#cropped out the second half of the ask cause it's just slurs

[nyancrimew]

the terf hatemail game has finally been upgraded with some more girlboss econ major email swag, i shall reserve a slot for it on my calendar when i return after the holidays

#anon hate #suicide tw #cropped out the second half of the ask cause it's just slurs

[lottiebagleywritesobx]

Tequila confessions

JJ lets out a sigh at the sight of his best friend. He'd been late to the kegger and more than ready to relax and have fun with his friends, he knew almost immediately that his plans were going to be very different.

"JAIII," She's slurring as she shouts, stumbling a little over nothing as she approaches him.

"Hey sunshine," He coos lightly, tucking her into his side as he points Kie a sharp glare.

She holds her hands up in surrender "That girl is crazy," Kie defends, causing the girl to let out a gasp, turning to fight back but seemingly forgetting she was mad in the first place when she actually sees Kie, instead moving to go and hug her friend, she's kept in place though by JJ's arm around her shoulder.

"Seriously Kie, I asked you to keep an eye out for her for like a couple hours cause I had work," JJ complains, it was no secret amongst the pogues that she couldn't hold her drinks, she could casually drink on the boat all day but the minute she was in a party setting she would wind up pissed.

"It's not my fault girls from school wanted to do tequila shots and-"

"Shit! You know she voms on tequila," JJ grumbles

"No, we don't all know every little thing about her," Kie defends, JJ rolls his eyes, glancing to see if she had realised what Kiara meant, she seemed to be entertaining herself by playing with the ends of his fingers that hang around her shoulder. "C'mon, I'll get you a beer," Kie offers.

JJ sighs, he does want to drink with his friends, smoke a bit too. It had been a long day and he needed to relax. He knows though that if his best friend has done tequila shots she'll be feeling ill within minutes and he wants to be able to look after her properly.

"I should probably skip, get this one home," He admits, squeezing the girl in his arms a little, seemingly drawing her attention back to him.

"I'm not going home," She argues, still slurring

"Sunshine, you gotta. You'll be feeling poorly soon and-"

He cuts himself off when she makes a dash for it. Leaving his tight grip and sprinting across the beach to John B who reaches out immediately to steady her and stop her from falling.

"Fuck it. Where's the beer Kie?" JJ decides.

He settles at the campfire, drinking slowly so as to stay sober and look after her when she inevitably needs him. A group of touron girls are talking to him, pawing for attention and he's half listening, his eyes are zoned in on her though.

He watched as she danced with Sarah.

He watched as she played beer pong with some kook boys, not sure if he was mad because she was already drunk enough or because they all kept trying to touch her. He figured it's probably the latter.

He watched as she splashed Pope in the shallow water.

Unable to help himself, a large grin spreads across his face as he watches her approach him. She's reaching out and making grabby hands at him, confidently shoving her way through the girls surrounding him to sit next to him. She doesn't need to worry about it, he's always dropped everything to be with her.

She sits silently, head cocked to the side, eyeing JJ with great concentration  despite her glassy eyes. He takes the moment to look at her, glowing in the light from the fire and biting her bottom lip slightly, she always does when she's focused.

"Your face is stupid but I like it. I like your stupid...it's so...I like it. Can I touch it?"

"Course you can sunshine," He's grinning widely and can practically feel himself melting when her hand reaches out, stroking his cheek gently.

"JJ can I tell you something?" She's trying to whisper but her voice is no where near quiet, hand still cupping his face.

"You can tell me anything," He reassures, hand going to her knee to rub comforting circles on the skin

"I feel icky,"

"You wanna leave?" He asks, his voice soft

"I wanna be with you,"

"Well obviously I'm leaving with you, christ sunshine, wasn't just gonna let you wander off home all alone,"

"But you just got here and then I'll ruin your night-" He can tell she's about to ramble so he decides to cut it off quickly

"I'd rather be with you anyway. Alright?" He speaks so softly that if anyone who knew him and hadn't seen him around her before were to see they'd struggle to believe it was him at all.

**

JJ prides himself on how attentive he is to her needs. No matter the situation he knows what she wants.

Tonight is no different, she's leaning over the toilet of the chateau, JJ is standing behind her rubbing her back comfortingly as he holds her hair back.

She pulls away from the toilet, her face a little sweaty and immediately JJ is passing her a glass of water. She pats the floor next to her and JJ immediately sits. "I wanna give you something," She sighs, her head falling to JJ's shoulder as she hiccups a little

"What is it?" He asks, hand once again finding it's home on her knee, his thumb rubbing gently

"My heart. I wanna give you my heart. How do I do it?" She springs up off his shoulder again, looking at him intensely

"Might take a surgery, we'll leave that one for tomorrow yeah?" He questions gently. He knows he can't let himself, even for a second, think she means what's she's saying. She's intoxicated and she's a sappy drunk and he can't set himself up for that kind of heart break.

"Tomorrow though?"

"Yeah sunshine," He nods.

"You're my best friend JJ, but don't tell Kie," She whispers, although it's still not quiet

"You're mine. But don't tell John B," He hums in response, watching her with a wide smile as she grins, rocking back and forth a little.

"I really love you," She admits, her eyes almost look scared

"I really love you too,"

"No like I really love you. Like I wanna have your babies and be with you all the time kinda love you,"

"You are drunk. You don't know what you're saying," He's more telling himself than her.

"NO!" She shouts, gasping dramatically as though she's offended. "I'm not drunk. If I was drunk could I do this?"

He sits silently for a few seconds, watching as she seems to glare at him instensly.

"What is it you are doing sunshine?" He questions

"I-I'm sending you my love. Did you not get it?" She almost looks like she's about to cry and JJ acts quickly, pulling her into a tight hug. "Can we sleep now blondie?"

"Of course sunshine," He agrees immediately.  He lifts her from the floor with ease, placing her onto the bed in the room that might as well belong to him. He makes her down another water, helping her out of her jean shorts and crop top and helping her into one of his tshirts. Passing her a cotton pad with her makeup remover on.

She snuggles into the mattress pulling the duvet up to just under her eyes as she watches JJ get ready for bed. He turns around to face her "Thought you were taking your makeup off sweetheart?"

"No. I want cuddles,"

"You can have cuddles after you take your make up off," he instructs, she sighs dramatically but rubs at her face with the cotton pad.

He climbs into bed next to her, opening his arms and immediately she snuggles into them, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her arms around him, he holds her close, rubbing her back gently.  

"I really am in love with you JJ,"

"Tell me again after you've slept and I'll be yours. Okay sunshine?"

"Okay," She agrees, smiling when she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head "You'll say it back though, right?" She questions, her voice slowly becoming more drowsy

"I promise,"

**

JJ wakes up to see her still in his arms. She's awake though, staring at him from his chest.

"Are you watching me sleep like a creeper?"

"Are you gonna say it?" She enquires immediately,  he doesn't like the way his heart swells, maybe she meant it? maybe it wasn't just her drunk ramblings?

"You need to learn how to hack a drink," He scolds lightly

"Not that JJ,"

"I'm in love with you," He speaks quietly, she jumps immediately, sitting up to straddle him and pulling him up with her.

"I wanna kiss you,"

"Then kiss me," He grins, he doesn't think he's ever been happier.

"I haven't brushed my teeth,"

"I don't care," He laughs a little and she giggles

"I do. C'mon," She pulls him from the bed to follow her.

They brush their teeth, JJ's arms wrapped around her waist as they do so and the second both their toothbrushes are back in the little holder his lips are on hers.

He kisses gently, like he's been waiting for this his whole life and he wants to savour every last second. She figures that maybe he has been.

"JJ, did I mention having your kids last night?" She whispers, foreheads pressed together.

"Yeah. You are never living it down sunshine," He's beaming as she giggles, leaning up to press her lips back to his.

#jj maybank #jj #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #obx fic #obx #jj maybank fic

[egcdeath]

first impressions

pairing: soft!ransom drysdale x reader 

summary: [request] “hmm prompts... Ransom introducing you (a total opposite of him) to his family for the first time, or a Thrombey wedding! if you feel like it” i like where your brain is at anon! but why not a little bit of both? ;)

word count: 3.7k

warnings: pretty fluffy, some angst, toxic family dynamics

author’s note: this has been super lightly edited so pls forgive any mistakes <3 click here if you’d like to be added to my taglist & all reblogs are super appreciated!

You felt slightly out of place driving through the neighborhood of your youth in the passenger seat of Ransom’s beloved Beamer. Thinking of how your parents would react to your boyfriend, let alone his lifestyle of excess, made your heart rate increase, and you shuffled a bit in your seat unconsciously as a result of your nerves. As if he were reading your thoughts, Ransom set a steady hand on your knee and gave it a tiny reassuring squeeze before parking in front of the curb ahead of your home. 

Nervously exiting the vehicle, you watched wordlessly as Ransom grabbed your overnight bags from the trunk, and hauled them over his shoulders. Still saying nothing, you reached out and grabbed Ransom’s hand, constricting his circulation as you strolled up to your door, and rang your own doorbell.

When your mother whipped open the door and offered you an excited grin, you finally were able to let out the breath that you weren’t even aware you were holding.

“Goose!” your mother cheered, squeezing the life out of you while you snuck a glance at Ransom who seemed rather amused by the childhood pet name. “And who’s this?” she asked, pulling away from you and looking him up and down.

“I’m Ransom, your daughter’s boyfriend,” he announced with confidence, offering your mom friendly smile, before glancing back over at you and raising his brows the slightest bit. 

“Finally putting a face to the name, then. I’ve heard all about you from this one. Come on in,” she gestured for the two of you to enter. “Y/N can show you to her room, and dinner will be ready in about a half hour,” with that, your mother was off, and you were once again alone with Ransom.

You showed him up to your room, where he set down the bags and flopped down onto your bright pink duvet.

“Goose, huh?” he questioned, rolling on the hyperfeminine twin mattress. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, before sitting down next to the headboard of the bed.

“Do you think she liked me?” Ransom asked, seemingly out of nowhere. “Did you tell her good things about me?”

“Since when do you care about what other people think of you?” you giggled a bit, and planted your fingers in Ransom’s hair. 

“I care because…” he thought for a moment, calculating just how honest he wanted to be. “I care because this is the longest relationship I’ve been in, and I want my future parents-in-law to like me.”

“We’ve been together for like, a year, Ran. But I applaud your commitment to me,” you massaged his scalp as you spoke, and ignored the butterflies floating throughout your torso at his mention of marriage. 

“Well? Do you think she likes me?” he asked once again. 

“Mmm, I like when you care about things,” you pressed a little peck to his forehead, and hovered a bit over his face. “She said like, 20 words to you, max. But after dinner I’m sure they’ll like you. At least I hope they will.”

Ransom playfully swatted at you. “How comforting. Wait, stay right there,” he reached up and held the hand that was massaging his scalp in place. 

——

By the time dinner came around, you seemed to have switched emotions with your partner, as you were feeling much more relaxed, and Ransom on the other hand, was not.

He kept a hand on your knee under the table in what seemed like a grounding technique, squeezing every now and then while your father plated your meals.

“So, how did you two meet?” your father questioned, sitting down beside your mom.

“We met while we were volunteering at the Humane Society together,” you gushed, glancing over at your partner who was nervously sipping his water, then back at your parents. “He always seemed so pissed in the beginning. I mean, the amount of times I saw him growling obscenities while tugging on harnesses, or playing the most unenthusiastic games of fetch I’d ever seen in my life is astounding,” you laughed softly, and looked over at Ransom once again as if you were cueing him to speak.

“Yeah, I really didn’t like it there at first. Not really a dog guy, but my grandad said it was community service or no allowance, and I was not interested in the latter,” he chuckled awkwardly and received confused expressions from your parents, which granted you an SOS squeeze on the knee. 

“Um, anyway, one day we were closing, and I went into the last cat suite, and there grumpy old Ransom was, cuddling with Garfield, you know, the old cat with the three legs, and it was literally the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Especially ‘cause Garfield is so hard to please,'' you paused to take a bite of the food in front of you. “We started talking more after that, then he asked me out, and of course I said yes. I guess the rest is history.”

“Aw, Goose, that’s so cute!” your mom cooed, but the moment didn’t last too long. 

“What do you do for work, Ransom?” Your dad asked, tilting his beer at the man. 

“I’m currently in between jobs. But, uh, I’ve been doing a lot of volunteer work.” 

Your father nodded wordlessly and paused for a second. “Volunteering get you a Beamer?”

“Dad!” You interrupted in a yelp, “please.” You frowned as you looked between the men. 

“Y/N, it’s fine. It’s a good question, but I got it as a gift a few years back. And, you know, my family’s comfortable.”

Before your father could respond, your mom popped in to save the conversation. “No money talk at the table, please. Tell me more about your relationship,” she gave both of you a sympathetic look. 

——

After that, dinner went on without much of a hitch, and you agreed upon doing the dishes with your mother while your father and boyfriend prepared a little fire outside.

“He seems sweet,” she commented after a long period of silence. 

“I’m glad you think so. He was really worried about you not liking him, and honestly, I was too,” you rinsed the last glass before setting it in your dishwasher.

“I just want you to be careful, okay? When you have that much money, people do strange things, or say things they don’t mean and expect you to just take it. He seems like a good boy, but just don’t let your guard completely down. The last breakup you went through-“

“Stop, I get it,” you sighed softly. 

“This doesn’t mean I don’t like him. I just don’t want to see you that hurt again,” she gave your arm a soft squeeze. “Let’s go stop your dad from catching a murder charge,” she beckoned you to follow her out to the backyard, where your boyfriend and dad were… laughing together? If you weren’t so relieved, it’d almost be off-putting. 

The rest of the night went alarmingly well, Ransom finding a way to bond with both of your parents after an awkward first half of the evening. As the two of you crawled into your tiny bed and spooned while drifting off to sleep, Ransom slurred a tired ‘I think they liked me,’ into your ear. 

From that point on, Ransom’s position within your family only became better. For the first time, he was welcomed into a familial environment that wasn’t more toxic than a Chernobyl cooling tower, and Ransom was loving it. After suggesting to spend that year’s Thanksgiving at your parents’ home, spending the holidays with the L/N family became a frequent occurrence for the two of you. 

Though you occasionally wondered why you were four years into a relationship with the man, and still hadn’t met his family, which to your understanding, was rather large, you had better things to concern yourself with. You understood and respected that Ransom’s relationship with his own family wasn't the best, from the little that he shared with you, but occasionally curiosity often got the best of you.

Yet, things seemed to shift after your engagement. In the midst of dress fittings and cake tastings, Ransom had decided that it was finally time for you to meet the rest of the Thrombey clan, and that there was no better time than Harlan’s book release party, which was being celebrated out in California, at the Thrombey Vineyard.

In your years of relationship, you’d become no stranger to luxury, and the finer things in life, but arriving at the Vineyard put you in awe at just how affluent these people were. Perhaps that’s what happens when you’re one of the great writers of your time, and your offspring go off to become equally “self-made” successes.

You were a bit tired from the three hour difference between Boston and Sonoma Valley, and as soon as you hopped out of the car at the vineyard, you could only think of getting to your room, out of your baggy travel clothes, and to sleep as soon as possible. 

Trailing behind Ransom, you looked around at the vast expanse of crop-filled land around you in astonishment while you walked up the cement path to the mansion, not really noticing the petite woman with curled blonde hair, and an oversized straw hat approaching you. 

“Oh gosh, you must be Y/N!” she said gleefully. “I’m Joni. I’ve seen you all over Ranny’s Insta,” she paused and looked you up and down. “Well, you do look a little different there,” she chuckled.

“That’s great, Joni. Maybe you can Tweet about how exhilarating and life changing this experience has been for you to all your little pyramid scheme friends.”

“You’re always so rude, Hugh,” she sneered.

“I forgot about your chronic victimhood. Goodbye, Joan,” he rolled his eyes, and practically tugged you inside the massive building in front of you, before dragging you up the stairs. You were honestly in a little bit of shock at seeing how nasty Ransom got from just a small interaction.

You set your Louis Vuitton Keepal, and aluminum suitcase down on the granite floor of the bedroom, before flopping down, and spreading your limbs out on the massive memory foam bed that sat in the center of the room, “What was that, Ran?” you questioned as he sprawled out next to you.

“The reason why I didn’t want you to meet them. They’re like sharks, looking for anything that even resembles blood in the water,” he threw an arm around you and yawned. “We can talk about this in the morning, though. Right now, I think that both of us need a shower.”

“Speak for yourself, you stink bug.”

“But what if I get lonely in there?” 

“Fine,” you huffed, moving his arm off of you, and heading off to the en-suite. 

That night, as you stared at the blank wall in a vain attempt to quiet your mind enough to fall asleep, you questioned if coming to meet Ransom’s family was more of a mistake than you initially anticipated.

The next morning felt a bit frantic. You and Ransom woke up a few hours before everyone else, as they’d been in California for a few days now and had adjusted to the time difference, while you two had not. An in-house chef made you two a gourmet buffet of a meal while housekeepers laid out your clothes back in your room, and you were feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the sudden interferences in your life. Though it was nice to not have to do all of the work, you weren’t sure how you felt about other people doing it for you. 

The majority of your day felt similar to that morning. You quickly realized that Ransom’s fortune was just a small portion of the Thrombey estate, and that his family were essentially a bunch of monsters with money. Throughout the day of horse riding, wine tasting, and wine painting workshops, you couldn’t help but notice how they turned their noses up at you, treating you, and the staff working at the vineyard, like some sort of outsider. 

Your alienation only became more apparent during Harlan’s celebratory dinner, when insults and sneers were tossed at both you and Ransom for being together. 

“Are you trying to get revenge on us, or something?” Richard asked at one point, gesturing to you, and catching you completely off guard, 

“Why would you say something like that?” Ransom asked, trying not to let his offence show as his jaw clenched.

“It’s just not like you to want to settle down, especially with someone like… her,” he spoke about you like you weren’t sitting right there.

“No, I agree,” Walt added. “For once in our lives I agree with you,” he laughed aloud, and a few other folks at the table laughed with him. “Can you believe that after all these years, we’re bonding over Ransom’s little girlfriend?” 

You weren’t even sure how to react, so you laughed awkwardly along with them, and stared blankly at the vast expanse of grape trees behind the row of Thrombey and their friends. What you would give to sprint out into that, and never come back. 

Ransom looked to you in your obvious discomfort, and grabbed your knee, offering it a little reassuring squeeze before he interrupted them. 

“You know what? All of you dickheads can eat shit. Y/N is really the only person who matters to me at this point, and you pricks need to respect that. Hell, you need to respect her.” 

“Look at little Ranny, getting all soft,” Walt chided. 

He ignored the comment and continued on, “And If I don’t start hearing apologies soon, every single one of your wedding invites have a one way ticket to the shredder.”

A silence fell over the table. You were a bit surprised too, since your invites had already gone out, and Harlan was the only Thrombey to receive one.

“...You’re getting married?” Meg asked, breaking the silence. “Why wouldn’t you tell us?” 

“Why do you think?” you muttered, pushing around a few things on your plate before standing up, and pushing your chair away. “Excuse me.”

You knew that by leaving, you were only opening yourself up for more criticism, but you genuinely weren’t sure that you’d be able to take one more second of hostility. You pushed your chair back in, before heading off the patio, into the gigantic home, and up to the room that you’d claimed.

You rolled on top of the bed, and screamed into a feather filled pillow. It wasn’t too long after when tears stung your eyes as you came to the conclusion that these monsters were just a few months away from becoming your in-laws.

You thought you’d heard the most of it after the table, yet a prompt knocking at your door proved otherwise. Letting herself in, you turned to face Ransom’s mother herself, and you just knew that you were in for it.

“Listen, you whore,” Linda began in a sharp, yet quiet tone, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do with my son. Isolate him from us. Try to ‘change him’ like I know you think you’re doing. But just know that at the end of the day, he’ll always pick us. You’ll always be the second choice, especially when Ransom realizes that you barely have a dime to your name, and his bank account starts to runs dry,” she approached you, and pointed an accusatory finger towards you. “You’ll never be anything but a disgusting, sloppy little gold digger. You may be his toy of the week, but at the end of the day, you’re just an afterthought. I suggest that you get out of his life sooner than later. I’m sure Ransom wouldn’t mind, considering we already have your replacement with one foot in the door,” she gestured over to the window facing the back patio, where Ransom was chatting with a brunette woman that appeared to be quite a few years younger than himself.

“You’re cute, Y/N. Really! It’s cute that you’re thinking right now that he would never leave you, cheat on you with some new, younger, hotter piece of ass. Just know that you don’t know Ransom as well as you really think you do. I can promise you, it’ll be much easier to break off an engagement than it’ll be to get a divorce. Especially with that prenup he’s considering dropping on your desk any day.” she tutted as if she cared. “Well, sweetheart, it was great meeting you. I’m glad that these were our first and last words together,” she gave your back a pat before leaving the room, and you looked out the window in shock. 

Shaking as you dig into the pocket of your sundress, you sent Ransom a simple ‘help’ message, before setting your phone aside and trying to pack your belongings in as quick of a manner as possible.

When Ransom opened the door, a steady stream of tears and mascara was staining your face, while you urgently threw things into your suitcase.

“Goose, what happened?” he gasped, hurrying over to your kneeling form, and setting a hand on your shoulder. 

“Why,” you sniffled. “Why would you let her come up here and say all that shit to me!” you croaked, swatting his hand away from you. 

“What?” he watched as you pressed down on the overfilled suitcase and frantically attempted to zip it, to no avail. “Linda said she was gonna come apologize?”

“Telling me that I’ll never be enough for you is just a perfect apology,” you muttered, “I need to go home.”

“God,” he grumbled to himself, “This is exactly why I waited so long for them to meet you. Okay, we can go home then. I’ll buy us tickets right now.”

“This is on you too, Ransom. You didn’t tell them about us, like, at all. You had so much time! You couldn’t give Linda a call and say ‘hey I’ve been seeing this girl’ or even tell Harlan to deliver the message for you?” you hiccuped, but continued. “All of this could’ve been avoided if they had four years to adjust to our relationship. Maybe then they wouldn’t call me a whore and a gold digger every other sentence.”

“I was just trying to protect you from them,” he frowned.

You finally managed to zip up the suitcase, and stood up along with it, “well, you clearly did a great job of that.” 

You dusted off the skirt of your dress, and grabbed your phone. “I’ll let you know when our car gets here,” you huffed before walking into the en-suite and closing the door behind you, just to have a moment for yourself (and make yourself look a bit more put together before you leave.)

A tense car ride, and awkward flight later, you marched straight into the guest bedroom, and cocooned yourself under a copious amount of blankets. You felt like you stayed there for years, only getting out of bed to shower and use the restroom, and living off of the crustless sandwiches and jarred spaghetti your fiancé brought to your door. 

You slept most of the time, and in the moments you weren’t sleeping, you were dwelling on every vicious word thrown at you at the vineyard. Every day, you listened to Ransom apologize through the door, yet every day, you questioned if going through with the wedding was truly the wisest idea. 

A few days into your stay in the guest bedroom, you finally allowed Ransom to stay in the room for more than just dropping off food. He sat down next to you in bed, and cupped your cheek in his hand, rubbing his thumb softly back and forth against the skin. 

“I don’t know how I can make things right for you,” he said softly. “I really did set you up, and I didn’t even mean to. I should’ve made better decisions, but I can’t change four years ago. But I can keep those heinous people away from you. They’ll never have the chance to do, or say anything like that to you again, okay?” his thumb caught on a tear, which he promptly wiped away. “Just… please don’t leave me. The bed feels too empty without you, and it’s just been a few days. I can’t imagine feeling that emptiness for the rest of my life.”

You whimpered and sat up, abruptly embracing the broad man. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let your idiot family make me question the validity of our relationship,” you muttered into his shirt. 

“I promise you you’ll never have to worry about them again. They had their opportunity to make things right, and they missed it.”

-----

Things were more or less smooth sailing after that fiasco. You found your perfect venue, decided on your ideal Honeymoon spot, and finished your seating arrangements with time to spare, and the next thing you knew your wedding day was around the corner. 

It all seemed to happen so fast, one second you were being walked down the aisle, the next, exchanging vows and rings as aisles of your friends and family members cheered for you, Y/N Drysdale.

Your reception also seemed to slip right through your fingers, your first dance, toasts and cake cutting finding itself over almost as soon as it started. You were grateful that you hired a wedding videographer, as the day was so overwhelming, you weren’t quite sure how much of it you’d remember. 

As you drove off to the airport, Ransom set his hand upon your knee one more time. A warm, fuzzy feeling formed in your chest at the all too familiar gesture. You turned your head from the window to your husband, who was grinning back at you, and couldn’t help but to think of how perfect your wedding ended up, though it felt like it sped by quickly. More than anything, you were grateful that you didn’t give up on Ransom despite his interesting family. 

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale #knives out fanfic #ransom drysdale x you #chris evans x reader

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Prompt: Vampire Chris drunk on blood?

CW: Drunkenness, drug addiction, blood drinking, vampirism, creepy abusive comfort, WWI-period-appropriate xenophobia and brief vague possible homophobia reference, dehumanization, war whump

"Now, that'll get you blotto faster'n French liquor," Kirk says, sinking back against the muddy trench wall, careless for the dirt caking itself into the hair at the nape of his neck.

His helmet lay beside him upside down on the ground, and his brown hair was free to explode in its wealth of curls, a kind of halo around his head. He had one arm out, sleeve rolled back. His hands were caked in mud and smeared with drying dirt - above the line of his sleeve, though, the skin was paper-white, almost clammy.

It was this white skin that the vampire's fangs were buried in.

"Shit, Holden, y'gotta have 'im bite you, too." Kirk's grin widens. The shells had gone silent but every man flinches, now and then, hearing a phantom sound or feeling a rumble beneath their feet.

At least it's finally stopped goddamn raining.

The venom rolls through Kirk's veins, soothing his jangled nerves. He can barely feel the trembling in his hands and it feels like his mind, when it's in him. He's a farm kid from western Nebraska, the second son and not needed so much as the first to bring the crops in. So here he is, learning to love the feeling of teeth in his skin.

Maybe when he gets shipped back home he'll stick to the cities. They say the vampires have their dens there, where they can hide. You can buy venom enough to quiet your mind for a day or two, the city boys tell him.

They're in it as deep as he is, now.

Feels like half the American army is itching for venom these days.

"No thank you. I'm not gonna get sent home and start chasing fangs like the rest of you." Holden squints, looking up into the dark sky, the rolling clouds that seem far too close to the ground. "It'll rain again soon."

"When isn't it going to rain again soon? Oh, right, when it's already bloody raining." That's a Brit, they just call him Tommy. No one knows his real name.

He claims to hate them all, but since half his unit was blasted apart two days ago, he's hung with the 'Yanks' close enough. Kirk thinks he's fond of them, even if he won't admit it. Or just scared to be alone. He can understand that. He's terrified of the thought himself. "Shove the little vamp over to me, Kirk, I want some."

The vampire pulls his fangs free, licking over the wounds he's made until they close. He's a skinny little thing, pale as paper with bright red hair they stuff under his helmet when he's running medic checks in No Man's Land, trying to make him less obvious. Sure, he can't die from gas, but he can be blown to bits by a whizz-bang fast as any living soldier can.

"Please," The vampire says, turning big green eyes up to Kirk. "I, I, I'm tired, please, can I sleep?"

He's got heavy dark circles under his eyes. It's kind of cute.

"No," Kirk answers, curt, shoving the vampire away by his head, watching him fall into the mud. His uniform is marked with it, now, a dab of dirt over the 'V' sewn next to his medic's cross. There's a satisfaction, in Kirk, just in seeing the little thing laid low.

He won't die in this war, and Kirk probably will, but before that happens he can at least hurt something he can see. You can't see old Fritz when you fire on him from a distance - but you can see a vampire flinch in the dirt. It's not much.

It's something.

"Must be daytime," Holden speaks up, still staring up at the clouds. "You can't tell, weather like this, but if the fangs're tryin' to sleep, must be day."

"He sleeps when we're done with him, and not a moment before." Kirk's voice is a murmur, eyes half-closed. He's drifting in it, the way the venom dulls and deadens the eternal ache in his back and legs. The Germans could come roaring over the bags right this second and Kirk wouldn't give a damn at all. Let them kill him, at least he can go with venom in his veins, not as a basket case carried off the field. "Not a second before. Go on, bloodsucker. Get over to Tommy and help him get some shut-eye, huh?"

"I've been drinking all night, pulled some rations off someone," Tommy groans, rubbing his fingers at his temples. "It's done no good at all." It's a funny little gesture, so oddly normal and casual. Reminds Kirk of home.

His throat tries to close, homesickness bowling him over. The wish to return to his mother's worn smile, sit down to dinner and have her ask him about his day, when his problems revolved around the harvest and the hard backs of the pews in church-

He takes a breath, forcing it back, and gives the vampire a vicious kick in the ribs, listening to his high-pitched cry and how he curls around himself with a smile of his own.

Oh, he'll die, probably. The others from his town already have. But he can remind himself he's still alive, for now. One way or another. He can cause pain he can't feel himself, for once.

"I said get over to Tommy and smooth out his sharp bits, bloodfuck."

"Yes, um, y-yes, Kirk," The vampire says, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. His fingers are smashed into the mud deep enough to nearly disappear. If they could only get a few days of sunlight to dry out all this dirt, it wouldn't be such hell.

As it is, his socks've been damp for weeks, his boots feel like they're caging his feet in a swamp. He's worried about trenchfoot and trying not to think about it. He stole these boots off a dead German when his own started to fall apart, anyway.

He could've probably gotten new ones, but... it had felt good, taking something from Fritz after Fritz took so much from him.

Kirk tries not to remember that the German soldiers he fights have never caused him a single moment's harm on purpose. They're only fighting for the same reasons he is - because someone higher up who doesn't give a damn about them said to.

Kirk had been all gung-ho for the war until he'd been sent over here to fight it. All those articles in the newspapers, all the speeches given by men standing in town squares... it had all made it seem so patriotic.

They never tell you, Kirk thinks bitterly, that you'll be sent into a slaughterhouse. They don't tell you you'll spend your day breaking a vampire's fingers one by one just to watch them heal back into place and listen to his little cries.

Just to pass the time.

"Trade me your flask while the fangs takes care of you," Kirk says, and Tommy hands it over easy enough.

He watches Tommy grab the vampire by one arm and yank him over, vicious and violent, making the vampire boy cry out again. The sound is starting to grate on Kirk's nerves. It makes him sound too human. He hates being reminded that every vampire used to be a person.

He drinks whatever's in the Brit's flask, and it burns down his throat just the way he needs it to. Wipes out his worries, relaxes shoulders that seem always to be tensed up nearly to his chin.

His mama's a teetotaler, back in Nebraska. He'd been one, too, until the first bombardment. Now he drinks anything he could get his hands on, and the officers mostly looked the other way.

"Bite," Tommy orders. Kirk raises his eyebrows when Tommy doesn't roll up his sleeve but pushes the vampire's face instead towards his neck, turning his head to the side to bare it.

His eyes meet Kirk's, and he smiles, bitterly. "Works faster this way," He explains. Kirk just watches as the vampire's fangs glint in the eternal dim twilight, hesitating before they bury themselves in Tommy's skin.

The little monster's back arches, pressing them chest-to-chest. A low rumble comes from somewhere deep inside, the animal sound the vampire makes during a good feed. He doesn't do it much with the regular unit any longer, they mocked him for it and one day he stopped.

The vampire's throat works as he drinks, and Tommy's arm slides around the monster's thin shoulders, forcing him closer. He's nearly kissing his forehead, this way.

It's an embrace, and altogether more intimate of one than Kirk thought he'd ever see from the cold, standoffish Brit. He feels a blush creeping up his neck and his cheeks as Tommy lets his head fall back, groaning softly in a kind of contentment as the venom hits. The sound isn't quite like a groan at all, it's more like-

"Fucking hell, Tommy, are you an invert?"

"Invert suggests I give a damn what bites me," Tommy replies, without opening his eyes. His slurred speech deepens, goes slow. His hand curves around the vampire's shoulder, holding him tightly. "I'm after oblivion, lads. I don't care what parts the fangs have that give it to me."

"Fang-chaser," Holden says, good-naturedly. Clearly not bothered the way Kirk is. Maybe that's just his farmboy past talking, that he's even unsettled at all. Maybe Tommy's got a point - who cares what's between a vampire's legs if you're only interested in the damn thing's mouth in the first place? "Fucking fang-chaser, that's what you are. End up in a den getting your hips bit like Oscar Wilde."

"Who's Oscar Wilde?"

Holden laughs. "You should try reading a book or three sometime, Kirk."

"Sure, sure, whenever I get the damn time in-between running over this blasted nothing. In any case, Tommy's definitely a fang-chaser."

"Guilty as charged... just like you two." Tommy's hand slides up into the vampire's hair, gripping tight and gently pulling backwards. The vampire's fangs slide free, and it laps at the wounds, rapidly. Tommy groans again. Kirk finds himself unable to look away at the bob of Tommy's throat. How good does it feel, in the neck? He's never thought to try it. He thinks about it now. "Turn me in to face discipline for unnatural relations with the fangs and I'll do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. Fucking Limey bastard." There's no real animosity in Kirk's voice. He's too distracted, drunkenly considering the vampire boy's mouth. Wondering if he knows how to kiss. "You shared your liquor, I shared our bloodsucker, we're both of us in it to our necks."

"Not me," Holden says, innocent and pure as the driven snow. As if he weren't the one to give Kirk the idea to use the venom in the first place.

Kirk throws a clot of mud at him, which he dodges, laughing. They're all laughing, soon enough, except for the fangs.

The vampire lays there, his head pressed to Tommy's chest and forcibly held in place by his arm. His eyes are slightly wide, unfocused, and Kirk leans forward.

"What's this, then? What'd you do to the fangs, Tommy?"

"Hm? Nothing. Oh, I'm pissed as can be, do they feel the liquor in your blood?"

"I'm guessing they sure do. You drunk, fangs?"

The vampire's eyes drift over to Kirk, move too far to one side, come back again. He swallows, thickly. "I... I think I, I, I am," He says, and tries to push back against Tommy's chest, to free himself.

The Brit's arm crushes him back into place, his other hand moving up to run through the vampire boy's dirt red hair, petting him like one of the ambulance dogs. Kirk and Holden laugh at the vampire's weakness. "Stay right where you are," Tommy murmurs. "Or I'll run you through with my bayonet and let you squirm all day."

"Christ," Kirk says, blinking. "That's a bit rough, isn't it?"

"He's not alive, what does it matter?" Tommy lets out a bitter little laugh. "Might as well get a preview of our own ends, shouldn't we?"

"You two, maybe." Holden crawls into the dugout, the little bed-space, a kind of cave dug in underneath the upper layers of the trench. He lays down on his back, closing his eyes, hands behind his head. "I'm going to go back home and never think of you lot ever again."

"I pray every night to make it home," Kirk says, nodding along. "Not sure anyone's listening, but I got to try, don't I?"

"What happens to the fangs, anyway?" The Brit looks up, rocking a little back and forth. As if the bloodsucker were a baby needing soothing. The vampire boy has relaxed against him, the liquor-laced blood he drank lulling him into a complacent bonelessness. Kirk watches the vampire boy's fingers start to tap over the Brit's chest, a strange movement he's seen the boy do before in his few relaxed moments between the scream of the shells. He hums, low in his throat, tuneless.

"Huh?" Kirk blinks. "What d'you mean, what happens to him?"

"After the war's done. What are they gonna do with the bloodsuckers? Can't exactly pin a bloody ribbon for valor on them and send them on their way, now can they?"

"Nope. I don't know what happens. Maybe they'll just stake them all and have done with them."

The vampire shudders, giving a little whimper. Tommy leans down, lips moving against the vampire's hair. "Ssssshhhh. Not to worry, little fangs. War's not over just yet, now is it?"

"N-... no. Not, not, not, not yet." The vampire's eyes close, pink-tinged tears creating pale tracks in his dirty face. He's a sad drunk, then, Kirk figures.

Aren't they all, these days.

"Maybe you'll outlive us all, and make fools of us for keeping you." Tommy speaks with a patronizing affection, as mocking as it is tender, petting through the creature's hair still. It's... unsettling to watch. Kirk had figured the Brits and French probably killed all their vamps, since they were all disturbed by the sight of the vampire medics when the doughboys first arrived in Europe.

This, though... this makes it seem like Tommy's known a vampire or two himself, in his life. And he's sure as fuck not unfamiliar to what venom is good for outside of giving relief from agony to the injured.

Kirk frowns, thoughtful.

He's turned into a thoughtful drunk, too, thanks to this goddamn war. Sad and thoughtful. What a fucking waste.

"Sleep," Tommy says, almost gently, to the drunk little vampire. "I've got you. Sleep, little one."

The vampire's eyes slip closed. He doesn't breathe - there's no sense of his chest rising and falling. Kirk has to look away before the sense of wrongness, watching Tommy cuddle a corpse, makes him sick.

He takes a long, long draught from the flask, and relishes the burn that reminds him he's human, and alive.

His own eyes slip shut, and he prays for an hour or two of sleep before the next screaming shell bursts overhead.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #creepy comf #creepy comfort #dehumanization #vampire chris au #chris the strawberry blond romantic #war whump #world war one #ww1 #drunkenness tw #alcohol use tw #blood drinking #vampirism #vampires #xenophobia #brief homophobic reference #period-appropriate #abusive behavior #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #captivity

[cockasinthebird]

There’s a lot of things that Billy Hargrove loves about 4th of July. How loud the fireworks are, the chance to set something on fire without reprimand, barbecue food that reminds him of beach parties back home, beer just tastes better for some reason, the summer heat, and how scantily clad everyone is.

Guys with their exposed muscles, girls in their tiny bikinis.

Billy walks through the far too inebriated crowd spread out across the quarry, a beer in hand that is quickly warming up in his sweaty grasp, seemingly aimless in the way he looks at everyone who greets him all excited, then clearly disappointed that he didn’t stop to talk past pleasantries.

No, Billy is on a hunt; a hungry wolf looking for one specific lamb, no other temptations can match the urge for one pretty boy’s attention.

And he finds Steve Harrington, dressed in shorts too revealing and a top that ends just by his navel, leaning against the hood of someone’s car. Three girls in short skirts and bikini tops standing awfully close to him, listening intently - or at least pretending to - as he smiles all friendly and gestures with his red plastic cup to really emphasise whatever he’s saying.

Envy isn’t a thing Billy experiences, nah, definitely not, he reminds himself as he takes too big a gulp of his beer, yet it stirs sourly in the sudden pit of his stomach. They’re not dating, so he has no right to feel jealous about anything going on in front of him currently.

Yet when Steve leans in to whisper in one girl’s ear, causing her to giggle excessively and bash her eyes at him, Billy’s heart beats all wrong, fingers tightening around the neck of his bottle. It triggers that good old fight instinct in him, the one that used to make him throw fists with Steve before that handsome brunette dared kiss him.

Nothing’s been the same since- fucking Harrington; Billy was perfectly fine before that, completely, and now? Now he can’t stop thinking about their first time. Their second time. Their third. Fourth.

And what their fifth time might be like. Not that he’s keeping count, of course. Not that he’s anticipating it. Or thinking about it. Dreaming about it. Hoping…

Like a magnet to metal, Steve turns his head and his eyes lock right onto Billy’s, looking drunk but aware of how he’s being leered at. Something in his hooded gaze tells more than it should, like a confession to curiosity, answering questions that haven't yet been asked. At least not in so many words.

Billy takes a long swig of his beer, emptying the bottle and throwing it off to the side, then lets his eyes wander down - far enough for there to be absolutely no doubt what he’s thinking about, and from the way Steve smiles next only shows, “Message received.”

When Steve kicks off of the hood and moves to walk away from his little fangroup, one of the girls grabs on to his arm, with pleading eyes and a slight pout she says something Billy can’t hear, pressing her arms together to accentuate her tits, and Billy honestly can’t blame Steve for looking down at the inviting, soft flesh for a few seconds too many, before making up an excuse that sets him free.

The disappointment on all their faces feeds Billy’s narcissism immensely, and it shows in the grin that cracks across his face. Ah to know that he’s the first choice of princess Stevie’s desire, it washes away all that doubtful jealousy with warm waves of aroused excitement.

Steve stumbles just a slight bit as he approaches Billy, inebriated and smiling. “Hey Hargrove, got a smoke?”

Billy teases with his tongue out, biting down on it with shiny teeth, and oh the thrill when Steve’s eyes dart down to watch Billy wet his lips and appetite. 

“Sure I do,” he says with the most suggestive grin. “But not here, otherwise everyone else will want to bum a smoke, too.”

Not an actual concern, but a plausible excuse to get Steve alone.

Twigs bend and snap under Billy’s heavy footfall, and perhaps he didn’t think this through, walking in the forest in flip flops. Every time he turns to look behind, Steve’s still there, following with his eyes cast down to calculate every step before taking it, brows knit and eyes squinting in concentration.

The music is still audible at this distance, but all the lights from cars and bonfires have been obscured by trees.

Billy can’t imagine anyone bothered following them all the way out here, and since he can only hear the faint pop music and Steve stumbling near, decides that, yeah, this is far enough. 

Steve goes to slump against a tree, looking at Billy who fishes up a pack of cigs. “I didn’t actually follow you out here to smoke.”

“Oh really?” Billy chuckles deep and shoves the pack back into the pocket of his swimming trunks. “Just thought it’d be more courteous of me to offer you some anyways, but-”

One finger hooks itself on those red trunks and drags Billy closer till he lands close against Steve’s heated body.

“Eager, huh? Ah-” Billy hisses as Steve grinds their hips together, proving that he’s already sporting more than half a chub.

“I’ve been thinking about you for hours,” Steve admits with a slight slur, fingers working at the drawstrings of those red shorts. “Just waiting for you to show up, always fashionably late, wanna make sure everyone sees you, right?”

“Nothin’ wrong with liking being noticed,” Billy drawls with his nose pressed against Steve’s cheek, pursing his lips just enough to offer up light, almost chaste, kisses. “I’m more than worthy of the attention, don’t you think?”

“I do,” a whisper, and Steve turns his head to meet those gentle lips, just to then feel the breath of a moan graze his sweaty skin as he wraps his fingers around Billy’s girthy cock.

It teeters on the edge of uncomfortable, how stern a grasp Steve holds on his dick, the awkward movement of a clammy hand, but Billy grows hard quickly nevertheless, leaving him cursing and groaning.

“Fuck baby, ah-h…”

Steve smiles all too self-satisfied for doing such a half assed job.

With both arms extended above each of Steve’s shoulders, Billy braces himself against the tree, and when they kiss again - tongues dancing to the distant rhythm - he can taste absolutely every single sip of alcohol Steve’s had tonight, and Billy’s convinced it makes his own head spin a little.

“I want you so bad, Billy,” Steve whines all horny and pathetic into the embrace of their lips.

“Then turn around,” Billy’s voice is rough, demanding, confident, and he takes a step back to free up some space between them.

Steve lets out a shuddering breath at the chilling air between where their sweaty bodies had been connected, then swivels on his heels till his palms land firmly against rough bark. He pushes out his ass, serving it up on a silver platter, gazing over his shoulder to catch how Billy’s smiling all wicked and wild.

Billy runs his hand down the exposed bit of Steve’s back, where his crop top and shorts can’t reach, skin warm and soft and slightly damp from the summer heat. He dips a couple of fingers beneath the elastic waistband.

“Dressed a bit like a slut tonight, pretty boy,” he hums pleasantly and pulls at the shorts, just to let go and have it snap back, loudly.

An oddly delighted gasp escapes Steve. “Just for you.”

Billy’s hand had wandered down to caress a soft cheek, going further down to tease the skin just beneath the leg of the shorts.

“You really that needy and desperate for my attention?” His lips part in a grin, exposing sharp teeth that he licks across; a little predatory show that Steve absolutely notices.

“That’s not all I’m desperate for.”

Steve stretches out his arms proper and pushes himself against where Billy’s cock is rock hard, eliciting a groan followed by two hands grabbing all too hard onto Steve’s hips.

With his grasp bruising, Billy keeps Steve still as he ruts himself against the plush of Steve’s ass, both of them moaning as he slips and slides his full erection in the crevice between cheeks.

“Ah- Billy- please please please, I need more,” Steve whines with his head hanging low.

Billy chuckles, like rolling thunder in his chest, as he leans forward to bury his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, one hand slipping around and down to cup at Steve’s aching prick. He strokes it through the shorts, following the entire length up and down, Steve whimpering and panting and thrusting for more, as a wet spot forms by the head.

“God, you’re so wet and hard for me, baby,” Billy drawls, biting, kissing, sucking his way up Steve’s neck, marking him with his attention; make everyone know.

Thumbs hook themselves on the waistband to pull down the shorts just past the curve of supple cheeks, keeping his weeping dick trapped still.

“No underwear?” He brings his tongue to lick a sloppy line up Steve’s neck, nosing at the back of his ear, then breathes out hot, “Such a whore.”

Steve inhales as if to speak, to respond, but unadulterated lust occupies his mind like a thick fog, and all that comes out is a slight, erotic, “Fuck.”

And Billy brings his hand up to those pretty pink lips, pushing his way in without invitation, just to feel Steve’s tongue eagerly wrap itself around the two digits, letting Billy roam free in the wet heat till his fingers are dripping, spit running down his palm and wrist. Steve’s always so sloppy and obscene and greedy, which is what Billy loves about him.

He brings those slick fingers between them, down to circle around Steve’s rim, teasing with the tip applying just enough pressure for it to be agonizingly inadequate, making Steve whimper as he tries to move his hips in hopes of more.

Billy’s not a bad guy per se, at least not towards Steve anymore, so he gives his princess what he’s begging for and slips in a finger, smooth and easy, as deep as it goes, and he can feel how Steve trembles with delight. Relentlessly so, Billy pulls the finger almost all the way out, before plunging it back in again - setting a quick pace, but Steve’s hungry.

“Ah-h, more, Billy,” he moans with his head thrown back, mouth wide open to allow out every single lascivious little sound he has in him.

“Ssshh,” Billy hushes where he’s quick to lean in to whisper in Steve’s ear, “Be quiet and I’ll give you what you want. Can’t have people hear you and come looking for us.”

“What’s the matter, hmm? Ah- afraid of getting caught with your pants down?” Steve laughs but in a low manner, ultimately proving he’s following orders.

And truth be told yes, Billy is afraid to get caught like this with another guy, but that just makes this all the more thrilling. So without words and choosing actions instead, he with his one free hand covers Steve’s wide open mouth before pushing a second finger into his soft hole.

Thankfully so, for the way Steve moans in utter glee vibrates against the palm of Billy’s hand.

“God you need it so bad, huh princess? Need my cock in you?” his voice thick with wanton and self-restraint.

Steve mumbles out in agreement.

It doesn’t take long before he adds a third finger, and there’s an immediate ecstatic response from Steve, who suddenly can’t help himself as he reaches behind to grab Billy by the wrist and tries to push him in deeper.

“Such an impatient little slut tonight,” Billy barks out in laughter and curls his fingers. He can feel every single muscle twitch and tremble at it, and the way Steve keens makes his own hard prick throb with desire.

“Mmh, ah- please, Billy, fuck me,” Steve tears his mouth free from Billy’s grasp, lips wet with drool.

“Lucky for you I brought lube and a condom with your name on it,” Billy snickers as he reaches into his own back pocket for the small packs, when Steve complains,

“N-no, no condom, please,” he pleads all pathetic, twisting around till their eyes meet through the darkness. “I want to feel you inside of me, nothing between us.”

Billy doesn’t have to think twice about that. The condom was a nice courtesy on his behalf, so that Steve wouldn't have to walk around with cum dripping down his thighs, but if he wants it so bad…

With one hand he undoes the drawstrings of his shorts, with the other he holds the little silver pack of lube up to his teeth as he tears it open. The liquid is warm from the summer heat as he pours it on his steely cock, moaning as he strokes himself a few good times to cover up properly before lining up with Steve’s eager entrance.

“Yes, ohh,” spills from Steve’s open lips as Billy enters him; the fat, blunt head stretching him out nice and wide.

And Billy keeps pushing in, inch by inch till they’re flush together, Steve sandwiched between Billy’s broad frame and the tree where his nails dig into the bark.

“You got such a nice, tight ass, pretty boy. So perfect for my cock,” Billy growls into Steve’s ear, teeth scraping against the shell of it as he stands as close as he can get.

Steve doesn’t have command of his own words at this moment, he can barely even hum out in agreeance as he’s overcome with blinding lust.

Slowly at first Billy pulls out before sliding in in one smooth movement, out again and in as he carefully increases the pace to the rhythm of Steve’s moans. He’s starting to learn the pattern of the sounds Steve makes when he’s getting thoroughly fucked. A certain whine when he needs more, harder, faster. A deep, guttural groan when it’s all just perfect. A string of high pitched curses whenever Billy rams into his prostate. 

And the way Steve clenches tighter than any pussy Billy’s ever had whenever he’s close is almost gorgeous in a sense. With his eyes closed and forehead pressed against Steve’s shoulder, Billy thrusts into that indescribable heat, feeling how every muscle needs his cock, milking and massaging him, urging him deeper and deeper.

“Arrh fuck, feel so good.” He grabs on to Steve’s hips with both hands, pounding into him with ardent fervor, leaving poor Steve with the responsibility of covering up his own mouth.

Blame it on the liquor or Billy’s expert fucking, if he do say so himself, no matter which it has Steve cumming in near record time with an obscene, loud whine as he bites into his hand in an attemp to fight back his impulse to be heard.

It feels like magic, the way Steve’s climaxing body sucks Billy in, every single muscle convulsing around him.

“Yes, god, just like that, oh Steve I’m so close,” he groans out, strong and throaty, slamming in harder to get what he needs now that Steve has gotten his.

He leans back, one hand on Steve’s shoulder, pushing him against the tree as he pounds as hard as he can, staring down at where his girthy cock gets swallowed so eagerly, grinning at the oh so satisfying sound of skin slapping together almost violently so.

“Ahh fuck, Billy,” Steve whines, somewhat euphoric, somewhat sore, all together enjoying being used so easily.

“That’s right, bitch, say my name.”

“Billy!”

“Yes.”

“Billy-”

“Shit, yes, arh--” 

He cums with what feels like an explosion of ecstasy in his groin, radiating out and up his spine to flourish in his chest as he fills Steve up with every last bit of energy that he has in him; a pulsating, slick heat that he buries himself in to the base of his throbbing cock.

But he doesn’t linger. As soon as they’ve both caught their breath he pulls out, well satisfied with his work as he slaps Steve’s ass lightly with his tongue out between teeth, chuckling at the little yelp that comes with it.

“Jesus, Harrington, that was fucking good,” he says as he puts himself away again in his swimming trunks.

Truth be told he wants to stay. Hell, he even wants to cuddle a bit, but it’s too soon to tell if Steve wants the same. No matter the answer, Billy isn’t sure he wants to know. Instead of thinking too long about what could be, he fishes up a cigarette and lights it quickly so that the smoke may fill the emptiness inside.

Steve’s a whole mess still. Basking in the afterglow, slow to pull up his shorts and turn around, just to steal the cigarette from between Billy’s lips and taking a drag himself.

“Really good, yeah,” he breathes out in sweet relief, then dares to ask, “What now?”

Like it’s a fucking invitation for more. To open up. To tell the truth. Every possibility flies through Billy’s mind all at once, but he plays it safe,

“I could use a drink.”

#Harringrove #lemon #Also on AO3 #my writing

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Imagine Coming Out to Steve as Bisexual:

A/N: Here’s (hopefully) the first installment of a sort-of series that I like to call the Imagine Pride Series. I don’t know how many I’ll get done this Pride Month since I’m starting it sort of in the middle of the month but if people end up liking it and I get enough ideas/requests for it, I’ll continue it and maybe it’ll become an annual thing until I’ve done a billion characters or get bored of it, lol. Anyway, this first one ended up being very personal for me, which I definitely didn’t intend, but... yeah, lol. Also, this series will be filled to the brim with my personal LGBTQ+ headcanons for Marvel characters, so if that’s not your thing, steer clear. Anyway, enjoy!

Word count: 2,477

Warnings: Coming out anxiety. Use of the Q-slur (reclaiming) and one F-bomb.

Masterlist

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

    You were in your bedroom getting prepared for lounge time before bed—and psyching yourself up—when you thought you heard the front door open through your apartment’s paper-thin walls. You grabbed your phone and turned down the music playing from your Bluetooth speaker; the current song was Janelle Monáe’s “I Like That”, from the Queer Confidence playlist that you’d built for this specific event. Taking a deep breath and giving yourself one more good look in the mirror attached to your closet door, eyeing the to-go bag you had packed with essentials and left ready to grab on the bed, you listened to the jingle of keys as they were dropped onto the table by the door. The sound was quickly followed by a voice.

    “[Y/N]?” Steve half-hollered, and you heard the sounds of movement as he made his way to the hall. His voice got softer as he got closer. “Baby?”

    You gave yourself a shake and patted your face with your hands before answering. “Bedroom!”

    Even though the two of you had been living together for well over a year, he still knocked and waited politely outside until you gave him explicit permission to enter. When he did, he immediately gravitated towards you. He casually looked over you, in your pajama pants and baggy cropped sweatshirt, as he strolled over, and seeing the slightest furrow of his brows made your stomach churn. Steve Rogers wasn’t too bad at reading people but he was always able to read you like a book and you immediately knew that he noticed how tense you were.

    Apparently, he also noticed that you were trying to keep your cool and act normal because he didn’t immediately jump into Worried Eyebrows Rogers. Instead, he decided to give you some time to sort yourself out and opted to simply hug you from behind. Nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, his warm breath gave you goosebumps as he mumbled a soft, “Hi.”

    You almost forgot about your plan as you melted back into his arms. “Hi,” you replied just as softly as you leaned your head to rest on top of his. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and place your hands on his, slowly run your hands up and down his forearms; you tried to take everything in just in case this was the last time you would be held by him. The solidness of the chest you leaned against, the sturdiness of his footing even as you put your full weight against him because, in reality, your body weight was like carrying a loaf of bread to the super-soldier. The curve of veins and muscle across his arms, the dampness of his hair under your cheek that was probably caused by his evening run despite the rain happening at the time. The faded smell of the 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner that Steve used despite your complaining, the much warmer body heat than any normal person that was like being wrapped in a heated blanket during the wintertime but being suffocated in a sauna during the summer, that currently bled into you and wrapped you into a comforting cocoon.

    You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been standing like that in silence but it was long enough for Steve to decide that it was Worried Eyebrows time. He slowly raised his head again and when you opened your eyes again, he was watching you carefully in the mirror. He wore a dark navy T-shirt that was just tight enough to outline the muscular form underneath—with the help of Thor and Asgardian booze early on in your relationship, you’d gotten a blushing and giggly drunk Steve to admit that he purposely wore clothes like it because he enjoyed the attention, just a smidge—and a pair of black joggers that you got him for Christmas a few months ago.

    “Are you okay?” Worried Rogers finally asked when he realized you weren’t going to speak first. He kept eye contact with you via the mirror, which almost hurt to hold on your end, as he pressed a light kiss against your temple and then a second one to your cheek. “You called me home early. Said it was something that couldn’t wait?”

    And now I don’t want to say it at all, you thought as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. After hesitating for a bit longer—a few seconds or a half-hour, you couldn’t tell through your anxious haze—you sighed and said, “We need to talk.”

    “What, it’s not like you’re leaving me or something, are you?” Steve questioned. The quirk of his brows and a brief smile that appeared told you that he was joking but when you didn’t even chuckle or tease him back, that smile quickly reversed into a frown. “That’s not what’s happening here, is it?”

    “Well…” you mumbled, then trailed off. You glanced towards the bed, where your emergency-leave bag sat waiting, and when you looked back at Steve’s reflection, he was staring at the bag with worry lines etched deep into his skin. “That’s up to you.”

    “Hold on.” Steve moved from behind to stand in front of you, although it was only briefly as he took your hands tightly in his and led you to sit on the edge of the bed with him. He glanced at the bag again, the lines on his face grew deeper again, and you were suddenly reminded of his true age. He looked you in the eye again. “[Y/N], talk to me.”

    “Ours” by Taylor Swift played quietly in the background as you tried to untangle your thoughts and make your mouth work again. The song wasn’t a Pride song or by an LGBTQ+ artist but something about it just fit so well. As you tried to recall the speech you’d been practicing all day, then decided to throw it out altogether, Taylor sang, “So don’t you worry your pretty little mind / People throw rocks at things that shine / And life makes love look hard…”

    “Steve, I…” Your tongue seemed to tie itself in a knot whenever you tried to say it. 

    Steve’s worried, borderline scared, look turned soft. The gentle Worried Eyebrows were back and his thumbs caressed the backs of your hands so softly that it felt like he thought you’d shatter at any minute. He pressed another, stronger kiss against your forehead and mumbled, “You know you can tell me anything.”

    Steve was one of the kindest, most welcoming, most understanding people you’ve ever known but there was still something intimidating about telling him. Normally, you couldn’t fathom him reacting poorly to anything that you could have said but now, you couldn’t help remembering the fact that he was a masculine, old-fashioned, soldier—a soldier from the ’40s—who was still the Ideal American Man to a lot of people, especially some rather unsavory people, and to your knowledge, Steve didn’t have any other queer people in his life that were close to him. Maybe he didn’t want any. Maybe he didn’t like them, like many people who idolized him don’t like them. 

    A little spark of anger sparked in the dark void of anxiety that you were feeling. It wasn’t fair that people hated people like you simply for existing and as much as you loved Steve, if he held the same sentiments, you definitely didn’t want to be with him. The spark quickly turned into a raging fire and suddenly you were blurting out what you’d struggled to say all day, all month, ever since you’d discovered yourself.

    “Steve, I’m bi.”

    Steve stared at you for a bit, then blinked. “What?”

    You took a breath and squared your shoulders. It wasn’t any easier to say it a second time, but you managed in what you hoped was a confident voice, “I’m bisexual.”

    Steve blinked again and his head tilted slightly to the side, but otherwise didn’t move much. “Okay.”

    “O… Okay.” You echoed. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

    Slowly, a relieved smile appeared on Steve’s face and you watched as the tension in his entire posture relaxed. “Was that what you wanted to tell me? You wanted to come out as bisexual?”

    Your face grew heated still and you glanced away. You pulled your sweaty hands from Steve’s and wiped them on your pant legs as you stammered, “Y… Yeah, I mean, yes.” You picked at the fraying hem of your shirt for a few moments, then looked back at your boyfriend—to see that he was absolutely glowing. “You don’t care?”

    “No, of course not,” Steve said, only to quickly shake his head and backtrack, “I mean, of course, I do! I care because it’s you and your identity. I just— It’s just not what I was expecting at all.”

    It was your turn to stare at him. Now you just felt a little silly. “What were you expecting?”

    Steve looked past you to the bag sitting on the other side of you and his expression saddened a bit. He took your hand tightly in his own and squeezed them as he looked at you again. “What were you?”

    “Uh…” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, “Well, I guess… I don’t know…”

    “[Y/N],” Steve said more sternly, “you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’m a grown man; I can handle it.”

    “A grown man who was America’s Sweetheart in the ‘40s,” you pointed out. “I had a right to be worried.”

    Steve nodded slowly. “No, of course, you did. I understand. You know I’m okay with it, though, right? I’ve made that clear, right? I’m proud of you and I’m grateful that you told me. Glad that you felt safe enough to tell me, even if you were still worried about it. You know that, right?”

    Kesha’s “Raising Hell” played in the background as you scrubbed your eyes with your sweatshirt sleeves, gave Steve a dumb-feeling nod. Of course, you knew Steve wouldn’t care.

    Steve took you in a tight hug as you tried to shake away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. He ran a hand over your hair and gently rocked the two of back and forth in true, calming, Worried Eyebrows Rogers fashion. After a bit, when he felt you finally relaxing, he murmured against your hair, “I love you, you know? All of you. Because you’re you.”

    You felt your cheeks warm again and you nodded against his chest. “I love you too.”

    The two of you continued to sit like that for a while until Steve suddenly hummed thoughtfully. He slowly released you and you let him go, he sat back on his hands and chewed the inside of his cheek. 

    You watched him curiously as he glanced around the room, thinking. “What?”

    “You know, I…” Now he trailed off, glanced at you before his gaze darted away again and he chewed his cheek again. “I… Now I know this isn’t my information to share but Buck’s always been pretty uncaring about it, I guess.”

    Your brows furrowed. “Buck? Like, Bucky-Buck? Our Bucky.”

    Steve chuckled. “Yeah, our Bucky.”

    “What about Bucky?”

    Steve hesitated again but eventually continued, “I had almost the exact same conversation with him before he left for the war.”

    Your eyes widened. “Wait— Bucky?”

    Steve nodded slowly again and his gaze finally settled on you again. “Bi too. Coincidence, huh? He was lucky, sort of. Says he always knew. Obviously not super open, given the time, but he was never ashamed of it or anything.” He paused and briefly glanced away again before continuing. “I still don’t know.”

    You blinked. “Don’t know what?”

    Steve just stared at you, cheeks tinting pink as he waited for you to put the pieces together.

    “Wait, you’re queer?”

    Steve shook his head quickly. “Or something. But I don’t like that word. Power to anyone who uses it positively but I was around when it wasn’t.”

    “Right,” you said, still dumbfounded, “Sorry. Yeah, I won’t use it for you then. Hang on; you’re not straight then?”

    Steve chewed his lip and gave you the cutest bashful smile that you’d ever seen on such a large man; you could almost see the scrawny, sickly, pre-serum Steve sitting in front of you.

    “I’m offended,” he softly quipped.

    You stared at him a bit longer. Then you burst into laughter. Steve chuckled along with you, watched you with a growing smile as you fell back onto the bed in a giggling fit. Eventually, you calmed down, wiping tears that you weren’t sure were completely from laughing and staring up at the bedroom ceiling. “My gaydar’s fucked, dude.”

    This time Steve laughed and he collapsed back onto the bed with you. Then he grabbed you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back as he rolled over with you so that you were laying on top of him.

    “Well, like I said,” he said, watching you, “I don’t know.”

    “Well, you kind of know, though,” you replied, “right?”

    Steve tilted his head a bit, then nodded. “Kind of.”

    “So… what?”

    “What?”

    You shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know. What are you into? What do you think you are? Like, I uh… I like girls. And guys. And everything in between and outside.”

    “I thought that was pansexual or something?”

    “For some people it is. For some people, bi is only girls and only guys. I tried pan, omni, a few others, but bi was what I always came back to. Bi just… fits.”

    Steve sighed and stared past you at the ceiling again. “See, I just think there’s too much information. I’m too old. Get confused easily.” 

    You snorted and snickered as he flashed a smile at you. “Some people don’t do any of it, you know. Labels and stuff, I mean. They’re just kinda like ‘I like this and all there it is to it.’ No label, just them and love. Couldn’t be me but it works for other people.”

    Steve nodded again and after a minute said, “I just like people.”

    You smiled at him. “Okay.”

    He looked at you. “I really like you.”

    The smile slowly turned into a grin. “Oh yeah?”

    Steve smiled back and held you tighter against him. “I like you a lot.”

    “Well, well, Mr. Rogers—”

    “Captain,” he grumbled under his breath, “but it’s fine.”

    “Captain Rogers,” you corrected as you slinked up to lean over him. You took his face in your hands and leaned so close that your noses bumped together. “I like you a lot too.”

    Steve leaned in the rest of the way to kiss you and you kissed him back. Despite the teasing, the kiss was soft and sweet, and when he pulled away from you, the way he looked at you full of love was just as sweet.

    “Love you,” he said.

    “I love you too.”

#imagine pride #marvel #mcu #pride month #pride #lgbt #lgbtq #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers headcanons #captain america x reader #captain america headcanons #captain america imagines #imagine pride series #bi reader #bisexual reader #bi!reader #bucky barnes #james buchanen barnes #james barnes #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel headcanons #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #mcu headcanons

[katsukikitten]

Warnings: Stripper AU, dub con, 18+ N!SFW, Ayo it's gonna be lit okay?  @bakugotrashpanda thank you for always beta reading and encouraging me to write 😂

The girls around you giggle as you finally arrive to whatever hell hole dive bar they planned to take you to for your 25th birthday. They wouldn't tell you where you were going or what the general theme was going to be. The only thing they gave you was your outfit on your bed and a strong promise of getting SHIT FACED. Which you so desperately needed, especially after the shitty birthday you had today. 

And since you didn't know exactly where you were going you felt...a bit uneasy. Especially so when they blind folded you as soon as you got in the car but only AFTER placing you in a guady sash that read "Birthday Bitch" and a tiara that screamed princess. Still these were your close friends you were talking about. Women you've known since highschool. 

But Jhiro, Asui, Uraraka, and especially Mina had been far more adventurous than yourself, so you were totally unsure of what to expect. Your only hope was that it wasn't a strip club. 

They guide you through the boisterous club filled with whistle calls and screams for more shots or drinks. The music competes with the unsteady beat of your heart causing it to race in an attempt to keep pace with the high BPM of the song. It smells of sweat, liquor, and expensive perfumes and colognes, you were beginning to wonder just where the hell they were taking you. 

"M...Mina when can I take off the blind fold." You ask, words slightly slurred from the pre gaming the five of you did as yall got ready. Her only response is her bubblegum pink lips curling upwards as she giggles. The sound of the music begins to fade as you seemingly stumble further into the building, you hear a door open before it is shut, sealing away the outside music. 

Mina and Jhiro as gingerly as they can guide you into a plush armchair, keeping the blind fold on. 

"Yall, am I where I think I am?" A bit of your temper shows through in your tone of voice as you feel up the luxurious fabric of the chair, the soft ambient light that you can see through the bottom of your blind fold and the godly smell of caramel, spice mixed with clean, almost mountainous air. 

"Hold out your hands!" Mina squeals, Jhiro helps you hold them together. A large stack of paper is set into your palms setting your mouth into a harsh line. You pull the blind fold from your eyes to be met with a delectable nightmare. 

Two sizable men laze atop rugs, pillows and cozy furs making them seem more exotic than what they are. One with ash blonde hair pushed back by rushed fingers, looking put together and yet wild, with the sides faded. The other's hair long, almost unruly as it trailed down his back, a red hue so deep you first mistake it for black. 

But what really grabbed your attention was their eyes. 

Harsh deep garnet and dazzling ruby red gaze at you. One dissects you leaving you feeling vulnerable, raw, as if by one glance he could see through your bones to your soul and all the things that made you tic. While the other set felt softer, pretty boy brooding yet inviting, adding balance to the intensity that his ash blonde counterpart had. 

A shiver collectively runs down the female's spines. 

Suddenly you feel a bit self conscious and stupid in your barely there body con black dress. You pull at your hem with futile haste, their eyes linger on your powerful thighs.

"Welcome ladies to the private show of the Deadly Duo." A sharp toothed smile pairs nicely with the introduction. 

Deadly Duo indeed.

"I'm Red Riot and this is Ground Zero. The men by the door are Chargebolt and Cellophane, they will bring you whatever food or drink you so desire." You follow his sultry voice to the two men by the door. An electric blonde stands tall and flirty in his crop top and tight black jeans while a raven haired man stands on the other side shirtless, leaving the print in his grey sweatpants to do the talking for him. They both wink in yalls direction. Your focus falls back to the men before you, finally you notice what they are wearing. Their broad chests are bare, glistening from either glitter or their own sweat from an earlier escapade. Their theme seems to be a set of sorts Ground Zero wears a silky black fabric around his waist that does not shy away from a certain outline, his ash blonde hair is adorned with a black grotesque crown. It was made of sharp things, shattered glass, razor blades and two old switchblade knives giving it the illusion of horns. Paired nicely with pitch black wings, glistening as if silver stars were sprinkled on the feathers. 

While Red Riot wore white fabric wrapped around his defined abs. His head piece was golden, circling behind his head as if they "rays" of light, making him look much more like a rare subject  of a renaissance painting. His pair of wings were white glistening in gold. 

Their wings flutter, one seemingly agitated the other curious. Although you knew they were a prop, you would have sworn they were real. 

The lights turn low, leaving only their eyes and crowns to glow. 

"Are you sluts ready?" Ground Zero's voice is dangerous and low. Causing your gut and thighs to clench. Unknowingly you nod causing his wolfish grin to grow.

This was going to be more than the tacky fireman and cop duo Mina dragged everyone to for her own birthday. They were less like pieces of meat and more like Gods. 

A God seducing a mere mortal such as yourself. 

You gulp, all of you mesmerized by the movements of their hips, the sway of their bodies and fluttering of their fake wings. King of Hell and Heaven pulling you in making it hard to keep focus on anything but them. 

"We don't dance for free." Ground Zero's voice comes out as a harsh bite. Bringing the five of you back to planet Earth. 

"Birthday girl, the money!" Mina stage whispers a bit behind you. You stare down at the stack 2,000 and 5,000 yen bills. You nervously take a few and let them float to the floor. The girls behind you hollar for more as they toss their own money towards the men. 

"Heh she's already flustered." Bakugou whispers to Kirishima as he comes behind his friend, hand snaking up Kirishima's abs, nails leaving red marks along his skin.

"It's cute." The red head whispers as he throws his head back in mock pleasure. 

"Well cute doesn't cut it. Let's step this shit up a notch." The blond snarls, grabbing onto Kirishima's throat, giving it a squeeze. 

Kirishima allows a genuine groan to leave his lips while you let out a small whimper. 

"Are we gonna do the thing if they tip enough?" Kirishima's whisper is breathy as Bakugou makes him sway in beat with his own hips. The hot head's only reply is a deadly grin. He takes his large palm and places it on the back of Kirishima's nape before harshly shoving him to his knees before he places a black gladiator shoe onto the small of the red head's back. 

"Collect our money from the birthday bitch." Kirishima fights to keep the smile off of his face, knowing full well Bakugou intends to milk these women dry. 

You're frozen in place as doe like rubies gaze up at you. He crawls towards you slowly, his face slightly pained or maybe it is twisted with pleasure. It makes you think horrible, rancid thoughts.

Is that what he would look like on top of you? 

He ignores the bills, as if he is in a trance, keeping his eyes locked to yours. He stops at your feet before he can do anything else you offer him a 5,000 bill with shaking hands, he takes it gently and sets it aside. Instead he gets up onto his knees, hands hesitantly hovering over your ankle and calf. 

"Permission to touch Princess?" He looks up at you through long dark lashes. The light plays tricks on you as your mouth grows dry, you truly were staring down at an angel. 

"P...permission granted." A wicked smile plays on his lips and for a moment you think you've been fooled. His hands are calloused and yet far from rough, one hand holds firm onto your ankle while the other follows the natural curve of your calf all the way to just above the back or your knee. Long, strong fingers inches from the hem of your dress. 

"Mina this is good shit!" Jhiro whispers to her friend who giggles in response. Almost breaking the spell. They throw more money but earn the blondes agitation. Yes, most of the time it was about the money, but in some rare moments it was about the looks on people's faces. To have them so enthralled by their own fantasies that they forgot who they really were. 

He could see you were dipping into that space quickly, Kirishima is about to seal the deal. 

Trailing slow kisses up your smooth legs, sharp teeth glinting in the golden and red ambient lighting. 

Depending on your reaction to what Kirishima is about to do determines Bakugou's next few moves. 

Kirishima's doe creature mask breaks for a fraction of a second and the wicked smile happens again, his mouth just above your knee as he opens wide, letting his teeth sink into your thick thigh. 

The whimper that leaves your lips, the fluttering of your half mast eyes and the shape of your mouth send Bakugou into that rare state. 

He gives a harsh head tilt to the men at the door before glaring at the extra women in the room. 

"Are you ladies feeling neglected?" Chargebolt asks, lips a breath away from Jhiro's ear, her ear jacks twist on their own as her face flushes. Meanwhile Cellophane is purring in Mina's ear. 

"How rude of them to ignore such beauty. Let's get the four of you a private showing." 

"A..ah okay." They agree, getting up to squeeze your arms and drop off more cash onto your lap. 

"Don't get too wrapped up!" Mina teases before exiting with the rest of the crew. Leaving it to just the three of you.  

As soon as the door shuts, Bakugou falls to his knees, crawling slowly. Much slower than Red Riot, agonizingly so, his hard set eyes locked with yours even as Red still holds your leg captive. You push back into the plush chair in exhilarating fear, chest rises and falling in shallow and quick movements unable to break his molten hot gaze. His movements are methodical, quiet and not even his wings twitch as he makes his way, as if he does not want to make a sound. Like a panther hiding in the shadows, stalking its prey. 

The light play tricks as the muscles of his back and broad shoulders seem to be highlighted. These men were strong, more fit than you've ever seen and yet, yet your eyes were glued to theirs. 

Especially the ashe blonde's. Finally he reaches your feet, hands hovering over your left leg and before he can ask you're nodding frantically. He sucks his teeth, locking over your soft skin before grabbing onto you with a bruising grip, eyes holding yours once more. 

"I wasn't going to fucking ask." He yanks your leg towards him, away from the other. You frantically try to push your dress down to cover your lacy, barely there thong that Mina convinced you to wear. A steely grip is at your wrist. 

"Ah, ah ah, it's only fair, Princess." Bakugou teases before letting his hands trail up your leg, causing you to tense and yet ease into his touch at the same time. He trails biting kisses up your leg and lets his fingers actually touch the skin beneath your hem. 

You yelp, hand hesitantly hovering over his washed out golden strands. You were unsure of the rules, of if you were allowed to touch them. 

A soothing hand pats your knee. 

"Don't worry, he isn't as much of a brute he seems to be. Plus." His ruby eyes gesture towards the corners of the room, "Cameras are always watching." 

You give a slow nod, as Ground Zero comes up from his bite above your knee, black blooms on your skin before he presses a chaste kiss atop the purplish flower. He shoots Kirishima a glare, it was going to be hard to get you back into the fantasy. 

Another shaking bill is offered causing Bakugou to sigh. He grabs the stack from your lap and sets it aside. 

"Let's forget that for now, okay?" Kirishima beams and you nod slowly. 

Bakugou gets an idea, knowing Kirishima will adapt quickly to Bakugou's intent. Zero shoves Red to the side, placing himself between your legs, climbing slowly up your body as if you were his lover. 

He pants heavily as he does and you feel something as he grinds onto you. You cannot tell if it is an actually hard on or a semi, either way you're flustered and unbelievable aroused as this man, no this God among men stares into your very fucking soul. He stands, placing his hands on both sides of the armchair, leaning in close as you back away, cornering you like the prey you are. 

His breath fans your ear, he wants to give it a bite, sink his teeth deep into your semi exposed neck as your smell pulls him in a little too far into the fantasy. He comes closer and his heat is almost unbearable. 

"Do...do you do this for every show?" You squeak out, buzzing from excitement and primal fear. His eyes narrow as if he is lost in thought before the question finally registers in his mind. That deadly smirk returns, lips brushing your ear as he speaks, his rough hand grabbing onto the sash. The sound of tearing fabric fills the room for a moment. You squeeze your eyes shut. 

"This is all for you, kitten." Suddenly the warmth is ripped away from you as massive arms wrap around Zero's middle. 

"Don't forget about me, Princess." He drops Bakugou roughly on the ground before he falls to his knees. Worshiping you as if you were the star of the show. 

Kisses trail up your legs, stopping on your inner thigh just before your hem. This time a whine leaves your lips, as two sets of red eyes gage your reaction. He continues his work, crawling up between your legs until you could easily wrap them around his torso, he motions you closer with a single finger and you follow, he knocks away the ugly tiara and places a black and golden flower crown atop your head. He lets his fingernails scratch gently along your scalp as he moves away. Before holding you by the nape of the neck. Keeping you nose to nose with him.  

"That is more fitting for you my Princess." Kirishima gives you a lazy cat smile. Before a cocky laugh sounds behind you causing your core to flutter. 

"Your Princess?" He fists Kirishima's hair forcing him to let go of you before Bakugou yanks him back, holding intense eye contact with his counterpart, "More like my slut." 

"F..fuck." You groan before Bakugou leans down to Kirishima, he's close. So close their noses brush before Bakugou tilts Kirishima's head kissing him with a passion unseen and unmatched. Kirishima groans, giving Bakugou access to his mouth and you can do nothing but stare as you watch a struggle for power between two wet muscles, you barely notice Bakugou's broad other hand snake to Kirishima's throat giving it a good squeeze. 

You're salivating, cunt clenching before a moan escapes your mouth. Bakugou pulls away and a lewd string of saliva connect the two before it breaks off. For a moment Kirishima looks as starstruck as you, his cheeks are so red, eyes lost as they stare endlessly into the man who is just a smidge shorter and smaller than him but God damn if he doesn't hold Kirishima's heart and yours in the palm of his sharply manicured hands. Bakugou speaks without his eyes leaving Kirishima's making sure he doesn't fall too deep into subspace. 

"Tch. Sounds like you like what you see huh slut?" You whine again at his crude words. You watch his hand so softly sweep away hair from his counterpart's face smiling down at him cruelly. 

"Oi, you still on cloud nine there? Or are you present enough to have a bit of a competition?" Kirishima's eyes come to life at the thought of a friendly fight. He gives him a sharp toothed smile, letting his hand trail up Bakugou's abs stopping over his slow beating heart. Kirishima can never understand how he keeps such a level head over so much heated contact, how he never slips up and gets a little too caught up. Or maybe the look in Bakugou's eyes say that he is. The hot head grabs his jaw line roughly, turning him towards you and looking at you at the same time.

"Alright let's see if you're my slut or his Princess." 

"O...okay." You whisper pulling another deadly laugh from the horned devil. His wings unfurl a bit, making him seem bigger before his weighted gaze settles on your skin.  He let's go of Red, trapping you in the chair again, leaning as close as he did to the red head. Nose grazing yours. 

"You don't even know what you've blindingly agreed too. Are you that desperate or just stupid?" His voice drawfs the rushing blood in your ears. His hand tentatively hovers over your throat, reading your gaze before he takes an extra step. Cutting off a bit of the blood flow to your brain, gasping for delighted breath you stare him down. Heart hammering in your chest as you felt like a small lamb ensured in the sharp teeth of a wolf. 

"Answer me." A nasty bite, dark eyes clouded with his own dom space but still attentive enough to watch for queues. 

Although you are more than willing, he is playing a dangerous game. He doesn't know your kinks, worse yet your safe word. This session had turned more into a scene than anything else. Even though the three of you are not having sex he needs to he sure of your limits. 

Or a least a good dominant should. Still you answer and still he is a damn good guesser. 

"I..I'm desperate." Bakugou's smile sends a rush of heat to your sex and an endless amount of endorphins to your brain. You feel a bit high, head light from lack of air. He turns your face slightly away from him, pressing his cheek to yours as he breaks the spell for just a moment, easing his grip on your throat. 

"You say black when you want us to stop. Got it." It takes you a moment to process what he's saying before you frantically nod yes, "You gotta say it around baby girl." 

God you melt, melt and die right there in the chair. His voice feather soft in this moment making you want more, more, more as if he really were the demon king brought here to corrupt you. 

"Yes, King." It's a whisper but it's enough to make Bakugou's dick twitch. 

Fuck what a good name and one he hadn't heard before. He presses a soft kiss to your hairline before using his soft voice for a final time. 

"That's my good kitten." It's a soft growl and somehow you melt even more. He trails kisses along your jawline, giving you a moment to say yes or no before he kisses down your throat, pushing away the fabric of your dress to expose your shoulder. You moan as his breath tickles the perked skin, waiting impatiently for that anticipated kiss. Although it never comes. Instead he settles for sinking his teeth into your shoulder instead of your throat. Pulling and gnashing his teeth leaving a bruise as dark as your dress. Teeth outlined the black blossom. He drags his tongue along your throat before his replaces it with your hand. Pulling you into a bruising kiss that has you seeing fireworks, earning a moan. He slips his tongue in and you do not even attempt to fight, only attempt to keep up. He squeezes your throat tighter and you're floating. Clinging onto Bakugou with dying strength, nails biting into his biceps. 

Too soon he pulls away, a hazed look in his eyes surely matching your own. His cheeks slightly flushed as the two of you pant. He gives a cocky grin as if he already knows that he's won. He steps back a bit, hitting Kirishima on the shoulder before whispering in his ear. 

"Black means stop got it?" Kirishima holds contact with him and nods before coming close to you. 

Unlike his counterpart Kirishima uses more of his hands, letting them trail on your legs, your arms, nails raking against your scalp. Pulling at your hair. It is hypnotic in the same sense that Bakugou was. You sigh deeply, happily as you look into a deep set of ruby red eyes. He takes his side of you, the right side, especially since Bakugou already claimed your left. Gently he allows one hand to rest on your hip. He gives you a moment and when nothing comes out of your mouth he squeezes. Kissing slow, soft kisses on your jawline, throat. Lips pressing on the crook of your neck before he too removes the fabric exposing your other shoulder. He does not breathe hotly over his meal, he dives right in.  Pointed teeth sinking in as you groan from the pleasure.  He almost draws blood. He does not suck, no he only bites. All teeth marks set deep in blackish blue when he pulls away. He checks on you again before he methodically he leans in, grabbing your chin to tilt you to him, kissing you so softly, lips moving at a snail's pace before they begin to quicken. Faster and faster until those teeth are pulling at your bottom lip, tongue finding its way in as you sigh into the kiss. 

Just as before the kiss ends too soon and you cry out in mock rage but true agitation. 

God you just wanted them. Kirishima makes room for Bakugou to push his way into the small space before you. Each trapping you from their respective side. 

"So…" Kirishima pants, Bakugou finishes for him. 

"Who wins? Who owns your dirty mouth?" Their voices low and breath mingling with yours as they stare into your face. 

"Can..can you please show me my options again." 

#bakugou x reader #Kirishima x reader #dubcon #bnha x reader #bnha au #spicy fic #bnha fan fic #bnha one shot #bnha smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader

[omgsomeonesomewhereonearth]

your eyes look like coming home

The five times Patton asks Janus to marry him. 

Moceit, childhood best friends to lovers💙💛

Content Warnings: alcohol, light angst

Aaa this is my first fic in a million years or something. It’s kind of short and maybe not my best work, but I’m honestly just happy to have written something lol - hope you enjoy!

AO3 Link

The first time Patton asks Janus to marry him, it’s a dare.

“Hi! Do you wanna be married?”

Janus stares blankly at the nervous-looking kid in front of him, fiddling with the sleeves of his grubby school cardigan as he stared back at Janus, through large, almost owlish glasses.

He’s confused for a second, then he looks over the kid’s shoulder, and sees the familiarly smug faces in the background, smirking and whispering like they’ve just seen something very funny.

He looks back at the kid – he’s new, just joined last week. Named Patrick or something. He didn’t seem like he’d be involved with the mean kids, with his big, nervous brown eyes and fidgety behaviour. His soft, round face holds a nervous grin as he looks earnestly back at Janus, who’s now glaring exclusively back at the ones watching them

“Why?” he finds himself saying, instead of no.

The boy – Peter? – flushes a little, looking at his feet.

“Um – well -I it’s er, it’s the game.” He gives the explanation like he’s asking a question, prodding the playground floor with his scuffed trainers. “We’re playing, they said – er, I need to find someone to say yes and marry me – but it’s just pretend though – and um, so…”

Ah, so they were both being made fun of.

“They don’t want to play with me.”

The boy’s face falls instantly. “Why not?” he asks, tilting his head to one side. Janus glances at the group, still smirking superiorly at him and – Paul?

“Because.” He snaps, not entirely unkindly, “Go find someone else to ask, or they won’t want to play with you either.”

The boy looks crestfallen for a second, but a look of determination overtakes his face, small mouth forming into a thin, angry line.

“Then I don’t want to play with them.” He declares with a toss of his curly head, sitting himself down next to Janus on the playground floor.

The flock immediately stops smirking, muttering furiously to one another.

“That’s not a good idea…”

“Don’t care.” The boy thrusts a small, chubby hand out at him. “I’m Patton.”

 ---

 The second time, it’s a joke, but also a promise.

They’re sitting on opposite ends of Patton’s cramped twin bed, doing everything but the homework they wanted to meet up to solve, and Janus is pretending he’s not all too aware of their feet just barely touching each other.

“Hey, do you remember that time I asked if you would marry me?” Patton giggles, a sudden mischievous look taking over his face, dimples popping in and out as he looks back at Janus.

“Oh, you mean the first thing you ever said to me?” Janus replies airily, swelling with pride as Patton laughs even harder, scrunching his nose up in delight.

“You know, you never gave me an answer.”

Janus’s heart skips a beat. No it doesn’t, shut up .

His laugh is carefully nonchalant as he replies, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you never said! Would you marry me or not?” Patton laughs, “You’ve kinda left me hanging for years, if you think about it.”

He’s joking. This is a bit, Janus knows that. it doesn’t stop his traitorous heart from beating just that much faster as he smirks back.

“Sure, why not?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Certainly, in like fifty years when we’re both old and lonely and we’re the only ones who can stand each other.”

He doesn’t believe it, obviously. He knows that he and Patton will always be together, but he doesn’t believe for a second that Patton won’t find someone, with his unbearable kind heart and his wide, honest eyes, and whoever it was would be damn lucky.

Patton laughs in delight at his response. “Ha! Sounds like a plan! Ooh – hold on!”

And then he’s jumping off the bed, going to rummage in his desk drawers.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Celebrating our engagement properly! Be patient!”

And then he’s kneeling next to the bed, smiling cheekily up at Janus, a length of pale blue ribbon in his hand.

“What is that?”

“Shut up, I don’t have a ring.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Hand!”

So, Patton ties the ribbon in a neat bow on Janus’ ring finger and kisses it quick before leaning back to gaze at him in satisfaction.

“There. Now you’re stuck with me no matter what.”

Janus doesn’t tell him that was going to happen regardless.

  ---

 Neither of them likes to talk about the third time.

Janus shoves his way past the teeming crowd of drunk dancers, craning his neck to spot a crop of dark curls or a pastel jumper. Goddamnit .

He wasn’t supposed to leave Patton’s side, he had suggested coming out here tonight as a way of cheering Patton up, and it had been working, until he had walked in, complete with brand new attractive arm candy, and…

Fuck.

He finally finds him out in the empty garden, clutching a beer can that looks to be mostly empty, staring blankly at the sky. He’s not actively crying, but as Janus walks over, he can make out the tear tracks on his face even in the dark.

So he’s definitely seen them.

“Patton?”

“Hey, Janus.” His voice is subdued, and there’s a slight slur to the words.

“I’m so sorry, Pat,” He starts, “If I’d known he’d be here...”

“It’s ‘kay Jan, ‘m fine,” Patton reassures in a way that is not reassuring at all. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and it’s painfully brittle, like it might shatter into a thousand pieces any minute. Recently, Janus has seen that smile a few too many times for his liking.

“Patton, no.” he replies firmly, but gently, “You’re drunk and heartbroken, and I’m at least partially responsible for that. I’m going to take you home.”

But drunk Patton is somehow even more stubborn than sober Patton can be at times, and he shakes his head resolutely.

“Janus, no.” he pouts, “ ‘m not that drunk, an’ ‘m not…not sad, an’ I don’t wanna go home.” He nods clumsily, having made his point, and then proceeds to stare blankly at the sky again.

Janus sighs.

“Well, then I’m drunk. And sad. And I need someone to take me home.”

Ever more attentive to other’s needs than his own, that gets Patton’s attention, the beautiful idiot that he is. Slowly, he nods and clambers to his feet, gripping Janus’ hand.

Neither of them drives, and Patton’s place is closer, so Janus walks them there, Patton clinging firmly to his side every step of the way. Janus can’t tell if it’s for balance or comfort.

When he gets them both inside the flat, Patton’s first words are, “Don’t leave.”

He gazes up at Janus with red-rimmed eyes, “I don’t like bein’ here alone.”

Janus’s heart aches at that, and he nods. He’d always found it hard to say know to Patton, especially when he’s like this, and especially when he asks for so little as it is.

Similarly, he can’t bring himself to refuse Patton’s beseeching gaze when he tucks him in and moves to sleep on the couch. So, a few moments later finds them in bed together, Janus staring at the ceiling and wondering how Patton can’t hear his heartbeat. They’ve shared a bed before, of course. But not in a long time. Certainly not since Patton started seeing him .

“I saw them, you know.”

He does know. “Really?”

“Mm. D’you think he loves him?”

Janus sighs, “I don’t know, Patton.”

“D’you think he loved me?” Patton’s voice is so soft, so resigned, so plaintive that Janus damn near breaks.

“You know I can’t answer that, Patton.”

“Sometimes I think he didn’t.” Patton admits matter-of-factly, “I tried so, so, hard, but he just didn’t. Ever. I wonder if anyone ever really will.”

There’s a scrap of faded blue ribbon tied on the end of Janus’ keyring that answers that question, but Janus doesn’t bring it up. He doesn’t have to.

“You know I know you’re not really drunk. Or sad.” Patton turns to look at him, his eyes gentle and frank.

“Yeah?”

“You’re jus’ lookin’ out for me. Like you always do. D’you remember that time I said we should get married when we’re all old an’ stuff?”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak. “Hmm.”

Patton smiles wanly. “I wish we could jus’ do that now. We’d jus’ have each other an’ it wouldn’ matter if no one loves me ‘cause I’ve got you.”

Their faces are inches apart and Janus has never wanted anything more than he wants to kiss Patton right now, to kiss his tears away and tell him he’d never be alone, because Janus wouldn’t let him – but he can’t. For a variety of reasons.

“Go to sleep, Patton.”

  ---

 The fourth time, it comes out of nowhere.

It’s two – three? Some godforsaken hour of the morning and Janus has work tomorrow.

And for some reason, his delightful boyfriend has decided that it is a perfect time to be awake and shuffling around to sit up in bed, and turn his bedside lamp on.

“Janus?” he whispers his name like he thinks it might break in his mouth, and God, Janus loves him, but he needs him to shut up and go to sleep right the hell now. He doesn’t move or open his eyes, lying with his face half buried in his pillow despite feeling Patton’s gaze on his back.

“Janus, sweetie?” he whispers again, “Are you awake?”

“… No. ”

“I’m sleeping. Can’t hear you. Zzzzz…”

Patton huffs out  a soft laugh. “I think we should get married.”

Janus stiffens. What? They’d barely been dating two months, they hadn’t even talked about marriage – at least, since they’d been dating. He had no idea it was on Patton’s mind, how long had he…

And more importantly, why was he bringing it up now?

Apparently taking his stunned silence to be outright rejection, Patton tries to backtrack quickly.

“I know, I know, it’s not been very long and I totally understand if you don’t want to because it’s too soon.” Janus feels a gentle hand rest itself on the blanket right above his shoulder, “I wasn’t really thinking of it either, but I couldn’t sleep just now and I couldn’t stop thinking, you know, about us, and you remember when we were kids, and all that stuff we always joked about, and how even though we’ve not been dating that long we’ve been together basically forever.”

He trails off, giggling self-consciously.

“And then you did something really cute in your sleep, you like, cuddled up to me and it hit me now I don’t think I ever want this to end.”

Janus finally sits up and faces the love of his life, who is looking back at him with a gaze that can only be described as besotted.

“I really love you, Janus. I want to be married to you.”

With a small, knowing smile, Janus leans forward and cups Patton’s face in his hands.

“Patton. Angel. Darling. Light of my life. I love you too.”

“I…”

“…And that is why I categorically refuse to let you propose to me while you’re wearing your Winnie the Pooh pyjamas. Please let me sleep now, and I promise I will say yes no matter how you ask me next.” And with that, Janus places a kiss on the end of his boyfriend’s nose, turns around, and falls asleep.

  ---

 The fifth time is more or less perfect.

Well, he says more or less. Patton is perfect, in a neatly pressed pastel button-down, his curls bouncing in the gentle spring breeze despite all his valiant efforts to tame it.

Janus has made an effort to look his best as well, having had a feeling something special was coming. He hadn’t mentioned it of course, but with the way Patton had been jumping up and down in his seat as he drove them here, the way he had insisted on planning every aspect of this date himself – well.

Suffice to say his future husband had never been the best at keeping secrets.

The location Patton’s picked had certainly been perfect, atop a lush green hill with the kind of majestic cherry blossom tree you only see in romantic movies, pink blossoms practically dripping off its branches as they swayed in the wind, and beautiful rolling hills all around.

What isn’t perfect is when the two of them finally get comfortable on the hilltop, and Janus leaning against the wide tree trunk while Patton gets to unpacking the picnic he’s put together so meticulously, and it starts raining, almost instantaneously.

“I checked the forecast like three times, it was supposed to be clear skies!” Patton whines back in the car once they’ve finished packing up their things and run to safety, watching the light drips of rain get slowly heavier.

“I’m sorry dearest, I suppose the universe just doesn’t want this date to be.” Janus chuckles wryly, as he hands Patton’s dried glasses back to him.

“Eff the universe,” Patton grumbles, glaring adorably at the raindrop speckled windshield.

So, they play old love songs on the car music player and drink champagne and tuck into entirely too cute bite-sized picnic foods and talk and laugh and playfully flirt and point out constellations formed by the raindrops on the glass, and eventually, Patton stops pouting.

The conversation has slowly wound down and they’re quietly enjoying each other's company when he turns to Janus, taking a deep breath.

“God knows I’ve never been able to keep anything from you.”

“Why, whatever could you be talking about, my dearest?”

“…So, this probably isn’t a surprise to you in the least.”

Patton reaches into the picnic basket and pulls out a small box. It’s a pale yellow, tied in in blue ribbon.

“You’re my best friend, Janus,” his hands are steady, but his voice is already wavering, “You’ve always been here, my whole life, whether I need someone to help, or to talk to, or even just to cry at. I’ve loved you in so many different ways.”

Janus feels tears pricking at his eyes and blinks them away quickly; he refuses to miss a second of this, he wants the image of Patton’s earnest, loving face to be clear as day in his mind when he looks back on this whenever.

“..And I don’t ever want us to stop loving each other, so, hopefully for the last time ever, will you marry me?”

He laughs breathlessly and takes the box, delicately undoing the ribbon. It’s a cupcake.

A tiny, perfect cupcake with frilly blue icing, a golden ring in the shape of the tiniest coiled snake in the world, embedded in the icing.

“Do you like it?” Patton asks hopefully.

Janus surges forward to kiss his fiancé for the very first time.

Taglist: @ent-is-undecisive @disney-princess-patton

#moceit #patton sanders #janus sanders #ts patton #ts janus #sanders sides #ts fic #sanders sides fanfiction #patceit #patton x deceit #best friends to lovers #tw alcohol #tw drinking #my writing

[12tardis]

Drunken Smiles (Newt Scamander x Reader)

Warnings: alcohol mentions, obnoxious Theseus AGAIN Requested: Yes! Anon requested drunk Newt! Cute silent moments where he gets distracted and drinks someone elses drink. I hope you like it anon! I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly what you meant. Pairing: Newt Scamander x Reader Summary: Your boyfriend Newt hasn’t gotten drunk in front of you for years after he embarrassed himself back during your Hogwarts days. He seems to have a strange habit involving you when he drinks a little too much. Features obnoxious older brother Theseus and even some teasing Leta. Also features the bully from ‘Love Language’.

A/N: Inspired by my favourite manager who kept referring to his girlfriend as his wife for years whenever he was drunk. They’re married now <3 I hope you like. Please send me more requests!

Words: 3,270 Taglist:  @moonkissk7​ @just-an-outstanding-auror​

The music in the small jazz lounge was thrumming in your ears as you smiled back at your boyfriend adoringly, sipping on your drink as the two of you drifted closer together in the small booth. You had just finished up at one of his book signings and had knocked back a few drinks each as you waited for Theseus and Leta to join you shortly.

 “Oh hello,” you giggled when he scooted into the booth right next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing an affectionate smooch to your cheek, taking your hand in his free one and then pressing a series of kisses to your knuckles. You were pleasantly buzzed from the mulled mead you’d had so far but Newt was clearly a little more on the tipsy side as he was suddenly lavishing you with unabashed affection that was usually reserved for the privacy of your own home.

 “Hello, darling girl. My muse, my...my angel in disguise. Wait no not disguise because you’re clearly otherworldly”, he paused his rambling to hum to himself in thought and you giggled again, feeling your cheeks warm as you looked back at him.

 “Newton, what?” You chuckled, reaching up to card your fingers through his unruly locks, watching him frown as he tried to find the words he was trying to say. He pouted to himself when he came up short and you pressed a kiss to his cheek with a fond smile “it’s okay, I don’t expect you to be a romantic poet when you’re drunk too.”

 “I’m not drunk!” Newt huffed, looking back you in offence and huffing again to himself “I was just trying to tell my girlfriend how important she is to me”, he sighed, slumping back against the booth and you smiled softly at him, leaning in to brush your lips against his slowly and that’s how you knew he was a lot more tipsy than he let on. Because usually in public, Newt only returned short and sweet kisses but this time he slipped his arms around you and kissed you back slowly with a soft but happy sigh.

 And in your slightly buzzed state you too allowed yourself to lean more into the kiss, sitting back quickly when some other patrons accidentally brushed against you as they made their way through the rapidly filling club.

 You glanced down at Newt’s watch, straightening your dress out “they’ll be here soon. Let’s go get us some more drinks before the bar gets swamped?”, you tugged Newt to his feet, smiling as his arm wrapped around your waist again as he lead you towards the bar.

 Newt had refused to drink around you other than a few casual drinks after your first and last time getting drunk together had resulted in him embarrassing himself. And as he pulled you closer into his side when another gentleman smiled a little too warmly at you, you couldn’t help but remember that time in your seventh year.

                                              -     -     -     -     -     -

You and Newt had practically sprinted to The Three Broomsticks once you’d both finished your N.E.W.Ts exams, knocking back all the strongest drinks they had on offer in celebration. You were sitting, pressed up together in the corner of the pub laughing as you reminisced over some of your memories together when Newt suddenly wrapped his arm around your waist.

Physical affection was no stranger to your friendship. In fact, usually not a single conversation or interaction went by without you touching one another in some way but Newt usually only ever slung his arm around your waist when you were cold or in need of comfort, or in those instances when you would perch yourself in his lap and he did so to steady you.

 What you hadn’t realised was that Zachary Lindensbaum had stepped into the pub flanked by his buddies, prompting such a response from Newt. He was the very same douchebag that had asked you out on a date the previous year only to humiliate you in front of half the school when he loudly announced it was all a prank and Newt felt a surge of protectiveness when he spotted him arrive, remembering how upset you had been that time.

 Protectiveness as well as an undeniable flare of jealousy at the memories that cropped up of Zachary spending those few days wooing you with his smarmy pickup lines, half wilted roses and messy love letters- if you could even call them that.

 Newt had been so certain he had experienced his first real heart-break when he saw you smile shyly back at the Gryffindor beater the year before. But then only a week later he was the one to find you crying, beside yourself with humiliation and he felt utter disdain and contempt for the first time in his life.

 So when he saw that Zachary had spotted you and the way his eyes lit up as he made a bee line towards your table, Newt curled his arm even tighter around you. You stopped mid-way through your story when you felt Newt pulling you into him and you looked over at him, following his line of sight and swallowing thickly when you saw Zachary.

 You hadn’t spoken to the other male since that day and you had really hoped to keep it that way but now you straightened up in your seat, bracing yourself for whatever Zachary had to say this time. Your jaw dropped however when Newt held a hand up towards the other male “Nope. Absolutely not.”

 Zachary had already slipped onto the bench across from you when Newt spoke and he just stared back at him dumbly for a moment “I’m sorry what?” he frowned, his eyes flicking between you two but you were just as gobsmacked too.

 Newt simply shook his head, making a shooing motion at Zachary “Nope”, he repeated, popping the ‘p’ while his other hand began to soothe up and down along your side in an attempt to calm you.

 “Nope what, Scamander? I just sat down”, Zachary scoffed back at him, his temper rapidly rising causing you to press into Newt anxiously.

 “And you’re leaving now. You’re not sitting here, you’re not welcome. We don’t want to hear what you have to say. Off you go,” Newt countered firmly, fixing the male with a cold stare.

 Newt spoke so matter of factly that you couldn’t believe your ears and neither could Zachary apparently because he just gaped at Newt for another minute before he got up from his seat wordlessly and left.

 You watched until Zachary and his friends were long out of sight before you looked up at Newt, your head spinning from a mixture of alcohol and the sheer shock of Newt so confidently sending your harasser away like a complete badass.

 Newt smiled back down at you, promptly slipping back into his usual sweet demeanour as he tucked a stray piece of your hair behind your ear “I think we need more drinks don’t you?” he hummed, his confidence leaving you breathless.

 The night wore on and you were both soon completely sloshed, leaning on each other and the table for support as you both slurred through your words. You got up from the table clumsily, giggling at Newt’s equally as clumsy attempt to steady you as he looked up at you like a kicked puppy “Y/N where going?” he drawled, clutching your hand.

 “Bathroom. Be right back.”, you hiccupped and your words were considerably clearer than his but it took you much longer to form your sentences. You made your way to the bathroom, emerging a while later and freezing in your tracks, sobering up immediately when you saw Newt standing cornered by Zachary and two of his burly friends.

 “SHE IS SO FAR OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE IT’S A JOKE!” Newt shouted, moving right into Zachary’s personal space as other patrons began to crowd around, wanting to catch a peek at the drama unfolding.

 You stood frozen by the bathroom door, staring at Newt in shock and rising fear when you saw Zachary’s fists clenched in response, but your alcohol addled state wasn’t allowing your feet to cooperate with your brain. In your mind you were already at Newt’s side, pulling him back from impending harm but in reality you were standing there dumbfounded.

 “What and you think a freak like you is more her league?!”, Zachary shouted back and Newt didn’t even flinch as he shook his head.

 “No. No one is this god forsaken school is good enough for her! You’re a total idiot for throwing away your shot like you did! And a- a complete Neanderthal for hurting her like that!”

 Zachary didn’t even have a chance to form a retort because Newt was continuing to rant on about all the reasons why he had messed up.

 “You could have been with the most loyal, kind hearted, passionate, breathtaking woman to exist! The most incredible, adorable, and strong woman but instead you decided to be a cruel and blithering idiot!”

 You stared at Newt with your mouth agape, feeling your heart race and not just from the alcohol as you took in his words. Some of your peers were staring back at you too because they knew he was talking about you even though he hadn’t used your name. It was only ever you.

 “I wish I’d had half a mind to make your hair permanently purple!”, Newt shouted, and all the other students went silent in shock as Zachary grit his teeth. Zachary’s purple hair had been the talk of the school for several weeks, leaving the other boy humiliated everywhere he went.

 “I KNEW it was you that swapped out my shampoo!” Zachary shouted back at him, his fist colliding with Newt’s face not a second later in a sickening crunch. And your brain finally snapped into gear as you ran to Newt, shoving past Zachary and his friends to grasp his shoulders “Newt!”

 Newt gripped his face in pain as he stumbled back, growing enraged again when he heard one of Zachary’s friends sneer “all over some Hufflepuff bitch,” which drew a few disgusted gasps from the surrounding crowd.

 “YOU TAKE THAT BACK!”, Newt shouted, going to shove the guy that had insulted you but you grabbed two jugs of iced water from the bar and threw them over the group of boys before any more punches could be thrown.

 They all gasped collectively at the shock from the ice water drenching them and some of the bartenders took the chance to grab Zachary’s sidekicks, throwing them out of the pub while the maître d’, Dottie, threw a mop and bucket and some towels at Newt and Zachary angrily.

 “Clean up your mess and piss off! And you lot, stop gawking like twits! Nothin’ to see here!” Dottie scowled, making sure the crowd dispersed before she turned to you, taking the empty jugs from your hands.

You immediately began to stutter, apologising profusely for the mess you’d caused but Dottie simply waved her hand at you dismissively. She was an plump, older woman who could be truly intimidating when she needed to be.

 “No harm done, blossom. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you two helping me clean up the last time things got rowdy.” she smiled warmly, pushing you to sit down before she handed you a glass of water, seeing how tipsy and sleepy you were.

 You shot Zachary a cold glare when he shoved past Newt after cleaning up the area and once he was gone you began fussing over Newt and his split lip.

 You were so far gone you didn’t trust your ability to perform a healing charm on him so you let out a breath of relief when Dottie appeared with an ice pack that you gratefully took from her.

 “Oh Newt, you shouldn’t have done that,” you sighed, holding the ice pack up to his lip and gently brushing his hair back from his eyes, sighing when he looked back at you with wide doe eyes “he was being an ass!”

 You sighed again as you shook your head at him, feeling incredibly guilty for not stepping in sooner “I know but you went and got yourself hurt, Newt.”

 Newt looked back at you with a dazed and dreamy smile, taking your hand “anything for my wife,” he murmured and you looked up at Dottie when the woman cackled in response, clapping Newt in the shoulder.

 “Deary me, son. I think ya gettin’ ahead of yourself. There’s a couple steps in between ya know, girlfriend, fiancé?”, she chuckled again when Newt shook his head, pointing a finger in your direction. “Nope. That’s my wife,” he said matter-of-factly, smiling back at you with pride.

 You were openly gawking at Newt now, your cheeks warm and your stomach flipping but you didn’t allow yourself to believe the adoring expression he wore. Instead you looked up at Dottie in alarm.

 “Oh my stars he’s concussed! I’ve gotta take him to the med bay!” you panicked, quickly stumbling to your feet while Newt continued to spout nonsense at you.

 But Dottie was quick to placate you, having one of her co-workers who was also a nurse come and check Newt over.

 Within half an hour the two of you were headed back to the castle hand in hand and Newt was mortified and made you promise that you would never discuss the events of the night again.

                                          -     -     -     -     -     -

 You couldn’t help but laugh as you reminisced on Newt’s drunk shenanigans, leaning into his side while he ordered a round of drinks for the pair of you and Theseus and Leta. He looked down at you, raising an eyebrow “are you laughing at me again?” He asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at you.

 You shook your head, leaning up on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek and before you could respond, Newt had knocked back the drink in front of him in one gulp.

In his tipsy state he had thought the drink was his own, completely failing to notice it was a different colour and served in a different glass to what he’d been drinking already.

 “Merlin that is NOT mulled mead!”, he gasped with wide eyes, his throat burning while the bartender stared back at him.

 “Hey! That’s my drink!”, a gentleman beside Newt complained just as the bartender shook his head in annoyance. You quickly intervened, paying for the drinks and a replacement for the disgruntled stranger beside you.

 Theseus and Leta appeared then, helping you to carry the drinks. “Newt, did I just see you shot a hogs tea?” Theseus asked incredulously, gripping his brother by the shoulder and you snapped your head up to look at Newt with wide eyes “Hogs tea!? He was already tipsy before!”

 Newt nodded, sitting down clumsily in the booth beside you while you hugged the couple in greeting.

The second you had pulled away from Leta, Newt wasted no time in tugging you into the booth beside him, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin over your shoulder.

 “Yes, definitely hogs tea”, Newt murmured, already beginning to slur his words. Leta and Theseus sat down across from you both, surprised to see Newt being so cuddly towards you. His affections for you had never been a secret but to see him so unreserved as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder and nuzzled at your neck was startling to the pair.

 “Newt, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk,” Leta said as Theseus nodded quickly in agreement.

 “Even I’ve only seen it a handful of times. What about you Y/N?”, he asked curiously, trying not to laugh at how flustered you were getting as Newt just smiled down at you with a love struck smile.

 “Only once before. After our N.E.W.Ts”, you murmured looking back at your boyfriend while Leta snorted at the memory. She’d heard about the drama the following day.

 “ ‘Mnot drunk thank you very much”, Newt protested with an irritated scowl, holding a finger up to Theseus challengingly and you giggled as you took his hand in your own, effectively drawing his attention back to you. You watched him as his features smoothed out again and he was gazing back at you in awe once again.

 “My beautiful wife,” he murmured, raising your hand to his lips and your mouth dropped in response as you felt your cheeks flush warm.

 Theseus slapped his hand on the table excitedly, practically bouncing with joy because he knew Newt had been planning to propose for a few months now. “What did you finally-OW” , he frowned when Leta stomped on his foot under the table.

 She too was excited at the prospect but she was much quicker to notice the surprise on your face and the obvious lack of a ring on your hand. There was no way she was about to let her boyfriend spoil her best friends eventual proposal.

 Thankfully you were completely oblivious as usual, shaking your head at Theseus “no he’s just drunk. He did this exact same thing last time- except I thought he was concussed then,” you breathed out, looking back at your boyfriend in wonder.

 You stayed at the club for another hour or so, glad to catch up with Theseus and Leta even though you were very distracted by how handsy and cuddly Newt was being. Theseus of course found the whole situation to be hilarious and decided to start correcting his brother, grinning at how increasingly frustrated Newt was growing.

“Water for my wife!” Newt announced proudly, setting a glass in front of you and only spilling a bit of it as he returned to his spot beside you, slinging his arm around your waist.

 “Your girlfriend you mean,” Theseus corrected with a slight smirk when Leta shot him an exasperated look.

 “No. Wife.”

 “Girlfriend.”

 “Wife.”

 And even Leta was starting to smile now watching the brothers bicker while you just watched on with a bewildered smile.

 “Oh you mean, MY wife?”, Theseus questioned, mocking confusion as he reached for your hand, gesturing to himself.

 “No!”, Newt huffed, slapping Theseus’ hand away and curling his arm around you tighter and this time Leta grinned as she decided to tease her friend too, taking your hand in her own.

 “My wife?”, she smirked, pressing a loud smooch to the back of your hand making you giggle.

 “NO!” Newt gasped with wide eyes, looking so miserable that you quickly took pity on him, slipping your hand out of Leta’s and cupping his face in your hands.

 “Okay okay! Honey I think it’s time we got you home”, you smiled sweetly at him before you brushed your lips against his and Newt promptly relaxed again.

 You said your goodbyes to Theseus and Leta before you made your way back to your flat with Newt. You didn’t correct him once, allowing yourself to enjoy the illusion of being Mrs. Scamander like you so wished to be.

 And when Newt woke the following morning with a pounding headache you were beside him waiting with a light breakfast and a cup of tea ready for him.

 “Merlin, did I do anything embarrassing last night?” Newt groaned, setting his hand on your knee as he sat up gingerly.

 “Not at all my, love,” you smiled, passing him his tea and leaning in to press a kiss to his head “nothing at all.”

  Please send me requests!

-MASTERLIST HERE-

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander x you #newt scamander x y/n #Newton Artemis Fido Scamander

[cathrrrine]

Otherworldly | SPN x The Witcher

Originally from my AO3

CHAPTER 2 - If It Isn't The Butcher

----

“She sent us here?”

The three of them were now seated in a tavern, not unlike the bars they were used to, but a little less cleaner than what they preferred.

”Atë sent us here.” Red confirmed. She recalled the conversation she had with her sister.

—

”She’s not here for games. She’s here to destroy the world.”

Red turned to her sister, Natalia, who looked as disheveled as an unattended child; hair messy, bags under her eyes, food staining her shirt and crumbs from the sandwich she ate before stuck at the edges of her mouth. She hadn’t showered or eaten properly for days, engrossed with her research on Atë.

Red, the ever caring sister, handed her a cup of coffee. ”Drink.”

”You’re not listening-“

”Drink. Then I will listen.” Red repeated. It wasn’t a request. Natalia sighed, knowing full well that her sister wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her hand reached for the cup, much to the satisfaction of her sister, and she took a sip of the warm beverage.

”Good. Now, what did you say?”

”Atë. She’s here on a mission to take what isn’t hers.” Although her words made Red’s spine shiver, she did not display her fear. Instead, she took the hair brush on the table and ran it through her sister’s hair.

Both of them had red hair, Natalia’s a few shades lighter than Red’s. But although they had the same hair colour, they didn’t share the same texture. Natalia inherited their mother’s straight and silky hair, while Red took to their father’s soft and curly hair. The two of them inherited the red from their father, who was a kind yet stern man.

Both their parents were dead now. They were all they had left. Well...except for the Winchesters, who came into their lives a few years back.

“She’s done this before. In 1834, look.” Natalia showed the proof from her laptop screen. Indeed, it was true. It was a report about a woman with a description that matched Atë’s. “She burned houses, people, crops...she took babies just to murder them. Atë kills and conquers.”

“There’s no doubt she came back to do this again. She wants to cause chaos. That’s all she knows.”

“There’s also something else.” It took Natalia a few clicks on her laptop. “It’s been said that she can send people to another universe.”

“What, like with aliens and shit? ”

“Maybe. It’s not impossible. If we’re not careful, she’ll send us off to wherever she wants to. And then we won’t be able to save the world from her antics.”

They shared a look. Fear was evident im their eyes.

“She’s extremely powerful.” Natalia sighed. “But we need to fight her.”

—

“This wasn’t an accident. She does this to people. Goddess of Mischief, remember?” Red scoffed, taking another swig of water. She would’ve gone for ale, like the white-haired man who lead them here, but she didn’t have any money. At least, none that were worth in the world she was in. So, instead she asked for water, which was fortunately costless.

“How do we get back?” Sam was worried, Red noticed. He never really put his emotions on display, but she’s known him long enough to point out his tells. If he was worried, his eyebrows would knit together subconsciously and he would constantly run his hands through his hair.

Red put her hand over his, and he looked up at her with a smile in his eyes. He intertwined their fingers together, and she stroked his hand with her thumb. It wasn’t an uncommon thing between them. Every time they noticed the other was nervous or scared, they would reach for the other’s hand.

“We have to find a witch.” said Red. “If we were back in our world, Rowena would be able to help us. We need to find someone as powerful as her.”

“Do they even have witches?”

“We could always...” she trailed off as her eyes landed on the person she was looking for. “...ask.”

“Him? Are you kidding me?” Dean shook his head disapprovingly. “He didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“I could ask.”

“No.” Sam gave her hand a squeeze. “He could kill you. We don’t know him.” It was a joke, but there was a hint of truth in there.

Red returned the squeeze, as if to say ‘Don’t worry’. Then she stood up to walk over to the Witcher’s table before they could protest further.

“Not much for company, I see.”

The man ignored her, but she knew he was listening. “We need your help.”

“I’ve helped you enough. You want any more of my services, you pay.”

She started to feel hopeless, but at the back of her head she heard her sister scolding her for giving up too early. “You know we don’t have the money. We’re not from your world.”

He acted as if he was unbothered.

“Listen.” She seethed, frustrated with the way he was treating her. “All we need to do is find a witch. Then you can leave us from there. You said you’re a Witcher, do you know anything about magic?”

The corner of his lips twitched, a laugh threatening to start. “Witchers hunt and kill monsters. What you’re looking for is a mage.”

“A mage?” Red took the seat across him and sat down, forcing him to look in her eyes. “We’re looking for a powerful one. Can you lead us to them?”

His amber eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the tavern. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of helping the three strangers, but he did not like the idea of stringing along dead weight. He had jobs to do.

“No.” He hummed, downing the glass of ale right after to avoid looking at the woman in front of him.

“No? Seriously?” She didn’t yell, but it seemed like she was close to it. “Okay, what do you want? Besides money.”

“I want you to go away.”

“We don’t know anyone else in this world.”

“You don’t know me either.” That was true. They didn’t even know each other’s names. He stood from his seat and grabbed his things, making a beeline for the exit. She followed suit, hot on his heels.

Red was pissed off. “At least tell me where I can find a mage!”

“Pay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She groaned. “Haven’t you heard anything I said? We’re lost! We don’t know anything about your world.”

They were already out the door, him at the front, trying to block out her voice.

“Look, please, just listen to me. Our world is in danger. We need to go back to save it.”

He knew a few things about saving. At this, he stopped in his tracks, contemplating. Red almost cried in relief when he did.

“If we don’t get back soon, the world- our world, will suffer. There’s someone who wants to destroy it and we’re the only ones who know how to stop her.” The last part wasn’t completely true. They were the only ones who knew what she was going to do to their world, but they didn’t know how to stop her yet. “Please.”

He turned, hearing the desperation in her voice. He gazed into her eyes, filled with a fire that he recognised all too well.

“Oi, that’s the Butcher!” A voice cried from their right. It was a man, obviously drunk, and he was dragging along a sword. The Witcher sighed, a scowl starting to creep on his face. He knew he would face something like this.

“If it isn’t the Butcher.” Another voice yelled. Red went silent, recognising the venom in the tone of the random man’s voice.

“Butcher?” She whispered.

At least half of the townspeople stopped in their tracks when they noticed the ‘butcher’, and a few men crowded around them.

“Get inside.” The Witcher growled to Red, but she couldn’t hear him among all the noise that the crowd was causing. The tension was thick, and Red reached slowly for her blade, ready to defend herself.”

“You’re no welcome here. You know that.” The drunk man slurred.

“I was here for a job. I seek no trouble.”

“No trouble? You’re presence is trouble itself.”

“Back off. I was just leaving.” But the drunk man wasn’t listening. He took his sword and swung. The Witcher dodged it, taking out his own sword from it’s sheath. They fought, the Witcher obviously winning, but he wasn’t planning on killing anyone today. He waited for the right moment before throwing a forceful punch his way, knocking the drunk man out immediately.

Red watched as the scene unfolded, not realising when a couple of men crept up behind her.

“You a friend of his?” One of them breathed, close to her neck. She whipped her head around, her face inches away from his. She took two steps back, trying to assess the situation.

“So what if I am?” She questioned.

“Then you just found yourself some trouble, missy.” In the blink of an eye, he swung a blade her way, missing her by inches when she managed to dodge it in time.

She rolled her eyes. “Can’t I get a break?”

Red attacked him, plunging her knife into his thigh. It wasn’t enough apparently, because he stood up fine, pouncing at her once again. She was quick to twirl her body around and kick him in the face, so hard that she could feel his teeth through her boot.

He fell, spitting out blood. It was a move that she used frequently while hunting, and it never failed to knock her victims out—whatever the species.

Another man moved to attack her from the back, this time she was caught off-guard. He had wrapped his arm around her neck, choking her. Just as she was struggling to stab him, his suddenly grip weakened. Red turned around to see Sam, holding a piece of hard wood that he used to hit the man on the head.

They shared a wordless grin for a second before resuming the fight. Dean had also joined, kicking and throwing punches. There were at least a dozen of men who were attacking them all. Why? The three humans didn’t have a clue. But they fought anyway.

Red turned to look for the Witcher, and was surprised when she found him struggling in a chokehold. He seemed strong enough to hold his own, but she ran his way and punched the side of his choker’s head, feeling the crack of her knuckles as it connected with his skull. It was enough to disorientate him.

“I had that.” The Witcher grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, sure you did.” She taunted, turning back to the man and kicking him in the stomach, then again in the face.

The Witcher stared at her, millions of thoughts popping into his head. Maybe she wasn’t dead weight after all.

Maybe he would consider helping her.

#YEAH I SUCK AT FIGHT SCENES OKAY #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #just realised i tagged the others as xreader....it's not an xreader fic #im too lazy to go change them #sam winchester #sam winchester x oc #dean winchester #dean winchester x oc #supernatural x oc #supernatural x the witcher #spn x the witcher #so many x's #witcher netflix #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #geralt x ofc

[janekfan]

Saw you were looking for some Jon Tim prompts so here's a few! :D 1) Tim decides to stalk Jon to show him what it feels like. Jon is satisfyingly frazzled; then a fear shows up. 2) Jon protects Tim from the Distortion Michael. Tim's confused. 3) Jon get lost in the tunnels. Perhaps Tim can hear him from the trap door and ends up pulling him out. They're both in bad shape and Martin is ticked. 4) Tim finds Jon after he gets stabbed by Michael. Happy Prompt Hunting!

I went with number 4! :D All are very good though

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436451

Jon was being shifty again.

Not like that was anything new, and Tim had caught wind of a bread knife rumor?

But whatever. It was no concern of his and he’d rather go the day withouth seeing him if he could. Avoid the hot spike of poisonous anger that followed after every infuriating interaction and seeped, staining, into all other aspects of his life. Better to leave him be. Let Basira and Daisy and Melanie and Martin deal with him and leave Tim to work on his high scores.

So of course it would just be the two of them in the office today. Martin dropped off Jon’s tea like clockwork and strode bitterly out of the Archives without so much as glancing at Tim. He’d delivered his warnings earlier when he’d been assigned this field research and Tim would follow the instructions to leave him be to the letter.

“He’s exhausted, Tim.”

“Don’t care.”

“I. I know. What I’m trying to say is don’t make things worse.” Tim scoffed at that. Yes, he would be the ones making it all worse. Because it wasn’t worse already. Sasha wasn’t gone, they weren’t trapped here because of Jon who definitely hadn’t turned into some paranoid stalker armed with evil powers.

But yeah. He wouldn’t make things worse.

The makeshift pad of gauze and bandaging was soaked through with his own bright blood and staring at it brought a wash of dizziness over him and flooded his mouth with salt. Before he could faint dead away he reached for his dwindling supplies and prepared to change the dressing. If it didn’t stop this time, he’d have no choice but to ask for help.

If they’d spare any.

Jon hissed through his teeth when removing the compress served only to break the clot, pouring a hot runnel over his skin that caught and welled and spilled over the ladder of his ribs. Blacked at the edges, his vision tunneled, and nausea coiled sour in his stomach. It hurt. It hurt to breathe, to think, to move, deep, deep, deep and aching in the very core of him. Graceless and bumbling, Jon struggled to cover the surprisingly small incision and wrap himself tight enough to please, please stop bleeding. Holding himself close and careful, Jon staggered to his feet only to knock his hip hard against the desk as he went woozy.

He’d stood for something. Risked toppling over for something but the pounding of his pulse in his temples made everything that much harder and the room was spinning around and around and he nearly joined it, teetering a half turn before lurching to a stop, pressing his arm against his throbbing side.

It hurt.

One of them must have painkillers of some sort. Sash--

She. He.

How could he’d have forgotten? A bolt of fresh sorrow struck him so hard in the chest it stole his breath away with it and he sagged beneath its gravity, gripping the cool metal of the door handle painfully for support, looking down and seeing it as though it were the first time.

Where…? He needed something. Needed...because it hurt. He hurt and he needed help.

“Jesus, Jon!” Tim’s whole body flinched violently when he realized Jon was hovering near his desk like a wraith, sallow and with shadows like bruises lining the sharp planes of his face. “What?” His silence was petrol on the fire of Tim’s always simmering anger and it flared brightly, blinding, such that Jon staggered a step back, lifting a trembling hand only to drop it back to his side.

“T’Tim.” He swallowed with a click, and Tim watched his throat work, lashes fluttering like moth’s wings, brows knit together in effort and confusion.

“Out with it!”

“D’you‘ave pa, para…?” Even with his tripped up tongue, the compulsion found a way to thread through the question and Tim saw the fear fill up Jon’s glassy eyes when he realized a beat later what he’d done. Resisting was painful, the static filled up his ears, his head, his blood with its continuous hiss, rising higher and higher as he tried his damndest not to answer what really was a simple question. It wasn’t about that though. It wasn’t alright for Jon to take like that, to use whatever the hell this was to pull what he wanted to know from the inside of them without a thought. To hurt them just to Know.

In the end, he had no choice and coughed up his elucidation like a mouthful of razors, slamming his fist against his desk and using the leverage to stand and confront him.

“S’sorry. Din’t...” slurred and barely intelligible, the empty apologies only made Tim angrier and for one awful moment, he wanted to hit him. Give back just a fraction of the pain he’d caused all of them with his selfish ignorance. He wrestled it down with difficulty, clenched his teeth against the residual ache of Jon’s power.

“What’d you do to yourself?” Because the man looked hungover, sweaty and sick, paler by the minute and he wouldn’t blame him for crawling into a bottle. Might even be inclined to join him if he ever extended an offer.

“H’hur’s.” Jon’s overture broke open in a sob, his clawing, grasping fingers twisted in his dark jumper over his stomach and it looked as though he was considering lurching for the bin.

“Are you pisse--whoa!” Instead, Jon stumbled into him and reflexively, Tim shoved him away, like he was something disgusting, watching him trip over clumsy feet and land hard on his side in a sprawl of uncoordinated limbs. Tim yanked him up roughly, ignoring the sharp intake of breath, and tugged him back to his office by a bony elbow, muttering unkindly, “just sober up or whatever.”

The door slammed behind Jon and reverberated into his aching bones. He’d forgotten what he needed and the pain was so bad now it had removed any remaining will he had to stay awake. After Tim pushed him and he hit the ground, (clumsy, stupid, can’t even walk on your own) it was like being stabbed by Michael all over again; a burst of bright white twisting, turning, contorting agony that wasn’t easing so much as it was spreading all the way to the tips of his fingers.

Maybe if he sat down, got off his feet, he’d not feel so ill. Yes...yes that would be good. It would be nice to rest for a moment, just close his burning eyes, just for a little while. Then he could get back to work, finish up those statements he was working on. He was working on statements? When he went to step forward a sharp pain rocked through him hard enough that he had to brace himself on the unforgiving hard wood of the desk.

What--

Suddenly weak in the knees, Jon all but collapsed into his chair, curling into himself, every harsh and hollow gasp of breath like the bite of a knife.

Half five and Jon still hadn't emerged a second time from his office. Tim was the only one left besides him and despite how adamantly he refused to care he does not want to draw Martin’s temper. This had nothing to do with his own concern and armed with the distance that afforded him, Tim knocked loudly, obnoxiously, rudely.

There was no response.

“Oi, Jon!” Shouldering open the door, he’s got a rant on the tip of his tongue and is looking forward to using it. “Drunk at work, whatever will Marto say? The scandal…” With no reaction forthcoming, no moaning or groaning or yelling Tim took a second to actually look at him, lying collapsed over his desk, cheek pillowed on one folded arm. He’s passed clean out, and Tim touched his forehead only to find it cold and clammy. Something was far from alright if Jon’s rapid, shallow breathing and nearly grey lips were anything to go by. “Boss?” He was slack and loose when Tim shook him none too gently, mouth falling open with an almost inaudible whine. Alarm bells were ringing, red flags cropping up the longer stayed in here with him and the weighty feeling of being watched made him shiver. Very suddenly he wanted out of there but when he pulled Jon upright his eyelids barely shifted and what little color remained drained from his face so quickly Tim barely got the bin in place for him to lose what little he had in his stomach, no more than a little tea really. If the moisture hadn’t glinted in the low light coming in from the other room, Tim wouldn’t have noticed the dark wet blotch blending with the fibers of Jon’s jumper or the red and rust staining his trousers halfway down his thigh.

“Jon!” He wasn’t awake, not really, body reacting with wretched whimpers and the sluggish shifting of his arms when Tim eased him out of the chair and onto the ground. “Shit. Shit!” 999. 999 and following their explicit instructions; elevate his legs, keep him warm, don’t let him aspirate on his own sick. He lifted the sopping and soaked fabric of his borrowed clothing and his hand flew to cover his mouth when he saw the damage and he thought back to Jon’s plea for paracetamol, the apparently accidental compulsion.

“H’hur’s.”

His whole flank was black with the blood pooled beneath his skin and smeared with crimson above and when Tim applied his own crumpled up button down over top of the drenched bundle of gauze Jon cried out, writhing weakly under his punishing hands, eyes rolling wildly under bruised lids.

God. What was the point of being angry with Jon for not being honest, for not reaching out, if this is what happened when he did? If Tim was going to be rough with him, accuse him of being soused when really--

When really he was bleeding to death behind the closed door Tim put him behind so he didn’t have to look at him.

“T…”

“Hey, hey buddy.

“Hur’hurting me…” Slicked with weals of blood, Jon’s thin fingers slipped against Tim’s wrists, no strength to shift him, to stop what was happening, to stop him from hurting him like everybody else had hurt him, even though he was trying to save him. Jon didn’t understand, couldn’t, and he sobbed helplessly, keening cry lancing through Tim like the sharpest spear as yet again he was at the mercy of someone with more power. Catching up his hands, holding both in just one of his own, the hot blood was a painful contrast with Jon’s icy skin.

“Hush, I’m sorry, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, Jon.”

“Nngh…ah!” Tim lifted his hands to his chest, cradled them there in all their scarred roughness and fragility, deadweight and limp.

“Soon now, just stay awake, bud. Stay with me.”

“T’T…” rapid breaths choked him off, left him gasping, fingers spasming in his hold.

Pulled gently away by unfamiliar hands.

Strangers’ voices muffled in his ears.

Jon’s half-lidded dull brown eyes filled with sharp fear.

All so slow Tim wasn’t sure any of it was happening at all until suddenly, a dawning of crystal clarity. Numbers and instructions and bodies, shouting, changing, moving.

Jon begging them to stop, stop--

“Stop hurting him!”

A firm grip pulled him to the side, forced him to look away from the red, red, red rising like a tide in his eyes until he couldn’t see anything else.

“We’re going to help him, but you need to let us.”

“...Y’yeah…”

“Are you coming?”

“Hm?”

“Sir?” Tim took in the sight of Jon’s blood still wet on the tile, the papers and folders in disarray and stained with drops like poppy petals plotting a course of ache and agony he didn’t want to travel.

And then Jon. Strapped down, held in place, fluids being forced into his collapsing veins. Face grey and lined with pain and streaked with red and--

“N’no. No.” The paramedics were already hurrying away. “I’ll. Someone will be there.”

It didn’t deserve to be him.

“Martin.”

“Tim, I swear to god--”

“Martin.”

“--get a hold of yourself for pity’s sake--”

“Martin!”

“What?!” An irritated huff passed over the line. “If this is just--”

“Jon’s in hospital, i’in surgery.” Stony silence run through with the vaguest hum of static fell between them.

“Tim--”

“I. I. I don’t think it was a bread knife.” Tim’s fingers were clenched around his phone so hard he thought it might crack as he kneeled beside the stain Jon left behind. Say nothing of Martin’s implication that this was his fault. That he’d done this to Jon.

But hadn’t he driven him to it?

Hadn’t he driven Jon to keep his pain and terror and sadness and secrets to himself when he turned on him? When he blamed him? When he came to him today, tried to reach for him, to reach for help, and was again denied?

“Tim!”

“M--”

“Where?”

“Wh’happen’...?”

“Jon?” This wasn’t the first time he’d been awake but it was the first time he’d done more than weep with confusion. Perfectly normal, Martin had been assured, between the anesthesia, the medication for pain, the massive internal hemorrhage they’d had to go in and repair, somehow saving his spleen of all things.

“Mmartin?” The effort to speak was dragging him back out to sea with exhaustion, heavy lashes struggling to part under the weight of it and only offering glimpses of glassy brown.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” Gently, Martin brushed back through his curls taking note of the too-cool temperature of his skin and the ink-dark bruises like kohl under his eyes. “It’s alright, I’m right here.”

“I, I…” Somewhere between his protest and a damp sob, Jon dropped off the edge of the precipice and Martin thumbed away the tears lining his cheeks before taking up his hand to resume his attempts at rubbing the warmth back into it.

“You should go home.” Tim was quieter than he’d ever heard him before, still likely cowed from their earlier conversation where the only thing Martin could look at was the copper embedded under his fingernails, smeared across his wrists and gone dark with oxidation. “He’s in good hands.”

“And how would you know that, Tim?” Bitter. Frustrated. Angry. Jon should have been in good hands before. Trusted hands. Hands that may well be spiteful, resentful, but hands that wouldn’t let Jon slip through the cracks regardless.

“I just meant.” Martin wasn’t able to look at him, afraid of what he might say next, afraid that he might physically throw the other man from the room for daring to deny Jon the slightest support.

“Last time I left you with him, he ended up here.”

“That’s--” Voice raised, shouting, and even down deep Jon flinched, arms shifting in an attempt to protect his face. Martin was livid, settling Jon with a few whispered words before turning to confront Tim.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”

“I didn’t…” Tim was small, folding into himself and sharp at his corners, bristling and contrite.

“I’ll text you with an update if there is one.”

“I. I’m sorry, Martin.” But he neither needed nor wanted an apology. He wasn’t the one Tim wronged today.

A week later saw Martin helping Jon up the narrow steps to his flat, concerned by his pallor and the trembling in his limbs and when he finally dropped him onto the lumpy sofa, saw that he was sweating.

“I’ll make some tea.” He’d purchased a few essentials to go along with his prescriptions. It wouldn’t do if he made himself ill on an empty stomach. If he listened closely he could just hear Jon’s panting, making certain to bring water along with the mug and a few chocolate digestives to offset the loss of blood still exacerbating his fatigue.

“M’quite alright, Martin.” He had yet to sit up, still laying back among the cushions, one scarred forearm laid above his nose. “Don’have to coddle me.” Martin didn’t rise to his bait, instead ignoring him in favor of sitting beside where his greater weight tipped Jon gently into his side. He didn’t resist, instead embracing his vulnerability and sinking deeper into the warm wool of his jumper with a sullen hum.

“I’m not “coddling” you, Jon.” Steeped to his preferences, Martin pressed the tea into his hands, lingering to be certain he could hold it on his own before tucking a biscuit between his forefinger and the porcelain and then another when he polished it off, probably not thinking about it.

“Have you heard from Tim?” Barely audible over the rim of his mug, Jon kept his eyes downcast and Martin couldn’t see under his long lashes from the angle he was at. He’d asked a few times, understanding his disappointment was aimed at Tim and not at Jon, at least not this time. They’d discussed the incident and Martin got the sense that he wanted no part in a repeat performance though he’d explained his attempt at asking for help was the last time he was cognizant enough to think in a somewhat straight line. After that it was pain and cold and shadow and Tim crushing him into the floor and he didn’t understand.

“Yeah.” Martin sipped on his own tea, encouraged Jon to do the same, but he was a dog with a bone.

“Is he. Uh. Cross? With. With me?” He looked up, tired eyes wide and round. “I mean, more than, than the usual?”

“Jon.”

“I know! I.” Falling silent, Jon nibbled absentmindedly on the last biscuit and accepted the tablets to swallow with the dregs of his tea. He’d be out like a light soon with that painkiller and Martin tugged him up when he hissed through his teeth at the agony of trying to move and caught him when he listed on his feet. Rather than hovering, Martin decided instead to keep an ear out as he put away the groceries and filled a glass of water for his nightstand, meeting Jon back at the sofa where he held a stack of bedding topped with pillows.

“I know.” He swallowed, “you’re here out of, of obligation? Kindness? But. But I’ll be fine on my own--you don’t have to stay.” Martin shook his head, a sad smile spreading over his lips as he relieved Jon of his bundle, longing to pull him into an embrace and relieve him of the invisible burden he carried alone. Compromising, he settled for cupping a slim shoulder, not missing how he melted under the soft touch.

“I’m here because we’re friends, Jon.” Unexpected tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as his staid expression crumpled. “Oh, oh, Jon, come here. It’s alright.” Spent, Jon let his forehead collide with his chest, crying silently, and Martin abandoned the duvet in favor of folding him up. “It’s alright.”

“S’sorry...just.” But he couldn’t get any more words out and Martin ran a hand up and down his taut back, rubbing circles over the sharp blades of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be.” In a few moments the energy began to ooze out of Jon’s bones, the meds kicking in full force and taking his strength with it. “Okay, time for bed.” With a bit of cautious manhandling, Martin was able to get him tucked in between the sheets, meeting eyes blinking slow like those of a cat. “Comfy?”

“Mmyeah…” slipping out on an exhale and it brought a grin back to Martin’s face to see him so relaxed and more than a little loopy. “Hey Martin?” Graceless, Jon’s clumsy fingers tangled with his. “Thank you.” Cross eyed with the effort of sincerely conveying his gratitude, he spoke earnestly, if marble-mouthed and Martin felt his own cheeks flush hot in the velvet dark. He allowed himself to tuck stray and greying flyaways behind Jon ear before sweeping a thumb over the bone of his cheek and watching him drift under. Martin slipped away, keeping the door open in case something happened, and made up his own bed, listening to Jon’s soft and sleepy sounds.

“Good night, Jon.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #stabbed #hurt comfort #fluff #pining #blood #internal bleeding #crying #tears

[peterxwade24]

Broken Hearts and New Beginnings

Chapter 6

this one didn’t get a cool title.

anyways, enjoy.

Marinette looked at Chloé and Sabrina, they were going to go take selfies in Gotham’s Botanical Gardens and they had decided to wear cute outfits that looked good together. She let a small smile spread across her face before she stuck her tongue out at her friends.

Chloé had her hair in a half-up half-down style with the half that was up pulled back in a fishtail braid. She wore a pastel yellow sundress with gray faux leather ankle boots. She had a quilted crossbody purse in champagne with a gold tone chain strap resting against her left hip.

Sabrina, on the other hand, had her hair pulled back into a low bun with a braid pinned to the underside of the bun. She wore a purple spaghetti strap tank tucked into a pair of gray shorts over black sheer tights. She had a mini sling backpack in the pattern Belle Paisley. She wore knee-high fashion boots in cognac with straps over her ankles which ended in brass buckles.

Marinette’s hair, cropped close to her head in the back and around the sides, was spiked up at the back and hung messily over her forehead. She wore a red tank crop top over a pair of black distressed jeans with a pair of black combat boots. She had a black wristlet to go with the outfit, the strap had a few pins on it, one was Littlefoot hatching out of his egg while another was a Cathulu boba tea pin.

“Let’s go take pictures.” Marinette threw a throw pillow at her friends before pulling out her phone to text Adrien and Nino.

Marinette let Chloé drag her out of the room, the duo followed closely by Sabrina, rode the elevator down to the lobby, where they met up with Adrien and Nino. The group of five left the hotel and walked to the botanical garden. They stuck together, knowing that they looked like easy targets to the hardened Gothamite thieves who’ve never seen them kick Akuma ass.

Marinette surveyed the plants in the garden, not paying attention when several more bodies joined her four friends. She turned to ask her friends their opinions, a smile on her face, until she saw they had gained people to their group. The smile died on her face, her eyes hardening. “Hello.”

Jason waved, taking in the way Marinette’s hair seemed to shine in the sunlight.

Roy and Adrien were wrapped around each other, red-orange spun with neon green above their heads. Stephanie spoke with Nino, light eggplant and illuminating emerald tucked in Nino’s hair. Chloé and Sabrina cheerfully spoke with Tim and Kon.

Jason was lost in thought, the image of a smile on Marinette’s face stuck in his thoughts. He hated that he was the reason she didn’t smile like that around many people, he hated that he caused the light to go out in her eyes.

Marinette simply frowned before clearing her throat. “Chlo, Nino, Brina, Adri?” She called to get her friends’ attention.

Chloé and Sabrina turned from their conversation with Tim and Kon, their attention going to their friend almost instantly. Nino turned to look at his childhood friend, his eyes taking in the way she seemed to be shrinking into herself. Adrien was the last to turn away from his conversation, not understanding why Marinette sounded the way she did.

“What’s up Bug?” Adrien asked while his eyes flicked between his friends and Roy, he wasn’t paying attention to his friends so he didn’t see Chloé glare at him or Nino looking at him pleadingly to shut up. “I’m a little preoccupied.”

Roy, however, did see the glares sent by Chloé and Nino’s pleading looks and so wisely decided to move away from his soulmate.

Marinette simply turned away from him, setting her gaze on Jason instead. “Since Adrien is too busy talking to help Chloé, Sabrina and I take good pictures, you get to help.”

---

Jason looked at the photos he saved to his gallery, the girls looked really good and he was starstruck by how well they looked together. The three girls seemed to balance each other but also still looked distinct enough to know who was who. His eyes couldn’t help but keep drifting back to Marinette and he couldn’t help but think about how she’d look with his jacket in addition to the outfit he’d spent nearly an hour taking pictures of her in. Jason was so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed someone standing behind him.

“Whatcha lookin’ at there Jaybird? Is that that pretty French girl you’ve been sighing about lately?” Dick’s voice sounded from beside Jason’s face.

Jason, reflexively, brought his other hand up into Dick’s nose. He frowned before turning to look at his stupid older brother. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me Dick?” Jason all but hissed through his teeth. The second Robin had always been more likely to strike first and ask questions later, so the look of shock on the first Robin’s face was unwarranted. “You know better.”

“That was uncalled for Little Wing.” Dick’s words were slurred due to the fact that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why’d you have to hit my nose?”

Jason just rolled his eyes and stood up, walking out of the room without answering Dick’s question. He sequestered himself away in the kitchen with Alfred, who was making tea.

“Is everything okay Master Jason?” Alfred asked as he handed him a cup of tea.

“I found my soulmate Alfred. I found my soulmate and she’s going back to France at the end of her class trip.” Jason frowned before showing Alfred one of the pictures of Marinette. “Her name is-”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng, granddaughter of Roland and Gina Dupain.” Alfred smiled and took a sip of his tea. “I served with her grandfather, her father is actually my godson.”

Jason stared at the man who for all intents and purposes was his grandfather. “Wait, really?”

Alfred smiled, a small and sad smile full of nostalgia. “Yes. Roland was a good soldier and is an even better man, if a little stubborn and set in his ways.”

Taglist:

@mystery-5-5 @moonlightstar64

#maribat #ml crossover #mlb crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #Broken Hearts and New Beginnings #BHaNB

[bxthharmon]

Never Go Home Again, Pt. I || JJ Maybanks x Reader

Words: 2667

Series Warnings: violence / talking about abuse / toxic relationships / talking about nudes sex tapes and sex tapes / drugs / underage drinking

Pt. Warnings: self harm (kind of?)

Series Summary: A new girl, a shoebox of old memories, a past she’s trying to forget coincide with a hotheaded, but selfless, boy.  teenagers getting in way over their heads

Pt. Summary: the second time she saw him, it was at a kook party.

A/N: Okay so I KNOW i havent finished WB (im not even halfway lol) but i got this idea from rewatching euphoria. you dont have to look too closely to see that ive mirrored a couple of seens, but the plot, while inspired by euphoria, wont be the same. let me know what you think, or if you wanna be tagged!

Chapters linked in my masterlist.

“masterlist”

This story does follow the plot, so beware of any spoilers.

This town seemed too perfect. Sure, you were on the poor side of the town, but the houses were well kept and everyone was happy and friendly. It was as far from home as you could get. You hated this. The boxes stacked up in the boot, and the bags piled up in the seats behind you. The fact that you were over two and half thousand miles away from home. The fact that this was a new beginning you were sure you didn’t need. 

You watched as people loaded boats with shopping bags or crates of beer, and how they all seemed to be happy with their small roles in this small town. It was everything you hated and more.

You looked at your dad, in the seat next to you. He kept his eyes on the road, glancing down while he tried to find a radio station with decent music. He settled on reggae track by Bob Marley, and hummed along. You rolled your window down, smelling the salty air that blew in from the coast even as you wound your way further into the poor housing of this end of the island.

That was when you saw him.

He was on his bike, no helmet, his longish blonde hair waving around his face, and a baseball cap slung backwards over his head. You drove past, pushing your head out of the window to keep the view, and his eyes found yours in a way you couldn’t describe. You held his gaze until the car turned, pulling into a driveway. Your new house.

Your dad turned to you with a long sigh.

“I know you’re not happy about this.” he started, and you looked at his concerned face.

“I just don’t understand how moving almost three thousand miles will change anything.” you reasoned.

“Well, you know why. She’s not here, and you won’t have to deal with all of that shit that happened at school.”

“So we’re running away?”

“Y/N, just give this place a chance.”

You nodded. “Dad, how can we afford this?”

He looked at you defeatedly.

You continued, “I mean, with the divorce, and what she did, how could we afford the moving fees and the house? Cross-state moving fees are mad, let alone when you’re on an island too.”

“Hey,” he shook his head, “I’m the adult, I’ll worry about that.”

In your first week on the island, you made friends with a girl called Sarah. She was from Figure 8, but had explained the dynamics between the pogues and kooks to you, and invited you to a party. It was her boyfriend, Topper’s, but she explained that plenty of pogues and tourons would crash anyway.

You arrived without her, a pair of cycling shorts and a crop top thrown over your bikini in a minimal-effort kind of way. Your one stab at an effort was the blue and purple glitter dabbed over your cheek bone to recreate a highlighter effect. When you got there, you could immediately tell you were underdressed. Everyone else were in shirts and dresses, and your glitter was definitely too ‘city’ to be cool here, so you stuck out, obviously the only pogue there. You spent twenty minutes trying to find Sarah, picking up some vodka on your way around. 

Eventually, after leaving a few texts, you sat down on the kitchen counter and nursed your vodka. You had no idea how long you sat there for, but at some point, Sarah’s brother stormed in. You recognised him from one of Sarah’s instagram posts, but you knew he’d never seen you in person. He looked high. And angry.

“Get out of the fucking kitchen!” he was yelling, and people began to filter out, but due to your obscured path, you couldn’t get out. He turned on you.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, “‘Cause I don’t fucking know you!”

“Uh,” you mumbled, “I’m Y/N, I got invited by a friend.”

Where the fuck was Sarah?

“Well I don’t know any Y/Ns. And I don’t see any fucking friends!” He yelled, slurring and stumbling. “Does anybody know Y/N?” 

You looked around the gathering crowd, trying to spot Sarah, hoping she would appear and get you out of this.

“I said, does anybody fucking know Y/N? What the fuck are you doing in this house?” He cornered you, and you were beginning to panic. How the fuck do I get out of this situation?

You didn’t even realise what you were doing, but you felt yourself grab a knife from the counter and thrust it towards him. He stumbled back and you stepped forwards.

“Don’t fucking yell at me!” you shouted, watching him lean back against the wall in fear. You didn’t even register doing it but you felt the blade slice your arm.

You stepped back, addressing the shocked audience. “By the way, I’m Y/N,” You looked around, finding those blue eyes you’d seen a week ago. “And I just moved here.”

You dropped the knife on the counter and pushed your way out of the house, pulling your phone out when you got to the pavement. You checked your messages with Sarah.

You: just got here, where r u?

You: girl, where u at?

You: sarah, i dont know anyone, where r u?

You: im going home, shit turned sour. Msg me later.

Putting your phone away, you looked around. You hardly knew where you were, and you were desperate to get home.

“That was quite a show.” You heard a voice behind you. Shit.

You turned, and saw your blonde haired boy. “Well I knew someone was gonna get hurt either way, so I chose to deescalate the situation, you know?”

He nodded, reaching for your arm, looking at the cut. “You need to get that looked at.” 

“You offering?” you asked, pushing down a smile. 

“Sure.” he shrugged. You looked at him. He looked at the ground, an uncharacteristic shyness taking him over, “Can I stay at yours?”

You watched him stare at the ground, and however much you wanted to ask, you chose not to. “Sure, we just gotta be extra quiet.” 

He grinned, “‘Course.”

“Okay,” you sighed, “This is where I confess that I don’t actually know my way home.”

“We’ll work it out.” he grinned.

When you reached your house, learning that it was only a minute down the road from the blonde boy’s friend's house, you opened the door as quietly as possible, the pair of you pulling off your shoes and carrying them for extra quiet. You snuck up the stairs, trying to avoid the creaky stair boards, and pausing in terror every time there was a creak. By the time you’d made it to your room, the only other room upstairs being a bathroom, you both relaxed. You searched your moving boxes, finding your brother’s old sweat and tee for him, and going to the bathroom so that you could change into an oversized top and old gym shorts.

When you came back, a first aid kit in hand, the boy sat you down on the bed and began to address the cut.

You watched him work in silence. “What’s your name?” you whispered, and he glanced up at you, a smile on his lips.

“JJ.” he said simply, a small smirk adorning his lips as he finished dressing your arm.

You flopped down, so that you were lying on your back in the bed, and he looked at you with an odd sense of curiosity. “Lie down.” softly, you coaxed.

“Usually I get to know a girl before I get in her bed.” he joked, and the way you laughed made him want to freeze the moment in time. 

“Why do I feel like that’s not true?” you snarked.

He gasped, putting his hand to his chest in feigned hurt, “Oh Y/N, I’ve known you for an hour and you’re already breaking my heart!”

“What can I say?” you bantered, “I’m just pure femme fatale.”

He crawled onto the bed, resting his head on the pillows above you. “Oh,” he replied, “I’m sure.”

You flipped onto your stomach, looking at him, relaxed, head on the pillows, gazing down at you. “At home, there weren’t any guys like you.”

He laughed, unsure of himself, “Love, there aren’t any other guys like me.”

You hummed, fiddling with the corner of your throw blanket, looking at him through your lashes, you giggled. “You’re so full of shit.”

He grabbed a pillow and threw it straight at your head. You picked it up, your face scrunched up from the impact, and he laughed. You sat up, crossing your legs, and threw it back at his face, only he caught, laughing, saying something about you having a bad throw. He put the pillow back, and you crawled back up the bed, lying on your back, your arms touching as you both stared at the ceiling.

You glanced at him, taking how his warm tan contrasted the blue light of the moon that shone through the large window above your bed. You took in the way his muscles gave him definition, and how the top stretched slightly over his chest, and how his long blonde hair splayed over the pillow, your own, waist-length hair tickling his arm as you lay there. You took in the curve of his nose and the tiny, mischievous smirk that never seemed to leave his face. You took in his long eyelashes and the blue of his eyes and the pink of his cheeks.

At some point, you drifted off.

When you woke up, you were tucked into him, your legs tangled in his, hair spread over his arm. His eyes were still closed, and you didn’t move from your spot, keeping your eyes on his face.

“You know,” he murmured, “If you take a picture, it’d last longer.”

Blushing, you pulled away. “I don’t know what you’re on about.” you sat up, feeling his fingers trace the curve of your back as you moved out of his reach. You left the bed, looking back to see him sit up, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and you watched him take in the way your top fell over your frame. You searched your moving boxes again, looking for an outfit for the day. You really needed to move everything into the wardrobe. Eventually, you pulled out a bikini and shorts. You looked back at him, and he grinned at you.

You looked at him curiously, “What are you doing today, JJ?”

He thought for a second, electing against going home, but rather to go to John B’s for a day of weed and joking around. “Introducing you to my friends.” he shrugged, “The one who lives a minute down the road.”

You nodded, “What are we, in a relationship?” you joked, “Introducing me to your friends? Next thing I know I’ll be round for dinner.”

He felt dirty when you said that, shrinking into himself, hoping that you would never experience the shit that came with meeting his dad. You must have realised you’d hit a nerve, because you backtracked, saying you’d been stupid and whatever you’d said to upset him wasn’t intentional. When he looked back up, he saw how the tears of worry were building, and he immediately changed his demeanor, rushing forwards to hug you, assured you that it was all good. 

You went to get changed, leaving him in your room. 

He looked around. The corner was full of boxes yet to be unpacked, the open ones mainly clothes. There was a desk under the window, with some makeup, a book and a notebook thrown on top. The wardrobe doors were open, revealing that the few clothes that were in your wardrobe were very messily so, most either hung up or on the floor. There was a shelf above the hangers, with a shoebox pushed carefully to the side. He pulled it out, conscious that he was snooping. He pulled the lid off, and saw a set of pictures.

The first - you at a funfair when you were a little, a boy two years older (must be your brother) and a woman, almost identical to you, hugging you close. The second, you were older, perhaps twelve - you were wearing a Christmas onesie that matched the woman’s, your brother and dad laughing as you and the woman - your mother - danced around. The third - you were in a hospital gown, and your mother was crying, holding you close. 

There were more, but he didn’t look. Under the photos, there was a tiny crocheted rabbit and a baby blanket with little elephants on it. He heard your bathroom door open, and rushed to put the lid on, putting the box back. You walked in, smiling at him as you checked your phone.

Dad missed calls (6)

Bro missed calls (3)

Sarah missed calls (11)

You sighed, checking Sarah’s messages.

 Sarah: Sorry!! I heard what happened, i should hv been there. Meet up 2day?

You: Rain check? I met a guy last night and he wants to introduce me to his mates.

Sarah: U go girl!! Enjoy urself, msg me if u need me <3

You flicked off Sarah’s messages, glancing back at JJ, who was looking at your make up.

Mom: Darling, call me when you can.

The last text made you want to throw up, and you tossed your phone on the bed, drawing JJ’s attention back to you. “You okay?” he asks, and you nod, grabbing your purse and picking your phone back up, and getting ready to go.

“Okay, I’ll go down first, I’ll signal if there’s no one there so you can come down.” you ran down the stairs, checking the kitchen and living room, then giving JJ the all-clear. You left the house, letting him walk you to his friend’s place.

He took your hand, guiding your through the front door and into the house. You wrinkled your nose at the mess, food, clothes and empty cans littering the room. “This is a mess.” you muttered, stepping over an empty packet of sweets.

“His mom left when he was three and his dad’s missing, the lack of adults means… well, you can see what it means.”

You nodded, only just noticing a boy asleep on the sofa next to you. JJ leans over, sighing. “That’s Pope, I’ll go get John B and see if Kiara’s here.” he let go of your hand, walking down the hall, leaving you with the sleeping boy. You watched the boy shuffle and then open his eyes, jumping at the sight of a stranger standing over him. 

“Who are you?” he asked, sitting up and staring at you. 

“JJ’s friend.” you said, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re the girl who cut herself.” he said, recognition relaxing his features.

“My reputation precedes me.” you laugh, and he stands up. 

“Food?” he offers, walking to the kitchen.

“Y’all have food here? It looks like you live off Swedish Fish and beer.” 

He grins, “That’s the life.” he jokes, pulling a slice of moldy bread from its packet, and then throwing it straight in the bin. “That said, John B does need to get groceries more.”

“I do?” you heard a voice behind you. You turned, and were met with the sight of a tall brunette boy. He stares at you for a second, and rather than Pope’s blunt recollection, he grins, “You’re Y/N, right?” You nod, “You left quite the impression at Topper’s party.”

“What can I say?” you laughed.

JJ came back from the hallway, accompanied by a girl. “You must be Y/N!” she greets, smiling brightly, “I’m Kiara.” 

“Well…” JJ pipes up, “Let's take the HMS out to the marsh and introduce Y/N to the OBX properly!”

“I’m down.” Kiara shrugged, “I don’t have any shifts today.” 

“Sure,” agreed Pope.

“Leave in twenty?” John B offered.

#obx #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj x reader #jj x you #jj x y/n #john b #john b routledge #kiara #kiara carrera #pope #pope heyward #sarah #sarah cameron

[wreckofawriter]

Painted Books

Pairing: Young!Sirius Balck x Slytherin!reader

Word Count: 3,297 (I'm sorry I got carried away)

Warnings: Swearing, Underaged drinking, Mentions of alcohol abuse/addiction, Super long

Summary: After a prank Sirius ruins something extremely important to you, so you get pissed. While sneaking around he realizes why you were so pissed and tries to apologize

A/n: Omfg I havent been on tumblr for like a month I'm so sorry I was inactive, high school has sort of been kicking my ass. I hope this super long story makes up for it. I actually kinda like this one alot, hope you enjoy it.

Hatred filled you like air into a balloon. Your blood had been replaced by lava and it was steaming, white-hot through you. Those idiot Gryffindors were going to regret everything they have ever done in about 10 minutes you thought as you looked at your common room. Red and gold covered everything. Every couch, every chair, every table, every wall, and unfortunately for you, every book and paper on the tables. You screeched loudly.

You had simply left for 30 minutes to eat dinner before returning to your homework and now, not only was the positions essay you had almost finished been ruined but so had your charms, Defence against the dark arts and herbology essays. Along with the seven books for those classes you had bought at the begging of the year. There was no way that you would be able to clean the paint off, it was surely enchanted and now you would have to stay up all night finishing essays that would never be even half of the quality the originals were.

As the rest of the Slytherin house began to clean up the mess you had ideas of making a new one. And not of their common room but of Sirius Black's face.

You snatched your soggy papers and books off of the table and stormed out of the room. The second you saw him your anger returned like a boiling title wave. He had just ruined all of your work from the past week and now he was laughing throwing his head back as his shiny teeth flashed and his glistening black hair fell away from his precise jawline and cheekbones. You walked straight up to him and before he could even look at you, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and threw him against the wall holding him there. As you did you heard many people utter gasps of surprise and James yell something but you were defened by wrath. His eyes widened in surprise then relaxed as you saw your small frame.

“You think this is funny?” You yelled holding your paint-splattered papers and books up for him to see.

“I do find it quite amusing.” He answered with a smirk.

You screeched again, shoving your fist upward effectively throwing him back against the wall and jabbing him in the throat. You may be small but you were far from weak.

“Look if you wanted to throw me against the wall you could have just asked.” He winked, his voice coming out raspy from his throat being half closed by your hand.

“You absolute piece of shit!” you screamed, “You just ruined all of my work from this whole fucking week! I'm going to fail because of you!”

“You could just sleep with the professor again.” He sneered Your eyes widened in shock, it had been a year since the rumor of you sleeping with a teacher had ruined your social life and here was this high and mighty asshole, who had slept with half the school bringing it up again. You had had enough. You brought your knee up and as it connected with his crotch you dropped his collar and he tumbled to the ground with a scream.

“You say anything like that again I will break your nose.” You hissed down at him, throwing your ruined essays and books at him. With that, you turned on your heel and left pushing past the group of students that had gathered to watch. Before you could exit the scene a hand grabbed your wrist.

“What the hell was that for? It was just a stupid prank!” James yelled as you snatched your hand from his grasp.

“It wasn't just the prank asshole.” You growled glaring up at him.

And that was the truth it wasn't just the prank. It wasn't your homework being ruined, hell it wasn't even the fact he accused you of sleeping with a professor. All of those things were insignificant to the real problem. He had ruined your books. No, you’re not some Ravenclaw who obsessed over books, and it's not like they were signed by the author either they were simply books. But not to you. To you, they were the extra hours you worked at a stupid coffee shop. They were the late nights and early mornings you had forced yourself in to. They were the reward you got for getting stared at by men twice your age because of the stupid tiny skirt that was somehow considered as a uniform. Hell, you worked all fucking summer. Your whole summer was just dumped in paint by some pretentious brat and his even more pretentious friends.

When you reached the Slytherin common room you were close to tears and when you entered you saw the one thing that could cheer you up. Kathy. Kathy was your best friend, she was also one of your few friends, I mean you were a Slytherin half-blood, you were no Lily Evans. She was also Slytherin and was the good cop to your bad cop attitude. When she saw you she rushed you upstairs as you explained what happened.

Sirius, Remus, and Peter crept quietly (not so quietly) through the halls under the famous invisibility cloak. James stood beside them his head-boy badge shining in the light of his wand.  

“Shut up Wormtail,” James scolded, “I think I hear someone.”

They all stopped and listened. With the shuffling noises silenced they could hear something. Laughter drifted through the halls. Soon muffled voices could be heard from some hidden place.

“I think they're in the kitchen,” Remus whispered.

“I hope they’re Slytherin.” James giggled as they approached the hidden door to the kitchen. James poked the bowl of fruit, hitting the apple once and the orange twice. The door swung open into the first layer of the kitchens. They shuffled in James taking the lead they were about to continue through the next doorway when Sirius heard a voice that made him jump.

“Wait!” his whispers called to his friend.

“What?” James whispered back.

“That's Y/n,” Sirius explained.

“Hell yeah this is going to be fun,” James smiled wide happy to catch you out of bed. “Finally get the bitch back.” He began to walk toward the second room in the kitchen when Sirius stepped out from beneath the cloak and grabbed his shoulder.

“Just let me see what she's doing.” He asked.

James’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

“Please.” Sirius begged his friend, “Then we can bust her.”

“Fine” he muttered

Remus handed Sirius the invisibility cloak sighing, “This better be quick.” disapprovingly

Sirius rolled his eyes throwing the cloak over him and walked into the next room what he saw made his jaw drop.

There you sat, on the kitchen floor in nothing but a deep green crop top and a pair of shimmery silver booty shorts. Your y/h/l y/h/c hair was cascading down your back like a waterfall that seemed to glow in the candlelight. Next to you sat a brunette girl in a hoodie and sweatpants that Sirius recognized as Kathy Underhill. In your right hand, you clutched a bottle of fire whiskey and in your left, you held a spoon filled with chocolate ice cream from the carton at your feet.

“You know everryboddy thiks that imma stuck up bish now right?” You slurred, clearly drunk.

“I'm sure they don't,” Kathy said clearly sober.

“Oooohhh yeahhu they do.” You continued. “They’re all wike look at that tempershmental bitch who cants take a joke, wow somebody locks her up shes crazy, she fucked a professor for an and she is sooooo stuck up.”

“Well it's not true,” Kathy said grimacing as you took another swig from the bottle.

“SOO WHAT?” You shouted, your voice suddenly rising as you did from your crossed legs dropping you spoon on the ground, “What am I gonna say, I'm not shtuck up my mom is a alchohalic that blows her money on booze and I had to work all fucking summer in a shitty Cafe where middle-aged men stared up my skirt, to afford the books that the two ashholes you call “funny” you added very dramatic air quotes on the last word. “Ruined for a stupid prank ecaus they are stuck ups dicks who shove money up their asses for fun.”

Sirius’s eyes widened, he really shouldn't be listening to this conversation.

Tears began to fall from your eyes in large drops and Kathy sighed as you started to blabber nonsense.

“Alright sweetie, let's get you off your feet before your trip and kill yourself,” Kathy said rising toward you. You continued to sob as she took the bottle from your hands and helped you to the floor where you buried your head in her lap as she stroked your hair.

“Looks like imma just like my-” You hiccuped “- my bitch of a mother.” You groaned angrily.

“Hey honey, you will never be like that woman, I promise.” Kathy soothed, “I promise.”

“Your the best. I love you” You muttered as you began to drift into sleep.

“Love you too.” Kathy sighed.

    Sirius was so caught up in the scene in front of him he almost forgot about his friends who were waiting for him. He quickly turned and walked back to the second room where he removed the cloak and looked at his three wide-eyed friends.

    “Oh shit,” James muttered as he looked at Sirius who looked on the edge of a breakdown. Without another word, Sirius thrust the cloak into his friend's hands and bolted.

    Of all the people he knew what it was like to hate your mother, to have nothing, to work your ass off for things that are ruined by someone who had so much more. Now he had caused that pain. He had ruined your books. He had destroyed your hard work. He had caused those tears that sprung from your eyes. He had become what he hated most.

Sirius may be fast but James was faster, and he caught the young boy’s wrist before he could escape to god knows where.

When Sirius world around James saw something very rare in his eyes, tears. They were glassy and full. One cascaded down his cheek leaving a shimmering river in its wake.

“Sirius it's not your fault.” He said looking at his friend quite concerned.

“I ruined her books.” he sniffed,

“We didn't know, it's not our fault her mom’s an alcoholic,” James explained.

Sirius glared at his friend ripping his hand from James's angrily, “Would you have cared?” he asked bitterly.

“Of course I would,” James said sincerely

“I don't think you would have,” Sirius seethed taking a step towards him. “You have always had everything, the parents, the money, the house, the smarts, the skills, the girlfriend. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE NOTHING!” He yelled his face red with fury, “So you don't know what it's like to have the one thing you did have ripped from you.” He whispered stepping away from his friend taking a couple of steps turning and sprinting back to the common room.

The next morning Sirius woke to see a stack of books on the end of his bed with a note stuck on top.

“Your right, I'm a dick, now please go give that girl these books and essays before I feel even more like shit. P.S you owe Remus big time for the essays” Sirius lifted the note to see a stack of brand new books and on top four essays each with the name Y/n Y/l/n printed in your handwriting on top. He then glanced at the stack of paint covered books in the corner you had thrown at him, they were still there covered in paint. Confusion covered him He then remembered who he was friends with and smiled.

“James you idiotic genius.” He muttered looking at each perfectly crafted essay. His eyes were shining.

    You woke to a less pretty sight. Your head throbbed as you sat up in your bed groaning, you looked at the clock, you still had an hour till your first class but you were too hungry to pass up breakfast, even with your head about to explode. You got up stretched moaning at the pounding in your head and changed into your robes. You headed down to the grand hall after downing five Advils.

When you arrived you saw Kathy chatting with a few other girls you knew. You sat down next to her grabbing the pot of coffee of the table and dumping it into your cup as Kathy greeted you.

    “Damn Y/n you look like shit.” a girl named Emma said.

    “I feel like shit too.” You answered as you took a massive swig of the coffee.

    “You stay up late finishing your essays?” Another girl asked.

    You groaned throwing your aching head onto the table as the essays that you had forgotten about reentered your half-awake mind.

“I swear next time I see one of those four assholes I'm gonna put them six feet under.” Kathy hissed.

As if on cue Sirius Black tapped your shoulder. You spun around and were about to speak when Kathy rose, “I think she's seen enough of you Black.” she said sternly.

“Look I know I was I dick I just want to apologize,” Sirius mumbled seeming very uncomfortable as all the girls at the table glared him down.

“She doesn't need your fake apologizes, she’s had enough for a lifetime,” Kathy growled.

“It’s fine Kath.” You sighed, “I'm way too hungover to deal with him asking all day anyway.” You grumbled quietly to her.

She huffed and sat down glaring the boy down as she retracted to her seat.

You looked up at him waiting.

Sirius flashed bright red, an unusual sight, “Oh um I thought I could talk to you in private.” he asked his voice fading in the last words as he scuffed the ground with his feet.  

You sighed, “If this is another prank Black I will break you back.”

“No no no I swear it's not.” He said hurriedly.

You groaned standing from the ground and following him out of the hall, still feeling like shit.

“Look, before you break my back can you let me finish what I’m saying?” He asked nervously, You had never seen the boy so nervous.

“Depends on what you say.” You answered narrowing your eyes.

“Alright then here goes,” He sighed “So me and the rest of us were with James last night and we umm heard you and Kathy, and I just-” He was cut off by a fist hitting his jaw.

“YOU ASSHOLE!” You yelled as you realized what he must have heard. Anger once again overrode your systems and you glared at the boy in front of you, “I swear to Merlin I'm gonna drive my-”

He slapped his hand over your mouth muffling your shouts. “Please just listen,” He begged, “Please.” when you looked at him you saw something you had never seen on his face before, desperation. This made you stop nodding as he slowly removed his hand from your mouth. Today was full of new experiences.

“Look I just wanted to say I'm really sorry for ruining your books and that I was a dick and well here.” He said as he reached into his bag and took out a bundle of books and papers.

You gasped when you saw the papers were essays, in your handwriting but much better than you ever could have written, and the books were all of the ones that had been ruined in paint except they were all hardcover and pristine as if they were bought last night.

“How did you….??” Your voice trailed off as you scanned the papers and books.

“My friends may be idiots but they’re geniuses.” He chuckled nervously.

Your amazement was replaced by rage (again) when you realized what was happening and anger flashed in your eyes, “I don't want your pity, Black.” You seethed handing his books back.

“No no no, it's not pity please.” He said as you turned to go.

“What is it then?” you glowered.

“It’s empathy ok? I know what it's like to have an asshole for a mom who never did anything for you ok? I know what it's like to have nothing. I know.”

You stared at him confused, what did a pureblooded rich kid know about that?

“Look my mom kicked me out last year, I mean not out of the house but out of the family. She disowned me and I get it, it sucks. I just got lucky to have amazing friends like James whose parents are super cool.” He sighed handing you the books back, “I was a dick, I’m really truly sorry.”

Your mouth hung open eyes wide. How had you never know this? You knew his brother and him didn't exactly get along but you never knew anything like that had happened to him. And then you did the last thing you expected you would ever do. You took two steps forward and hugged him. Dropping the books and papers on the floor, you wrapped your hands around his waist and buried your head in his chest. At first, he was surprised but it only took him a second to react and he wrapped one arm around your waist to the small of your back and his other around your shoulder resting his hand on the back of your head and pulling you closer to him.

You noticed he smelt of mint and smoke as you let your tears fall from your eyes, soaking his robes.

He buried his head into your soft y/h/c locks and he smelt pomegranate and ginger with the slight tinge of vanilla linger there. His eyes filled with tears and he squeezed them shut as he felt your body shake with sobs. You don’t know how long you stayed there but you wished to forever. When you did pull away your eyes were puffy and red as were his. You were about to turn to pick up the books and papers that were scattered on the ground when Sirius spoke.

“Hey Y/n one more thing.” He said.

“Wha-” his lips collided on yours and it was your turn to be shocked. After a second you melted into the kiss and leaned back into his minty scent as you felt his toung run along your lower lip, you tipped your chin upward giving him better access to your mouth. As his hand found the side of your cheek and yours found his hair. You pulled away after a few seconds later gasping for air.

You looked up at him cheeks flaming red, “Sorry I pushed you into the wall” You paused, “And kneed you… and punched you in the face”

“You could make it up to me by got to Hogsmeade with me this weekend.” He suggested voice barely above a whisper as he stroked your cheek.

“Sound good.” You giggled just then you glanced at your watch. “Shit!” You yelled quickly gathering you new books and essays from the ground. “I've got to get to Herbology!” you turned, turned back placed a quick kiss on Sirius' cheek, “I'll see you later.” You said before dashing out the doors onto the grounds. As he watched you go he touched his flaming cheek with his hand. A few seconds later James walks up next to him.

“She a little less pissed?” he asked nervously.

“You have no idea how much I owe you right now.”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black imagine #sirius black imagines #young!sirius black x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter au #harry potter #harry potter imagine #marauders era #marauders au #marauders imagines #james potter imagine #james potter #james potter x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus #remus lupin #remus x reader #draco malfoy #draco imagine #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #hogwarts #lily evans #lily potter #lily james

[tsarisfanfiction]

Hollow V

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Jeff Tracy, Kyrano, John Tracy, Scott Tracy

Part 5 of my contribution @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Sixth Sense. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

And the plan slowly begins to spiral away from me, again.  I shouldn’t be surprised at this point.

It was inadvisable to run along the island’s paths, especially in the dark – and even if you had a high-powered torch – but Jeff’s heart was in his mouth and all the breath had been stolen from his lungs by Kyrano’s short but devastating call.

They appear to have fallen.  How far? How badly were his children hurt? John is conscious and responding.  A cause for relief.  Scott is not.  Scott wasn’t what?  Conscious? Responding?  Either? I will need assistance.  Kyrano never needed help.

Jeff tore along the path, blindly dodging past tree roots and branches reaching out to ensnare him. Kyrano needed him.  His boys needed him.  Why oh why hadn’t he been firmer, why had he assumed John wouldn’t find another way to get what he wanted?  Was he really so distant from his sons nowadays that he didn’t realise just saying “no” and “it’s too dangerous” would stop a teenager on the cusp of adulthood from doing what he wanted?

He didn’t find the rope Kyrano had tied to the tree so much as almost trip over it, catching himself on the tree it was tied to at the last second to avoid sharing his sons’ misfortune.

“Kyrano?” he called, panting and heaving for air with frozen lungs.  “Scott?  John?”

“Down here, Mr Tracy!” Kyrano called back, his voice drifting from below.  “Use the rope.”  Jeff shone the torch in the direction of his voice and shuddered at the sight of the fresh landslip, shearing away part of the path.  Creeping towards it, he watched as the light picked up first a slumped form with Lucille’s distinctive ginger hair, and then another two a little further away.  Kyrano was bent over Scott, hiding him from view.

His hands burned as he slung himself down to the ledge, too fast and rubbing his hands, but he didn’t notice the discomfort as he sank down next to John, reaching out with trembling fingers to brush dishevelled red hair back from his face.  Clouded turquoise eyes sluggishly followed the movement.

“Da’?”

“I’m here, John,” he assured his second eldest.  He looked nothing like the confident and stubborn teenager Jeff had found himself in a heated debate with several hours earlier, and much more like the pale waif he’d been as a young child.  “Dad’s here.”

“’m srree,” he slurred, and Jeff hushed him, continuing to card his hand through ginger locks – finding the unmistakable stickiness of blood as he did so.

“We’ll talk about that later,” he said.  “Right now I’m just glad you’re okay.”  John wasn’t okay by ordinary standards, shivering slightly despite the warm air – shock – and his long limbs bent at awkward angles, but he was alive.

“Sc’t…” John mumbled, and Jeff glanced over to where Kyrano was still hunched over his eldest, reassurances on the tip of his tongue.

They died unspoken. In the light of his and Kyrano’s torches, he could see what he had missed with his cursory glance.  Scott was laid on his back, limp as a ragdoll, but it was the gradually growing pool of blood and the stake protruding from his hip that chilled him to the core.

He couldn’t abandon John, not when his second son was in shock and pain, but the bloodless face of his eldest called to him.

Lucy, don’t take our boy yet, he begged his wife silently.  Losing Scott – head of the pack, a once tiny and unexpected bundle of joy that melted his heart with bright blue eyes and deep dimples even as he voiced his displeasure at leaving the dark, safe confines of his mother to be thrust into the bright wide world – was unthinkable.  He needed Scott.  He needed all of his boys.  All five of them.

“Kyrano,” he started, faltering.  How did one ask is my son still breathing?  Is he still with us or has he gone to join his mother in the stars?

“He is still with us, Mr Tracy,” the smaller man assured him, raising his head.  Green eyes locked with his.  “If you could assist me?”  Jeff looked down at John, turquoise eyes half lidded, and hesitated.  “John’s life is in no danger,” Kyrano told him, and it was the implied but Scott’s is that got him moving, leaving John’s side with one last brush of his blood-matted hair to drop down the final foot to his eldest’s side.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked, catching sight of Scott’s left hand and blanching.  Swollen and dribbling blood, he knew enough about the island’s wildlife to know it was not just the terrain his son had fallen foul of.

“Keep him still,” Kyrano said.  “I will need to cut him free from this branch before the bleeding can be staunched.” Jeff nodded numbly, trembling hands finding Scott’s shoulders and holding onto them securely.

“The snake venom?” he asked.

“I have given him a generic antivenom to slow the spread,” Kyrano said as the noise of knife meeting wood began.  “Until I can determine which snake it was, there is little more to be done for it.”

Scott groaned suddenly, his head rolling to rest the other way as his arms trembled and shoulders strained.  At loath to hurt him, but with enough experience to know that if he injured himself further his chances of survival would drop, Jeff increased his grip, pinning his eldest to the ground.

“Easy, Scott,” he soothed, wincing at a sharp cry of pain.  “Easy.  It’s just me and Kyrano, you hear me?  Dad’s here. Just hold on, son.  We’ll get you home.”  Scott wasn’t pacified by his words at all, weakly thrashing to escape the pain as Jeff exerted as much strength as he dared to keep him still, talking to his son all the while as his heart broke.

It felt like an age before Kyrano sat back.  “I have done all I can here,” he said.  “We will need to get them back to the villa for further treatment.”

With his wound no longer being agitated, Scott had sunk back down into apparent unconsciousness, white as death but still breathing.  Jeff cautiously released him, cupping his pale cheek as he turned to face the other man.

“We can’t get either of them back up to the path,” he said, and Kyrano nodded.

“I know another route we can take, Mr Tracy,” he said.  “We will have to be careful, but it should not take too long to return.”  It was Jeff’s turn to nod, looking back at Scott and then up at John, whose eyes were almost closed but undeniably watching them. From his elevated position, he would have been able to watch Scott bleeding out the entire time.  “I believe you should take Master Scott,” the other man continued, sparing Jeff the agony of choice.

If it were possible, he’d carry both of his boys, but even if they weren’t both taking after him in height, the last time he’d been able to carry two sleeping sons at once was when they were in diapers.  As it was, he took a deep breath and with Kyrano’s help scooped his eldest son into his arms, mindful of the bit of tree still stuck through his hip.  Kyrano had cropped it as short as possible before wrapping bandaging around the area to stem the flow of blood, but it was still there, staunching what was likely a severe wound.

Scott’s bitten hand hung limply.  Kyrano shuffled around, gently repositioning his head so that it rested against Jeff’s shoulder rather than lolling limply and placing the unbitten hand to rest on his chest, far enough away from the wound it wouldn’t bother it, but left the bitten hand dangling.

His son felt like a dead weight in his arms, and Jeff was reassured only by the mostly regular exhales of air tickling his neck as he watched Kyrano approach John, murmuring something quietly to him before gently manoeuvring him onto his back.  John cried out in pain, stray sobs escaping as Kyrano’s soft words continued evenly.

Scott made a noise of protest against his shoulder and Jeff glanced down at him to see he was frowning slightly; he didn’t doubt for a moment that he was reacting to his younger brother’s distress.

“Kyrano’s got him, Scooter,” he murmured.  “Your brother’s going to be okay, I promise.”  Scott made another noise of discontent but then fell silent.

“This way, Mr Tracy.” Kyrano turned, John nestled in his arms not unlike a baby giraffe, all long and gangly limbs, although the image was somewhat ruined by the unnatural angles.  The boy’s eyes were closed entirely, and Jeff realised he must have passed out at last.

“Lead on, Kyrano.”

Without the other man, he would never have found his way back.  Torches were difficult to use when both arms were full of limp son, but Kyrano was sure-footed and confident in their route, unerringly guiding them back to the villa.

The light in Virgil’s room was on, Jeff noticed as they approached.  A silhouette stood in the window – no, two, three silhouettes.

Four.  One stood slightly apart from the clump of three, slighter and a little bit shorter than the tallest.

Jeff didn’t know which of the four watching children – it was the early hours of the morning, all of them should be fast asleep, not awake and worrying – saw them first.  At some unseen signal, all four moved together, vanishing from the window, although the light stayed on.

“Scott!  John!”  The rapid patter of multiple bare feet announced the reappearance of them all in the kitchen, clamouring for the missing members of their family as Jeff and Kyrano entered.

“Virgil, take your brothers and Tanusha up to the den,” Jeff ordered.  He wanted them in bed asleep, but that was a command that would never be obeyed.

“But-” his son protested, eyes wide with horror as he spotted his older brothers, bloodstained and limp in his and Kyrano’s arms.

“Please, Virgil,” he said, glancing meaningfully at the white faces of Gordon and Alan.  “Look after your brothers for me, just for a little while.”  Virgil hesitated, torn between his older and younger brothers, but Tanusha bent down and scooped Alan up with a grunt.

“Come on,” she said, nudging Virgil with her shoulder as Alan continued to stare at his biggest brothers from her arms.  Jeff couldn’t wait for him to obey, all too aware that Scott was bleeding through his bandages and leaving a trail of small crimson drips from his hand.  He and Kyrano hurried past the children, towards the room they’d been setting up as a medical room.

Thank goodness he’d already started stocking it with his project in mind.  His mother, while not on the island currently, had had a large influence on the room, insistent that it be up to hospital standard.  While they didn’t yet have everything they planned to, they had enough.

Scott and John were its first two real patients.  Leaving Kyrano to continue where he’d left off, Jeff fumbled for his phone, punching in a number he knew by heart and listening to it ring.

Click.

“Jeff?  Isn’t it two in the morning for you?”

“Mom, I need you.”

Part VI

#sensorysunday #sensorysunday2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #jeff tracy #kyrano #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #kayo kyrano #hollow

[toboredtoanything]

Aladdin

Hey guys! This ask is for @princeasimdiya12. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Stan (Gravity Falls) during his time alone gets into some trouble, getting him tossed into water while bound and gagged.

Warnings: Dark themes, pg-14 level violence descriptions, descriptions of drowning

Might be heavy for some peeps.

Aladdin

Stan grins widely as he takes in his appearance in the mirror.

His hair, which has been styled in a mullet since his high school days, is pulled back into a low ponytail.

His white and gold costume accentuates his form, which while isn’t in peak condition, is still strong and sturdy.

He places an over the top hat onto his head and beams at his reflection.

“Aladdin is sure to pick up the ladies,” he says to himself. “It’s also ironic, since I will be pick pocketing from them the whole night!”

He laughs to himself, grabbing his wallet and keys.

He quickly makes his way to the venue of the Halloween party he’d barely been invited to.

He only got the invite because the host’s sister was guilty she’d hit him with her car.

In reality, Stan had staged the event, in hopes of getting her number. He thought he could get her with his latest scam. She looked wealthy, as it were.

Then again, for him, practically everyone looked wealthy in California.

He parks and quickly gets out of the beat up car, practically strutting into the lounge house, located right on the beach, closest to a privately owned pier.

He enters and immediately gathers attention. The Halloween party was full of monsters and animals, a mix of disgustingly realistic ones, as well as the outfits that barely concealed any of a persons skin. Just horny adults playing dress up as an excuse to dress slutty.

Stan has to admit he prefers them over the zombies and skinwalkers, however.

Girls flock over each other at the handsome stranger in an Aladdin costume.

Stan winks at a group of girls wearing fishnet tights and shorts, only a small patch of grey fabric containing their upper bodies as they flaunt white poofs they’d attached to the exposed skin of their lower backs.

‘Bunnies,’ Stan laughs to himself. ‘Hardly original.’

He quickly finds a target. A young brunette who already looks close to the tipping point of an alcoholic meltdown.

She sways slowly along with a fast paced rock song- hardly a song for swaying.

He approaches her and takes note of every valuable on her person.

She’s dressed like a genie, her hair in a high ponytail, scantily clad body in loose fitting pants and a cropped shirt that barely reaches the bottom of her rib cage.

She grins up at him through her lashes and he has to bite back surprise as she slowly falls into him.

He glances around, but no one takes notice.

He quickly pulls her closer to himself and starts to run his hands up her arms.

She sighs happily as she continues to sway to the song.

“What’s your wish?” She slurs.

Stan only then pauses and thinks about the irony of finding this girl to target.

Their costumes go well together.

He smirks. “How about you and I find a quiet spot, and I’ll tell you all of them?”

She leans back and nods at him eagerly.

She takes his hand and leads him to a corner of the room with couches and a singular table.

The remnants of an unfinished game of beer pong crowds the table, so Stan leads her to one of the couches.

On his way, he grabs another cup of something obviously high in alcohol content.

He hands her the cup and she shakes her head slightly.

“No. I.” She pauses, frowning. She shakes her head and then smiles. “I’m good.”

“How about this then,” Stan starts. “My first wish is for you to drink this and then we can talk about my other wishes.”

Their conversation goes on like this until she’s passed out on the couch. In a few quick motions, Stan is leaving her on the couch, covered in a blanket.

He pockets a bracelet and a necklace.

Now Stan is a man of art, cons, and talent. He isn’t one to resort to thieving unless truly desperate.

He thinks he’s gotten away with it to, until a hand is on his shoulder, turning him abruptly. He lets out a brief noise of protest before a fist is driven into his nose.

“Saw that!” A male voice says. Another fist collides with his face.

His eyes are scrunched up from the pain, but he blinks it away as much as possible.

Opening his eyes he jolts back, narrowly missing another punch.

He bites back a comment as he makes a quick decision.

Within a second, he’s on the ground rolling around with the tall blond who’d punched him.

Another pair of hands grab him and yank him off.

“What the hell, man?”

The blond stands up quickly, spitting blood onto the ground in front of Stan.

“This guy was stealing from Kate!”

The man who’d pulled Stan off then rounded on him. His dark eyes narrow, glaring at Stan.

“What the fu-“

“I don’t know what he’s talking about. I saw that girl over there and put a blanket over her so she’d be more comfortable. Nothing more.” Stan jabs a thumb towards the blond, anger evident in his body language. “He just started hitting me.”

“Empty your pockets then.”

The dark skinned man shoots his friend a look. “Pete, calm down. How many have you had?”

The man- Pete -looks to his friend with disbelief in his eyes. “Are you saying you believe this guy?”

“I’m saying you’re drunk and could have misinterpreted what you saw. Move along.”

The blond spits at Stan once more, before stalking off in anger.

Stan looks to the guy that saved his neck.

“Thanks.”

The man hums, walking away.

Several hours later, Stan thinks to take his leave, pockets full of more than enough goods to get him out of the state and away from view of the cops - for now.

He exits the lounge, heading towards his car.

Pain suddenly erupts in his skull as he drops to his knees, his vision darkening.

The blond man, Pete, grins at Stan.

“I know what you did. You wanna be a thief? Then I’ll treat you like one, Aladdin.” Pete says the name with disgust and anger, sarcasm dripping from his lips like honey.

A sickening crunch sounds as the man punches Stan once again in the nose.

Darkness blooms around Stan and he loses consciousness.

***

Stan comes to, cold.

His Aladdin costume had been ripped open, probably caused from being drug along the ground.

His hat had been lost ages ago, in the midst of the first brawl.

Now his jacket lay heaped in a pile, spots of it red and brown from blood- both old and new.

Stan lets out a groan as a foot is placed on his chest.

Only then does Stan realize a few things.

One, his hands and legs are bound tightly; each movement causes his body to scream in protest as it felt as though his limbs would snap in half.

Two, his breathing and talking is muffled due to a gag wrapped around his mouth.

Three, he’s on a wooden dock, the lounge a few lights in the distance, music still blaring.

He shivers in his undershirt.

His pockets had also been emptied.

The foot moves.

“It’s guys like you that make me sick,” Pete says, coming into view. “You’re pathetic!”

Stan struggles to speak with the gag in his mouth.

“You’re the pathetic one!” He tries to say, but it sounds more like “Oar ta pa-etic un.”

This causes Pete to grin.

“Right,” he says. “And you just found all of this jewelry on the floor.”

Stan stays silent.

“Come on! You seem like a tough guy! What’s the matter? Can’t think of anything to say?”

Pete kicks Stan in the stomach, causing Stan to curl up on his side, his arms still painfully pinned behind his back.

Stan groans, getting to his knees. Pain shoots from his neck to his lower back, a bruise forming.

The man, obviously drunk, slurs and stumbles around a second before his eyes lock onto Stan once more.

“I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Stan rolls his eyes right before everything seems to speed up and Stan is submerged underwater.

The first thing he feels is the cold. The water freezes him to the core, shutting out any ability to feel warm. His bones begin to hurt as he feels them grow stiff.

Struggling to keep the salt water out of his mouth, which is practically impossible with the gag he’s wearing, he recalls what just happened.

Pete had used an unsteady foot to kick into Stan’s back, kicking him over the side of the dock face first.

The next thing he feels is panic. His eyes burn but he keeps them open, trying to see into the murky water for the surface.

Once he realizes which way is up, his head dizzy from the disorientation, he tries to swim that way, thrashing around desperately.

His thrashing does no good however, only making him tired, his movements sluggish.

Stan sinks like a stone, his heavy pants acting like a weight. The rope around his arms strangle and prevent him from moving them; he simply feels the strain of trying, pain as he almost tears his arm out of the socket from the sheer force he’s using.

He kicks his legs, but they stay roped together. Drunk as he might have been, Pete knew how to tie a knot.

His gag doesn’t help the situation, now thoroughly soaked through, allowing cups of water to force its way down his throat, despite his attempts to keep it out, holding his breath.

The salt coats it, causing a burning feeling like liquid fire to consume him. He gags on instinct, heaping more water into his lungs.

The final thing he feels is dread. The certainty of death. The slow creep of fingers clawing at his mind, scratching and tearing until everything is a mess, memories and thoughts blurring together as he struggles to keep his wits about him.

Darkness presses against him from all sides as he sinks, his head swimming with the lack of oxygen.

Just when Stan feels he can’t hold on any more, his vision fades once again.

He feels weightless, vision darkened, but consciousness still present.

The water caresses his body and he feels acceptance. He’d only ever been a burden to his family anyway.

It’s not like they’d miss him.

He hadn’t talked to any of them in years.

A slow regret washes over him at this thought.

‘I wish I could at least say goodbye.’

His last conscious thought is of his twin brother, Ford.

‘I’m sorry.’

***

Stan coughs violently, jerking upright on a sandy beach. Water falls from his mouth, as he rolls over on to his stomach, leaning heavily on his hands and knees.

His wrists are sore and dry blood encases where the rope had burned him, chafing his skin.

His pants had prevented severe injuries to his ankles, but they still felt on fire.

The salt from the water lapping at his body doesn’t help.

He coughs again, fire searing his throat which had been rubbed dry by the saltwater. He splutters, the water exiting his lungs finally done draining.

He gasps a few times, drawing in oxygen greedily, his lungs burning for air.

His entire body feels raw and aching. His head pounds with a vengeance, as if angry at Stan himself for the lack of oxygen it’d been receiving.

Stan finally calms himself, his breath regulating in slow pants.

He looks around and sees no evidence of what had gotten him out of the water, let alone what could have released him from his bonds.

He rubs his face, where the gag had forcefully held his mouth open at an awkward angle, his jaw aching with each movement.

Stan lays back down, understanding that he’d only fall if he tried to stand.

Closing his eyes, he relishes the feeling of the sun on his body, warmth seeping into the cold of his bones.

Whatever had just happened, Stan feels grateful that he is still alive.

He still has a chance.

‘I’m going to get my life together and I’m going to make you proud, Ford. I just wanna make you proud.’

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