#hell gunpowders and other materials

[saltypiss]

So tennessee brought guns into classrooms thanks to Republican's efforts. I don't mean "Teacher's can bring guns to school" I mean They're Arming Them with Tax Dollars.

Now a kid no longer needs their parents to even own a gun irresponsibly! And Teacher's can FINALLY be blamed for school shootings by giving them EXPONTIALLY ESCALATED WORK with literally Only Risk just like god intended.

MAN what happened to the good ol' days where these losers just LARPed online about making the problem worse purposefully until the dumbest of idiot masses believed it.

Literally, I don't say that angstily, but realistically: Tennessee Schools are Fortnite Battle Royales now.

"I know I'm heading straight for Mr Brerns classroom, he's got that Purple Grade shit"

Give it time, they're waiting on another "woke" to be murdered to celebrate the bill functioning as intended, much as it had with the other Red school and non-binary kid being murdered in the bathroom.

What a fun world. Y'know, if republicans want people to believe we don't have absolutely too many guns, maybe airdropping guns into schools ain't the smartest fucking thing. Kinda proves the point you can't escape potential Murder by Point-and-Click Kill Tools.

So. What's gonna happen first? Kid breaks into the underbudgeted drawer of a "by the books" weapon enclosure? (Teacher's Desk) or does the teacher leave it out and the kid get it? Does the teacher keep it on their person and it fall due to underbudgeted holsters and training? Or, the most exponentially likely, does the Teacher shoot some kids because of all people you can check the easiest for a weapon, it's the 20 adults taking care of 200 kids. That and "self-defense" is absolutely going to be abused, if not, outright 0 tolerance to the point teacher's won't even use a gun when the magical disney moment eventually occurs ontop of the piles of children's bodies.

Nah, none of that will ever happen, because realistically your science teacher can be trusted with a gun to specifically fight back against shooters who we've deemed an unsolvable natural event specifically and only in america, all this for Partly More than Minimum Wage. Oh. And they ain't raising budgets for anywhere education so...Kinda...Kinda gotta ask what republicans think a school is for anymore. Especially when Damn Near Every Time it's a republican committing the act. Do they think schools should legitimately be like their percieved Saudi Arabia? Just a bunch of shootouts and trauma?

Can we just fucking let these people go without Blue Tax Dollars already? They're kind've nothing but a nightmare of idiocracy and escalation before all forms of self-awareness.

#republicans #school shootings #good news guys Republicans updated schools #now teachers are armed and kids have a chance of just finding guns in the school #really sped up the META on waiting for the next event #just gotta ask why they don't make it EVEN EASIER for kids to get guns #like listen it'd be unbalanced but just give them some shitty starter weaponry #knives n slingshots #the percentile chance buff for finding a gun is honestly as balanced as Republicans can do with their mental prowess #so I say they should leave ammo boxes everywhere too #hell gunpowders and other materials #gotta learn to makeshift a bullet and handcannon at some point #this is the future republicans want #and have made reality #guns #Point-and-Click Kill Tools #please steal this like people stole Legal Gangs from me #I want it stolen #I want it spread throughout

[cherryrainn]

How would Striker react to meeting a sinner demon who maintains her human form? She killed her husband in self defense with a gun who would abuse her as she suffered a miscarriage from the abuse. She ended up being hanged for her crimes because it was the 1900's. The sinner demon ends up taking a liking to Striker but she can't leave Pride because it's part of the punishment. The sinner demon carries an ax and a shotgun.

━━ ✧ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; striker + fem!reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; this is so creative thank you

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; mentions of abuse, miscarriage

the dimly lit alleys of pride offered a stark contrast to the usual hustle and bustle of the more luxurious circles of hell. striker strode through the streets, his ivory white hair catching the glow of the ambient fires. the mission was simple: gather the materials he needed for his next assignment. even in this forsaken place, striker wasn't one to waste time.

as he navigated the winding pathways, a particular establishment caught his attention. unlike the rest of pride's grim scenery, this place emitted a strangely inviting aura. striker, ever curious and in need of supplies, pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside.

the interior was dim, illuminated only by the faint light filtering through the boarded-up windows. the smell of old wood and gunpowder permeated the air. behind the counter stood you. despite the passage of time and the circumstances that led you here, you maintained your human form, an anomaly in a place like hell.

your eyes met striker's, and there was a momentary pause—a silent acknowledgment of the shared understanding of hell's complexities.

"looking for something specific?" you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"ammunition. high caliber," striker replied, his eyes scanning the array of weapons and supplies adorning the walls of your shop.

you nodded, fetching the requested items with practiced ease. as you handed him the ammunition, your eyes met once more, and a subtle shift occurred—a mutual recognition of the darkness that dwelled within both of you.

"interesting place you've got here," striker commented, taking a moment to examine a finely crafted shotgun on display.

"it serves its purpose," you replied, leaning against the counter.

a smirk formed on striker's lips. "you seem different from the usual riffraff in pride."

"as do you, imp." you countered. "not many venture into this part of hell unless they have a death wish or a specific agenda."

"let's just say i'm here on business," striker replied cryptically, his eyes narrowing slightly. "and it seems like you understand the intricacies of doing business in hell quite well."

you chuckled, amused by his perceptiveness. "survival is an art form down here. you learn to adapt, to make deals, and sometimes, to look the other way."

striker's gaze intensified, a flicker of respect gleaming in his bright yellow eyes. "i admire your pragmatism," he admitted. "in a place filled with backstabbers and sycophants, it's refreshing to meet someone who understands the value of straightforward dealings."

you nodded, "survival often requires making difficult choices," you said, your voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

striker tilted his head, intrigued by your cryptic demeanor. "and have your choices led you to regret?"

a somber expression crossed your face as memories of your past life flooded your mind—the abuse, the miscarriage, the fatal act of self-defense, and the unjust punishment that followed. "regret is a luxury i can't afford," you finally said, gripping the handle of your ax tightly.

striker studied you for a moment, recognizing the pain and determination hidden behind your eyes. "perhaps we're not so different, you and i," he mused, his voice surprisingly gentle.

you met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you.

as striker prepared to leave the shop, his curiosity got the better of him. he turned back to you, with a questioning look.

"before i go, there's something i've been itching to ask," striker said, his tone a mixture of intrigue and nonchalance. "what was your sin? what landed you here in hell?"

you paused, the weight of the question settling on your shoulders. the memories of your past resurfaced, and you met striker's eyes with a mixture of pain and resolve.

"i killed my husband," you replied evenly, the words carrying a heavy truth. "in self-defense. he was abusive, and i lost my child because of him. but in the 1900s, they weren't exactly sympathetic to the plight of a battered woman."

striker's expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of acknowledgment passed through his eyes. he was no stranger to the harsh judgments and unforgiving nature of this place. "ganged for self-preservation. classic move."

you nodded, the weight of your sin echoing in the silence that followed. striker, surprisingly, didn't pass judgment.

after a moment of shared understanding, striker extended a gloved hand toward you, his yellow eyes locked onto yours with a newfound sense of respect. "striker," he introduced himself, his voice carrying a hint of gravitas.

you clasped his hand firmly, sensing the weight of his reputation and the complexities that defined him. "y/n," you replied, allowing a brief smile to grace your lips despite the haunting memories that lingered in the recesses of your mind.

as striker prepared to leave, his eyes met yours once more, a flicker of determination gleaming within their depths. "i have a feeling our paths will cross again," he said, his voice carrying a confident undertone.

you nodded, sensing the sincerity behind his words. "i'll be here," you replied, gripping the handle of your ax with a newfound sense of purpose.

with a final nod of acknowledgment, striker stepped out of your shop, disappearing into the labyrinthine streets of pride. yet, despite his departure, his presence lingered in the air—a reminder of the unexpected connection forged between two souls bound by the complexities of hell's unforgiving landscape.

#STRIKER #helluva boss #helluva boss striker #helluva #striker #helluvaboss #helluva striker #striker helluva boss #y/n #reader insert #x reader #ask

[frozenjokes]

grub snippet

“Right.” Cub looked amused, “I guess that means you’ve made plans then?”

“Of course I’ve made plans!” Grian straightened up, pleased, and flared his wings to show them off, feathers recently preened and painstakingly brushed through. It took a moment for him to catch the undertones of Cub’s words, the hint of disappointment behind the question. “I- I mean unless you had any ideas! I’m very flexible.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much, really. I was just curious about that government building all the superheroes file in and out of, y’know. Where you and HotGuy have been working out? You said a lot of stuff was centralized there, right? Tailors and such for costuming, private gyms and break rooms, weapon smiths.. anything a hero could need, really.” Cub shrugged, a lazy, deliberate smile crossing his face, the kind of expression Grian only saw on Cub when he was about to suggest something stupid or illegal.

“Okay..”

“You think they have gunpowder? I mean, I’m sure they do, but I’m also looking for other minerals, dyes, things along those lines. I bought the casings already, but I was just thinking, your place probably has an abundance of the stuff I need, and I doubt they’d notice if a few things went missing.”

So stupid AND illegal today. “Cub, are you asking me to steal extremely shady materials from a government facility for you.”

“Of course not. You don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, and you don’t have the tact for this sort of thing. I’m asking you to bring me with you so I can steal shady materials from a government facility.”

Grian was suddenly forced to reconsider every denial of his feelings for Cub at therapy today in one fell swoop. He barely had the words to speak, the revelation making his mouth run dry. “That sounds very illegal, Cub. They don’t even like me there, I don’t know if that’s a great idea at this point in time.” There was no rejection or denial under Grian’s voice, only some sort of lovesick fascination, the kind of feelings he always felt when he remembered Cub was easily just as fucked in the head as he was.

“I don’t think we’ll have any issues. If I’m being honest, I’m sure you’re far from the only bad tempered hero in their roster. They probably hate everyone who goes in and out of that place. I was thinking you get me in as your private scientist, assistant, whatever. I make you shit. And if they push back, you give them hell. You’re probably high profile enough to get what you want, right? Or maybe you should be nice instead. They might appreciate that. Or they might be suspicious. It doesn’t matter. I bought a lab coat and everything.”

“You- seriously?”

“Well I wanted one anyway, and I thought I might need it. You’ve got a job now, so I figured I’d treat myself.”

“Lab coats can not be that expensive- actually, don’t respond to that. I don’t want to know. I do want to know what you’re planning on doing with gunpowder though. You’re not making bombs, are you?”

“Not like, big bombs.”

“Cub!”

“I want to make fireworks. I want to try. How much do you know about fireworks, Grian? They’re really very cool. I’ve been watching all sorts of videos; went all the way down the rabbit hole. They’re awesome, man. I gotta try. I gotta.”

“You. Are going to lose all of your fingers. Possibly your arms.”

Cub didn’t miss a beat. “Technology is crazy, I bet they can sew that shit right back on.”

“Not if you blow yourself up!”

“I probably won’t blow myself up. I’m assuming that’s a ‘no’ then for working on this in the apartment.” Cub smirked, and Grian could only gape stupidly for a few moments, utterly shocked.

“You absolutely can not play with explosives in our apartment!”

“Gotcha,” Cub laughed, and Grian groaned into his hands, dragging them all the way down his face.

just a wip I wanted to share. I’m having a bad day so I just wanted to post a little something. If you’re interested in the rest of the story you can read it on ao3 here

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #grian #cuteguy #cubfan135 #cubfan #hermitshipping #grub

[daisychainsandbowties]

when you say minecraft d'you mean they ARE the little pixel characters or just yknow. irl humans that are playing the game? because i'm imagining actual pixel blocky lilith stomping around various terrains

i was absolutely imagining a 64-bit bea with her vast underground system of tunnels & pixel ava with her seven pet dogs and lilith who hacked her own code to become spider queen & yes she can be found in various biomes skulking around and looking dramatic.

half the time she’s the reason ava ends up at the respawn point in bea’s house & ava’s just a little constantly-resurrected creature standing there in her slutty crop top while bea’s hauling materials from the descent into hell she’s carving under her little house.

& then one time ava respawns while bea’s still down in the tunnels & she decides to explore because this weird coal dust-smeared girl is kind of hot which she really shouldn’t be but ava’s not the strongest or the wisest but she’s definitely the most bisexual

so she goes down and immediately gets so lost & she’s hearing sounds and also noises in the uninterrupted dark when someone slaps a torch down onto the wall next to her & there’s bea standing like something god dragged out of coal dust hell specifically to tempt ava & she’s just deadpan, left her facial expression on the bus, like “what are you doing down here?”

and damn looming in the dark she’s kind of scary but also definitely hot and she smells sort of primordial & a bit like gunpowder and salt and stone

& ava’s in a constant state of having just arrived in the world (again again again) so she hasn’t got her charm on. that comes later (when she comes, later)

but for now she just stares like a beautiful small deer in the headlights (torchlight) and says, “oh shit sorry i was just exploring your hole and-”

then she realises what she just said which makes beatrice realise what she just said & they end up staring at each other in the now barely-interrupted dark like 😳😳 😳😳

until beatrice blinks twice, visibly rallies, & says, “well, let me escort you out of my hole.”

“this way.”

& off she darts into the dark & it’s all ava can do to follow this strange sexy shadow back toward the light

#putting the girls in situations (different graphics 😳) #warrior nun #ava x beatrice #avatrice #minecraft au #i hate that i have so many ideas for this gay gay gay gay gay of me

[evil8keta]

mercs x reader who steals their clothes!

SCOUT

- gets an immediate ego boost from it. seeing you in his clothes makes him feel so cool and important!! he will totally brag about it in front of the other mercs like "hell yea guys my s/o loves me SO BAD. they're even wearin my stuff!!" but honestly all his clothes are ugly and smell funny so....just saying. i wouldnt wear them if i were you but if you really wanna wear them then go for it. you're gonna make scout really happy :D

SOLDIER

- holy shit!!!! you look like mini him!! he will NOT shut up about how cute you look. he's gonna convince you to train with him because uh oh now he actually thinks you ARE a mini version of him?? have fun being his recruit lol. but other than that his clothes are surprisingly comfy, 10/10 would wear again. plus you get soldier yelling about how badass and awesome you look and how much he loves you

PYRO

- pyro doesn't really wear anything else other than their hazmat suit but they have a huge collection of gas masks! and since you are their s/o, you can totally wear those :D just please ask for permission first! when you actually do put one on though? they're gonna SQUEAL. legit they did NOT expect you to look so cute in one of their gas masks but...you do?? wowie!! pyro wil grab your face and give you a bunch of head boops and nuzzles because OH MY GOD you are so adorable

HEAVY

- ohhh heavy's clothes are very comfy. they're SO big and made from very good material and they smell like books and gunpowder (ah yes what a comforting smell...). if he sees you wearing his clothes he's gonna get this SMALL but very very happy smile on his face. his thoughts rn are like "s/o you are tiny and so so cute heavy love you". he's just silently appreciating you, yknow. also i think heavy always liked to offer you his clothes, either because he thought you seem cold or for some other reason. but now, heavy offers you his clothes just because he thinks you look very cute in them :)

DEMOMAN

- acts casual everytime he sees you wearing his clothes but as soon as you leave he turns to the others guys all wide eyed and blushing like "HAVE YA SEEN THAT??? THEY'RE WEARING MY CLOTHES!" one time you 2 were just chilling and demo just straight up asked you WHY you wear his clothes all the time. you said they smell like him and that it reminds you of him and my man pulled you into a tight hug and started sobbing. he loves you so much

ENGINEER

- thinks you look very cute. very silly. engie lowkey has the most normal reaction out of all the mercs, but that doesn't mean he loves seeing you wear his clothes any less!! he sees you wearing his overalls and he's like "ah yes that's my s/o wearing my stuff right there, aint they a cutie?" engie likes to leave his clothes in visibly convenient places so there's a higher chance you wear them.... he acts very cool about it so you don't suspect anything, but eventually you DO notice. if you tease him about it he will blush so bad and try to deny it

MEDIC

- medic wears VERY stylish clothes so if you wanna look like a smart doctor (like him) i 100% recommend stealing his clothes. but other than that, medic really likes seeing you in his clothes :) he actually gets very dramatic about it and can't keep his hands off of you. he once saw you wearing his lab coat and literally couldn't stop hugging your for HOURS!! he kept saying how adorable you look and how you should wear his clothes more often and how much HE LOVES YOU AND AAA

SPY

- actually, don't. just don't. he won't let you use his very expensive suit no matter what and i highly advise you to NOT wear his stinky balaclava either. it's for your health i promise. however there's a bunch of other shirts he wears so if you want you can wear those. they're comfy and high quality and they stink-- i mean, smell just like him :)) when it comes to his reaction, it seems like he doesn't even notice since he doesn't comment on it...? well SIKE!! this man DOES notice and he is SCREAMING of joy on the inside. he's just very good at hiding it because he doesn't want the others to think that he's a weak and lovesick fool (everyone knows that he's an absolute simp for you dw)

SNIPER

- absolutely LOVES it but he also tries to hide how he really feels. except unlike spy, he actually fails HORRIBLY. there's literally a big goofy lovey dovey smile on his face and yes everyone can notice including you. also i said this already but you're the only one who gets the privilege of wearing his hat. he even bought another one for you so you guys can match but turns out that you like wearing HIS hat SPECIFICALLY. this realization made me him feel very special and warm inside :D

#team fortress 2 #tf2 x reader #keta writes

[crunchyroaches27]

hybrid!Soap and owner!rescuer!Ghost, bc why not?

one of my first fanfics, I apologize beforehand 😔✊

AU where soap and a couple other randos are half a different species bc of evil scientists!1!! Soap is half tiger.

Soap was a beast. A genetically modified product of the human egg and tiger sperm. He had a long, ochre-and-black girthy whip of a tail. Fuzzy copper ears with black tips served as his ears. Soap’s nails and canines were tapered and keen, just like a tiger’s.

“Why have these attributes if I can never really use them?” Soap thought, and grunted dejectedly. Sure, he got to tear up the enrichment items slid from behind the metal slot on the wall of his enclosure, but the material was not able to be clawed through easily. Soap yearned for the tearing of flesh underneath his sharp nails.

But alas, items such as skin weren’t always easily accessible, so he resorted to other bad habits. Yowling, roaring and meowing out of pure boredom. Of course Soap would communicate in human speech, but he preferred his more natural noises. His vocal chords were more fit for big cat sounds; his human speech always came out gruff and harsh.

Bored and annoyed at the people scrutinizing him through the glass wall, Soap decided to start grooming his muscular forearm with his papillae-filled tongue. No, he did not have fur on that area, but he still seemed to do it subconsciously. Maybe the thick layer of body hair counted as fur? He wished inwardly that he could leave his cell one day.

GHOST POV

“Let’s head in,” Ghost called out to his squad, which obediently trailed behind him gingerly after his signal. They kept their eyes peeled, turning and twisting their bodies to see everything at every angle. But Ghost doubted that they would miss what they were looking for— monstrous, horrid science experiments. Hybrids, they were called. Human DNA mixed with an animals’. They were bred purely for fun, money, or power.

After silently dispatching many security guards and other personnel, hope started to fade from the squad. They could not find the cells of these so called “people.” Frantically they searched until they swore a peeved yowl echoed from a couple doors up.

“Move in!” Ghost hissed urgently to his team as he forced the door open with a powerful strike to the door with his leg. But it seems they were prepared, too, as bullets flew uncomfortably close to them and their bodies.

SOAP’S POV

Out of nowhere, in an instant, the bland silence had been replaced by the symphony of bullets whizzing by. Many were wounded and shot, yet the fight seemed to be in favor of the opponents. Soap felt his hackles rise in what could be apprehension.

Soap glared at the newcomers. He soaked in every detail through the clear wall. All of them had rifles that reeked of gunpowder. The one with the skull mask intrigued Soap the most. “What could he be hiding under ‘ere?” he mrrowed, quietly and thoughtfully. “His sign of dominance?”

Soap’s pensive state seemed to break when he realized bullets were not flying around before him, instead, they were lodged between the flesh of his creators. The blood welling around the soon-to-be dead scientists drove Soap into a frenzy. The scent of iron filled his nostrils, and also the other’s as they collectively started to roar or howl (or make whatever sound they did) as they became crazed with bloodlust.

GHOST’S POV

“Bloody fucking hell!” Ghost gasped as a choir of furious yowls and roars started to erupt. Ghost’s head swam. His squad had nervous glints in their eyes. “What are we gonna do?” inquired one of his men meekly. Ghost inhaled deeply. His mind dug and dug for one of his brilliant ideas.

All these creatures were in a state of dementedness. Their senses were on high alert, because of course, they were half-wild. And they have probably just seen murder and blood for the first time. Their senses.. senses.. Ghost’s eyes lit up; what better way to dull their sensory faculties than to knock them unconscious? “Who has the sleeping gas?” Ghost barked to his team, his eyes flitting around his men.

“Here, sir,” replied a gruff voice. The man held up a canister of the gas, a curious expression painted on his face. “Well, then, knock ‘em out.” Ghost replied back wryly, a knowing smirk sported on his mug.

SOAP’S POV

Soap could hear his hysterical roars lessen into mewls. He felt as if he could not do anything to stop the situation, the spread of drowsiness over his body. Soap felt as if he were just watching himself, in third person, flop onto the solid ground and lose his consciousness to the alabaster-colored gas that permeated into the room. His maw parted to deliver one final, crestfallen roar.

timeskip 8 hours later, Soap was transported by tf141 to a new, more luxurious cell.

Soap stretched his stiff limbs awake, groaning obnoxiously in pleasure the moment his joints popped and cracked. The bloody desires were somewhat gone. He wiped his eyes, still a bit sticky and bleary from sleep, and gasped amusedly to his new environment. Soap chuckled in disbelief, his tail flicking up and down excitedly.

Soap felt like he was in some sort of hybrid paradise. He almost squealed in pure delight when a mouse scurried across his room. Soap quickly dispatched it, and started to instinctively tear the flesh off the rodent’s bones and gulp it down with his pointed teeth. His mouth watered and he purred contentedly; this was his first time catching prey!

GHOST’S POV

Ghost hummed in a pleased amusement when he saw the prideful tiger-man strut confidently around his new enclosure through the cameras, dangling the corpse of the ravished mouse pinched between two fingers, and yowling in such a way it could almost be perceived as gloating. Ghost clicked his tongue sardonically, and called his mates over to watch the humorous display of pride.

Out of all of the nine varying hybrids him and his task force saved, tiger hybrid John “Soap” MacTavish as his files named him, was one the males that appealed to him the most. His unique, yet iconic orange and black stripe pattern seemed to fit him perfectly. Bold; diverse. He was real frisky and easily driven by his predatory tendencies, as his files advised.

timeskip, to tomorrow, 9 am

GHOST’S POV

“It’s crucial you guys get a physical on those hybrids,” Laswell noted, her intonation still being able to sound serious even through the computer speaker. “You don’t know what the they have, or what they don’t,” she continued. Ghost hummed.

“It’s on my schedule, Laswell..” Ghost replied affirmatively, nodding his head as a gesture of acknowledgement. Price hovered over Ghost’s shoulder, gazing at the illuminated with intent. “Sure. In fact, we’ll do it today.”

Ghost’s eyebrows rose upwards. “Today?” he repeated. “Today, right now,” Price affirmed. “Take Gaz and Roach with you,” he finished, stalking away and leaving Ghost no chance to retort. “Bloody hell.” “Well, get to it, Lieutenant.” Laswell chuckled, the beep following her voice indicating she’d disconnected.

WILL POST PT2 IN A LIL!!!

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #fanfic #john soap mactavish #soapghost #soap cod #hybrid #hybrid!soap

[bullet-prooflove]

Meant To Be: Joe Velasco x Reader

Tagging: @iyoskyslover​   @plaidbooks​   @misscharlielulu​   @witches-unruly-heart​   @shay-o-fiction​   @kimm4710​   @ednastvincent​   @storiesofsvu​   @magic-multicolored-miracle​  @rosaliedepp​     @cycat4077​   @crazy4chickennuggets @cixrosie @202rosebudd @themisunderstoodblackswan

You were many things to Joe Velasco. You were sunshine, filling up his life, warming his bones when the darkness swept in threatening to take over. You were gunpowder and metal, all hard edges when you needed to be, fierce and unrelenting. You were whatever the hell you wanted to be, because you were bold and confident, you didn’t let social constructs jam you up. He admired that. The same way he admired your softness when you spoke to someone who needed to experience just a brief moment of kindness in their otherwise shitty say.

Tonight, you were a vision, clad in a blue dress and high heels, your bright eyes actuated with eyeliner. Dangerous but sexy, it made heat rush straight down to his cock.

There had been a date, it hadn’t gone well. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. He rose his hand to wave to you as you picked up your cocktail from the bar and scanned the crowd.

A Sex on the Beach, he remembered as you approached him. A blend of vodka, peach schnapps and cranberry juice, he wondered if it would still taste as sweet on your lips.

Your knees bumped under the table as took the seat beside of him. He was aware of how the hem of your dress rose up just a little, revealing just the peek of a tattoo inked onto your upper thigh. He wanted to run his hands up long those legs of yours, hike the material higher so that he could see everything. He wondered what else you were hiding under the thin fabric, he knew you had a scar or two, he didn’t know a cop that didn’t but the tattoo that interested him.

“You’re dating the wrong types of guys.” He said after you’d told him about your date.

Another lobbyist, another fuckhead who wanted you to blow him in the bathroom or talked marriage way too early. These were the only two categories they came in on dating apps. You were past one-night stands, you told him, and a wedding wasn’t even in your range of thought. Down the line with the right person maybe. It wasn’t a deal breaker. Companionship was what you were looking for, someone to make you laugh, who cared for you, someone you could be yourself around. Joe thought he fit every single one of those boxes.

“And tell me Jose.” You murmured, leaning in close so that you could here him over the noise of the bar. “Tell me the type of guy I should be dating.”

He looked into your eyes, and he saw the universe in them, the moon, the sky, the stars. Everything that he had ever wanted, everything he had hoped for in a lover.

“Me.” he said softly, using his fingertips to tip your mouth towards his. “You should be dating me.”

You tasted the way he imagined, of peaches and vodka. Your lips though, they were softer, warmer than he had expected. He moaned into your mouth as your fingers threaded through his hair drawing him closer. Your legs parted just slightly as his hand came to rest on your knee, his thumb smoothing over the tiny scar from an accident you’d had a couple of years ago. You shuddered at the sensation, your hips arching forward as his heated palm ascended.

“You and me.” He whispered against the corner of your mouth. “We’re meant for each other.”

“I know.” You told him. “Why do you think I came here tonight.”

Love Joe Velasco? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#joe velasco #joe velasco x you #joe velasco x reader #jose velasco x you #jose velasco x reader #jose velasco #law and order: special victims unit #law and order: svu #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law & order: svu

[dailycharacteroption]

Firework Technician (Pathfinder 2nd Edition Archetype)

(art by Tacit Sign Studio on Artstation)

 BOOM! BAZZA BOOM!

When it comes to applied chemistry, is there any spectacle more wondrous than a fireworks display? Ever since humanity invented gunpowder, they’ve been mixing things into it to change the color, how it burns, and so on, and even arranging the paper tubes and materials so that they explode in certain, dazzling ways.

It would only make sense that this would carry over into fantasy gaming. Hell, I even did a fireworks-themed archetype for First Edition alchemist over on my Patreon!

Second Edition finally gave us an official pyrotechnic specialist though, in the form of today’s subject, the Firework Technician!

Hailing from Tian Xia or Vudra, where gunpowder has been used in fireworks for hundreds of years, these specialists might be wandering salesmen looking to sell their fiery wonders to those in need of a special celebration, particularly nobles needing custom displays, or common folk desiring dazzling trinkets… or they might be part of long lineages of pyrotechnists who have been perfecting the art for generations for their rulers or even just their home town and the festivals and celebrations they may be famous for.

Many are alchemists drawing upon that discipline to develop impressive wonders using nothing but chemistry, but others may be mages that add the power of magic for even more wild and amazing displays. Others may have developed their pyrotechnic skills on the side, either as a side job, to enhance their own work with fiery displays (such as fuse-timed distractions for a rogue, or long-distance signals for guards, scouts, and sentries, and the like), or simply to give them an extra tool in their arsenal.

 To start with, these pyrotechnists have a supply of reagents they mix each day, which they can use to make either basic fireworks or the special ones associated with this line of work. If they are also an alchemist, they will use whichever source offers the greater number of reagents, rather than both. At this most basic level, they can launch simple comets to create illumination, create dazzling flowers of fire in the air, or loud bangs that can snap others out of their reverie.

With a bit more training and work they can create a coughing dragon display, which either emits loud booms or streams of colored streaks, (or both if they add a bit more to the mix) which can drown out audio or visual effects respectively, effectively ending them as they simply cannot compare.

While a firework technician starts with only minimal supplies and mastery, a bit more training lets them moderately keep up with their training in other areas.

Consisting of multi-stage rockets and explosions of confetti, jumping jennies were originally meant for children, but they also prove quite useful against flying foes, potentially knocking them out of the air.

With a name like “Goblin Jubilee”, such a display must be fiery, deafeningly loud, and chaotic, and indeed they are. No matter the form they take, these displays go off in a large explosion that burns and shakes foes to their core, to say nothing of the potential blinding and deafening effects.

Named for their high-pitched shriek, a banshee’s cry is a firework that is guaranteed to draw attention, and more importantly, drown out the words of anyone trying to speak, making it the perfect tool for inhibiting or outright preventing spellcasting and the use of command words.

A fairly simple archetype that can add flavor to an alchemist or any other character, there is one problem weighing this archetype down: There are hardly any actual fireworks in Second Edition!! Yes, the archetype grants you an arsenal of abilities that don’t require any specific item, but it also gives you alchemical reagents and the ability to create daily fireworks with them similar to an alchemist, but there are barely any, heavily limiting what this archetype can do. Hopefully this will change when a Tian Xia or Vudra lorebook comes out, but until then, you’re stuck with sparklers, dwarven daisies, and certain snare items. That might turn you off of this archetype, but it still does have plenty to offer if you’re interested in abilities to disrupt and debilitate foes with light and sound.

 I know I say it a lot, but an archetype like this is a perfect example of why getting to describe your abilities is so important. Fireworks are all about the razzle-dazzle, the wonder and surprise that they invoke, and I know the Paizo staff agrees with me here because they put in an entire sidebar in this archetype talking about describing your displays. If you take this archetype, please take a moment to do your research on firework terminology so that you can better describe the wonders you unleash. And if you happen to also be a spellcasting character, think about how you might use magic to improve those displays, or even incorporate firework motifs into your fire, light, and sonic spells!

  Always the curious sort, Ipa was smitten with the pyrotechnics she saw while visiting the city of Bosha during the summer festival. So she immediately sought out the master crafter behind them, hounding him with so many questions that the old man told the young catfolk to either leave him alone or get busy carrying crates. And that is how she gained her apprenticeship as a pyrotechnic technician.

 It is said that fireworks gained popularity in Kazgaard after a foreign visitor turned his selection of pyrotechnics against an invading army of trolls. Now, there are many performers and warriors that stand by the devices as a way to strike fear into normally fearless foes. However, not even they can dissuade a mighty jotund troll when it is on the hunt.

 The centennial celebration of their home nation is next year, and the king commissions the party to travel across the sea and secure the service of a fireworks master from across the sea. However, upon arriving at their destination, they discover that the secrets of gunpowder are tightly guarded, and securing a willing pyrotechnist will be much harder than it seems.

#pathfinder 2nd edition #archetype #fireworks technician #catfolk #troll #jotund troll #Guns & Gears

[jww-archive]

NOTHIN’ ON YOU / self para when / July 4, 2012 and July 7, 2012 featuring / @vannrichmond

The docks overhead lights cast a yellow glow over the parking lot. Parking lot being an overstatement for the driveway they were in and overhead lights really just being a few flood lights. Fireworks were still going off, the booms in the distance. June wasn’t staying, she already had stayed too late and drink too much. 

He smelled like gunpowder and beer and lake water. As of the current moment, he had her pressed against the side of his truck. They were both a little drunk, him probably more so just based on consumption rates but he had a talent where he could put it away and still be pretty commanding of his faculties. Her fingers combed through his hair as they kissed. Before they always went to a point and then she’d put a stop to it. Half nervous, half skeptical. She figured if she was going to hell, he’d be the package the devil would send. 

This time, a little further. She wasn’t wearing much to begin with, so there wasn’t much for his hands to slip under. But then she was pulling away. It couldn’t be here. Not against, or in his truck or hers. Too many people here. He sighed as she drew away. Vann was never the type to tell her don’t, or bargain with her, or anything of the sort. 

“I gotta go,” June breathed, out of breath. He’d asked her only once to not go and that was to go to breakfast. 

“Can’t skip it?” he asked, his hand playing with a piece of her hair. 

“No, I told them I would.” She looked up at him. The space between them only widened by a hair. He sighed. “Besides, Trent probably will have something to blow up here in a bit and that shit makes me nervous, better I clear out.” June joked. They almost lit one of the boats on fire shooting fireworks off it earlier. Him and Trent dreamed that up. June watched them, half horrified and half curious. Plus, there were two other girls already screaming at Trent so she didn’t feel the need to add to it. 

“I hope so,” Vann said. “I’m bored.” 

June laughed lightly. “My birthday is in basically two days.”

“I know.”

June thought that sounded like bullshit. But, she’d let him have it. “Karli is throwing a big party.” She didn’t formally tell Vann because, well, there wasn’t a real reason to. Until now. She’d mentioned it in passing. And, half of the community was talking about it because Karli was pulling all sorts of strings. Rented out a big dance hall. Knew all the bartenders. Had a real band with a real artist playing for her. It was something of a big deal. 

“I heard.”

“My friend Cody is playing it. I’m getting a hotel room, I don’t have to sing for a few days after. Has all the makings of a good party.”

Vann rolled his eyes. “You trying to tell me something?”

“Sorta. But I’m thinking you got the message.” June grinned at him. 

“I’ll be there,” Vann opened his palms. 

June’s face turned into a full grin at this point. She went to her tippy toes to kiss him. “Good, that ensures it’ll be a good birthday.” She pressed another kiss to his lips. “Okay, go blow things up. Try to make sure your liver makes it to my birthday too.”

“No promises.” 

June shook her head and Vann opened the door for her truck her. Climbing up, he closed the door. She waved a goodbye and headed back to where she needed to be. She was gonna be tired tomorrow and needed to rehab her voice a bit. 

—

“Karli,” June said with a wince. “Help.” Karli walked over and before the look was even seen, June said, “don’t even say it.” 

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.” 

“I heard your eyes. Just, can you tighten this?” June was trying to fix the straps of the dress. It was silver, and a chain mail type material. Borderline see through in the right light and the dress was backless, short, and had a deep cowl neck that showed a lot of cleavage and could be a danger. There was also a slit up both sides, because why not, June figured. She didn’t normally dress this ostentatious.  

“June, how you gonna dance in this?”

“Like I normally do?”

“You’re gonna flash half the bar,” Karli said, but fixed it anyway. “The whole bar, really.” 

June padded away to the bathroom in the hotel room. “It’s my birthday. I don’t care.” That was the tequila talking. She’d already had three shots. June picked up the bathroom, put her makeup brushes away and organized everything. 

Walking back out, she moved to stick her feet into the heels she was wearing. They were clear and blocky. She didn’t look so western princess today, but she liked how she looked. A tad modernized old Hollywood, with a fur stole and a clear clutch she was bound to lose. It was a good outfit. She’d like the pictures of how she looked later on.

“Is Cody and the boys all set?” June said, standing. 

Karli nodded. “You know, he’s cute. Maybe you should date him. Imagine the vocals both of your kids would have.”

June snorted. She shook her head. “No, he’s dating someone. And I’m dating someone.”

Karli looked at her. “June. Something to tell me?”

“He asked me. I said sure, why not.”

Karli paused for a minute. “Didn’t know he had it in him, good for him,” she pursed her lips. 

“Don’t be mean,” June said. 

“I’m not. I honestly thought he was gonna die alone and young. With a trail of layovers and floozies crying at his wake.” 

“Okay, wow. Buzzkill.” 

On cue, as if Karli really was speaking of the devil, there was a knock. June walked over to open the door to see Vann. He had a bag over his shoulder, and he lowly whistled at her. Bag went to the ground, momentarily forgotten as he gave her spin. “You look good.”

“She better, she took three hours,” Karli said, her head poking from around from the corner of the room. 

“Shoulda known you’d be here,” Vann said with an eye roll. “Almost woulda thought you were dating her.”

“No, but apparently you are.” June cut Karli a glance, the smug smile on her lips didn’t die though. “Anyway, I was pouring shots.”

“Needed help,” June said with a shrug. He looked a little annoyed, but, if that wasn’t the theme of the last three months of them talking, then he must’ve knocked his head and wound up with someone else. He really should just expect it. “Vann,” she nodded to his forgotten bag that was half in the hallway and half in the room and was working as a terrible door stop at the moment. “Should bring that in.”

Vann paused, and then grabbed it, and set it fully inside the door just as Karli handed the shots out. “To June, and happy 21st.” The glasses clinked the shots were down, and then Karli was off to head to the venue. June and Vann followed a minute behind. In the elevator, Vann looked at her.

“I didn’t know this was your 21st.”

She looked at him. “Oh.” She supposed that made sense. She didn’t know how old he was either until a few months ago when it was his birthday. They never talked about that. They met basically at a bar, so she could see why he was confused. “Fake ID,” June supplied. “Got it when I was nineteen because it sucked to not be able to go places.” Bars, with Karli, mostly. Karli, who also got her the Fake ID, because she was also tired of the hassle. 

“Lawbreaker,” Vann said with a smile tugging at his lips. “This isn’t even then like a proper 21st, because you been drinkin’ at bars.”

“I like to start my criminal activity young, and grow out it, really,” June said with a nod. “Call it a celebration of getting legal. One less felony I’ll commit.” 

“Lame.”

The elevator opened and he walked with her, moving to open the door for her. This time she did take his hand to help get into the truck. 

—

Somewhere between the boatload of tequila she drank, and all the dancing she did, she ended up back in Vann’s truck with him. It was closing time. The night was mostly a blur and her face and chest her from laughing and smiling. It was the best party she’d been too, not that she’d tell Vann that because it might hurt his feelings that his boat party wasn’t as good as this one was.

His hand was on her thigh and drawing circles with his thumb and she knew he was acting with more restraint than she thought people who thought they knew him would think he was capable of. A song came on the radio that she liked, and she leaned over to turn it up, and by the time they were parked at the hotel, they were both scream singing it. They were laughing when Vann got the door for her. She was surprisingly steady on her feet, a master of being drunk in heels at this point.

He was telling her, he couldn’t believe she had a fake and June replied, “Well, believe it. I was getting drunk in pastures at 17, but don’t tell my parents. They’d be disappointed.”

“Always the choir girls,” Vann said with a shake his head, reaching over to pull her into him before the elevator doors had even closed. By the time it reached the top, he once again had her pushed into the side, and he all spun her out of the elevator when it popped open. 

June was fishing the key out before they reached the door, and when she found it, Vann carefully plucked it from her hands and opened the door. Good call, while she mastered the heels, she struggled with keycard doors when sober. 

The door barely shut before she tangled with him again. It was going like it always did, except when he started to work at the dress, she started to get squirrely again. She couldn’t help it, she was nervous. But she didn’t stop him like she usually did. Could say whatever you wanted about Vann Richmond, but he was a little more aware than people gave him credit for. 

He didn’t pull away, but in the pause he asked, “You alright?”

Maybe he thought she was gonna get sick.

“Yeah. Just. Never done this before.”

“Never done what?”

June said a more heavily implied, “This.” She was turning red, feeling embarrassed already. It was why she never mentioned it before, it was kinda embarrassing. It took a minute to circle around his thick skull before it stuck.

He paused. “Oh. Do you want to stop?”

“No. Got the room already.” The rest of it was implied and maybe this was a testament to the sort of man she thought he was, and, like she thought he was, he slowed down a bit. A little less haphazard and frenzied. 

“Alright.” He seemed to soften, almost. The kisses a little slow, touches more deliberate. For a guy who didn’t take much serious, a guy who had the reputation of not giving a damn, this moment proved otherwise. The pace did slow, until he got annoyed with the closure on the dress and just popped it. She didn’t mind that, it wasn’t likely a repeat sort of dress, if she was honest. When it ended up on the floor, he paused a minute, enjoying the view. June’s hands had already worked his pearl snap open and off. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled her on top him.

#( self para. )

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.4)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Yoongi makes his choice, so does Moonbyul.

Pairing: Beta! Yoongi, Omega! Reader, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Hoseok, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Jimin,

Tags: Graphic material, Death, Murder, Dead bodies and dying described in detail, brief suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, depression, DARK THEMES, guilt, blood, a touch of blood kink? drugs, murder/crime themes, guilt, kinda fuck or die vibes? finally fluff at the end, mating marks, 

W/c: 7.1k

A/n: here is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! the big d word moment!!! my carpal tunnel is acting up, I will probably not be able to get the next chapter out for a few days or until next week. Chronologically the next chapter continues after part 1. 

(PLEASE READ TAGS FOR CW BEFORE YOU PROCEED)

Previous part — Masterlist

Part 4: If I Have You 

Pulling the trigger is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 

Geumjae’s body flinches back from the force of the bullet. The ceiling splattering with the spray of his blood. It hits the side of your face too, your white shirt crested with red at the shoulders, dripping down your throat along with the blood from your mating bite. It’s a percussive splatter, noisy as it hits the wall.

People never talk about how blood gets everywhere during a murder. Yoongi is unable to stop his flinch when Geumjae’s brain matter and viscera splatter against him, just a little. 

Yoongi didn't think you'd actually do it. 

He watches you shove the body away from you, hard, what's left of his head, an empty vessel, hitting the floor with a hollow thud. His hands leave you for the last time, but the pain isn't finished. 

Yoongi barely has the forethought to lunge forward, knees scraping, wrestling the gun out of your hand before you can turn it on yourself. The barrel of the gun is hot when Yoongi's hands close around it and yank it away from your own temple. The smell of burning skin joins the metallic scent of murder. Your scent is a mess- it’s barely had a chance to mix with Geumjae’s burning wood-burning bread and wrath, rainstorms, and gunpowder. 

He shouts your name but you don't respond. 

Yoongi yanks the gun from your hands, probably hurting your fingers but panicked when he hurls the gun to the other side of the room and takes your hands in his, wrestling with you and screaming your name until the fight goes out of you. 

You’re hyperventilating when you stop struggling. Both of your wrists pinned above your head in both of Yoongi’s hands, his knees pressing your legs to stillness in a way that could be sexual but isn't- it's the easiest way for him to restrain you- both sprawled on the bloody floor. Yoongi’s crying, tears dripping down his nose, every other drop shines pink from what's on his face.  

“Yoongi please- please just let me go- I don’t want to become a ghost- I don't wanna become a walking corpse.” The way you look breaks his heart, your neck so bruised and bloody, your face swelling too from Geumjae’s hits. The way your eyes hold only darkness and no warmth as you look at him and beg- beg him to let you take your life. Your pupils are so small he can't see them at all. 

“Let me die Yoongi- please just- if you do one thing for me- let do this. let me go."

Yoongi looks at your mating mark and can already see the thin tracery of ink spreading under your skin- inky blackness spreading from your mating bite and up your throat. A piece of someone who’s dead inside of you, shot through with silver to make it stand out more. 

It’s like some silly zombie bite in a bad horror movie but it’s so much more haunting, The veins in your eyes are even starting to discolor. You have maybe a few minutes before the mating bite takes you over completely and you’re mated to someone dead.

Zombie movies were nothing more than fear of this taking root in common culture, everyone fears losing their mate. What else is more terrifying than something that takes your humanity in the way that this has taken yours. This is every person’s worst nightmare- a death sentence.  

‘Ghosts’ are what society has dubbed the women and men who live after losing their partners. Most of the time they live without alpha or a pack- unable to bond to anyone else ever again once their mates are dead. Mating bites are a one-time thing. 

When one-half of a mated pair dies- a person's body has a peculiar way of letting outsiders know how to treat them gently- The mating mark turns black like a brand. A mark to let everyone know that they would never have another person to take care of them- to love them.

But you aren’t alone- you’re not alone because you have Yoongi and he’s right here with his wide palms on you. Hands that where always made to fix things, but you aren’t just some broken toy that needs a bit of glue.  He’s too late, just seconds too late and only inches away. 

He grips both of your forearms in either of his palms hands, pulling you closer. Making you sit up, dragging you into his lap like carrying your weight in his arms will fix this. Anything to hold onto you- to not lose you too soon. 

"Stop- just stop, I've got you- I've got you," Yoongi repeats it more for himself than he does for you.

But there are wounds in your body that can’t be fixed by simple hoping. There is a limit to what one person can take. Despair is one hell of a drug and while Yoongi fights and fights there is no undoing what Geumjae has done to you.

But maybe…

Yoongi dares to hope; “It’s only a half bond if we-“ he falls silent as the idea settles over him like a bucket of cold water. His brain rushing over everything he’s ever learned about mating bites and beta’s; all of the statistics and articles that Namjoon had shoved down his throat when Jungkook had first stopped having seizures. 

The medical mystery that betas were; how they were able to heal unseen hurts and maybe- maybe this was like that. Maybe the solution to this problem lays in Yoongi’s veins, in his mouth. 

His jaw aches at the very suggestion of it.  “I’m a beta- and betas don’t usually mark- because- because they’re stronger than alpha and omega bites.” 

It’s the only truth that makes sense. All of the stories of omegas and alphas going crazy after being bitten by betas, not being able to move from them too far, extreme clinginess- a bond that was too close, too strong, stronger than anything else in their life. You weren’t supposed to bond with someone so deep, the bite almost seemed to do more harm than good. 

But you’re already dying and there isn’t much worse that could happen to you.

You don't have anything to lose but Yoongi does. You shake yourself free from his arms and pull back. Recoiling from what he’s offering to do for you; tether him to you forever when you might not make it. 

You can already feel the mating mark taking hold- It's already starting to cloud your judgment, deep down, the part of you that cares if you survive this is already winking out. The blankness sinking through your every inch, The emptiness. You’d be surprised if you lifted your hand to your chest and found your heart still beating. 

“Yoongi- No- you don’t have to- you’ve already got a pack and don’t- don’t bind yourself to someone like me.”

It’s the same argument that you had before but there’s no force behind it- every stupid excuse you had for him not to love you is moot now that your husband is dead next to you. But you're done; Every breath takes more effort than it should and you feel so heavy. You look down at your lap and feel the lethargy sinking beneath your bones like lead. Hidden hands gripping around your throat cutting off your words.

You feel like you’re choking on something. 

You’ve felt depressed before (how could you not have given what your life was like before Yoongi). And having a mating mark from someone deceased feels like that but worse, like it's turned up by a factor of three. A weird mixture of dizzy, absent, and dissociative. You have never felt less connected to your own body, it feels foreign.

You are nothing but a soul inside a body, craving release. A thread of black that wants to tug you down to where ever Geumjae is now. 

The sinking sadness says to you with gentle hands- this is a fine spot. You can just sit here, It’s okay. You don’t have to move, you can just sit here until you die. As long as no one bothers you and hurts you again, you could just sit here, as long as it was quiet and peaceful. Things don't even have to be good, you don't need good things, you just need it to not hurt anymore. Until the earth reclaims you like it takes abandoned buildings. 

 A sharp pain that goes through your heart, an ache so deep that it speaks to cavernous places, wakes monsters that you didn’t know where there. 

You’ve never really wanted to die before, maybe as a passing thought- but didn’t everyone think that way? it’s so different now- where the thoughts are all consuming, running over your words in your head like oil spreading and staining cloth. 

Die- want to die- want- want- want die- wanna go- wanna be quiet- wanna fall asleep and not wake up- want to- 

But if you decided to lay here and not get up again, Yoongi would stay too.

He would try and get you to move, probably beg and try to get you to live. Even if he never bit you, he’d stay next to you until the end, just to hold your hand so that you didn’t have to be completely alone. You thought dying would feel more lonely,  But maybe it doesn't feel that way because Yoongi’s here. 

His hand closes around yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as he cries. And you think if you want one thing; it's for him to stop crying. Out of all people- Yoongi doesn't deserve the hurt (but maybe you're biased because you love him).

That tips the scale in his favor.

Geumjae’s blood is pooling on the floor. His body gives a twitch, the last remnants of his misfiring nerves as he dies. You feel the painful jerk in your mating bond. Yoongi watches the muscles of your neck twitch. 

Neither you nor Yoongi pays him any mind. 

"You don't have to do this Yoongi." Yoongi’s hand on your cheek- is like a balm to those words, pushing them out of your head. “You can’t take it back. If I die- you could die too.”

“But I want to” he kisses your cheek- and the contact lights a flame down your neck to your touch starved heart. The heat flares to light and the next second your body and your mouth are aching to bite. Your instincts an avalanche around you begging you to complete the bond that’s tearing through you making you shake. He kisses a little closer to your lips, cheeks wet and cool against your skin.

Geumaje and Yoongi were related by blood at all, maybe your instincts can’t tell the difference. 

“I don’t care if it does- I can’t- I’m not going to just let you die” his voice breaks on the last word. Not when it was me who was too slow to save you; He won’t say the words or whisper his guilt into the open air. 

“Please sweetheart- let me.” He kisses your lips. So soft- achingly soft, Your first kiss, you wish it had happened under better circumstances.

You hate that the first kiss you and Yoongi share tastes like blood.

But there would be more- there could be more kisses if Yoongi manages to do what he’s saying he can. The mark on your shoulder is already healing, the blackness stretching to scar treacherously fast. Normal mating bites usually take a day or so to heal, but not yours, it’s already scabbing and sealing in the poision.

If you’re going to try this- if it’s going to work- it has to be now. The bond is advancing, regardless of the fact that Geumjae is barely dead, barely cooling beside the two of you.

It’s barely been 10 minutes since you shot him. And if you listen carefully- you can hear sounds in the rest of the house, maybe someone else from the gang here- about to come upstairs and discover the mess of you three. muffled voices and heavy footsteps grow louder by the second. 

Yoongi is safe but you’re not. “Yoongi,” you say, his name a broken hymn on your mouth. Musical- and Yoongi can’t think of a time when he wouldn’t want to hear it. Hoping for more of this closeness and maybe one day, a love that doesn’t hurt.

You get the feeling that even if you are broken beyond repair, this man could fix you. Wide hands and careful fingers that rub the blood away from your skin, hands made for making things and mending things when they break. And maybe you’re selfish enough to let him bind himself to you- broken as you are.

You press your forehead to his, you have to ask one more time. "Are you sure Yoongi?"

He nods, quick and small, "I'm sure." there isn’t anything in his eyes that makes you doubt him.

"Okay," you say softly, tugging him closer, tilting your chin up to the sky, your skin stings where it stretches around the mating mark. "okay. Come here then."

Your hands tangle in Yoongi’s hair as you guide his mouth to your throat, and his mouth sliding into the space where Geumjae was just minutes ago. He lingers for just half a breath before sinks his teeth over the mating mark, a little deeper- his mouth a little wider. He makes the bite a tiny bit offset.

Your breath hitches, back arching. His hands-on your waist go hard, holding you closer to him, as close as he can get you. Unlike before when Geumjae’s bite was agony, this feels like heroin- like every drug mixing together sending you up and up.

If you looked down and saw your hands were tipped in gold you wouldn’t be surprised. For a second you think you can taste colors, and then the chocolate sea salt of Yoongi settles over your tongue delicious, like ambrosia- fuck it’s so strong, it’s halfway between a headache and a high. You gasp when you feel it, feel Yoongi all over, Goosebumps rising on your arms as he touches you. The smell of ocean breeze and chocolate filling you in a way that Geumjae’s scent didn’t.

Geumjae’s bite was nothing compared to this, a whisper to a symphony. 

This must be what a mating bite feels like when you want it. You cry out. Gripping the lapels of his coat. Yoongi’s heartbeat thunders in your ears, the only thing you can hear, until the beat matches to your own, heartbeats pumping in sync.

Your blood tastes sweet and he wonders what it says about him that he likes the taste. He gulps at it- once- twice- and then a third time just to make sure the mark sticks, maybe he could suck a little bit of Geumjae out of you.

His kisses get feverish, lapping up your blood with wide laves of his tongue, moaning a little. and this time when you kiss- with your blood in his mouth, they get hurried and rushed like he can consume you, each one sweeter than the last. There is one moment of nausea, only one moment where Yoongi sees the black tracery receded and feels it dim. 

Maybe it’s not gone, but at least it's buried.

Yoongi can almost feel you, can almost feel the bond, but not yet. Your scent, it's all cake-sweet now. You kiss him until your jaw aches until your lips feel bruised. Until you know the sounds below actually are people, rushing around trying to find Geumjae. Calling out your names. 

Yoongi is the first to break apart, the room spinning. “Do me” he lifts the edge of his shirt, picking out a spot that he likes, the meat just above his hip. A spot is half-hidden by his shirt and his pants.

Not everyone likes to have their mating marks on their neck (you certainly would have chosen to have yours another place had you been given the chance). And Yoongi stretches out so that you can get your mouth on him, your mouth on the spot he wants to bind your soul to his.

He holds one of your hands in both of his hands so gently as you cup his hip and bite down, even as you begin to make out the noise of gang members coming up the attic stairs. Yoongi bites down a moan, lets you take one gasp of blood into your mouth before your teeth leave his skin.

The high rushes over him and he knows his pupils are mirrors of yours, black and dilated. He just has time to wipe his blood from your mouth and get you as close as he can, before the attic door creaks, the barrel of a gun pushing it open. And the gangsters enter the room with practiced steps.

Yoongi pulls his shirt back down just before they have a chance to see.

You play the part, slumping against him and letting him take the reigns. the people must take it for pain even though you’re shaking not with sobs, but from the feeling of Yoongi’s soul intertwining with yours. Full body shivers and something solidifying between the two of you. 

Together you shake, Yoongi is barely aware of the gangsters clearing the room. 

You feel like you can taste his thoughts, though you can’t actually hear what he's thinking. You can feel the way they tumble like small waves over each other. You feel concern and something else, something that feels an offal lot like love shoot down the fledgling bond as Yoongi’s arms pull you up, firmer against him.

It makes shivers rise on every inch of your skin, the pleasure he feels when he touches you that you're now hyper-aware of. It's what your body has been craving- the completion of the bond.

You both bleed- your blood dripping onto the floor. One part sacrament and sacred love and another part poisonous longing for a man you hated so much more than you ever loved him. This feels strange, it feels wrong, and that you have one part of you reaching out for something that’s not there. And then this- with Yoongi, right and front of you and inside of you. Completely occupying your heart and your mind and your body.

Accept for that one poisoned inch; you might not be completely his, but it's enough now, the bond with yoongi occupying those thoughts you'd had minutes before.

The gangsters don’t touch Geumjae, at least until Moonbyul enters the room, unarmed. Yoongi’s cousin eyes Yoongi from the door. There isn’t enough room in this torture room for the 12 or so gangsters and the three of you, they press against the walls, guns at the ready.

Moonbyul approaches Geumjae’s corpse, turning him over with her foot to see his blankly staring face, turning it towards the heavens instead of hell. For a moment, Yoongi thinks she might actually kick him. She plucks her pink handgun from the floor. Someone passes her a rag and she wipes it free of blood and fingerprints.

Her eyes on Yoongi are hard; a bit of mirth playing on the edge of her mouth as she plays her hand. A queen in a room full of pawns and knights, and the king underfoot. Her hand of aces. 

Betting it all on a simple game of roulette- red or black- will Yoongi challenge her or not. Yoongi doesn't miss the way her finger hovers on the trigger. 

“I suppose this entire situation would be concerning to me- if you hadn’t already named me as Don.” she nudges Geumjae's body again with her foot. "I guess he didn't take it well?"

She lies effortlessly, taking the moment to seize power. So this was what she was waiting for. Yoongi doesn’t challenge her words for fear of what she might do right now, not that he really would anyway. 

Yoongi tips his head forward in difference, “No he didn’t,” 

Moonbyul tucks her gun back into her waistband, and holds out her hand to pull yoongi to his feet. 

Yoongi takes you with him, small and still a little high in his arms. You hide your face in Yoongi’s shoulder, Holding onto him tight. You don’t know if you could take it if they tried to separate you now. 

Yoongi has to swallow to continue, struggling to think before he speaks with so many new sensations shocking his body. He's intimately aware of the way you shift in his arms, arms tightening around you at the very idea of you moving more than an inch away from him right now as you settle onto your own two feet. still a little unsteady. 

“He- he mated her against her will, and then he tried to kill us when I told him I wouldn’t- and- and after-” It’s not a lie- not really, but it still feels that way. Moonbyul doesn't need to do anything more than that to nod to call her men off, and they all relax around the room. 

They instantly fade from engaged concern to understanding. The other heads of household will probably grill Yoongi more. But you’ve both got time to get your story straight. For now, they need to clean up the body.

It helps that threatening the beta is a punishable offense; no one will question Yoongi killing him- especially since they’re brothers. Most of the families tend to think that inner house spats that family's business. Yoongi doesn’t know which of his relatives will inherit the title of head of the Min family, but it won't be Yoongi.

You’re small and silent in Yoongi’s arms, so vulnerable, he keeps you a few paces away from any of the mobsters, bites down a growl whenever any of them come too close to his mate. It’s just the mating bond making it’s self-known. You are his. No one can touch you.

Yoongi has never been a possessive man, but now he is. The mating mark tearing through him and screaming at him to protect, to provide, to nurture, and keep safe. He strokes down your back as his cousin quietly orders the others to clean up the mess and Geumjae’s body. The family has cleanup crews on call for this very reason.

They quietly offer to burn the house down to stage the death but Yoongi doesn’t care. He guesses it belongs to him now or maybe you. It depends on which bond the family will consider more important; the bonds of a half mating or the bond of brotherhood.

“I’ll handle it-“ his cousin has the good grace to offer comfort to Yoongi that way when he gets you into her car. she doesn't say anything about the dents in the side.  

Yoongi doesn’t quite hate her for any of this, but he doesn’t trust her the same way he did before either. She’s gotten what she wanted- the Don position. Plucked it from Yoongi’s hands.

“You haven’t had a chance to call the heads of house and tell them about your decision yet, but after that, you should be free to go” she reads him easily as always, The only other manipulator up to par with Yoongi himself in the gang. She knows that not an inch of Yoongi wants to stay in this house or this city a second longer.

At the idea of leaving you to straighten up in Yoongi’s lap to listen in a little more, you share a look with Yoongi. Your mate, your body sings the eye contact makes you shiver in your seat. Yoongi pulls you closer, stroking up to your arm mistakenly thinking you’re cold. You pull yourself closer to him- but it feels like you can’t get close enough, He makes a dissatisfied noise in his throat.

Yoongi will have to get used to this feeling. Like his soul is walking outside of his body. It feels incredibly vulnerable and intimate- He can feel your panic, how physically you’re being torn apart right now, every few minutes you shake. Yoongi puts your legs over his and holds you close. Watching your face closely for every twinge of pain as the lights of the city flicker over you two.

The meeting with the heads of house is tense, though the usual group of is two short now, standing only at eleven members now that Geumjae is gone and Moonbyul is named Don. You cannot be Don and a head of house at the same time.

It takes every bone in Yoongi’s body to let you be taken into the other room by Moonbyul’s mate to check over your injuries. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. He catches Moonbyul’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t say anything. “Would you look at her bruises for me?”

Later Yoongi will check them himself, again and again until he's sure you're all right. But the sooner you get ice on the nastier bruises the better off you’ll be. Someone should look at your ribs and your head too- he has half a mind to take you to the hospital before you leave the city. He doesn’t know how long it will be before you’re stationary again. He’d stay in the city tonight if you needed to. But he can feel your panic down the bond, The sooner you both get out of here the better.

With Geumjae dead there is no true opposition against his cousin's rule. She stands at the head of the table like she’s meant to be there. And still- the heads of the families talk through the night, kicking the non-proverbial dead horse into the ground. There is little mourning for Geumjae, one granny who cries faintly in the other room while the heads argue. Yoongi supposes he should look more upset, but no one pays attention to him now that he’s made his choice.

No, what they spend most of the time discuss is you. Sat in the other room, able to hear all of this, the men and woman weighing your fate and deciding what to do with you. If Yoongi listens, he can hear Hyejin’s quiet voice. Can feel your discomfort as the ice hits your ribs, maybe broken, definitely badly bruised.

Yoongi flinches every time he feels the pain pulse down the bond. Maybe in time, it will feel less sensitive but right now- Yoongi can feel your hurts just as bad as he can feel his own. A part of him is reaching out into the other room, screaming in his ear to go comfort his mate.  

He has a mate. Yoongi can scarcely believe it.

The gangsters around the table remain blissfully unaware of that fact. Most of the heads are on the same page, and he won’t reveal his mating mark unless he absolutely needs to, he will let that secret stay secret unless necessary. It’s a good bargaining chip. They wouldn’t kill you if they knew it was going to kill him too. But still- it’s hard to hear them argue over your fate when he can’t intervene.

“You know the rules- no divorces and no separations,” one alpha says, he’s older- nearing 60, but Yoongi can’t excuse that cruelty with age. The youngest, the head of the Ahn house does the rebutting for Yoongi, and he bites his tongue.

“But it wouldn’t be a divorce; she’s his widow now and his ex-mate technically.”

“Yes but that’s only a half bond.” There is only one omega head, and the woman snubs her long cigarette out on the table leaving an ashy circle 

“It’s only the alpha bite that matters- or have you forgotten?”

To her credit, the omega doesn't back down. “Chances are she’ll die anyway why are we even talking about her, we should start transitioning already.”

“That’s easy to say- if she’s got nothing left to lose what’s to stop her from going to the police.”

“I can keep an eye on her,” Yoongi volunteers, jumping at the chance to turn the discussion to his favor. They can all go fuck themselves if they ever dare to try and hurt you. “You say she’s as good as dead anyway. So you shouldn't mind if she comes with me.” 

The likelihood of anyone living after their mate dies is in the teens. Yoongi knew that and even then he bonded to you anyway. He can only hope that with his bite coursing through your veins and your body confused that you’ve got better odds than that. Yoongi did what he promised to do, now your odds are both 50/50. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t go to the police.”

Through the bond he can feel your curiosity and a little bit of fear too, you’re listening in. And he does his best to let his calmness comfort you too. Your panic instantly relaxes and he senses you reaching out. If you were next to Yoongi you’d be holding hands, and it kind of feels that way. If you could ever hold hands with someone’s soul.

“You realize that if you make her your responsibility, anything bad that happens will fall on your head as well” their betas might be sacred- but they aren’t free from the rest of the laws of the gang.

“I understand.” The Don lifts her head, regarding Yoongi with a heavy look. “She’s his widow and whether we want to address it now or not, the law says she’s inherited his wealth.”

It's met with immediate opposition, several heads of house start speaking over each other at once,  but Yoongi speaks up again, shouting over them. A beta raising their voice is about as strange as one giving or getting a mating bite, everyone falls silent. “Give it to me or her- I don’t care.”

another few minutes and they’re ready to let you go. they vote on it, and only 3 out of 11 heads vote to have you killed. Moonbyul gives the all clear, “Then you’re free to go.” Yoongi doesn’t even say goodbye, going to you in the other room just as quickly as he can without outright running. The Don’s mate is crouched in front of where you sit. Your body is mostly clean of blood and you’ve been put in other clothes; a pair of sweats and a baggy shirt.

Yoongi can see all the bruises on the side of your face turning purple and Yoongi wants to cup your face and bring it to his, kiss away the pain coloring your skin like watercolors, but can’t do it here. “Do we need to go to the hospital?” 

“Not for her but maybe for you, no ones checked you over yet, have they?”

yoongi grits his teeth, seconds away from snapping at hyejin, he wants her to get away, get as far from you as possible. “i asked if she needed the hospital.” 

Hyejin stands when Yoongi crouches. shaking her head when it becomes clear yoongi isn’t to be argued with right now. “There’s something wrong with her- but I think you know what” her eyes hover on Yoongi’s hip.

 So at least she’s figured it out. She has the good sense to utter the words quietly. Though the people in the other room aren’t concerned with Yoongi anymore, they’ve already launched into discussions about transitioning power and re-defining responsibilities. It seems Moonbyul had a plan on how she wanted the family to run from the beginning.  

He shakes off his annoyance, “Thank you,” he says to the omega, holding out a hand to you, which you take, still not saying anything. Tiredness holding you down to the chair. The same kind of look you’d had when Geumjae had died. The mating mark has been taped over but some of the blackness is still there. Yoongi wonders when it will fade, if it ever does.

“I wish I could say I’ll see you soon but I don’t think I will.” You and Yoongi nod, your hands twined between the two of you. She knows that neither you nor Yoongi has a love for the gang. No one stops you and Yoongi when you leave the house. Immediately hailing a taxi. You stop only at Yoongi’s safe house for a spare 20 minutes, while he packs up a fraction of his belongings in a hurried rush, anything to get out before someone tries to change their mind.

If Geumjae had any hidden loyalists the beta that killed him and his runaway wife would be the first targets. Let alone their reaction if they knew who had really killed Geumjae. The quicker the two of you get away from the city the better.

You end up at the train station, Yoongi breaks the bracelets off of your wrist- the same ones that he saw you wear on you the first night- and the ones that he’s always thought looked like shackles. He yanks at them as hard as he can until they snap; kissing your wrist after each one is off. You throw them over the side of the chain-link fence and into the darkness- to be lost forever you hope. The symbols of all you’ve lost.

When you get on the train, you cuddle close under Yoongi’s jacket and into his warmth. He’s a protective barrier between you and the third seat that thankfully remains empty this late into the night it’s so late it’s nearly early morning. Most of the train is empty besides an elderly couple at the front. Regardless, the two of you sit behind them. Yoongi can’t take his eyes off of the potential threat. Actually flinches when the conductor comes around to stamp your tickets.

You head off into the night- your little box of light in a sea of street lamps and hidden dangers. You almost fall asleep a few times, head bobbing as you catching yourself before it hits his shoulder. After the third time this happens he pulls you in close, tucks your head close to his scent gland, and commands “sleep” in a voice that you cannot disobey.

Eventually, you wake, the car is bright with the midday sun and the car is half full. Yoongi’s eyes are bloodshot as they train on every passenger who comes in and leaves your train car. Yoongi holds your hand, rubbing his thumb up and down the back in an endless trail. A conductor opens the door of your train car to pass through, bunching a few tickets here and there from the new passengers who have boarded the train.

He passes by where you're bundled and Yoongi flinches so hard it wakes you fully. his shoulder accidentally nudging a bruise on your cheek, He murmurs his apologies, panicked hands fussing over you. He could feel that he hit one of your bruises and the horror of hurting you make him wide-eyed and worried. You catch his hands, pressing the pads of them to your lips. Yoongi's hands shake as they touch you, hours later, he's still high on adrenaline. 

“You need to sleep Yoongi” it’s been a long few days for both of you.

He doesn’t answer with more than a grunt. But you get off the train at the next stop and it’s nearing noon by the time the two of you stumble across the street to a motel, and it’s shitty and smells like cigarettes and the lady at the front desk asks if you need the hourly rate or the daily rate. Though she does give you a discount because Yoongi’s a beta. Eyeing the blood-soaked collar of his jacket and the bloody bandages on your neck.

You should be holed up somewhere safe away from prying eyes to adjust to your new mating bite- not in a hotel where the smells of other people assault your nose. Making you press close to Yoongi because everything smells so new and scary. Like your senses have been turned up and only Yoongi can quell their sensitivity.

you don’t realize that the attendant gave you two beds until you get to the room. you both stare blankly before you cough and separated. the closeness too much now that you’re alone and free from threats. Though it doesn't feel that way. 

you hate it- you don’t want to curl up across the room from Yoongi- you want to be next to him. you almost whimper when he He steps away to the other bed to set down his backpack. You want to cry, your skin feels irritated and itchy without his pressed to yours. You want him to touch you but you can’t stay it. Don’t know how to ask around the thickness in your throat.

He gets a clean shirt from his black backpack and helps you put it on so that you don’t irritate the mating bite. You can’t lift either of your arms much and neither can he but he pushes through the pain for you. He only has 2 or three sets of clothes that he grabbed from the cottage, and it’s all you’ve got.

“We’ll get some more clothes for you tomorrow.” He doesn’t say that you should have grabbed some of your clothes- because you both know you couldn’t handle staying in that house a second more than was necessary. You barely thought to linger long enough to grab your purse, which thankfully had everything you really need in it. 

Somehow he has athletic tape in his bag, and he spends a few minutes changing out your soaked through bandages, bundling up toilet paper, and taping it over your mating bite. Only after yours is taken care of does he let you do the same for his bite on his hip, and the burns on his hands. 

You pull his pants off and then his boxers down just enough so that you can get at it, small from your mouth, the skin around it irritated and pink. You try not to let your eyes hover on the small happy trail that traces from his belly button downwards. The band on his boxers is stained with blood- and you wonder how much it hurt to have it dig into it all day.

You curl up in separate beds, and only when you’re under the covers do you slide off your pants. leaving you only in a large shirt that smells like yoongi.  Yoongi does the same, says “goodnight” and shuts off the light but doesn’t turn away from you, keeping his eyes on you in the darkness. 

You’re silent for a few minutes, but you can tell that neither of you is falling asleep. Your bed feels cold and you wonder if he feels the same, you let the distance hurt for a minute before you give in.  

"Thank fucking god-" He peels back the blanket for you the second you make the move and dash across the cold room. you scoot into his warmth and he lets out a little ‘oof’ when you collide. Letting him pull you closer, put the blanket over your back, and make sure all of your skin is covered.

It’s not enough for Yoongi and he pulls you sideways so that he can get some of his weight on top of you. A growl building in his chest at the thought of anyone walking through the door right now.

He needs to check the lock, make sure that no one can possibly disturb you. Needs to- the instinct filling him so harshly he can’t breathe. He tries to pull away, but your hands tighten on him, and you let out a whine so heartbreaking that instantly has him releasing comforting chocolate, flopping back on top of you nuzzling under your chin, you feel like you’re drowning in it. 

Your love with Yoongi is still too new and raw to be close like this without feeling shy- and yet you can’t resist, your mating bond is like a fresh burn that you can’t stop picking at because it hurts. (Like there’s something dead there that you need to get rid of, you can’t heal around, you need to tear it out so that it feels more like bleeding rather than something that was carved out by hungry heat.) You fiddle with the bandage at your neck before Yoongi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

For a moment, you crave the release that blood might give you- and like he can feel it. Yoongi presses a kiss to the back of your hand. “Couldn’t sleep?” Yoongi says. You shake your head. The motel creeks and overhead you can hear someone else moving in an adjacent room. Yoongi gets his head on your pillow and adjusts his hand around your waist so that he’s not hitting the vicious bruise that Geumjae left with one of his kicks.

The last 24 hours have been such a tangle. It feels weird to not move now. Yoongi’s heart is still hammering; you can feel it under your palm. You’re both unwilling to relax and close your eyes even for a second even though you’re both exhausted.

You’re worried if you close your eyes you’re going to see Geumjae's face.

Yoongi left the light in the bathroom on for you. Sensing that the shadows would be too thick with nightmares for you to handle for long. You look at each other in the darkness before Yoongi lets out a shaky little giggle.

“Do you know what I just realized?” he says, the words quieted against the too scratchy bedspread. “We could have gotten a better hotel, we easily have enough money for it now” and that’s true.

If Yoongi’s orders were followed and the gang's accountant really did transfer all of your inherited wealth to your name then- fuck- both of you saw the bank statements. Both of you know how much money Yoongi’s family had amassed- the same wealth that Geumjae had inherited and now you.

“Fuck you’re right,” you say, ducking in so that you don’t have to meet Yoongi’s eyes. Geumjae used to hit you sometimes if you did that- and trained habits die-hard. 

yoongi kisses your brow, slow little pecks that travel down your cheeks, as unhurried as they are sweet. It's strange to be close to him now when it’s all you’ve wanted for the last few months. You never thought you’d get this. It feels like a daydream and a nightmare all at once.

“We could buy a whole house- or three” and even then you’d have more than enough money to live on after. For the rest of your days, comfortable and cozy even if you were foolish with the money. Yoongi still gets his stipend from the gang. No doubt to be greater now that he’s the only beta.

He stops his kisses, mouth hovering on your cheek, “We could do that.” he sounds like he’s barely containing his excitement. 

You’ll both be fine. Neither of you will ever have to worry about money again and it makes you feel sick and happy with something that feels a terrible lot like grief.

Even if you got that- the last 24 hours haven’t been worth it. You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. The mark on your shoulder is scabbing over and inky. But every few hours of closeness that the two of you have- Yoongi think’s he sees the color fade- just a little bit.

You don’t know where the giggle comes from but one moment it comes out of your mouth and you laugh, and Yoongi joins in the sound startling out of his chest. He presses his forehead tight against yours and sighs at the sound. You see the moment clarity falls on him and an idea settles into his mind the second it hits. And dim happiness settles over your bond.

Yoongi lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your bruised knuckles. “Let's buy a house.”

You smile- tired from today but still willing to placate him. “Okay Yoongi, we can do that.”

Now finally, his eyes are starting to droop, every few seconds he tries to keep them open, but you know he's seconds away from sleep. His words slurred when they whisper, his sweet chocolaty breath tickling your cheeks. “Goodnight sweetheart- love you.”

“Love you too,” it’s the first time you’ve ever said those words to each other. It feels like the first of many times you’ll say it. Forever- you and Yoongi will be mated together until you both die. And who cares if that happens tomorrow or months from now. Who cares? Because you have him and that’s all that matters.

Yoongi holds you and knows- that he will love you- as long as he can.

He watches you sleep, waits until your eyes are closed. Until he can make sure you’re safe and warm. A gentle purring fills the hotel room, soft and peaceful. yoongi hears it louder when he presses his ear to your chest. He tries to keep his eyes open, but somewhere around the second hour- they fall closed.

Neither of you dream.

—————

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[nesswritings]

Mine, Forever

Oikawa clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking, and I finally have a task for you. You know Ushiwaka, correct? Since you failed to take me out, I’m hoping you can take him out.”

a/n: My piece for @inarizahki's mafia collab. Thanks Sunny for the slight peer pressure to do this, it reminded me how much I love writing and mafia au's. Sending my love to you <3 <3 <3 word count: 2.2k

Warnings: stockholm syndrome, dub-con, general mafia topics (violence, guns, blood, etc.), death mentions, slight yandere oikawa, alcohol and drugs mentions, nsfw content at end

Shit. The bullet missed, hitting the man’s shoulder instead of going clean through his head. Below there already was a commotion, curses and directions being shouted out by someone. Time was limited, and you had to get back before you got caught. Karasuno was expecting you back safely, though the assassination was a failed mission. Survive, get back, and recover from this shock, then you could try again. Stairs in the back, the gun left behind so you could leave quickly.

But arms caught you as you emerged from the door at the bottom, your instincts already kicking in. The grip was too tight, and there were others there. Outnumbered, and stuck in this position. Your eyes rested on the muscular man you had attempted to take out, his slumped form against an alleyway wall as another man pressed a blue handkerchief against the wound. But that sight was short lived, your chin forced up to take in a new man, a man who didn’t seem to belong with the rest of Seijoh.

“You hurt Iwa-chan, sweetheart,” he cooed, ignoring the flinch from the nickname. Oh, that wouldn’t do, his eyes tracing over your outfit. It was easy to catch the small snag of the patch, pulling at the collar to truly take it in. A smirk set on his face, lithe fingers tearing the patch off the fabric before it was handed off. “Ah, so cute and clueless you’ve been involved. Don’t worry, they’ll pay in a different way. But you. You’re mine, princess, and don’t you ever forget that.” Dark words from a pretty man, words that only made him smile as he caught you off guard. But the rest understood, a murmur coming from Mattsun. “Don’t worry, I won’t let your pretty head hit the ground. So just relax.”

You sit up in the bed, your breath racing and your heart pounding in your chest. Only a dream, it was only a dream. No, it was a dream of the night you had been caught, the night Karasuno had been raided and the bloody massacre on the base. Oikawa had promised you’d pay in a different way, but you weren’t sure how that would happen. You weren’t used for sex, you weren’t on the streets trafficking drugs. No, you were stuck in this small room daily, with meals delivered and the blinking red light of the camera being a reminder that someone was always watching.

How long has it been? Days passed slowly and blended together. You would see Oikawa most days, though you refused to talk about Karasuno and who you were. But, despite the challenge, the company was nice. At least a week of being here, you knew that much, but the world would be different if you ever left.

The knock interrupts your thoughts, sitting up as you see the aforementioned man walk in. Two trays instead of one, the suit sharp with the light blue accents. Meant to seem less intimidating, and to show that they had a sense of style, Oikawa had once told you. A useless fact that stuck with you, the tapping against your cheek snapping you out of your thoughts for good.

“Eat up, princess.” Oikawa left little room for debate, settling at the desk with his eyes pointed at you. His gaze drops to his phone, glancing over the latest update. Iwaizumi would heal with time, though a nasty scar from the bullet would remain. Oikawa clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking, and I finally have a task for you. You know Ushiwaka, correct? Since you failed to take me out, I’m hoping you can take him out.”

Ushijima, a man you knew simply by name. Larger than Seijoh, far more terrifying, and a beast of a man to mess with. Rumors always spread about that man, whether it was about how he tortured someone or his latest acquisition. Someone like him was far beyond your paygrade, your fork dropping onto the plate as you processed the request. “I can’t.”

“Oh, you can. And you will.” Oikawa didn’t bother with finishing his food, leaving the half-touched plate on the desk. “I’ll send someone for you soon. Until then, be good.”

Another typical day, outside of that small taste of freedom. Even if you weren’t to be trusted, your hands bound with rope, you were out of that room. A small taste of fresh air, finally able to see where you were. The Seijoh headquarters, luxurious and full of their distinguishing light blue accents. You follow behind closely, almost in shock at being led into Oikawa’s office. A meeting in progress with his closest men and an invite from the leader. His lap, with little choice.

Boring, dreadfully boring, but the interaction was nice. Though they continued on as though you weren’t there, it gave your mind a break from thinking over your mistakes. No, your focus was on the warmth of Oikawa, the gentle swirl of his fingers on your thighs. The touch was enough to distract you, your head resting against Oikawa’s shoulder. Far more gentle than that night, almost as if he cared. Maybe he did. It was a bad mindset to let yourself fall into, but if he cared, there was no reason to let your guard down a little.

“You’re dismissed for the day. Iwa, make sure to get some rest.” Oikawa accepts the grunt from him, waving off the men without a care in the world. His focus was on you, his new pawn to use as he needed. “You’re staying, sweetheart.” His hands move to keep a tight grasp on your waist, leaning forward to let his cheek rub against yours. There was so much he could do, so much he wanted to do, but trust was a little more important. Establish that trust, then he would be able to have his way with you. “You’ve been kept in that room for far too long, haven’t you? You can spend your days by me, if you’d like. All you have to do is listen. Deal?”

He wanted you to be on board with the Ushijima plan. Maybe he thought you were dumb, but you weren’t, your eyes locking on the map on the wall. Pins marked where various fights had been, a giant red X over where Karasuno had once been. Your home was gone, and there was no return to those you considered family. “It’s a deal.”

You had freedom, though in an unconventional way. Oikawa was glued to you, or you were at his side. Like a master and a dog, though you were granted alone time once you were brought back to your room in the evenings. The freedom helped you to keep track of the dates, to keep track of time, and to learn more about Seijoh. Members, the history, what their plans involved. Oikawa trusted you, or you would meet your end after you completed what he needed you for.

The plan was in place, and the night quickly approached. Everyone was counting down the hours until the fall of Shiratorizawa, until Seijoh would be the ones in charge of the entire region.

“Your dress, your highness.” Makki’s teasing voice was the only one in the small room, your eyes looking at the bag. Oikawa had mentioned a party, but dressing up? You stand from the bed, the dress revealed. Black and silky, bound to be tight and short on you. And, of course, jewelry with blue accents, as if being with Oikawa wouldn’t expose you. “Thanks, Makki.” Your fingers run over the material, looking at the mafia man who didn’t budge. He was going to help you get ready. This was beyond embarrassing, a groan leaving your lips. “Make it quick.”

Tight enough to show off your figure, yet loose enough for Makki to strap the pistol to your side and give it a teasing pat. Everything was almost too good, letting him escort you out to the main entrance. Seijoh was gathered, and more than ready to go.

“Thanks, Makki.” Oikawa offers his arm out for you, his plan for the night set in place. Keep you next to him, entertain you, and have you take out his enemy during the deal. “Come along, princess, we don’t have all night.”

The drive was nearly silent, sandwiched between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. You were his precious gem, his special girl, his hidden tool, compliments he had showered you with in the past days. When the car stopped outside the venue, you could feel warm fingers intertwining with your own, a squeeze following. “Just wait for my cue, cutie, then a bullet to the head. Do a good job for me, and we’ll get you out of that stuffy room.”

Heart beating fast in your chest, you allow him to help you out, knowing how the evening would progress. Mingling, staying glued to his side, looking pretty. Inside and outside of Seijoh were bound to be the same, and the least you could do was behave. If Oikawa was playing nice, you would as well. Being led around while nursing various drinks and small appetizers was relaxing, only required to give a smile and accept the occasional kiss or dip of fingers underneath the dress slit from Oikawa. A tease, but no one noticed, or they didn’t dare to say anything to him. Fear and tension were in the air, but for unspoken reasons.

By the time Ushijima shows up, you were escorted away, as Oikawa claimed that their talks weren’t suited for ladies like you. Iwaizumi stands next to you, his presence both comforting and terrifying as you steady the shot. Your finger itches to pull the trigger, adrenaline already coursing through your body. So long without an assassination, without a task to complete, and it was coming to backfire. As Oikawa’s hand rises in the air, your finger moves to hover over the trigger, pulling as soon as his fist closes.

Bang. The smell of gunpowder and commotion follows the noise, your brain already guiding you through your old process. Wipe the gun down and get the hell out of there. Iwaizumi stops you before you could run, cocking his head towards the back. Even if you had shot him, the resentment must have passed by now. One of his hands rests firmly on your back, the other grabbing the gun, leading you away from the chaos and out into the fresh air.

You scramble to sit up on his bed as Oikawa finally arrives, blood spatters on his white shirt and a streak across his forehead. A smile graces your lips as he presses closer, the smell of blood strong as your lips meet. Sweet, gentle, until Oikawa got hungry, your hair spread along his sheets in an instant and his teeth nipping lightly at your lip.

“Good fucking girl, aren’t you?” The words make your heart flutter, the streak of blood in your vision for a moment as his lips move to suck on your exposed collarbone. Your head was heavy between the pleasure and the alcohol from before, soaking in the praise from Oikawa. “Took care of Ushiwaka for me. You’ll be mine forever, won’t you?”

You feel the fabric of the dress being bunched around your waist, a moan slipping from your lips as his fingertips tease your clit. “Yeah, yours forever.” You were too occupied in how his fingers danced over your clit, unable to see the smirk that graced his lips. Panties were pushed aside, fingers finally entering your wet cunt. Your hips bucked as his fingers thrusted brutally into your sweet spot, back arching and pussy tightening around them. “There, please Tooru, there!”

“Patience.” Oikawa would spend his entire night ruining you, learning every inch of your body, marking what belonged to him. You were of Seijoh now, and he had no intentions of ever giving you up. But he could give into your demands, feeling you were worthy of a reward. You did what he asked, his thumb rubbing your clit as his fingers continued to hit the spot that made your toes curl. He hums softly as you tighten around his fingers, slowing his pace to a gentle pumping and glancing at your fucked out face. “Not yet, darling.”

His hand is gentle over yours like always, guiding it to his clothed cock. You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes. Expected, yes, but your thighs were still shaking and it was hard to focus when those fingers continued to work your cunt open.

“I love you, cutie. You’ll do it for me, won’t you?” Oikawa leans closer, letting his fingers curl up and his lips press against yours. He soaks up the cry that leaves your mouth, only pulling away when you begin to nod frantically.

Your hands undid his slacks, pushing them down enough. Maybe not a large cock, but intimidating enough in the tight underwear. “I’ll do it, Tooru. Anything for you.”

“That’s a good girl.” His fingers pull out of your cunt slowly, dragging along the dress to clean them. It was time to take matters into his own hand, fishing his cock out. “Don’t be a brat. We have forever together, cutie, you and me.”

#oikawa tooru #tooru oikawa #oikawa x you #mafia!haikyuu collab #haikyuu!! #oikawa tooru x you #haikyuu x you #seijoh #hq x you #oikawa x reader #dsjklafds im gonna disappear now #q'd #no beta too lazy

[weelittleweasley]

guitar lesson (f.w.)

prompt: the band that the weasley siblings had formed brought new excitement to hogwarts. new music, new 

pairing: guitarist!fred weasley x fem! reader

warnings: language, allusions to sex (for like one second)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is literally just pure fluff. pure cute musical fluff.

George groaned and halted his drumming, “Bloody hell, Ronald, it’s not that hard to get the chord progression right after the third time drilling the song!” he cried out before tucking a drumstick behind his ear. “We go from G to B minor to E minor back to B minor. What is so hard about that?” he scolds his brother who just rolls his eyes. “Do we want to get this right or not?” George looks to the rest of the band comprised of his other siblings.

Ron just retorted simply, “It’s the first time we’ve ran this song in weeks, George. Everyone is rusty. Just give it a rest. We’ll get it right next go. Besides, aren’t we due for a five?” he looks to his sister who gives him eager eyes and a nod, signaling they were in desperate need of a break. 

George scoffs at his younger brother and says, “No, you’ll get it right the next go. Which starts now. Ginny, from the chorus. Fred, keep the chords crunchy, it sounds better that way. Ron, don’t fuck it up. Ready?” George directs the band as they all sigh. 

They had only been in band practice for an hour and a half and George was already making it a living hell. Sure, it was his idea to form a band and it seemed like a great idea. It was a way to spend more time together, to make music, to meet new people, and blow off some steam. If anything, Fred was the first one to jump on the offer. He knew that it would be a way for his family to bond, but also a way for him to show off his guitar skills that he had been honing for the past few years. Fred had once said, “Ladies love musicians. Especially the guitarists.”

But now it seemed like the band, which once was a low-key, stress free environment has changed wildly. Almost overnight things took a rapid 360. George had managed to book a gig for their band, The Burrow Bangers, at Three Broomsticks for the next weekend. George had convinced Madam Rosmerta to let them have the whole building for the evening for the gig if they promised to bring in the people. Which would not be a problem. Students were itching to see the band of siblings play. But this meant high stakes for the Weasleys. A real gig, paying them real money, to play real music. All they had ever done before was fuck around and play random music that they thought was funny. But this? This was all very new and very different than what they were used to.

With a few strikes of his drumsticks, George yelled out, “A 1, 2, 3, 4!” And the band swelled with music, George keeping rhythm on the drum kit, Fred wailing on his guitar, Ron strumming on the bass, and Ginny belting into the mic.

“She’s a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, Dynamite with a laser beam. Guaranteed to blow your mind; anytime...” Ginny belted into the mic, her alto voice resonating throughout the room of requirement as Ron and Fred stared at each other, wondering when they would get a break. Fred looked concerned at Ginny who's voice was obviously getting tired from belting for an hour and a half with no water or bathroom break.

Fred drops his guitar and speaks, “Hold on, hold on!” The band fades slowly before George throws up his hands in protest, asking why they stopped. “Do you not hear Ginny’s voice? She’s tired. We’re all tired, Georgie. We’ve been working non-stop for next week’s gig. I don’t think a ten minute break is gonna kill us,” he protests.

George rolls his eyes, “None of you are taking this seriously. We are getting paid for this. People are coming to watch us. Don’t you wanna be decent?” George rises from his seat, searching the eyes of his siblings for some agreement. 

Instead, he’s met with concerned eyes and tired expressions. Ginny looked absolutely exhausted, Fred looked exasperated, and Ron was flat out fed up. But all were equally concerned as to why their brother was so gassed up over this gig. George sighs, “I-” Fred gives him a sympathetic smile. “Of course, we wanna be good, Georgie. But we need to balance things out. Let’s all take a break for a while. Reconvene tonight after some much needed rest and we’ll talk details of rehearsals then. Good?”

Ron eagerly nods his head before slipping the bass off from around his body. Ginny turns off the mic and starts out with Ron, talks of what was for dinner in the Great Hall. Fred approaches his twin and places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s bugging you?” he asks, knowing that this behavior wasn’t typical for George. It wasn’t like George to get serious all of a sudden and push everyone to work without a break. Something was up and Fred could read it all over his brother’s face. 

Defeated, George sighs. “I don’t know, Fred. I guess I’m getting myself all worked up because I invited Angelina to the show and I wanted to ask to be my girlfriend and I guess I just want things to be perfect for her in a way.” Fred gives his brother a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, shut it, you dickhead,” George laughs, pushing his brother’s shoulder. “You’d do the same if you fancied someone,” he teases Fred as his twin shrugs. “Freddie...you don’t mean to tell me no girl has walked up to you and has told you how hot it was that you played lead guitar in Hogwarts’ premiere band?” he teases.

Fred laughs, “Can’t say anyone has...yet.”

This makes George laugh and shake his brother’s shoulders. “That’s the spirit,” George slings his arm over Fred’s shoulder. The two twins carry back their band equipment as they make their way to the Gryffindor common room. “Seriously, Freddie, I bet I can set you up with one of Angie’s friends. I’ll tell Angie to bring her to the show and she can see just how sexy you look fingering those strings,” George alludes as Fred chuckles. 

“Nah, mate, I don’t wanna just have a set up of a date. I want to naturally meet a girl, you know?” Fred tells his twin as George rolls his eyes. Fred was always a hopeless romantic deep down. Although he had some flings in the past and had his fun with shagging a few girls casually here and there, Fred was looking for something more serious now. Someone he could connect with. “I’m not expecting for the perfect girl to be right around the corner, Georgie, but I’m not expecting her to be a-”

Fred stops mid sentence as he feels his body collide with another body as they walk around the corner of the hallway, making Fred and the person he had bumped into stumble back a bit. “Godric, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t pay attention to where I was going,” Fred looks around at the sheet music that was now cast about the floor. “Did I make you drop anything?” Fred asks, now looking up at a pair of eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

There you stood, a little flustered, in a hurry on your way to the library. You were late for a study group with some of your friends from your Charms class and it would be your third time late this week. If you were late again, they would surely give you shit for it. But as you took in who was causing you to run late, you suddenly didn’t mind. “Uh,” you gulp, “I’m alright, don’t worry. I should have watched where I was going. Now I’ve made quite the mess, haven’t I?” you lightly laugh as you crouch down to help him pick up the miscellaneous pieces of sheet music.

Fred joins you on the floor, picking up the scattered sheets. “It’s equally our mess,” Fred gives you a soft smile as you blush lightly. 

Fred looks up at George who wiggles his brows as if to say Oh La-La! before he winks at his brother. “Oh, hey (Y/N),” George speaks before continuing to walk down the hallway, giving his dear twin some privacy. Fred shoot his brother a look to say, Mate, what the fuck? 

“Hey, Georgie,” you laugh. The two of you continue to pick up the pieces of parchment as you inspect the scribbling on them to be the treble clef. “You’re a musician?” you ask him, referring to the sheets. Fred nods. “What instrument?”

“Guitar,” Fred beams as you widen your eyes and nod. “I’m actually in a band with George and my other siblings,” he tells you. “I didn’t know you were friends with George.”

You hand him a small pile of sheet music before you both rise to your feet. “Yeah, George and I have been friends for a little while. I helped tutor him in Divinations class,” you tell Fred who nods. Fred mentally yells that he wishes George would have told him that he was friends with an absolute stunner of a girl. “I didn’t know that you and George were in a band. That’s really cool,” you tell Fred with a smile.

As you stand before Fred Weasley, you hope he doesn’t know how flustered you were. You had always seen him in the halls with George and admired how charming and handsome he was from a far, but never said anything to him. You could have easily told George that you had a thing for his twin, but you were far too nervous to act on your little crush. You clutched your textbooks closer to your chest as Fred fixed the strap of his guitar on his chest, muscles flexing underneath his shirt as your eyes darting to watch them tug against the thin shirt material. 

Fred spoke, “We started the band a couple of months ago. So it’s a pretty recent development.”

You nod your head and awkwardly stand before him before realizing that you were just staring at Fred’s face, admiring how his lips curled into a little smirk when he looked at you. Clearing your throat, you breathe, “Wicked.” Fred chuckles. “I’ve always been fascinated by musicians. I wanted to teach myself how to play guitar, but I’ve never gotten around to it,” you word vomit, instantly regretting the words coming out of your mouth. Damn it, (Y/N), you might as well just tell him your life story, you think to yourself. 

With a cheeky smile, you watch Fred’s face light up. “I could teach you,” he suggest as your eyes widen. Fred immediately back pedals. “If you want! I mean, Godric knows that you are probably very busy, but if you ever wanted an instructor, I wouldn’t mind giving you lessons,” he retorts as you can’t help but have a lazy smile appear on your lips. Fred’s heart skips another beat as he gulps. “That’s only if you’d like me to teach you, (Y/N).”

The way he spoke your name made your stomach erupt with butterflies. His voice was like honey as words parted from his lips, the sweetest sounds you have ever heard. You watched his eyes as they looked into yours, monitoring how you reacted to his proposal. 

Guitar lessons with Fred Weasley? You would have to be mental if you said no. With a meek smile and you reply, “You really don’t have to, Fred.”

“I want to,” he jumps before clearing his throat, realizing how quickly he answered, making you giggle as Fred blushes a deep red that matched his hair. “I would like to teach you, (Y/N).”

With a nod, you say, “I’d like you to teach me.” 

Fred smiles widely. “Wicked,” he breathes out as you look away from his gaze to hide your rosy cheeks. “Just one catch,” he smirks as you furrow your brows. “You have to come to our show next week. At Three Broomsticks. And bring friends.”

Extending your hand, you tease him, “You’ve got a deal.” Fred shakes your hand firmly as you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Fred.”

You start down the opposite direction before Fred calls out. “First lesson is on Thursday! 4pm sharp,” Fred says as you flip around to look at him. “Tardiness is not tolerated,” he winks at you as you roll your eyes before walking away to the library.

As you walked down the corridors, you could help but smile to yourself. Your cheeks tingled from your large grin as you toyed with the edges of your books. The thought of Fred Weasley’s hands guiding yours as he taught you how to play guitar made your heart giddy. You nibbled on your bottom lip at the thought that danced around your head. Suddenly, you didn’t care how late you were to this study group.

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

Thursday rolled around slowly, but surely and Fred was checking himself out in the mirror, combing his fingers through his red hair, brushing the pieces out of his face. He nervously looked at himself in the mirror. Should he have shaved? Was he wearing too much cologne? Should he brush his teeth for a third time?

He frantically ran around his dormitory room, thinking he should change his shirt again. Maybe you liked the color green better than blue. As if the color of his shirt would determine the outcome of this lesson/date. Fred didn’t even know if he could count this as a date. 

George tapped out rhythms on his bed frame, watching Fred change his shirt for the fourth time as he shook his head. “Freddie, mate, are you really sweating that much?” he laughed.

Fred shot his twin a dirty look. “No,” he spat. “I just...I like the green better than the blue,” he lied, pulling the green shirt over his head and down his torso. Fred darted to his bed and grabbed his guitar and checked the time on his watch. He had ten minutes. “Good Godric,” he huffed.

“You alright? Haven’t seen you this shaken up since the time you thought you ate puking pastilles before your O.W.L.s,” George laughed as he tapped away on his bed frame. 

Fred nervously tapped on his thighs, “I’m fine, George. I, uh, I’m giving (Y/N) a guitar lesson today,” he reveals to his twin who's eyes widen and chuckles, “It’s just a lesson. Nothing else. But I’m bloody nervous about it.”

Sitting up, George speaks, “You got nothing to worry about, mate.” He walks over to Fred and places reassuring hands on Fred’s shoulders. “(Y/N)s a great girl. She’s sweet and funny and proper fit,” George raises his brows as Fred groans. “I’m teasing you, Freddie, calm down. You’ve got nothing to lose. Now get down there and make her swoon.”

Fred was never nervous for dates or flirting with girls. All of that stuff came naturally to him. But for some reason the thought of you was enough to make his stomach do somersaults. The palms of his hands got sweaty when your name was spoken. There was something about you that made Fred Weasley lose his senses and that was hard to do. 

Shaking it off, Fred huffs and leaves the dormitory making his way down to the common room. With each step he descended, his heart beat harder and faster against his rib cage. As he came down the stairs, your figure came into view which only made Fred’s mouth dry with anxiousness and excitement. He took a deep breath in and exhaled in attempt to calm himself down. I got this, she’s just a girl, he thought to himself. “4:00 on the dot,” Fred speaks, getting your attention, causing you to turn around to face him with a smile on your lips. “Very punctual, (Y/L/N).”

You take a good look at Fred and think about how effortlessly good he looked. Hunter green t-shirt hung on his tall frame perfectly as he walked over to where you sat on the couch, acoustic guitar in his hands. “Not to toot my own horn, but I was here at 3:55, Weasley,” you joke as he smiles. “Early is on time and on time is late.”

Fred chuckles, “In that case, pardon me for my tardiness. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive someone as foolish as me.”

His smile made your heart flutter and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. His joy was infectious. How could someone be so addictive? “Hmmm,” you pretend to think, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving person.”

Fred places a hand over his heart and feigns relief. “Thank Merlin,” he fans himself as you chuckle. “Alright. You ready to get started?” he asks as you nod your head. “Brilliant, let’s start with the basics...”

After an hour of trial and error, you had managed to learned some chord progressions and strumming techniques from Fred. You had to give it to him; he was a great teacher. He was patient and smart and knowledgable. Not to mention, you loved listening to him talk about music and how passionate he was about playing. When he talked, he spoke with so much heart and life, it made you gently smile as you watched how animated he became. Fred Weasley really was one of a kind. 

You were nearing the end of your lesson as Fred showed you how to play an F chord on the guitar. “Best chord,” he spoke as you looked at him quizzically. “F is for Fred, keep up (Y/N),” he teases making you scoff. 

He explained the finger placements as you struggled to get it just right. “Wait, my second finger goes where?” you ask again as Fred points to the third string. You adjust and strum as an off-key chord resonates. “Now, that can’t be right,” you laugh as Fred shakes his head.

Fred gets up and moves from the chair in front of you to the seat next to you on the couch. He looks at you and asks, “May I?” He gestures to placing his hand on yours as you shake your head.

Gently, Fred places his hand on yours that holds the neck of the guitar as the other hand rests on your other elbow. Having his body is such close proximity to yours made your breath hitch in your throat as you felt his chest press against your back. Fred’s fingers adjust your placement carefully as if you were made of glass, trying his hardest not to make you break into a thousand bits. “This finger goes on the third string and this one stays on the second,” he lowly instructs. “And now, strum,” he speaks, a smile in his voice.

And so you do, a soft F chord playing as the strings underneath your fingertips hum sweetly. You two let the sound ring a little bit, either one of you not daring to breathe, scared to say or do anything. Just the position that you were in, his hands on yours, his chin resting near your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest. You gulped and exhaled softly. “Pretty,” you smiled.

Fred chuckled softly. “Yes, you are,” he spoke making your heart stop, wondering if he had just spoken those words. 

You turn to face him, a questioning look in your eyes as Fred allows a small smirk to dance on his lips. Cheeky bastard, you think to yourself as you smile at him. 

The two of you remain in this position, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Fred’s eyes were a rich brown, like pools of chocolate melting under the summer sun. His eyes were full of playfulness and cheer which made joy course through your veins. Fred Weasley was special. 

You didn’t even realize that he was leaning in until his forehead was pressed against yours and you connected the gap between you two, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss. As you kissed, he inhaled deeply, cupping your cheek with his hand, bringing you closer to him. His hands were calloused from the guitar strings as they pressed against your soft cheek. You pressed your lips onto his harder as Fred smiled gently into the kiss, enjoying every moment. You were first to pull away, but it didn’t last long, Fred’s lips following yours for another kiss as you giggled lightly. His lips were soft and tasted of sweet cinnamon and you wanted more, like your own drug. 

Fred gently pulled away before speaking, “I have a confession.” You hum in response. “I was planning on kissing you this whole time. I was just trying to find a good excuse to sit next to you,” he confessed.

You smiled involuntarily and laughed. “I believe that,” you speak before placing another kiss to his lips quickly. “I also have a confession,” you bite your lip as Fred looks at you confused. 

Scooting back a little, you cradle the guitar in your grasp before skillfully strumming a combination of chords that could be recognized as the beginning chords of I’m Looking Through You by The Beatles. Fred’s mouth goes agape and eyes wide as you play better than he could ever. “I lied about not knowing how to play the guitar,” you laughed. “I’ve known how to play since I was ten. I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

Fred shakes his head in disbelief. “You sneak!” he exclaims. “A woman after my own heart,” he jokes as you laugh before he kisses your cheek. “Well, I guess you don’t need anymore lesson from a git like me. But I still think you should hold up your end of the deal,” he squeezes your hand.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Weasley,” you smile. “Although, I will be coyly judging your skills from the audience.”

Fred laughs, “I’m sure you will be, darling.”

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

After days of rehearsing and planning and scheduling and rehearsing some more, the gig at the Three Broomsticks rolled around. Ginny had managed to convinced the entirety of the Hogwarts quidditch league to come out which already filled the Three Broomsticks at half capacity. But getting more people to come wasn’t a problem. The promise of good music and Butterbeer was enough to have swarms of students flow into the small building. 

The Three Broomsticks was soon teeming with people, chatting and drinking and laughing. The energy was high and the Weasleys could feel it from their make shift backstage (which was quite literally a curtain that Ron managed to pin up). 

However, this meant that expectations were high which in turn made the band exceptionally nervous. Ginny nervously danced around, doing lip trills to warm up her voice as Ron tuned the bass. George sat at his drumming seat and ran over rhythms in his head, Fred pacing back and forth, biting on his nails.

You shuffled through the audience and found Harry and Hermione sitting at a table in the front as you approached them. You could hear Hermione gush about how hard Ron has been practicing for the gig, a rosy hue forming on her cheeks as Harry poked at her crush. As you approach, Hermione notices you and beams, “(Y/N)! Hi! Are you excited for the concert? You know Ron is playing bass?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Did you know Hermione has a big, fat cru-”

“Shut it, Harry,” Hermione quickly snaps as you laugh. “Anyway, what’s up?”

You smile, “Do you know if Fred is with the others still? I know he was nervous about tonight and I just wanna make sure he’s doing alright.”

Harry looks at Hermione and then back at you. “Yeah, he’s back with the others,” he says as you nod, leaving. But before you can leave, Harry stops you, “Wait, hold on, I didn’t know that you and Fred were....” he looks for the words.

“We’re not officially together, but we’ve been seeing each other,” you confess with a smile. Hermione gives you a teasing glance as she sips on her Butterbeer and Harry nudges her with an ooh. “Oh please. You think you two are slick? Everyone knows Harry fancies Ginny and Hermione is practically head over heels for Ronald,” you teases as they both wear bright red cheeks. “Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you laugh. “I’ll see you both in a minute.” You make your way to the back of the Three Broomsticks, behind the curtain to find a nervous band of siblings. Ginny catches your glances first and a smirk comes onto her lips. “Oh, Freddie,” she sing songs. “You have a guest.”

Fred turns around to face you and relief washes over his face as your heart skips a beat. Fred looked good sporting dark wash jeans and a black henley. Simple, but Godric, it was enough to make you swoon. Fred grabbed your hand and walked you over to the corner for a little more privacy. “I’m glad to see your face,” he spoke before bending down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it,” you squeeze his hand. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and gives you an awkward smile as you blurt out a laugh. “I don’t know,” he joins in. “Nervous? Excited? Weird? All three?” 

You reach up and brush his hair out of his face as he relaxes under your touch. Just the simple gesture was enough to calm him down instantly. “It’s alright to feel like that. You are gonna be bloody brilliant. All of you,” you tell him sincerely. “You’ve been working so hard and you are all so talented. You’re gonna knock the audience’s socks off. I have no doubt in my mind,” you encourage him.

Fred smiles and without another word, he pulls you in by your waist to press your lips to his. You wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss him sweetly. His lips are pressed against yours firmly, but sweetly with passion. His touch was enough to make your head reel. Fred pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “I’m playing for you tonight. And only you.”

Your heart skips a beat as you smile, staring into his eyes with so much adoration. It had only been a week and a half since you had started seeing each other, but you couldn’t help but have the overwhelming feeling that Fred was the one for you. He was everything you could ever ask for. Charming, kind, handsome, funny, witty. Fred Weasley was it. 

“And I’ll be cheering you on the whole time,” you tell him, extending your pinky finger to him as he loops his with yours. The two of you press kisses to your thumbs, making it a pinky promise. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger,” you encourage him. As you walk away, Fred taps you bum playfully as you scurry away, back into the audience with Harry and Hermione. 

The three of you buzz about the band and the atmosphere, sipping on Butterbeer before suddenly the audience starts wildly cheering. You turn your attention to the make-shift stage and see the Weasleys all enter. You immediately start clapping and cheering for the band as Ginny speaks into the mic. “Hello, Hogsmeade!” she laughs as the crowd cheers louder. “We are the Burrow Bangers and tonight we’ve got quite the show for you all!” she exclaims as the audience claps and shouts out. You look over at Harry and a wide grin is plastered on his face. “So, without further ado...”

“1, 2, 3, 4!” George bangs on his drumsticks before 80s rock blares through the small inn, the crowd immediately cheering and dancing the sound of the music.

And you had to admit it. They were damn good. They were all in synch with each other and blended so well together. The Weasleys were performers no matter how much they may hate it admit it. Not to mention, Fred looked hot wailing away on his cherry red electric guitar. His fingers skillfully strummed out chords and he musically added riffs when needed which made the crowd roar. 

You were overwhelmed with pride at the boy you had taken such a keen liking to you and it was palpable. Fred would catch your eyes every now and then and drop his left eye into a wink, making you blush and cheer louder for him.

Tonight, and every night following, he played for you and you only.

#Fred and George #fred weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #fred weasly x reader #i know fred weasley is such a fucking angel #guitarist fred weasley #fred weasley x female reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #harry imagine

[lilacmeadows]

Made For You pt.3

I’m so sorry for the late post guys! I had the most hectic work load today. I’m taking too many goddamn classes this semester. ANYWAY here is my filthy part 3. I mean... they still haven’t fucked, but we’re getting there. I think this can be wrapped in a nice little 4 part bow, but I also kinda want 10 chapters of them together because I’m a slut for this dynamic. This is my FIRST TIME writing smut! So go easy on me. Thank you so much for reading! - Savvy

BUCKY X READER

Summary: Hydra had just finished training you to be the Winter Soldier’s perfect mate when the Avengers saved him. But what’s going to happen to you now that Hydra has deleted your old life and left you with nothing but a soldier that needs to learn to love himself before he can love someone else.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3   Part 4

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, explicit language, underage reader (nothing sexual happens underage), stockholm syndrome, mentions of family death, eventual dom/sub dynamics, mentions of captivity and kidnapping. violence- guns, mutual pining, SMUT, ORAL (m receiving), FLUFF, angst if you squint (must be 18+)

Word Count: 2300

It was a short ride to the compound, and y/n had a hard time keeping up with the fast walking team as they tried to explain little things along the way.

She hadn’t been outside in a decade. The grass was green and warm where it met her bare feet as she walked behind Sam and Steve. The rest of the team immediately left the quinjet, seeking the comfort of their showers and beds. Bucky was the last to leave, not feeling right about just disappearing from her, but keeping his distance.

Y/n was still so heartbroken. Hearing about her family’s death had really stung, and she knew if she dwelled on it, she’d cry about it for days. But all she really had time to be sad about was how cold her Soldat was towards her. It seemed very much like he didn’t want her around him.

Steve and Sam brought y/n inside the residential wing of the compound. They toured the common areas, kitchen, and showed her where everyone’s bedroom was. They finally got to a guest bedroom down the hall from Natasha, and left her to get cleaned up and comfortable.

Y/n looked around her new bedroom. It was barely decorated, but she had to admit, it was still much nicer than her room with the Men. She sat her yarn and needles down on a table and sat on the large bed. Her body instantly sank into it, the plush comforter conforming to her body in a way the single sheet never did on the twin bed she slept on.

But she couldn’t enjoy her new favorite place in the world for long because not 3 minutes later, she heard a soft knock at her door. She opened it, and much to her surprise, Bucky was standing there, with 2 pairs of sweatpants, and 3 t shirts in his arms.

“I figured you’d want some fresh clothes after you’re clean.” He said sheepishly, not making eye contact with her. “You can ask Nat about undergarments.”

That made her giggle the tiniest bit. “I’m not allowed to wear any undergarments.” But he should know that. She was trained to do things to please him, so wouldn’t he like her to not have on obstructing materials?

“Oh. Well, umm… you can now… If you want to. It’s up to you.” She could see the blush rise up his neck, coloring the bits of his face that weren’t blanketed by hair. She took in his attire. He obviously changed out of his tactical mission gear, in favor of the sweatpants he wore that looked almost identical to the ones in his arms. He also appeared to be freshly showered, his hair still damp, and if she looked close enough, she could see little wet patches on his shirt from where he didn’t dry himself completely.

“Are these your clothes?” She asked, taking the bundle from his arms and opening her door wider so he could enter her room.

“Yeah, Steve went a little overboard on the shopping when I first got here. They’ll be a little big, but the pants have a drawstring, so it should work for now. Until you get something better.” He stood awkwardly in the middle of his room.

Y/n didn’t know what possessed her to put the sweatpants up to her face and inhale deeply. She just felt a primal urge to know what he smelled like. Gunpowder, wood, and something naturally male- Bucky. She couldn’t stop the moan low in her throat.

Bucky watched her as she did that. He felt his pants tighten just at the thought of her in his clothes, and the way she just smelled his pants and let out that sound of satisfaction, made him want to take her right there.

“Thank you, sir.” Y/n replied. Fully engulfed in her embarrassment.

“Y/n, you really don’t need to call me that. I’m just Bucky.” He reminded her. Honestly, he loved when she called him Sir- the authority it gave him, but it made an unholy amount of blood flow directly to his cock and he couldn’t think as clearly. Especially when she looked up at him with those innocent eyes.

“Okay, Bucky.” She said, trying the name out on her tongue. He liked the way she said it. “If that makes you happy.” She risked a step closer to him.

“You need to do what makes you happy.” He took an equally measured step back, knowing he was close to giving in to her temptation.

“I’m working on it, Bucky. But I need your permission. I just wanna be good for you.” She said, quickly taking 3 more steps until she was about 6 inches from his face.

“This isn’t right, Y/n. You don’t know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. Hydra wanted this. You don’t have to belong to me.” She craned her neck up to be closer to his lips, but he was determined to reason with her before he does something he can’t take back.

“But I want to belong to you. I thought about you every day for 10 years years, Bucky. And I hadn’t even seen you.” Bucky tilted his head down ever so slightly, their lips were just shy of touching. “Let me be good for you, Bucky. Let me make you happy.” She repeated.

“Okay.” Was all he said. He expected their lips to touch then, but she was already down in her knees. None of her videos showed passionate kissing. She wanted to please him in the way she read about in her studies.

On her knees, Y/n was able to see the thick outline of his erect cock very easily, and couldn’t stop the involuntary moan. Just as she did with his other sweatpants, Y/n pressed her face against the bulge and inhaled deeply. Between the smell that was just so him, and the warmth of his clothed cock rubbing on her face, she was starting to go feral for the man standing in front of her in complete shock.

Bucky hadn’t been with a woman since before the war, and they definitely weren’t like this. He watched as she was damn near purring while she rubbed her face on him. She reminded him of a kitten, the way she open-mouthed kissed the line of his cock through his sweatpants. Then she pulled them down, and he felt her wet tongue roll around the fat tip.

“Shit, Y/n, you don’t have to do this.”

“Do you want me to stop, Sir?” She said, taking another lick from base to tip.

“God no. Fuck.” he groaned as she started put his balls in her mouth and sucked, hard. “But if you keep working me like that this is definitely gonna stop.”

She moaned hearing him fall apart above him- finally fulfilling her destiny. Making her Soldat happy.

“Fuck, Babydoll, you’re so good at this. Where the fuck did you learn this?” He asked, more to himself than to her, seeing as she started bobbing and swiveling her head. He wanted to put his hands in her hair, but ultimately decided not too. If he was gonna let this happen, it had to be at her pace.

She had never seen a cock in person but she knew he must be above average, her tongue counting 3 thick veins running up the sides and bottom of it. Trying to remember everything she saw the women in the videos doing and all the descriptions she read in the erotic literature, she hollowed her mouth around him and flattened her tongue against the underside of his cock.

“Fucking hell, Babydoll you’re doing so well for me. Y/n, shit.” She felt his cock touch the back of her throat and gagged around the intrusion. Spit mixed with precum rolling down her chin. When she looked up at him, her big eyes meeting his, he lost it. She could feel his cock harden just a little bit more, and his balls tightened, right before he released his heavy load into her throat. She backed up a little so it wouldn’t go straight down, she wanted to feel him on her tongue and taste him. Once she was sure she got every drop, she sat back on her heels and looked up at him. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue a little so he could see his cum sitting on it before she swallowed it all with a soft moan.

“Did I do good, Sir?” She said, still sitting in front of him, his cock softening in her face as she watched the anatomy work in fascination. She reached her hand out to touch it, really appreciating the feel and warmth of his skin. He groaned loudly at the overstimulation and the sound of her normally smooth voice, now rough from the number she did on him.

“Fuck, Y/n, you did so good, Babydoll. You’re such a good girl.”

And in that moment he felt like he could pass out. He wanted to vomit because he looked down at her face and saw the innocence still in her eyes. Good girl. He remembered saying those words to her before. So long ago. He saw a flash of a memory of rubbing a little girl’s head before knocking her out. Carrying her to her house and tucking her in her bed, before stroking her face one last time and leaving. He remembered how Hydra fried him so hard after that mission, they were afraid they killed him. She looked different, older, but it was the same eyes. Definitely her. And there that same girl was, on her knees for him, and just gave him the best blowjob of his life.

He tucked himself back into his sweatpants. Part of him wanted to run away. He was ashamed of himself. He knew that he should have turned her down and left before anything could happen. He took advantage of her. But he also knew that if he just left now with no explanation, he would be an even bigger asshole. Times like that made him miss the simplicity of not having control over his life.

“Y/n, you did such a good job for me.” He stood her up, pulling her in for a bone crushing hug. This confused her, because she never saw the aftermath in her videos. It was always brutal and then the woman was just left there. But he was so gentle with her as he tenderly stroked her hair and lowered his lips to hers for a kiss.

It was the absolute least he could do. He wanted to kiss her- he wanted to reciprocate and make her see stars, but his mind was racing. Debating if it was a good time to tell her about their previous encounter, wondering if she remembered him and was acting, or if she had no idea that he’s the reason she was kidnapped. And even though he didn’t kill them, the reason her family is dead. Selfishly, he decided that it would be best if he told her another time. He hadn’t experienced intimacy like this in so long, and Y/n’s lips felt amazing on his.

He finally broke the kiss to give her air, knowing she doesn’t have the lung capacity he has. “Do you want to have dinner with me?” He asked, not wanting to rush her into anything else. He knew he’d be going to hell for it, but he needed to be around her.

“I would love to, Sir.” She said with the biggest smile her face could muster. He swore he’d never get tired of seeing that smile. Feeling her tits press against his chest through the thin cotton layers of both of their clothes. Hearing how she moaned just a little when he stroked her jaw. He could feel his brain going fuzzy from just the intoxicating proximity of their embrace as they hugged, swaying slightly and exchanging sweet kisses in between longing looks.

“Call me, Bucky.” He gently reminded her. For his sake, really- his self control couldn’t handle her constant submissive nature. “I’m gonna let you take that shower, and in the meantime, I’ll go order some take out. Do you like chinese?” He asked, putting some distance between them, to prevent her from noticing how he was getting hard all over again and dropping to her knees for round two.

“Chinese people? I don’t know any, but I’m sure they’re lovely.” She replied, a little confused by his strange question.

Part of him liked that he wasn’t the most clueless person in the compound anymore. When it came to texting and pop culture, he was useless, but Y/n was held in captivity. She didn’t have takeout, or dinner dates, or freedom to shower with nobody watching her. He would be able to teach her those things, and he liked that. Someone needing him for more than violence. Someone to take care of.

“I’ll just go order the food. I’ll be back soon, Babydoll. There should be shampoo and conditioner in the shower with towels and all types of other stuff. Just look around a bit.” He said before he walked out of her room. She had never experienced moisture between her thighs like she was in that moment, so a shower was probably a good idea. 

Part 4

~

(if you wanna join my taglist, just let me know)

@austynparksandpizza @dracris33 @crzcorgi @musicheaux @little-moonbeam-666 @andydre4m @anakinravageme @hydrasbitches @bl4ckglitt3r @wondergirl556

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #stucky #the avengers #the avengers smut #steve rodgers smut #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #dark!bucky barnes #bucky fluff #chubby!bucky #winter soldier smut #winter solider x reader

[imnotwolverine]

Wolfie’s Fic Recs | Anguish and Angst

ANGUISH AND ANGST FICS - Ready for some tear jerkers? Not-so-sweet dreams are made of these fics, so get your tissues and comfort blanket ready. 

🖐 WARNING: NSFW + anxiety inducing content beneath the cut 🖐

Break-ups & Heartbreak

@emyearns probably knows exactly what my first breakup looked like, because.. *ugly cries*. Get your tissues ready for Ghost Of You. [Mike x reader]

August sees the one who got away in No More Tears by @littlefreya [August Walker x OFC] - And I love-love-love that this is written from August’s POV! ❤️

Wearing a man’s sweater gets a whole different meaning after reading this heartbreaking fic by @emyearns. Coffee and Ink [Walter x OFC] 

Ready for some songfic breakup sadness? #11 Captain Sy by @onlyhenrys [Syverson x reader]

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Unrequited Love

Sy’s being a fool and he realises it too late. Soldier On by me. [Syverson x reader]

Henry’s a dick in this one. And you simply had Enough of always being there at the ready as his best friend. By @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x reader]

Would you walk out that door? This angsty prompt’s got you all kinds of frustrated. By @onlyhenrys

I wasn’t sure whether to place this here. But a child’s love is love too. Geralt secretly watches a family have a picnic and the kid is apparently not afraid of monsters. Highway to Hell by @wendimydarling [Geralt of Rivia] 

Let’s take a little bit of a breather with a mildly angsty, but mostly very fluffy fic of friends-taking-way-too-fucking-long-to-become-lovers. Stolen Kisses by @the-soot-sprite [Henry Cavill x OFC]

This fic is probably the pinnacle of unrequited love; it’s got slow-burn, angst-turns-fluff-in-the-end and Henry being an utter fool in the love department. (Ps. I haven’t completely caught up with this fic, so NO SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS DAMNIT!)  Chances by @foodieforthoughts [Henry Cavill x OFC]

--

Nightmares & PTSD

If you want angsty dreams followed by hot, craving smut; Stay and read this fic. By me [Henry Cavill x reader]

Waking up in a hospital bed with a strange man beside you. It’s a setup I wish was a full length fic, but alas..Short but mighty. Emotion challenge - Anxious by @onlyhenrys [Walter Marshall + reader]

Nightmares wake August, but you're there to guard him when the storms outside and in get too dark. Prompt with August by @onlyhenrys [August Walker x reader]

More nightmares are kept at bay in this gorgeous little fic by @littlefreya. Angel Can You Hold Me [August Walker x OFC]

More nightmare-having bulky dudes? Marshall’s life isn’t all roses and sunshine, even when he’s caught a pretty thing in his bed. Can’t You Stay A Little Longer by @onlyhenrys [Walter Marshall x reader]

The more cutting the hurt of your past, the harder it is to open up to new people. Henry has walked on eggshells, but now finally wants to know what’s up. And if words can’t form on lips, perhaps they can..on fingertips. Please Don’t Leave Me by @wendimydarling [Henry Cavill x reader]

--

It’s a Hard Knock Life

I can’t be the only LotR-nerd who got elf!Geralt vibes when watching the Witcher. So let me give you some impossible love, anguish and Middle Earth hardships in When In Dreams [elf!Geralt x human!OFC] 

You’re not sure whether Charles will return, so the last few hours with him are Sad indeed. By @onlyhenrys [Charles Brandon x reader]

We’re all having a hard knock life with the pandemic going on. So let Marshall give you some sweet care in Pandemic Anxieties by @promptandpros [Walter Marshall x reader]

Between the lines of smoking hot Superman sex, you’ll feel bad for him. Because as morning comes, life goes on. Alone. On the road. Where he hopes he’ll find yet another hot shower and a bed for the night. Convenience by @wendimydarling [Clark Kent x OFC]

Had a bad day? Henry will give you clear instructions on how to relax in: Your Voice by @peachyvulpixie [Henry Cavill x reader]

You play with the locket to your heart when Walter returns, gunpowder in the air. Despite your anniversary and all things good, you just know something’s up with him. Unnamed Marshall piece by @writernerd23 [Walter Marshall x reader]

Falling Again follows struggling AU!Henry dad as the bills keep piling and life just won’t feel the way it did when his wife was still around. By @deathonyourtongue​ [AU!Henry Cavill] 

--

Depression & Body Consciousness 

Depression is a bitch, but Henry isn’t. When Words Fail, he’s there. By @princess-of-riviaa [Henry Cavill x reader]

Failing to conceive is painful, terrible, heartbreaking. And unfortunately not even the big bear can’t make it better. Feeling Challenge: Sad by @meowpurrbooks [Henry Cavill x reader]

More conceiving sadness is there in Negative, by @oddduckthatgirl -- some Christmasses just truly suck. [Henry Cavill x reader]

The loss of your husband still crushes you and his best friend, Syverson, even a year after his passing. Get your tissues ready, because this is one big ol’ tearjerker; A Soldier’s Heart by @onlyhenrys [late husband x reader + Captain Syverson]

You feel like the new life within you is the last thing Napoleon wants in his life. A Mistake by @coloraturadiva [Napoleon Solo x reader]

Good love is accepting that change is part of life. And loving one-self is often the hardest, especially when those changes seem to pry you apart from Henry. Comfort by @promptandpros [Henry Cavill x reader]

An insecure woman meets a man in the club. But this man’s not like the others, not one bit. Unexpected by @nuggsmum​ [August Walker x OFC]

Sometimes even burrito blankets can’t give you comfort. Nor your favourite show, nor anything really. Depression truly is a bitch, especially when Henry’s away. Stuck In Your Head by @inlovewithhisblueeyes [Henry Cavill x reader]

Faye’s text messages in this fic still crack me up every time, though they sure make for a stark contrast to the burned latkes and big tear fest -- it’s a good thing Marshall is a big fluffy care bear. The Great Jewish Cook-off by @inlovewithhisblueeyes [Walter Marshall x reader]

--

Corruption & Death

Walking on woodland trails you find something naive to Corrupt. By @emyearns. [angel!Mike x reader]

August has died many deaths, but still he craves One More Time - just so he can be with her. By @thetaoofzoe [August Walker x OFC] 

Our great master of angst and death suffers, and makes the world suffer, once more. There Cannot Be Peace by @killjoy-assbutt-1112 [August Walker x reader]

Okay, so this one’s on AO3, but I’ve loved it ever since first reading it. Geralt hears of Jaskier’s death and realizes a thing or two as he tries to come to terms with it all. It’s Like I’ve Gone Off To The Coast by adhdbuck [Geralt + Jaskier] 

Napoleon finds himself in a hospital, not sure what to feel as he waits for doctors to give him news. The News. Any news. Grief by @promptandpros [Napoleon Solo x OFC]

The king of corruption is defiling an angel without wings in Black Tears, by @littlefreya [August Walker x OFC]

When death comes knocking, Geralt realises his annoying bard isn’t one he wants to lose. Did You Mean It by @thecomfortofoldstorries​ [Geralt x Jaskier]

Sometimes good things come to an end, but Henry just doesn’t want it. Not even when the doctors are losing hope. The Call: Irresistible You by @angrythingstarlight [Henry Cavill x OFC]

August Walker is the perfect kind of nightmare material. Especially in this terribly hot angsty smut piece by @hope-to-hell: Dream State [August Walker x reader]

This gorgeous impressionistic piece includes raspberry mousse, blood, scarred hands and August Walker. Into The Storm by @hope-to-hell [August Walker x OFC]

--

Need a little lift-me-up after all these tear jerkers? Short Sweets is a fic rec list with a bunch of completely innocent and utterly lovely fics which will keep the bad dreams at bay ❤️

--

If you have any good recommendations that fit in this list, please add in the comments or reblog! 

( Fan art by me 😊)

#Wolfie's Fic Recs #angst #henry cavill fanfiction #clark kent #Henry Cavill fandom #august walker #Walter Marshall #geralt of rivia #grief #anxiety #depression

[katymacsupernatural]

Not My Reality Final

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Story Summary: Y/N wakes up in a nightmare. Is it her new reality, or can she figure out how to fix it. How can she get pack to her husband Jensen?

Catch Up Here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Rain began to fall about two hours outside of Lawrence. Heavy, torrential rain quickly covered the road and made it hard to see. The SUV’s windshield wipers could barely keep up with the downpour. 

Everyone was quiet in the vehicle while Jensen’s full focus was keeping the SUV on the road. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting up the surrounding landscape quickly before turning pitch black once again. Thunder quickly followed, loud enough to shake the glass windows.

“I’m not sure if we should keep going,” Jensen muttered, his shoulders tense, his energy drink forgotten beside him as he fought to keep the SUV from sliding off the road. “This storm is ridiculous.”

As much as you wanted to keep going, you had to agree with him. This storm was dangerous, and it wasn’t worth putting you at risk. But you had no idea where you were exactly, or if there was anywhere safe enough to pull over. 

“Any idea where we are?” Jared asked, holding his phone up. “I’ve got no service.”

Jensen tossed his phone to Jared, who shook his head. “No service. No idea where we are. I guess we just go slow.” 

He had the SUV going at a snail’s pace, but it still fishtailed on the flooded road. Lightning flashed over the car, thunder immediately following. This was the worst storm you had ever been in, and you couldn’t help but be a little scared.

Jensen was a talented driver, but you could tell this storm was affecting him also. His jaw was clenched as he glanced over to Jared again. “How far away from Lawrence do you think we are?”

For a moment, it felt as if you were once again back in an episode of Supernatural. Jensen manning the steering wheel as Dean, Jared giving directions, sitting in the passenger seat. Your character, in her spot in the backseat. If only this was the Impala and not the SUV.

“I have no idea. Maybe half an hour or so.” Jared didn’t seem very convinced about his answer.

The air inside and out of the SUV was charged with electricity. The hair on your arms stood straight up, your heart starting to race. Your vision started to blur, and you called out to Jensen, not liking what was going on. “Jensen, please,” you pleaded, feeling as if your heart wanted to beat right out of your chest.

“Y/N, I’m a little busy keeping us on the road. Can’t it wait,” he muttered, not even glancing back. Jared turned as you leaned forward, his eyes widening. 

“Y/N are you feeling okay?” He asked as another flash of thunder filled the car. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Shaking your head, you tried unbuckling your car, but your arm refused to move. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’m scared.”

“Damn it,” Jensen exclaimed, suddenly pulling over and stopping the car. “What is it?”

Turning the cab lights on, his mouth opened and shut. Speechless. “What is it?” You asked. “Why can’t I feel my arms?”

“I can’t see them,” he whispered. “Y/N, you’re turning translucent.”

Peering down, you could see the seat straight through where your arm had just been. Terrified, you turned your attention back to Jensen. “What’s going on?”

“Maybe you’re going home,” Jared suggested. “Maybe this a good thing.”

That did put a smile to your face. “I hope so. I’m ready to see my Jensen.”

Turning in his seat, Jensen started to reach out when he remembered he couldn’t grasp your hand. “I know that your Jensen is really lucky to have you. I wish you all the best.”

With tears in your eyes, you gave in to the energy flowing through your system. Closing your eyes, you felt yourself drift away. Seconds ticked by before the weight of your body had you opening your eyes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. Beautiful hazel eyes shadowed by a long flop of hair. Then the familiar pine green eyes that you loved so much. Full of so much confusion. “Jensen? Is that really you?”

“Jensen? What the hell,” he muttered, his voice so much deeper, gravelly than normal. As your nerves settled slightly, you could notice the maroon flannel shirt he was wearing, the black t-shirt underneath. You were no longer in the SUV, and the sounds of the storm were no longer hurting your ears. 

“Where am I?” You asked, completely dismayed. Here you had been hoping to find yourself back in your Vancouver apartment.

“Emma, are  you okay?” They both asked again, using your character’s name.  Instead of answering, you stared past them, noticing the familiar design of the Bunker. The bookcases were completely full of empty texts. The prop knives and materials placed on top. You were sitting at one of the wooden tables. 

Cautiously peering up, you were expecting to see the open ceiling, the lights, and the bars of the sound stage. Instead, you were met with smooth plaster ceilings, completely meshed with the walls. “Not again,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes as your hopes dashed. 

Who you had thought of as Jensen, but was Dean, came crouching even closer, rubbing the back of his hand against your cheek. “Emma sweetheart, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Please, tell me. What’s wrong?”

Hastily brushing away tears, you gave him a slight smile. “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” Sam answered, scooting his chair closer. 

“I’m not Emma!” You blurted out. “My name is Y/N, and I play Emma. I’m married to Jensen. My Jensen and not that other one. But I was torn from my Jensen, tossed to the other Jensen, only to be thrown here. I have no idea what’s going on, I just know that I’m so tired. Of it, and of everything. I just want to go to sleep, and wake up and have everything be okay.”

Tears streamed down your face. Tears of frustration and despair. Of heartache and fear. Fear that you would never see your Jensen again. Or your house and the life you had made.

Dean pulled you into his arms, and while it wasn’t exactly the same as Jensen’s, it was still comforting. “Slow down, tell us everything.”

So you did. About your marriage to Jensen, and how everything had been perfect before being pulled away and thrown into utter chaos. You told him about somehow waking up in Austin, and finding out the person you were there was utterly horrible. You told them about driving towards Lawrence and the storm, and how you had slowly disappeared before Jared and Jensen’s eyes.

“Why don’t you go lay down and try to relax?” Dean suggested, eyeing his brother cautiously. “We’ll figure things out, I promise.”

Nodding, you let him guide you out of the library, and down the hallway. A hallway you had walked so many times before. But not as yourself, but as Emma. It felt so much different now. Slightly chilly, the marble tile cool and real under your fingers. “You can sleep in here for right now,” Dean guided you into his bedroom. Reaching into one of the drawers, he pulled out a ratty T-shirt and shorts. What your character normally wore to bed. “I’ll be back to talk in a little bit.”

Smiling at him, you clutched the clothes as he quietly shut the door behind him. 

The bed smelled of Dean, a deep musk mixed with gunpowder and whiskey. It was a mixture that you had always loved. Breathing deeply, you snuggled in, the scent lulling you to a much-needed sleep.

“We need to tell her,” you heard hush arguing as you slowly woke up. “She deserves to know.”

“Yeah, that’s a great awakening,” Dean muttered sarcastically. “But I do agree that she needs to know. Speaking of which, have you heard from Emma? It would be pretty awkward for her to show up, and see another version of herself sitting here.”

“No, nothing. It’s not like her to stay this quiet,” Sam answered. “You don’t think…,”

You opened your eyes to see both brothers in the corner of the room standing close together as they tried to whisper. “I don’t know what to think!” Dean raised his voice, glancing at you to see that you were awake.

“What are you talking about?” You yawned. “Is everything okay?”

Sam patted Dean on the shoulder. “I’ll leave this one up to you.”

He left the room, and Dean slowly came to stand by the bed while you slid up to a sitting position. “Can I sit?” He asked, nervously tugging on the red and grey plaid he had changed into. Nodding, you scooted your legs up, giving him room to sit on the comfortable mattress. “Is it about Emma? Is she okay?”

“We’re not sure,” he answered, his green eyes searched your face. “But that’s not our biggest problem.”

You could feel nervous energy settle through your system as you waited for the bad news to fall. It had to be bad news, that was the only reason he would be this unsure. You stayed quiet, waiting for him to talk, not sure if you wanted to hear anything. 

“This is the third reality you’ve been in,” he started. “Your original one, then the one with another Jensen and Jared. And finally, this one. Each place being an alternate reality of what Sam and I believe is this one.”

“That makes sense, I think,” you were having trouble wrapping your mind around it. “But…,”

He held up his hand and you let him continue. “We’re not sure why you’ve been transported between the three. Why you, and no one else. We’re also not sure if Emma switched places with you. We haven’t been able to get a hold of her for a good 36 hours now. And that’s not a good sign.”

You could see how that news was heartbreaking to him. Instinctively you reached out, threading your fingers through his. “This is what we do know,” his stared straight into your eyes as he continued. “Chuck is super annoyed with us right now.”

“Chuck?”

“I’m not sure what episode of our lives your filming,” he muttered sarcastically. “But here Chuck is now the big bad guy. Killing people, ruining everything. And right now, he is destroying things. Entire worlds.”

“Entire realities?” You gulped. “Including mine.”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” he answered softly. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I know that’s not the news you were hoping for.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, another one quickly joining. “And my Jensen?”

The pained smile on his face was all the answer you needed. Tears streamed down your face, your entire heart shattering in an instant. Dean pulled you into his arms, giving you as much comfort as he was taking for himself. “Do you think he’s dead?” You asked, sniffling. 

“I believe so,” he answered. “Chuck wasn’t gentle. And as much as it hurts now, there has to be a reason you were saved.”

You rested your hand on your belly, Dean’s gaze following it before his eyes widened. “Maybe that’s the reason.”

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82​ @acreativelydifferentlove​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278​   @bi-danvers0  @cap-just-said-language​ @colette2537​   @deansgirl215​  @flamencodiva​ @hamiltrash1411​ @its-not-a-tulpa​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @justanotherwinchester​ @just-another-winchester​ @karouwinchester​ @keikoraventeller​  @krys198478 @librarygeekery​ @magssteenkamp​ @misspygmypie​ @mlovesstories​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​  @mrspeacem1nusone​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420​  @screechingartisancashbailiff​   @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @squirrelnotsam​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @torn-and-frayed​ @tricksterdean​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @woodworthti666​ @beabutterfly987​ @pink-sparkly-witch​ @sexyvixen7​ @alwaysananglophile @supernatural3002​

Not My Reality Tags: @infinityspaceuniverse @supernatural3002 @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @thevelvetseries @lexeeehhh @erule

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @caswinchester2000 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing  @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman   @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek   @thewinchesterchronicles​ @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r  @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes​ @zombiewerewolfqueen

#not my reality tags #jensen ackles x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #katy writes #spn fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen fanfic

[shyflameweasel]

Welcome to the Circus!

(This is honestly my first time writing for Tricky that doesn’t have him murdering or my own rambles. Based off of this post a bit. Thank you for the idea @icannotmakeagoodusername)

You’ve always been weak against jokes, be they god awful or the best one you would ever hear in your life. Hell, anything remotely funny would get you smiling like a loon. It was embarrassing so you usually tried to hide that fact by acting serious. Maybe that’s why Tricky likes being around you?

Ok, so it started out as any normal day in Nevada would start out. Nothing makes a good start to a day then the smell of gunpowder in the morning. You were just one of the many lowly grunts at the bottom of the totem pole working guard duty. Next thing you know the chaotic clown himself made an appearance to your guard station. Your fellow workers got a bit antsy cause there was a good chance of someone ending up dead. (Everyone heard rumors of him crashing a birthday party. That poor cake.)

So, while Tricky was a prominent figure in the AAHW he, like all the other big wigs, needed to wait a few minutes while you alerted the higher ups that he was there. In the few minutes that process normally takes, he apparently got board. And started telling jokes. They weren’t the best and his echoing voice didn’t help much. But you could feel your cheeks starting to strain while your face flushed.

Doing your damndest not to burst out laughing.

Tricky was cleared to go and went right on ahead. Your fellow guardsman was a bit confused when you asked them to hold down the fort while you stepped away for a minute. Hopefully they thought that it was nerves getting to you from being around Tricky. Stepping into the building, you locked yourself into the nearest empty room. Safely inside you cracked out into belly bursting laughter. It took quite a while to regain your composure as you would start giggling when you thought you’d calm down. Returning to the post you thought that was the end of that.

You were wrong.

Cause the next day Tricky came back and told more jokes. Then the next day. Then the day after that. You were pretty sure this was some kind of comedy torture. Your coworkers were understandably freaked out, cause murder clown, while you were as well you couldn’t help but enjoy the clown’s company.

After what had to be two weeks of this you finally broke. You don’t remember what the joke was even about but the result had you on the ground near shrieking in laughter as tears rolled down your face. Tricky seem to be absolutely giddy and oozed smugness.

The both of you started to hang out after that. Apparently whatever clown sense he had could tell a good audience when he saw one. (He did love to remind you that he was a professional after all.)

What began as simply normal jokes soon evolved into practical jokes with the audition of props. Considering Tricky’s reputation it would be hard to find an honest audience and you were delighted in being a guinea pig. It was always something new and you soon started to help him with coming up with new material.

While delightful you did wonder how exactly he had all this stuff and where it all came from. That questioned was answered when Tricky decided to take you to the ‘Clown Lair’. A little hidden bunker that was filled to the brim with circus stuff. This was comedy heaven. About half of it was in good condition while the other half was in desperate need of repairs. Nothing that a little determination and TLC wouldn’t fix. (When you got back your coworkers, who had gotten a bit distant du to your new personal murder clown, had been worried that you’d gotten killed. That warmed your little heart.)

While trips to the lair weren’t frequent, the times that you did go were always a blast, sometimes literally. Cause now he had larger pool to work from then what he could carry back to the base. The different outfits were also a blast, especially when you decided you’d join in on the fun and dress up as well. Your pretty sure he almost vibrated out of reality with how ecstatic he was, rushing around to and fro to help you get the perfect accessories for your clown persona and doing your makeup.

It was nice being able to clown around and have some fun. The embarrassment you’d always felt was still there but you were able to move past it.

Things got even better when you found an old joke shop during a scouting mission. The shelves were bare but the basement stock was completely untouched. You got Tricky with the old whoopie cushion in the hand trick. Hug bruised ribs were definitely worth hearing him cackle in glee at the joke and your newly acquired goldmine. Tricky even gave you your own corner of the lair to store it all.

He’d make a clown of you yet.

#madness combat #tricky the clown