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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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Summary: Jason Todd was raised on the streets, in Gotham’s filth, but the blood that was running through his veins was everything but. Jason was the last of a line of gruesome, death stained mages, necromancers who dealt in souls and flickering images of immortality. Jason was a fifteen-year-old boy who crawled out of his grave, weeks after he died, reanimated by powers he couldn’t understand or control, and struggled to feel alive even when his father was holding onto him.

AN: I finally get to post my @batfam-big-bang fanfic! I My lovely beta readers for this wonderful project were @nycis and @queerbutstillhere while my amazing artists were @darkmagyk and @paperedking and @zannakai. Check out their stunning pieces!!!

Read on AO3

I had a night I had a day I did one million stupid things I said one billion foolish things I'm not okay

If there are two emotions Jason knows well, they are fear and anger. Both had accompanied him since his earliest childhood memories. His father’s shouting had been a constant source of anger and fear. His loud voice had forced Jason to hide beneath the table, his bed, the closet, all spaces he had falsely assumed would be too small for his father to reach. With bated breath he had waited for the screeching to stop until only his mother’s soft sobs had echoed through the rooms. Those too had angered Jason. He didn’t know whether it was on her behalf, because he had hated his father so much for causing her any pain, or because that anger had been for himself, the poor child whose mother wasn’t strong enough to leave her piece of shit husband.

On the streets, anger had kept him warm at night and fear had ensured he stayed alive. He had marveled at the shiny tires of the Batmobile, but even then, deep down, he had been so incredibly angry. He was going hungry while another drove a car like that. He had ignored his fear then and stolen the tires regardless.

It had been the best decision of his life.

So now, when once again he was stuck between fear and anger, he chose to dismiss his fear and lash out instead.

“You can’t be serious!” Jason hissed, throwing up his arms.

Rage boiled beneath his skin like an active volcano. It infected his voice, his stance. He rose to his full height, making him the tallest in the room, but none of his siblings even blinked at it. They were too used to such simpleminded intimidation tactics, employed similar ones in front of villains who thought they could get the better of them.

“This is the right way,” Dick said, his voice strained with finality, a kind of authority he had no right to evoke.

He was not their leader, and he sure as hell was not their father. Dick barely understood what Jason was capable of and when he did, was too scared of it. The others didn’t see it, but Jason knew a coward when he saw one. Dick always tip-toed around Jason’s room like he expected the undead to crawl right out of it and drag him into a bloody casket. Beyond that, he also always took the patrol routes far away from Jason’s apartment complex and city district. Jason didn’t mind, he preferred it when the others kept their noses out of the Narrows and Crime Alley. His people didn’t particularly enjoy it either when the other bats and birds came around to play there as they tended to mess with the wards and ask uncomfortable questions. Jason understood too well how unsettling his presence could be and therefore knew very well that Dick had no room to make such decisions or judge Jason for them.

“The right way,” Jason repeated. “Do you even hear yourself? If everything was right, Bruce would still be here!”

Tim and Steph both winced when Jason said his name and even Dick’s face fell. They all didn’t understand it. Death was so final to them instead of just another state of being, one that Jason could reverse.

“I can bring him back,” Jason continued, desperation seeping into his voice. “Everything will be alright again. It’s all in these books. I just need your help.”

Why couldn’t his siblings just understand that he would fix it and then everything would go back to being the way it was before Darkseid had torn their lives to shreds. The Cave had become messy since Bruce’s death. It had been barely a month ago but it already showed despite best efforts. Jason had dragged all his books here to study and take notes, the constant hum of the technology as much a motivational hymn as it was a lullaby. His notes now were spread out all across the table, proudly displaying the work Dick was disregarding so very easily.

Dick only stubbornly shook his head. “No, Bruce wouldn’t want that.”

This wasn’t about what Bruce wanted, he was dead. This was simply about deciding how they were going to fix it.

“You don’t know that,” Jason countered. “It’s not like he wrote it in his will.”

Dick let out a low breath and dragged his hands through his hair as if Jason were causing him a headache. They had attended the reading of the will just hours before. Alfred had made sure they had all dressed up in proper suits the way they had for the closed casket funeral because there hadn’t been a body to recover. It would make it all more difficult to bring Bruce back without his original body to tie his soul too, but Jason was confident that he would be able to pull it off. Jason had only listened half-heartedly to the reading of the will. He knew its contents by heart, they all did. Every hero had a will set up and about ten proxies who knew every word and could recite it in case their death had been unnatural.

Alfred had been given custody over Damian while Tim had been emancipated. The Wayne fortune had been split five ways between Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Damian while Steph and Barbara both got a huge stipend. It was all for nothing, Bruce would be back. Cass knew it as well, or so Jason hoped. She hadn’t even bothered to show for the funeral but had left the city the night before. Jason wished she had stayed, she would support him.

Instead, Jason had to make everyone else listen to him.

Tim was still straight up in denial and didn’t believe that Bruce was dead. His parents had died around the same time, just two years earlier. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to handle it and escape into his delusions instead. Steph, for all that she was a part of the team and family, Jason’s closest confidant out of all of them, had chosen to stay neutral while Dick protested vehemently.

Damian, meanwhile, just thought that Jason wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but that could be blamed on his superiority complex. While the kid, a perfect mix of Talia and Bruce, could imitate Bruce’s accent and body language as well as he wanted to, he still reeked of al Ghul arrogance and the Lazarus pit’s side effects. It was a foul stench, poisonous, and foreign to this world. It had hurt Bruce when Jason had told him what exactly was keeping Damian’s heart beating, but there was nothing that could be done about it. It wasn’t like anybody else besides Jason actually noticed.

“Had he wanted to, we would know,” Dick said.

“But-“

“Jason, stop.” Dick’s order, his tone couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a bark, was harsh. “Bruce is dead and he will stay dead. You will not experiment on his soul just because you think you can bring him back.”

“I don’t think so, I know so,” Jason argued. “You’re just incapable of trusting me! You still think I’m a foolish kid who is just playing around with powers he doesn’t understand!”

His voice rose with every shouted word. It had always been like this. Dick thinking that Jason was crossing too many lines, wasn’t good enough to be Robin or anything. Hell, he had accepted Tim more readily as Robin than he ever had Jason.

“Jason-“ Tim tried to speak up, but was harshly cut off by Dick.

Trust big brother to always know best.

“Because you are!” Dick shouted back. It hurt, cut into flesh like sharp knives, but at the same time it was liberating. Finally, Dick was actually speaking his mind. Honesty, so Jason had learned, was the only way to keep moving forward. They all lied, it was a part of their training, came as natural as breathing, but there was a line you had to be aware of.

“Bruce is dead and you can’t let go. Instead of helping me figure out how to keep Gotham running, you run off and bury your head in old books to find a solution to a problem that isn’t there! He’s gone. I needed you on patrol tonight and you didn’t show.”

Patrol had been just fine, Dick hadn’t needed him. Jason had kept an eye on the comms, they had done as good as they could with three men down. It hadn’t even been a busy night.

“You’re just giving up!”

“And you’re delusional!” Dick retorted.

He picked up one of the pages the closest to him. The originally white paper was covered by ink stains, diagrams smeared uncaringly all over it while Jason had been trying to figure out what exactly his ancestors had gotten up to when they tried to raise the dead.

“This is too much, Jason. You’re only setting yourself up for my failure. I let you keep researching because I thought it would help, but it’s only hurting you. You have to let go.”

“And leave?” Jason spat out. “Like you always do the moment something goes wrong with Bruce?”

Dick froze. His annoyance and misguided worry slowly twisted into dark anger. At that moment, it just felt right. Dick had ceased pretending that he was so much better than them, that he wasn’t struggling without Bruce around. Jason loathed how he sat at breakfast every day, acting as if it was all still alright and fine, smiling and lying continuously.

“I-“ Dick interrupted himself, reigning in his anger as everybody else watched him with keen eyes. “No, no, I’m not having this discussion with you. None of us are on board with your reckless endeavor, so you’re not doing it and that’s final.”

Jason turned to look at the rest of his family, but they were all averting their eyes. Of course, they would all side with Dick over him. He was older, more experienced, the first Robin out of all of them.

He wasn’t the resurrected boy who talked to ghosts and turned living beings to worthless decay with nothing more than a touch.

“I see,” Jason replied and grabbed his jacket from the chair.

Fine, it wasn’t like he needed any of them anyway. It would have been easier with more living anchors, but Batman had left his mark all over the city. Gotham was his, even the magic that buried itself so far underground that hardly anybody could see it knew who it belonged to. Jason had plenty of anchors he could use to bring Bruce back. What were five children compared to an entire city?

“Where are you going?” Tim spoke up. He had barely said a word since Jason and Dick had started fighting, but Jason supposed that it made sense given that Tim thought both of them were wrong.

“Away from here,” Jason replied. “Since Dick is so keen on running this show himself, he can do it. I’m out.”

“What?” Steph asked. “Wait! Jason, no, you have to stay!”

“What I need to do is fix this.”

Jason picked his backpack up from the ground and started stuffing his papers into it. He didn’t particularly care in which order he did it, he would have to sort through them all anyway once he was back in his apartment. He needed to toss those that were trash and copy the calculations and incantations that actually made sense and seemed like they were a good first step onto fresh sheets. Maybe he should get actual parchment. He didn’t usually work with dead writing materials, but with whatever he had on hand. His spells were powerful enough without, but he couldn’t afford any mistakes here.

Once he was finished, he threw his backpack over his shoulder and headed towards his bike, not sparing the group behind him another glance.

“Jason,” Dick started once more.

Jason just threw his hands up, dismissing him.

“Don’t worry, Richard,” he said. “It’s not like I can stay dead for long if something goes wrong. Don’t bother contacting me. I’ll come back once I’m finished.”

He couldn’t see his older brother’s reaction, but Jason would bet that he had flinched. They all hated to be reminded of Jason’s death, but it wasn’t like Jason could erase that part of him.

Jason put on his bright red helmet and turned on his bike. Then, without looking back, he drove off, disappearing into the dawn of a new day.

#jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc #batfam #batman #fanfic #batfam big bang 2020 #AAAH IM SO HYPED

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codythecheshirecat · 3 years

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Is This The Start, Midpoint, or Finale? Chapter 4: Passing Time

Codywan Merman/Modern AU

Story Summary: Cody has spent the last several months recovering from a car crash that completely upturned his life. When spending a day on the St. Lawrence River, he finds something that should be impossible– a merman. An injured merman. And, well, there’s not much to do except bring him home and fix him up.

Read on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33756109/chapters/85388758

A week passes. They quickly make a schedule. Breakfast at nine, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Early on Cody has to run to the store to get things for Obi-Wan’s liquid diet-- he’s an omnivore too, so Cody doesn’t have to worry about finding replacements for meat, exactly. Which is good. They make an agreement about their respective recoveries, too; Obi-Wan won’t overexert himself so long as Cody doesn’t, they’ll take their medicines at the same times (dosages allowing, at least), and having someone to talk to makes it easier to ignore their respective pains and aches, anyway.

Two days into the week, Obi-Wan asks for some softer blankets. Cody doesn’t actually have any, so he runs to the store and buys some of the fuzziest throw blankets he can find. He buys some other things, too, just in case-- a pair of boxers, a single cotton shirt, a pair of mesh gym shorts, and a knee-length plaid skirt with an elastic waistband. He’s not entirely sure they’ll fit Obi-Wan, but he’s pretty good at eyeing sizes and it’s better to have them just in case he needs to cover up.

He gives the blankets to Obi-Wan, but keeps the clothes hidden for the time being. He also has to help Obi-Wan get situated with the blankets-- one to cover the couch (so Obi-Wan can lay on it rather than the couch, which he also calls scratchy) and one to cover him (despite Cody’s protests).

Obi-Wan finds himself enraptured with the TV. News, cartoons, soap operas, and everything in between. Cody supposes it must seem pretty strange; a box with hundreds, thousands of different stories to watch. They watch Jeopardy every night, and while Obi-Wan rarely knows the answers, he seems to enjoy it.

Cody also answers every question Obi-Wan has, and he has a lot. Sometimes he has a question about a word or phrase-- he hadn’t learned English in an academic setting, or even by being surrounded by English speakers. He’d had one person teach him what he knew, and so he has plenty of gaps in his knowledge. Sometimes Obi-Wan has questions about technology. Other times he has questions about animals. At one point they have a two hour discussion on American culture, with short interludes into other world cultures.

Another thing that takes up their time is the realization that Obi-Wan can’t read. He can read in his own language, sure, but the person that had taught him to speak English hadn’t taught him to read it. The English Alphabet is an utter mystery to him. So, Cody spends quite a bit of time teaching him the alphabet.

Despite all of their talking, though, Cody notices that Obi-Wan rarely talks about himself. He’ll reference things, sometimes, people, and Cody’s aware enough not to pry. If Obi-Wan doesn’t want to talk about his past, then he probably has a reason. Cody’s just happy he’s talking, honestly. It gives him someone to talk to, instead of wallowing in his own misery.

Another week passes. Kix stops by, checks up on them-- both of them, and Cody gets treated to a ten minute lecture on how to properly take care of himself so he heals correctly. Cody doesn’t tell him that Obi-Wan can’t walk so Cody has to help him get around when he has to use the bathroom. Obi-Wan also gets cleared to start eating real food, so long as they slowly reintroduce him.

One night while they’re eating dinner-- chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy-- Obi-Wan turns to him. “You never told me how you got hurt.”

Cody pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. He sets his fork back on his plate. He doesn’t look at Obi-Wan. “You didn’t tell me how you got hurt, either.”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Fair enough.” He goes back to eating.

Somehow, that only serves to make Cody feel worse. He sighs. “Car crash.” “Do those happen often?” Obi-Wan says.

Cody looks at him. There’s nothing but genuine curiosity on his face. “Yeah, but with the amount of people using cars it’s not unexpected, I guess. It’s not enough to make people think driving isn’t worth it.”

“I see.” Obi-Wan tilts his head. “I assume it was fairly bad, or recent, if you’re still recovering.”

Cody sniffs. “Both. I was in the hospital for a few months.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

Cody leans over and sets his plate on the coffee table. He isn’t hungry anymore. “I’m fine. The others involved weren’t so lucky.”

Obi-Wan sucks in a breath. “Oh, dear. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have said anything. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

Another look at Obi-Wan shows that his ears have turned red. He’s watching Cody with a devastated look on his face; a pursed mouth and wide, wide eyes. Cody sighs and shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. You didn’t know. I didn’t even know the others involved.”

“Still…” Obi-Wan says. He reaches out and wraps a hand around Cody’s wrist. “I understand. Sometimes… sometimes it’s hard being the survivor.”

***

“What books are those?”

Cody sits on the couch by Obi-Wan’s feet. “They’re kid’s books. When I was looking for my old wheelchair for you I found a whole bunch in the series in a box in the basement; I used to read them when I was a kid, same as most of my brothers. Rex must’ve kept them as we grew out of them.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “You’re going to read a kid’s book?”

Cody shrugs, grinning. “I want to see if they’re any good now that I’m an adult. Probably not, but it’ll be funny to reread the books that used to terrify me as a kid and now realize that they’re incredibly ridiculous.”

He holds up the four in his hands so Obi-Wan can see the covers. “These were my favorites. Werewolf of Fever Swamp, Say Cheese and Die, A Night in Terror Tower, and Night of the Living Dummy.”

He lets Obi-Wan read them at his own pace. He’s learning quickly, quicker than children do, but then again, he is a full-grown adult. Obi-Wan hums. “So they’re supposed to be scary? And for children?”

“Yeah.” Cody sets the books in his lap. “They aren’t that bad, or they wouldn’t have been marketed for kids. And honestly, they aren’t always scary-- I don’t think I was scared by Werewolf of Fever Swamp once. It was more of an adventure than anything else.”

“Intriguing.” Obi-Wan leans forward. “Could you read one to me?”

Cody grins, suddenly elated. “Which one?”

“Surprise me.”

Cody opens up Night of the Living Dummy and starts reading.

***

With a grunt, Cody sets Obi-Wan in the half-filled bathtub. He stands.

“Thank you, Cody.” Obi-Wan says. His face is pink.

Cody shrugs, his own face hot. “It’s no problem.”

“You’re always helping me get around, even with that wheelchair. It seems a tad unfair.” Obi-Wan runs a hand through the water. He sighs. “Oh, it’s nice to be in the water again.”

Cody rubs the back of his head. “Sorry your whole tail won’t fit.”

Obi-Wan smiles at him. It makes his stomach swoop. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll deal.”

Cody steps back as Obi-Wan’s tail begins to transform. His legs morph together, become red, and grow-- and Obi-Wan’s long tail spreads across the tiny bathroom. Now that he’s able to get a better look at it, Cody decides that it’s definitely eel-like. There are rosettes of darker red patterned across it, with flecks of yellow here and there, too.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Cody says, catching himself staring. “Uh, I know you said you don’t need soap, but I put a washcloth over the faucet in case you wanted to scrub yourself down. To empty the tub all you have to do is flick the lever below the faucet. If you want to refill, just flick the lever again and twist the handle to the left. The further left you go, the warmer the water gets.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

Cody smiles. “Just call for me when you’re done.”

He steps around Obi-Wan’s tail and heads for the door where the wheelchair waits.

“Oh, Cody?”

He stops. “Yeah?” He turns to look at Obi-Wan.

“Ah… do you think you could teach me to walk? I hate making you carry me around.”

Oh. Huh. “Yeah, I can do that.”

***

Cody sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing Obi-Wan. “Are you ready?”

Obi-Wan nods, jaw set. “Yes.”

Cody leans forward. He tucks his arms under Obi-Wan’s and wraps them around his back. Obi-Wan grips Cody’s shoulders, and slowly, Cody stands, lifting Obi-Wan with him. For a few moments, they wobble as Cody supports the two of them. At least he’s wearing the skirt I bought him.

All in all, it’s probably not the best way to teach Obi-Wan to walk. But he doesn’t have all the equipment that his PT does, and Obi-Wan isn’t relearning to walk after an injury like most people do. Babies learn to walk from trial and error, so… Obi-Wan can do that too. Still, it’s a somewhat awkward position, and Cody won’t be able to hold them both upright forever.

“Balance, Obi-Wan.” Cody says.

Obi-Wan snorts, tilting his head forward. His forehead almost touches Cody’s. “My knees do not want to cooperate, Cody.”

“They’re no different than your elbows.” Cody looks down. His feet are planted, firm, but Obi-Wan’s… he’s standing pigeon-toed on the balls of his feet, knees shaking like a scared cartoon character. Cody chuckles. “You’ve stood before.”

“That was weeks ago.” Obi-Wan says. “I was more injured, yes, but my legs had much more muscle than they do now.”

It’s true, but it’s not like Obi-Wan’s been doing nothing with his legs. He’s crawled several times, for various reasons mostly due to Cody not being around, and he hasn’t been immune to restless leg syndrome, either. But, well. Eventually Obi-Wan’s legs straighten out and his balance improves.

“Think you can take a few steps?” Cody asks him.

Obi-Wan huffs. “You’re doing all the hard work. Yes, I think I can manage a few steps.”

Cody grins. Obi-Wan does the same. Carefully, Cody maneuvers them around and takes a step back. Obi-Wan takes an uncoordinated step forward. Then they do it again, and again, and again. He takes another step back, and-- his leg locks up. He has a brief moment to think oh no, and his leg gives out. They collapse in a heap on the ground.

His head bounces (fairly lightly, in Cody’s opinion) off the floor. His back hurts, his leg hurts. Obi-Wan rolls off of him with a groan. Cody turns his head to look at him. “Are you alright, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan rubs his still-bandaged side. “Yes, I’m fine. I don’t think I reopened anything. Was that your leg?”

“Guess I overtaxed myself.” Cody sits up. He sighs. “You’d think that after all this time I wouldn’t still be having issues like that.”

“Recovery isn’t a straight line.” Obi-Wan says. “But, you know, that could have been worse. At least we didn’t fall onto the coffee table?” “That’s fair.” Cody says, and with another sigh, he flops back on the ground as dramatically as he can. “I think I’m just going to stay here for a minute.”

Obi-Wan snorts. “Well, allow me to join you.”

***

Cody rubs his eyes. He’s fucking exhausted; he’s been awake for far too long at this point and he’s still got several hours to go before he can sleep. And, of course, he’s driving, which really creates just a terrible situation. He rubs his eyes again.

Twenty more minutes and he’ll be home…

Cody snaps awake. Oh, thank god. His heart beats faster than is healthy, but he knows it’ll go away soon enough, as long as he doesn’t get caught up in a panic attack. He rolls out of bed. Somehow, it’s nine in the morning. He rarely sleeps this late, waking up around seven-thirty, eight o’clock. He may not be working right now, but that’s no excuse to be sleeping this late.

He makes his way into the living room. Unlike every other day before at this time, Obi-Wan isn’t on the couch. Hm. “Obi-Wan?”

“In here!” Obi-Wan shouts from the kitchen. His voice is strained.

Cody walks into the kitchen. He finds, caught between amusement and trepidation, that Obi-Wan is holding himself up at the counter. The wheelchair is right behind him. Obi-Wan grins.

“...having fun?” Cody asks, walking over. He stops in front of the wheelchair.

“I’m making coffee.” He says pleasantly. “I only need one arm for that, so I can use my other to hold myself up. I was going to wake you.”

A smile stretches across Cody’s face, unbidden. “Thank you.” He puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But please, sit down before you fall.”

“I’m fine, Cody.”

“Get in the wheelchair. Please.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and sighs. “Yes, alright. Help me?”

Cody guides him back into the wheelchair, and together they wait for the coffee to brew. Obi-Wan wheels himself to the fridge to get milk-- Cody prefers his coffee black, and Obi-Wan prefers tea, but when he does drink coffee, he uses a lot of milk. Coffee made, they retreat to the living room. Obi-Wan gets himself settled in his spot. Cody sits next to him and hands him his coffee.

“Perhaps I could start with the walker.” Obi-Wan says.

Cody gives him a look. “I think you have some time still. Your legs-”

“-my legs are in fine shape.” Obi-Wan protests.

“The muscles have atrophied. And your side still isn’t healed.”

“Cody.”

“Obi-Wan.” They stare at each other. “After Rex gets back, at least.”

“Well I didn’t mean tomorrow, Cody.” Obi-Wan huffs. He turns serious. “Cody.”

Cody raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Thank you for being so kind to me. You had no reason to.” He sighs. “And you get nothing out of teaching me to walk, yet you’ve been supportive in every way.”

Cody gives him a gentle smile. “It hasn’t been a problem. You needed help, and I wasn’t going to turn my back. Besides,” he grins, “now I can focus on you instead of my own problems.”

“I’m glad I’ve been of help in that regard.” Obi-Wan says dryly. Without warning, he leans closer.

Cody swallows. “I was thinking. Rex should be home by the end of the week. I’ll have to introduce you. But before that, I really should go grocery shopping. Do you want to go with me?”

Obi-Wan blinks. A smile stretches across his face. “I would love to.”

***

“What is this?” Obi-Wan asks, pointing at a pear.

“That’s a pear. It��s a fruit, like apples.” Cody says. “I’ll get it for you, if you want to try it.”

“Oh, no, I was just curious as to what it was.”

Cody rolls his eyes. “If you say so.”

They move on to the meat section, Cody pushing the cart with Obi-Wan wheeling behind. Later, cashing out, Cody sees a singular pear sitting on the belt, and grins.

#Star Wars #The Clone Wars #TCW #Commander Cody #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Codywan #Merman AU #Modern AU #Magic

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awesomerextyphoon · 4 years

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Charred Briar Roses - 4

Meet the Family

Paring: Orc!Bucky x Black!Reader, Orc!Steve x Black!OFC, Orc!Sam x Black!OFC

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 3,500

Summary: The girls get to meet the family.

Warnings: Smut and Mentions of Death

A/N: I’m sorry that this took so long to publish. I had a major writer’s block. Also, the smut is not as good as I wanted so bear with me. Enjoy!

Back to Masterlist

It took five days to reach the group to reach the Orc Settlement. Most of the journey consisted of Fumnanya giggling at Sam’s (not so great, but whatever) jokes while sneaking in a kiss or two, Ghada acting like she’s above the romance then getting caught making out with Steve (she seriously likes it), and you giving Bucky the cold shoulder. You saw the regret in his eyes, but you were too stubborn to give him a chance.

The Orc Settlement was located in the lowlands of the Anchoria Steppes not far from the Tsurchack Forest with its center nestled between a segmented river and a good sized lake to its right. It consisted of a few hundred dwellings that seemed to be a nice cross between a yurt and a longhouse (**think Viking Longhouse**) built with reusable timber, metal, and stone. A couple of the dwellings near the edges were sectioned off into what looked to be farms of six to ten families. There were training areas and market places interspersed throughout the settlement. In the middle, there was a large arena like structure near the center next to what had to be the Elder’s Residence with more town like structures around them. Surrounding the whole settlement was a wall of stone, packed earth, and iron about 12ft high with sensors (probably a force field) sticking on top of it every five feet or so.

It looked beautiful, so different from your former home of extreme decadence.

“Welcome to our home. I know it’s not as-” Steve started.

“It’s beautiful!” Ghada exclaimed while turning her head to smile at him, “We don’t care where you live. We’re just glad you agreed to take us with you.” Steve responded with a low hum and gave her a kiss.

It would’ve been more, but Bucky cleared his throat, “We need to report to the elders as soon as possible.” It was followed by, “And not have you suck your match’s face.” Thankfully neither of the two lovebirds heard him.

Some of the children in front of the gates ran up to the group with bright eyes and smiles wondering if they brought back sweets and toys.

Steve smiled and responded with a ‘You’ll see’ and motioned to the elder’s residence.

Once you passed the front gates, you and your sisters were greeted with reactions ranging from awe to outright contempt. You wondered if they knew of your identities, but Bucky assured you that it was because his people are a bit weary of outsiders. He decided not to tell you about how some of Sophronius’ forces had the almost the exact same hair color and types of clothes, but that was for another time. Right now, he needed to get the elders to let you three stay.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

When they reached the Elder’s Residence – a large longhouse consisting of wood, stone, metal and sturdy fabrics at the top – you stopped yourself from taking another step passed the threshold. What if they didn’t accept you? What if the elders or other members ratted you out to Sophronius? Or will they just have you exiled once they get the riches you and your sisters brought?

Bucky sensed your trepidation and put an enormous hand on your right shoulder, “It’s okay. You’ve got this.” With that your group entered the building.

The elders sat on a raised rectangular dais in the middle of the room with two guards on either end. There was a chandelier and torches all around the main room. Various statues and artifacts of elders passed are placed/hung around the room.

It was intimidating to say the least.

“Welcome back, warriors! Were you successful in your mission?” One of the elders, Argusa, inquired in Orcish.

“We ran into an old woman who directed us to the lost capital of the Nephrashim.” Steve explained.

“That is nothing but myth, Rogers! If you found nothing than just say so. Honestly, one would think that the halflings would be better at excuses than this.” One of the guards, Figrel, scoffed. He later raised his hands in surrender when Bucky moved in to pummel him.

“Enough, Figrel! Please continue Steve.” Cladista, another elder, gently urged.

“We found the capital to be deserted...except for the princesses. They were at the palace. They agreed to come back with us and we were able to procure valuable medical supplies, building materials, and treasure that we might use for trade.” Steve reported as the elders fixed their gazes onto you and your sisters.

The staring went on for three minutes. No one made a sound as the elders were casting their initial judgement upon you.

With a loud sigh, Argusa spoke in Common Tongue, “We will hear their case. Tell us, why should we let you stay with us?”

Ghada took a cautious step forward, “My sisters and I can offer our services. Fumnanya is a skilled medic and scholar, Y/N is an amazing inventor and metalworker, and I am trained in trade deals and negotiations. Furthermore, all three of us are pretty well versed in combat and culinary arts.” She appealed while searching for any sign of approval from the elders.

“We can attest to their skills if it’s of any consequence.” Sam piped up when it got eerily quit again.

“Interesting. What do you think, Zadia? You’ve been awfully quiet.” Argusa inquired as she turned to the last elder.

“Hmm. They can stay with Bucky’s sisters and stepmother for now. We shall see about their services another time. Enjoy your stay, girls.” Zadia decided while motioning the group to leave.

The short excursion to Bucky’s family’s place was nice. More people warmed up to you (and by that I mean no one gave the three of you blatant glares of contempt), some even walked up and asked questions about you.

It was nice, but all that didn’t matter if Bucky’s family didn’t like you.

You kept telling yourself that you didn’t care what they thought of you, but you knew that was a lie. It angered you that you cared so much. He was the one that said no! Then why did it hurt so much?

Bucky’s sisters and stepmother lived on a farm near the outskirts of the settlement. It comprised of one large dwelling with four smaller ones surrounding it in a circular fashion. Outside of the dwelling circle were smaller cabins and huts for storing food, livestock, hunting tools and combat weapons, and stables for their dire wolves and eagle horses.

It was nice getting to know Bucky’s family. He had three younger sisters – Rebecca (Becca/Becky), Isolde, and Melisende (Meli) – along with Aspasia, his stepmother, a brother-in-law and three nieces and one nephew. They joked and laughed with you three about embarrassing hijinks the guys performed during their youth. You shared some of the your stories about Nephrashim and your former lives. They quickly accepted the three of you as family.

Furthermore, it was nice not having to worry about princess duties and royal decorum. All of you helped around the farm doing several chores for the first time; you didn’t have any hiccups besides Fumnanya freaking out over one of the eagle horses, but Sam handled it.

The only thing that could be better is the treatment you got from the rest of the settlement. Most of the inhabitants either scowled or just pretended that you three didn’t exist. Becca explained that it was because almost none of them had seen clothes and features (hair/eyes) like yours before, but you knew better. It was because they knew you were from Nephrashim. Bucky’s family never breathed a word about it outside the farm’s borders and you doubted the elders would say anything.

Well, you hoped that it would get better. And it did.

An outbreak of Sxtatzia (a cross between Smallpox and Influenza but for orcs) swept through the settlement. Most of the inhabitants who were infected got better except for Zadia.

Just about everyone had lost hope when Sam and Bucky marched in with Fumnanya and Meli in tow (Fumnanya had been teaching Meli some basic medical procedures and best practices). Fumnanya was able to work her magic after Sam threat-, ahem, insisted the guards let her look at the elder. It took the team four hours to create a viable and effective cure.

The day after Zadia was shown to be steadily getting better, the elders put the former princesses to work. Ghada assisted the traders in negotiations, trade deals and some body language/social cues that surprisingly holds up. Fumnanya taught the medics the different practices, poultices, and minor surgical procedures she knew. You taught the metal artisans what you knew about engineering and metalworking techniques.

The warriors couldn’t be happier with this new development. Well, maybe they missed having the three of you near them most of the time, especially Bucky.

––––––––––––––––––––

It had been three weeks and you still hadn’t talked to him besides an occasional sentence and he was getting pissed. Everyone else tip-toed around the subject of you two and it didn’t help that Steve and Sam were getting closer with their matches. Bucky had to go on hunting trips on his own if only to have a respite from the non-stop lovey-dovey chatter about their matches.

He finally got his chance when he was walking (lurking) around the blacksmiths/artisan section where you had your workshop set up. You were giving a welding demonstration when a little shit, Figrel’s younger brother, attempted to grab your ass.

Bucky strode right into the workshop, punched the little shit, threw you over his shoulder, and went on his merry way back to his dwelling on his family’s farm.

“What the fuck was that?!” you shouted as he plopped you onto a nest of cushions.

“I can’t let you go back there. All those eyes leering at you.”

“What do you care? You were the one who said no at the baths!” You countered as you stood up to take your leave.

You didn’t even make it past him because he growled in frustration and spun you around to face him.

He inwardly smirked at your whimpering, loving the way your lower lip quivered.

“Because you’re MINE!” Bucky bellowed.

You gazed up at him with coy smile, “Prove it,” and he smashed his lips against yours and pushed you onto his bed.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Bucky may have had plenty of sexual partners, but he never kissed anyone...until you. Now he could see what all the fuss was about.

He pried open your mouth with his tongue and groaned when you accepted him while wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He loved the way your tongue danced with his and ended with your graceful but fierce submission.

Once he finally broke for air, Bucky moved to your jaw and neck gently nipping your skin with his tusks. He peppered you with kisses causing small moans to escape your desperate lips.

“Bucky please!” You pleaded as he sent waves of heat to your core.

Bucky stopped his touches, looked you right in the eye, and responded with, “Not yet,” and continued undoing you.

He ripped off your vest and worker blouse and hummed at the sight of your chest. Seeing you now, panting with a ‘giddy fucked’ face, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, made almost all the blood in his face go straight to his cock.

He dove into your chest, licking and gently sucking your breasts while you grabbed his soft dark brown (almost black) hair moaning his name. He worked your breasts so well that you came for the first time in your life within minutes.

“Bet you’ve never had one of your human boys do this to you, woman?” Bucky remarked with a smirk as he ripped off the rest of your clothing like it was tissue paper.

You could only gasp out a ‘No’ before Bucky sprinkled your midsection and hips with sloppy, desperate kisses (he used a lot of tongue) which again caused you moan. You wondered how much more you could take.

The Fae’s training never prepared you for this!

When he finally got to your thighs, Bucky hummed as he took in the sweet smell of your arousal. He faintly kissed and nipped at your inner thighs causing you to cry out in euphoria and impatience. He ignored your cries and gave your slit one long, slow lick.

You hissed at the sensation both from how amazing it felt and frustration from both Bucky and yourself for denying it from happening sooner.

Bucky’s enormous tongue attacked you pussy alternating between your clit and your folds. He soon added a thick finger to the mix causing to edge again and again until you beseeched him to let you come.

“You’re MINE princess! SAY IT!!”

You whimpered at his demand and Bucky stopped moving altogether.

“SAY IT!!”

You mewled, “I’m yours! I’m your bitch!”, you answered remembering what Becca said male Orcs loved to hear their women say.

Bucky chuckled and got up to remove his clothes and decided to make a show of it.

You were sober enough to gaze lustfully at his sleek, muscular, ruggedly handsome frame. You heard the women in the settlement gossip about how they thought the likes of Bucky is wasted on a ‘stupid trollop’ like you.

Checkmate bitches!

He removed his loincloth, his last bit of clothing, to reveal a behemoth of a cock.

You almost gulped at the size. You and your sisters have heard about cocks from gossiping maids and servants before the curse. Those ones sounded like they were a good size, but Bucky’s was on a much higher level.

Bucky, the lovable but cocky bastard, smirked, “Never seen one this big, huh?”

You bit your lip and looked down in shame, “I haven’t seen one at all.”

“And it’ll be the last one you’ll see, sweetheart.”

You let out an uncharacteristic giggle as Bucky parted your legs and lined his cock at your entrance.

He went in slowly as to not hurt you, but you still hissed at the size of him. You’ve never felt so full in your life.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Bucky grunted, “So tight!”

He filled you to the hilt and stayed there for a few minutes while he helped you get your breathing under control.

He started with slow strokes, savoring the way your pussy squeezed him, like you were made for him. He tried to keep it slow out of respect since it was for first time, but you felt so good so he picked up his pace.

The earlier feeling of discomfort at his size soon faded into euphoria. You never dreamt of pleasure like this. Now you understood what your and Bucky’s sisters were going on about. You mewled when Bucky hit your G-Post just right.

It wasn’t long before your first orgasm hit you like a tsunami and you convulsed around him a wave after wave of carnality washed over you. Soon Bucky came with a roar, shooting long thick ropes of his cum into you to the point of creating a bulge in your midsection and you passed out.

When you awoke, you felt a strong arm wrapped around you and a hand gently stroking your hair and back.

“I know you’re awake, sweetheart.”

You open your eyes and looked up to see love (actual love, not lust) and understanding etched in Bucky’’s features. You never knew you needed it, for someone to actually see you for yourself, not what you could give them.

He exhaled, “I’m sorry for the baths. It’s just that I didn’t want to have sex and then you’d leave me. I know it selfish, but-”

You stopped him with a soft kiss on the lips, “Why would I leave you? You actually see me for myself and not for my former station or as an annoyance. Okay, minus your sisters, stepmother, nieces and nephew because they are awesome.”

Bucky chuckled as his some of his long hair fell in front of his face, “I’ll be sure to tell them that, but not Becca. She has a big ego as it is.”

You giggled in response,”That’s fair,” you bit your lip and shot Bucky a coy look, “Do you want to go again?”

You didn’t need to ask him twice.

You two were at it for the rest of the day. The sounds of your lovemaking evident to the rest of the farm’s inhabitants.

“Finally!” Becca exclaimed as she and Ghada were sewing new clothes for the orclings.

Isolde chose that moment to walk into the common room, “Yes! I get my room back!”

The princesses and their matches were in bliss. Everything was right with the world...until it wasn’t.

––––––––––––––––––

It was two months after you and Bucky officially got together. The whole settlement had gotten into an easy rhythm of things when one of scout’s warning horns went off.

“It’s the Horde!”

Everyone who was not fighting was running to the shelters. Bucky had asked you to stay with Becca’s children and mother. You wanted to get angry, but you knew it was because he wanted someone he trusted and loved to have his stepmother’s back. So you grabbed Waning Swan and ran to the shelters.

The battle lasted until morning and the settlement won, but at a price. Casualties came in at 80 dead and 200 wounded. The scariest thing wasn’t the gore or the corpses, it was the words, “He Knows”, scorched into the ground in front of the arena, or the Assembly Place.

Later that day, everyone who was able crowded into Assembly. Everyone’s eyes were boring into you. Fumnanya kept her head to Sam’s chest, but it wasn’t working.

“I knew those harlots were trouble the moment they strode into our settlement!” A woman who lost her mate to the battle shouted. A chorus of shouts of agreement followed.

Ghada was getting nervous as evident by her squeezing both yours and Steve’s hand. Luckily someone stood up for the group.

“I understand that you’ve suffered, Brida. I lost a son to the Horde, but we can’t blame it all on them. Sophronius has been after us for years. Be reasonable.” Agi stated while the guys gave him a nod of appreciation.

“Fuck that! You’re only saying that because you were they’re mates instructor and your nephew married one those mongrel bitches!” Baldo, another older warrior, exclaimed.

Big mistake.

It would take ten years to ascertain what really happened in the five minutes that followed. Baldo was thrown out of the Assembly, Brida was nursing a broken jaw, Becca had a wound on her left forearm from a sword, and Bucky had to be kept from attacking an idiot by Sam, Steve, Agi, and five other orcs. Everyone else was in an uproar and honestly, a full on fight was going to break out.

“SILENCE!” Argusa roared.

“We need to rebuild. Callisa, can we get a status report by the end of the day?”

Callisa was about to answer when someone demanded that they should do something about the Horde.

Steve gave everyone in your group a knowing and somewhat crestfallen look, “We’ll go to the Resistance and see if they can help.”

It took some minutes before Argusa gave the group an answer. The settlement tried to stay away from Sophronius and the war, but one could say their chickens have come home to roost.

“Alright then, you three take the girls and go first thing tomorrow.” Argusa decided.

“It’s not fair! You just got ‘ere, Auntie! Ingunn cried as she hugged Ghada. All of the orclings were crying and it was breaking your and your sister’s hearts. They’ve made such an impact in your lives that it hurt to leave them now.

“I’m sorry, love, but we have to leave. We’ll be back before you know it.” Ghada reassured her, but you had a feeling it would be a while before your group would return.

With one final hug and a pat, you said your goodbyes to the orclings. Meli, Isolde, Aspasia, Becca, and her mate, Gernot were waiting for you all at the gate.

“I know you’re sad about leaving us, but we will meet again my dears.” Aspasia uttered as she gave each of you a hug.

“Take care and keep these knuckleheads in line.” Becca joked while she gave Bucky a playful punch to the shoulder.

So with a heavy heart, you left the place that felt more like home in many ways than the place you were born.

The group headed southwest to the coordinates a trader said that he saw some Resistance Members. You were crossing a valley when an unscented flash landmine went off and everything went blinding white then black.

Next thing you knew, your group was in chains surrounded by a group protected by shadow...except for five individuals wearing necklaces and a medallion that belonged to…

“Mother!”

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victorsandvanquishers · 3 years

Note

Mughal-e-Azam for Antimagic Demon and Asta for the Bollywood film edition....

Asta x Liebe Nation, I come bearing the good fruit. Thank you for requesting, Anon, please enjoy. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It was the irony of all ironies – Asta's friends knew he was in love before he did.

Gordon noticed first, because Gordon was the most observant of the group. Asta was unlike anyone he'd ever met, so the young man didn't possess the sweaty palms, furrowed eyebrows, and fleeting glances that would plague the usual sort. Asta was different. More than that, Asta's deepest thoughts were just underneath the surface, hidden beneath veils of booming laughter and rippling muscles, a subtle hint in a sea of smiles. That alone gave Gordon grounds to investigate.

The stiff spine was the most surprising, and at first, Gordon had assumed poor Asta was just constipated. He'd debated getting his friend some herbal medicine so that he could rest easy. Gordon didn't want him to end up like Captain Yami, perpetually in the restroom, perpetually whining about the woes of tummy trouble.

He changed his mind when he realized Asta only stiffened when their new friend was out of his grimoire. It was their new friend with the glistening black skin and powdery white face. Liebe also had the most magnificent horns, horns which he'd begrudgingly let everyone in the base touch and pat because Nero's were too small and because she didn't quite like the touchy-feely stuff.

Liebe, however, seemed to enjoy it much more than he let on, and so they indulged him accordingly.

Charmy threw him a feast on the night of his official arrival to the base because it was the first happy evening they'd seen in weeks. Their captain had been rescued, Henry had built Nacht a room of his own, and Asta had a new friend.

It was a grand affair. Charmy made her best dishes, Vanessa opened her most treasured wines, and Zora's party tricks brought life back into everyone's eyes, even if Captain Yami ended up sitting on a stinkbug.

Liebe sat quietly for most of the party, but that was to be expected. Gordon was a great listener, so he'd noted every detail of the stories Asta had proudly told him about his demon friend. Asta had regaled him of the stories of his and Liebe's binding ritual on their journey back from Spade. Asta had called it friendship-binding. Gordon liked friendship. He thought it the most important and exhilarating thing to exist in their world.

He didn't forget the twinkle in Asta's eyes when he'd gushed about shaking hands with his new friend, the demon in the grimoire. Gordon didn't think he'd ever seen Asta so happy before.

That same fondness seemed to translate into Liebe's eyes, even if he was mostly silent. He looked to be the brooding type, a little like Gauche, but not an isolationist like Nacht, and though somewhat acerbic like Noelle, not nearly acerbic enough to offend anyone. Their new friend seemed to be in that happy middle amongst the three, quiet but present, as if reflective of every moment passing before his eyes.

If anything, it seemed to Gordon that Liebe just preferred to sit quietly. That was fine with him, as Gordon could see the warmth and affection in his eyes became stronger with their revelry. Liebe could remain in that brooding middle, the one where he blushed furiously when they patted his horns, but still grumbled beneath his breath about clingy humans. Gordon could accept that.

Liebe laughed for the first time when Magna slipped on Luck's chocolate wrapper, went tumbling into Noelle, who screeched and blasted Magna with a wave of water that eventually planted Magna against the wall, soaking wet and dazed. Gordon almost missed the new sound, what with the raucous laughter and Magna slightly concussed, but Liebe's laugh was different. It was a loud, scratchy thing, perhaps even a little shrill, but so full of life and love that Gordon balked in his seat, his hat lying limp in his hands.

Nobody else seemed to notice, but Gordon did.

And so did Asta.

Asta had stiffened when Liebe began to laugh.

Asta only stiffened when Liebe's attention was turned towards something else, eyes focused elsewhere, his back to Asta, black wings and black skin glittering like diamonds in the night while Asta stood motionless, in awe.

Asta had stiffened when Liebe began to laugh.

And that's how Gordon realized that his young friend was in love.

Vanessa noticed because she'd spent ten years giving Yami the same look, and got nothing in return.

It took her a little bit longer than Gordon, but she caught on. A month after they'd brought Yami home, Vanessa was in charge of leading some squad members on a clean-up mission on the border of Heart. It was a simple job, and one that would see them all home by nightfall. Vanessa wrote down the plan because she was still learning how to lead on her feet, and until she could call out orders at the drop of her magnificent hat, she would continue to use the little notebook Finral had gotten her when she'd become the team's interim captain.

She was reading over her notes when she realized that Asta was staring. Not at her, of course, but at the demon flying about, helping to direct the other squad members to where the lumber, stone, and tools would need to go as they worked to rebuild the little town that had lost to a mana storm. Vanessa had glanced up by chance, Rouge purring on her shoulder, and yet her eyes landed on Asta, as if it were fate.

She wondered why someone so kind and selfless had to suffer this particular kind of pain. She'd been suppressing her own for a decade now, camouflaging it with her alcoholism, and sometimes her trips to the brothel where the men were all the same, and she could pretend for the night that she was loved and wanted by the one she desired the most.

She wondered why Asta had to suffer the same pain. She tilted her head up and gazed at the astonishing black creature fluttering its great wings against the pale blue sky. Liebe was unlike any monster she'd ever seen before, and Vanessa had seen quite a few in her lifetime.

She wanted to ask, wanted to know – why him? Why not Noelle? Why not Yuno?

She didn't have to ask though. A moment later, Liebe swooped down with a powerful gust of wind that blew her great hat off her head and into the daisies at her feet. She didn't bother with her hat or her rich hair that had ended up in front of her face. She simply kept her attention on the two people some yards away, a human and a demon, bound together for life.

Liebe gave Asta a handful of stargazer lilies.

And Vanessa understood.

Love was soft; love was slow. Yami knew that much, even if he'd never personally experienced it.

The shrimp was good at hiding it. He'd been loud and boisterous when he'd lost the feeling in his arms, but he'd never faltered from his goal, not once. Lives had been at stake, and failure simply hadn't been an option. The love of one's self was one thing, but loving another – Yami didn't know if Asta had ever truly experienced that before now.

The runt didn't shy away from much, but when Yami found him considering a handful of stargazer lilies in the light of a single lamp in their empty kitchen in the middle of the night, Yami knew it was serious. He'd only ever seen few meditate on an object this critically before, and he never thought Asta would be a part of that small cohort.

And yet, there was the resident shrimp, placidly plucking at the pink and white petals, thinking things when there shouldn't have been anything but hot air in that head of his.

Any other day, Yami would have teased the boy and threatened him to spill, only because Yami was a nosy bastard deep down, but not tonight. Tonight, he simply tip-toed away, leaving the runt to his thoughts.

Love was a process, after all.

Liebe was a person. He wasn't a project Asta could work on, or a goal Asta could work towards. Liebe was a person, even if he was a demon with horns and pointy teeth, so Asta couldn't charge forward without a plan.

Noelle figured it out when one night, Liebe was too tired to take his meal with the rest of them, and had to eat where he slept – in the bed above Asta's.

Henry had fashioned the bunk beds for them when Asta had proudly showed off the bracelet on his hand, that which linked him to the demon for life. Noelle had looked on with barely contained glee in her eyes because Liebe had been cute, almost like a little animal friend who only looked dangerous, but was actually very sweet.

She hadn't been wrong – Liebe was sweet. Liebe was kind. Liebe worked just as hard as Asta, even if he grumbled, grunted, and groused along the way. Liebe was quiet, but he wasn't stupid. He spoke when it was necessary, not when it was convenient, and he kept his thoughts to himself.

Noelle could never hide her feelings, much less her thoughts. She envied the demon. She envied his poise, his reservedness, and the aura of mystery that seemed to surround him at all times.

One could argue that she shouldn't have felt this way, since Nero was the same.

But Nero did not look to Asta with the kind of affection Noelle harbored for him. Nero loved Asta much like a mother loved her child, or perhaps how a bird loved its chick. Noelle loved Asta like how Vanessa loved Yami, but Noelle failed where Vanessa was scathingly efficient. Vanessa could hide anything behind her drunken smile and glassy eyes, whereas Noelle could barely hide her blush, much less her affections.

Liebe walked with his lips sealed and his heart locked away, and all Noelle witnessed was one creature pining after the other. Liebe was better at it, of course. Liebe was quiet; he was strong. He was strong in the way pillars were strong, sturdy and imposing. He barely spoke about his past, much less about his feelings, and yet his gaze seemed to perpetually linger on Asta, and when it wasn't, it'd harden with the kind of aloofness that Noelle both loved and loathed.

Asta was loud, but he was hesitant, an edge of stiffness haunting his every step because perhaps forever was a bit too long. She thought it was doubt at first, but then she'd started noticing the shifts in his smile, the way he'd stiffen when Liebe touched his arm to instruct him to calm down, when his eyes lingered on Liebe's back, his wings, the band around the demon's wrist that promised that they'd be together forever.

Noelle figured it out one rainy night after a long battle, too few brooms to bring them all home without getting wet in the storm, Finral passed out in Zora's arms after exhausting all of his magic, and Henry back at the base. Yami, Magna, and Secre had all walked with the rest in solidarity, because what were friends for, anyway? When they got home, Charmy whipped up a large pot of stew, rice, roast beef, and eggs in under two minutes. Finral snapped awake with the smell of roasting meat.

Liebe was too exhausted from the battle, so Asta had carried him back to the base on his back, and when they'd gotten home, tucked Liebe into the upper bunk that belonged to him.

Later, when Charmy went to make a plate to send up to their comrade via one of the many sheep bustling about, Asta gently shook his head and took the plate from her. Noelle watched him heap piles of rice, eggs, and beef onto separate plates, before pouring stew into porcelain bowls, and grabbing two jugs of water. He made his way up the stairs to his and Liebe's room without spilling or dropping a single thing.

Noelle didn't need to know what happened afterwards, because it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Noelle and the rest of the Black Bulls ate their dinner at the long table, while Asta dined with his beloved upstairs.

Love wasn't always loud and all-encompassing, Zora had learned. Sometimes, it was subtle, like the feelings the Wizard King had, had for his father, feelings he'd only come to learn about after snooping around the King's private rooms while he was busy being chased by the mushroom man. Sometimes, it was toxic, like the poison that was slowly killing the witch from the inside out. Oftentimes, it was unrequited, like the birdwoman's.

And sometimes, it was fated.

Zora knew Asta had made the contract out of duty to his kingdom, to his squad. Any other man would have seen a demon-binding ritual as a sacrifice of one's best years, and of their autonomy.

But not Asta.

Duty-bound he may have been, but even duty could create bonds. Asta had created a bond of friendship, and friends they'd been, until that friendship became something more.

Zora saw it much like a book, one that moved slowly but surely, saw each moment like it was a chapter, and every chapter led up to the inevitable conclusion – the one where the human and demon fell in love.

Zora had seen and learned about enough bad endings in his life to know that love was the greatest prank of them all. His love for his father hadn't saved him from being betrayed and murdered by his own squadmates. Love hadn't saved Noelle's mother from dying from Megicula's curse. Love hadn't saved the first Wizard King from turning to dust in front of the sobbing birdwoman.

At first, he'd assumed that love wouldn't do anything for the human and the demon who seemed to fit together like two sides of the same coin. He even suspected that they'd eventually fight again for dominance, because who would want to be forced into a union with another forever?

But this wasn't one of those endings – not when Zora started reading the footnotes, not when he started connecting the dots.

Asta and Liebe weren't like the Wizard King, a fool in gold and velvet, a coward who couldn't tell a peasant that he was in love with him, a coward who couldn't protect his beloved or look after his beloved's orphaned child. Asta and Liebe weren't cowards. If anything, Zora thought they were heroes.

It happened a year after they'd brought Yami Sukehiro home. They'd just finished rescuing a noblewoman from an actual, fire-breathing dragon who also turned out to be her shape-shifting lover, so then the Black Bulls had to rescue the noblewoman and her lady dragon lover from the real enemy, which turned out to be high taxes and anti-dragon sentiment, which then led the Black Bulls to smuggle the pair out of Clover before Damnatio and his lackeys found out.

It was all in a day's work, and they'd just gathered around the bonfire to eat Charmy's roasted pigeons when Zora saw that Asta was gripping Liebe's hand in his own, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, like their hands were born to be linked together, forever.

Zora would have thought he was thinking too deeply into matters if he hadn't caught them kissing some hours later. Arm in arm underneath the moonlight, Asta's arms were wrapped protectively around the lanky demon whose claws were tangled in Asta's ash grey hair. It wasn't the kind of kiss you witnessed on the street between shy teenagers learning to love, or grizzled elders who were beyond public displays of affection.

It was the middle of the night, and Zora had simply walked outside to take a stroll in the cool air before turning in for the night. He hadn't expected to find a runt and a demon passionately kissing beneath the moonlight like they'd just survived a war.

Zora smirked. Perhaps the past year was a war in it of itself, a series of battles that culminated with a woman and her dragon, and an escape into Heart where Undine and the Queen accepted creatures of all kinds.

Perhaps the war was finally over, and Asta and Liebe were finally happy.

“You did what?” Charmy hissed.

“I maaaaaaaaaade theeeeem oooooooone biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed,” Henry said pleasantly.

“But they're still falling in love! We can't push love!! It has to go slowly, naturally!!!”

“Buuuuuut IIIIIIII saaaaaaaaaaw theeeeeem kiiiiiiiiissiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing laaaaaaast niiiiiiiiiiiight!”

“Kissing doesn't automatically mean relations, Henry you bastard,” Yami added, as scandalized as Charmy.

“Kiiiiiiissiiiiiiiiiiing iiiiiiiiis theeeeee fiiiiiiiiiiirst steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep,” Henry retorted with a bright smile.

“At least neither of them can get pregnant,” Vanessa sighed with relief.

“...... Do we know that for sure?” Gauche asked finally.

The Black Bulls sans Asta and Liebe turned to Gauche with narrowed eyes, and said in unison, “huh?”

“Do we know for sure that demons can't get pregnant?” Gauche snapped, averting his eyes and trying to stifle his growing blush.

“... oh my god,” Charmy wheezed.

“HENRY!” They all screeched.

“I love you,” Asta whispered softly into Liebe's skin, leaving kisses down his pale neck, his hands locked with Liebe's.

“I love you too,” and Liebe meant it.

#Black Clover #asta #liebe black clover #asta x liebe #avafanfics

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mexicancat-girl · 3 years

Text

Miraculously Supernatural

Ao3: Link

Wordcount: 2,720, Rated M for character death and one implied sexual scene.

A Miraculous Ladybug fic that's a parody of the Supernatural ending, because those final two episodes were too ridiculous and I felt compelled to. I'm sorry to the Supernatural fans.

...

"I love you," Nathaniel states.

Felix stares back at him blankly, looking like he's barely holding himself back from saying a slur.

Adrien just watches with awkward horror as Nathaniel dies, being pulled into a portal into what looks like Super Mega Hell. "Nathaniel…! Oh my fucking God, he's fucking dead!"

"He dies all the time," Felix reminds him flatly.

"Well, yeah but...Felix, he literally just confessed to you? That's different. Shouldn't we... I dunno... try and bring him back again...?"

"He's an angel, he'll find his way out. He always does."

"Felix, he literally went to Super Mega Hell for being gay for you," Adrien reminds him irately, crossing his arms. "The least you can do is pretend to give a shit."

"I'm still in shock," Felix says, in his usual flat voice, not seeming to feel much of anything. "Now excuse me while I throw up."

"Better than saying a slur, I guess..." Adrien mutters with pure disappointment. Five years and fifteen seasons of homoerotic tension, and Felix was just as emotionally constipated and homophobic as the start.

At least Adrien had a love interest...which was only introduced last season...and who barely got any screen time... But hey! Marinette was a nice enough girl!

...

“So…” Adrien starts awkwardly, wanting to finally address the elephant in the room. “About Nathaniel…”

“What about him?” Felix asks, raising a delicate brow, completely disinterested.

“You…You sad he’s gone, or…?”

Felix just gives a shrug. “Yeah. Shit sucks, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“We should go somewhere else. Keep moving,” his brother declares, finally finishing chugging his coffee and smashing the empty container under his steel-toed shoes, in a very manly fashion.

Well, Adrien should have expected this. His older brother always ran away from his feelings. And problems. And everything in life that was vaguely troubling, like the emotionally constipated and paranoid bastard he was.

At the very least, these habits have kept them alive so far. There’s that silver lining.

...

“Y’know, I didn’t realize the Insane Clown Posse was still touring,” Adrien jokes, sweating nervously at the group of juggalos surrounding the pair of brothers.

“Very funny,” one of the juggalos rasps, baring his teeth, and. Alright. Those were vampire fangs.

“Really…?” Felix asks long sufferingly, rolling his eyes. “Is this the best the writers could come up with? Juggalo vampires?”

“With knives!” one of said juggalo vampires says cheerily, raising a knife, his face split half-white half-black down the middle. Not very clown-like, but Adrien was willing to give him A for effort and his nice smile that made his emerald eyes glitter charmingly.

Felix, like the complete weeb he is, readies his shuriken and starting chucking them like he’s a Naruto character. Adrien ducks and rolls, slashing at the enemies’ heels with his claw-gloves and readying his baton.

“Ah, hello again, Kagami,” Felix says silkily, in his Protagonist Fighting Voice.

“How could you tell it was me?” asks the masked woman.

“You aren’t dressed as a juggalo, for one. Two, this show has such a minimal amount of female characters, I could have thrown any name of a woman out there and had a good one in ten chance of getting it correct.”

“Make that a thirty-seventy chance, since most of the women die in the show!” Adrien calls back, because he is all for equality and getting statistics correct.

“Yes, of course. My mistake,” Felix states dryly.

“I hate this fucking show,” Kagami sighs, tired and exasperated.

“You’re not the only one.” And then Felix promptly kills Kagami anti-climatically. “I hope you enjoyed your one scene with dialogue.”

“Felix, why didn’t you kill her with your shuriken? You know your best weapon is your shuriken!” Adrien scolds. “I know we’re in the season finale and things should be wrapping up, but—”

And then the younger blond watches before his very eyes as his brother is impaled.

“NOOOOOOO!” Adrien shrieks, going on a vengeance-fueled rampage to kill the rest of the juggalo knife vampires. He then runs over to his impaled brother, who was impaled by huge…rusty nails? He thinks? Listen, he was too fucking tired to question it. “Felix! Felix, talk to me!”

“I’m sorry, little brother,” Felix rasps, coughing out blood, the red liquid splattering down his chin. “I was…careless.”

“You’re gonna be okay, Lix,” Adrien sniffles, clutching his brother’s hand in his. “You’ve survived worse! Like, you’ve literally fist fought God! You’ve survived fifteen seasons of this shit, you can—”

“I can’t come back from this.”

“But why?!” Adrien demands, tears budding in his green eyes.

“Because…I want you to live…”

“I can bring you back! I can, I swear—”

“You really think the writers will do that, when they want to end this flaming trash heap?” Felix chuckles, with a slight smile, lips coated red.

“But you survived so much! How will the audience even believe you died from murderous vampire juggalos?!”

“They won’t…This is…the stupidest fucking thing the showrunners could have done,” his older brother rasps with a sassy and bitchy roll of his eyes. “Fucking morons…Total brain rot…I knifed God, and this is the thanks I get…”

“You’ve died plenty of times before, I can just bring you back, Felix, it’s gonna be—”

“No. Let me die in peace, you dumb, whiny little bitch,” the other blonde growls. “I’ve been stuck in this hellhole of a show for fifteen fucking years. Let me die already. I don’t care about the situation being braindead and unrealistic. I don’t care about the mechanics. We’ll just say that resurrecting me when you’re alone it too dangerous because it takes a toll on you that’s too great to pay. Before, Nathaniel could resurrect one or both of his because of his holy powers. Without him, doing this is pretty much impossible.”

“I can’t fucking believe that in your death scene, you’re actually giving an in-universe explanation that’s more realistic than what the writers of the show can come up with,” Adrien weeps while laughing.

“It’s a skill,” Felix deadpans, his grey eyes going soft as he brings a bloody hand up to gently touch Adrien’s cheek. “Listen…Go live your life…Live a long and full one…Marry and have children and grow old…All the stereotypical mushy shit, alright? You go and do that.”

“But you’re my brother. You’ve protected me from so much, never left my side,” the younger one whimpers, green eyes red-rimmed and face pulled into a visage of pure grief. “Please…”

“Stop dragging this out. You’re giving the incest shippers more to work with,” the older one states, before his eyes go glassy and he stops breathing.

Adrien wails, burying his face in the space of the other’s chest that wasn’t impaled, sobbing his heart out and clutching his dead protector.

...

Adrien burns Felix’s body. It’s what his older brother would have wanted. No physical remains, no possibility for his body to be taken by any of the monsters lurking in the world.

Adrien burns his brother’s body, and keeps moving.

...

Adrien is in a shoddy motel the next day. He only has one slice of toast for breakfast, to show how sad he is of his brother’s untimely demise.

...

Adrien is wearing glasses and his hair is a shoddy grey comb-over, to show that time has passed. He looks like a very tired university professor on tenure that no one is quite sure what subject he even teaches.

He’s in front of a house, in the lawn. “Lix! C’mere, Felix!”

A little boy with sandy hair and a bright smile runs at him, and Adrien hugs his son. His wife stands back, watching the scene.

Does he end up marrying Marinette? Another woman? Who knows. Fuck the fans for wanting to know that answer, amirite?

Adrien goes through the motions, and hopes the finale will end soon.

...

Trees. As far as the eyes can see. Trees, and a mountain range in the distance, dirt road under his feet.

“My love…” Felix whispers, tears budding in his steel-grey eyes, which have softened with pure love and passion. “I…I thought I’d never see you again…”

He stumbles forwards, stopping in front of the beauty in front of him. He carefully reaches a hand out, before gently placing his fingertips against the silk-smooth surface.

“Plagg, you little bastard, I didn’t even know cars could go to Heaven…” Felix breathes out a laugh, one of elation, tears spilling out of his eyes. He sniffles and wipes them away.

“Well, this is Heaven. Anything you could ever want would be here,” a voice says kindly.

Felix blinks, whirling around to stare at the man sitting in a rocking chair in front of a saloon he hadn’t noticed was there before. Next to the familiar man was an equally familiar ice cream cart.

“Andre…?” the blonde asks, confused. “I—What the fuck are you doing here? You’re a minor character.”

“Yeah, but I’m a minor character that was confirmed to have gone to Heaven,” the portly man says, nodding back at the monster hunter. “The writers couldn’t really think of anyone else to throw in here to serve as your guide, so here I am.”

“Well. Alright then,” Felix blinks back.

“C’mon, son. Lemme share with you some teen-rated friendly ice cream.”

“Suspiciously worded and a suspicious request, but I’ll play along,” the blonde shrugs carelessly, striding forwards.

The portly man hums, digging through his ice cream cart, creating the perfect cone in front of Felix’s eyes.

“Red velvet for his hair, cheesecake for his wings, and blue sherbet for his eyes and soul,” the ice cream man says kindly, handing the cone over to Felix, who takes it with numb fingers.

“Thank you,” he tells the man stiffly, carefully licking at the cone.

“This place has everything you could ever want…Except…” Andre’s face turns sympathetic and soft with sadness. “Well, he’ll be here, eventually. Time works different here than it does where Nathaniel is at. But he’s an angel. He’ll find his way back here.”

“…Sure,” Felix says, lips twisting into an awkward half-smile. This is Heaven. He can’t go calling an angel a homophobic slur. He’ll end up switching places with Nathaniel, or something.

Besides, Andre was kind enough to make him an ice cream cone. And it was a rather nice ice cream. So Felix enjoys the cone, for about five minutes.

“Can I go back to Plagg, now? My baby needs me,” Felix asks five minutes later in almost a whine, sick and tired of the ice cream flavors that reminded him too much of Nathaniel.

The portly man chuckles. “Go on, then, Felix. Go on.”

The blonde grins toothily and runs back to the Impala. “Ohhhh, baby, how I’m glad to see you…!” he coos, opening the door and sliding in. He breathes in familiar scent of his reliable, manly, super sexy heterosexual car. “Now, let’s crank it!”

Felix’s smile fills his entire mouth as he chucks his unfinished cone out the window, turns the ignition on, and revs the engine.

Plagg drives smoothly, like a cat purring. Felix turns on the radio, Carry On My Wayward Son playing as he drives through Heaven. Maybe he can find a place he can look over Adrien from. That would be nice. He wants to see if his little brother actually had kids or not. And see how ugly he’s gotten from old age.

...

Adrien’s hair has now turned white, to show how even more time has passed.

Carry On My Wayward Son, but it’s a cover from Evanescence, plays in the Impala as Felix parks the car and watches his little brother be an old man.

...

Nathaniel sighs and taps his fingernails against the desk he was sitting at, in Super Mega Hell’s bureaucratic offices.

“What the fuck is taking them so long to revive me again…?” the gay angel mutters, pouting. “They usually don’t take this long! Are they not doing it because Nathaniel feels awkward about everything…? Did one of them die, so they don’t have enough energy to complete the ritual…?”

The redheaded angel sighs, feeling guilty. “Poor Adrien…He always was a nice lad. I hope he enjoys Heaven, at least. I went and fixed it up quite well. Shame he has to use it so quickly… Felix must be grieving so terribly…”

“You look sad, Nath. You want me to suck you off?” asks his underling softly—a fellow named Marc who died as a juggalo knife-wielding vampire. Despite Marc’s strange make-up, he had a kind smile and pretty green eyes, and Nathaniel was fond of the lad.

“You don’t have to!” Nathaniel says quickly, face going warm, suddenly incredibly shy. “You’re not obligated to do anything you wouldn’t like to do—”

“But I want to,” Marc says warmly, already sliding onto his knees and unbuckling Nathaniel’s belt. “I’ll get your mind off your little boyfriend, alright?”

Nathaniel is about to protest about Felix being his boyfriend—after all, he’d just confessed before being dragged into Super Mega Hell, so he hasn’t had the time to have a proper conversation with Felix over them even dating—but then Marc fulfills his offer. Nathaniel’s mind goes hazy with pleasure, complicated thoughts about the Agreste brothers flying straight out the window.

...

Adrien Agreste lies on his deathbed, dying from old age. The shot transitions from him lying down with closed eyes, to opening them, his face unwrinkled and youthful once more.

All around him are trees, with a mountain range in the distance, a dirt road under his feet. He turns, and startles, seeing someone he’d lost so long ago.

“F-Felix…?” he asks waveringly, tears in his eyes and throat instantly clogging.

His older brother is as youthful and healthy as the last day before his death. He’s got his arms crossed, leaning his hip against the sleek, black Impala, a wide and toothy smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough,” Felix teases, jerking his head and opening his arms. “C’mere—”

Adrien runs and tackles his brother in his hug, Felix yelping as the two land on the ground.

“Careful here,” Felix grouses, but he’s smiling as he speaks. “You’ll give the incest shippers more fodder.”

“Fuck the crazy shippers, I missed you, you fucking asshole.”

“What did I just say?” Felix sighs, fondly exasperated. He wriggles out of Adrien’s hold, getting up, before offering his hand. Adrien quickly takes it, allowing his brother to pull him up and clap his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back,” Adrien smiles with all his teeth, before he looks next to him at the Impala. “Uh…Not to be a Debbie downer, but where’s Nathaniel? And why’s Plagg here? Can a car even go to Heaven…?”

“No clue,” Felix chirps, before he rubs the top of the Impala’s hood like a loving pet own would their cat. “But I’m glad he’s here.”

Adrien deadpans back at him, “You’re grateful your car’s with you, but not the man that went to Super Mega Hell for you?”

“Details, details,” Felix waves his hand dismissively. “Andre told me about Nathaniel—”

“Andre the ice cream man? How’d a minor character like him show up at the finale?”

“You’re asking a lot from the writers of this shitshow,” Felix deadpans back at him. “Anyways, he said Nathaniel would take some time to come back up to Heaven.”

“Dude, that’s pretty homophobic.”

The other shrugs. “All the gays are in Hell anyways. He’s probably having the time of his life down there. He’s aesthetically attractive, he’s probably gotten a few booty calls.”

“You’re the straightest and most ridiculously homophobic man I know, and I am so sorry he’s in love with someone like you,” Adrien says with disgust, wrinkling his nose. “How a selfless angel is in Hell and a homophobic, prickly bastard like you is in Heaven, I’ll never understand.”

“I reap the benefit of the rewards from the terrible writing,” Felix smirks like the devil, throwing up the horns.

Adrien looks into the camera like he’s in The Office. Felix looks into the camera too, his face now startlingly blank, but somehow expressing the full weight of his homophobia. Carry On My Wayward Son plays one final time.

The end.

#supernatural spoilers #parody #nathaniel kurtzberg #adrien agreste #felix de graham vanily #marc anciel #andre the ice cream man #miraculous ladybug #fic #supernatural series finale #mexicat writes

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yamayamawrites · 4 years

Text

Pickle - A Switched Prequel

A/N: Hello hello! In my recent fic “Switched”, I mentioned that Tsukkishima and Yamaguchi had a cat named “Pickle”. I got the brilliant idea to write a one-shot about how they got Pickle, and also, how they got together. They can be read alone but technically they take place in the same universe! You don’t need to read one to understand the other - they just share a headcanon of mine that Tsukki and Yamaguchi have a pet together!

You can find this on my AO3 page here or you can read below! Either way, as always thanks for reading and I really hope you enjoy!

Tsukkishima stood outside Yamaguchi’s door, shifting a bit uncomfortably in the cool fall air. They had the day off from practice, and Yamaguchi hadn’t come to school, which was unusual. Normally Tsukkishima would play like he didn’t care and go home, but his feet dragged him here without his consent. He’d gone home and at first, he thought he’d stay there, but without even realizing it he’d packed an overnight bag and was out the door with a quick goodbye to his mother. Said overnight bag sat by his feet as he debated whether he should knock.

He didn’t need to, as it turned out. Yamaguchi swung the door open, jumping a bit in surprise and almost dropping the potted plant in his hand. “Oh, hey Tsukki!” he chirped in his normal way, despite the fact that his eyes were very clearly saying “asshole, you nearly gave me a heart attack”.

“Mind if I come in?” Tsukki asked, his usual droning tone having vanished. Yamaguchi wordlessly stepped aside.

“I’ll be in in a minute, this pot just needs more dirt.”

“Okay,” Tsukki called over his shoulder, already welcoming himself into the western-style home. He looked around at the dozens of potted plants, breathing in the air which smelled mostly like Yamaguchi with a hint of dirt. This was probably the most bizarre part of Yamaguchi’s personality, and the one that surprised him the most when he first came over. Both Yamaguchi and his mother (who Tsukki rarely saw anymore) had such natural green thumbs that half the time when Tsukki came over it was because his mother asked him to go get some fresh vegetables from their garden. Now, though, with the onslaught of winter just a few weeks away, all the outdoor vegetables migrated inside.

Tsukki spent his time trying to find a surface that didn’t contain a plant. That was how he usually spent his time when Yamaguchi wandered the house, watering plants while he watched. Sometimes they moved; Tsukki made note that the tall tree-like plant that had been in the corner by the television had now made its way to the dining area.

Though it was bizarre, it was never anything Tsukki really paid much mind to outside of Yamaguchi’s home. The smell of dirt didn’t follow Yamaguchi the way Tsukki might have expected it to, and aside from the occasional dirt stain on Yamaguchi’s uniform he gave no hints to his hobby. Tsukki almost wondered if Yamaguchi felt embarrassed of it, but no, that couldn’t be it, because on occasion he brought fresh pies and such for the team members using the fruits and vegetables grown at home.

Yamaguchi toed his shoes off at the front door as he returned inside, setting down a relatively large strawberry plant on the table in the front window – which was now so overcrowded with plants that Tsukki worried one might topple. Judging by the smear of dirt on the rug, that’s what had happened that required Yamaguchi to refill the pot in the first place.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi commented offhandedly as he readjusted the pots on the table so they were at least a little less likely to fall. “I was actually going to call and ask you to come over.”

“Oh yeah?” Tsukki droned back, but his heart skipped a bit. He and Yamaguchi were in a weird sort of limbo with their relationship; he had no better way to describe it than a weird game where they tried to act like everything was normal between them, when it most certainly wasn’t. Not after Tsukki last spent the night.

In fact, that was mostly why he ended up here – to clear the air. He wondered if Yamaguchi had stayed home to avoid him, but as his eager friend ushered him down the hall towards his bedroom, he panicked and thought maybe Yamaguchi was done pretending.

When Yamaguchi pushed open the door, Tsukkishima realized, oh, we’re not going to talk about it.

Sitting on the bed with a piece of ribbon around its neck as a makeshift collar was an orange kitten, maybe not even eight weeks old, playing with a ping pong ball. “So,” Yamaguchi cleared his throat, grabbing Tsukki’s wrist and pulling him into the room before closing the door behind them, “this is…a cat.”

“I can see that,” Tsukki replied. “Mind explaining a little more?”

“Well,” Yamaguchi rubbed his neck sheepishly, teetering back and forth on the balls of his feet. “See, when I woke up I put my cucumber plants out on my windowsill so they could get some extra sun while I took a shower. And well, when I came back…he was here. Gnawing away on my cucumber plant.”

“What happened to the plant?”

“Who cares, Tsukki?” Yamaguchi replied with a stifled giggle. “What do you think we should name him?”

“’We’?” Tsukki questioned, the smallest hint of a blush touching his cheeks. “I’m not taking joint custody of a rat.”

“First of all, it’s a kitten,” Yamaguchi pouted, “and second, I can’t really…afford to take care of it on my own.”

“Then let it go,” Tsukki droned.

“No, it’ll die!” Yamaguchi huffed. “I think it’s one of the strays around here’s kitten. Haven’t seen her around in weeks, and I even asked a few of the neighbors if their kitten got out.”

“Is this why you weren’t at school today?” Tsukki asked finally.

“Does it matter? Okay, yes, I wasn’t at school. You’re changing the topic,” Yamaguchi whined in a way that made Tsukki want to bite his tongue and never annoy Yamaguchi again.

“What do you want from me?” Tsukkishima asked cautiously. This all crept towards ‘couple’ territory – owning a pet together was the first step in having kids together, and Tsukki’s face turned a sickly green. Oh god, we can’t have kids, we barely even kissed and we can’t even talk to each other about that and a cat is super close to raising a kid…

“I’m not going to ask for much,” Yamaguchi replied just as cautiously. He could tell Tsukki’s mind had already reeled itself into a knot by the way his face turned green. “You don’t even have to act like it’s yours. I was just wondering if you could lend me some supplies.”

Tsukki’s childhood cat had passed away when he was ten, and both boys knew well that instead of donate the food bowl and litter box, his mother had stored them away in case they ever decided to get another cat. Nearly six years later and there was no cat to show for it. Tsukki’s shoulders relaxed; he was sure his mother would rather give the supplies to someone she knew, anyway. Plus, this meant that his earlier conclusion of joint custody could have been off.

“Also will you help pick a name?” Yamaguchi spat quickly, his cheeks flushing as he snapped his head to the floor to avoid looking at Tsukki.

“Ah, yes to the supplies. No to the name.”

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi whined.

“Fine. How about ‘Tadashi’?”

“Tsukki!”

Tsukkishima huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright…you’re sure you want to keep it, though?”

“Yeah! He’ll keep me company when mom’s not home.”

That statement in itself probably would have had Tsukki in tears (internally; he didn’t cry on the outside) had they not been in such a weird place with their relationship and his mind not been taken up trying to unfurl that mess.

Yamaguchi scratched the cat behind the ears, eliciting a purr from him. “What do you think of ‘Pickle’?”

“Why Pickle?” Tsukki asked, cautiously stepping forward to pet the cat as well.

“Because he was eating my cucumber plant,” Yamaguchi shrugged. “And ‘Cucumber’ isn’t as cute.”

“I like it,” Tsukki murmured, voice ever so soft as his knuckles bumped against Yamaguchi’s. Neither of them looked at each other, blushing furiously; instead, they stared down at the cat, which was tilting its head this way and that to encourage more head pats.

After a few moments, Yamaguchi cleared his throat. “U-um,” he broke the silence, “I hate to ask you to do this, since you came all the way here and all, but could you—”

“You want me to go get the stuff, huh?” Tsukki droned. Yamaguchi flushed and nodded quickly.

Tsukki finally sighed and got up, rifling through Yamaguchi’s closet.

“H-hey!” Yamaguchi cried. “What are you doing?”

“It’s cold and I left my jacket at home,” Tsukkishima replied with a slight shrug. In all honesty, it had been something of a ploy to encourage them to talk about what happened between them. Still, without that conversation happening, Tsukki felt an odd satisfaction in making Yamaguchi so embarrassed. “I figured it’s only fair, since you want me to go back out in the cold.”

“I-I’ll have hot cocoa waiting for you when you get back.”

***

Yamaguchi wasn’t lying. As Tsukkishima trudged back up to his door nearly an hour later, food bowl and litterbox awkwardly in his hands, Yamaguchi swung it open for him, already holding two steaming mugs. “Tsukki!” he said excitedly. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come back.”

“Sorry it took so long,” he said in a condescending tone. That shut Yamaguchi up. “It’s a little hard to carry this stuff such a long way.”

“Right!” Yamaguchi set the mugs down on the dining table and grabbed the litterbox from him. “I don’t suppose you’d want to go to the store with me to buy litter and food, would you?” he asked hopefully.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki replied in a warning tone.

“You’re right, you’re right!” he squeaked. “I’ll, um, I’ll go tomorrow morning.”

“If you want to go tonight, I can stay here and watch…the cat,” he mumbled, a little embarrassed that he would even suggest watching the thing.

Yamaguchi perked up. “You would?! Oh, that would be great!”

“Only if you’re quick,” Tsukki snapped uncharacteristically. He supposed it was mostly due to the tension that revolved around the two of them. “Sorry,” he supplied shortly after.

“I’ll be quick,” Yamaguchi agreed. “I just need a few things. Like a collar and stuff!”

The two flopped down onto the couch side by side, watching the curious kitten stumble his way out of Yamaguchi’s bedroom. He was cautious, sniffing everything in sight, stilling when he saw Tsukki and Yamaguchi watching him. “He’s a little skittish,” Yamaguchi murmured. “Please don’t scare him.”

“I won’t do anything on purpose,” Tsukki supplied, and though it was genuine, Yamaguchi laughed at the implication that Tsukkishima was intimidating even to cats.

By the time they had finished their hot cocoa, Pickle had decided the couch was a safe bet and settled onto it, still eyeing the two of them curiously. Yamaguchi carefully took the mug from Tsukki’s hands, making sure not to touch him (which frustrated Tsukki much more than it should have). He said little more than what was necessary to Tsukki before he gathered his things and left, and then it was just Tsukki and Pickle, who had taken to digging his paws into the couch.

Tsukkishima tried to redirect his attention with the strap of his overnight bag, which worked for approximately five minutes until the cat became bored again. He half-debated letting the cat run rampant and just playing on his phone, but he knew Yamaguchi would probably lose his mind if the cat knocked over one of the plants. So, every time the cat got even close to doing so, Tsukki would pluck him from his spot and move him somewhere else.

He chased the cat around the house for about an hour before Yamaguchi finally returned, carrying a few grocery bags. “I had to get the small bags because I don’t think I’d be able to carry it all the way,” he huffed, setting the bags aside while he took his shoes off. Tsukki grabbed the food out of the bag and took it along with the food dish to the sink.

“What’re you doing?” Yamaguchi asked quizzically.

“It’s a kitten,” Tsukki replied with a shrug. “It probably can’t eat super hard food. I’m going to mix it with some water.”

Tsukki missed the way Yamaguchi gazed at him like he was some sort of angel, and he certainly missed the way Yamaguchi blushed and wrapped his arms around himself defensively. Before long, he heard Yamaguchi pouring kitty litter into the litterbox, and while he mixed the food he could hear Yamaguchi chasing the kitten around the living room, trying to put its new collar on it.

Tsukki set the food dish near the front door, and immediately Pickle trotted over to him, making a happy noise before digging into the dish of mushy cat food. Yamaguchi watched him, a bit breathless from chasing the cat around. “You know a lot about animals, don’t you?” he asked.

“No,” Tsukkishima countered. “My childhood cat just had kittens one time, and I remember that’s how we fed the babies when they were old enough to eat.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi mumbled. He slumped onto the couch, Tsukki by his side, and they watched the cat eat.

Every time their shoulders blushed Tsukkishima could feel Yamaguchi shy away, and it upset him to the point that he decided he was sick of playing this game of acting like everything was normal. “Can we please talk, Yama?” he asked softly, despite his anger.

“About?” Yamaguchi countered, but the way his body stiffened, Tsukki was sure Yamaguchi knew exactly what about.

“Last time I spent the night.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A silence fell over them, save for the noises of Pickle eating in the background. “I’m not mad,” Tsukkishima said finally, hoping maybe it would encourage Yamaguchi to explain why he kissed him.

He watched Yamaguchi’s shoulders slump. “I can’t apologize enough for that, huh?” Yamaguchi asked, almost a bit bitterly. “Look, I get it if you don’t have feelings for me or—”

“Who said that?” Tsukki countered, taking on a bitter tone himself. “You can’t make decisions like that for me and then lead me to believe something when—”

Tsukkishima stopped talking then, as Yamaguchi’s shoulders began to tremble. Tsukki dropped a gentle hand to Yamaguchi’s thigh, and the boy didn’t pull away. Instead, he glanced up, a few tears trickling down his cheeks. Tsukki used his other hand to wipe them away wordlessly, and before either of them could restrain themselves, their lips were brushing on each other’s again.

It was different this time. For one, Tsukkishima hadn’t been in the middle of talking and interrupted by an eager Yamaguchi stealing the words from his mouth. No, this one felt more longing, a bit more understanding of each other. Hearing Tsukkishima deny him an apology, even if that didn’t mean he also had feelings for him, felt like the most wonderful moment in the world. Tsukki himself had been toying with the idea of attraction towards Yamaguchi long before the kiss, and when Yamaguchi forced an apology and begged them to pretend nothing happened after the first kiss, it had broken his heart. But now, now he felt like he could finally repay Yamaguchi how he should have in the first place; he returned the kiss, or perhaps he initiated it. Neither of them knew who moved first, nor would they bother to pin that blame.

Their lips met with more intensity the second they parted to breathe. Having known Yamaguchi so long, Tsukki wondered idly (between the near-constant thoughts of wow, this feels nice) if that’s how their lips moved together so wonderfully. Any clumsiness his classmates had talked about when they had their first kisses hadn’t presented itself. Tsukki’s hand that had been on Yamaguchi’s thigh moved to grab his waist, his body turning to face Yamaguchi more.

The feeling of Yamaguchi’s arms winding their way around Tsukki’s neck was shocking enough itself, were it not for the ease with which Yamaguchi pressed their bodies together, resulting in Tsukki laying on the couch with a surprisingly dominant Yamaguchi on top.

A soft ‘meow’ across the room had them pulling apart just as quickly as they’d connected, faces flushed and breath labored. They refused to look at each other. Pickle the kitten was proudly sitting in the mush of food, cleaning his paws with his tongue.

“Such an efficient way to eat food,” Tsukki droned sarcastically, and Yamaguchi laughed.

Maybe nothing really had changed; maybe this was how it was meant to be. Tsukkishima couldn’t help but hope so.

#tsukkiyama #tsukkishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #haikyuu!!#switched universe #headcanon #yamamamawrites

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curiositydooropened · 4 years

Text

Self-Isolating Together

“No.” It was a good thing Steve had the reflex to catch the door before Robin slammed it in his face. “No way, shitbird. It’s called self-isolating for a reason, and it’s the same reason I got a one bedroom apartment without you. This isn’t happening.”

“Come on, Rob,” Steve whined, sneakered foot trapped between door and jam, fingers wrapped tightly at eye level. She grimaced at his touch. “Work booted me for two weeks, and you know I can’t be alone that long.”

“Go back to Hawkins then.”

“It’s like a ten hour drive by myself, and my parents are stuck in Europe.”

“Shit. Are they okay?” The sudden sympathetic switch to her voice signaled her surrender, and Robin stepped backwards into her apartment.

Steve shrugged, pushing the door open to let himself in. “As of eighteen hours ago, Mom sent a text and said they’re fine. Just stuck.”

“Jesus.” Robbin hugged her upper half, chewing on her plump bottom lip to weigh her options. He was in now. Not like she had the strength or willpower to kick him out. Well, she could, but he knew she wouldn’t. She rolled her eyes.

“I love you, best friend.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She scoffed. “Just don’t touch anything until you wash you hands. Dump your bag by the door.”

He did as instructed, dramatically holding his hands upward and avoiding obstacles on his path to the kitchen sink like a surgeon between sanitation and the Operating Room. He washed with soap and water, loudly humming Happy Birthday to appease his new roommate.

“Ha ha,” she spoke dryly, leaning against the counter beside him. “You aren’t staying for two weeks, you know. I’ll murder you before then.”

“As soon as I’m a nuisance, I’m out,” he agreed, rinsing suds down the drain with nearly scalding water.

“Okay. Get out.”

He flicked water at her as it dripped from his fingers, and she squawked, snapping the hand towel to his arm. He yanked it from her, drying his knuckles before tossing it aside and leaning beside her. He’d let a little spill over the sink and he felt the water slowly dampen the waistband of his jeans. He sighed. “So, what do you wanna do, roomie?”

“I actually can’t stand you.” She groaned, bumping his elbow with her own.

— — —

They’d settled on an Alien franchise marathon, which Steve would have never agreed to without Robin’s coaxing. And yet halfway through Aliens, he was nodding off at one end of the couch and Robin was texting on the other. He nudged her with his toe.

“You going to spend time with your houseguest or what?”

“Hm?” She continued to stare at her screen, tapping away, the soft blue light illuminating her freckled face.

“Earth to Robin,” Steve toed her again. “I need attention.”

“You need a girlfriend.”

“I have you.”

“You need a real one. One who likes boys.”

“Yeah?” He sighed, puffing up the pillow under his head. “And where am I going to find one of those?” It seemed to be Robin’s life purpose to try to set him up with someone. Maybe she thought he was still attracted to her and needed a distraction, but any semblance of a crush faded the day he saw her wolf down fifteen hot dogs in a competition and immediately vomit them back into the tin bucket beside her.

“The inter, I’ve told you a million times.”

He groaned. “You know I hate those dating apps. It feels so objectifying.”

As much as the woman race appreciates your fall from grace as Slimeball of the Century, you have to suck it up and get yourself back out there. Because this pathetic, whiny Steve wouldn’t exist if you finally got laid.”

“Well unless you’re offering, we’re supposed to be self-distancing. So I don’t see that happening for at least two weeks.”

Robin shot him a sly grin, wagging her phone in his direction. “There are other ways, my dude. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to bed.” She leaned forward and turned up the volume on the television.

“You’re disgusting!” He yelled in her general direction, chucking a throw pillow at her. It hit her bedroom door where her smug face had been.

He rolled over and pulled out his own mobile device. Maybe she was right. His thumb hovered over the Tinder logo. He had several matches in the city, and a few DMs he hadn’t replied to. It just felt icky, for lack of a better term, like he wasn’t really trying to get to know these women. They definitely weren’t trying to get to know him. No one actually cares what his favorite cereal is. They’re just trying to figure out what to stock for the morning after.

His brain overrode his finger and he ended up on TikTok instead, scrolling through endless videos of the nerds dancing with their siblings and trying to keep entertained during their own quarantines. Dustin posted a video an hour, documenting his day in a night vision filter, like a data log in a found footage film. Only he hadn’t done anything more interesting than eat four Snack Packs. So it was a typical Friday for him.

Steve checked Snapchat next, an app next to no one used, but the familiar notification from Nancy sent a familiar little flutter to his stomach. She’d sent a selfie in a face mask filter. It gave her thick, black eyeliner above a black leather mask, very much the contrast from her bubblegum pastel aesthetic.

He smiled, using the same filter to respond. He retook it a few times, getting the right angle to illuminate his face from the glow of the television. bitchin’

He typed El’s new favorite phrase. She’d recently discovered the punk subculture of the 90s and used phrases like “bitchin’” and “gnarly” on every Insta story and TikTok caption.

He was shocked at the immediacy of Nancy’s response. Her next photo was dark, her soft features lit only from her phone screen. She lay on a fluffy pillow, curls tickling her cheekbones. A concerned look furrowed her brows and puckered her lips. Are you at home?

He snapped a photo of Robin’s television. nah. convinced rob to take me in.

Again, she responded quickly. This time, she was smiling. Good. Glad you aren’t alone.

His heart swelled. He knew it shouldn’t, knew he should be over her by now. It had been two years, and she was with Jonathan, and they were happy.

He sent a photo of the dark room around him. me too. nite nance.

Nancy’s eyes were closed, nose scrunched around a smile. Night, Steve. Miss you. xx

He shut off his phone and rolled over, letting the sounds of flame throwers and machine guns drown out the dull ache and gaping voice in his chest.

— — —

Steve didn’t anticipate accidentally starting a fight on the first full day, but there he was, gangly legs tucked under him on the couch, mindlessly scrolling when Robin went in on him. All he’d done was offer to PostMate Mediterranean from their favorite place down the street, half-jokingly. Robin did not find him humorous, and he jumped at the slamming of her refrigerator door.

“No, dingus, we cannot just ask a random stranger to handle our food in his disgusting car two blocks just so we can eat.”

“Great, so we’ll go pick it up.”

“What is wrong with you? Can you take nothing seriously ever in your entire life?” Her tone, though always vaguely insulting, held no such understanding or humor. Instead her words felt cold, piercing.

He turned to look at her, nostrils flared and fists clenched on the edge of the linoleum countertop. “Whoa, Jesus, Rob, I was joking. Thought I’d lighten the mood. What’s your deal?”

“My deal? My deal, Harrington, is that I’ve somehow managed to confine myself to this tiny shithole with someone like you, who is constantly trying to ‘lighten the mood’ when the rest of the Goddamn world is going through something traumatic.”

Steve fought back an eye roll. Robin Buckley, ladies and gentlemen, drama queen, people’s rights activist, extraordinaire. He really should have anticipated this. Instead, he stood from his crumpled position on the couch and stretched his limbs over his head. “Alright, alright. If it’s bothering you that much, I’ll leave.”

Robin harrumphed, hands on hips, bare foot tapping against beige tile. She didn’t respond, or stop him as he shut his laptop lid and shoved it into his bag by the door. He pretended to ignore her as she let out a dramatic sigh and crossed to her pantry cupboard.

“We have pita and hummus. Is that going to be enough for you, princess?” She scoffed.

“Ooh,” he shrugged. “I was hoping for falafel.”

She reached into the cupboard and extracted a can of chickpeas before tossing it across the room. “Start blending.”

He caught it and joined her in the kitchen to help place vegetables and pita on a serving platter for the both of them. Four carrots in, he bumped her with his hips. “Is everything okay though? End of the world aside?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” She avoided eye contact.

“Robin. It’s me, Steve, your best friend.”

She sighed and shrugged under his knowing gaze, and she shot a displeased look at her phone charging near her keys and wallet on the counter. “Francesca’s pissed at me.”

“Ah,” Steve nodded, slapping a hefty dollop of hummus onto her pita and then his own. “And Francesca is...?”

“The girl I’m... I don’t know. Seeing, I guess. Texting, calling, FaceTiming.” Robin threw her hands in the air for dramatic effect. He supposed you could take the girl out of drama club, but it never really left the girl, did it?

“Why is she pissed?”

“Because,” Robin spoke through a mouthful of pita. “She saw you being an idiot on my Insta story earlier.”

“And?”

“And I’ve barricaded myself from the world with you and I have committed to only communicating with her via the internet, dingus.”

Steve picked carrot out of his molars with his tongue, contemplating her predicament and ways to fix it. He supposed he would also be pissed if let’s say Nancy was dating him but decided to hole up with Byers, before they were dating, of course. But that was a totally different ball game. “She knows you’re gay, right?”

“Yes, Steve, she knows I’m gay, but like... it doesn’t look great on my part to tell her countless times it’s safer to stay indoors and then let you waltz in like you own the place.”

“Okay, well, do you even like her?”

“Yes!” Robin sighed, dipping her half eaten pita directly into the hummus. So much for the spread of germs. “I do, I really like her. Like, really, really like her.”

“So invite her over now.”

“No, God no. Jesus, no wonder you’re single for life.”

“Hey!”

“I just mean, if I invite her over now, she’ll think it’s just because she wants me to, and it won’t feel genuine. And I’m really not prepared for her to meet you. I can’t scare her away.”

“Okay, unfair,” Steve prodded her hand with his carrot. She swatted him away. “Have you told her how you feel?”

Robin stared at her plate, shaking her head like a guilty five-year-old asked to apologize to a classmate.

“That’d probably be a good start.”

“Yeah? And who are you to give me relationship advice, Harrington? I saw you Snapping Nancy shirtless pictures this morning.”

Steve had been caught in the act. He tried to played it off so smoothly too, also posting fresh-out-of-the-shower thirst traps on his Instagram to make sure Nancy wasn’t suspicious of his lack of wardrobe. His snaps to her were all smiles and dribbled toothpaste, relatable and modest, asking her how quarantine was going and if she had any book recommendations for the long haul.

She did, Don Quixote. And she shared her suggestions in a perfect powder blue camisole, makeup free, with her hair clipped up on the sides and out of her face.

“Steve,” Robin scolded. “You’ve got to get over it. Nancy’s happy, and she’s far too nice of a person to cut the cord and break your heart. So you’re going to have to be the one to stop contact.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled into his hummus.

— — —

After a long day of mutual sulking and watching various garbage content on their separate devices, Steve and Robin decided to open the bottle of Stoli at the back of Robin’s cupboard. She had some cranberry juice in her fridge left over from her last UTI (“TMI, Rob!”), and they decided to pour a couple of glasses and toast to Mother Russia.

It was a habit they’d been out of for a couple of months, trying to separate Hawkins life from life in the city. The vodka was reserved for particularly bad nights, long car rides, and the middle of cattle pastures. The night of Billy Hargrove’s funeral was one of those nights. Seeing Max that beat up over her dick of a brother was hard for all of them to watch. Knowing they’d had a hand in it was somehow more difficult to deal with.

Now though, they seemed to be celebrating the end of the world and being bad at girls and things, Steve couldn’t really remember. His head felt fuzzy, and his entire body was warm enough to strip off his sweatshirt by the collar.

“Why are you always naked, Harrington?” Robin cackled, tossing a tv remote in his direction.

It bounced from his chest and thudded against the concrete floors, and the two of them howled in laughter.

“Okay, okay,” Robin breathed, clutching at the stitch in her side. They’d gone drink for drink, and she was easily further gone than Steve, lacking experience and body mass. “Truth or dare.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. He shrugged. “Are we five?”

“Truth or dare, dingus!”

He laughed with her. He couldn’t help it. She was infectious, hyper and annoying, but endearingly so. “Fine, truth.”

“Are you... still in love with me?”

It was her control question, like in a lie detector test. He thought she used it to see his mood, to gauge whether or not he was really going to play the game.

“No, freak,” he responded, toeing at her exposed thigh across the couch. “I’m not still in love with you.”

“Fine,” she threw a dramatic hand to her brow, giggling to break the fourth wall. “Your turn.”

He sighed. “Alright, truth or dare.”

“Dare.” She shot him a look with that fire in her eye, the one he’d seen time and time again in the face of real danger. Only now, the only danger was the world outside those four walls, a world without toilet paper.

“Okay, I dare you...” He looked around the apartment for something she could do that would feel mildly entertaining at this point in time.

“I dare you to let me infiltrate your Tinder.” Robin cut him off, grasping his direction with tired movements.

Steve snorted through an eye roll, pulling his phone from between the creases of his legs for her to use. He supposed there wasn’t too much harm. He’d never speak to those women again, best case scenario, and worst case, she’d say something awful and he’d have a girl at a waitress if this self-distancing thing ever let up. Robin wouldn’t say anything awful anyway, being hyper-aware, hyper-“woke”, as they say.

“Yes!” Robin cheered, crawling closer so he could see over her shoulder. He’d gotten yelled at about proximity earlier, but apparently drunk Robin was blissfully unaware enough. He was just happy he didn’t have to think of a dare.

She spent a few seconds swiping, matching a handful of times, but she quickly grew bored of scoffing at girls she didn’t seem fit for her dingus. She switched over to the messaging function.

“Oh my God!” She squawked upon entry.

“What?” Steve laughed, picking apart the names to see what had her so shaken. None of the names sounded familiar or at all remarkable, just a lot of Jens and Jessicas and Stephanies.

“You haven’t responded to any of these women, dingus!” With a sigh of disapproval, she started her journey to find Steve Harrington love, like a virtual set of the Bachelor.

“It looks like you had some rapport with Dana a couple of weeks ago. What was wrong with her?”

Robin scrolled through Dana’s profile. She was hot, curvy, short hair, kind of a badass. She was a hairstylist, it looked like. Her opening line was even about how great Steve’s hair was. He shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.” He wracked his brain to remember their interaction. He supposed it was during a particular Snapchat dry spell. Was it Valentine’s Day? That was a busy Tinder weekend for him.

“Well, I’m messaging her again.”

And it went like that for a half hour, Robin scolding him at poor love life decisions and quickly trying to patch up broken contact with strangers. He was shocked to have received a few responses. People must really be bored.

A few of the women responded “Hey, ghost”, which prompted Robin into drunken lectures about why Steve needs to be kinder to the women he communicates with. He agreed. It’s shitty to ghost people, but he knew Robin would be just as disappointed if he told every woman on the app he wasn’t interested because his heart was still wrapped up in his high school sweetheart, the love of his life.

Finally, Robin had connected with a girl named Roxanne, who owned a parakeet and happened to follow Steve on Insta after their last encounter around Christmas. Roxanne was still single, appreciated his (Robin’s) apology, and was happy to chat about life through the messaging function on Insta. Robin tutted Steve’s head with her hand and sent herself to bed, hiccuping. Her job was done.

— — —

Robin woke him up at 6AM because he was screaming in his sleep. He didn’t remember his dream, though nightmares usually rotated between five set situations. He was either with Byers and Nancy and the lights, or his pool, or the junkyard, or the secret base, or the mall. According to Robin, he was screaming for “Hargrove” to “watch out”. Ah, the mall then.

He was dripping with sweat, and Robin fetched him a large glass of water while he traipsed to the bathroom to towel off. He didn’t look hot, pale skin slightly green, normally lustrous hair clinging to his forehead like rats fighting their way out of the sewer. He splashed cold water over his face, ignoring the lingering doom that tickled at his spine and hung out just over his shoulder.

“There’s pain meds in the cabinet,” Robin called softly.

He swung the mirror toward himself, ducking in the cramped bathroom. The generic brand bottle sat on the lowest shelf. It rattled it his hands as he removed the child-lock lid.

“Grab me some, will ya?” She groaned.

He popped two in his mouth, palming two more to meet Robin on his makeshift bed, covers tangled and strewn on the floor. They traded pills for water, and the cool condensation of the glass felt nice in his hand.

He collapsed in the spot next to her.

“You okay?”

He shrugged, staring blankly at the various liberal paraphernalia on the wall behind her television. “I guess. I don’t really remember my dream.”

“I didn’t know you were still having them.”

“I’m not, really. Just when I like... drink. I think that might be the trigger.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he kicked at her ankle. “I’m the one that pulled it out of the cupboard.”

After a long silence, Robin spoke with the least conviction he’d heard from her... ever. “You know you couldn’t have done anything, right?”

Steve turned to her with furrowed eyebrows, wondering what the hell she was going for here.

“With Billy.” Her voice broke on the boy’s name. “He was long gone. I mean, the shit that was in his system. He wouldn’t have made it anyway.”

Steve felt his face flush, and he ducked his head. He supposed they’d never really talked about it, about Billy, even on their most open of nights. They talked about being tortured, drugged, barely skating back with their lives or at least minimal brain damage. Robin never knew the extent of guilt that Steve harbored for his high school rival, how responsible he felt for the kid’s death. If only they had more fireworks, if only they closed the gate faster, if only he’d hit his car a little harder.

“I know, Rob. It’s just weird. I’ve never seen anyone die before, and I knew him. You know? We partied together. He kicked my ass once. Like, we had lockers next to each other in the locker room.”

“Okay, we might need to unpack that one later.” Her tone was teasing, but soft, gentle with him.

Steve snorted and shook his head.

Robin reached across and pulled his hand into her own. It reminded him of that time on the roof in the rain, before all of the trouble unfolded.

“I love you, dingus.”

“Love you too.”

— — —

Work started the next morning, leaving the two of them propped against the countertop, staring at their laptop screens and sipping matcha from handmade mugs. Steve had been “fortunate” enough to work customer service for his dad, which typically involve emailing people about their various issues with finances. Last week’s stock market plummet had been a fun one. Steve felt overjoyed when Mom convinced Dad to force him to work remotely in order to avoid getting sick.

Robin was a sort of jack of all trades. She did a lot of translation online, transcriptions and whatnot, headphones heavy and covering both ears. She couldn’t hear Steve talking to himself. He might as well have been alone. Occasionally, during the week, she’d hop into her bedroom to Skype her students. She taught private lessons for kids with various woodwind instruments. That alone made her pretty decent money.

Steve found himself drained within the first few days, unable to concentrate and needing an out. Luckily, Robin made up a grocery list and sent him out. She told him to be very careful and only touch the essentials. And that she’d be waiting by the door with soap and water upon his return.

So, he shoved a beanie over his mess of hair and went out. It was cold, for March, and he didn’t appreciate the chill of frost pulling at his nostril hair and giving him the sniffles. One little inhale was enough to send a woman gasping with terror as she crossed the road.

He made it to the corner store and soon realized he’d have to abandon his list. The shelves low of stock, and by the looks of it, they’d be wiping their asses with their hands in a few short days. He got what he could, piling it into Robin’s reusable bag, only touching the essentials. And he made sure to use the self check out on his way out.

He made it back out the cold streets, bags slumped over each shoulder, and his phone started ringing from the buds in his ears. Hands full and incapable of reaching his phone in his back pocket, he struggled to press the tiny headphone in his ear. “Hello?”

‘“Steve? Hey.” Came the soft response of a voice he’d never forget.

“Nancy?”

“Yeah, sorry, is this a bad time? Are you working?”

“No, no, no, no. This is fine. I’m just uh... getting groceries.” A bag slipped down the crook of his arm and he wondered how the hell women carried purses on a daily basis.

“How was the grocery store?”

“Practically a wasteland.”

His heart did a backflip at her chuckle. Nancy’s voice was like a breath of fresh air in the stale, eery climate of a city under quarantine. It was like, as soon as she started talking, he could smell flowers blossoming in the park, feel the spring breeze roll by. She lifted the bitter cold.

“Have you been keeping yourself busy?” She asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve hunkered down with Robin, so we’ve just been watching old movies from the 80s and eating a lot of hummus. How about you?”

“Also 80 movies marathons. What a coincidence.”

“Anything good?”

“Jonathan forced me to watch The Evil Dead finally, and it actually wasn’t bad.”

Steve scrunched up his nose. He wasn’t sure if it was to block the wind or the scent of Jonathan’s name lingering in the air between them. “You turning into a big horror fan then?”

“God, no,” she cackled on her line. “I still prefer staring out the window looking longingly at empty streets. Feels like the end of the world, doesn’t it?” She snickered.

“A little bit, yeah.” He chuckled. “But, nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”

She went quiet then, well, quieter. A knowing...something passed between them. She thought of Barb, he knew, and he thought of her, back to him, arm outstretched with a gun. A pitter of panic surged through him.

“Steve,” she barely spoke.

“Yeah, Nance?” He hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking. He picked up his pace again.

“Do you think this has anything to do with...?” She didn’t need to finish her thought.

“No,” he spat out before he had a proper answer. It terrified him, the idea that people were trapped in their homes, waiting for the world to crumble in vines and flower-mouthed faces. He glanced across the road at a woman delivering groceries to her neighbor. “No, Nance, I don’t.” The two women turned to smile and wave. He feebly attempted to wave back.

“How can you be so sure?” There was the stubborn Nancy he knew and loved.

“Because,” he smiled softly to himself. “If he was taking over, we’d be alone, isolated, sure. But something about this feels like it’s pulling us all together. Don’t you think? I mean, people are bringing their neighbors groceries. Have you seen the amount of instagram lives this week? Dozens. And did you watch that video of Italians singing from their balconies?”

Nancy chuckled. “Yeah, I did.”

“See? If the world was ending, we wouldn’t be so supportive of each other.”

She paused for a moment, soaking it all in before her soft response. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”

He grinned, struggling to lift his arm enough to push the button for entry into the apartment building. Robin buzzed him in without question. “Well, I’m back, and I’ve got to put the groceries away.” He climbed the stairs a few at a time.

“Okay. Stay safe. I’ll snap you later.”

“Please do. Thanks for calling.” He wrapped his knuckles on Robin’s front door.

“Tell Robin hi!”

“Tell Byers hi.”

Robin shot him a confused look, giving him a wide berth to dump the bags on the counter and wash his hands. With hurried goodbyes, Nancy clicked off the phone.

“Longer than that!” Robin scolded when he turned off the faucet.

Smiling to himself, he turned the water back to hot and scrubbed for a second time, loudly singing the chorus to Toto’s Africa.

“I hate you.” Robin grinned, unloading the groceries into the pantry.

Steve sprinkled her with water from his fingertips and dried his knuckles with the towel.

---

First, I'd like to preface this by saying my heart goes out to those effected by the CoronaVirus/COVID-19. This fic is in no way making light of this week, I just wanted to write the story stuck in my head. If you would like to learn more about the virus and dealing with quarantine, please head over to my post, where I will drop several links with information including how to sew masks for health care professionals and where to send them in. Thank you and please enjoy!

#stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stancy #au: modern setting #quaratine fic #just two friends chillin during lockdown

16 notes · View notes

hardyimagines · 5 years

Text

Fitz

This is called ‘its 2 am and I can’t sleep so I wrote this in 30 minutes’ also I watched this today and can’t get him out of my head!!!

DRABBLE ( SHOCK )

Warnings: smut (;

———

“Jesus, would you just drop it?” The heaviness of your tone warned the surrounding men to back off. Your agitation was seemingly growing by the second and the gun that Bridger had aimed at John wasn’t helping the situation at all. Your hands were set firmly on your hips, jutted out to the right side as you scrutinized the situation. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.” Bridger looked toward you, lips curving downward at your lack of worry. Did you not think he would pull the trigger and blow Fitzgerald’s brain all over the blanketed snow?

Fitzgerald was sat calmly on the rock he’d been sat on for an hour. His boots shuffled noisily in the crunching ice below as he adjusted himself on the boulder. It was beginning to irritate his rear, not exactly the most ideal surface to be perched on. He pushed another piece of meat past his lips, unbothered when pieces of it clung to his strands of facial hair. You moved past Bridger and took it upon yourself to brush away the gross-looking piece of food from his beard.

Bridger lowered his weapon then, eyes falling to the ground in defeat. He doubted he’d ever be able to shoot a man that wasn’t a physical threat. He took a small step back and then another before turning on his foot and heading back down the small hill toward the circle of men gathered around the growing fire.

You let out a heavy breath before pinching John’s beard. Tugging on it in the slightest to draw his attention solely on you, you sent him a glare before moving around the rock so you stood at the ledge of the cliff. Peering down at the river, you watched the racing water, crashing against itself and hidden rocks to create large splashes and life-threatening waves. You folded your arms, unable to admire the scenery because you were too alert for threats. There was no peace here, despite how it appeared.

“You just gonna starve yourself till your body eats its way from the inside out?” Fitzgerald muttered gruffly. His fingers pinched the raw meat, tearing it from the bone it was attached to.

“I don’t like that..” You told him firmly. “You know I dont. I’d rather eat some fish.” You hated fish. “Why the hell cant you cook it? You’re going to get sick eating it raw like you do.” Turning to face the man with a squint, your arm extended, finger pointed toward the flame a few feet away. “Sitting in the circle for ten minutes to warm the meat up won’t kill you, you know?”

“Being near Glass is bound to do the trick.” He bit back. Rising from his spot on the rock, he instantly towered over you. The coat that had been draped around his shoulders began to slide off of his broad form, unnoticed by him, so you stepped forward and swiftly caught the collar. Drawing it more securely around him and back into its proper place, you let your hands linger on his shoulders.

“You are such a baby.” Your words were a whisper. A playful tone danced in your insult.

Fitzgerald seemed to like the atmosphere you’d created, for he stepped closer to you, blue eyes gliding along your features as you smirked up at him. He lifted the meat, already cradled in the center of the two of you. But you swiftly stepped back and pushed his hand away.

“Oi, come here.” The hand that wasn’t coated in fresh blood extended toward you. He grasped ahold of your hip and easily drew you back toward him. “I wasn’t finished messing with you.” The meat in his hand was tossed on to the rock, instantly staying in place because of the amount of snow.

“I don’t want to be anywhere near you.” You teased, hands finding the middle of his stomach in order to keep some distance between your body and his. It was pointless, but he let you think you were actually doing something. He pretended to be restrained for a second before he managed to overpower your arms and lug you into him completely.

“Come on, give me a kiss.” His puckered lips were so very inviting, but the speckles of blood in his beard reminded you of what he’d just been feasting on.

“Baby, I really don’t want to kiss you after you were chowing down on some raw meat.. I love you, but I do have some restrictions.” Staring up at him intently when he trapped you against his bulky body, you weakened the longer he held you.

“Oh, you don’t want to kiss me?” He whispered, leaning in nevertheless. “Don’t break my heart, now..” He whispered as quietly as he did when there were threats present. You shivered noticeably, lips parting so you could let out a shaky breath. You heart thumped deafeningly, rendering you silent for a second.

“I do want to kiss you,” You elbowed him in order to get away. “but not when you taste like dead meat.” Shoving him back and away from you, you took the advantage of him being momentarily stunned before rushing toward the small hill so you could join the other men around the fire.

Glass watched from his peripheral, the way that you and Fitzgerald messed around with one another. He couldn’t believe it. John Fitzgerald was a cold, heartless son of a bitch that no one would miss should he fall ill or be slaughtered. Glass took a bite of the fish he cradled, dark eyes illuminated by the glow of the fire. He shared a look with Henry, neither one of them understanding how a man so cruel, so heartless, so careless, could fall in love. John went from beastly and inconsiderate when around them, to this playful, loved up teddy bear when with you. It was mind-blowing. He was two different people.

John was quick to follow you back toward the group of tired men. Nobody lifted their gaze to him, but most lifted their gaze to you. Soft smiles, polite ones, were exchanged. The men shuffled to make room for you, but didn’t bother making a space for the man that you — for some reason — loved. They knew he’d settle down behind you. You practically collapsed in the snow, kneeling in front of the fire happily. Basking in its warmth, you leaned forward to grab a stick and some of the raw meat on the plate in the corner. Jabbing the sharp end of the twig through the food, you stuck it in the flame and watched as the heat cooked your meal.

Fitzgerald lowered himself down behind your kneeling form. His legs opened wide, offering you the perfect place to settle down once you were ready to eat. He removed the canteen strap from around his neck before placing it by his side. The water sloshed noisily inside the hollow bottle, catching your attention for only a second before you looked back to the fire.

Bridger was avoiding all means of eye contact with John, too afraid to look at him after holding a gun to his head. He’d done it for a stupid reason — simply to show that he had some sort of power over the previous situation. It was about direction, where they needed to go, how they needed to get there. Long story short, they disagreed and Bridger thought drawing his gun was wise. It wasn’t. Fitzgerald would remember that.

Dropping down on your rear, you settled back and against John, small hand finding his thigh as you used his chest as a steady surface to lean on. Your knees bent, closed-toed shoes smushing the snow beneath them as you happily munched on the cooked meat.

John pressed his lips against the back of your head, leaving his mouth there for a few moments as he relaxed. He was warm. He didn’t know if it was because of the fire or your little body, but he was grateful for both. His lips moved from your head, down and around to your ear, resting there for a moment before he spoke lowly — almost inaudibly.

All the men around the fire found it difficult not to watch the pair of you. You were the only girl they’d seen in months and of all the men in the group, you’d chosen the meanest one. The smallest ounce of affection reeled them in so when you craned your neck around to inspect the bearded-bloke, they couldn’t stop staring. You lifted your hand to his cheek and pinched it softly before stealing a soft kiss. Shyness didn’t accompany John, not in the slightest. He didn’t care if the entire group watched him bend you over and take you on a sprawled out pelt, but you were a bit more.. classy.. than that.

“Quit it.” You whispered against his lips in response to the disgusting things he’d just whispered in your ear. You discreetly squeezed his thigh before looking back to your food. In attempt to distract yourself from the bubbling want in your belly, you pinched the meat and pushed it past your lips.

John didn’t mind the fact that you were playing hard to get. He knew it was because of the group. If nobody was here, he knew you would’ve rolled over on to your back, opened your legs, and begged him to do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that the pair of you were crazy about each other. It wasn’t a secret that you had sex. So he didn’t know why you were being so shy about it. His fingertips trailed along the length of your arm, so rough and cold against your skin, but still welcomed. He wore torn gloves, fingerless now because of all the hard labor he’d had to do over the last several months. His free hand found your hip, gliding along the waistband of your trousers. You briefly looked south when his thumb grazed the button on your slacks, but you didn’t say anything. He was just being John, he wasn’t actually going to do anything.

Your fingertips were red from touching the meat in your hands, tongue and teeth the same despite the fact that you’d cooked it semi-thoroughly. It wasn’t well done, it had been a little under medium rare. You let out a breathy sigh before looking toward the stars as they began to twinkle above. It was getting darker by the minute.

Shadows danced alongside the flame, joining in the branches of the swaying trees. John was continuously tracing the button on your trousers, caressing the cold metal as if it were really all that interesting. All of the men had lost interest and were now either trying to doze off, finish their meals, or get closer to the fire. You finished off your own meal, tossing the stick into the flame onced you were done. John drew you into him even more securely then, unable to resist from being your main source of warmth. You closed your eyes and gave yourself over to his touch.

Months ago when you’d been found scavenging through their campsite, they’d been ready to kill you. Fitzgerald, in fact, was the first one to remove his weapon from its holster. You weren’t a woman then, you were just a threat and you would’ve been disposed of if it hadn’t of been for your quick tongue. You’d explained how you’d been taking from your own camp whilst sleeping. The French, so angry and careless, had swept you from your sanctuary and taken you from your friends. Who knew if they were even still alive? You were very, very lucky to have escaped the bastards who’d taken you — one little mistake they’d made and your ran for days. You hid in tight spaces, avoided all open areas. You’d been on the run until the men you resided with now had found you. John’s group was nothing like the French. Nothing at all.

Fitzgerald had been on the side of the men who thought it was wise to kill you. You could’ve been a liar, a scheming thief, a heartless bitch with no care in the world for the men. And you probably would’ve been shot if it hadn’t of been for Glass. He found you necessary to keep, should an actual problem arise and a trade was needed. It was ironic, how you’d ended up with the rudest bloke of them all — but you considered yourself lucky. Beneath the hard, tough exterior of Fitzgerald was a cuddly teddy bear and he was all yours. He’d grown so attached to you and your smart mouth.

Fitzgerald undid the button on your trousers, instantly making you straighten defensively. Verbally asking him what the hell he was doing would only draw attention to the pair of you, so you remained silent. Your eyes dropped to his hand and your own fingers followed. Grabbing at him to try and shove his greedy palm away, you swallowed thickly. “Fitz.” You hissed breathily, attempting to be as silent as possible. He paid you no mind. The tips of his fingers moved under the waistband of your trousers, slipping further and further under the material until he was wrist-deep in your pants. The urge to gasp was strong, but you swallowed it down and instead let out a strangled whimper that you tried to disguise as a cough. It worked.

His fingers grazed your slit without hesitation, delicately caressing you. He was careful, slow, and beyond grateful for the warmth you gave back to his fingers. His mouth moved to your ear, husky and low as he spoke. “Close your eyes and keep calm.” His hips pressed against your lower back. “Let’s not draw any attention to ourselves.”

You craned your neck around slowly, mouth skimming his chin before you spoke against his beard. “I’m breaking up with you.” You grumbled sweetly.

He smirked visibly. “Well, then I’d better savor this, shouldn’t I?” He marked his words by firmly pushing his fingers against your clit and rolling the hardened bud gently around in a slow circle. Your eyes fluttered shut, body growing heavier and heavier as he held you. He leaned in and kissed your nose before adjusting his head so that your face fell into the crook of his neck.

The only person able to see what the two of you were actually doing was Glass and that made John feel completely in control. Cocky. Hot with pleasure to rub this into the bastard’s face. He wasn’t sure why he clashed so much with the man, but he did.

John took his time to pleasure you like he said. One finger made its way to your entrance, sliding into you with so much ease because of how wet you were. The other fingers played with your clit, poking and teasing and rubbing the bundle until your feet were squirming in the snow. He took pride in what he could do to your body. Red-faced, heavily breathing. He loved the way your knees pressed together and your hands fisted in the icy snow. You were the loudest woman he’d ever been with and he got so much pleasure from that. So to see you squirming, so desperate to make a sound and let him know how good he was doing, it made him feel quite powerful.

Glass knew what the two of you were doing. He was the farthest thing from an idiot, but he wouldn’t give John the satisfaction of knowing he was watching. He tried to distract himself, tend to hawk, look at the food, watching the surrounding trees to ensure that they weren’t being stalked — anything to keep from ogling the pair of you.

Fitzgerald added another finger, pumping it simultaneously with the other and jus as agonizingly slow. He wasn’t usually so tender with you, he was a rough lover, a hard, fast man that took the dominance and ran with it. This was a different side to him, one that you actually quite liked.

Your toes curled inside your boots and your teeth sunk down on your bottom lip. Nibbling at the pink flesh until it was sore and swollen, you didn’t stop fidgeting until your body grew tingly. “Oh, John..” The words were impossible for anyone to hear. He felt your clenching around his fingers, making his job in pumping them a little bit more difficult. Your back pushed into his chest firmly, feet sliding in the snow as you arched slightly. He moved his mouth to your neck, attempting to mask your orgasm with a look of mere pleasure from a neck kiss. You whined breathily, thighs closing and trapping his arm in place. He could tell you wanted to thrust your hips, rock them vigorously in order to draw out your orgasm, but that would be too obvious, so instead you twitched and wiggled, eyes clamping shut as wave after wave of ecstasy ran through you.

It took a few moments for you to come down from your orgasm, but once you had, you were unsure of whether to punch him or kiss him. He withdrew his fingers from your trousers, lifting them instantly to his lips so he could lick them clean. He blamed it on the fact that he didn’t have a rag, but you both knew it was merely because he wanted you to see just how much he enjoyed you. Your soft eyes moved along his face before you lifted yourself up and rotated around. Kneeling between his spread thighs, you hooked your arms around his shoulders and pressed your lips against his own. He let out a moan of surprise, hands lifting to steady your hips as your mouth assaulted his. You slid closer, moaning unashamedly into his mouth. This part — you didn’t care if everyone watched or heard. He swallowed each of your sounds with ones of his own, grunting and humming each time you suckled on his tongue. His hands moved south to your thighs, gripping them so he could guide you completely on to his lap. Forcing you to straddle him in his seated position, his hands returned to your hips, urging you to grind against him.

“Mh..” You drew back breathlessly. “Let’s go.” You hissed. Standing from his lap, you shoved your messy strands of hair out of your face. Leaning over in order to snatch his hand, you lugged him up with difficulty.

John would’ve asked questions, but he already knew where you wanted to go. Somewhere — anywhere private. Who was he to deny you?

He followed obediently as you pulled him away from the bright, cracking fire and through the trees until it was impossible to see. He had no time to ask questions before you had him on the ground, covering your body like a blanket as you laid in the ice cold snow. Your hands were on his waistband, undoing his belt and shoving at his trousers desperately. You hadn’t wanted him this badly in months, not since the very first time the pair of you had slept together. It was exciting — risky, hot, and it made you feel so happy.

How he had such a strong effect over you, you didn’t know, you’d been trying to enjoy your meal and now here you were, hungry for something so different. You supposed that’s what love did to people.

—

Morning came around sooner than anybody would’ve liked. You were fast asleep against Fitzgerald’s chest, sleepily nuzzling into him the brighter that it grew to be. His arms were wound around you snugly, protecting you from the cold wind that whipped around your bodies now and again.

Glass was fast asleep, Hawk was messing with a stick, Bridger was on lookout duty. Henry was peering down at the river. Anderson was snoozing still.

You rolled around again when the sun’s rays weaved through the tree branches and shone down directly on your face. Whimpering in distaste, your hand moved to your face, shielding your eyes from the alarm clock that you didn’t ask for. Opening your droopy eyelids, you leaned up on your elbow, sleepily peering down at Fitzgerald as he slept soundlessly. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. So peaceful, unbothered. You stole a very small kiss, a brush of the lips before you rolled to the side and leaned up on your knees. Rising so you could stretch, your arms extended high up into the air, hands closing into tight fists as you woke your body up fully. There was no going back to sleep now.

Stepping over Anderson’s legs, you made your way toward the ledge where Henry was and peered out at the water that noisily raced along stream.

“Sleep alright?” He inquired quietly.

“Mh, crick in my neck, but that’s bound to happen.” You told him quietly before sending him a soft smile. “You?”

He nodded. He didn’t speak again for a few more moments. “It’s quiet.” He adjusted the rifle in his hands. “Where are all the animals?”

You lifted your gaze to him, arms folding over your chest. His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, stomach churning in disapproval at his assumption. “You think someone’s near?”

Henry pursed his lips. “Arikara don’t ever come this far.” He whispered softly. “You stick close to Fitzgerald.” He turned away from you then. “I reckon it’s the French.” He didn’t want to scare you — but at the same time he did. Letting your guard down was the last thing anyone needed and he wanted to be sure, even if it meant scaring you into it, that you were safe and protected.

You stiffened visibly before slowly moving your gaze back to the stream. All the memories of being held hostage by the French came rushing back. You felt sick, cold, and afraid all at once. It was enough to make you think you were going to pass out. You wobbled on your legs before hurriedly moving back toward your space beside Fitzgerald. You never wanted to be held hostage again, not by the low-life, scum of the earth pricks who’d had you before. Your hands fisted against your boyfriends chest, beating against it firmly enough to wake him.

“The French are near.” You whimpered out brokenly. “I can’t go back to them, John.”

He was bleary-eyed, momentarily confused. Your words didn’t register within him for a few moments, but once they had he was up and his rifle was in hand.

Their was a pop to the left, a loud crunch and then the sound of a gunshot. Glass was awake in seconds and Anderson rolled into the fire from the sheer shock. They dusted themselves off before lifting themselves up and all at once, the men prepped themselves for a war.

The French were here and not a single one of them was visible.

———————————————————————

Drop a comment if you liked this!!!! I am obsessed with it when you guys leave feedback / gifs / cute shit. 🥺🥺

Tagged: @peakblogbecauseimweak @bsotstory @mollybegger-blog @morphoportis @ghost-of-student-sufferings @drippydownes2002 @ellar21 @sovereigngoth @willowick13 @xxxxxeroxxxxx @wheresthewater @anrm1 @pansexualginger @marvelgirl7 @evilspretty-dead @heyitscam99 @wow-he-cute @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @sparklyreaderx @emerald-bijou @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @goodiesintheclosetlove @giftofdreams @ihclipse @meer0rauschen @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @jamierdr @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere @uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @matoki-darkpanda @bignastyfan-nz @97freaknik @hot-and-spiceyyy @azayamari @shane-isa-shame @chimthighz @azayamari

#tom hardy x reader #tom hardy imagine #john fitzgerald x reader #john fitzgerald imagine #the revenant imagine

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years

Text

on the necessity of cruelty

sl“Die in joy!” shrieked a chimerical assembly of armor and stabby things, wading into the crowd. “Die in pleasure! Let the blood flow, show me yours!”

The defenders took point as it and the other fae advanced from the corridor, shieking and laughing with voices that rang like bells, an empty and wild glee in eyes bubbling out from their skulls as they lost hold of the idea of pretending to look approachable; first they had been beautiful and grand in their fashion, unsettling though it was, but now in the spirit of slaughter and bloodshed, they couldn’t decide what to be, and the emptiness inside them shone forth.

Tiashar stomped forwards, her heavy arms thrust forwards as their swords came down. They bit deep into her black flesh, and bounced right off, her body’s soft surface absorbing the damage and bouncing it right back. “Get behind me! Hurry!” The others did so, huddling behind her as her tail bulb hovered over their heads, its lips spread wide and sliding over them. Her tail convulsed as her bulb swallowed them all, into the secondary bellies in her tail.

There. Now nothing could get to them. The urge to protect pulsed in her, an overriding and demanding obsession; she turned towards the first fae soldier, the one who had spoken before. “Face me as an honorable warrior!” It demanded.

Beside Tiashar, a behemoth of a woman at nearly ten feet though a little over half Tiashar’s own size, was Angilaka. Her good natured face was hidden behind a helmet like a snarling beast’s jaws, her body made even bigger in an exoskeleton-powered suit of spiky armor. It was a brutal, cruel thing, something ideal for slaying things that embodied doom itself. She raised her fists, the knuckles bladed and electrified, and retorted, “You bastards don’t know the first thing about honor!” She swung a fist, and the things head crumbled before the divine energies in her punch.

It got back up, even so, and started coming. “Die die die!” It sang.

Tiashar simply stepped on him. In truth, she had many options; she could have telekinetically flung him, she could have blasted him with her own radiant beam attacks, or even swallowed him whole, but she didn’t feel it. Metal crumbled beneath her foot, and then, there was a whimper of something like pain, even if only a guess at it.

It wasn’t real. She knew it. This was just a patchwork of nightmares and fleeting moments of bloodlust. It was a true monster, a thing with an empty void where a heart could have been and stitching stolen scraps of mortal concepts around itself like a mask to be bigger, to be scarier and worse than it could be on its own. It wasn’t alive. It was hateful and cruel and hurt things for fun, it needed to be put down.

she knew this, intellectually. Nonetheless, when she heard that whimper, she froze up, and she haltered.

The whimper intensified. Her foot, slimy and three-toed and like a combination of a frog’s fot and a sauropod’s, instinctively raised back, away.

A knife plunged into her ankle, instantly. Angilaka rushed forward, pulling it out and whipping it into the creature’s head; she pulled it out, and Tiashar shut her eyes in revulsion as she heard the disgustingly wet noises of Angilaka ripping it in half.

She didn’t stop there. Tiashar tried not to listen. The splattering noises... the heavy noises like wet things hitting walls and fits... her pummeling and slamming and yelling after it was already dead.

Then, a few solitary grunts, and the dropping of a dead carcass.

Tiashar opened all four of her current set of eyes. The other fae, alarmed (and aroused) at the remnants of their fellow warrior now spread all over the floor and now Angilaka’s front, turned back the way they came, no doubt to wait for a day when she wasn’t on duty.

Angilaka herself, was not paying attention. She checked Tiashar’s foot, examining the thick webbed bits across her relatively short toes, examining it for any blood. “Are you okay? Could have sworn that guy got you pretty good.”

“Uh... no...” Tiashar said slowly, the words coming out slow and uneven.

Angilaka stood up. She looked almost sad. “...Tia. You can’t hold back against these things. They won’t show you any mercy, and they don’t understand the concept in the first place.”

Tiashar bowed her head. “...I know.”

Angilaka patted her leg. She knew Tiashar didn’t sound too convincing. “It’s hard to accept. But sometimes, you have to be a worse monster than who you’re fighting.”

Angilaka went off, marching ominously and vanishing into the dark to keep up her grim, bloody work. The sound of blood dripping from her followed even long after she was gone from sight.

Tiashar watched her go, numbly. Eventually she sat down, swing her massive tail around, and tightly hugged the huge lump of the people she was protecting with her body.

They hugged her back. It made her feel a little better.

#/#//#///#////#/////#my writing #fics #twitchy!ocs #twitchy!tiashar #twitchy!angilaka #angilaka is becoming something of a Doom Slayer expy #and im trying to emphasize that Tiashar is many things #but she is NOT violent and she's too kind and softhearted for casual brutality #she's in the mold of Aang or Steven Universe #queued

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tibbinswrites · 5 years

Note

Heyyyy, so it says your prompts are open and that you've got a list? Could I pick 502 please? With some glorious destiel fluff....... hope it's a good one.

Of course Nonny!Thank you so much for sending a request. And you did indeed pick a good one ^_^

(send me a number between 1 and 635 and I’ll write a thing for you)

502. “Your smile is not as bright as it used to be.”

“Dean, can we talk?” Cas asked as soon as Dean closed the door behind him. Dropping his keys into the chipped ceramic bowl by the door, Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he was pretty sure he knew what this conversation was going to be. Cas was using his serious voice.

“Can it wait until after dinner?” Dean hedged, shucking off his jacket and hanging it over the banister, knowing he was being cowardly by trying to put off the inevitable but he couldn’t help it, just because he’d known it was coming didn’t mean he was prepared for this to be the last time he’d walk through the door to a husband, not a future ex-husband. “I’m starving.”

Cas’ mouth thinned with displeasure but he nodded, dropping his folded arms and spinning on his heel to head down the hall towards the kitchen, his boots—fuck, he hadn’t even taken off his shoes? Was he leaving as soon as their ‘talk’ was over? Were his cases already packed upstairs? Dean didn’t think he could handle that—squeaking on every second step.

Dean toed off his own shoes and followed, resisting the urge to slump and shuffle behind Cas like a kicked puppy. Instead he rolled his shoulders back and decided to face it like a man. If this was what Cas wanted… well, it would suck, but there was nothing Dean could do about it short of changing his entire personality into something that Cas could love again, and they both knew Dean was much too stubborn for that.

“I made casserole.” Cas said, gesturing to the glass dish covered in tinfoil—the meal people gave to the grieving, large and hearty and enough to keep a single person going for a good few meals—before taking a couple of bowls from the drying rack by the sink. He placed one down and then huffed at the inside of the other, using his fingernail to pick at a dried smidge of something on the inside.

Dean almost smiled, Cas was useless at washing up; almost everything he cleaned left something behind: the glass sliding doors that led to the garden were so streaky on the outside where they’d washed them together the previous week—making faces at each other and trading kisses through the glass, a perfect Sunday afternoon that Dean would never have again—that Dean had to open them to actually see the beautiful flowerbeds that Cas coaxed into life year after year—Dean had never been good at knowing how to handle living things—Many an hour Dean had spent before work re-cleaning things that Cas had tried to clean the previous day. It was funny most days, irritating others, but it was always worth it whenever Cas caught him at it and blushed a glorious pink, his smile small and embarrassed and grateful for Dean’s silence on the matter.

He hadn’t seen that blush in a few weeks now; Cas had been leaving before him for once, picking up the early shifts at the bookshop he worked at on top of his usual part-time hours, at least, that was his story, but Dean had his own suspicions - all of Cas’ smiles had a strained unease to them now, the way he smiled when he was keeping a secret, like when he’d accidentally scratched Dean’s car and had pretended not to know how it had happened until he caved after about twenty minutes and confessed everything. Cas was rubbish at keeping secrets, so this one must be a doozy.

Cas scooped out two portions of cooling chicken casserole and placed them one after another into the microwave for a few seconds to heat them back up to scalding while Dean awkwardly sat in his usual seat and waited, shifting uncomfortably.

Once the food was in front of them they made small-talk: How their days had been, which included stories of an asshole customer Dean had had to deal with who hadn’t known the difference between an exhaust pipe and a gear stick but was very insistent that Dean was doing his job wrong all the same and a very confused and frustrating old lady on Cas’ end who was looking for a very specific book for her grandson but she couldn’t remember anything about it except that the cover was blue.

They laughed where appropriate in between bites of food. Dean complimented Cas’ cooking, Cas waved him off, saying it was nowhere near as good as that stew Dean had made last week.

It was all so domestic, so very proper, like something out of an advert. Dean hated it, practically chewing on the tension that they were both pretending not to feel. The casserole sat heavy in his stomach, fear roiled in his gut and eventually and far too soon their bowls were empty and their spoons rattled loudly in the porcelain.

Cas looked up at him then, his eyebrows were pulled into a frown, his hair was a mess, his striking eyes were large and worried and he was so goddamn beautiful that Dean’s breath caught.

“I’ll wash up,” Dean said quickly, making to grab their bowls but Cas caught his wrist.

“Leave them.” He said in that voice that brooked no argument, the one that usually sent lightning straight to his dick but now just left him feeling queasy. “It really is important, Dean.”

Dean swallowed and left the bowls where they were. Cas stood, sliding his fingers comfortably between Dean’s and led him to the sofa. Dean began to sweat. He loved Cas. He loved him so much that he didn’t know how he was going to get through this conversation without bawling, without begging.

He’d have to call Sam, tell him how he’d fucked up the best thing in his life. He’d have to call Bobby and tell him that he’d be too busy drowning himself in Jim Beam to come to the garage for at least a week. He’d have to wake up every morning and not see that horrific shock of dark hair, or that pouty disaster of a mouth, or those stunning eyes blinking open, the slow spread of a lazy smile. That deep, rolling laugh that lit up his insides like a goddamn firecracker.

That was his future, because he loved Cas, and because Cas hadn’t been happy for almost a month now and Dean didn’t know what he was doing wrong.

“Are you alright?” Cas was asking him.

Dean nodded, despite the fact that his heart seemed to have dropped to somewhere around his knees.

Cas squinted at him but ploughed on, clearly as anxious to get this talk over with as Dean was for it to not happen.

“Dean, I’ve been thinking.”

“Well that doesn’t sound good.” Dean winced at the dead croak that came out instead of his usual chirpy sarcasm.

Cas shot him a look. “I’ve been… pondering a big decision lately,” he continued, still holding Dean’s hand in his own lap. “And I’ve come to a conclusion.”

“Is there someone else?” Dean choked out. He knew that Cas would never cheat on him, but it would be just like Cas to fall in love with someone else and never act on it for fear of hurting Dean until they were officially separated. For all that Cas would break rules (and laws) without a thought—trespassing, minor vandalism, public indecency (okay, maybe that last one was partially Dean’s fault)—his moral code was absolute.

His question seemed to reset Cas’ brain for a moment, derailing him from his previous train of thought. He blinked and his head cocked in that adorable baby-bird way that Dean would never tire of teasing him about. The sight of it now made Dean feel like he’d swallowed a lead ball.

“What?”

“You’re leaving me, right? I wanna know if there’s someone else.” Though exactly why he wanted to know, he couldn’t explain. Could he really resent this other person if they made Cas happy where he had failed? He knew he sounded churlish but he couldn’t help it. His life was going to darken now, the colour from it leeched away when those blue eyes left his sight for the last time. He was ashamed to realise that he was crying.

“No!” Cas said, sounding alarmed, and both his hands were on Dean’s now, warm and solid and there. “Sweetheart, no, I’m not leaving you, of course I’m not leaving you! What made you think that?”

Dean sniffed, blinked, sniffed again and then one of Cas’ hands was on his face, gently wiping away the tears that were still falling while he processed the words and his throat loosened enough for air to flow easily once more.

“Your smile isn’t as bright as it used to be,” he said pathetically.

Cas’ whole face softened into the dopiest grin Dean had ever seen and he leaned forward to press his lips to Dean’s forehead, which, although Dean had never said it aloud, Cas seemed to know made him feel cherished and safe.

“Now why on earth would I leave you when you say things like that?”

He kissed Dean again, on the lips this time, soft and sweet. Dean stroked his thumb across the back of Cas’ hand, the pure relief making his entire body sag into Cas. And Cas caught him, because Cas always did. His arms encircled Dean tightly for a moment before gently pushing him back.

“I know I’ve been a little… on edge lately,” Cas said, keeping careful eye contact with Dean as he spoke and once more taking his hands in his own. He knows Dean intimately, knows that Dean needs to be touched right now, that he needs that reassurance, even if he’s too scared to ask for it. “But I promise, it has nothing to do with our marriage. We’ve been together for almost ten years, Dean, and every night I go to bed wondering how I got so lucky.”

Dean took a moment to breathe, a moment to smile, a moment to feel all his love for Castiel filling him up inside. Cas wasn’t leaving him. He loved him.

“Then what’s wrong? He asked, a different kind of panic ebbing into his system now.

“Mildred wants to retire and she’s selling the shop,” Cas explained slowly, his eyes flitting away, a hint of that exquisite pink dusting the bridge of his nose. “And I know it’s impractical, I know we don’t have the money, and I know that we’re comfortable in our routines as they are and this would change a lot of things for us and not all of them for the better…”

“But?” Dean urged, squeezing Cas’ hand. That brought those eyes back to his with a sudden clarity and fierce energy that made Dean’s heart squeeze.

“But I want it, Dean. I want to buy the shop. I love working there and Mildred’s been teaching me the more business side of it during the opening shift and I really think I can do it. I think I could even start a section for collectors books, rare editions and start up a- a library system for kids who might not be able to afford the newer editions of schoolbooks that the local library won’t have, I could set up groups and get authors in for readings, make it more than just a bookshop and I really, really want it.”

His eyes dropped again, the spotlight leaving Dean’s face.

“Of course, I have no idea where we’d get the money from, even though Mildred said she’d be willing to sell it to me with a large discount it’s still a lot of money. And my hours would more than double. I’d have to get up early and stay late and work weekends at least until I can hire some people but we wouldn’t have as much time for each other and that would be difficult. Mildred made me offer a few weeks ago and I didn’t wanna tell you because I didn’t think there was any point, but I need to let her know by Thursday or she’s going to put the shop up for sale officially and I lose my chance. With the deadline getting closer I started to really consider it so I had to say something.”

And really, who was Dean to resist that face?

“Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”

Cas blinked, “Really? Just like that.”

Dean laughed, “Yes, really, dumbass. I love you and owning a bookshop is perfect for you. Mildred’s a great lady but you could do so much more with that space and it sounds to me like you’ve put more thought into this than you did your proposal.”

Cas laughed, breathy and gorgeous. “I knew you’d say yes,” he mumbled, “Sam warned me you’d started looking at rings yourself.”

“God, you’re perfect.” Dean said, suddenly awestruck. “And we’ll find the money. I can pick up some extra shifts at the garage, we could go begging to the bank, or hell, I could ask Sam.”

“You’d do that?”

Cas knew just how reluctant Dean was to ask Sam for anything—despite the fact that his little brother was in the five figures kind of rich and kind enough that he would give it all to Dean if he’d only say the word—and he looked suitably touched at the gesture.

“I put him through college and changed his diapers, pretty sure he owes me.” Dean said nonchalantly and convincing precisely no one. “Yeah, Cas. I’ll ask. But don’t blame me when Sam starts sending you monthly booklists to pay him back with.”

Cas smiled bright and happy, and if that wasn’t just the most amazing thing Dean had seen all day.

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee, or send me your own prompt.

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incorrectly-quoted-queers · 4 years

Text

Drunk Punch Love: INTERMISSION ARCHANGEL

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

INTERMISSION ARCHANGEL- 40 Days

Twenty days on Omega, and somehow he ended up spending most of his time at a shithole bar, not knowing what to do with himself.

In a sick twist of fate, the day after he got on the station the old Normandy crew sent him 1,000 credits. Apparently, word of Kaidan and Liara got out, Shepard won the dating pool, and they thought it best to send her winnings to him. They probably thought it was a funny way of remembering her.

Garrus just found it an easy way to accomplish nothing, knowing his bank account was padded with his dead friend's winnings.

It was his fifth night in a row at Afterlife. He didn't know what he was doing here anymore. If he just wanted to sulk it out and then head back to Palaven or the Citadel, he should've left by now. Or if he planned on staying, he should've found some crusade to get his dumb ass distracted. But he wasn't building anything here, he was just drinking and wasting away in limbo.

Finishing his glass for the night, he didn't mind drinking alone very much. And as long as he kept it to one drink, he didn't start imagining her across the table. It was just enough booze to slosh away some of the emptiness, but not enough to start losing his mind. Wasn't the worst way to kill time.

But then an eager looking turian slid in the chair across from him and he hated it.

Okay, drinking alone was fine, minus the persistent grifters. Dude started talking before Garrus could tell him to fuck off. "Don't see ex-turian military around here often, not without a shiny new merc job or some secrets to keep."

"I don't give a shit about whatever you're selling, so-"

"Not even a little bit, Garrus Vaklarian?" He stopped trying to stand and sat back down, glaring at the guy. He didn't like where this was going. The mysterious turian just smirked. "I see I got your attention."

"What the hell do you want?"

"Back-up. I might've gotten myself a one on one with a krogan captain for the Blood Pack in ten minutes, and I don't feel like having my mandibles ripped off."

Garrus was trying to wrap his head around it all. His new taste for ryncol wasn't doing well for his brain. "One, why the hell would you do that? And two, why do you know who I am?"

"I'd love to say weeks of intel, but really? I've seen you a couple times here. Took me a little while to realize you're the one from the Battle of the Citadel vids, who helped take down Saren. Could use some heroism on my side."

"Okay, but you still didn't answer question one."

"I'm not a huge fan of the merc groups, period, but this Krogan's been trying to expand his territory into my old neighborhood. If my favorite restaurant has to start paying dues, we're gonna have a problem."

"With that dumb answer, I guess we're back to augmenting the second question. Why me? You could hire decent shots all over this station."

The guy was trying to seem casually, but Garrus could see the way his feet kept bouncing. All his fake confidence was relying on lies and adrenaline. Regardless of the underlying tells, the turian said, "Well, let's just say I'm a bit strapped for cash, so I was hoping you might do it for free. Also, I always prefer more than just a decent shot."

Laughing, Garrus was a little impressed with the quads on him. At the very least, the exchange was getting more amusing than annoying. "And what makes you think I'll help you?"

"A turian quitting their civil service position to chase down an unconfirmed rogue, turian spectre? That's a hero type. And hero types can't resists offers like mine."

That's when all the talk he was spinning stopped amusing Garrus. He leaned back forward onto the table, trying to keep the pop-up thoughts about green eyes and target practice out of his mind. "Yeah, well that's who I used to be."

Finally, the turian switched tactics. The veiled swagger fell and his shoulders slumped. He leaned closer to Garrus and went for the ole' classic: begging. "Just this once, okay? And after I'll leave you alone."

He was really itching to say no, but something in the back of his head was curious how much trouble one Krogan really could be. He'd definitely taken down scarier things in his time. And what better was he doing?

Hell with it. Maybe this could be his litmus test, break whatever funk he was in. If he felt good helping someone, great, he could use that. Make something of it. If not? Get his ass off this station, because it clearly wasn't doing much for him. Even if Omega treated Shepard's name like a hex, his brain dragged too much of her around. No matter Sol's intel, he there was one big problem with trying to run from her ghost: him.

Pushing off the table, he gave the guy a shrug. "Fine. Now, where the hell are we going?"

His new turian friend probably didn't mean to, but his face lit up and he nearly tripped over himself standing. He did a decent job pretending it didn't happen, though. Straightening himself, he nodded towards the far exit. "Out there and a few alleys back." Garrus nodded and followed him.

Once they were outside, though, he took a stop at a vending machine and grabbed some water. The second it dropped down, he popped the cap open and started chugging. His companion looked slightly horrified, saying, "Why are you inhaling that water bottle like it's oxygen?"

As the last drops fell, he threw away the bottle. "I was drinking ryncol." It was 100% placebo, but that alone made him start feeling a little better. Or maybe it was just the blood pumping from knowing he might get to pull out his sniper in a few minutes.

He hadn't done any target practice in weeks.

Though he started walking again, the turian gaped. "Why?" But as Garrus started walking faster, wanting to get somewhere, accomplish something, it was like the guy could smell his boiling blood. "Spirits, are you gonna get me killed?"

Garrus laughed at the thought. "If Shepard didn't kill me, neither will a Blood Pack krogan."

"Do you mean Saren?"

"No."

They walked down the next few blocks, and nothing seemed more illegal or sketchy than the rest of Omega was. They even got to pass a raving Batarian prophet, and that still didn't feel all that insane. He'd really gotten used to Omega, hadn't he?

All of a sudden, his walking buddy stopped in a slightly dimmer alley, where a few lights were out and no one was waiting for them. Garrus was hoping that he was just lost or looking for a right door to give a password, but the longer the other turian itched at his face, Garrus realized things were probably going to get complicated.

Garrus gave the guy the benefit of the doubt. "Is this the right place?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to meet him right here... five minutes ago."

Before Garrus could say anything about it obviously being a set-up, and that the krogan probably just wanted him dead, he could hear a weapon gearing up. Shoving the new guy down to the ground, he pulled out his sniper. While this wasn't exactly the best way to get back in the fight, he had to admit it felt damn good to hold in his hands again.

"Why didn't you gthink this was a set-up?"

"Let's just say being on the "good guy" side of this is new to me."

"Great, I always dreamed of a back alley firefight with an ex-merc." Glancing over their cover, he could clearly see three vorcha at the other end of the alley, probably two or three more he couldn't see. They always travelled in fairly large numbers, even for a small hit.

Next to him, the other turian asked, "Really?" Though he clearly whiffed the safety protocols of this meeting, he pulled out an SMG and was doing good work suppressing the Vorcha. Garrus had to give him that much credit.

But that didn't excuse his question, and he rolled his eyes. "No, this is hardly my favorite place to get murdered."

"What, do you have places you'd prefer?"

"For practicality? Gun expo or military base. For style? Gardens, electronics stores, antique shops, but only if they're classy."

Even though he seemed caught off guard and a little stressed, the guy laughed. "You're insane."

"What else did you expect? A healthily functioning ex-Spectre hunter?"

"You got me there." They downed one of the Vorcha, and another was at least down for the count because Garrus got a good shot straight through his leg, but the other three that they'd seen were still putting up a fight. His shooting buddy said, "On your left." Garrus swiveled and got a headshot on one of them while he was trying to get in for a closer shot.

Then the guy asked, gesturing to the gun, "Do you bring a sniper everywhere?"

"Yeah. This is my favorite gun." Garrus got the another Blood Pack goon when it popped its head out to check for them. But just as he was going to tell the other turian to close in on him, the final vorcha came out from behind the corner, holding his shotgun to the head of a civilian. From the looks of him, a shell-shocked shopper. Lowering his gun, Garrus said, "Fuck."

"Drop your weapons or I kill him."

The other turian stood up without even thinking about it, letting his SMG clatter to the ground. Garrus was looking between the two, trying to calculate what made the most sense. But seeing someone scared, he started wondering what Shepard would do. The bigger surprise was that for the first time in over a month, thinking of her didn't hurt so bad. Before he could get lost in the feeling, his shooting partner toed him. "Vakarian, drop the gun." He growled, still not quite sure how to handle the situation, but did.

"Good, now-"

After taking even a second to look at the vorcha, he realized none of them had a chance if they let him call the shots. He remembered the Blood Pack members he'd fought while on the Normandy; prisoners weren't their speciality. Taking a page from Shepard's book, he pulled out his pistol, used his visor for quick aiming, and shot. The vorcha dropped, leaving a mortified hostage standing in front of his corpse. Garrus told him, "Get out of here."

Guy didn't have to be told twice.

As he picked his sniper back up, the turian asked, "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"The most terrifying woman with a pistol in the entire Galaxy." Lucky for Garrus, the guy let him leave it at that.

They walked up to the last vorcha left, his leg bleeding. "You tell your boss that he better watch his ass around the wards, or he'll be dealing with us." For a second, the vorcha just stared at them, but then Garrus added, "Go!" And the vorcha didn't need to be told twice, either.

It wasn't geth ships and Reapers, but for a minute there, he felt like himself again. The person he was with her. Sure, that still fucking stung, but it didn't feel empty. It was the first thing that didn't feel empty in a long time.

Next to him, the turian chuckled. "That was pretty forward, assuming I want to team up with your crazy ass again."

"Says the man who begged me to help him." Holstering both of his weapons, he was ready to walk back onto the streets. They didn't need to fight everyone on Omega tonight. But walking side by side with this turian, his wheels started turning. He didn't want to lose this feeling. This was the closest he'd felt to her, to himself, since before the Normandy's destruction ripped all that away from him. He tried to act casual, but he knew what he was offering wasn't casual. It was fucking life or death. But maybe that's what made it feel right, like what he should be doing. Garrus asked, "What if this wasn't a one time thing?"

They walked out of the alley, and his new friend seemed to think it was a joke, his adrenaline-boosted shoulders still shaking a little. "What, asking me on a date here?"

"I'm serious. You were right, the mercs run these people into the ground. Let's do something about it." The turian stopped dead, next to him. Maybe Garrus was reaching, and maybe this was crazy, but... "I'm game if you are."

"Serious?"

"Serious."

He couldn't really make out his face, if he thought Garrus was talking out of his ass. And he didn't really look too sure of himself when he finally looked at the sniper, but he started to smile. There was a fire there in his eyes that Garrus could see growing. "Alright, I'm game, too."

"Good." Just as they started walking again, Garrus found himself in a situation so untactful that it was almost Shepard-like. Maybe that was a good sign. Scratching his head, he asked, like an idiot, "Since I just agreed to risk my ass with you, what's your name, anyway?"

"Lantar." The guy extended his hand and Garrus shook it. And when he did, it felt good, like he was finally doing something with his life again. Maybe things were starting to look up for him, even without Shepard. He already got one guy to join his own, reckless crusade. The turian named Lantar finished off with, "I'm an ex-informant for the Blue Suns, Lantar Sidonis."

///

OH BOY I was such an asshole writer about avoiding his name til the end.

I'm sure quite a few of you figured it out before we got there, but I'm still hyped about doing it.

Anyway, much thanks from my patrons:

Danyell Jones

Amy Connolly

If you want to support my stories (and a future of being fandom trash on Twitch with y'all) please check out my patron options in my bio or on these sites:

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#Drunk Punch Love #Shakarian #femshep x garrus #garrus vakarian #anya shepard #Mass effect fanfiction #mass effect 2 #fanfiction #Lantar Sidonis #Omega #Archangel #Intermission: Archangel #bioware romances

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aquestionthatsneverbeenposedmove · 4 years

Note

[defend] Elyan was walking towards the armory to drop off his plate armor, sweaty from a recent training session and looking forward to a bath. When he opened the door, though, he was met with a terrible scene. Merlin was bloodied, curled on his side, as a red-faced Sir Alec beat him with a riding crop. Elyan dropped his armor and tackled Alec in the same breath. He started hitting the man anywhere he could reach. This man had hurt his brother, and Elyan would make him regret it.

Merlin was, well, a little bit bored to be honest. He had absolutely no idea what had set Sir Alec off this time around--he hadn’t even done anything, he had kept his head down and his mouth shut, even, he hadn’t said a single word to the knight all week--and he didn’t really care to know. He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted it to be over, so he could pick himself back up and go back to Arthur’s armor and put this out of his head and get on with his day.

All right, he thought, for what had to be the dozenth time now, all right, is he done yet, is it over yet, can I get up now--?

An enormous crash sounded through the room--Merlin could swear it made the floor shake, even--

--oh. And then it was over.

Merlin counted up to ten in his mind--twice, just to be sure, just to see if Sir Alec’s fists or heavy, steel-toed boots would slam into his head or his chest or his stomach, just to see if it was really over--before he lifted his head, and pushed himself up on his palms.

Oh. He snapped his eyes shut. Oh, God. Elyan. Was it too late to curl back up in a ball again and pretend none of this had ever happened at all? Maybe not--he didn’t think the two men had noticed him at all yet, since, you know, Elyan had just jumped up and attacked Sir Alec, like a madman--but it would mean he had just reached a new level of pathetic.

So. Not going to do that. And he couldn’t just lay here and let Elyan get himself in trouble, either, what if another knight or--Goddess forbid--Arthur strolled on in here right about now? Elyan would definitely come off looking the worse in this.

“Elyan!” Merlin pulled himself to his feet--oh, no, that was a bad idea, that was a very bad idea, and he had to put a hand to the wall to keep upright. “Elyan, stop it!”

#reply #elyan #v: destiny's calling #((OOC: just so y'all know the mun has never taken Sir Elyan for granted and never will. this is a All Sir Elyans Welcome Blog))#((OOC: he's just............... so good........................))

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our-smooty · 5 years

Text

You Make Me Want You

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2AceDoc

Tags: Double Penetration, 2doc, acedoc, 2dace, begging, praise kink, multiple orgasms, trans male character, trans murdoc niccals

Summary: There was something in the way they hovered over each other and him time that spoke of hidden closeness. Murdoc caught both of them staring at him when they thought he wasn’t looking, or when he was talking to Russel and Noodle. They were hilariously obvious, but Murdoc didn’t mind. In fact, he made sure to put a little extra swagger in his step, just for them to enjoy.

The second Murdoc walked through the door of Spirit House and noticed the way 2D and Ace were standing so close he knew there was going to be trouble. And not the bad kind of trouble, he hoped, but the kind that would leave him aching and sated for days.

There was something in the way they hovered over each other and him time that spoke of hidden closeness. Murdoc caught both of them staring at him when they thought he wasn’t looking, or when he was talking to Russel and Noodle. They were hilariously obvious, but Murdoc didn’t mind. In fact, he made sure to put a little extra swagger in his step, just for them to enjoy.

He excused himself from the party early in the night, claiming exhaustion. Noodle and Russel waved him off, too busy with their game of Monopoly to argue. 2D and Ace had been chatting over beers on the living room sofa, though they went quiet as Murdoc went past and sauntered up the stairs. He could feel their stares like heat over his back.

His room was essentially how he left it. Murdoc allowed himself to savour the feeling of being alone for the first time in months. Had the Spirit House always been this… peaceful? He took a deep breath in, then exhaled in a cathartic sigh. It was good to be home.

He wasn’t alone for long though. Not ten minutes after he’d closed the door, and five after he’d changed into something more comfortable, there was a knock against the door. Well well, it looked like at least one of them had the guts to follow him. Murdoc opened the door slowly, grin on his face widening as he saw both men.

“Hello lads, what can I do for you?” he asked, eyeing them both up and down. Ace was in front and beamed at the other bassist, while 2D stood behind him, smiling nervously.

“Hey Doc!” Ace chirped, flashing him an easy grin. “D and I wanted to come up and say welcome back again before you went to bed.”

2D bobbed in his in agreement. “Y-yeah! I'm glad you're back Muds!”

“Aww, well thank you. D’you wanna come in for a bit?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know exactly why they were there. He stepped to the side and allowed them to pass, leering not-so-inconspicuously at 2D’s arse as he walked by.

“Looks the same in here,” 2D commented, stepping over the junk on the floor. Murdoc shrugged and sat on the edge of his bed, letting the other two poke around as they wished. Ace was the first to turn around and face him, a mischevious glint in his eye.

“You live in a pigsty Doc.”

“Life’s too short for cleaning, Acey dear,” Murdoc drawled. He’d taken to leaning back on the bed, legs spread and arms relaxed, the picture of casualness. Ace’s eyes lingered a moment on his crotch and Murdoc snickered. “So, you two gonna tell me why you’re really here, or are we jus’ gonna keep dancin’ around it like idiots?”

2D blushed while Ace shrugged. “Well, we figured you were gone an awfully long time, Boss,” he started, sidling up to the bed. “And maybe you’d be wanting a little…” He made a crude jerking-off gesture and 2D tittered.

“Y-yeah! I-if you wanna, that is.” Murdoc’s grin couldn’t get any wider. It had been a while since he and 2D had messed around, and even longer since he and Ace had fucked. He’d never had both of them at the same time, not that he hadn’t thought about it.

“I don’t know,” he said, still smiling. “I’m pretty tired…”

2D looked confused, but Ace picked up what he was putting down. “Don’t worry, Doc, we’ll do all the hard work. You just have to sit back and look good, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you better put your money where your mouth is, Copular.” With the older bassists consent, Ace moved closer, looking over Murdoc from the bedside. The Satanist felt his pulse spike at the way the other looked his lips; it really had been too long.

Ace leaned down and places an almost chaste kiss on the side of Murdoc's mouth before winding a hand through his hair and yanking him forward. Murdoc yelped in surprise, catching 2D’s apprehensive look.

“Aw come on Muds, I know you like it rough,” Ace teased, now straddling his hips. “Stu was tellin’ me you never let him top. Why’s that? He’s good at it you know.”

Murdoc moaned a little at the pressure on his lap, making eye contact with the singer over Ace’s shoulder. The younger bassist kept talking in his ear, low and teasing as 2D toed off his socks and sat in front of him. “Wouldn’t you like that, Doc? Wouldn’t you like to be taken care of?”

“I-I’d like that,” 2D said, gaining confidence from the way Ace was taking charge. “I wanna make you feel good, Muds.”

And oh, who was he to argue with such sweet promises? With a tilt of his head and an easy smile, he beckoned the singe and bassist closer.

“Well, you’re welcome to try,” he drawled. Ace snickered beside him and took the opening to latch onto the sensitive skin of his throat. Murdoc hissed sharply, then trailed off into a moan. He almost missed the hungry look on Stu’s face as he watched them. “Come’on then D, join us.”

The singer sprang into action, pressing the length of his body against Murdoc’s. His bony frame felt familiar--this wasn’t the first time they’d fallen into bed together so it should--and oh so good. It wasn’t long before 2D’s large hands were roaming over the bassist's frame, sneaking under clothes and caressing long-neglected sensitive spots. The closeness of both of them was enough to make Murdoc’s head spin.

The two of them easily got Murdoc to the point of moaning and squirming. Ace’s teeth were wicked sharp against his neck, and Stu’s hands were burning against his skin, pulling him to face him. After a few minutes, Murdoc could do nothing but writhe in pleasure between them, at the younger men’s complete mercy.

“You sound good, Murdoc,” Ace murmured against his skin, breath hot. “You been thinkin’ about this while you were locked up?”

Murdoc keened, his hips bucking against Ace’s. 2D chuckled and teased a hand down to the fly of his pants, pressing lightly. “He always liked talkin’ about all the orgies he’s gone too. Liked to make it sound like he ruled the roost.”

“But we know better, don’t we, Doc?” Ace teased, one of his hands mirroring 2D’s and pawing his crotch from behind. “You love bein’ dominated, filled up, fucked hard.”

“Yes…” Murdoc hissed, not knowing which hand to buck into. The sweatpants he was wearing were thin, and he could feel their fingertips against his pussy, but only just.

“How’d you like it if we did that for you, Murdoc?” Ace asked as his hand began to dip under his waistband. “Don’t you want me and D to stuff you full, make you feel it?”

Murdoc’s head thrashed and his back arched. “Yes, fuck yes. I want--” He was cut off by his own gasp as both 2D and Ace reached his core, fingers prodding and not quite touching where he needed.

“He’s so wet Ace,” 2D moaned, letting his clever fingers trace feather-light patterns over the bassist’s erect clit. Ace hummed in agreement, letting his digits dip in and out of Murdoc’s hole.

“He really is. You’re so ready, babe.” Murdoc nodded frantically, trying to get closer to both men at the same time and failing miserably. “And you’re usually such a fan of foreplay.”

Murdoc groaned again. “I swear to Satan if y-you two don’t fuck me soon…” Ace plunged his fingers inside, making Murdoc shout. Stu muffled his noises with a wet kiss.

“Impatient. So, D, how’d you want to do this?” Ace sounded impossibly casual as he pumped his fingers in and out of the older man despite the hardness in his pants.

“Uh, I dunno Ace,” 2D mumbled between kisses, moving his tongue in sync with his fingers. Ace chuckled and pulled away for a moment, fiddling around with a packet of lube.

“Well, no sense rearangin’ everythin’,” he said before returning his fingers to Murdoc, but higher this time. A now-slick finger traced over the sensitive muscle just as 2D’s fingers slipped inside his cunt. “We’ll do it just like this, I’m sure he’ll love that.”

Murdoc was shaking with excitement. When Ace went to push a finger into his arse, he wrapped one leg around 2D’s hips, giving them both more room to work. The singer’s hips began to rock forward against Murdoc, the bulge in Stu’s pants rubbing against his thigh. He quickly got frustrated, finally pulling away from Murdoc to shimmy his pants and underwear down, exposing his leaking cock.

“Oh--oh please Stu,” Murdoc moaned at the sight, doing his best to stay relaxed for Ace, but wanting to scream. “Please fuck me.”

For a second he thought 2D might give in and he’d finally get some relief, but Ace was quicker. “Not yet, Stu. Give me a few minutes, yeah?” He was easing a second finger in beside the first one now. The slight burn made Murdoc’s core clench in anticipation.

“Sorry Murdoc,” 2D said with a slight smile. “Guess you’ll have to wait.” He took himself in hand and began teasing his tip against the bassists pussy from top to bottom, drawing long groans from the older man. Ace hummed in approval, scissoring his fingers, then adding another. Murdoc sobbed.

“Shhh, Doc, don’t worry. We’re nearly there,” Ace soothed, giving a few more thrusts before removing his fingers all together. Murdoc could feel the head of Ace’s dick pressing against his arse, and 2D’s pressing against his cunt and it was all too much.

His panting was the loudest sound in the room. “Please--Please!” Murdoc cried hoarsely. There was no way he could take any more of this teasing, he was ready. So ready.

Ace grinned madly at his begging, but 2D was softer and took pity. “Alrigh’ Muds, calm down luv.”

But Murdoc was beyond the point of calming down. “N-no! Need it--please.”

Stu looked over the oldest bassist’s shoulder to Ace with a wide-eyed stare. “Don’t tease him anymore, Ace.”

“Poor thing, alright, alright,” Ace cooed as he lined up and began to push inside. Murdoc groaned deeply and clung to 2D’s biceps, nails digging into soft skin. Stu hissed in pain, but also began to thrust into Murdoc. The feeling of being stretched and filled completely was everything to the Satanist.

“O-oh--I-I-I’m--” It was too much already, too much. Before either man had bottomed out Murdoc was cumming. Both Ace and 2D gasped at the tight convulsions and soft keens of the bassist's pleas.

“Shit, Doc, did you just cum?” Ace asked, breathless. Murdoc nodded tiredly, resting his head against the singer’s shoulder. 2D was huffing now as well, the warm wetness and tight heat heavenly around his cock.

“Are you ok to keep goin’?” he asked quietly. Satan 2D was always so nice, so considerate. Murdoc didn’t want any of that right then though.

“Fuck me now, you idiots,” he growled, clenching his kegel muscles to make both men moan. They didn’t need telling twice, quickly setting a brutal pace, pounding the smaller man back and forth between them. Like a rag doll in the wind, Murdoc let himself be completely controlled by the force, not even bothering to move his hips. All he could do was hold on and try to muffle his moans and sobs into 2D’s neck.

“S’it feel good, Muds?” 2D moaned, his hips moving mechanically. Normally when Murdoc slept with the singer, he was the one in control, either fucking him with the strap-on or tying him down and riding the younger. This was the first time he’d let 2D have any control, and so far, he wasn’t disappointed. 2D didn’t brag about it much, but his cock was big. Maybe the biggest Murdoc had ever taken. He loved to truss the singer up and ride him into the mattress until he screamed.

Ace, on the other hand, had always been one to take charge in the bedroom. Back when they’d both been younger and a little more adventurous, Murdoc had enjoyed the pleasures of being dommed and controlled. Ace fit that bill exactly, nice cock, sexy body, and a wild streak that went on for days. More than once the two bassists had locked themselves away and spent extended amounts of time getting to know each other better.

“Oh God, I can’t, Oh shit--!” Murdoc answered, throwing his head back and resting it on Ace’s chest. The younger bassist took the chance to lean in, capturing Murdoc’s lips in a teeth-filled kiss.

The wet sounds coming from their movements were downright filthy. Murdoc could feel every inch of their dicks inside him, filling him to capacity in a way he hadn’t felt in far too long. The way Ace was kissing him, all teeth and no softness, matched with the way 2D held him, all comfort and care. They kept him near the edge, but just barely.

“You can do it, I know you can” 2D murmured, eyes downcast and watching his length disappear again and again inside the bassist. Murdoc moaned at the encouragement, breaking away from Ace to catch his breath.

“I know you can, Doc,” Ace agreed, picking up speed and switching to gnawing at the other’s neck. He clenched his teeth to stop a moan as Murdoc squeezed tighter in response. “Oh Murdoc you feel so good, such a good boy letting me and D fuck you.”

The pressure of another orgasm was building up in his groin, making him shake and sob with each thrust. Neither man fucking him stopped. One of 2D’s hands came down to palm over hit clit, hard and just the way Murdoc liked it. The Satanist tried to think about anything other than the extraordinary pleasure being dolled out to him to stave off his coming orgasm, but it was nearly impossible. His mind was consumed totally by the other two.

“I-I--I’m cumming--!” Murdoc screamed, hips tensing and toes clenching. This time, Stu and Ace kept moving, though the had to slow down to accommodate the convulsions of his muscles. Cumming with them both still inside and moving was so intense, so good, that Murdoc felt real tears begin to run down his face, completely overwhelmed.

“Oh fuck, you’re so sexy. Murdoc you’re so good I--!” 2D gasped, his thrusts coming to a halt as he let go and came inside the bassist. Ace, watching on, came moments after, his quiet moans filling Murdoc’s senses. The Satanist felt himself be filled with cum and moaned lowly.

All three men lay still for a few minutes, catching their breath and coming back to themselves. Ace pulled out first, careful not to cause too much overstimulation, and 2D did the same moment’s later with a hiss. Murdoc was boneless, letting himself be flopped around and maneuvered as needed.

“Phew, that was pretty intense, ey boys?” Ace asked, finally taking his pants off fully and lounging back. 2D was a little less lively, choosing to wrap his arms around Murdoc and lean in close.

“You alrigh’ Murdoc?”

The Satanist nodded tiredly, for once not pushing the younger man away. The tear tracks on his face were drying and leaving sticky patches behind. It felt so good to be held and wanted, fuck he’d needed this.

“Satan, I think you two nearly made me pass out there,” he joked. 2D hummed and began laying little kisses along his forehead. Behind him, Ace was fumbling around for a couple of smokes, lighting them and handing them out.

“We just wanted to show you we’re glad you’re home,” the ex-gangster said, tossing his shirt away into the darkness of Murdoc’s room.

“We really missed you,” 2D added. Murdoc laughed.

“I listened to The Now Now D, I know you missed me.” The singer blushed bright red as Ace snorted. What Murdoc didn’t say was that the first time he’d heard Souk Eye over the common-room radio he’d had to excuse himself to his bunk, lest the other inmates see him cry.

“Did you like it?” The singer's voice was sleepy and the hand holding his fag was dipping dangerously close to the comforter.

“Ask me when you can keep your eyes open.” Murdoc was tired too, and he could feel Ace behind him slipping the covers up and around them all. It looked like he wasn’t going to get his bed all to himself tonight, and maybe not for a while. Oh well, worse things had happened to better people.

#lemon #2acedoc #2doc #murdace #acedoc #spicy boys #trans male character

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crashdevlin · 6 years

Text

New Romantics: 1-Strapped

New Romantics Masterlist

Author’s Note: This is a multi-chapter sequel to Wildest Dreams

Summary: Dean told y/n that she’d pick up the machete and rock salt again, but he’s surprised to see her at Harvelle’s Roadhouse less than a year later. She’s nervous to tell him and Sam the catalyst for her to start hunting again.

Pairing(s): Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader x Dean (no wincest)

Word Count: 2954

Story Warnings: Smut, 18+ HERE BE SEX, DO NOT READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!, anal sex, oral sex (fem and male receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, bloodplay, canon-appropriate character deaths, manipulation, BoyKing!Sam and Intended Queen!Reader!

Chapter Warnings: talk of wet dreams, unprotected vaginal sex, a bit of BoyKing!Sam

I'm having a heated discussion with Ash about thermodynamics when they walk into the roadhouse. Part of me, a mammoth part of me, wants to hide as they head for the bar. This isn't like the last time the Winchesters walked into a bar I frequent. There's no excitement, no anticipation of fun or pleasure. There's just fear, apprehension, just a reminder of what the hell I'm doing back in a hunter bar with a pistol strapped to my thigh in the first place.

I wave Ash off as Dean starts flirting with Jo. Jo's receptive, of course, but she resists because Ellen has taught her about men like Dean. Hunters and womanizers, men to avoid, so Jo bites out something sarcastic and disappears into the roadhouse's back room. Dean takes a drink of his beer and swivels the bar stool around to survey the occupants of the bar.

There's a few of us in here tonight. I might have been able to disappear if he hadn't looked at the pool table first. His eyes light up when he sees me, sitting on the edge of Ash's green felt cot, and he drops his bowed legs off the crossbeam of the stool, sauntering over to me. "Y/n!"

I swallow. "Dean."

"You're in a hunter bar... with hunters." I nod. "And you're strapped." He points the neck of his beer bottle at my Glock.

"Yep."

He smirks. "You were supposed to call me when you got back in."

"I know. I've just been trying really hard to avoid this conversation." I say, honestly. It's a talk I've rehearsed a million times in my head, but no amount of rehearsal could prepare me for. It's definitely not one to have in a bar full of hunters itching to destroy anything less than, or more than, human. "Can we... talk in private?"

Dean nods, the smile dropping off of his face. He looks back at his brother. "You want me to-" His words fade as I nod. Sam should hear, too. "Sam! Kinky Boots needs to talk to us." Dean yells across the bar and I hop off the pool table, striding toward the door.

I lead them away from the roadhouse, to where I've parked my dark blue Chevy Colorado. I pull the tailgate down and hop up to sit on it before I even look at Sam. "Hey, Sam."

"Y/n. You're hunting again?"

"Dean was right. Said I'd come back to it, someday. Someday, I'd see something in the news that I couldn't ignore." I swallow, my stomach twisting and throat dry. "My someday was the day Bobby Singer sent me the news clipping about your dad's death. Said it was a complication from a car accident, but it wasn't, was it?" Dean's jaw tightens and he looks away from me. "He sold his soul to the yellow-eyed demon to save you, didn't he?"

"How do you know that?" Sam asks. "Did Bobby tell you that?"

I shake my head. "I dreamed it... that night... night after we... a week before it happened." Sam's eyes widen but Dean's narrow. "And every night after until..."

"You're having premonitions?" Sam asks. I nod. Dean lets out an almost angry breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Wait. What... did something happen to your mom? When you were a baby? Like six months old?"

I nod. "Exactly six months old. Fire destroyed the whole house. Only my dad and I got out. Apparently, Dad got crazy paranoid after, thought we were being followed, being watched, always different people that he was sure was the same man. Most people woulda ended up in a nuthouse, but my dad... somehow, he ended up in Blue Earth. Fate put him in front of Pastor Jim, who saw that Dad wasn't crazy, taught him everything he knew about monsters and demons."

"Wait. What year were you born? 'Cause the others we've met, they were all born in '83." Sam asks.

"What others?" I ask, trying to ignore the fact that I'm most definitely caught in a major lie.

"Other kids the yellow-eyed demon messed with!" Dean growls. "Other jerks with powers. Like mind control, and telekinesis, and fuckin' premonitions! So, when were you born?"

I take a deep breath. "Well, the birth certificate I've been using since Dad enrolled me in school says '81, but..."

"But you were born in '83." Sam finishes for me. "So, you were off hunting by yourself at seventeen, not nineteen."

"Not if you ask my dad. I always told him I was with Bobby or Pastor Jim."

"I think the question was more, 'You were Jailbait the first time our dad met you?'" Dean spits out. "And how did he not put together the similarities between your mom and ours?"

"Well, I wasn't Jailbait when we acted on it. I was twenty-two when we acted on it, when we all acted on it. And he didn't put it together because I didn't tell him." I take a deep breath. "I couldn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean demands.

"The night I met John up in Snoqualmie, I dreamed of him. It was the first, you know, hardcore wet dream I can remember having, and halfway through, his eyes went yellow. This sickly, terrible yellow. He told me not to tell John how I got into the game, just tell him how much I long to be out of it. So, when we were having our post-hunt bourbon on the hood of the Impala and John started to tell his story of the fire in Sam's nursery... I could only think of those sickly yellow eyes and I couldn't say anything."

"So, Yellow-Eyes has been fuckin' with your head for at least six years." Dean growls.

I nod, biting my lip. "Yeah. When you put it that way..." I catch Sam's eyes. He looks hurt by the way Dean's reacting. "I've dreamed of him a couple times, lately. Warning of the coming war. Said we're gonna be soldiers."

"Really?" Dean literally spits as he says the word.

I pull my Glock from my thigh holster and present it to him. "You think I'm gonna turn, you think I'm a liability, you go ahead and put one between my eyes, Dean. But if you don't have the balls to do it for Sam, too, shut the fuck up." I snarl. Dean's shoulders slump and he looks away from the gun. "What I thought. Now, I, obviously, have no intention of being a soldier for that yellow-eyed prick. It's part of why I picked up the rock salt again, to show him I'm not his fucking puppet."

I strap my gun back to my leg. "Now, I didn't need to tell you any of this, okay? I could've just kept pretending that I didn't know shit about Yellow-Eyes, that I wasn't having this shit in my dreams, but I didn't want to lie to you guys." I swallow again. I wish I'd brought my beer out with me. "I dreamed that... that Sam was the only one who'd understand."

Dean chuckles. "That's rich. So, ol' Yellow-Eyes is tryin' to get you with Sam? That's great. Where do I sign up for a Demon Dating Service?" He rolls his eyes and I shake my head.

"This was a mistake. I should've known you'd treat it like-" I jump off of my tailgate and slam it closed. "You tell anyone that I'm like Sam, I'll kill you."

Sam grabs me as I go to open my drivers side door. "Don't go. I... I do understand, but Dean can't, okay?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "What, you got a renewed hard on for her because she's a-" Dean cuts himself off and Sam turns to glare at him. I study his face and blink at him, something clicking as my mind blanks out.

"She's a what, Dean?"

"A freak." It comes out of my mouth but it's Dean's words, Dean's thought, Dean's voice. "Unnatural. An evil, demonic creature that I can't believe I put my dick in. Sammy, you don't even know how scared I am for you and for you to be shacking up with this bitch, especially when the demon wants that? I'm fuckin' terrified."

I blink hard and look away. "Not really hurting his argument, am I?" I breathe out and shake my head. "Look, he's right. If the demon wants us together, we probably shouldn't be."

"But I... at least give me your number, or call me if you have any more dreams or anything." I look in Sam's eyes and words tumble into my brain. Perfect. Lovely. Want you. Just like me. An image accompanies the words, a perfectly clear memory of me riding his cock in the back of the Impala. I give a small, breathy moan and he smiles, knowing that I can see what he's thinking of. A new image pushes into my head, not a memory, not fully-formed, fuzzy around the edges because it's a mental fabrication, a fantasy of him plowing into me, his cock stretching me open as his hands grip my hips tightly.

I lean forward, pressing my lips to his and sending a perfect image of my cell phone number into his head, before turning and climbing into the cab of my truck. I haven't even made it a half a mile before my phone is buzzing. He'll come around.

Unlikely. I've seen his mind. He kinda hates me right now.

But he was wet dreaming about you a week ago. He'll get over this.

Hope so.

Look Dean and I are going to be staying in Norfolk tonight. You should get a room we need to talk more

Talk?

among other things please?

I pull into Norfolk way ahead of them. They didn't leave the roadhouse until half hour after me, according to Sam, so they pull into the motel an hour after me. I hid my truck a block away so Dean wouldn't clock my presence immediately and I texted Sam my room number. I kick off my steel-toed boots into the corner and I wait for him with a bottle of bourbon and the television that only gets ten channels. It's 2:36 according to the clock on the side table when a knock comes to my door. I open it and Sam smiles at me.

"Hey."

"Dean asleep?" I ask.

He nods. "Downed a fifth of Jim as soon as we walked into the room." He steps into my room and pushes past me. I close the door and lean against it as he flops down on my bed. "I just... haven't been able to stop thinking about you, about the connection we've got-"

"Manufactured connection. The demon has something planned, Sam. Dean... he's being a prick, but he's right. Yellow-Eyes sent me to you, so we shouldn't be together. Right?" I want him to say 'no'. Everything in me is hoping that he'll grab me and pull me to the bed and fuck me silly. The part of me that's speaking, I don't even know what part of me that is.

"I think... I think, though, that we are the only ones who can understand what the other is going through. Dad thought... Dean and-and Gordon, they both think I'm going to turn evil, that you're going to-" Sam shakes his head and stands. "We're not evil. We fight evil. Whatever plan the demon has for us, we don't have to-"

"But if he plans for us to..." I swallow as he leans over me, lips close enough to mine for me to feel the heat of his breath. "We shouldn't, then." I whisper, looking into his eyes.

"But we both want it." Sam's lips press into mine and it's electric. It's more than just passion and lust like last time. It's like a bond being solidified on our lips. I wrap my arms around his neck and he grabs my thighs, picking me up to wrap my legs around his waist. His lips leave mine and he attaches them to my neck as he grinds his erection into me, pressing me into the door as I moan. Thought I was dreaming of you because of that night in Keystone... but we're supposed to be together.

"Sam!" I exclaim as he rips my polyester camisole down the middle.

"Get you another one." He promises against my skin as he pulls the cups of my bra down and licks at my nipples. You should get your pants off, though. These are nice jeans and I wouldn't wanna ruin 'em.

I drop my legs from his waist and fumble with the button and the fly of my jeans as he cups the breast he doesn't have in his mouth. The denim of my pants and the cotton of my underwear pool at my feet and Sam moves his mouth back to my neck as he starts working his belt and the opening of his jeans. He doesn't tease me. He doesn't prep me. He just gets his jeans and boxers down far enough to release his cock, and God I forgot how big he really is, and push the head of it into my entrance. I jump back up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he growls as he rams halfway into me. "So perfect, fuckin' wet as hell for me." He pulls his hips back and slams them forward and my head bounces off of the wood of the door, but I don't care. The pain in my head is nothing compared to the pain of the stretch in between my legs. He fucks me against the door, pulling loud whiny moans out of me and rattling the hinges for several minutes until he lifts me off the door and twists us, dropping to the bed.

"Sam... God, Sam. Right there!" I gasp out as our new position has him hitting my g-spot with every stroke. My pussy clenches tight around him every time he hits it and his mind becomes a dazed mess of pleasure. Gonna cum inside you. "Yes, Sam, please." I moan. He stutters his pace and growls, low in his chest, as he cums. He pulls out and drops to the bed next to me, breathing heavily.

I sit up, pull my ruined tank top off and use it to wipe between my legs, where his semen is already dripping out of me. I hand the dry part of the shirt to him and he wipes off his dick before tossing it at the little trashcan next to the bathroom. He pulled his pants back on and I rolled half off of the bed to grab a large shirt from my duffel that I've used as a nightgown for five years. Sam situates himself on the bed, his head on the pillow and he pulls me to lay on his chest with his right arm wrapped around me. You're perfect.

"I like hearing your thoughts, Sam. They're so complimentary." I admit. "Some of the nicest shit I've ever heard about myself is coming out of your head tonight."

"I'm only aware of a few things I've thought tonight. Most of it's hazed out."

"Sam..." I sigh. "What are we doing?"

"Lying in the afterglow of a quickie for a few minutes before I have to go back to my own room?"

"We were supposed to talk, weren't we?"

Sam sighs, holding me closer to his side. "Talk about what? How we shouldn't do this? Or maybe how we can prevent ourselves from becoming evil?" Maybe how Dad told Dean that he would have to kill me if he couldn't save me? Which probably means he should do the same to you.

"Dean's not gonna kill either of us. He'd kill me before he killed you, but I don't think he really has it in him to kill either of us." I sit up enough to look into Sam's eyes and kiss his cheek. "We're not evil. We're never gonna be evil."

Sam leans down and kisses me. "Wish I could stay, but-"

"I know. I'm headed back to Keystone, but I need you to keep in touch, okay?"

"Of course. I'll see you as soon as I can."

"Okay, Sam." I sit up so he can get out of bed and smile up at him when he stands.

"Any dreams you have... I wanna hear 'em."

"Same for you, Stanford."

That stops him with his hand on the doorknob. "Why didn’t you go?"

"Where?" I ask, confused.

"To college." His eyebrows are furrowed as he turns to look back at me. "You went to school way early, graduated early. You've gotta be incredibly intelligent."

"I am. Graduated Valedictorian of a high school I'd only been at for three weeks. There were some IB nerds who were really upset about that." I shake my head. "But I didn't want college, Sam. I wanted to kill things."

"Say it like that makes you sound like a psycho."

I lean forward on the bed. "Don't you feel like a psycho, sometimes, Sam? All that anger you've got just below the surface? And it doesn't go away, not ever, but hunting... normalizes that feeling a little, makes it okay."

Sam sweeps forward, grabbing my head and pulling me up into a passionate kiss, our tongues curling around each other. He doesn't have to tell me that the kiss is a reaction to my putting words to a feeling he hasn't been able to vocalize for years. "You're amazing." He whispers against my lips, before pulling away and rushing out of the room.

Supernatural Tags- @letsby, @mrswhozeewhatsis

#spn #spn fanfic #reader-insert #sam/reader #sequel #smut #18+#season 2 #azazels special children #boyking!sam #cassie writes stuff

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