at Mal for lying to you about using her magic and…lying to you about how she was doing is completely valid. but you again have to understand, her entire existence, up until 6 months ago, was pleasing her mother.

and when her mother was turned into a mini dragon, her people-pleasing tendencies turned to you, and what she thought would please you most. And that would be a perfect Auradon girl. That’s why she did all that, because she thought you would prefer her that way instead of her actual self. On both sides of your argument, you both are in the wrong, and you both are in the right, but because you both lack communication between the two of you”

you held up your hand again as Ben tried to speak “neither of you truly talk to each other, yes you talk, but not really, you never asked about her boundaries, she never asked you about what you wanted, both of you suffered because you just won't talk to each other like that, you need to talk to each other and find out what is going on with the other to find balance in your relationship. Ben, you can't just rely on the other to come forward, you both have to if you see a problem in the relationship.

And the problem with yours is that you don’t know how to look past the surface and see beneath anything, and Mal doesn’t know how to ask for help. I’m not saying your shallow, I’m saying you’ve lived in a world of everything is perfect and nothing is ever wrong; so it's hard for you to realize that someone is having a hard time, and Mal has lived in a world where asking for help meant weakness or even worse death.” Ben paled at that

“so both of you have to teach the other about yourselves, Mal can teach you how to look beneath the front mask of people and see their true selves and intentions, and you can teach mal to soften up and learn that asking for help is not a bad thing anymore”

You sat back down in your chair and crossed your arms, waiting for Ben’s response as he just stared at you “I know, that was one big ol’ rant but it needed to be said” you laughed, cracking your neck and sighing “I haven’t talked that much in….never” Ben rolled his eyes and leaned forward on his hands.

“I need to talk to her” you nodded, shifting in your chair.

“what you need is to take your relationship slower Ben, it's only been six months, don’t you think that’s a little fast? especially for Mal who’s never done anything like this before? Something like cotillion and her being introduced as Lady of the court would be something that happened in a year, not six months. I think it would be better to celebrate the half-year of the vks being here than all that.” Ben paused for a moment, then groaned, flopping back in his chair.

“I’m an idiot” He muttered, you snorted and rolled your eyes “of course she's not ready for all this….I really should have paid attention to her more instead of just assuming that she was okay with everything changing so fast” he sighed, glancing back at you. You nodded to him, letting him know he was on the right track.

The two of you sat up as the door to Ben’s office opened suddenly and Evie stepped in, knocking rapidly on Ben’s door. “Evie!” Ben sighed, letting a smile bloom on his face. “come in” she quickly stepped into the room and closed the door. She let out a shuddering sigh and looked from you to Ben. You sighed, closing your eyes, right you had forgotten about Mal going back.

“Mal’s gone back to the isle” Evie's voice wavered, looking down at the floor as she quickly walked over to Ben and handed him a note. Before he could read it she said his name, and handed him the golden class ring Ben had given Mal during the coronation.

He stared at it for a few moments before hurriedly unfolding the note and reading it, his eyes shining as his shoulders dropped as he read the note. “this-this is my fault! She had been under so much pressure lately and I-I was the last straw….I shouldn’t have yelled at her like that” he bit his lip, a few tears trailing down his cheeks and hitting the top of his desk “she wasn’t even doing anything bad with her magic she was just taking a few shortcuts….I have to go to the isle and get her back myself! It's dangerous over there and she could get hurt…I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her” he turned to the window, peering out the side where he could see the edge of the ocean.

“Ben you’ll never find her! The isle is huge and she has a million hiding places!” Evie sighed, rubbing her arms as she thought about what she was about to do “you have to take me with you” Ben turned around, looking at Evie with wide eyes.

“I can't let you do that” he muttered, his shoulders dropping “I don’t want anything happening to you” Evie shook her head defiantly.

“I’m going, you don’t even know how to get from the entrance to the market, you need someone who knows the isle sand from stone…and I can't leave her there either, there's no doubt she’s made some enemies over there that are just waiting for a moment to strike, and without her mother's protection…even if it was lousy protection, she could get seriously hurt, or even worse killed…” Ben turned pale again, he didn’t want to think about that. “and she's my best friend Ben, I won't just leave her….and we’ll bring the boys too, because there's safety in numbers and I’m betting none of us are popular over there right now” Evie sighed, rubbing the back of her neck, she stopped, watching as Gil entered the room quickly and slammed the door behind him “Gil?” he looked to you, his face place and his body shaking.

“Gil what's wrong?” you asked, standing up quickly and walking over to him “you look like you’ve seen a ghost” he let out a small whimper and handed you a piece of paper from Harry's journal. “what-“ you felt your world stop.

-Gil, I’m sorry, but I’m going back to the isle with Mal, I’m not planning on staying but I need to make a point to beasty boy. I'll stay out of sight I promise.

-Harry

Harry had gone back to the isle with Mal “he what?!” you half screeched, almost stumbling back into the seats in front of Bens desk if it wasn’t for Gils hands on your shoulders

“(y/n)” Evie gasped, rushing over to you and wrapping her arm around your torso “what’s-oh no” she read the note, her face forming into a look of horror “Harry’s gone back to the isle too” she muttered, covering her mouth with a gasp. Ben furrowed his brows in confusion.

“why-you sound like it's even worse that he went back?” he asked, walking over to the three of you and glancing at the paper.

“because it is” Evie looked up at Ben “Harrys had it a lot worse than Mal, his- his father” you felt a cold chill rush over your skin and you broke from Gil and Evie's grip.

“his father what?” you snapped, the vks flinching from your dark tone. “tell me.”

“his-his dad um…he sold him when he didn’t have money” Gil muttered, his face turning green from the memories.

“or just didn’t feel like spending money” Evie snapped, hand clenching so hard you would hear her knuckles crack.

“…sold him?” Ben asked naively, Evie and Gil looked at him with sad eyes.

“he sold him to others to have….sex with” Gil paused between his words, they were almost too hard to get out “when he bought his rum or whatever he felt like drinking, I don’t remember how long it was happening but if Hook finds out Harry is on the isle….we might not ever see Harry again” you and Ben looked at each other and nodded.

“then it's settled” Ben clenched his fist around Mal's note and his ring, watching you as you grit your teeth and your eyes turn dark “we head to the isle as soon as possible, we can't risk anything happening to Harry or Mal” the three of you nodded and rushed out of Bens office to collect Carlos and Jay.

‘oh Harry’ you felt tears burn in your eyes as you burst into your dorm room and grabbed a change of clothes that suit the isle ‘why didn’t you tell me’ you stopped, seeing a large piece of paper from Harry's journal sitting on your desk. You quickly walked over and grabbed it, unfold it, and start to read.

-to my dear (n/n)

I’m sorry, but I’m going back to the isle. No, we aren’t breaking up, this has nothing to do with you, I’m making a point to Ben.

I know he and the others will stop at nothing to get Mal back from the isle and I needed to make sure Ben would see the isle for what it really is. A place where no child should be and hopefully, he will get a move on for the vk transfer thing.

I also needed to see Uma and my sisters; they need to know I haven’t abandoned them. I know you’ll be coming with Ben and the others to get me, I do not doubt that, so I’ll see you soon.

I know the dangers of me being here, and I’m sorry I never told you about my history with my dad, but I’m sure Evie and Gil filled you in on it. I’m planning to stay out of sight and away from him and anyone who might tell him about me being here.

I promise when we are back in Auradon I’ll tell you everything about my life on the isle, you deserve to know.

I love you; I know I have never said that, but I’m sure of it now, and I wanted to say it just in case.

-Harry

You let out a low sob and collapsed against your desk, holding the now crumpled note against your chest “Harry” you chocked out, feeling droplets of tears hit your hand. “you stupid fucking idiot”

“I love you too”

-end of part 5-

Here it is! Part 5! I hope I made bens side of the argument…better while also still being like “yeah both are wrong both are right in it, but Mal was really having a hard time and ben needs to slow the fuck down” because MAL IS NOT READY FOR ANY OF THE DATING SHIT SHE IS DOING IN D2, COTILLION SHOULD HAVE WAITED FOR AT LEAST ONE YEAR INTO THEIR RELATIONSHIP NOT 6 MONTHS! Anyway, I also hope Mal and Harry's talk at the beginning was also…nice? That’s the best word I can think of right now but I hope im making Mal an actual likable character instead of….ya know *gestures to d2/3* that. Im trying to actually develop her d1 character into something more instead of just making a whole new one each “movie”

And yes, James is just as Bad in this as he was in the OG part of your world, and don’t worry, he does get his ass kicked by reader.

Thank you for reading!

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#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #rewrite #part of your world #shuffle playlist #reprise #encore #an entire two pages went into the rant reader gave ben #in this both mal and ben are at fault in the aurgument #but both are also in the right #ben being mad at mal for lying to him about basically everything is valid #mal getting upset at him yelling at her coping mechanism is valid