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makeyoumine69 · 11 months

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Starfall (commission)

— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

— SUMMARY: Ever since he was a kid, Patrick always had everything he wanted. Always egoistical and entitled, he always took everything he had for granted. But what happens when one day his entire world falls apart when he receives a call?

— CONTAINS: Patrick Bateman's POV and no other warnings in order to avoid spoilers!😏

— WORDS: 2.3k

— A/N: Writing Patrick's POV was such a rollercoaster experience for me, so I want to thank a person who asked me to write this commission. Love you guys, I hope you like it!💗

— LINKS: [MASTERLIST] [COMMISSIONS] [AO3] [buy me a coffee]💓

The sudden knock on my office door made me frown in annoyance, as I was in the middle of listening to the new Phil Collins tape. Slowly, I removed my headphones and turned to look at Jean, her expression was something between sorrow and shock.

"What is it?" I ask, straightening my red tie.

"P-Patrick... I got a call from..."

Jesus, why do women always need to be so slow?

"A call from?" I repeated, crossing my arms in a mannerly way, without missing a chance to check my gold Rolex.

"From the hospital." She blurted out quickly before dropping her head.

I still didn't understand why she looked so sad, so I leaned back in my chair and let out a tired sigh.

"So you interrupted me because some asshole dialed the wrong number?" I pointed at my phone, enjoying the way she got embarrassed. "When I have a break, it means I don't exist to anyone, even you, Jean. How many times have I told you that?"

"It's about (y/n)," something heavy fell in my stomach. "They called to say that she got in a car accident, and they found your office number in her wallet."

Her words hit me harder than a truck, and I could swear I felt my blood freeze in my veins from the creeping fear. Fear of losing you. I stood up before even thinking about it, my hands shaking, but I tried my best to keep my cool.

"Patrick." Jean muttered as she watched me put on my coat.

"Where is she?"

"Can I come with you? I want to help."

"WHERE IS SHE?" I didn't even notice my voice getting loud, but when I saw Jean's frightened glance, a shaky breath escaped my lungs and I closed my eyes for a second. "Sorry."

"I... it's okay, I understand." She carefully handed me my scarf, which had accidentally fallen, and I hadn't even noticed. "I wrote down the address."

In addition to my scarf, she gave me a piece of paper with her note, I could barely control myself now that I realized what was happening was real.

"Thank you, Jean." I mumble, buttoning my coat and taking my briefcase. "For everything."

The taxi ride took only 20 minutes, but to me it felt like an eternity, and when I finally saw the outline of the hospital, I let out a nervous breath and got out of the car. I paid the taxi driver double what I had to, but I didn't care.

With every step I took, my heart was about to burst through my rib cage, it was beating so fast that it even hurt, and I felt so helpless and miserable under the weight of circumstances that I found it difficult to even open the main door.

Inside the hospital, time seemed to stop for me. I looked around, trying not to panic, and rushed to the reception desk, almost bumping into a nurse on the way.

The receptionist noticed my anxiety and overtook me, asking in a calm voice, "How can I help you, sir?"

"I... I'm looking for (y/n). I was informed that she's here." I said hesitantly, leaning on the reception desk.

"One moment, please." The middle-aged lady replied, fixed her glasses and picked up the phone to make a call.

To be fair, I tried not to listen to what she was saying, doing my best to distract myself from thinking about the worst, as if the worst hadn't already happened. Fuck, I'm such a mess.

"Sir?"

I shrugged at the receptionist's voice and cleared my dry throat. "Sorry. What did you say?"

"The patient you asked about. Her condition is stable now, but she's in a coma. And we can't say when she'll—"

"Can I see her?" I interrupted, my emotions finally taking over.

The lady sighed, but said nothing.

"Please," the grief and despair were eating me from the inside, and I was about to lose myself at any moment. "I need to see her and talk to the doctor!"

"I completely understand your feelings, sir," she held out her hand in a reassuring gesture. "I'll see what I can do. Please wait here."

In a few minutes I was walking down the long, dimly lit corridor, accompanied by several nurses. I had never been more scared in my life, I could feel my heartbeat pounding against my ears as my blood rushed through my veins as if I were about to jump off the top of the Empire State Building.

When one of the nurses stopped near the door to what I assumed was your medical room, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a few seconds. No, I was not prepared for what awaited me behind that door, but was it possible to be prepared at all?

Suffocating, I managed to open the door and walked in, all my insides tightened the moment I saw you lying on the hospital bed, your face looked so peaceful, even with the oxygen mask on, you were like a sleeping beauty.

At first I didn't know what to do, so I just stood by the door for a while, and only then did I dare to approach your small, motionless form. Cautiously, as if afraid to wake you up, I sat down next to your bed and I thought my eyes were already beginning to water.

"Hello, dear." I murmured sadly, slowly running my hand along the edge of the bed. "I... I'm here now, and everything's going to be okay. I promise you."

I felt stupid because I knew you couldn't hear me, but still, my urge to assure you that everything would be fine didn't seem strange to me. I brushed away a single tear that ran down my cheek, which you always loved to stroke, and looked at your face, wishing for a moment that I could remove this mask and press my lips to yours. I damned myself for not doing it more often when you were around. God, why did I always have to be so stubborn and arrogant?

"(Y/n), you've always been so kind to me, and you've never asked for anything in return… and I probably didn't appreciate it as much as I should have." I paused when my trembling hand found yours, and then I stared down at it. Every time I noticed how tiny your palm was compared to mine, it made something inside of me quiver.

Cursing myself, I sobbed pathetically and squeezed your hand. "And you never tried to change me or fix me, you accepted me as I am, but... but you never knew what terrible things I did! Jesus!" I was getting hysterical, but now I could no longer hide my emotions. Hateress cursed through my body, burning me like a glowing iron.

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry that I wasn't completely open with you! I just didn't want you to know all the shit I've done in my fucking life!" As I continued to confess, both my arms now wrapped around your fragile frame, I laid my head on your chest, feeling your steady breathing. "Please don't go... I can't do this alone."

The beeping of the medical equipment mixed with my own whimpering, and the whole word seemed to be reduced to this small medical room, where a psycho like me was drowning in the swamp of grief.

"Maybe I'm a sick guy, but I need you more than I ever imagined," I gritted my teeth in disgust. "God damn it! I'm so fucking selfish, even now I only think about myself... I'm so fucking—"

The sound of the door opening made me almost choke. Hesitantly, I fixed my disheveled hair and wiped away my tears before turning around to see a guy who was probably a doctor, and I expected nothing but the worst. When I noticed his relaxed expression, I frowned and almost pleaded:

"Tell me she's going to be okay."

The doctor paused and looked through the papers in his hands. "According to our tests, we expect her condition to get better in a few days."

A small drop of sweat fell from my forehead the moment I heard those words. With a sigh of relief, I quickly got up from the chair and stumbled over to the doctor.

"Thank you," I managed to say, trying to shake his hand, but my body did not seem to listen to me. "If you need anything, let me know. I'll do everything I can."

The doctor nodded. I sat next to you again and mumbled that you were going to be okay. The way I was talking reminded me of the times when you couldn't sleep, and I lulled you by telling you stories where we would run away and finally be alone together. In the end, that would happen, I wouldn't let anything take that away from us, and even if I had to go to hell, I would do it.

"I'll always be here, love," I murmured, kissing the top of your palm. "Please come back."

One of the reasons I was really proud of my apartment was the view, even if it didn't overlook the park, you loved it and that was all that mattered.

Trapped in my thoughts, I stood next to the wide window in my living room and watched the night city through the open blinds. I could still feel your sweet scent on my skin, I could still hear the lewd sounds of us making love just a moment ago. Smiling, I closed my eyes and returned to the pleasurable images in my head, even though you were only a few feet away, lying in my big bed, I already missed you, but I would never tell you that.

I didn't know how long I stayed like this, but when I noticed your half-naked figure in the doorway of my bedroom, I gasped because I couldn't resist how beautiful you were, especially when you looked at me like that, with your deer-like, devoted eyes.

"Can't sleep?" You asked me, yawning a little and hugging yourself.

I grinned again, hiding my hands in the pockets of my gray sweatpants. "I'm just trying to understand why do you find this view so special," I crooned in a seductive voice. "But since you're awake, maybe you'll explain it to me?"

You gave me a mischievous grin, and I didn't even have to beckon you over as you slowly approached me, wrapped your elegant arms around my torso, and I purred in response. I didn't really like hugs, but when it came to YOU, it was a different story.

"Well, usually at night you can see some shooting stars," you murmured, still pressed against my chest. "And every time it happens, I make a wish."

For God's sake! Your naivety and innocence always struck a chord in my heart, making me grin like an idiot, though I was glad you couldn't see me right now, as I held you close, stroking your back and breathing in your scent, which had become so tranquilizing to me.

"Oh! Look!" You suddenly exclaimed, moving closer to the window. "A falling star!"

"Where?"

"Right there!" You took my hand and pointed to the spot in the midnight sky.

I laughed, admiring how excited you were, sometimes I thought you would never grow up and that was something cute, I could even say I was really jealous because I never allowed myself to act like that.

"Patrick, we should make a wish!"

"Like what?"

"Just think of something that you want to come true," you continued to bubble, frowning a bit as you probably were thinking about the list of wishes you might have. "Think, Patrick!"

Your childish attitude made me sigh as I rolled my eyes. "All right, all right. I want this moment to last forever."

"Why did you say that out loud?" You suddenly grumbled and broke out of my embrace. "It won't work if you say your wish out loud, didn't you know that?"

"Honestly, I don't believe in such things," I moved closer to hug you again, but you pushed me away jokingly, your pretty lips pouted. "Oh, honey, c'mon! I can't take this seriously!"

"Then I'll leave you here alone to think about it." You stuck out your tongue teasingly and slowly moved away from me.

"Besides, I already have everything I want," I chuckled smugly, feeling a bit turned on by the way you swayed your hips. "You know what I mean."

"Maybe..." You purred, making your voice sound even more seductive, before disappearing into the darkness behind me.

Only with you did I realize that I had always lived for emotions, that I had done so many terrible things because I was a sucker for the adrenaline. And you were my strongest addiction, but not one that killed, but one that freed me from my fears, my demons, my sins.

Shaking slightly, I let out a loud gasp as I felt a searing pain cut me from the inside like a fan of knives. Then I turned back to the window and saw my own reflection. I blinked several times, feeling the tears weeping in my empty eyes.

"(Y/n)?" When I called your name and no one answered, I almost fell to my knees.

My wounded heart started to bleed, as once again I was alone. Sobbing, I pressed my head against the cold glass and let the tears flow freely down my cheeks. And there was nothing left for me to do but hold on to the warm memories of those days.

The days when you were here with me.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale

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drivinmeinsane · 7 months

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Shot Through the Heart

※ Colt Seavers x GN!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: You've worked with Colt off and on for years, building an easy rapport with the stuntman. The rest of the crew sends you to check up on him after he's bad off following a stunt that seems to have caused his nearly career-ending injury to act up.

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes.

※ Content/Tags: Fluff, Caretaking, No use of y/n, Mentions of old injury, Budding Love, Pre-Relationship, Solely based on the official trailer uploaded to YouTube by Universal Pictures

※ Word count: 3,052

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: The devil works fast but I work faster. That three and a half minute long trailer sure possessed me. Needless to say, I'm excited for the movie's release in a few months.

The setting sun is blinding you on its long journey below the horizon. You squint against the light at the block of apartments as you pull your vehicle into a stop alongside the curb. You really hope you’re at the right location. You’re not sure if you trust your crewmates to have given you the right address. You honestly did not really want to be here at all. Many of the crew for this particular production had worked with Colt before, so it really was wildly unfair that you had been unanimously volunteered to check up on the man after he was a no-show for the past couple days. Sure, he had called, but no one had actually laid eyes on him to verify his condition.

You put your car into park and open the door to step out into the evening heat. You immediately feel smothered by the warmth, and you reach across your center console to grab the items crowding your passenger seat. You withdraw, burdened, and nudge the door closed with your knee. You manage to hit the lock button on your key fob before you duck into the small parking garage. A flood of relief washes over you when you immediately spot Colt’s obnoxious brown and yellow truck. There are surfboards still resting in the bed of the vehicle. It’s parked haphazardly with no regard for anyone else’s need for the space. You’re in the right place at least. You skirt around it, eyes scanning for apartment numbers. You mutter his unit number under your breath while you look for it. You’re juggling a heating pad, multiple ice packs, and a bag of food. You’re not sure what you’re going to be walking into.

After what feels like an eternity of searching, you finally locate what you hope is his front door. With your hands full, you contemplate figuring out how to knock. You finally decide to just bang on the wood with your elbow. There’s no response or any whispers of movement. You sigh and hit it again, more aggressively. You know he’s home. The lifted monstrosity in the parking garage is proof enough. He avoids going anywhere without it.

You double down and are in the middle of hammering on the door for a third time when you finally hear muffled cursing gradually getting louder as the apartment’s occupant gets closer. To your relief, it’s Colt Seavers himself who yanks the door open hard enough you’re briefly worried he’s going to pull it right off the hinges. You open your mouth, about to launch into a bantering complaint about how he left you to rot on his doorstep when you register what exactly you’re looking at.

The man crowding the doorway is wet, straight from an interrupted shower. His shaggy, blond hair is falling into his eyes. The light from the setting sun reflects an orange glow on the water droplets racing down his body. He looks like he’s on fire. You drag your eyes from his obscenely exposed chest to his face. You try to pretend that you’re not talking to a very damp, very naked man preserving the last dregs of his modesty with only a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. You’ve just agreed with yourself not to acknowledge how large his hand looks clutching the fabric.

“Where’s the fire?” He asks. His annoyance fades away at the realization that you’re the one bothering him out of the blue.

“The guys sent me on a welfare check. We haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I’m clearly alive so you’re welcome to-” He pantomimes you leaving by walking his fingers in the air “-report back that I haven’t died yet.”

“Welfare, not proof of life. Besides, you look like shit and I brought some supplies.” You argue, raising your arms to show your wares.

He looks like he’s thinking about pushing the issue, but he deflates, exhausted. He purposely lets out a dramatically weary sigh and gives you only the barest amount of space to get past him. You squeeze through the door, grazing against his wet arm. You hear him close and lock the front door behind you while you openly gawk at his apartment.

“You live like this?” You ask, slightly aghast. The place is a mess. There are plants and exercise equipment everywhere. The stuntman hovering behind you clearly has his priorities.

“Sure do. Just going to go finish rinsing off. I’d say make yourself comfortable but you’re already on your way,” he remarks, casting an amused glance at the way you’re wobbling while trying to extract yourself from your shoes with no hands.

You frown at his back as you watch him skirt around you and head in the direction of his bathroom. He’s moving jerkily, almost stumbling. His back is definitely messed up. You really hope it’s something that you will be able to assist with in some capacity. You know first hand how stunt work takes a toll on the human body.

Following the sound of a television, you manage to make your way to the living area. You shove over some electrolyte packets and gardening tools on his coffee table to create room for the bag of food that you made for him. The heating pad and ice packs get dumped on the floor next to one of the legs. As for yourself, you settle in on his couch to wait. You’re not surprised to see that he’s left an Indiana Jones movie playing on the screen. It seems like the kind of thing he would watch.

From the bathroom, you hear some muffled complaining before the shower kicks on. The sound of the rushing water does little to cover the noise of the shower curtain hooks on the rod as he wrestles with the material. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, thankful you didn’t hear Colt fall trying to get over the edge of the tub. The last thing you wanted was to wrestle your naked crewmate while on the phone with emergency services.

Only a few minutes pass before the water cuts off and you hear the door open. You can’t help but notice that you didn’t hear the sound of his bedroom door closing. There’s just the sound of footsteps and rustling fabric. He emerges, wearing a pair of garish pajama pants. He’s still distractingly shirtless, because why wouldn’t he be? It’s not as though he has a guest that is trying very hard to be normal about this entire situation. There’s a towel draped over his bare shoulders in the effort to contain the mess produced by his sopping wet hair. Trails of water are running down his neck and soaking into the cloth.

Colt practically drags himself over to you. He lowers himself onto the cushion at your side, and makes an effort to avoid leaning against the back of the couch. You turn to face the blond man, taking a hard look at him. He looks even worse up close than he did when he greeted you at the door. Exhaustion is deepening the fine lines in his face and his eye bags nearly have their own luggage.

“How are you doing? Really?”

He gives you one of his goofy grimaces and flashes a thumbs up. He can’t hide the wince as movement pulls at his back muscles. The look you give him in return is unimpressed.

“Can you even function?”

“Barely,” he says with a groan as he tries to get a little more comfortable. He still looks painfully stiff.

You suppress the urge to give him a comforting pat on the leg and instead lean over to dig the meal you had brought for him out of the bag. You shove a tupperware container, a wrapped sandwich, and a plastic fork at him until he takes them. He looks bewildered.

“Eat. The dressing is in the small container hanging out in the salad greens.”

“Did you make this yourself?”

“I’ve worked with you enough times to know how you are, so yes.” You admired the man’s discipline, but it had been cause for concern while you desperately scoured your kitchen looking for something to make that wasn’t going to fall under the umbrella of junk food.

“Maybe I should reinjure myself more often then,” he says with a smirk and raises his eyebrows. You don’t dignify him with a response.

He balances the container of salad on the armrest next to him and sets to work on unwrapping the sandwich. It’s grilled chicken breast with a truly ridiculous amount of lettuce and tomato. You hadn’t dumped condiments on it, not wanting it to get soggy during the car ride.

“I’m here to play nursemaid so can I do something about all of that? '' You gesture to his dripping hair and his hunched over body.

He looks up from the sandwich like he’s holding something precious in his hands. “You made me this. You can do anything you want with me. I’ve only got a few limits.”

You roll your eyes at his suggestive tone before rising up onto your knees. You shuffle closer, knees mere inches away from grazing the outside of his thigh. The towel slips freely from his shoulders and he doesn’t complain when you drape it over his head. You gently work the material over his hair. Colt starts in on the sandwich while you work carefully to dry him without putting unnecessary pressure or movement on him. You take a corner of the towel and wipe away the water that has trailed down his face and his neck. You don’t go any further down than his collarbone not daring to drag the fabric over his chest. You have to cling to some level of professionalism between coworkers. He leans into the touches in the areas you are willing to wipe dry. You pretend not to notice.

He eats like he’s been starving ever since the last day you and the rest of the crew had seen him on set. He probably had been if he was still in this bad of shape days later. You leave him to start in on the salad. On your way to hang the towel over the shower curtain rod to dry, you stumble over a stray weight that had been left in the middle of the floor. You manage to suppress your pained noises despite the tears leaping to your eyes. Why had you been volunteered for this? Your crewmates had been suspiciously giggly and evasive when you had protested. They had just made excuses and jokes about how you were Colt’s favorite person and you being the one to check on him would make his day. What a load of crap.

“What do you usually do for your back?” You ask, coming back into the room and trying to not let on you nearly had your own medical emergency just out of sight.

“Just uh… stick the tens on it and stretch it out.”

“Gotcha. Finish that up and we’ll start on your back,” you tell him. You crouch down next to the coffee table and gather the ice packs. You won’t be using them today. The injury has sat for too long.

“Thanks, nurse,” he responds around a mouthful of greens.

You cross the apartment and pull open the door to the freezer. You cram the ice packs onto an already sizable stack of them sandwiched between the freezer wall and bags of frozen vegetables. The refrigerator itself is covered in receipts, bills, coupons, business cards, brochures… You’re really not sure how Colt is able to find anything. You suppose that it’s all his own brand of organized chaos.

You make your way back to the living room in time to see him clamp the lid back on the tupperware container. You give your head a little shake. The man inhaled an entire sandwich and a salad in under fifteen minutes. Impressive. You hope his stomach handles going from zero to a hundred with more grace than yours would. You don’t feel like holding his hair back while he vomits.

“How do you want to do this? Floor, couch, or bed?”

He twinges his back when he twists to look up at you. You’d laugh if you hadn’t felt a sting of worry at the way he winced. You know Colt’s a tough man. You have seen him take hit after hit over the past few years. He must be hurting badly to be showing this much sincere discomfort. You’ve seen him ham it up as a joke, but this was the real deal.

“I’m glad one of us thinks I’ll be able to get off the floor. How about you take me to bed, beautiful?”

He heaves himself off the couch and you trail after him into his bedroom. The floor is messy like the rest of the house. You’re not sure if he’s always this disorganized or if it was just something that has resulted from him not being able to keep up with it due to his back. Given the state of his fridge, you’re strongly considering that it’s the former and not the latter.

“How do you want me?” The flirtatious tone isn’t quite coming through as intended with him standing like he’s auditioning for the starring role in a live action adaptation of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“On your stomach, please. Do you have lotion or anything I can use on you?”

He groans as he makes his way onto the bed and lays face down. He’s unable to relax, the muscles in his back are too tight. “I have some vaseline in the bathroom. Right drawer.”

You set the heating pad down on the bed next to him after plugging it in. You make another trek to the bathroom to search for the aforementioned vaseline. It’s not hard to locate and you manage to dodge the weight this time. You’re not about to wreck your foot on it again. Once was enough.

You settle on the bed next Colt, careful not to jostle him. You swipe your fingers though the vaseline to collect a sizable dollop of the substance. You set the container aside and liberally coat your hands with what you had scooped out. Your eyes catch on the long scar running alongside the stuntman’s spine. It’s pink and raised, a fairly old wound but not old enough to fade to silver. You weren’t there when Colt got the injury. You’d been on another set halfway across the world, but the things you’d heard months later from people who had been present when it happened weren’t good. He had nearly died and if he had… you would have just been left with memories spanning the hours spent with this cocky man. You would have likely said a few words at his funeral, if you had even been able to make it, and that would have been the end of Colt Seavers. He would be just another stuntman who died doing what he loved. The thought puts a pit in your stomach. You push it aside, he’s still alive and he’s waiting for you to get on with the program.

The initial touch of your hands against his bare back causes you both to tense up and go deathly quiet. Your pulse is hammering in your years and you swear you can hear the sound of his throat as he swallows. You try to not knee him in the side as you start to massage the expanse between his broad shoulders. It’s not long before he’s melting into the mattress, relaxing under your touch. You work him over, section by section. You gently knead the raised line of scar tissue, helping to discourage the excess building of collagen. A little lower and he’s groaning when you carefully dig your knuckles into the skin above his waistband, forcing the tight muscles to yield. He’s limp and unresistant when you catch him by the hip and pull his pelvis in your direction to better align his spine.

Thankfully, you spot an already dirty shirt nearby. You pick it up and wipe your hands on it with a grimace. Most of the vaseline has either ended up on the man currently face down on his bed or had absorbed into your palms, but you still didn’t want to risk tracing it through the house before you slathered your hands in dish soap to remove any oily residue. As a final token of care, you lay the heating pad across his lower back and turn it on the medium setting. You’ve done all you can do for him.

Colt is so still and quiet that you’re sure he’s fallen asleep. You turn away from him and inch towards the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him while you begin your exit from his apartment and back to your vehicle. You nearly leap out of your skin when he shifts enough to catch hold of your forearm. His hand is so large that his middle finger and thumb nearly touch.

“Please stay.” He sounds tired, vulnerable. There’s no charisma or bravado to his voice.

You feel your face soften as you take in his words. “All right.”

You scoot back towards him and lay down on your back at his side. The bed is barely big enough for the both of you like this. It’s intimate, too intimate, especially since your arm is still in his grasp. You can’t bring yourself to mind. The line between being coworkers and whatever this is was blurred a long time ago anyway despite your best efforts to tell yourself otherwise. You're starting to realize your crewmates might have been more aware than you were. Those assholes.

When Colt rises up onto one elbow and leans over, taking all the time in the world to project his intentions, you don’t turn from him. You just bring a hand up to brush his still damp hair out of his face. You guide the stuntman the rest of the way in, your hand migrates to cup his bearded cheek. The kiss you share is inevitable and unhurried. It feels as natural as breathing.

#the fall guy (2024)#the fall guy #colt seavers #colt seavers x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling character #the fall guy fanfic #colt seavers fanfic #my work #my posts

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popcorn-kitten · 2 months

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Dates don't always go the way you plan, and sometimes they do!

Fandom: FNAF SB Rating: General Pairing: readerxSun warnings: None Summary: Sun is supposed to have a date with you tonight. Your first date! For the third time! The anxiety that had him canceling the previously scheduled dates rears its head again and threatens to ruin this one too, but you're not content with letting this chance slip by again.

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Sun held his phone in his shaking hand, thumb hovering over your name. His internal conflict was making him nauseous. He couldn’t imagine canceling on you again. If he did, would you ever give him another chance? This’d be the third time. He wouldn’t have given anyone a chance after the first so why should you give him a fourth?

If he didn’t go tonight that would be it. You’d never talk to him again. You’d hate him. You’d leave and find someone else and marry them and maybe you should. You deserved someone better than him, someone who wasn’t so scared of embarrassing himself that he’d cancel multiple dates.

Sun’s heart hammered in his chest and when he met his eye in the mirror, he almost vomited. He looked a mess. His hair was still wild and untamed, he was pale, sweating through the white shirt he’d picked out, an-

“Mr. Sun!”

The daycare attendant jumped and spun quickly to see the little boy in the doorway.

“You asked me ta tell you when-when moms and dads got here and they’re here so I came to get you like you asked!” The child’s enthusiasm was almost irritating to Sun. Couldn’t this kid see he was having a crisis?! Still, work was work and he’d spent more time than he should have in the bathroom already. Left the kids unattended for too long. His anxiety instantly shifted to all the possible injuries or messes made in his absence.

Sun launched himself out of the bathroom to check on the kids & distribute them back to their parents without any more cause for incident.

As the final parent left, with a snide comment about his chosen date outfit (he knew it was a bad idea, he knew it looked awful. Stupid stupid stupid!), ending pick up after an eternity and simultaneously far too quickly. Sun still hadn’t texted you. He still wasn’t ready to go. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.

Sun jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket. His hands dropped from his mouth – he didn’t notice he’d started biting his fingers, a bad bad habit he needed to work on – and checked the notification. He yelped when your name came up on the caller ID.

A million thoughts swarmed Sun’s mind – you were canceling (a relief followed by panic and deep-seated grief) you were at the restaurant and wanted to know when he was coming (he wasn’t. he couldn’t wait to see you), you’d realized what a waste of time pursuing him was and were ending it before he could disappoint you further (devastating but understandable).

Sun answered and flinched at the shake and pathetic sound of his greeting.

“Hey Sunny, come open the door, my hands are full.” Your voice was like a refreshing glass of cool water after days in the driest desert. His shoulders instantly relaxed and the shaking almost fully subsided.

“Y-yeah! OK yeah coming!” Sun’s legs began carrying him in a random direction before he paused, uncertain where he was supposed to be going.

“Uh…wh-what door?” He was so ready to do anything you asked he hadn’t even considered what your request was referring to.

Your laugh, warm and inviting, flowed through the speaker. “The daycare door, goofus! Come let me in, see you in a sec.” The call ended and Sun remained frozen for a moment to process.

The Daycare doors? Here? You were HERE?!

Sun scrambled, dropping his phone in the process to get to the door as quickly as he could. Why were you here? Did he forget you were supposed to meet here? Did you say you would be picking him up? Did he forget he said he’d drive?

Sun flung open one of the large wooden doors, leaning his body out of the frame with a torrent of questions.

His mouth snapped shut.

All the concerns and confusion dying on his tongue when his eyes found yours. The tension in his shoulders melted away with your warm smile. One he couldn’t help but return.

Sun stood a little straighter to take you in. His face burned as his mind and eyes fully comprehended what was before him. There you stood. Kind, caring, beautiful, wonderful, patient you. You, with a bouquet of yellow daises and scarlet roses in one hand, a picnic basket in the other.

“I hope this isn’t too weird, but I uh…I guess I figured you might be canceling because you’re uncomfortable with going out? So, I thought maybe a date here would take some of the pressure off.” You’d started out confident but felt your own face flushing as you registered the shocked expression of the tall man before you. He was dressed in a white shirt and clean pants. He was going to come see you tonight! That realization soothed some of your own internal anxieties about misreading the situation between you both.

Sun’s eyes lingered over every part of you as his face heated quickly, body going rigid. You were clearly dressed for the date; your outfit was like nothing he’d seen you in before. Your silhouette was breathtaking and the colors seemed to reflect in your eyes in a way Sun had never gotten to experience before. His fingers twitched with a barely contained desire to reach out and feel the fabric that was lucky enough to be draped across your body.

Time seemed to drag by as you awaited Sun’s response. The continued silence had you shuffling awkwardly and the thought that he’d been canceling because he didn’t actually want to go out with you was returning with vengeance. Maybe he’d felt bad saying no? Maybe he thought it was kinder to cancel than outright reject you? Maybe you were really just super wrong about what you thought he felt.

“O-or maybe this was a dumb idea.” You forced a small laugh out. “S-sorry Sun I should have taken the hint the first time yo-“

“Come in!” Sun’s shout cut you off and caused you to jump slightly. There's a heavy tinge of panic in his voice as he stepped back into the daycare to make room for you to enter. “Please, please come in, Sunflower. Sorry, I was just…surprised to see you.” Sun’s arm shook as he held it out in a welcoming gesture.

You looked between his face and arm with a small frown. “Sun really it’s ok I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

“No no no! Please! Please stay!” Sun looked almost frantic – fearful. “Please don’t leave.”

It was how quietly he spoke that last part that bolstered some of your confidence back up. You took a breath of your own and entered the brightly lit play area. As you passed Sun his expression relaxed into his usual smile and the tension seemed to evaporate.

“So so so so sweet of you to come! I-I’m sorry I canceled before I…I’m happy you decided to come here.” Sun’s sincerity was palpable, his large hand resting just below your shoulder blades as he walked beside you into the daycare. “And with gifts too! Wow…wowie I’m…thank you, Sunshine.” Sun sounded sheepish as he glanced away from you and bit his lip. Cute.

You suppressed the shiver that threatened to roll through you at the sensation of his warm palm and long fingers – that when spread almost reached passed your mid-back. Unconsciously you leaned in closer to Sun as you walked towards the security desk. You glanced up at Sun who wore a large smile – his face coated in a deep red flush. You grinned at him in turn and moved to face him, holding the bouquet out to him.

“For you, good sir!”

Sun gently took the flowers from your hands and brought them to his face. He closed his eyes as he took a – almost comedically – deep inhale of the blooms, followed by a loud sneeze.

You couldn’t help the laugh that his surprised expression pulled from you and when he lowered the flowers from his face the sheepish grin turned almost dopey when your eyes met.

“I want to marry you.” Sun’s voice was dreamy as he spoke the wish aloud. It only took a moment for him seemingly realize what he’d said. Sun began to sputter out apologies, trying to take it back, but not really, but wow that was inappropriate, and haha oh god.

“Sun, breath.” Your command was kind as you took one of his hands in yours and gave it a squeeze, shutting him up instantly.

You continued, not wanting him to rile himself up again, “I think I’ve known you long enough that you don’t have to apologize for yourself anymore. I know you can get intense, it’s one of the things I like about you. You’ve got a lot of feelings and aren’t afraid to experience them. I don’t want you feeling like you have to explain every little thing you say you’re embarrassed about. I want you to feel safe with me.” You pause for a moment to make sure he’s listening.

“Obviously we are not getting married anytime soon. But I think it’s sweet that you’re so sure of it being something you want. I can’t promise right now that I’ll get there but knowing that you’re actually looking for something long-term is…nice. It means you aren’t just trying to mess around. I appreciate that about you. I might have been weirded out if anyone else said that but…I don’t know…it wasn’t anyone else, it was you.” You chuckle at yourself for the actual absurdity of it all.

That was a big ass red flag and here you were happy to invite Sun in regardless. Because somewhere in your gut, your heart, your soul, you knew he wasn’t trying to play with your feelings. He wanted you in his life and you were finding it hard to keep him out of yours

“But no, we aren’t getting married anytime soon, becauuuse, you have some actual dates you need to take me on before we can have a wedding.” You give him a teasing grin and release his hand, turning to open the basket you’d set on the security desk, pulling out the meal and dessert you’d prepped earlier in the day. “How about we have this first one, yeah?”

Sun could have cried if he wasn’t so busy trying to fully accept this wasn’t a dream, his shoulders relaxed and he felt, for the first time in weeks, the anxiety that had been permeating his being left to make space for the warmth and love he had for you.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I’d love that, Sunshine!” Sun dipped down to press an excited kiss to your cheek pulling another laugh from you as you playfully swatted at him. You smiled, ready for whatever this new experience was going to bring.

#readerxsun #sunxreader #sun/reader #reader/sun #sundrop #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sundrop #daycare attendant #stack of fuck shit

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the-bees-patella · 1 year

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AAAAAA i would like to know about all of these, but i’ll ask…

hhhh how do i choose

ok ok im closing my eyes and pointing—

untitled goose war game

(how do u feel about multiple asks? asking for a friend 👉👈)

(from this WIP post).

I'm sorry this is so horrifically long, but you ended up asking about one of my longest and long-standing projects! And please feel free to send as many asks as you like!

I don't even remember what I saw that reminded me of the concept of a Soulmate Goose (AO3 tag: "Alternate Universe - The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement"), wherein the premise is: one day, you wake up with a goose sitting on you and it leads you in some way or another to your soulmate, shenanigans ensue (it's often paired with the tag "Goose-typical violence"), and then you say oh and kiss and/or complete whatever other romantic rituals the author deems necessary, the goose disappears, and presumably, you continue to kiss and hold hands for eternity or whatever.

At around the same time, a friend informed me that Cody calls Anakin almost exclusively by his first name in the books and comics and the sheer disrespect necessary for that to happen absolutely killed me. I did not and will not be doing a fact-check because I believe we need whatever droplets of joy we can wring from this wretched washcloth of a timeline.

Looking at the dates, I'd just published my first Clone Wars fic and discovered two things in the process: 1) I needed to write more clone relationships immediately; 2) Cody's a right bastard.

Naturally, I decided it would be hilarious for Cody to get his goose and for it to run directly for Rex…only to be intercepted by one Anakin Skywalker. Anakin is, of course, enthralled with the idea of true love and building a home and a sense of belonging.

Cody would rather put own his eyes out with a spork. Hijinks ensue.

I started writing from Cody's perspective and got pretty well into it before I realized that in order for this rom-com scenario to work he'd have to: 1) realize that Rex likes him very much, 2) realize that, he, too likes Rex as a human person. At this point in the story they'd been fucking for months. Cody has been extremely chill and very relaxed about Rex in the CC groupchat. There was a whole thing with a grenade and a compass.

So I had to start over with someone who both had at least 50% of this mission-critical information, or at least the ability to stop playing 5D asshole chess with himself to figure it out, and also didn't make me want to do a little recreational enucleation.

Sorry, Rex.

A couple other fun facts:

The goose is a manifestation of the Living Force and therefore cannot die. Cody discovers this and starts sending GT-0101 on air reconnaissance missions.

The goose will not be paid in kisses or revelations. The goose demands blood. The goose will only accept human sacrifice; that is, total emotional honesty and nothing less.

(Does Cody just end up dying with the goose still next to him? Who can say.)

What this means is that you could fuck in front of the goose all the livelong day and it would remain, with its beady eyes and horrible beak teeth.

Cody is the first clone to get a goose. Make of that what you will.

Snippet:

“All right, General Kenobi?” “What? Oh, yes. If anyone is up to the task of—er—wooing Cody, it’s Anakin, I suppose.” They look over to where Cody and Skywalker are engaged in a ferocious tug-of-war over the goose. Skywalker seems to have clasped Cody’s hands over his death grip on the bird, and Rex can practically smell the yearning as his general makes aggressively optimistic eye contact. Cody doesn’t break his glare because he’s always been braver than Rex. “Skywalker,” he says. “Don’t make me take your other hand.” Rex turns back to General Kenobi. “You want to put credits on that, sir?” “The Force works in mysterious ways,” Kenobi says, much too cheerful, and gives Rex a side hug, something he has never done before in his life. Everyone is being extremely normal about this.

#untitled goose war game #this is cody's villain origin story #codex #tcw fic #cloneshipping #wip game #on writing #i have a words #answered

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keicordelle · 8 months

Text

So excited to finally be able to share the piece I wrote for KiraShion's server's 4th Collab Event! It was so much fun to work with everyone and I can't wait to get to do it again in the future!

Check out the full (18+) zine here for free!

And check out @.OxelLoxel and @.MaleratioThBard on Twitter, who did the amazing art to go along with this fic!

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, NTR, Bondage

"You- what are you doing here?" Thoma’s gaze flicked past him to the door: still closed, still silent. By the Almighty Shogun's will, may it stay that way. If he was lucky, he could find out what Tartaglia wanted and get him out of there before anyone found him. Here. In the Kamisato estate. In Thoma’s bedroom. Gods.

"I was in the area and I wanted to see you," Tartaglia answered easily. "Does it have to be more than that?"

It was always more than that with Tartaglia. Their relationship, if you could even call it that, was little more than a delicate dance on a blade's edge. A sparring match with live weapons: one wrong move and you'd find a blade through your heart. But so long as they both followed the steps to their dance, they could both come away with what they wanted. They used each other, plain and simple -- for sex, for information, for protection. There was nothing -- and no one -- Thoma would not do for the sake of the Kamisato family. If that meant sharing a bed with the Eleventh Harbinger on occasion, so be it.

The fact that it was fun was just an added bonus.

But they had never, ever met here, in his own room. Under Lord Ayato's roof. Archons. "What if someone sees you?" Thoma hissed, casting another furtive glance over at the door. The privacy it offered was little more than a mirage, a paper shield held together by wood and hope. Anyone could walk by and overhear them, or glimpse their shadows through the screen. Seven forbid Ayato himself walked by, in search of a glass of water or stumbling back to his room after another late night spent working. Blessed eternity, what would he say if he were to find Thoma here, with a Harbinger's dick buried in his ass and his own cock leaking all over his stomach? Would he be disgusted to discover just how perverse Thoma really was? Would he look down on him with contempt shining in his lilac eyes, his lips curled in revulsion? Or would it be betrayal that tightened his keen gaze as he stood over them and watched their sordid deeds, to find that his loyal retainer had sold himself to their enemies? A shiver chased up Thoma’s spine at the thought of him watching them. A shiver of apprehension -- and of arousal.

Tartaglia watched him, a knowing tilt to his lips as he followed Thoma’s gaze. The red metal of his mask glinted in the light as he tipped his head towards the door, sanguinary and menacing. "It excites you, doesn't it? To know that he might hear you. That he might see you, here with me, in his own house."

It did. Raiden preserve him, but it did. Thoma swallowed thickly, dragging his gaze back to Tartaglia. "That's-" he started. "I-" Whatever protest he might have made died, caught on his tongue. It was no use lying to him, not when he could see the evidence of Thoma’s arousal stiffening against his leg. Thoma shifted awkwardly, high spots of color burning bright on his cheeks as his eyes dropped.

Tartaglia caught his chin, cool fingers curling around his jaw as he tipped Thoma’s face back up, his grip light but unyielding. Forcing Thoma to look at him, drowning in the shallow sapphire of his eyes. "Besides," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. His breath brushed against Thoma’s lips, a ghost of his touch on his skin. "You need me. He can't do for you what I can."

Read the rest on Ao3!

#genshin impact #chithoma #ayathoma #kirashion's 4th collab event #genshin fanfic #childe #tartaglia #thoma #kamisato ayato #childe smut #thoma smut #ayato smut #genshin smut #my writing #~K

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eddiebillysteve · 2 years

Text

cat and mouse

chapter two | find chapter one here

pairing | billy hargrove/steve harrington

summary | steve's first night in prison doesn't go as expected.

a/n | i would love to hear anyone's thoughts about my writing / any ideas you may have about this fic !! thank you so much for reading !! as always please read warnings before reading because this is a dark fic. find it on ao3 here !!

warnings | nsfw-ness, masturbation, dirty talk, slight mentions of forced prostitution and degradation, dark/dom billy hargrove bc he wants to turn steve into his bitch, stuff like that !!

Although the lights hadn’t gone out yet, the cell doors had locked with a heavy bang that Steve was sure would echo through his nightmares. He’d already tried the door once, then again, to make sure it was really locked, to make sure he was really trapped.

And he was.

It was him and his cellmate, who he knew as Hargrove, in a cell barely bigger than his bathroom at home with no way out. If there was a fire, they’d be trapped to burn alive inside of the metal box called their cell. He could pretty well picture the smoke creeping in through the bars in the door, could picture his arms hanging out and desperately clawing at the outside in an attempt to get someone to let them out before the flames flicked beneath the door.

But he had more pressing concerns to worry about, and he finally, after what Billy considered to be an eternity, turned around from the door.

Steve was expecting Billy to be standing in front of him in an instant, maybe with a homemade shank in his hands to press against his neck. He was expecting to be forced to strip off and lay over the bed, or maybe be pushed to his knees, but nothing happened.

Billy wasn’t even looking at him.

He was busy brushing his teeth at the little tiny sink built into the top part of the toilet. His top had been taken off, and Steve didn’t see it strung around anywhere, which meant it had been folded and put away. It became more obvious, the longer he was in the cell, that Billy was very tidy. Everything had its place and even the posters of models clad in bikinis were taped up in such a specific way that the tape wasn’t visible. There was nothing shabby looking, despite it being a prison cell.

Earlier, Hargrove had showed him how to correctly make his bunk and put away his things because he hadn’t done it properly the first time around when he’d done it on his own. It wouldn’t have passed inspection, Billy had said. When Steve had asked to learn more about inspections, Billy reminded him of rule number three.

Don’t ask questions.

After spitting into the sink and rinsing his mouth, Billy turned to look at his cellie, who was nearly as white as a ghost, and licked his tongue out over his lips. “Don’t be so scared, Stevie. You want me to check under your bunk, huh? Make sure there’s no boogeyman hiding under there? That make you feel better, sweetheart?”

After giving a little snicker at Steve’s dazed reaction, he moved to climb up to the top bunk.

Steve didn’t understand why. Why he wasn’t making a move. It twisted his gut up and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick.

“Lights are gonna go out any minute, princess. Better hurry up and get settled unless you want to do it in the dark.”

Finally, Harrington took a glance in Billy’s direction again. He was splayed on the top bunk, propped up against the wall a bit with a hand behind his head. His eyes were dark and settled upon Steve like he was the sweetest little rat trapped in an experiment without even knowing it. “Right. Thanks,” He nodded his head a little, trying his best to play it cool, and crouched down to pull out his storage cubby. It was where he’d been told to put everything he owned, from his few items of clothing to any snacks and books he bought at the commissary or loaned from the library. It was pretty empty; he only had what the guards had given him when he’d entered, which wasn’t more than a few pieces of clothing, a bar of soap, and toothpaste (without any toothbrush), the items that were considered the basic essentials. Anything else he’d have to buy at commissary or get from other prisoners.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do for pyjamas. They hadn’t given him any, and he assumed most of the prisoners simply slept in their boxers - which was what he did at home, but he definitely didn’t want to do it here. Instead, he got out the toothpaste and smeared some on his finger before shutting the cubby away again. His plan was to sleep in the clothes he had on and just brush his teeth and wash his face to try to feel a little more human again.

Billy watched him as he slid his finger into his mouth and mushed the toothpaste along his teeth. They were perfect, just like the rest of him, and he could have gotten away with not brushing for a few nights because of how white they were, or so Billy thought. He rolled onto his side, head propped up on his elbow, and watched him spit into the sink, rinse his mouth, then his finger.

There was a moment of hesitation that followed. He was debating something, Billy could tell, even though Steve was trying to hide it. After the quickest glance down at the toilet, it clicked in his mind that Steve had to piss but was too afraid to go in front of a stranger at such close quarters.

Although it was impossibly hard, Hargrove bit back his smirk and put on a look of innocence. “You better get over that shyness, sweetheart. There’s no privacy in this world. At least in here you’re only going in front of me. In the showers, you’re showering with a dozen other men, and outside the toilets don’t have any doors. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve had to shit with some crazy ass guys staring down at me.”

The way Steve looked at him, the confusion and naivety and fear in his eyes, nearly made Billy shiver.

“How about this, Stevie. I’ll close my eyes and turn this way. That better for you?” Billy dramatically flew his hand over his eyes and rolled over so his back was to Steve. He didn’t want to scare him too badly, at least not yet. There was plenty of time to bring in some new rules when Steve eased out of the shock.

“Thank you.”

There was something about the way he said it that made Billy’s breath catch in his throat. It was sweet and shaky and for a second, just a second, he wanted to gather Steve up in his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay, because no one had done it for him. No one had comforted him, no one had done anything but laugh at his frightened face.

And he had had a much, much worse first night than Steve was in for.

He didn’t go back on his word and kept his eyes covered and his back turned until the stream of urine trickled to a stop and the toilet was quickly flushed. When he looked back to him, Steve was washing his hands at the sink, using the soap that belonged to Billy without thinking about it, and wiping his hands into his uniform.

They shared one more look before the lights were cut and they were left in darkness.

***

Steve was good at silently crying. He’d done it his entire life, or at least since he was four or five and had learned to not make any sounds while his parents were talking on their phones and taking meetings. There was once a time he had sat for hours in the corner of his father’s office, burning up from a temperature and feeling more sick than he ever had throughout his little life, but still hadn’t dared make a sound in fear of his parents getting upset at him.

He could remember how horrible it felt, how isolating, and crying into the flat pillow on his pitch black bunk felt eerily similar.

But then there was a sound. It wasn’t one he recognized at first, and he had to lift his head from his pillow to properly focus on it to tune into what was happening.

It was the sound of jacking off. Billy, on the top bunk, had a hand wrapped around his cock and was pumping, twisting, working himself. It made Steve freeze, equally frightened and fascinated. He’d never been in the same room while another man had gotten off and a part of him, a part he never wanted to acknowledge, was painfully curious. He wanted to see it.

Before he could think, he shifted.

The sound stopped. He was caught.

“Didn’t think you were awake, Bambi boy.”

There was silence. Steve wasn’t able to breathe, one hand moving to cover his mouth. He could pretend to be asleep, he decided. He’d just shifted in his sleep. He hadn’t been listening.

“It’s okay, baby.”

The voice in the dark was a purr and Steve wished the lights would come on. Billy could climb off the top bunk and drop down into his without being visible. He was having to rely solely on sounds, and it was scaring the shit out of him. His hearing wasn’t the best after years of concussions from fights and sports and he was straining to hear any sort of clues that his bunkmate was moving.

There weren’t any, though. Everything was deadly silent, apart from the voice coming from above him.

“You can listen, Stevie,” Billy went on, and slowly, the same sound started back up. The sound of skin on skin, of hand rubbing cock. “I’ll take it real nice and slow with you, sweetheart. And I’ll tell you what.” His voice paused for a moment and Steve debating plugging his ears with his fingers. He couldn’t, though. There was something stopping him.

Curiosity killed the cat.

“You tell me that you’re listening, and that’s all you’ll have to do tonight. You just be a real good boy and listen for me, and I won’t fuck your tiny little ass. Not yet, not tonight.” There was a small huff, a tiny grunt.

Steve could feel the words going straight to his cock.

“Say it,” He encouraged, but when he still didn’t get an answer, the rhythmic stoking stopped. “Stevie,” His voice turned into a song, one that was drawn out and taunting, daring him to continue to disobey and challenge him. “Say it. Tell me you’re listening, or I’m crawling down and—“

“I’m listening.” Steve cut him off, his voice the tiniest bit muffled from behind his hand.

Billy’s mouth curled into the biggest smirk in the darkness. “Now, aren’t you a good boy?” It was back, the too familiar sound of a man getting himself off, but this time it was more intense. Faster. Steve started to breathe a little harder. “You hard down there, sweetheart? It’s okay. You can touch yourself. I give you permission. Slip your hand—“

For the second time, Steve cut him off. “Stop.”

And for a second, Billy did. He was surprised by the bravery, hadn’t been expecting it. But his stop was just a pause and there was only a few seconds of complete silence before tiny pants were filling the darkness. “I know, Stevie. I know it’s hard. It’s hard to accept you want this. But once you do…” He didn’t finish, instead breathing a little laugh, one that was completely taken over by groan. “I’ll teach you everything, baby. Everything. You’re gonna be so good by the time I’m done with you, my perfect doll. Gonna dress you up in makeup and everything, gonna make me real rich.” He was talking in the heat of his moment, not thinking about Steve and how frightening the words sounded. It was just normal in their world; the men rented out their bitches in exchange for cigarettes, chips, whatever they needed. “Fuck.”

Steve wasn’t sure what he was expecting when Billy came, but he was really quiet about it. There were a few low grunts, some heavy breathing, but nothing excessive, nothing loud. It wasn’t like he could afford to be in prison; everything had to be quiet, especially in the middle of the night.

Silence followed. There was the slightest sound of rustling, which Steve could only assume meant Billy was cleaning up whatever mess he’d made all over himself, but then, nothing. Nothing but complete solitude for a few achingly long minutes until Hargrove’s voice broke through again.

“Night, sweetheart.”

#billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove fanfiction #billy x steve #prison au #my writing

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5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 8 months

Text

Dates/Date Night (2) Masterlist

part one

Court Five (ao3) - takemymoneycth luke/ashton, michael/calum E, 21k

Summary: A story in which a young college tennis player maybe likes his new coach a little too much.

Empty spaces filled with love and movie dates (ao3) - starsandnightskies luke/ashton G, 1k

Summary: Ashton likes taking Luke on dates.

Everything I Didn't Say (ao3) - 5sass (steveharringtonmain) luke/ashton G, 2k

Summary: Luke is mute, Ashton is cute.

// Or the one where this is 'Love Actually'

fallin' in love on the first date (i don't even know your last name) (ao3) - bellawritess luke/calum T, 5k

Summary: “Hi,” Luke says, remembering his manners just in time. “I’m Luke.”

“Calum,” says the gorgeous stranger, smiling so big and bright his eyes crinkle. “I’m thinking of adopting a cat, maybe. Just thought I would check out the options.” He scans Luke up and down and raises an eyebrow. “So to speak.”

five stars every time that you come through (ao3) - tutorgirl Luke/Ashton E, 6k

Summary: date night is a tradition in their relationship that ashton takes very seriously.

Give Me Your Hand (ao3) - nationalnobody michael/luke G, 2k

Summary: In which Michael and Luke both like each other and practically everyone knows it but them. However Michael absolutely refuses to believe that Luke could like him back and it takes the idiot multiple pushes in the right direction to finally confess.

Hold For All Eternity (ao3) - senioritastyles Luke/Ashton G, 2k

Summary: Luke works at the new penguin exhibit and Ashton asks him out.

i'd go back and ride that rollercoaster - @sup3rbloom (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 1k

Summary: Calum helps Ashton get a new date, and their first date is at the amusement park, which isn't Ashton's first choice of a date night, but he certainly isn't complaining when he finally meets the cute boy he's been talking to through text messages.

I've always wondered where you've been (ao3) - lifewasradical luke/calum, michael/ashton T, 2k

Summary: It’s perfect, Luke thinks, being placed on the side where they can blend in perfectly yet see everything. Calum looks equally pleased as he sits down, unfolding the napkin onto his lap, nodding to the waiter as they fill up glasses with water.

They have the best view, right where they need to be in order to see Michael and Ashton across the room, too tied up in one another to notice anyone else in the place.

Or, Calum and Luke are spying on Michael and Ashton's date.

Love, Let Your Music Be Mine (ao3) - megr0se calum/ashton T, 3k

Summary: Ashton and Calum met on a TV dating show, this is their second date.

Stood Up and Saved (ao3) - orphan_account luke/ashton G, 4k

Summary: Luke knew that getting stood up on a date (or acting as such) could get you a free meal or dessert, but he didn't know that it could get you a date with the cute waiter.

In other words, getting stood up on his first date was difficult, but he realized that he was never waiting for the girl who had asked him out.

such a brilliant star you are (ao3) - lazhton luke/ashton G, 3k

Summary: In which Ashton mistakes Luke for being his blind date and Luke is too shy to correct him, and so he accidentally ends up going on a date with a total stranger.

Tinder (ao3) - flowercrownmikey michael/luke G, 7k

Summary: Luke and Michael get talking and realize they're both in the same closet.

They meet up at the cinema, along with all of Luke's friends.

you call me up (but you got my number wrong) (ao3) - FayeHunter, lifewasradical luke/calum T, 16k

Summary:

Calum (12:00pm) Hi. I got this number from a friend. I wanted to know if you were still offering tutoring services for Biology

Unknown number (12:08pm) Sorry, who is this?

Or, Calum accidentally texts the wrong number.

You're Just a Daydream Away (ao3) - FayeHunter luke/ashton M, 2k

Summary: Ashton and Luke get to enjoy date night.

Your kaleidoscope eyes so pretty, baby (ao3) - FayeHunter luke/ashton T, 2k

Summary: Luke gets ready for his date with Ashton and ends up getting a surprise.

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5sos fanfic #5sos #5 seconds of summer #datenight #datenight masterlist #masterlists

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halcyon-hyacinth · 3 years

Text

toh fanfics to keep you busy during hiatus, a thread.

A/N: If an author has a (*) by their name, PLEASE check out their other works!!! After combing through the toh archive, I now follow the skilled writers I've found rather than checking ao3 tags. This list could be longer but I really wanted to highlight these writers.

Finding Home Amongst the Infinite by DontDoHeroinKids * Multichapter, ongoing. Adventure/Action, Canon Divergence, Found Family, Friendship.

Mini Summary: Luz is a planes walker, and has spent years stumbling across the multitudes of realities, desperately searching for a way to return to her abandoned home with little success. She winds up in the Isles where she'll find answers and allies to help her on her journey.

One of the best multi chapter fics I've had the pleasure of reading. Luz's dynamic with all the characters is handled extremely well. Unlike other multi chap fics I've read, this is almost entirely done from Luz's POV.

Holding You Back by @FoolsSee *

Canon-Compliant Character Study, completed.

Recommendation in honor of Yesterday's Lie. Pre-season 1 one shot that captures Camila and Luz's relationship really well + strong characterization. Fools has written 27 other toh fics- PLEASE check out the authors other works!!!

Breaking Point by SquirrelWriter *

Canon-Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, completed.

My favorite Luz and Amity oneshot. Not a lot of writers can effectively capture what makes their friendship work and this one knocks it out of the park.

Your Name by SunshineChildx

Multichapter, Slow burn, Friends to lovers, ongoing.

lumity fic based on the move of the same name. Not yet completed, but this is one of the most well written fics I've ever read. The prose and narration are beautiful and I've cried reading it.

Eda Clawthorne's Pro Skater by A_Big_Old_Skeleton

Series, Skateshop AU, Fluff, Angst, Humor, ongoing.

This is the only beta fic I support tbh. The characterization is off the charts and I adore how the author handles everyone's relationships. The comedy and storytelling are superb.

Postcards from a Place Named Threshold by incoherent_icarus_works *

Series, Character Study, ongoing.

A collection of standalone character study oneshots each centered around a different character from The Owl House (atm Luz, Willow, Boscha) . Luz one shot was inspired by @woozywonder art!

Curse Me Goodbye by Lumitations *

Canon Divergence, Comedy, Urban Fantasy, Action/Adventure, Romance. Multichapter, completed.

One of the most fun fics I've ever read. The mystery/intrigue is INCREDIBLE as are the kick-ass action scenes. Lumity centric.

Heir of the Jedi by @whatisurowlpolicy *

Multichapter. Ongoing. Action/Adventure, Star Wars AU, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Enemies to Lovers

I don't know shit about Star Wars and I am begging anyone who is dissuaded by the AU tag to READ THIS FIC! Green is extremely good at handling the ensemble cast of toh along with writing top tier development for every character. It's also lumity centric, and I think y'all will enjoy their take on them.

Our Stories Burn Bright, Hung Like Stars in the Sky by AtticusKaine*

Series, ongoing. Action/Adventure, Romance, Found Family, Humor.

What the hell are you doing with your life if you haven't read this series? Hands down my favorite toh canon divergence, it fleshes out every single character in ways you wouldn't believe.

make my heart your home by @tiredandjaded*

Ongoing series, found family, hurt/comfort.

Takes place in between s1/s2, I take it as canon. The relationships between Luz, Eda and Lilith post YBOS are handled beautifully-- the character dynamics and found family vibes are off the charts.

Hold Me Close by @the-lone-witch-and-secret-room

Oneshot. Completed. Jerbric Hurt/Comfort.

She writes the well-known Locked Out ALONG WITH several god-tier one shots y'all HAVE to read oh my god. This is one of my favorites. The characterization of Jerbo and Edric's relationship is super sweet.

learning how to be (with you by my side) by uniqeusernamegenerator*

Multichapter. Completed. College AU, Romance, Comedy

Atm you can only view it if you have an AO3 account and if you haven't read this masterpiece already YOU MUST! It's easy and free.

This is one of the best lumity fics of all time. The slice of life feel is otherworldly, as is the author's INCREDIBLE prose. Hits you right in the feels along with their skarscha fic windows up, walls down.

Transcendence by rhysanity

Oneshot. Soulmates AU. Completed.

This is what I like to call a ship conversion fic. If you've never considered skarscha before, read this fic. It will hit you in the feels and have you rereading over and over again for eternity.

Golden written by @whatisurowlpolicy / story by both of us *

Multichapter, ongoing. Golden Guard Amity AU. Action/Adventure, Found Family, Drama, Comedy, Hurt/Comfort

Shamless plug, this is one of my favorite ideas I've ever thought of and I am beyond hyped to be co-creating it with Green. We're doing a role reversal following a lot of the same beats of season 1 but putting our own spin on it. You'll see a lot more of the dynamics we haven't seen a lot in season 2 like Amity and Lilith along with Willow and Gus. Gonna go ahead and @anguigenus because Gus and Amity's relationship is one of the major focuses of the fic.

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facewithoutheart · 2 years

Note

6 (librarian / patron) or 14 (didn't mean to honk at u)

I hope you appreciate the absolute weirdness (and accidental angst) of what I’ve written you. Please don’t hate me haha.

6. librarian desperate to understand what wild phase the other character is going thru rn

“This bitch is going through it,” Penny whistles, thumbing to the next page of her book.

“Oh yeah?” I lean into her space but she turns away.

Spoil sport.

I tug at her shirt, annoyed that she’s leaving me out. “Tell me,” I beg.

She laughs, then frowns. “I shouldn’t make fun. It’s really tragic, actually.” Her eyes drift back to the page, reading on, and I sigh dramatically so she remembers I’m waiting for an answer. Finally, she continues: “He’s an orphan who’s been told he can do magic. Only he can’t actually do that, either. Spells require mastery of language and he doesn’t talk much.”

I raise an eyebrow.

Penny shrugs. “Not much practise growing up in care. No one wanted to talk to him. Apparently, the smell of his magic makes Normals hate him.”

My heart sinks in my chest. To distract, I ask, “Normals?”

“That’s you and me, Basilton. People without magic.” She flips the page. “Aww, baby.”

“What’s happening now?”

“The poor thing’s holding his wand upside down.” She places one hand over her heart and sighs. “Do you ever want to just leap into a book and give the main character a hug?”

I lift a shoulder; I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to give anyone a hug. “What are those books called?”

“The Simon Snow series.”

I write it down in my iPhones notes and make a note to check it out soon.

Three weeks later

I huff a strand of black hair from my face. “She can’t do this to us, Penny. It’s not fair!”

Her eyes flick down to my ‘Carry On, Simon Snow,’ t-shirt and then roll themselves in exasperation. “Gemma T. Leslie is a human before she’s a writer. She’s allowed to postpone the eighth book while she deals with health issues.”

I stomp my foot on the ground. “No! She has to release it; she has to.” Tears threaten to drip from my eyes.

“Basilton,” Penny takes my hands in hers, “we have to talk about this obsession of yours.”

I rip my hands from her grasp. “I’m not obsessed!”

She gives me a sympathetic look, not unlike the one she gave Simon when he held his wand upside down. “You’ve devoured all seven books, watched every movie, read all of the 3,492 fanfics on AO3–”

“Not all of the fanfics,” I correct her. Just the explicit ones, I don’t explain.

She smirks like she already knows. “Okaaay. But, Basilton–”

“Call me Baz.”

“Of fucking course,” she groans. “Baz, you need to let this go. He’s just a fictional character.”

He’s more than that, he’s so much more. But I need to play my cards close to my chest. I’d hoped she might come with me, that she might want a part in this journey in which I must embark.

Except she’s clearly unworthy.

“You’re right,” I lie, nodding my head. “Sorry, Penny. I’ll curb my obsession.”

“Ok.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Ok, Basilton.”

Baz, I ache to correct her.

But I don’t.

Some things are worth the sacrifice.

The next day

I draw the door on the floor of my flat, just like the instructions said on that demonic summoning page I found on kenswebsite.giant – the writing was a little simplistic, but easy to follow.

The door rattles then opens, spilling out a mist that turns into a bear and settles in the form of a woman. “Hello,” she purrs.

I flip my wrist and she breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh thank Me. Since we’re both queer, I can just get straight (hah hah) down to the fine print. Sell your eternal soul to me, and I’ll give you whatever your heart desires.”

My eyes widen. “Anything?”

“I mean,” she hops onto my sofa and starts flicking through my Netflix until she finds ‘The L Word’ (she really is a demon), “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t wish Trump president again; the only time in my three thousand years of living where I preferred hell, but,” here she flicks a lazy gaze across my body, “you look like a man of taste. How about this, you tell me what you want, and I give you a number on the scale of zed to crazy?”

I straighten my shoulders. “I want to enter the plot of Gemma T. Leslie’s unprinted eighth book in the Simon Snow series so I can make Simon Snow fall in love with me.”

“Bitch!” She laughs. “Oh my Me that is the best request I’ve had in decades.” She claps her hands and giggles, switching to bear form for a second, before flickering back to woman (and let me tell you, nothing is weirder than seeing a bear giggle). “Fuck it,” she slaps her leg, “I’ll do it. Kevin will have my arse for breaking the Prime Directive but I just can’t help it. What a lark! I can’t wait to watch this unfold.” She tilts her head. “Have you given any thought as to what character you’d like to be? Or is this an author insert sort of situation? A “Your Name/Simon Snow” type of fic?”

I shake my head. “I want to be Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

Her eyebrows fly to her hairline. “The nemesis?”

I huff. “I mean, can a teenage boy truly have a nemesis? Besides,” I scuff one leather shoe on the floor, “I’m sort of… into the whole…” I wave my hand in the air.

“Enemies to lovers unrequited sexual tension thing?”

I nod.

“Mmm,” she shivers, “good choice.” She whips out a reporter-style notebook and jots a few notes down (her fingernails turn into ink-red pens on command). “Now, you’ll probably change the story a bit, but I’m sure that’s nothing you can’t handle. You’re a librarian; I assume you’ve read enough books to have some ideas of how to manipulate plot to suit your needs.”

“I mean, I’ve read a lot of fanfic.”

She beams. “Even better! So, I’m dropping you into the book just before the start of eighth year.” She snaps her fingers and a copy of the unpublished manuscript lands in her lap. I inch forward and she sends a barrier between us with a lazy wave of her hand. “Nuh uh uh. No spoilers.”

I pout.

In a blur, she scans the book. “Ok.” A cheshire grin spreads across her face. “I apologise in advance for the unpleasantness. There’s a few tricks up Gemma’s sleeve that you don’t know yet.” She peers over the pages. “You sure you want to do this?”

I nod emphatically. “I love him; I’m sure of it.”

She shrugs. “Ok. On your own head.” Her eyes close and she breathes in deeply. In a blink, they flare open, glowing red and sinister. “Abracadabra!” She shouts.

“Serious–” My disdain cuts off when I land, hard, into darkness.

“Hello?”

No answer.

“Hellooooo?” I bring my hand up in front of my face and smash it on something wooden and cold.

Oh god.

“Hello!” I shout, banging my fist against what I’m now certain is the lid of a coffin.

“Keep it down in there!” Something shouts back, their voice rumbles like a sack full of rocks.

I whimper, suddenly feeling scared and alone.

And hungry. But, not hungry. Not quite.

There’s some shuffling outside. “Here, give ‘em this. That’ll shut him up.”

The lid to my (yup, definitely a coffin) cracks open and a takeaway cup with straw lowers.

I take it, hoping for water or (because I can’t help but still find optimism in this bizarre situation) a chocolate milkshake. But whatever’s inside smells metallic, and it makes my teeth itch.

My teeth, which suddenly feel more numerous than before.

Oh no.

Suddenly, I’m struck with the memory of a whole thread on the SnowMore website, one that posits Simon’s ramblings about Baz are true. That, somehow, Baz was Turned as a child.

I reach one shaking hand up to feel the tip of my (yup, definitely a) fang. God, I’m so thirsty. I bring the straw up to my mouth, close my eyes and think,

Blue eyes.

Bronze curls.

The fact that Simon Snow is alive.

And I am hopelessly in love with him.

With tears streaming down my face, and this mantra on repeat, I sip the blood and hope against all evidence that somehow, Simon and I can write a better story.

From this prompt ask

#drabble #snowbaz #accidental angst #meta #fanfic #fangirl references #don’t hate me

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allisondraste · 2 years

Text

Debrief

Fandom: Mass Effect

Pairing: Garrus Vakarian/ Female Shepard

Words: 1726

Summary: Someone had to check in with Shepard after everything that happened on Virmire. It might as well be Garrus.

[AO3 Link]

Virmire had been a real shit show— probably the biggest shit show Garrus had witnessed in his time aboard the Normandy, but that was neither here nor there.

As it turned out, that bastard Saren was running some sort of research facility where he intended to breed himself an army of krogan soldiers. The geth had set up massive jamming towers and even bigger AA guns to protect his work. What started out as a standard recon operation had developed into a full on assault of the base. They’d succeeded, but only barely, and not without casualties.

Wrex had nearly mutinied.

Saren escaped.

Alenko died.

And to add insult to injury, the council had congratulated the commander on a job well done, refused to acknowledge her warnings about the Reapers, and grounded the Normandy as soon as it docked at the Citadel. Out-of-touch, bureaucratic assholes. If Garrus had been in Shepard’s shoes, he’d have told them exactly where to shove their ridiculous, backhanded platitudes.

But he wasn’t in Shepard’s shoes. After everything that happened, he couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be.

After the last crew debrief that ended with Williams yelling at Shepard and storming out of the conference room, Liara suggested that someone ought to go check on the commander. Garrus had volunteered, as if he had any idea of what to say to the woman, as if he were even a blip on the radar of people she gave a shit about at that moment.

Even still, he found himself standing on the crew deck, just outside her office, bouncing on his feet and fidgeting with his omni-tool as he tried to build up the courage to press the buzzer by the door. The handful of human crew members who were gathered in the mess hall stopped their eating and conversing to stare daggers at him. The crew’s suspicion didn’t usually bother him, but damn if he didn’t wish they had something better to do than gawk at the turian who thought he was important enough to talk to the commander.

With a frustrated huff, he leaned forward and tapped the buzzer, taking a few steps back and straightening his posture as he waited. There was a series of rustling and shuffling sounds, then Shepard’s voice rang out from the comm near the door.

“Who is it?” Her annoyance was sharp and he immediately regretted bothering her.

“It’s, uh, it’s Garrus, ma’am,” he answered awkwardly, very aware of the human eyes still scrutinizing him.

“Oh, hey,” came her response. To his surprise, it seemed devoid of her previous irritation. “Give me a sec.”

When Shepard opened the door she was smiling, but her posture was slouched forward slightly— much different from her typical soldier stance, shoulders back and chin up— and she was clutching her right hand with her left, attempting to cover the obviously swollen and discolored patches of skin on her knuckles. Garrus met her gaze, then glanced behind her into the room, making note of an aluminum foot locker with a fist-sized dent in the lid, before looking back at Shepard.

“Get in a fight with your locker,” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t be too offended by a joke.

She snorted out a laugh that tapered off into a sigh. “Well, it stole my lunch credits. I had to show it who’s boss.”

Garrus laughed in response. “Listen, back at C-Sec, I specialized in tracking down stolen credit chits. If that metal bastard does it again—”

“I’ll be sure to give you a call, Officer.”

There was a several second pause that might as well have been an eternity, Shepard staring down at her hands while Garrus became increasingly more uncomfortable.

“Listen,” he began, unable to bear the awkward silence a moment longer, “I just stopped by to check on you. I know you probably have a lot on your mind right now, and I’m probably the last person you want to talk to. I don’t really have anything insightful to say, but—”

“Do you want to come in,” Shepard interjected, matter-of-factly.

“Do I want to… uh, sure,” Garrus stammered, “I mean— yes ma’am.”

She stepped out of the doorway to allow him room to enter the room. It was a small space, illuminated by dim fluorescent lights set in the ceiling, with an ambient orange glow from the several monitors fixed on the walls. Several medals were displayed on the shelves alongside scale models of the Normandy and another ship Garrus didn’t recognize. Shepard also had a large collection of novels and comic books— actual physical copies, not datapads with downloads from the extranet— and one framed photograph of herself standing next to Captain Anderson, shaking his hand.

“You can sit down if you want,” she said, pointing to one of the several chairs in the space as she rummaged through her freezer and took out a frozen gel pack, “Don’t mind me. Just going to… ice my hand.”

“Shepard, that looks pretty rough,” he said as he sat down by the table, “You should probably have Dr. Chakwas take a look at it.”

“Nah.” She sat down across from him, placing her injured hand on the table and the ice pack on top of it. “It’s just some swelling. Nothing’s broken, so there’s no point in bothering her with it. Besides, I don’t want to have to explain how it happened.”

“Makes sense.”

“It’s just.—” She paused to let out a frustrated sigh— “You’d think that after everything I’ve been through in my life, in my time with the Alliance, that I’d be better at coping with situations like Virmire, but… I think it keeps getting harder and harder. Losing Kaidan— Lieutenant-Commander Alenko— hurts more than losing my entire team on Akuze.”

“Alenko was a good man,” Garrus remarked, chest tight with remorse. Kaidan was one of the few humans Garrus had encountered who didn’t hold the fact that he was a turian against him, even though it would have been justifiable if he did. Saren’s involvement in the attack on Eden Prime didn’t exactly help the already tenuous turian-human relations. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get him out of there.”

“Me too.” Shepard’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat to disguise the emotion. “I keep replaying everything that happened on Virmire over and over again in my head, looking for something I could have done differently, but—”

“You did everything you could, Commander. We just… ran out of time.”

Shepard nodded and fell silent for a moment as she lifted the ice pack to examine her hand. She replaced the pack, and then looked back up at Garrus. “What would you have done if you were in my position on Virmire?”

“Honestly? I think I would have refused to make a call,” he answered, “Hell, how do you decide something like that?”

“I tried my damndest not to, but…” Shepard’s eyes seemed to become unfocused, staring off at nothing as if her thoughts were light years away. “In the end I couldn’t have saved them both without compromising the mission. If I’d refused to make a call, that base would still be standing and we’d all be dead anyway.”

“Damn,” he muttered, more to himself than to Shepard.

Shepard refocused, looking directly at him. “Being a hero isn’t always victories and celebration. Sometimes it’s being in a shitty position, making choices that make you sick, losing people you care about. And no matter what, it’s always your fault.”

“How do you get used to that kind of pressure?”

“You don’t.” Her answer was clipped, firm, words the only thing holding back a wave of emotions a woman like Shepard wouldn’t want anyone else to see.

He didn’t know what to say. At a distance, it was easy to see Shepard as this larger-than-life unstoppable force of a person who always did what had to be done, no matter the cost. While those things were still true up close, it was easier to see the cracks in her armor. She wasn’t invincible, and somehow to Garrus that made her even more impressive.

“I, uh—” Shepard began, clearing her throat—”It’s not exactly professional for me to unload all of this on you. It’s just…”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, “Really. I did come to check on you after all.”

“Right, well… A good commanding officer would have said she was fine and sent you on your way.”

“And the fact that you didn’t is what makes you a great one.” The words slipped out of Garrus’ mouth before he could stop them. He sounded like such a kiss ass. “I, uh, hope that’s not out of line for me to say.”

“Out of line? No.” Shepard let out a laugh. “But I’m not sure I understand why you think that.”

“You’re the first CO I’ve ever had who was honest, real with the crew about how things are,” he explained, “I know that I can trust you when you say things will be fine, because you’re not afraid to admit when things aren’t.”

“I—” She paused, a small smile at one corner of her mouth. “Thanks, Garrus.”

“You’re welcome, Commander.”

When Garrus left Shepard’s office, the human crew members that had gathered in the mess hall were still there. Their empty plates and trays were pushed to the side as they engaged in an animated conversation. One of the crew glanced up at him, and then slapped the woman next to her on the arm to get her attention. They really just could not let him walk back down to the garage in peace.

Annoyed, he called out, “Can I help you?”

The crew members exchanged glances, then one of them looked at Garrus and nodded nervously. “Is Commander Shepard alright?”

“I—” he began, taken aback by the innocence of the question. He scanned the faces of the crew and saw none of the suspicion he’d previously interpreted. Maybe he’d misread them after all. Maybe they were just worried about Shepard, too. “I think so.”

“Do you think she’ll find a way to get us out of this lock down crap,” asked another.

“Are you kidding,” Garrus asked sarcastically as he walked past them and toward the elevator, stopping just before he turned the corner and glancing back at them, “It’s Commander Shepard. Of course she will.”

#mass effect legendary edition #mass effect #garrus vakarian #commander shepard #shakarian #pre-relationship #fanfic #my writing #long post

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 14.5

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,701

Warnings: angst, dialogue heavy, language, angst, Violence, plot plot plot, did I mention angst? Cuz it’s here

Author Note: Texas weather is no laughing matter and never have I hated snow more than these last few days. This is definitely more of a transition segment so I wrote shorter snippets as a result, but there is some serious plot development nevertheless. The response to last chapter was so amazing I can’t thank everyone enough for all the love and support 💖💖💖

Links to Part 1 and Part 14 and Part 15

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Ahsoka hijacks the Razor Crest as soon as Din teleports her aboard the ship. She pushes Din out of the cockpit, refusing to let him so much as glimpse the coordinates of the destination she inputs into the nav computer. The Oracle hadn’t been kidding when she said she didn’t trust him going alone to rescue his soulmate.

Bo-Katan hadn’t been phased by Ahsoka’s arrival, adapting to her presence with the same ease as a duck to water. However, Din couldn’t help noticing the moment her mask of cool indifference slipped when Ahsoka asked the reaper to stay in the cockpit with her, claiming they had important matters to discuss.

Din climbs down the ladder into the hull, recognizing that the conversation about to ensue is not one he needs to be involved in. Fingers twitching restlessly, he commits himself to checking each of the weapons in his armory, sharpening his vibroblades and loading a set of whistling birds into his vambrace. He’d made a promise to Ahsoka against killing Moff Gideon, but he’d made no vow against scarring the Seraph beyond recognition.

When Din’s finished with him, Gideon will be a warning to the rest of the galaxy what happens if you steal from Death.

He stills at the thrum of satisfaction that runs through his body at the thought of pressing Gideon’s eyeballs out with his thumbs. The darkness within him has grown stronger since he killed Hess and it’s becoming an increasingly harder challenge denying its craving for bloodshed. If not for Ahsoka’s intervention, he would have reaped Xi’an’s soul, breaking another sacred rule. He should feel grateful, but the darkness expresses annoyance instead, upset to have been denied its kill.

There is a thought that has been plaguing the back of his mind, shackled in the same corner as his other doubts and regrets. He once had iron control over his powers and emotions, but now he’s holding onto his human façade by a mere thread. So slowly he hadn’t even been aware it was happening, his darkness has usurped his morality.

He’s meant to be a neutral entity, but when he looks at his reflection in the fresher mirror all he sees is a weapon.

Obsidian orbs have replaced brown eyes. Flawless tan skin has become dissected by lines of ink that once were blue veins.

Darkness is corrupting him from the inside out, making him a slave to the power he once mastered.

And he doesn’t have a fucking clue how to stop it.

Bo-Katan joins him in the hull an hour later. She doesn’t say anything , just leans against the wall across from him, and Din continues cleaning the barrel of his amban rifle as if he doesn’t see her.

The silence isn’t tense or uncomfortable, but he feels her gaze trying to penetrate his helmet. He knows the reaper well-enough to tell there is a question on her mind, but her hesitance to voice it unsettles him. Bo-Katan rarely holds her tongue around him, preferring blunt honesty over sugarcoating, which means whatever is on her mind must be serious.

He bites back a sigh when she starts restlessly shifting in place and pauses his task. “Ahsoka told you,” he says at last.

“That Moff Gideon fucked with our lives?” Bo-Katan snorts humorlessly. “Yeah, she showed me everything.”

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Me too. But it’s...good not being in the dark anymore. I needed to hear the truth,” she replies stoically, but the pointless adjustment of her headband betrays her internal strife. There is a moment of pause before she looks at him again. “I heard about your promise,” she says, and it’s not really a question, except that it is.

Din’s fingers tighten around the rifle. “Did she make you swear the same one?”

“No.” Bo-Katan shakes her head. “No, she didn’t.”

He’s not surprised by the answer. He actually thinks he should have expected it, considering the universe has always held him to a stricter standard than other entities.

“Ahsoka made it clear to me that this is something between you, Gideon, and your angel alone. I cannot interfere just like you cannot kill him.”

There is bitter resignation in her tone. He recognizes it because he felt the same when he made his promise to Ahsoka. No one likes being told no when they want something. But this—knowing with absolute certainty Gideon is the one responsible for hurting their loved ones and being told you can’t do anything to avenge them? This is the kind of pain that will linger for years to come as an ache in their bones and a scar over their hearts.

It isn’t fair. But Din’s lived long enough to know the universe never intended life to be that way.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Bo-Katan asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He blinks at her, realizing this is the question she’d been withholding since she came down the ladder. Never has she asked him a request before. “What is it?”

“You must separate Gideon from the Darksaber,” she answers, expression one of absolute seriousness. “The Armorer warned my people if the Lightsaber was ever mishandled, it would turn against the wielder by transforming into the Darksaber. Instead of empowering you, it deceives you. Fills your head with delusions until you lose your grip on reality entirely.”

“And you want to spare Gideon’s sanity?” Din asks slowly.

“Of course not. The son of a bitch deserves to be punished for his crimes. Even if I did want to,” her lips curl into a snarl at the thought, “there’s no way of undoing the damage done to his mind. What I want is for the weapon to be returned to the Armorer. She’s the only one who can properly dispose of it.”

“Right,” he agrees quietly. Anything that comes out of the Armorer’s forge is built to last the length of eternity. He could toss the Darksaber into the center of a sun and it’d remain whole and unaffected, waiting to twist the mind of the next wielder. Nodding his head, he assures her, “I’ll take care of it, even if I have to cut off his hands.”

“Good.”

Din paces the length of the hull, each thud of his boots making contact with the metal floor blends with the low hum of the engines. Usually he’d ignore the creaks and groans of his home, but the metallic symphony is the only thing capable of drowning out the thoughts in his head urging him to storm the cockpit and retake control from Ahsoka.

“Pacing isn’t going to make us arrive any quicker,” Bo-Katan tells him, not even bothering to open her eyes as she lounges atop one of his storage crates. “Ahsoka said it will be another hour at least.”

He has a retort ready on his tongue when a voice calls out his name from somewhere beyond the Razor Crest.

“Din!”

Din freezes in place as unexpected, heart-wrenching hope slices through his chest. He knows that voice. It’s his favorite in all the galaxy.

“Death?” Bo-Katan asks, concerned by his stillness. “What’s wrong?”

He tentatively reaches out towards the bond, giving it the slightest of tugs. When he feels the distant flicker of a reaction on the other end from his angel he nearly forgets how to breathe.

“The bond,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe and relief. “I can feel it again.”

Longing fills his chest where the hollowness used to reside now that the invisible block separating them is gone. It wraps around his heart, squeezing so tightly he nearly falls to his knees. Din pulls at the bond again on impulse, possessed by the all-consuming need to see her, to have her at his side where she’ll be safe.

The bond protests the harsh treatment, too weak to physically bring them together across the vast distance separating them. He snarls a curse under his breath, hating being helpless to protect her. It’s unfair, he finds himself thinking for a second time. Unfair how it hurts more now being able to feel her presence compared to when he couldn’t at all.

A paper airplane flickers into existence on the horizon of his mind, flying straight into his hand when he reaches out for it. I can’t leave this place. Not yet, the note says. The words themselves are unsettling, but it’s the strength of the emotions she’s attached that has him reeling with shock. For one crazy, electrifying moment he thinks he’s passed onto the afterlife.

Another note arrives. I miss you, Din. I want to see you so much it hurts. And it’s unbelievable, truly, that he’s found someone who makes him feel as though he’s flying and falling simultaneously.

As he sends a message of his own, never has he been more certain that if anyone can put an end to the darkness inside of him—it’s her.

“The Moff is an expert when it comes to defensive warding,” Ahsoka says as the three of them stand looking up at a canyon wall that extends in either direction as far as their eyes can see. “But even he can’t hide from my sight.”

Din scuffs at the salt-covered ground with his boot, still coming to terms with the fact all this time Gideon’s been hiding out on Crait of all planets. As much as he wants to believe Ahsoka’s right, his powers can’t detect even the barest hint of the Seraph’s presence.

Bo-Katan’s eyebrows arch with skepticism. “You’re sure this is the right place? It’s kind of remote.”

“Perfect for building an army,” Ahsoka replies without missing a beat.

Din exchanges a look with his reaper, realizing this is the first time either of them are hearing about this.

“Gideon has an army?” he asks. “Who—”

“Mercenaries,” she interrupts, turning around to face them. Her blue eyes are distant and cloudy, entranced by a vision. “When I break the warding, all but one will meet the end of their mortal lives attempting to overpower us.”

“All but one? I don’t think so.” Bo-Katan rests her hands deliberately on her blaster pistols. “Anyone who works for Gideon is an enemy in my book.”

“Migs Mayfeld is not to be harmed.” There is steel in Ahsoka’s voice as she blinks back into the present moment.

Din nudges Bo-Katan with his arm when it looks like she wants to continue arguing. The reaper huffs a quiet breath of annoyance, but eventually jerks her head in the tiniest nod of compliance.

Ahsoka grabs her twin sabers from her belt and ignites their blue blades. She handles her weapons with deadly grace, altering her appearance from peaceful Oracle to fierce and cunning warrior. Turning back to the canyon wall, her gaze trails over the red-brown rocks only to pause and narrow at seemingly random points.

Bo-Katan tries and fails to follow her line of vision. “What are you—”

The Oracle leaps into the air with surprising agility, lashing out with her sabers against the rock. Blinding light bursts forth from the point of collision followed by a flickering glimpse of a gigantic metal door.

“—looking at,” Bo-Katan finishes quietly, watching Ahsoka swing herself higher to attack another portion of the canyon wall where the next segment of warding is hidden.

There is something undeniably satisfying about seeing the door materialize as the wardings cloaking it are destroyed. Every precise strike of Ahsoka’s sabers brings Din one step closer to reuniting with his soulmate.

As if spurred by the mere thought of her, fear ripples across the bond like a gust of icy wind, stopping his heart cold. His angel is terrified. Din reaches out as far as the bond will allow in its fragile state, trying to get her attention by pulling at it and shouting her name, but none of his attempts breach the storm of panic.

“She needs me,” he mutters to himself, stepping forward with clenched fists. His vision narrows until all he can see is the door in front of him, an obstacle that must be dealt with. “She needs my help.”

“Wait,” Bo-Katan calls out, but her voice sounds as if it’s coming from thousands of miles away. “Ahsoka isn’t finished with the warding yet!”

If he were capable of rational thought in that moment, he would have heeded her warning. As it is, he summons his power into the palm of his hand, the darkness inside of him crowing in wicked delight. He winds his arm back, preparing to slam his fist against the door, only for a whipcord to wrap around his wrist with an audible zip.

He’s pulled backwards onto the ground, breath knocked from his lungs as he lands with a heavy thud. Bo-Katan appears not a second later and pins him in place by straddling his waist. The darkness is demanding he push her aside, knowing with absolute certainty the reaper is no match against him, and it takes all his strength to wrestle the urge under control.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” She glares at him, eyes resembling green flames eager to incinerate him.

“I—” he rasps, breathing heavily. His hand starts trembling, a burning itch under his skin. “I can feel her fear. She needs me.”

Bo-Katan blows out a long, frustrated breath. “Well, shit.” She jostles him then, forcing his head to momentarily clear as his helmet smacks the ground. “Look, soulmates are soulmates for a reason, right? I heard it’s like being two halves of the same whole. So if your soulmate is anything like you, she’s not going to give up without a fight. You have to trust she can take care of herself right now. That she’ll be fine.”

Din bristles. Trust is not the issue here. There is no one he trusts more than his angel—not Bo-Katan, not Ahsoka, not even Kuiil. The issue is he’s being asked to deny the instinct to shield her from danger which is woven into every cell of his being.

“She’ll be fine.” The words come out sounding sharp around the edges, cutting his tongue like shrapnel. “Everything will be fine.”

Bo-Katan disconnects the whipcord and rises to full height, apparently satisfied by his agreement. Din pushes himself onto his feet at a slower pace, his hand still shaking as if it's electric. He looks down at it, noticing for the first time the flesh is gone, replaced entirely by shadow. His expression tightens as he observes the change, realizing the black tendrils are slowly creeping up towards his wrist.

An alarm rings out, reverberating off the canyon walls like an explosion. Din’s gaze snaps up just as Ahsoka lands on the ground in a defensive crouch. Now that it's been fully unveiled, the door bears a striking resemblance to ones he’s seen at military fortresses across the galaxy, ridiculously massive to intimidate enemies and impenetrable from outside attacks. It makes sense, he thinks with a scoff, someone as power-hungry as Gideon claiming an abandoned base as their lair. Without the wardings, Din is able to detect the massive number of souls gathering on the other side, resembling vermin crawling over one another in their haste to arm themselves.

He searches for his angel’s soul, even just a glimpse of her bright light, only for his powers to instead encounter a massive cloud of dark, negatively-charged energy within a distant corner of the underground tunnel system. It fills an entire room, prohibiting him from sensing if anyone is inside. There is something strangely familiar about the energy, like he’s encountered its essence before, but he can’t recall the specifics of when or where.

“It’s time.”

Ahsoka’s voice reels his focus back to his physical surroundings. He notices the way her grip on her sabers tightens in anticipation and out of the corner of his eye Bo-Katan withdraws her blasters from their holsters.

The bottom of the door begins to raise with an earsplitting groan, but the mercenaries only wait the minimum amount of time it takes to pass under without hitting their heads to start charging forward.

Every mortal has a beginning and an end just like everything else in the galaxy. These mercenaries are no exceptions, having long sealed their fates when they agreed to accept Gideon’s payment. So when Din’s shadowy hand phases through a man’s chest and tears his heart out of its cavity, staining the white salt under their feet crimson as blood bursts from the vacant hole, Din tells himself he’s simply fulfilling destiny.

He repeats it when he discharges an assault of whistling birds, each one puncturing the throats of each target they encounter with a shrill warcry. And also when he rips a devaronian’s horn out of his head, a fragment of skull and bits of brain matter still gruesomely attached.

Again and again, with each permanently silenced voice and every shattered fragile bone, destiny is fulfilled.

Din would be lying if he said he’s never wondered what it would be like to die. To pass on from this world into a new realm for him to explore. He’s imagined the idyllic afterlife mortals have written poems and novels about, describing it as a blissful safe haven where sorrow and tragedy have no definition because they do not exist. He’s familiar with their opinions of damnation’s appearance, too, as an infernal place of fire and brimstone and screaming.

They were wrong about that.

Damnation is not a distant hell. It is found in an underground lair on Crait.

Instead of flames and sulfur, a Cupid’s blood is split and a soulmate bond is snapped in half.

Instead of screaming, a madman laughs.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” Gideon says through his chuckles, hauling himself onto his feet. His voice is an abrasive rasp, as if he’s shredded his vocal cords by screaming. “I’ve had to be patient, wait to find your weakness so I could catch your attention. It’s a shame, really, she had to be the one you fell for. She was quite the little spitfire.”

Din stares at his soulmate’s motionless body, frozen in place. Please, he pulls at his severed half of the bond, resolutely ignoring how cold it feels. Open your eyes, angel. Don’t leave me. Please.

There is no response. Just heartbreaking silence.

“I sense your anger, your hurt, and grief. Those are mortal emotions.” The Seraph grimaces in disgust, then lets out a low hiss when he agitates the wounds on his face. “By living amongst their kind you’ve forgotten your true potential. You are not their equal, Death. You are their superior. Immortals are meant to be better than them. To rule over every aspect of their pitiful lives.”

“I don’t want to rule anyone,” Din says, dragging his eyes away from his angel to glare at Gideon. Both his hands begin to shake as his mind plunges into a gaping abyss of remorse and despair. “I just want a life with her.”

“Even dead, she continues to blind you.”

Din snarls viciously in response. His control is pushed closer to the brink, holding on by mere fingertips, and darkness engulfs the entire room as a result.

The glow of the Darksaber persists, reflecting off his beskar and Gideon’s armor. It reminds him of moonlight, and he thinks for all that Bo-Katan warned him about the weapon’s sinful qualities, she did not mention its beauty. Even Ahsoka’s vision had failed to truly capture its radiance, just as a holovid can never compete with a face-to-face conversation.

His powers are drawn to the Darksaber. The energy it emits matches the one encountered earlier when searching the tunnels for his angel’s aura. This close, there is no ignoring its familiarity, not when his brain feels seconds away from exploding.

“I used to believe love conquers all,” Gideon prattles on, seemingly oblivious to Din’s torment. “I chose it as the Cupid motto because I thought there was nothing mortals cared more about than the health and happiness of their loved ones. Only after our fateful encounter did the Lightsaber reveal to me the truth.”

Lightsaber? Din’s head jerks up to stare at him, biting back a wince when the throbbing in the back of his mind intensifies at the movement. Does Gideon not realize the weapon has transformed?

By connecting Ahsoka’s claim that Gideon didn’t fully understand the consequence of corrupting the Lightsaber with Bo-Katan’s explanation that the Darksaber deceives its wielder, the answer is an obvious one: he doesn’t.

Gideon mistakes Din’s confusion for interest and his lips slowly curl into a smile. “Mors aeterna. It means—”

“Death is eternal.” The translation slips unbiddenly from Din’s lips before he even realizes his mouth has opened.

“There is no one more feared or respected than you. But for what reason? What have you done to earn your reputation?” Gideon demands, spit flying as his anger flares. “You are no more than the universe’s favorite puppet. Mindlessly obedient to its every demand.”

Hearing the truth always hurts, but hearing it from Gideon is especially torturous. Din’s creed to the universe has dictated his actions the entirety of his existence. He never fought against its orders, never thought of his own desires as more important than what it wanted.

Until he matched with his soulmate. She changed his priorities and shifted the center of his entire world by revealing to him even Death could experience love.

There had been no hesitation when he broke his creed for her.

And he doesn’t hesitate breaking Ahsoka’s promise now.

“I just murdered your soulmate right in front of you and you do nothing. Did you ever love her at all?”

“I do.”

Din summons every trace of power and darkness he possesses and combines them together within his core—a volatile, pulsating mass of pure chaos. His beskar armor starts to crack and chip away, unable to withstand the increasing pressure.

He thinks of his angel’s smiling face, the sound of her laughter, how bright her soul shines, and he thinks all those things are gone now. Not even a chance to say goodbye.

“More than anything.”

And Death lets go.

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#death and an angel #my fic #Din Djarin #din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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lokigayforhela · 3 years

Text

Tantamount

WC: 1077

Rating: G

TW: None

A/N: ....hey. Long time, no see, huh? Anyway, did anyone else watched episode two of What If... and just get Plot Bunnies? No? Just me? Yeah, that checks out. Anyway, this idea would NOT leave me alone, so here’s the first chapter to my first multi-chaptered fic since Love Bites. Enjoy, and let me know if you want more~

[AO3 Link]

Next Chapter

Chapter One: Imprisoned

At the sudden sound of metallic grinding, you sat yourself up as quick as you could manage, back pressed into the corner of your holding cell as you blinked the last of your sleepiness out of your eyes.

It wasn’t that it was unordinary that new… additions were brought in. It was just that you hadn’t had one brought in close to you in a long time and, judging by the reactions of those in the cages around you, they were just as cautiously curious as you were of the new person being placed in the open unit. As soon as you saw movement, however, you ducked back down, choosing instead to eavesdrop out of fear of being caught.

“Sire, are you certain we shouldn’t worry about reinforcing her holding cell? She’s rumored to be one of the most powerful beings in all existence,” you heard a familiar voice say. The Maw, you thought he was called.

“Nonsense.” You tensed a little at the sound of that voice. You’d only met the Collector once, when your captor had handed you over to him to be another prize in his collection, and you couldn’t say you were all too eager to meet him again. “With Asgard destroyed, she’s powerless. And even more so without that tasteful helmet she had. It was placed amongst my personal weapons collection?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Good. That will be all.”

The echo of footsteps receding where the only sound you heard for a few long moments, and shortly after there was the sound of the locks on the cage being engaged, and a few words you couldn’t quite hear before you heard more footsteps as the Collector took his leave, as well.

For a few long moments, you waited, hardly even breathing, in case someone else was still in the room, but when enough time had passed for you to be certain it was just you and the others caged inhabitants, you peeked your head back up so that you could look out in the direction where you’d heard the voices.

Sure enough, there was a new cage floating a few feet away from you, and inside you could see the woman they’d mentioned laid inside, looking extremely worse for the wear. The clothes she wore were singed and tattered, and it looked as though her hair was in much the same condition, and you couldn’t help but to wonder just what had happened to the poor girl.

You wouldn’t have even believed she was alive, if you hadn’t heard them talking about whether they’d need more restraints for her or not.

You’d never seen an Asgardian before, or at the very least, not to your knowledge. Then again, you’d never seen a lot of the things you’d seen since being brought to the Collection, as you’d only ever lived on your home planet, but you wagered she didn’t look so different than you did.

You had no idea when she would wake up, but you didn’t expect it to be anytime soon, and since you were nothing if not eternally curious of new people, you settled in a corner where you could keep watch over the new girl, and waited for her to wake up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep for when you woke to the sound of beating on glass, and you startled slightly at the loudness of it, fighting the urge to cover your ears as you looked over to find where the sound was coming from.

You weren’t at all surprised to see that it was coming from the cell of the Asgardian.

“I swear to the Norns when I find out who put me in here, I’ll kill each and every single one of you, and I’ll enjoy doing it! Show yourself!”

You couldn’t help but to be mildly amused at the conviction in her voice. She was certainly angry. A lot of the new ones were, if they weren’t absolutely terrified out of their minds. But you’d never heard threats like that. You recalled how the Maw had mentioned that she was one of the most powerful beings to exist, but you hadn’t expected her to have so much fight in her, given the state she’d arrived in, but still, she screamed, yelling threats and expletives in both English and a language you’d never heard before, and you found yourself just watching in a sort of dazed state of mesmerism.

You didn’t realize it was noticeable, however, until you heard the voice address you.

“And what are you staring at, girl?”

You hesitated, suddenly very aware that you had, in fact, been staring.

“…nothing. I just… It doesn’t do any good to scream like that. No one will come.”

“And how do you know that?”

You couldn’t help but to laugh softly. “Well… I’ve been here a very long time. Seen a lot of people get put in these cages. Not once have they been let back out.”

“I’m not like anyone else.” The woman’s voice was almost unbearably haughty; it was almost a sickeningly refreshing departure from the usual crying and beating on glass until the realization hit that they were stuck here for the foreseeable future.

You remained silent for a while, looking at her while trying not to look like you were staring at her. “…the men that brought you in said you were powerful… one of the most powerful beings to exist… Is that true?”

The woman smirked, and lifted her chin proudly, but then seemed to hesitate, a series of expressions passing over her face seemingly all at once. “…what would you know of power, anyway? You’re helpless, all trapped in your little box over there.”

You smiled, but it was tense, and a little sad. “…so are you, lady.”

The woman said nothing to that, but balled her hands into fists against the bottom of her cage as she brought her knees to her chest, looking away from you. She looked, you realized, extremely tired. Like her anger had taken what little energy she’d still had and depleted it into nothingness for the time being. “…I’ll find a way out of here. Mark my words.” And then in a much quieter voice that you almost had to strain to hear, “I have to.”

You nodded to yourself, and smiled a little more, despite the fact that she wasn’t looking at you. “Well… I hope for your sake, you’re right.”

#Hela x reader #Hela Odinsdottir x reader #Hela #Hela Odinsdottir #Marvel #hurt/comfort #angst #eventual romance #eventual fluff #eventual happy ending

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rosesmusicandaloeveraplants · 2 years

Text

fly high fly low, always have a place at home

Everyone always have to find a way to reset the mental, but for this time Reign needed some help from HBG

posted on ao3 or read below :D

check out the for eternity, time and time again masterpost!

Reign knew he was among the best, the fastest, hell he had the world record in his hands months ago, albeit so briefly.

That certainly didn't help with bitter taste in his mouth when luck decided that they didn't want to smile upon him today. That didn't help when Fein, then Moley, and Hoffik smiled apologetically as they were victorious over him, with one less eye break, one more rod found, more string from trades.

So he went, while everyone congratulated Fein for keeping his title of "Tourney Dominator", threw himself into the empty void before anyone could notice and catch up to him.

---

Reset. Reset. Reset.

How long has it been since he left the tournament? Minutes, hours, even days maybe? He lost count past the fifth hundred world he spawned in.

He floated, in the void, a momentary break, letting it carry him to wherever it pleases before he flicks at his communicator, landing in an ocean.

Reset.

He wanted to take a nap in the void, but something told him that it probably wouldn't be a good idea.

His head feels so fuzzy. His movement has gone sloppy.

Reset. Reset. Reset.

Until he heard someone call out his name, exhaustion blurring out on who it possibly could be. Reign put down the communicator, and turned around, disoriented, registering two figures that were in the void with him.

Nerdi, donning his purple cloak of twinkling stars, and Tek, with his signature TV helmet.

"You dumbass, we were so concerned for you," Tek called out, propelling through the void to close the gap between the runners.

"Wh-what are you guys doing here?" Reign called out.

"You haven't been home in days Reign," Nerdi said quietly. "Everyone's been worried."

"I'm fine." Reign said, turning away from the two.

"Have you even rested?" Nerdi called out, making Reign pause before he started drifting away.

"I said I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine Reign," Tek said quietly, "just come home with us."

"I don't want your pity." Reign lashed out. "I know I lost and I could've done better, I should've been faster, that I shouldn't be this dependent on whatever luck is to win a tourney."

His hands were shaking. The other two probably noticed as well.

Tek floated over, looked into Reign's eyes for a fleeting moment, before wrapping his arms around him. Reign melted into the hug, but futilely tried to push him away.

"I can't go back."

"Who says you can't?" Tek gently asked, not letting Reign go.

"I just can't. How could I face HBG losing like this?"

Nerdi floated closer. "Would you look at Fein differently if he lost the tourney?"

"What? Of course not."

"How about Illumina, or Fruit, or Pete or Punz or TapL when they don't win MCC?"

"No."

"How about if any of us didn't win Twitch Rivals?"

"Obviously not."

"You wouldn't look at the rest of HBG differently if we didn't win, why would we look at you differently?"

"B-because, because I," Reign started, but was unable to finish. He's gonna blame his exhaustion for that.

"Please come home, for me, for Dylan?" Tek added quietly, "for HBG?"

"Come home so we can make sure that you're okay," Nerdi pleaded.

"Okay," Reign agreed softly, falling asleep in Tek's embrace.

---

Reign woke up when they returned home, HBG all waiting by the campfire by the gate. When he stepped foot onto the ground, Fein and Dylan stood up from where they were sitting, ran over and hugged Reign tightly, relieved that he was okay. Soon HBG all dogpiled into the hug, and Reign felt at home.

#reignex #hbg #mcsr #i tried writing guys <3 #so my brain decided i should speedrun this while i can't work on my long wip which is fair ig

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solomonish · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains (Lucifer & Mammon)

At first, Lucifer thought that to fall with those he loved more dearly than anyone was the final blessing the Celestial Realm would bestow upon him.

But Father did not intend to stop after taking Lilith from them. He just took her first - the brothers still had themselves and each other to lose.

ao3 link: here!

---

The office in the manor was slowly becoming more and more cluttered as Lucifer continued to drag stacks of paperwork and countless manuals on Devildom culture into the house when he returned from his meetings with Diavolo. The business he had been tasked to sort out for the rest of his existence needed to be started on right away, leaving Lucifer tied up with an amount of work fitting for the place he now had to learn to call home. Instead of navigating the new life with his brothers, he had to spend his time navigating the halls of the palace or bent over an old wooden desk. The impressive castle doors now instinctively sent a pit into his stomach and finding the Royal Butler Barbatos waiting for him to lead him so he wouldn't lose himself in the halls hurt Lucifer in a weird, bruising way he had never felt before.

By the time he got home, the house was normally quiet. It scared him, at first: after spending so long in battle, silence could only mean something bad. During the first days, he found his brothers huddled up in the same spot, unwilling to be alone. Beel and Belphie would be curled around each other in some way, inseparable as they had always been. Mammon could be found sprawled over the carpet,, one hand gripping Satan's ankle or wrist as if that'd be enough to stop one of his rampages. Perhaps it was; from what Lucifer heard, every day he was getting better, learning more. Mammon wasn't the only one gripping him; Asmodeus was often cuddled next to Satan, clinging tightly to his arm or sometimes even to him. He was getting awfully affectionate lately, but maybe it was doing Satan some good. Only Levi wasn't directly touching anyone, but even though his back was turned, his new tail would occasionally twitch and brush against one of his brothers.

These scenes gave Lucifer pause, the feeling he was learning to be pride swelling in his chest. Everything was alright. Mammon had kept things under control.

He left them alone, not wanting to disturb their peace, and continued his work, the task distracting his mind and the affection distracting his heart from the crippling grief that loomed above them all.

Eventually, though, the brothers disbanded. The quirks he had noticed growing in them soon became hallmarks of their new beings: Asmodeus' affections were becoming increasingly licentious, Belphegor could hardly be found awake regardless of the time, items turned up missing and wound up in Mammon’s possession...each of his brothers seemed to spiral further and further towards degeneracy, save for Satan, who was as sinful as it got and instead retreated into himself and forming a grudge against everyone for his status as what seemed like a half-baked replacement.

Ever the dependable brother - a thought that was now strangely accompanied by a twinge of something unpleasant instead of the warm, affectionate delight Lucifer was used to - Mammon still tried to keep everyone together.

At first, it seemed to work. Nobody seemed entirely willing or even purposely trying to avoid the others. However, it seemed that the sin they began to embody were too great an obstacle none of them knew how to hurdle. Any interruption infuriated Satan, and Asmo seemed offended at the concept of taking his own time away from himself to check in on his brothers. Beel and Belphie could never be taken away from easing the effects of their sins for long enough to hold a meaningful conversation, and Levi had already dug himself so deep in a self-deprecating hole he seemed convinced any efforts to connect were the beginning of an elaborate prank to make fun of him. When items turned up missing immediately after Mammon’s visits, doors started slamming if they even opened.

Still, his attempts to keep the camaraderie alive meant Lucifer had more time to spend on the paperwork. It was a good system - at least, that’s how he felt. Evidently, Mammon didn’t feel the same.

Normally, on the days where Mammon made a futile attempt at his rounds (days that were becoming more and more scarce throughout the week), Mammon passed by Lucifer’s door. This time, there was an angry knock on the door, more of an alert to Mammon’s presence than a request for permission. The door didn’t bang against the wall, but Mammon had twisted the doorknob rather ferociously and Lucifer almost flinched at the noise it made. Taken aback by his brother’s stormy entrance, he nearly watched him approach impassively. There hadn’t been any opportunity to discuss the proper, respectful way to enter his workspace - clearly, this needed to be remedied soon.

“What’re ya even doing in here?” Mammon bellowed, looking around. The shelves that had books in them were put together nicely, the sturdy wood packed with old books about a life they both used to find reprehensible. How cruel of their father to force them to live what He made them fear most.

“You can lower your voice,” Lucifer answered, dropping his pen on the desk. When he leaned back, ignoring the way his upper back twinged at the change from his previous slumped posture, he met Mammon’s eyes and was surprised to see genuine frustration behind them. “I’ve been working.”

A scoff had never sounded more irritating to Lucifer’s ears. “Is that what it is? Because to me, it seems like you’re avoiding us.”

Lucifer scrunched his eyebrows. “Where did you-”

“Is that it? What, we all lost so now we’re losers and you can’t stand to look at us?”

“I never-”

“Or you couldn’t fill the void left when you were thrown out as the world’s best lapdog, so you became Diavolo’s instead?”

“Stop right there, Mammon,” Lucifer commanded, standing from his seat. His voice had a steely chill to it that it never had before, one to match the resentment burning inside of him. Instinctively, Mammon backed off. They didn’t know much about their new predicament, but they knew how the seven of them ranked in power, and Lucifer would always come out on top. “I’m won’t concern myself with where you got these foolish thoughts from. Perhaps it would benefit you to spend less time with Levi-”

“Levi? How could you know if he even had anything to do with this? When’s the last time you saw him?” Mammon shot back. “Spending less time with anybody isn’t the answer to anything, though of course it’d be your answer to things.”

Lucifer sighed. “I’m working out the details of this situation so you don’t have to worry yourselves with it.”

Mammon didn’t have an immediate response to that, instead watching Lucifer with betrayed eyes. He seemed to deflate over time, a resignation falling over him that forced his fire out with a sigh. "We were a team, Lucifer. What the hell happened?"

There were obvious answers to that, and there were not so obvious answers. Faced with so many options, Lucifer found himself unable to choose between them, and instead stared blankly at Mammon. Slowly, Lucifer sat back in his seat without breaking eye contact.

We've been ripped away from everything and left to become scabs over the wounds we've been given. All I'm trying to do is give you the freedom to heal however you need to, to keep you from the chains that could have just as easily awaited us as this fate did.

I'm hiding from you a burden that is too heavy to pass on - if I move it from my shoulders, I fear my arms would be too weak to carry it to you.

There were so many ways to tell Mammon that Lucifer had to lock himself away, the door a heavy shield against his own grief and the ever-growing work that buried him and the secret he carried. Even if Lucifer didn’t trust his own mouth to only say what was necessary, he could just thank Mammon for his efforts, tell him that he trusted Mammon more than anybody to keep together the one thing that ought to stay intact after the holy hell they’d created. But something inside him bristled, swelling uncomfortably until he felt like a balloon ready to burst. Gulping down his thoughts, Lucifer resumed his writing, the pen scratching against the paper more ferociously than the claws of any creature by which they now found themselves surrounded.

"I don't need your help," Lucifer answered simply, with finality. Though the words rang true in his mind, they were leaden with the way they pulled on his heart and tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mammon scoffed again, narrowing his eyes so Lucifer wouldn't be able to notice the tears that began to gather within them. "Fine, then. I-I didn't wanna help ya out anymore anyway."

As Mammon stomped out the door of his office with a huff, Lucifer felt something snap inside him. It wasn't in the way pent up rage unleashed itself, apparently, somehow in the form of a sixth brother, but more in the way one holds on desperately to a branch too thin for the weight. Once it snaps, the plummet is rough, with stronger branches breaking up the fall and taunting tossing them around in a cruel ricochet. Outside of the thick wooden door, it was startlingly quiet, as if the house itself was forcing Lucifer to grapple with the final thread holding them together being cut with his own words.

The pain started in his chest, the way it always did, wrapping around his heart and lungs like thorny vines. The spot on his lower back, occasionally tickled by phantom feathers, throbbed as his entire brain seemed to weigh heavier in his head. After a near eternity surrounded by laughter and the beautiful, enchanting hum of Celestial life and a thundering of battle that would ring in his head for the rest of his existence, the silence seemed like a stifling blanket, the final lock on the cage they had been forced into.

When one opposed Father and lost, he truly did lose everything.

#MMMMMMMMMMM brothers #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me sw #swd obey me #lucifer #mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #lucifer angst #mammon angst #mine #swd lucifer #swd mammon #obey me fanfic

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sapphiccrypt · 3 years

Text

The Names You Call Me

Oh boy- I don’t have an Ao3 account so I guess I’m putting this here.

Ship: Wanda x Agatha (MCU) AU: Soulmate AU Word Count: 2578 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha had been around for a while- of course she had. She was a witch from all the way back in the time of the Salem Witch Trials. However, in the roughly estimated 350 years she’d been alive (she’d lost count around the first World War), she hadn’t figured out who her soulmate was. Everyone had one, or at least, everyone was supposed to. Every little nickname or term of endearment your soulmate called you was supposed to be inked somewhere on your skin. However, she herself had been a blank canvas for centuries. It’s not like she minded, she was always more focused on acquiring more magical knowledge.

However, this didn’t stop the witch from giving little nicknames to everyone. It had become a habit over time. Was it so that she’d finally find her supposed soulmate one day? Or perhaps it was just to prove to herself that said soulmate didn’t exist and would never exist. Either way, this habit hadn’t shown any positive results, at least, that’s what she thought.

It was one of her habits that carried over into the nosy neighbor persona she had become forced to play.

------

Wanda’s parents always told them about soulmates, how those little names that appeared on your skin were supposed to be so meaningful and lovely. Oh how she wished that was the case. Of course, life always seemed to want to throw a curveball at her.

She was in her cabin in the vast wilderness when she had decided to shower. As she stepped out, her hair was intricately braided with magic. She had decided to check said braid in the mirror when she noticed something that made her heart sink.

Written in small lettering along her lower back were different words. Wanda knew what this meant, of course she did. Everyone was told about soulmates. There were so many rom coms and tv shows about it. Hell- in the show she’d weaved together from the town of Westview, she’d finally been able to make Vision and herself soulmates. However, the few nicknames the deceased synthezoid had called her in the past weren’t written there.

Instead, there were ones like “buttercup,” “hon,” and “toots,” among a few others. In the back of her mind, she knew where those nicknames came from- who those nicknames came from. She stared at the writing for a while. Why her of all people? The one that betrayed her and tried to take her magic? Why couldn’t it have been Vision, or anyone else for that matter? Why did it have to be Agatha?

The mirror shatters.

------

Agatha didn’t know how long she was trapped in the lonely and painstakingly quiet void of own mind. Mere minutes could feel like years just for the next hour to pass like milliseconds. Feeling and watching herself do and say things, think things, without it really being her was a fate worse than death. No matter how hard she would scream, no one could hear her there.

Agnes, meanwhile, was brewing herself a morning cup of coffee. She had always been a coffee person, for as long as she could remember, just like she had always been living in the quiet town of Westview. Of course, she found her hobbies. Along with being the neighborhood gossip, she would tend to her garden and watch fun movies. It was a simple life, and she liked it, despite the part of herself buried deep within the far corners of her mind that told her this wasn’t what she should be doing.

As the housewife was pouring her coffee into one of her many ornate mugs, a knock at the door echoed above the noise of the television and her own humming. She almost spilled her coffee but set the pot aside on the counter. “I’ll be there in just a moment!” Agnes called as she speed-walked over to the door and opened it to see her former neighbor.

“Wanda! What a pleasant surprise,” Agnes began with the same neighborly smile she always put on. The one that seemed so permanent that her cheeks would often hurt after a while. “And here I thought you had forgotten about little ol’ Agnes,” she teased, stepping out of the doorway so the other could enter. “Please, come on in.”

Wanda would nod, smiling calmly over at the other. “It’s nice to see you again, Agnes,” she’d comment as she looked around the neatly decorated house. The whole place had a sickeningly sweet atmosphere, as to be expected of the role she had put upon the other. She sat down on the couch Agnes guided her over to, looking over at the sitcom playing on the television. She had been meaning to watch that one.

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, tea, something a little more...adult?” Agnes asked with a mischievous smirk as she moved into the kitchen. “Take your pic, pumpkin.”

She looked down as the other called her a new nickname, knowing it was probably added to the list of words that were written on her back. “Tea is fine, thanks,” the Sokovian woman commented, quietly resting her hands in her lap as she prepared for what was to come. Hopefully the runes she’d placed on the house and Agatha herself would stop her from attacking or playing with her mind again.

Agnes rambled on about life in Westview and tidbits of gossip she’d picked up on since the other had left the small New Jersey town. Soon enough, the shrill noise of the teapot pierced the air and she prepared the other’s drink, walking in with both mugs after reheating her own coffee.

Wanda talked with Agnes for a few minutes, thanking her for the tea and sipping it as they chatted and watched the television program. When the other set her mug down on the coffee table, the younger witch moved a glowing red hand to the other’s temple, bringing back the witch that she had previously locked away.

Agatha’s eyes widened and she gasped as all her senses came back to her and she was in her own mind again. She looked over at Wanda, stumbling away from the other on the couch some before her gaze narrowed. “What do you want?” She asked. She knew deep down she couldn’t really do much besides listen to the other, as she couldn’t feel the usual buzz of magic underneath her skin.

“Well it’s nice to see you too, Agatha.” Wanda said, still keeping a calm demeanor about her as she looked over at the other. “I had to come by and see how my nosy neighbor was doing.”

The older of the two grumbled as she got up, blue eyes gazing at the other and desperately trying to figure out her motives. “You and I both know that isn��t the reason, Red.” Agatha commented. At least she was herself again, although being powerless like this was still worse than death, in her opinion.

Wanda sighed. What was with this woman and all her nicknames? She was sure her back was soon to be covered in words. “I just want to talk,” she paused, considering her next words. “Ags.” She noticed the hint of some marking on the other’s left arm, although it was mainly covered by her sleeve.

Agatha looked a bit surprised at the nickname before glaring once more. “What do you want to talk about.” She muttered, sitting down at a chair adjacent to the other. She didn’t really want to talk, but she didn’t quite want to be Agnes again either.

“Well- I have two things. First, a sort of proposal of sorts,” Wanda replied. “You said I would need you, so this is a time to make yourself needed. Teach me the secrets of the Darkhold, I know you know it well.” Some of the spells in the book were quite confusing, and at times the book itself seemed like it didn’t want to be read, and surely giving this incentive would give her the insight she needed on the book.

“The second...” she began again, “....is this,” Wanda said as red magic rolled up the left sleeve of the other’s shirt, causing Agatha to tense some. “Take a look for yourself.”

The brunette’s gaze settled on her arm, eyes widening as she read out the small, 3 letter nickname the other had just called her. She opened her mouth to speak for a moment before promptly closing it right afterwards. She was silent for what seemed like eternity before she let out a low chuckle.

“You must be covered then, huh, dearie?”

------

Months passed as the two resided in Wanda’s cabin. The Scarlet Witch’s training was going alright- save for a few clearings in the forest that definitely weren’t there before. Overtime, arguments and harsh words turned to cheeky and sarcastic remarks. Neither of them brought up the soulmate thing too much, as if the situation was a creature one would be advised not to poke with a stick. This didn’t stop Agatha from coming up with new nicknames just to add to the collection and tick off Wanda, however. Meanwhile her own arm was mostly bare save for a few names she was called when the other wanted to try at the game that the older witch was playing.

It was late morning, Wanda was usually the first to wake up, whether it was from her just being an early riser or nightmares she got frequently was up for debate. She prepared a small meal, just some bacon and eggs, making her some tea. Agatha often made her own coffee, through normal or magical needs.

She had decided after a couple weeks to let Agatha use her magic, as trust had grown between the two and it was easier for the magic lessons to have someone who could actually use magic. Agatha hadn’t attacked or anything, she seemed to know it wouldn’t end well. Plus, through the passing months, both women were beginning to take a liking to one another, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

Agatha came down from her room a few minutes after Wanda had sat down for breakfast, pushing messy brunette hair out of her face so her vision wasn’t obscured. She grabbed a mug, magically making herself some coffee before getting a portion of breakfast and sitting down across from Wanda at the small wooden dining table.

“Good morning.” Wanda commented with a soft smile. Although part of herself hated to say it, she really enjoyed Agatha’s company. She had grown to enjoy the little nicknames, the teasing remarks, the way her laugh made her feel like her heart was made of butterflies. Disregard that last part.

Agatha nodded, sipping her coffee. “Morning.” She said, taking a few bites of breakfast that the other had prepared. “This is good, buttercup.” She smirked some at the other before sipping her coffee. “Ready for today’s practice?”

Wanda looked up from her cup of tea and over at who had become her mentor. “Of course.” She responded. Her control over her magic had been getting better, and she’d been learning all sorts of spells and runes from the other witch.

After breakfast, the two women got changed and went out into the forest, into one of the clearings that had been there before the two had started using the area for magic practices. This spot was quite peaceful, and the two spent many hours reading through the Darkhold, along with other books of magic that Agatha had acquired over the centuries of her life.

Practice went as normal, going over a few new runes and such, like one Agatha had used to block out her mind from the other’s telepathy in Westview. It was a difficult rune but Wanda had proved to be a quick and skilled learner. After a couple more runes, Agatha would switch over to spells.

Wanda didn’t like to admit that elemental magic was really frustrating. How was chaos and creation easier than controlling water? The two had moved to a nearby creek for this spell. Agatha instructed how to control the water but each try ended in one or both of them getting splashed.

Agatha had an idea and moved closer to Wanda. “Here.” She began, standing behind her and placing her hands on her wrists, ignoring the quickened beating of her heart. Yeah, she was falling for the other, who also happened to be her soulmate, so be it. She’d deal with that “problem” later. “You have to follow the flow of the water with your body, be fluid in your movements and calm in your emotions.”

It was hard to be calm when Agatha was against her like this and her cheeks were tinted the same color of her magic, but Wanda was determined to get this seemingly simple spell down. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths as she tried to cast the spell, moving in tandem with her mentor. Things seemed to be going quite well, opening one eye to see the water moving with them.

Until she fell, of course.

She had heard a rustling in the bushes and her concentration broke and caused her to stumble and fall forward, Agatha falling along with her into the cold shallow water. A deer ran out of their view. Wanda began to apologize before the other let out what was probably the most genuine laugh she’d ever heard, causing her already pounding heart to skip a few beats. She found herself laughing along.

Agatha stood up, helping the other to her feet as well. “Well that’s a way to become one with the water,” she teased, smiling at Wanda. “If I wasn’t already awake, I definitely am now.” She added before smirking and splashing the other.

“Hey!” The younger witch exclaimed as the cold water made her shiver, although the smile she had on never left her lips. “No fair,” she added before splashing the other in return.

Agatha chuckled before reaching over to move some wet hair out of the other’s face. Her hand lingered on her cheek for a moment as their eyes met before she quickly looked away, going to climb out of the creek before a hand grabbed hers, and she looked back at Wanda. “What is it, darling?” She asked.

Wanda ignored how much the nickname made her face heat up. She hadn’t really been thinking as she grabbed the other’s hand, and she ended up staring into the other’s eyes for longer than most normal friends would. Her heart kept beating and she felt like if she didn’t say something to break the tension would be infinite.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Ok- anything but that.

The older witch was the one blushing now, before chuckling softly as their fingers intertwined. “And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.” She teased, smiling at the other as they moved closer to one another.

It doesn’t matter who ended up kissing who, what matters is that it happened, and neither seemed to want to pull away.

When they finally did so, Wanda found herself leaning into Agatha’s touch as the other woman caressed her cheek, and she entangled one of her hands into the other’s unruly dark hair.

“I don’t think I mind being your soulmate, Aggie.”

Another mark appeared on Agatha’s arm, and they both leaned in for another kiss

#harkximoff #wanda x agatha #wandagatha #agatha x wanda #witch wives #one shot #fanfic #marvel #mcu #soulmate au #agatha harkness #wanda maximoff #this is my first fic here and im kinda nervous but y'all wanted it so here it is

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