#this is me pleading and begging the universe to change his mind about smoking being a good idea for coping machanosm or summat

[selfproducingfanfictionauthor]

BTS Scenario: An omega arrives in your pack (Hyungline x alpha/beta fem!reader)

Summary:  An omega joining a pack is a blessing - an unmated one is a miracle. So when the village elder came to you not with authority in her eyes but pity and pleading for understanding, you had no choice but to let him go.

Or, an omega joins the pack and you’re an alpha/beta in a relationship with another alpha. The community asks for your sacrifice. Warnings/Notes: Implied Smut, slight ass play, Angst, Drabble (no resolution... yet) I wanted to explore a different dynamic in the ABO Universe, since it’s usually Alpha BTS x Omega Reader but how about the Beta or even the Alpha reader? Hope you enjoy!  Word Count: 2k+ (500 per drabble) 

KIM SEOKJIN 

(after he’s called to participate in the matching, and Jungkook is an unmated male omega who’s always had a crush on you) (though crush is a understatement)

He’s here for a final goodbye, you think as you allow him to push you back against the wall.

He kisses you with desperation, all teeth and tongue, as if he wants to devour you whole. He reeks of her but you push it at the back of your mind, together with your instinct to gain the upper hand.

If this is goodbye, let it be as soft as you two could be.

You close your eyes to blink back the tears and wrap your arms around his neck. You match his passion kiss after kiss until you both are panting, breathing in each other.

Seokjin slows it down and pulls at your shirt, slipping it off your head. His eyes are wan, and he hasn’t met your gaze the whole time. It feels wrong, but then again, everything is.

So you try to bring back some normalcy and let the urgency in your touch show. Your arms slid down his shoulder, pushing him back into your room, your strength easily matching his.

In the dark of the room, you tug at his shirt but Seokjin grasps your hand away from his chest. You thought he’s going to lead you to his cock just as he did many times before, but he pulls you closer until there’s no more space between your chest and his and leads your hand to his hole.

He’s dry as the dessert but her pushes your hand closer, until your fingers tap his puckered hole.

You can feel him force himself not to tense up, breathing deeply and dropping his head to your shoulder. His back is caved over you, like a tall child and he turns to graze his lips against your ear.

“I’ll let you fuck me too, if that’s what you want, jagi.”

Your eyes widen and you try to pull your hand away but he holds it still. Your other hand tries to push his chest away but his other arm wraps around your shoulder blades, unwilling to let go.

He keeps still in the crook of your neck, murmuring words you never imagined you’ll hear from the alpha, “I’ll moan like he did. Beg like he did.” His voice shakes, and you startle at the tears wetting your skin. It doesn’t even occur to you to wonder how he knew about Jungkook, and what had transpired the night before because here he is.

He’s crying. Your alpha is crying.

“Just please don’t leave me.”

MIN YOONGI 

(Your love for Yoongi knows no bounds, you can give him this. In which your arranged marriage is thwarted.)

“It’s a good thing we’re not bonded yet, huh?”

You try not to wince at the relief in his voice and instead you laugh, hoping that the dark is enough to conceal the wobble on your lip.

You are both lying on your bed, exhausted by your hours long of… what do you call it again? Ah, he did call it his favorite recreational activity. He figured sexual compatibility is an important factor in arrange marriages earlier on your engagement.

And you, in love with him for more than half your life, said yes.

His fingers are playing with your hair, while his other hand lifts a lit cigarette to his lips. He glances down at you, his cat-like eyes half-lidded.

“You want a smoke?”

Pulling the blanket higher to your chest, relishing in the slight flicker of interest in his eyes, you shake your head. “Actually, can you not smoke on my bed tonight?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow but says nothing and puts out his cigarette against the ash tray on your bedside table. Usually, you take up on his offer, and he’s not gonna lie and say that the image of your lips around a cigarette doesn’t stir his cock alive.

“Not feeling well?” He asks, the only time you refused his offer was whenever you’re feeling the drop after your activities. But usually, you’ll tell him outright, communication being as open as you both could.

You let a small smile touch your lips at his tone. He cares for you, you know, maybe not as much as you want him to, but it’s enough.

Or it used to be enough.

“Just a mild migraine,” you lie before pressing a kiss against his shoulder.

Yoongi smiles and kisses the crown of your head, “You know what cures migraines?”

Your smile grows wider as you look up to his grin, his hand already sliding down the small of your back under your blankets. “I think I have an idea.”

By the time he’s pulled out 3 more orgasms from you, the moon has started fading from the night sky. The brisk winter air entering your room by the open window, drawing goosebumps on your skin.

Beside you, Yoongi sits up and pulls his shirt over his head.

“You’re not staying the night?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “The trials start the day after tomorrow, I’ve got to get a head start.”

Your press your lips together, your hand sneaking down your belly. You imagine your child, the size of a pea, hoping they do not hear your breaking heart. “I thought you didn’t like being choices taken away from you.”

That was one of the major points of discussion when your parents arranged your marriage. It’s also a source of your many arguments at the start, before slowly becoming some sort of unwanted roommate in your makeshift relationship.

Yoongi pauses, there’s something in your voice that he can’t pinpoint. He turns to you, for once, you are unreadable. “This is different.”

“Oh,” you breathe. How so, you want to ask. How come a choice robbed by our secondary natures so much different than the ones robbed by our parents? How come it’s the lesser evil in your eyes?

How come I was never a palatable choice in the first place?

But you don’t. Instead, Yoongi presses on. “At least now, you know, if it turns out that it’s me, you’re free. You can go to university just like you want.”

“Yeah…” you chuckle dryly, “Well, good luck then.”

You don’t beg him to stay, you’re an alpha too and an alpha protects their pack. As your hand travels down to your belly again, you remember - you have your own to protect now too.

JUNG HOSEOK 

(You’re just his best friend. What can you say?)

“She smells like lilacs! No, wait, honey! Honey and cream.” Hoseok sighs, all lovestruck on your couch over the new omega girl in town.

As part of the search party that found her, he hasn’t stopped talking about her for weeks. Giving you updates on her recovery in the beginning, and then her smile, her eyes, and the way she laughs as time went by.

At first, you didn’t mind. An omega joining the pack is a blessing, given their rarity. They symbolize fertility and bounty, and you are nothing if not loyal to the community. You foster the village children as their teacher, you teach them the ropes of the land - how to feed the cows, how to plant the seeds, and how to prepare for harvest - after all.

But as time went by, as Hoseok’s visits to her home frequent and his visits to yours lessen, it’s become harder and harder to keep the bitter thoughts away. Hoseok may still visit you, but when was the last time you two talked about anything other than her?

“The trials for her mate starts next week,” Hoseok starts, almost as if waiting for you to say something, “I’m thinking of participating.”

From the kitchen, you tighten your hold on the tray balancing your tea and snacks. Without a wobble, you inquire as you step back into your living room, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he picks up one of your cookies, suddenly looking all bashful, “I’m unmated and I’m not getting younger so, might as well give it a shot you know?”

You frown behind your tea cup, “We’re barely past our mid-20s, Seok-ie, that hardly qualifies as old.”

Hoseok leans back and tilts his head on the back of your couch until it hangs in relaxation. “It’s different between you and I.”

It’s true, betas are not so pressured to reproduce early. After all, there’s nothing special to be had in your genes, you think bitterly.

“Besides,” he continues, “I think I like her. You know, maybe we should invite her next time we hang out! You can get to know her too!”

“I’d rather not.” It spills over your lips before you could control it, and Hoseok stiffens before turning his gaze to you.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re jealous.” Hoseok teases, unaware at how his words hit home.

You stiffen, biting your lip before the dam breaks. “Maybe I am.” you whisper.

He blinks in surprise at the feebleness of your tone, “B-but… you’re a beta.”

You know. You know your place, in this village and in his life but somehow it’s different hearing it from him. Standing, you  turn away to step back into your kitchen when a hand grasps your wrist.

“I don’t understand.” Hoseok whispers, trying to look up to your face but thwarted by your hair. He doesn’t need to see your watering eyes to know there are tears in them. He’s reeling from the sudden change of atmosphere, smelling your distress in the air.

Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by the sense of inferiority and your heart caves into itself. With the last of your strength, you shake off his hold, pointing to the door.

“I think it’s best you leave.”

KIM NAMJOON 

(Namjoon has always been a man of duty, and though you are tough and strong, there are limits to what you can and will endure)

You pride yourself to be level-headed, calm, and objective unlike many of the alphas in the pack. You’ve never lost your control, or flown into fury even during your youth but at this very moment, you summon all your discipline to keep your lips from pulling back and snarling at the older alpha in front of you.

How dare she?

How dare they ask this of you?

“It is his duty.” She repeats and beside you, Namjoon is silent. Eyes straight ahead, back as rigid as the trees outside your home. The home that you two built for your children that will come after your wedding.

The wedding that’s supposed to be in a month.

But the longer Namjoon stays silent, the farther that future seems to be. By the time the elder leaves your home, you don’t even see a speck of it in your mind’s eye.

The silence continue as you clean up the cups and uneaten rice cakes. The silent clink of the utensils echoing in your quaint home.

As you wash the dishes, you feel like an outsider watching your body go through the motions. Scrubbing the plate clockwise, once, twice, three times, before running it under the faucet. Next, you pick up the cups, here, clockwise, once, twice —

“It is my duty,” you hear Namjoon, and oh, he’s beside you, hand on your wrist, pulling your hands away from the frigid waters, “you know that, right?”

As one of the strongest and wisest alphas this pack has ever seen in generations, your betrothal to Namjoon was tolerated at best. Alpha bondings are common nowadays, with the scarcity of omegas. So yes, your betrothal was tolerated - just tolerated, even with you being as strong and as wise as your betrothed - but now?

With that young omega in the picture?

They are making you feel as if you’ve committed a grave sin against the community, as if it’s not within your rights to rage against the unfairness of it all.

They’re asking you for your love.

And he’s so willing to be taken away. Your heart breaks but you nod quietly, “I know. I understand.”

Namjoon stupidly thought that was the end of it. That you knew he’ll always come back to you, omega or not.

Maybe he was naive, or he truly was selfish to ask it of you but when he gets home the week after the trials to a dark cold house the surprise knocks him to his knees and drops his heart to his stomach.

You left the kitchen untouched, his mug still next to yours but, Namjoon pauses at the threshold of your room. There, glinting under the moonlight, sits your ring and the last of your scent wafts away.

END NOTES:  Hearts are appreciated but comments are gold. Let me know if this should have a second (or even third) part! :) 

#bts scenario #bts x reader #hyungline x reader #alpha! namjoon #alpha! yoongi #alpha! seokjin #alpha! hoseok #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #seokjin x reader #hoseok x reader #slight jungkook x reader #alpha! reader #beta! reader #abo dynamics #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtanarmynet #bts fanfiction #bts drabbles #bts angst

[intheticklecloset]

Deku’s Interrogation (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

Yaaaas! I loved writing this prompt so much! I decided to take that “capture the flag” idea and turn it into a “rescue the hostage” training exercise for the class. I also decided to have Kaminari be the ler because I’ve written a lot of ler Bakugou torturing poor Deku! 😂 I think the change was refreshing and fun! Enjoy!

~

In all of his hero training at U.A., Deku had never been cast to play a villain before. He didn’t know why, now that he thought about it. Selecting classmates to play villains seemed to be random each time; the fact that he’d gone so many rounds without being cast himself was actually a pretty impressive statistic. Had Mr. Aizawa done that on purpose? Or maybe All Might had something to do with it?

No, he decided, walking slowly and alertly through the empty streets of the fake city they were training in. It was just the luck of the draw that he’d never had to play a bad guy before. But today was different. Today they were doing rescue training, and he and six others had been cast to play the villains. His job was to keep any heroes from getting close enough to their base to rescue their captive, Mr. Aizawa. With his speed and raw power, he seemed the perfect choice to make sure no one even got close enough to the building, let alone inside it.

Up ahead, he heard a soft sound followed by a whispered curse. Instantly his mind was shuffling through potential threats. Which one of his classmates was nearby? He could only rule out those who were on his team as fellow villains; it could be anyone hiding around that corner up ahead.

Deciding the element of surprise would be best, Deku surged forward, leaping up onto the side of one structure to use as a springboard to attack whoever was hiding, but his opponent seemed to have suspected he’d do this and had already bailed from where they’d been just as Deku came hurtling toward the spot they’d vacated.

When he stood up, Deku found himself face-to-face with Kaminari.

“Aw, crap,” Denki muttered, putting on an angry face for the sake of their training. “Of course it had to be you.”

“Thought you could sneak up on me?” Deku asked, trying to stay in character.

“If I hadn’t tripped over that rock, I would have.”

“Too bad for you.”

Kaminari threw his hands in the air, violent sparks of electricity shooting out from his hands and flying toward Deku at record speed. But thanks to One For All, the “villain” was able to jet away quickly enough to avoid damage, then hurtle back toward Denki and grab his arms, twisting them behind him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said in what he hoped was a growling voice.

“Oh yeah?” Kami whipped his head back hard enough to smack into Deku’s forehead, making him shout in pain and stumble back in the seconds before he found himself shoved against a wall, soft electric currents shooting through his pinned wrists. “Now, if you so much as blink at me the wrong way, I’ll fry you so hard you’ll go up in smoke.”

Wow, he’s really into this, Deku thought.

“I’m only going to ask this once,” the electric hero continued. “Where is Mr. Aizawa?”

Deku grunted, but he knew better than to make any sudden movements. “Like I’d tell you.”

All of a sudden, Denki got a look in his eyes that sent a shiver down Deku’s spine. The blonde eyed him for a moment, then glanced at his wrists – still buzzing with a soft current – and chuckled lowly. “Heh. Aren’t you a little too ticklish to be playing a villain, Midoriya?”

Deku’s eyes widened. “Y-You…you wouldn’t. Not in the middle of training.”

Kaminari’s answering smirk was positively evil. “Try me.”

Deku tried to break out of Kami’s hold, but the instant he moved – as promised – his friend intensified the current running down his arms, making them freeze up in a painful electric shock. While he cried out and was distracted, Denki grabbed onto his hips and started kneading. “Tell me where he is.”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!” Deku burst into laughter, shooting his arms down to grab at Kami’s wrists desperately. “NOHOHOHOHO NO NO, YOU CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T DO THIHIS!!”

“Says who?” Denki challenged, pushing him right back up against the wall. “The rules say the heroes are to find and rescue the hostage by any means necessary. Well, I intend to do both, even if it means tickling you to pieces to get the information I need.”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! KAMINAHAHAHARI!!”

“Better talk, villain.” Denki’s smirk became more playful now. “Or I’ll use my quirk to really tickle it out of you.”

Everything in Deku wanted to beg Kaminari to let him go, but in order to fulfill his role as a villain, he knew he couldn’t give up the information without a fight. So, despite his singing nerves, he spat out a half-growled, “DOHOHOHOHO YOUR WOHOHOHORST!!”

“As you wish.”

“AAIIEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” Deku shrieked with hysterics when Kami ignited his sparks just enough to send extra intense ticklish shockwaves through his system. His legs quickly gave out beneath him from the assault. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“Tell me where Aizawa is!” Denki demanded, grinning as he followed Deku to the ground and pinned him there. “Tell me, or I’ll tickle you to death!”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Deku desperately shoved at Kami’s shoulders, but in response the blonde merely laughed and straddled him, still focused on his hips. “I-I’LL NEHEHEVER TAHAHAHAHAHALK!!” He regretted his words even as he said them, but he had to stay in character! “I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAN TAHAHAHAHAKE IT!!”

“You can?” Kaminari beamed. “Great! Then you won’t mind if I just tickle and tickle and tickle and—”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP TAHAHAHALKING!!” Deku pleaded, the teasing messing with him more than he could stand. Resisting tickle torture was one thing, but teasing as well?!

“Stop talking? I thought you said you could take this?” Denki knew full well what he was doing, and under normal circumstances perhaps he would have felt a little bad about it, but right now he had a job to do. He was getting that location out of Deku if it was the last thing he did. “Oh, I see. You can take the tickling; it’s the teasing you don’t like!”

“KAMI--!!”

“Well, I mean, I did say you were a little too ticklish to be a villain. And here we are, me completely dominating this fight, all because you’re just so insanely sensitive! Why did the villains think to put you on guard duty when just one little tickle would render you helpless like this?”

“I’M NOHOHOHOHOT HEHEHEHEHEHELPLESS!!” Deku screeched, kicking his legs and trying to pry Denki’s fingers from his hips. But anytime he got close enough to make contact, the sparks emanating from the hero would force him back again.

“No? Go ahead, then. Get out of this if you can, villain.”

He was trying. So, so desperately he was digging his heels into the pavement, twisting and writhing to try and get Kami’s weight off of him, shoving at any part of his body he could reach. None of it was working. Denki knew his death spot was his hips and he was just staying there and Deku was losing his mind laughing and the electric shocks were only making it worse—

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Deku couldn’t help it anymore; if he didn’t do something he was going to go insane. Laughter-induced tears streamed down his cheeks. “STAHAHAHAHAP, PLEASE, KAHAHAHAHAHAMINARI!!”

“Where’s Mr. Aizawa?” Denki demanded, slipping back into his role as a relentless hero now that he saw how desperate he’d made his friend. “Talk, villain!”

“I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!!” Deku screamed, tossing his head back with renewed hysterics when Denki intensified his ticklish shockwaves.

“The more you resist, the more I tickle,” Kaminari said in a low, threatening tone. “Talk.”

Now Deku was well and truly losing his mind. He knew there was no getting out of this physically; he was far too weakened by the tickling and his thoughts were turning to mush with every second that went by that his torturer didn’t let up on his death spot. He could barely breathe. His laughter was beyond out of control – it was wild. There was only one thing he could do to get this to stop, and while he hated giving in so easily, he had no choice.

“OKAYOKAYOKAHAHAHAHAHAHY I’LL TAHAHAHAHAHAHALK JUST PLEASE STOP TIHIHIHIHICKLING MEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

Denki stopped, grinning victoriously, but at that moment the buzzer sounded and Present Mic’s voice blasted through the speakers. “The heroes have dismantled the villain’s defenses and rescued the hostage! This battle is over! Heroes win!”

For a moment, Kaminari could only blink in astonishment. His friends had rescued Mr. Aizawa while he was out here tickling Deku into submission? What good had that done anyone? He was such a moron. “Aw, man,” he mumbled, climbing off of his friend. “I didn’t even get to do anything.”

“A-Are you…kidding me?” Deku gasped incredulously, looking up at him through teary-eyed vision. “I w-was the villains’…primary defense! Y-You completely disarmed me, and while…while I was distracted the other h-heroes got in to rescue the hostage. You just won for…your whole team, Kaminari!”

Denki was silent for a moment. Then a megawatt grin spread across his features and he pumped a fist in the air. “All right! I did it!” He turned his smile to Deku, who still lay gasping for breath, and he hesitated. “Oh, uh…are you okay, Midoriya? Sorry if I went a little crazy, I just…” He knelt down beside his friend. “I had to play my role, you know?”

Deku groaned. “And since I couldn’t just give up the information you needed without a fight, I got tickled nearly to death. This doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well…I did say I’d hold you to letting me try out my new tickle-shocks on you.” Kaminari chuckled. “So you kind of had this coming anyway.”

After a long moment, Deku giggled tiredly. “Yeah, okay, I guess that makes me feel a little better.” He held out his hand, and Kaminari helped him to his feet. “Do me a favor though – next time you feel like tickling me, please do not use those tickle-shocks on my hips. That was unbearable.”

“Hey, I had to get the information I needed!” Denki replied with a laugh, walking with his friend away from the scene of the crime. “But it did seem a little intense. I won’t use them there again without warning you first; how does that sound?” He couldn’t very well promise to never do that again – it had been too much fun!

Deku considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. And hey, Kaminari?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I didn’t like playing a villain anyway.”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #denki #kaminari #izuku #midoriya #deku #training #interrogation #tickling #ticklish #tickle

[corrupt-fvcker]

Good Grief (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

Good Grief ( Din Djarin x fem!Reader )

Warning: angst!angst!angst!, sweet ‘n fluffy ending

Word Count: 3.3K

Author’s Note: inspired by bastille's song good grief as well as this one sad poem my sister read to me a while ago that i just can't remember the name of. i originally wrote this as a din x ofc but i didn’t like it as much. 

Nothing would ever be the same. His absence like a lost limb; a supposed constant, something you relied on — but now it's missing. He's missing. And it still catches you off guard, making your heart stutter tightly in your chest with the shock of it, sharp like twisting a rusty knife. You are no longer sure of which pain was worse — the piercing shock of what happened or the longing ache of what never will.

You can still hear his voice echoing in the caves of your mind, urging you to take the Child and run. Asking you to leave him behind, granting him his wish of a warrior's death even if that meant leaving you in return.

Perhaps it was selfish, but you had refused to leave him for death. Because Din Djarin was not the Grim Reaper's to take. He was Mando, your Mando. The father of your adopted green child that ate frogs and almost killed Cara with some sort of fucking magic because he thought she was hurting his dad. The Mandalorian that removed his layers of beskar so that you could feel something new, something other than cold cuffs around your wrists and the incessant emptiness that had hollowed out your chest all those years ago. The man that trusted you with his entire life despite your reputation of being dishonest and greedy. Din Djarin, who you loved even though you’re reluctant and too stubborn to ever mutter the three words that always caught in your throat whenever you looked at him.

And you selfishly didn't want to lose him.

You didn't want to feel yourself missing him whenever you heard his favorite song on the radio -- an old tune by some one-hit-wonder that had been popular decades ago. You’d always catch Din tapping his foot to the beat when it played in dingy cantinas despite claiming that he didn't like music because it was just orchestrated excess noise. And maybe that was true with all the other songs in the galaxy, but this one particular song managed to seep through the thick layers of beskar and sneak into Din's ears. But if he left you, you could only grow to hate the song, dreading to hear it because you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from instinctively turning your head to flash a teasing grin where he would've been standing, tapping his foot along. 

But more than you could ever hate a song, you’d hate yourself. For allowing someone to hold such a firm grasp around your heart when you know that they could be ripped away from you at any moment, surely taking your heart along with them. But most of all, you’d hate yourself for not being enough — fast enough to save him, brave enough to give him the final goodbye he wholly deserves.

He had collapsed, lying helplessly on top of a table that only Cara was strong enough to lay him on. You couldn't see the blood but you could smell it, flooding and then suffocating your senses until your head spun and you felt yourself stifling back a sob until a coarse lump lodged in you throat.

"This is the Way," he told you, choking through the phrase as his visor steadily focused on you after you insisted on removing his helmet so that his head wound could be treated. And you could feel a shred of dignity wither and welt as the words left your quivering, chapped lips. You knew just as well as Din what it meant to break such an oath, you knew how deeply Din was devoted to the Creed. Din was a Mandalorian, he was before he met you on Arvala-7 on the vapor farm. When he had met you all that time ago, he had intended to die a Mandalorian and some things just never change.

Your muscles had turned to stone as you stared down at him, your lips parted but no air filling your restricting lungs. You didn't need to remove his helmet to know that he was gazing up at you through the black visor, memorizing every curve, freckle, blush, and blemish of your face because he had the feeling that this was going to be the very last time he would ever have the pleasure of admiring your beauty for a long while.

Tell him, the voice in your mind prodded, tearing through your dazed state.

You blinked, your wide eyes lining with tears that threatened to spill over. A shaky breath hissing through your clenched teeth as you unwillingly cried, salty droplets streaking down your soot and blood dusted cheeks before dropping off the edge of your jaw.

Din's heart tightened. In all the time he's known you, he's never once seen you cry. You shed no tears even when a blaster bolt had hit you directly in your torso, stumbling to the ground and seething with pain. Your eyes were dry from the point the plasma struck you up until Din was spraying a thick layer of bacta over the wound. He had thought it was strange that you had never cried, wondering if you just bottled up your emotions until you are in the privacy of the 'fresher or if you had a weird anti-crying medical condition that you didn’t like to talk about. All Din knew was that he never wanted to see you cry — but now you’re bawling and it was because of him.

Words strangled through thick and heavy sobs, your hands lifting to press against your eyes, rubbing at the tears, and blocking your vision. "What's gonna be left of the world if you're not in it?"

His chest deflates. 

You hear him call your name, though between the thrumming of your heart and the crackling fire surrounding the two of you, his voice sounds distant. 

The cracked leather of his hand startles you as it brushes against the soft skin of your wrist before seizing your trembling hands. His grip is strong and firm, his thumb stroking the lines of your palm as if he was trying to determine your future so he could promise you that you’d be okay. Even though you knew you wouldn't be.

And as you clasp your other hand over his, holding him in place, the painful lump solidifies in your throat and blocks of any words that your mind is desperately trying to push through your paling lips.

"You need to go," Din told you, giving your hand a squeeze that was supposed to be reassuring but only made your chest rack with another pathetic sob.

Now or never.

"Din," you mutter in a broken voice, savoring his name on your tongue like it was your last meal. His helmet tilts slightly, his grasp on your hand tightening as he awaits you to say your goodbye. Because even though you are dreading the three words that you could only ever think quietly in your own mind, Din was praying for them because he wanted so desperately to know. He would've told you if he surely wasn't going to die, it would only be cruel to tell you now.

You swallow thickly, the lump strangling you. You pause, forcing yourself to kriffing breathe before squeezing your eyes shut tightly, focusing on the feeling of his hand.

You choked. "Thank you."

It's like the entire world— the entire universe stops. Halting as Din gives your hand one last final squeeze and nodding because he too would forever be grateful to have stumbled across someone as beautiful as you on Arvala-7. He'd forever be thankful for you for being so easy to love.

And then you left, stumbling through the kicked open grate without daring to turn to look over her shoulder, leaving the only man you could ever love behind in thick clouds of smoke. 

Your mind is broken, all you knew was that you had to get to Cara and Karga.

You’re sprinting faster than you’ve ever in your life, tears streaming down your face as you race through the tunnels. 

Karga and Cara lower their raised weapons when you round the corner of the tunnel, your usual mischievous and calculating eyes bloodshot and burning.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, deafening loud as your footsteps falter and you nearly fall flat on your face if it wasn't for Cara's strong arms that caught you. You’re still sobbing, uncontrollably and you can't fucking hear or see now because the tears are so damn thick and your heartbeat is so loud.

In the distance, hidden in the thick and constant thrumming of your heart, you can hear Cara calling your name. Her voice was fainter than a whisper, despite Cara nearly yelling in your numb face as she shakes your trembling form. But every word Cara spoke slipped through your ears, your thoughts on Din who was now only a memory that would involuntarily fade in time.

He's dead. He's dead. He's dead.

Din and probably the Child. Your weird little family that you had accidentally found was gone. Like it was never there to begin with. Leaving you with nothing but the sweet memories that would surely turn painful.

You didn't know how long you were in Cara's arms, losing all control of your senses and your words. You don’t remember when but you’re suddenly begging Cara to help you, grabbing at the arms that are pulling you into former-shock trooper. Pleading through your tears, asking over and over again like a chanting of a prayer to help you. Save you from this misery and put you in your place. Show you what you need to do because there's nothing else that you want to do.

You’re about to ask Cara to just put a bolt between your eyes — because nothing is worth it if you had to suffer through such emptiness for the rest of your life — when you are yanked from Cara's embrace, too numb to yelp or fight back as two strong arms heave you into a solid chest.

Tears are still streaming down your face unable to care to stop them, not that you could have if you even wanted to. Your mind too hazy to fully understand the blur of it all. Din's arms wrapped around your waist and the Child cradled by IG-11.

Your world had been torn away from you so quickly that when it all snapped back into place you were still stumbling, the sudden shift of everything knocking you over again.

"Cyar'ika?"

You’re suddenly back on the Razor Crest, you’re still in Din's arms but everything else is different. You’re no longer on Nevarro, on another planet that you don’t remember the name of. The Child wasn't in the arms of droid but rather tucked away in his pod sound asleep. Din isn't wearing any armor, not even his helmet, the two of you basked in the safety of darkness as you laid in your shared cramped cot. You’re not crying and you no longer feel the blinding numbness of grief, but rather an aching pull of guilt.

Din calls out to you again, propping himself up on an elbow with a small grunt so that he can tilt your chin to face him. You can't see him in this degree of darkness, and luckily he can't see the look of pain etched in your features.

"What's wrong?" His voice is familiar and solid, grounding.

You don’t answer, not even willing to give him the simplicity of a dismissive "it's nothing."

Din puffs out a small breath through his nose, fanning faintly over your face. You close your eyes, focusing on the comforting warmth that radiates off his bare body like a furnace. You don’t want him to pry because you knows that no good could come from it. You feel too guilty to face him, but yet you are still too cowardly to admit your feelings. You’re not sure that it's rejection that you fear but rather the spoken acknowledgment of your attachment to him. Because once you speak of your love and the words are out in the open, the universe is free to rip your love away from you.

He leans forward, his nose brushing against yours delicately as he rests his forehead atop of yours. The action was stabilizing, pushing your broken pieces together and sealing them back in place. But you felt intoxicatingly lost in his touch, his skin invitingly warm yet you knew that if you allowed herself to touch him you’d completely lose it.

"Kal Viinir'ika," Din coos, running the calloused pad of his thumb along your cheek as his fingers weave through your hair. Blade Runner — a title given to you by mercenaries and bounty hunters because you are fast on your feet and even faster with your swords, but you had never been too fond of it. But then you met Din and he had somehow managed to turn it into a teasing nickname that you grew to adore when it came from his mouth in his native tongue.

His nose grazes your nose before he presses it into your cheek, kissing you purposefully on the corner of your lips. "Please talk to me."

And his words shatter you, breaking you into a million pieces so that you are too far gone to repair. The lump in your throat is firm and strong, scaring you of what your voice might sound like in his ears.

"I'm sorry." It comes out as pathetic as you had expected, barely a whisper and wavering, you aren’t even sure that Din heard you.

Din's eyebrows draw together, lifting his head up and gazing down at you blindly. "For what?"

He doesn't know why you’re practically shaking in your small bed, you had seemed more than fine a few moments ago. You had fallen asleep in the cockpit and Din had somehow managed to carry you down to bed without waking you.

"For being a coward," you replied weakly, your eyes screwed shut to keep yourself from crying. You refused to cry in front of him for a second time.

Din would've laughed if he didn't hear the unadulterated pain and sincerity in your voice.

"What?" Din scoffed, cupping your face in his warm hand. He was confused and a little hurt that you’d even try to speak that way about yourself. "Cyar'ika, what's the meaning of this?"

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

"I couldn't say goodbye," you murmured, your throat aching as your muscles restrained a sob from racking through your form. Your whole body was shivering, Din's warmth unable to break through your unforgiving emotions bottled in your chest. "You were dying, and I couldn't say it."

And then it clicked, the mixed puzzle of Din's brain coming together in an instant as the words stumbling from your lips. All of it made perfect sense. How you wouldn't look at him in the eyes for days after you’d left Nevarro. The way you would practically hide from him, not wanting to touch him or speak to him, closing yourself off from him to keep yourself safe — maybe to keep both of you safe. He had initially thought you were just pissed at him for some reason that he must've missed, but this, this made sense.

"You're not a coward," Din assures, brushing his fingers through the wisps of hair that framed your face. He can feel your gaze on him, burning through his silhouette like a beam of plasma. He kisses you softly on her cheek, his facial hair prickling your soft skin. "You're the bravest person I know."

You shake your head, ripping his words to shreds. "I couldn't say it."

A heavy breath swells in Din's chest, pressing himself a little closer to your trembling form. "Then tell me now, cyar'ika. I'm here, I'm alive, so tell me now."

Your body stiffens, your muscles tightening at the thought. Why does it have to be so hard?

"I can't."

Din huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Yes, you can, Kal Viinir'ika."

It should've been simple, it was three simple words that carried great weight. You had never spoken them before, the only times they were spoken to you ended with you running off. You didn't do love. Love was dangerous, it would kill you.

"Tell me," Din urges, pressing his lips delicately against yours like he was wary that you might shatter if he applied too much pressure.

Fuck.

It hurt that he was so sweet to you, it hurt to know that you were denying the one thing that he deserved to know.

Din Djarin deserved to know that he was loved unconditionally and completely by you. 

You swallowed thickly, praying that the words don't get caught in your throat because you suddenly feel like you might die if you lose him and never got the chance to tell him.

Din hummed, waiting patiently for you to speak.

You quickly wondered if anyone had ever told him before.

I love you. You think it, questioning if those words were even ones you deserved to speak. Probably not.

Din nudges you softly. "Cyar'ika—"

"I love you."

Your blood runs cold and you feels like the entire universe freezes over, trapping you in this insufferable moment of vulnerability. And you wait for the urge to flee to take you, or for it to instead seize Din, but neither of you move.

"You love me?"

The question hurts a lot more than it should. 

You nod, not knowing whether your voice would work if you tried speaking. Your silence followed by an eternity of nothing except for an uncomfortable tension that makes you beg that Din does something, anything. Tell you to leave, storm out of the room, kriffing shoot her— absolutely anything.

And thank the Maker, he moves. His thumb brushing against your plush bottom lip, applying the smallest amount of pressure before dipping his head forward. His kiss strange, almost out of character, but it sets you on fire nonetheless. It wasn't the first kiss you’ve shared and you prayed that it wouldn't be the last.

His lips are desperate, pouring every flicker of affection and adoration out of his body and into yours, filling you with his love. It's intensely carnal, yet almost too sweet for you to comprehend that it's Din Djarin kissing you.

Then he's pulling away, ripping his lips away from you painfully and sudden, gazing down at you half in a daze as you whimper at the loss of his warmth. You crave his affection.

"Cyar'ika." Not even the darkness can hide Din's grin, his forehead resting atop yours as an airy chuckle shakes through his chest. It's heavenly. You relish in the sound of his rare blissful laughter, wishing to bask in the warmth that fills your chest as it echoes in your ears. And for the first time in your life, you feel nothing but peace.

His deep baritone voice is lifted from a mixture of relief and bliss.

"I love you too."

━ ━ ━ ━

so... this is no edited, hehe... i’ll tryyyyyy to edit tomorrow but i always forget. i originally wrote this in third person but i changed it so there might be some weird sentences. i’ll proof read tomorrow. pinky promise :D

Also, quick PSA, if you ever find that my “reader” isn’t a true reader insert (i mean if i have description about the reader that may not fit everyone), please tell me. i want all of my readers to feel welcomed.

translations: Cyar'ika = darling, beloved, sweetheart Kal Viinir'ika = Blade Runner

#the mandalorian #my writing #corrupt-fvcker #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #star wars #self insert #reader insert #angst #fluff

[bebopwhore]

Ballad of The Nightmare: Spike Spiegel x Reader

A/N: hello! This is my first fanfic I’ve ever written or posted and I am so scared! I’m a Spike whore which is why I made this blog. There aren’t enough Spike fanfics/imagines anywhere and it kills me! Shoutout to @ificouldhelpyouforget for having the best Spike writing! If there are any other great ones I’m probably missing please send them my way. Anyway I hope people read and like this, requests are very much welcome:) would love to hear some feedback. I have a part 2 coming if people actually enjoy this!

ps There’s an episode reference and I’m aware Faye wasnt actually in the scene I talk about but it’s just for spice✨

Summary: You’re a part of the bebop crew and after seeing Spike fall from the cathedral window while fighting Vicious, you have a nightmare about the whole ordeal ending way worse than it did and go check on his injured self.

Warnings: a bit of violence, non detailed but mention of wounds, angsty, fluffy, a little language

Vicious was running, running straight toward me with fire in his eyes. He was an animal and there was no stopping him, he was so close to grabbing my black coat trailing behind me. Arms suddenly shove me away from him and I tumble down to the ground. It was an armed green haired figure in his long brown coat. A quick scream came out of my mouth as soon as I realized what he was doing and my voice felt gone. “SPIKE NO” I managed to let out but it was too late, his gun was flung away from him. Vicious had him pinned to the ground ready to shred him to bits with his Katana. I was shooting and shooting from the ground but nothing could stop vicious. His whole body was bulletproof in that moment. In midst of his struggle Spike slowly turned his head to look at me, the katana was against his chest about to go against our wishes. “I love you” he mouthed and I had started sobbing uncontrollably screaming his name for the last time.

Feeling like she was being watched y/n’s body shot up, waking almost immediately as soon as the katana started to cut into the chest of her green haired angel. Burying her head into her hands and knees, her head continued to throb the headache from just a few hours earlier. Images of Spike’s bandaged body from his fall at the cathedral just the night before kept flashing in her mind.

She was very bitter at Faye for leaving him by himself and wouldn’t stop yelling at her once they got on the bebop with Spike and his broken bones. Every time Spike was seriously hurt he would try not to dump his whole weight on to y/n’s side but this round he did. He was nearly lifeless and it scared the shit out of her .

Shivering, she sighed a defeated puff out of her mouth. “stupid good for nothing bitch” she breathed out. She loved Faye like a sister but hated the choices that girl would make sometimes.

I sat up slowly and got out of bed. In just my night tank and shorts I threw on a light jacket and quietly stepped out of my room, closing my door slowly and being mindful of Spike resting on the big yellow couch just a few feet away. I really needed pain relievers but I also really needed to check on him. My heart ached no matter how many times ive seen him in this condition. I worried for him all the time and this nightmare didn’t help. Heading straight to the kitchen first, making sure I made zero noise I took a Tylenol and gulped it down with water and hurried to go be with my sleeping beauty

With the intention of feeding Spike if he woke up I had an orange and a water bottle in hand. I crept slowly out of the kitchen in the dark with nothing but Ed’s monitors being my only source of light. I turn the corner and there he was, bandaged like a mummy, multiple cuts on his cheek. He was snoring very lightly with his lips parted. He looked like an Angel who just fell from the sky. I frowned and sat on the coffee table barely a few inches across from him and stared. Stared into his closed eyes, begging for them to lift up. He was in a deep sleep. I took in the rest of his body and fought so hard not to touch it. I loved seeing his bare chest and collarbones any time I could, even if they were covered in gauze. At the end of his hour long workouts I always made sure I was in the living room so I could see his bare torso and pulsing veins when he headed toward the shower. Hopefully he hadn’t caught on to that. He’d always smile when he’d see me and give me the usual “take a picture itll last longer” comment. He was a flirt and so was I but we never really touched each other. Only when it came to saving the other’s ass.

I recall the time we were in Ganymede and there was a shootout in a restaurant involving this cult rat group of siblings. Jet, Faye, Spike and I were having dinner and spying on our next hit. Out of nowhere bullets started flying everywhere and the four of us booked it under the table. As soon as I got under, Spike pulled my arm into him very quickly and held me to his chest, wrapping his arms around my head to protect it. Soon his whole body consumed me. That was the first time I’ve ever felt so safe in my life. But why didn’t he hold Faye instead? Or at least the both of us? She’s a woman too? I kept thinking afterward. I didn’t ask him in fear of the moment being ruined but you can count on Faye to say what everyone’s thinking. Spike ignored her and Faye ignored the both of us the rest of that day.

I didn’t realize I was smirking til my attention was brought back to Spike’s injuries. Blood was seeping through the bandages of his left arm, I gently grazed his wrist and opened his arm up to rest on my thighs. Carefully grabbing the emergency kit left next to me I began to wrap it up some more as it wasn’t time yet to change the bandages completely. Being very gentle I studied his face for movement, but nothing. I loved tending to him, all I wanted to do was take care of him. I softly place his arm back where it was and a breath of relief washed over me for not waking him. He’d probably think I was a weirdo if he found me here right in front of him rustling my fingertips gently through his hair. Although he did like it when I would do that whenever he’d fall asleep in random places on the Bebop and I had to wake him up to go to bed. I giggled softly at the memories and missed his voice and soft demeanor towards me.

“I miss you” I whispered, my finger tips still playing with his dark curls

I noticed my legs trembling out of lack of sleep. I shamelessly really wanted a smoke. Hesitant to leave him and without even thinking I kissed his forehead and snuck into his room and stole one cigarette. His scent consumed me the second I stepped in and I wanted nothing more than to stay in there.

I walked out and promised myself as soon as morning came i’ll fly out to Mars and get him a few more packs. I never owned any which is the funny part, Spike would always just give me his when he’d know I needed one.

I walked into the dark control center and peered out into the universe and lit the cancerous thing. I turned away from the windows and lounged on top of Jet’s shogi table. Feeling my back giving out, I laid down grimacing at the slight soreness my back pleaded. Feeling an empty void in my chest I mentally begged for Spike’s precense there with me. My eyes started to water.My biggest fear was him ending up dead before I told him how I felt about him.

I sat up as the tears started streaming faster and dabbed them away with my sleeve and I proceeded to consume myself in nicotine once again. I looked to my right and peered at Spike’s punching bag. Wanting nothing more than to be sitting here watching him release his anger on it when he would do so.

A knock came from the doorway

Oh shit

#cowboy bebop #spike spiegel #anime #gif #fanfic #fan fiction #spike spiegel imagine #cowboy bebop fan fiction #fluff #angst #angsty

[peakyblinderswhore]

a/n: demanded! to me by my favourite internet friend. no, but seriously, i loved writing this even more than the first part, it was interesting to get in michael’s head. i hope you like it , maybe i could continue this? also this has been in my drafts since the very first day cause i just kept writing :D

w/c: 2k

[one] [two]

“But,” you whisper, unable to pull yourself from the spot you were frozen to, “you’re married.”

Without missing beat, Michael breathes out, “That’s a fixable mistake.”

“Michael,” you say, unsure of how to act, “I…”

You step away, head spinning from the interaction. When you looked up to face him again, he had disappeared back into his office, almost in a puff of smoke.

Oh god.

You had to leave. Frantically, you dash back towards your desk, trying to grab your purse before realising that your hat and coat were hung up on the cloak hanger in Michael’s office — how convenient. You shake your head and decide to head towards the stairs without them. You’d bared the cold before and could do it again for one journey home.

You practically skip down the stairs, missing a few on your way down. You walk into the main office and Lizzie calls over to you, “You alright, need anything, love?”

Cursing under your breath, you spin on your heels and say the first thing that comes to mind, “Hey, have you seen Finn? He said he was going to help me move my desk about upstairs and he hasn’t come back.”

Lizzie frowns, “I’m sure he went out earlier, hasn’t he come back?” she sighs, walking over to her desk to check a few things once she realises you’re not leaving and mutters, “I swear I’ll give him an earful for leaving you like that.”

Your face heats up, “Oh no,” you say, worriedly, “you don’t need to do that. I was just hoping that he’d do it sooner rather than later. He did say he was going to get Isaiah…” Lizzie looks up from her pile of work, “I just forgot to ask how long he would be, that’s all.”

She smiles, “I see,” she says suggestively, “you’re waiting for him to come back so you two can, you know… do what two people do best.”

Paling at the suggestion (at work!) you sputter, “Oh I wouldn’t —”

“Don’t worry,” she’s got a cheeky smile on by this stage, “I know I would, given the chance,” she leans closer to you and holds up one hand before whispering, “you know, sometimes me and Tommy get caught up in the heat of the moment too.”

You laugh uncomfortably and tighten your grip on your purse until your knuckles go white from trying not to give off that you are incredibly distressed with the way the conversation was headed.

“When the moment strikes,” you awkwardly say, not sure what else to say.

“Correct,” Lizzie returns to her work, “anyway, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. We can go out for lunch, later, if you would like that? Girl power an’ all.”

Grateful for the change in subject you sigh, “That actually sounds amazing, maybe you could give me some tips for keeping everything organised?”

“Whatever you want to talk about, love,” she glances up at the clock, “come back down in an hour and we’ll go then. If Michael asks where you’re going just tell him that Tommy said it’s okay.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later,” you say and head back upstairs.

You hadn’t even thought about facing Michael again but the reassurance of going out with Lizzie later on made you feel better about yourself — you could only hope that Michael wouldn’t instigate anything else.

After walking past Michael’s, now closed, door, you put your purse under the desk and sit down. There was a noticeably large pile of files that you assumed Michael had put there when you had gone downstairs. You felt stupid for running like that; you needed this job for the money and Finn had begged Tommy for it for you and you couldn’t give that up in a heart beat. As long as Michael stayed away, you could endure your work days.

You sat up, determined to do as much work to keep out of Michael’s way as possible and began skimming through the files.

Some were related to money, others were related to the betting shop, not many though. Most of the legal stuff came this way so only a few things concerning the betting shop would come through, you figured, it was mostly affiliations and shares, somehow. Based upon how little there was you assumed that there was more to come.

The easiest way for you to file these would be chronologically, for now, seeing as Michael hadn’t specified how he wanted it organised — plus a lot of it was a couple of years old, you figured it was some of the stuff that Michael had been doing before he went away and began filing.

Halfway through the stack, you heard Michael’s door open, “Oh, you’re back. I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

Turning to face him, you ignore the shock on his face and ask, “How do you want these filed? I can do it chronologically but it’ll be hard if you want to refer back to it if you can’t remember exact dates.”

Michael looks at you, waiting for you to meet his eyes; when you finally do, he says, “however you think is best.”

You nod and continue to file them chronologically. Until it isn’t effective, you’ll change them around; it’ll give you something to do where you can avoid him.

“Why don’t you come —”

“No thank you.”

Michael chuckles, “You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”

You stayed silent, stood with the file in your hands.

Realising that you weren’t going to give up so easy, he says, “I was going to ask if you wanted to see what I was working on.”

You debate in your head with what to say, you settle on seeing whether or not it’s important, “Will it help me understand some of my work here?”

Michael replies, “Yes,” and turns, he has a wide smile on his face, he probably thought that you hadn’t seen it as he had turned away but you caught a glimpse of it.

You place the file on top of the cabinet and walk towards Michael’s office, wondering what he might show you. You’re wary of the fact that half an hour ago you had tried to walk out of the building and away from him.

Stepping into his office, you notice the change in the aura. Not only was it warmer in here, but somehow Michael had managed to make it seem different; you weren’t sure how, though.

Standing in the corner, Michael is watching you as you’re taking in the room, he gestured towards his much more comfier looking desk chair and said, “take a seat. It’ll help in a moment.”

Carefully, you perch yourself on his chair, wary of him standing behind you.

Your ears perk at the sound of Michael shuffling a few things about in the background, you daren’t turn around to see what he was doing. Just as you’re about to stand from the chair, Michael places a hand on the desk and his other on the back of the chair, leaning down to your ear level, he whispers, “You see out the door?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“I can see you sitting at your desk currently, but if you were to move it right in the middle, I wouldn’t be able to.”

Your throat suddenly dries, you say, “It’ll help me reach everything with ease.”

Somehow, he manages to lean even closer to you, his breath tickling your neck, “But I won’t be able to see you,” he lifts his hand from the back of the chair and tucks your hair behind your ear, “you’re beautiful to watch when at work.”

It’s at this point that you notice that your muscles have stopped working correctly and the shiver down your spine somehow rendered you motionless, shocked by Michael's works, despite his wife, he has a clear attraction to you. You weren’t sure whether to be freaked out or flattered.

“But,” you manage to choke out, “It’ll be more efficient if my desk is over there.”

Just at that moment, you hear someone coming up the stairs, before they call out, “Did you still want your desk movin’ or —”

You look up at Michael, asking to call out to Finn with just a look. His hand snakes around your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, praying that Finn doesn’t find you like this; you’d hate for him to think something was happening.

“She went out to fetch something for me,” Michael calls, standing up from where he was positioned before.

“Well, I’m not sure I can move the desk by myself; I couldn’t find Isaiah.”

“Don’t worry then, Finn.”

“Sure?” His footsteps move closer to the door and Michael moves to the door, to intercept Fin before he reaches you.

“I’m sure,” Michael says, you can hear the tight smile in the way he’s straining his voice, especially now that he’s further away.

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to make yourself as silent as possible.

“Alright, I’ll, uh, go then.”

“See you later.”

And with that, Michael had gotten rid of Finn.

He waits a few seconds, his shadow reaches for his face and rubs it with his hand, “Fuck,” you hear him mumble before he strolls back into his office, where you sat, patiently waiting for him.

“Good girl,” he says.

Your eyes widen at his comment, mortified at yourself and suddenly yearning for the comfort of Finn being there.

You stare at him, pleading for him to explain himself, instead, he walks around the room, your eyes follow him, waiting for his response.

“I’ll move the desk.”

You stay silent for a moment before opening your mouth, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll move the desk,” he simply says and lets you leave.

After that he lets you go back to work. The rest of the day passes without another interruption from Michael apart from the filing he kept giving to you but that was work so you didn’t oppose it. You went down to fetch Lizzie for lunch, a few minutes late, and she says, “Oh, I thought you’d gone out to fetch something for Michael.”

You silently nod, “I did, I slipped past you when you were, uh, working.”

The lie slipped out of your mouth without a bat of an eye and somehow, it worked. 

Lizzie’s face reddened, “Oh, well,” she begins, quickly grabbing her purse, “when the moment strikes, am I right?”

You hadn’t even considered that possibility, and yet, the universe was working in your favour — or maybe it was in Michael’s favour. You weren’t too sure yet; it was too soon to tell.

“Shall we?” Lizzie stands from her desk and walks over to you, slipping her arm through yours and walking out of the building, “does Michael know where you’re going?”

You shake your head, nonchalantly, “No but I’ve done most of the work he’s given me today. I’ll explain when I get back anyway, he can’t deny me a meal, can he?

”You say the last bit in a tone that suggests you weren’t actually sure if he could or not but Lizzie doesn’t pick up on it and laughs at you, “You’re catching on far too quickly; this is perfect.”

tags: @saintd0lce

#michael gray #michael shelby #reader x michael gray #reader x michael shelby #michael gray x reader #peaky #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #finn shelby #1920s #jealous!michael #littlemissshelby #littlemissshelbyreplies #wow michael makes me hot #finn cole

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Rise: Killan

The universe of Killan’s story belongs to @wildfaewhump​. If you haven’t read their Iesin and Talvos or Pathverse stories, go! Go read! Read them or face my wrath. I have so much wrath to share.

CW: Referenced past torture, scarring, referenced dehumanization and briefly referenced pet whump, but this is not a piece about any of those things

Killan stopped, just at the edge of the rock along the riverbank, taking in a deep breath. The air was thin here, where the trees became scraggly pines that clung to rocky soil, hints of snowfall still littering the earth even this late in spring. 

Leather boots covered his feet, he’d made them himself. It had taken forever to make the kill, tan the leather, cut it around his foot, sew it together. But he’d done it. Coated against the water, they kept his feet warm, but he wouldn’t have needed them, anyway.

He just never lost the habit of wanting to feign humanity, no matter how clear it was that he wasn’t human at all.

Not anymore.

Not a man.

Before, he couldn’t have stood here like this in just a shirt and pants without freezing. His fingertips should be blue, but when he looked down they were the same as always. Pale skin, roughened and scarred, but still skin - feeling only a faint chill. The dark talons on his right hand didn’t feel cold at all.

Killan lowered his eyes to look at them, clicking them together a little. The place where they’d been attached to the knuckles of his hands still held faint scarring where they’d been stitched on even as his bones blended, accepting with each addition parts that had been someone else’s body a little more easily.

Killan was so many people now, most of them fae. He was the only human left in his body but he could have told anyone who asked - cut his skin now and the blood ran pale, a pearlescent shimmer in what had once been a flat dark red when oxygen met wound. 

Break a bone and find it hollowed inside, lighter weight easier for his wings to carry. 

Make an incision along the wicked scar down his side and you’d find he lost a kidney and some ribs but gained other organs that weren’t there before. Killan would tell you - the wings were one life he stole, it took two for the eyes because the first set didn’t take, my hand was one along with some air sacs, the other air sacs and the lungs were another…

He was so many fae who should be alive, but instead there was only Killan Josta left to wear their parts, a child’s nightmare hiding under the bed, in the dark woods, a set of glowing eyes in the dark.

Not fae, either. 

Watch Killan Josta open his eyes and see the pale color was replaced by a saturated, overwhelming blue, a black slit-pupil, eyes that would never sit in true comfort in his skin. They weren’t meant to be there. He still bled instead of crying.

Monster.

Hurt the creature and make it cry out in pain and hear two voices, two sets of vocal chords operating simultaneously, a shrieking fae scream alongside the lower human voice. Calon Nie had loved to hear both screams at once. So had the humans who had chained him down for entertainment.

Everyone was a monster, when given power over something new.

Everyone but... everyone but the ones who had saved him.

Buachaill del. Pretty boy.

Calon Nie’s pretty human, left alone to wander and stumble and plead, to make the mistake of asking for help. Captured, bought and sold, beaten and bled and sold and bought again, until there hadn’t been anything in Killan’s life but survival. 

Until there had been no Killan left, that name held and hidden deep within himself. There had been only the creature, the monster, the pet the piece of fascinating conversation start the thing.

Not man or fae or boy or anything but organs and skin and wings to be bruised, broken, bloodied. Not even a favored animal.

Just a thing that knew how to keep living.

Raise your chin at the four-count whistle, hold up your hands at the three. Let them touch your talons, your wings, run their grubby fingers through the feathers you can never get clean. Feel the lash against the skin you were never meant to have for your own when you disobey. Fingers prodding and pressing at your scars. Chirp and trill for the men, the women, the children who call you the unnatural offspring of degeneracy when you were never that.

And it wouldn’t matter if you were, no one could deserve this. No one could earn this.

But this is life, this is all you’ll ever be, guard what’s left of you as deeply as you can and give them the mindless animal doing tricks for their coins, their hands, the promise that if you’re good it won’t last forever.

Feel the press of the muzzle keeping your jaw locked while you weep and beg to be seen as human again. See them lock up your voice and laugh when you try to speak and you can beg all you want, it won’t happen, they’ll never see you as a boy again.

It will never happen, and then one day… 

One day, stop begging.

Slide away, into your own mind. Live for the moments where you’re fed for being good, the soft velvet of a horse nosing a carrot right out of your hand, the warmth of their breath curling up in winter stables with them. Curl up on straw and hold the chain around your neck and learn to stop crying.

Until he gives the five-count whistle.

Then you cry on cue.

Live for nothing but the hope that this day will end, because it has to, and then begin the next day living for the end of that one, too. Pray for the night because you are never alone until then.

Pray that it will one day end, and know that you are not praying for salvation, only darkness.

Until someone looks you in the eyes and takes a risk and you end up saved anyway.

Next to him, the river rushed by, swollen with a winter’s melt. The roar of water was deafening, and he couldn’t even imagine how loud it would be at the bottom of the waterfall, hundreds of feet below. 

Somewhere further up there were fae courts hidden, deep inside the mountains. They didn’t want him either, but at least he wouldn’t be sold there. He wasn’t a curiosity to the fae, but an abomination, a warning, something to be feared. Something to be sent away as quickly as possible, but for all Calon Nie’s cruelty, it was only one fae that had held him captive and carved into his skin.

It had been a dozen of his fellow humans-

No. Not human anymore.

It had been a dozen or more humans who had bound his hands, forced muzzles on until he bled, sliced his skin to show the change in blood and marvel over his reddish tears, buried their hands in his feathers until he could not help but scream at the violation.

They loved to hear him scream.

Fae rejected him - but humans overwhelmed him.

Not fae either.

Killan looked down at his hands - fingers and talons, a madman’s puppet tossed aside, a piece of decoration in a human’s receiving hall, a pet kept hidden away until they tired of cutting him, a dirty slave for sale in the streets, keep him as a pet or the same way you keep a painting on the wall.

I promise you, messire, you’ve never seen anything like this! Show the man your hands, creature.

Even now, just remembering the whistle, Killan’s fingers twitched with unconscious need to obey.

The sun was rising, the sky a brilliant scattering of pink thrown up against the gathering clouds and a growing golden light finding its slow way along the world he could see below. The forest ran to the curve of the earth, and he could, with sharp fae eyes, see the smoke of chimneys in a village that would have taken him a day to climb down the mountain and walk to, but with wings…

Killan slowly flexed his wings out as wide as they would go, closing his eyes as his back straightened instinctively to balance the weight. The chill air ruffled along his reddish-brown feathers, a playful hint of breeze.

You know how to do this, the breeze whispered to him. You knew the moment he gave them to you. 

He wasn’t meant to have them, but he did. They were blended into his back in a mass of scarring and changed bones, shoulder blades shifted out. On fae, the transition was seamless. On Killan, every inch of his skin told the story of screaming agony.

But the fae who had owned them was dead, along with every other one sacrificed to Calon Nie’s game. If they were anyone’s wings now, they were Killan’s. 

I don’t have to be ashamed of what he did to me. I didn’t ask to be a monster.

The water burst from the confines of the earth next to him, tumbled and rolled into the air before it fell and fell and fell and crashed back down to earth below. Killan sighed softly, watching breath puff out before his face, and then turned away from the dawn.

He walked, step by silent step, back along the riverbank, watching the water running the other way, chasing the flight back down to ground. He stopped next to a thin pine tree, reaching out to touch the needles, crushing them between his fingers to release the scent, closing his eyes and breathing it in.

I didn’t ask to be this. It’s not my fault.

It’s not my fault I have new parts.

It’s not my fault I can fly.

Against his back, the breeze slipped around him again, dancing air that ran along the edges of feathers, beckoning. Beneath that, a faint shimmer of mystery. While fae and humans both looked away, Killan could call and have starsong reply, if only faintly, to his cries for help.

The mysteries recognized him as a mystery himself, not a monster. Not understood but not entirely turned away. 

And he wasn’t alone, either. There were others out there who had been broken and bent to someone else’s will, who could see beyond the way he had been stitched together and know there was still a whole person inside.

Eitilt.

The breeze called again, and Killan stopped to look over his shoulder at the dawn. Farther than the sun’s light could reach, stars still shone, visible in the blue as brightly as they’d been in the black the night before.

Fly.

Killan took off running, back towards the cliffside, racing with his wings curved against his back and his feet pounding on rock. The roar of the river alongside felt like it ran with him right to the edge, where instead of stopping Killan flung himself out into space, the spray of water beside him.

Wings curved, he fell.

The air flew past his ears as he plummeted towards the earth, mysteries a song that wound around hollowed bones and filled the places inside him with air. The bottom of the waterfall came closer and closer, a frothing white spray where the water was wearing the earth down beneath dirt, beneath stone, to bedrock underneath it all.

Instinct told him things that human experience never could, and he let his body - bent and broken and twisted and remade, rebuilt, created by a fae who named himself Killan’s god - tell him when to stop.

Down and down and down and-

Now.

His wings snapped out, catching the breeze and slowing his descent, sending him forward instead of down and he trilled, beating wings heavily to head back up again. His back ached a little but he caught a current that helped carry him up, air that rested under his feathers like hands slipping around a small child to lift them up onto a mother’s hip to be carried.

The sky was not his mother, but she would be here to lift him where his own mam could not.

He burst upwards, spinning, breathing thin air as though he’d always been able to do so, human and fae lungs filtering every ounce of oxygen he needed in tandem. The sun warmed his face, and he closed his eyes against its touch. Sun on his face, stars at his back, Killan let the currents carry him a little further.

And then he dove again. 

Fly.

He dropped like a stone, rushing downwards, spinning in the air before he snapped his wings out again and cut a hard left. Around him the air itself celebrated with him everything his broken body could still do, all the things he’d been given alongside what he had lost.

Sharp talons could tear apart a rabbit and defend him from attackers just as easily.

Rise.

Fae eyes saw far, farther than even the keenest human sight, and kept him safe. He could see in the dark, he could see them coming before they could see him. 

Rise.

Hollowed bones let him fly, kept him lighter, along with the places added to him to hold air, to bring him higher and higher, to help him-

Rise.

Fae blood carried oxygen more easily, let him climb higher into the air, the currents under his feathers like a friend lifting him up. As high as he could go, not quite so high as a full-blooded fae but he felt the air thinning and thinning and the stars were ever closer, their song welcoming him even if the fae did not.

Ardu th’uas. Rise above.

He slowed, spinning in the air, letting starshine and sun wash all his ruined skin clean.

Leanh na realtai. Child of stars, you, too.

His heart stilled, here where the air was thinnest, with the question he never voiced. Even ruined, I am?

And every time, the certainty returns.

Even ruined, you are.

Iron and earth may be blind, but the stars see you.

Killan dropped again.

He spun with his wings pressed tightly, speeding to earth so fast the air was a scream and he couldn't find the breath to laugh. The forest below him, the sky above him, the sun and stars. 

Killan Josta, as he was, should not exist. 

He did, though, and in this moment with his wings snapping out to slow his descent, catching an air current that pulled him back around towards the mountains, he feels them.

Something like friends.

They were calling him back to the waterfall and the cliff and the camp in the woods where they will be waiting for him, the ones who saw beneath his skin to the boy still hiding under a monster, the man half-buried by cruelty but still trying to break free of its legacy. 

They were waiting, with breakfast probably already ladled out for him. 

First, though…

First Killan Josta, who had a name again, wanted to fly. One more time he climbed the currents, found the pockets of air to push him higher and higher and higher, until there was a half-breath of pause as high as his broken, remade body could go.

He let that pause draw out, listening to the stars whisper in human ears.

Sing, Killan Josta.

He trilled, a cry as much of gratitude as it was of joy, and wrapped his wings around himself to plummet to earth again. 

Rise.

Killan fell, and fell and fell, and then just when he could fall no further without breaking on the earth, his feathers caught the air and he flew.

-----

Tagging Killan’s crew:  @astrobly​​​​ @burtlederp​​​​ ​, @finder-of-rings​​​​ ​, @slaintetowhump​​​ ​, @quirkykayleetam​​​ ​, @whumpallday​​​ , @whumppsychology​​​, @doveotions​​​, @broken-horn​​, @moose-teeth​​, @whumpfigure​​, @spiffythespook​​, @oceanthesarcasamfox​​,  @whump-only​(if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

#trauma recovery #fantasy setting #fantasy whump #winged whumpee #wing whump #referenced torture #scarring #wildfaewhump's world #trauma recovery whump #killan is babey and saddest boy #wings #dehumanization reference #pet whump references #magical whump #magical setting #if you're thinking I wrote this to a single song #you are correct

[steppedoffaflight]

Van has just come back to the land of the living, rubbing his eyes groggily as you enter the room.

“Shit,” He croaks, “I meant to get up before you. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Don’t be silly,” You brush him off, but secretly you’re pleased that he remembered. He’d been talking about it all week, sure, but you wouldn’t blame him if it slipped his mind first thing in the morning.

“Happy birthday,” He grins as you hand him his warm mug of coffee. He takes it right into his hands, unbothered by the heat, and immediately takes a sip. Three years into your relationship you no longer openly cringe at him trying to blister his tongue every morning.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” You retort with a grin, climbing back into the warmth of your bed.

based on the prompt: Hi! Can I request a fic in which readers bday is valentines day and she spends the day with Van❤️

A/N: This probably went in a different direction than you meant it, but I hope you like it! Also I’m completely in love with this universe, and if anyone would like to read more of it feel free to let me know!

Word count: ~4.5k

As soon as your alarm goes off, you dread getting out of bed.

February in New York is as cold as can be, and as usual the frigid air has seeped in through the exposed brick walls of your apartment. Your first act of the morning is barely allowing one of your arms to emerge from the warm bubble of your comforter and sheets, your hand reaching blindly to turn the bedside lamp on. 

Your second order of business is forcing yourself to peel away the warm, soft layers of protection from the rest of your body, your skin breaking out in goosebumps as you slowly get your feet off of the side of the bed, your toes landing in the plush rug your bed rests on. You take another deep breath before you manage to stand yourself up, stepping off of the rug and onto the chilly hardwood floors as you start to stumble out of the bedroom.

You scowl at Van as you go. He’s nestled happily next to your empty space on the bed, deeply asleep and oblivious to the torment you were being subjected to.

Your shared apartment relies mostly on natural light, so preparing coffee on early morning workdays means you’ve learned to navigate the space in near-complete darkness. The kitchen light nearly blinds you when you flip the switch, your eyes unprepared for the burst of brightness.

Van’s put the coffee filters one shelf higher in the cabinet than you can comfortably reach, and you groan as you hoist yourself up on your very tiptoes, barely able to grasp them with the tips of your fingers. But you manage, and soon the coffee maker is starting to sputter, warming up in preparation to make a pot for the two of you.

You head across the room to the thermostat, satisfied when it reacts to you changing the settings by coming to life, the vents creaking as lukewarm air starts to blow from them.

You head into the living room, then, tugging open the curtains that are covering the big window. It reveals the same city you’ve been staring at all winter; gray skies and dirty, slushy snow. 

Once you’ve used the bathroom the coffee is ready, and you pour two mugs before heading back into the bedroom. 

Van has just come back to the land of the living, rubbing his eyes groggily as you enter the room.

“Shit,” He croaks, “I meant to get up before you. Wanted to surprise you.”

“Don’t be silly,” You brush him off, but secretly you’re pleased that he remembered. He’d been talking about it all week, sure, but you wouldn’t blame him if it slipped his mind first thing in the morning.

“Happy birthday,” He grins as you hand him his warm mug of coffee. He takes it right into his hands, unbothered by the heat, and immediately takes a sip. Three years into your relationship you no longer openly cringe at him trying to blister his tongue every morning.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” You retort with a grin, climbing back into the warmth of your bed. 

Your text messaging threads and Facebook wall are already full of messages from friends and family wishing you a good year. The rest of your feed is dedicated to Valentine’s Day, everyone and their uncle making long, sappy posts about their significant others, complete with a spread of photos. You’ve never made one for Van before out of respect for his hatred of social media, but this year it might be fun to join in with the tradition. You’ll have to ask him about it later.

Van’s set his coffee on his nightstand, wrapping his arms around your midsection. “How do you feel?” He asks, before burying his face in your stomach.

“Older,” You laugh, setting your phone aside. You pet his hair with the hand not holding your coffee. “Like I don’t wanna go to work today.”

“Don’t go,” He pleads, his voice muffled in your shirt. “Call off.”

It’s his go-to line almost every morning. You roll your eyes.

“It’s not that simple,” You tell him, as if you haven’t a hundred times before. “Plus, you’ll be at the studio all day, so it won’t even be worth it!”

“You can come to the studio with me!” He begs, right on cue.

“Shush,” You shut him down. “I’ll have plenty of time in the summer to drop by the studio.”

It’s hard to imagine that summer will ever exist, given the ice and snow that’s covered every inch of New York for months, but the thought of it still excites you. You’ll finally be getting a much-needed break from work, the band will be done working on this album, and you and Van will have nothing but quality time to spend with each other. The thought of it brightens up your day, as if the July sunshine has somehow magically transported here today.

After coffee you’ve got to force yourself to get ready for work. A few friends from your office have already wished you happy birthday this morning on Facebook, so you’re sure you’ll have people constantly stopping by your office to give you their well-wishes. You sift through a few outfits, feeling more self conscious than you have in months.

You end up tugging on a sweater dress that clings tight to your skin. It almost feels like it’s suffocating you, but when you step out of the walk-in closet Van’s eyes almost bug out of his head. 

“Do you like this?” You ask him, your voice betraying your uncertainty. 

“Love it,” Van nods before taking a glug of his coffee. “Proper sexy.”

You glare at him. “It’s so tight. I feel like a fucking balloon.”

Van rolls his eyes. “You can say it, doesn’t make it true.”

You head back into the closet in a huff, but Van’s approval means you leave the dress on. You pair it with a loose cardigan so that every single contour of your body isn’t clearly visible, and after deciding you look decent you struggle to roll on a pair of thick stockings and a tall pair of boots, preparing to keep yourself warm on the walk to work.

You share the bathroom with Van as you fix your hair and makeup and he shaves in preparation for his own day, and then he’s helping you into your warm wool coat, giving you a quick goodbye kiss before you head out. 

Your thick layers of clothing make your buttoned coat feel like it’s squeezing you, so before you’ve gotten very far from your building’s front door you’ve already decided to unbutton it. It’s not windy today, and during your walk to the office you work up a bit of a sweat, so overall today is going better than usual. 

\\

As predicted, people stop by all morning and into the afternoon to wish you a happy birthday and gush about their Valentine’s Day plans. When they ask you what you’re doing to celebrate in return, you try not to be bothered by the way all of their faces fall when you tell them that you and Van have nothing special going on, just a quiet night in. 

You run behind schedule all day from interruptions, and by the time you’re heading out into the snow to head back home you’re frustrated, trying to mentally calculate everything you’ll have to get done when you get back to the office on Monday to make up for your lackluster performance today. 

“Christ!”

You jump when Van’s voice materializes behind you, and you turn on your heels to see he was leaning on the brick near the door, rushing to catch up with you, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“You didn’t even recognize me!” He laughs in disbelief, the steam of his breath floating into the air.

“People smoke there all the time!” You laugh, happily taking his hand when he holds it out for you. You two start the walk home. “Good day in the studio?”

“Oh, it was class. I feel like I’m writing better than I ever have.”

You beam at the profile of his face, watching the nippy evening wind carry his exhaled smoke away. “Oh really,” You tease, “Why?”

Van’s been happier ever since you two relocated from LA to New York, but with the way things have been going so well between you two he’s been even happier, an extra pep in his step everywhere he goes. Everyday he looks like he’s on the brink of proposing. You’d be lying if you hadn’t sort of had your hopes up for today being the day.

“The summer,” He grins. “Can’t fucking wait.”

He’s lazily swinging your hands between you two, and you watch your hand move back and forth in his before you sigh. 

“Give me a hit of that,” You insist, reaching out for his cigarette with your free hand. Van looks appalled, plucking it from his mouth to hold it on the other side of his body.

“You quit!”

“I’m not gonna start again over one hit,” You roll your eyes. “Not with you keeping me so fucking accountable.”

Van doesn’t look convinced, and you scoff.

“It’s my birthday! And fucking Valentine’s Day! Don’t you love me, like, at all?”

At this Van narrows his eyes. “Oh, quit,” He mumbles, but then silently passes over the cigarette. 

You close your eyes at the taste of your first hit in months. God, you miss smoking so much. “Happy birthday to me,” You joke when you finally let the smoke out of your lungs, stealing another quick hit before you pass it back to him. “You know, you’re gonna have to quit soon.”

Van shakes his head on his next inhale. “Don’t think I can, honest,” He tells you on his exhale. “But I’m gonna give it a hell of a try.”

You snort, and you two fall into a comfortable silence the rest of the way.

Van doesn’t let go of your hand until the elevator arrives on your floor and he has to let go to unlock the door for you, ushering you inside.

“Oh my God,” You laugh when you see the inside of the apartment, which Van’s decorated with red, white, and pink streamers. “I’m not cleaning all of this up.”

“Course not,” Van laughs, tenderly touching your lower back as he heads into the kitchen. “Come open gifts.”

“I didn’t even ask for anything!” You protest. “Besides that new pillow. If you didn’t get me that, I’m pissed.”

Van throws his head back, laughing as you two come through the doorway into the kitchen. There’s a birthday cake sitting happily on the island, which Van has poked a billion candles into.

“I feel like there’s more than 25 here,” You try to count them with your eyes.

“Nope, 25 exactly,” Van grins, presenting you with your first gift. “I can’t take credit for this one, it’s from Bob.”

As soon as you pick it up you know exactly what it is, the wrapping crinkling around the edges of a picture frame, the glass panel cool through the paper. Van leans on his elbows across the kitchen island from you, a knowing grin across his face.

“Is this what I think it is?” You’re hesitant to get excited, starting to rip the wrapping paper away from the corners. “Holy fucking shit,” You gasp as the photo is revealed.

It’s a photo of you and Van in black and white, standing in front of the living room window. The contrast of the bright white lighting of the window against your dark bodies showcases both of your silhouettes. Bob must’ve taken it when you two weren’t paying attention, because you’re both laughing about something. Van’s hand is absentmindedly resting on your baby bump, which is showing up prominently in this photo.

“This is so gorgeous,” You murmur, unable to stop the tears that spring to your eyes. Bob had just been over last week to take these; you hadn’t expected him to have them developed and ready so soon considering the boys were extremely busy right now. You’re just getting settled into your second trimester, and although it seemed a bit premature for photos Van was adamant about capturing your newly blossoming stomach. 

“I didn’t realize I already have such a bump,” You sniffle, still admiring the photo. Despite the fact it’s your maternity shoot your eyes are glued to Van, looking so content and joyful. 

“Me either!” Van exclaims, rounding the corner now to admire the photo with you. “It’s gotten bigger this week, too.”

“I know,” You sigh, reminded of the way your sweater dress has been squeezing you all day. “Speaking of, let me change into something comfy.” Van holds his hands out for the frame, and you pass it over to him. “Can we hang that up tonight?”

“Your wish is my command,” Van jokes as you head into the bedroom, quickly changing out of your work attire and into one of Van’s baggy t-shirts and pair of leggings. You instantly feel more like yourself now that you’re out of your stuffy office clothes that make you feel like you’re middle-aged. 

You’re much happier as you bounce back into the kitchen. “What else do you have for me?”

Van carefully places the photo down on the counter, heading back to the other side of the island and leaning down. When he stands up his arms are full with the pregnancy pillow you’ve been begging for now that your stomach is starting to weigh enough to make sleeping uncomfortable. 

“My pillow!” You clap your hands together in excitement, reaching over to squish it. “It’s so soft. It better be as good as the reviews say.”

“It better be,” Van laughs as you take the pillow into your arms, trying to get a feel for the shape of it. “It cost a fortune.”

“Oh, shut up,” You tease, narrowing your eyes at him. He laughs, unable to keep a straight face. Van McCann? Worrying about finances? As if.

“Is this everything?” You ask, hauling your pregnancy pillow into the bedroom before returning. 

“Well, I’ve got another one for ya, but I had to run it by you first.” Van is drumming his fingers on the countertop. You grab a knife from the knife block, playfully giving his ass a squeeze as you tug your birthday cake towards you, ready to slice into it.

“You can’t eat that yet!” Van protests, momentarily distracted.

“Why not?” You ask, as you lick strawberry icing off of the finger you’d swiped over the piping on the edge. “You know I always crave Salty’s!”

Salty-n-Sweet Bakery, two blocks away and right on your route to and from work, has become your favorite place to splurge on a cupcake or a danish during your pregnancy. You know Van’s paid a premium price for this cake, and you’re eager to see if it was worth the money. 

“You haven’t even blown out the candles!” He grabs your wrist as you make to dig your steak knife into the flawless icing, undeterred by his argument. “It’s bad luck!”

“I don’t think it is,” You roll your eyes but surrender, setting the knife down. “Anyway, what were you running by me again?”

“What I was saying,” He glares at you playfully as he continues, “Is that I thought we’d use your two weeks vacation time and fly south so we can visit your family for a week, and then we can fly across the pond and see mine.”

“No fucking way!” You exclaim, birthday cake forgotten. “When?”

Van shrugs. “Whenever you wanna call off! Within the next couple’a weeks, ideally.”

You’re already imagining your parent’s face when you tell them you’re coming to visit. Since you and Van have told them the big news your mom has been calling you almost everyday for updates, eager to dispense the wisdom that only other child-carrying women can provide. You know it’s hard for them, what with their only child fleeing the state, but you hadn’t planned to see them until after the baby was born, so Van’s gift is the best surprise.

You know Mary’s been worried about you too. You’ve heard Van reassuring her that everything is moving along smoothly during their late night phone calls.

“I’ll check the schedule on Monday,” You promise, wrapping your arms around Van’s neck and leaning up on your toes to give him a kiss. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“I love you,” Van replies when you stop punctuating each thank you with a kiss. “Happy Valentine’s birthday.”

You snort at that title, and Van reaches into his back pocket for his phone.

“You wanna order dinner now? I was thinking we’d do that Chinese place you love.”

Your mouth practically waters as you head to the drawer in the kitchen where you keep the menus, tugging the one for the restaurant out. “You actually love me,” You joke, already pondering what you’ll order. “I actually feel so bad I don’t have anything for you.”

That’s the agreement; You tend to go overboard for Christmas, splurging on Van with a custom-built electric guitar, too many pairs of black socks, and embroidered scarves for him and his family, and in return you are not allowed to buy him anything for Valentine’s Day, so that you are allowed to enjoy your own birthday without the stress of finding the perfect gift for him a second time per year. 

“You’ve got something for me!” Van pokes at your tummy. “Best gift I could ask for.”

“Aw, quit,” You laugh, but Van’s palm flattens against your skin, warm and reassuring, and you rest your own hand on top of his.

“I still haven’t felt him kick,” Van frowns when he finally pulls his hand away, reaching for his phone to start placing your order.

“Don’t call it a him when you don’t even know!” Your hand is still resting against your bump. “And I’m still early along, it only happens sometimes.”

“You want me to DoorDash it?”

You think about it for a second. “Nah. Let’s walk.”

Once the order’s placed you two get a head start on leaving. With only Van’s thin t-shirt on your coat can actually button, and after Van pulls his long, gray coat (your favorite of his) over his own shoulders you two head out, holding hands like always.

There’s foot traffic in LA, but not like this. The businesses are more spaced out there, so you’re required to at least make a partial drive in order to get somewhere by foot. But here it’s nice to have everything so close to your apartment, and to have the opportunity to stroll around with Van. Especially in the evening, when all of the lights of the city are twinkling.

You two are quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company, when a mother pushes a baby bundled up in a stroller past you two. “I was thinking…” You start, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Do you care if I post that photo on Facebook?”

“The photo Bob took?” Van asks, and when you nod he shrugs. “You mean like, tell everybody? Sure, but wouldn’t you rather wait for him to develop the rest?”

He’s got a point. You’re sure Bob has a ton of other gorgeous photos of you two. “I dunno,” You still sigh. “I mean, I can post the rest when Bob gets around to them. But I can see people at work starting to be able to tell. And everyone was acting like it was so pitiful we weren’t doing something crazy tonight! It’d be nice if they knew why we’ve been enjoying our quiet alone time so much.”

“And we’ve already held off so long,” You point out. 

For the first week after that pregnancy test, when Van came home from the studio to find you pacing around the apartment like a madwoman, it had remained a secret between the two of you. It was a tiring week filled with early work mornings and late nights, the conversations between the two of you within the darkness of your bedroom stretching on for hours. Your voices quietly pondering if you two were ready to bring a real life human into this world, if your careers would allow it, or if you were better off scheduling an appointment at the local clinic. But by the end of the week the idea of starting a family was equally as exciting as it was terrifying, and so the decision was finally made.

But first pregnancies are at such a high risk of miscarriage, and you two didn’t want to get your families worked up over nothing. Both only children, the expectation of a grandchild from both sets of parents was not something to be toyed with. You two held off for another week or so, waiting with baited breath for blood in your underwear, or for your doctor to reveal this was all smoke and mirrors. But instead your ultrasound revealed a heartbeat, steady and strong, and you two finally called your families to spill the beans.

Van told the boys when they bugged him about being glued to his phone, asking you for constant updates when they had a few performances in the UK during your first trimester. And that’s how things have remained, but now you’re ready to share the news.

“I know,” Van beams, squeezing your hand. “I didn’t know we had it in us.”

“We?” You laugh. “Which abandoned social media page were you going to post on?”

Van throws his head back laughing, the breeze ruffling his hair. “Christ. Instagram, maybe?”

You snort.

“I’m serious!” Van’s voice climbs in pitch. “If I’ve ever had a reason to log on to that godforsaken app again, this is it.”

“Shouldn’t you warn your team first? They’ll probably have a heart attack getting the notification.”

Van shrugs, looking mischievous and carefree and every other reason you fell in love with him.

\\

The Chinese food is even better than the last two times you’ve had it, you and Van joking through the entire meal that the chef was on his A-game today. And then you blow out your candles and each help yourself to a slice of cake with buttercream that melts in your mouth before retiring to the couch, bloated and happy.

It’s not long before you’re gripping the armrest of the couch, on your hands and knees atop the cushions while Van fucks the shit out of you from behind. Pregnancy hormones have only made everything feel more intense, and the sound of Van slipping in and out of you is unbearably noisy. 

“That’s too much,” You grit out when Van gets a hand between your legs, his fingers trying to circle your clit. Any other day his fingers would be necessary to come, but today you can feel your orgasm building from lower down, deeper inside of you, and you know as long as Van doesn’t stop you’ll come from that alone.

“Oh, fuck,” Van laughs in disbelief, and you hear the leather of the couch rustle as Van wipes his fingers against the back of the sofa. “You’re soaked.”

“I know,” You groan in annoyance, pushing your hips back harder so that Van’s next thrust is twice as hard. The sensation has you crying out, your fingers aching from gripping the armrest so hard. Van’s rhythm falters for a second time, and you make a displeased noise in return. “Harder, babe, c’mon.”

“Woman, I’m giving you all I’ve got.” Van’s out of breath. “I’m about to bust.”

“C’mon, baby, c’mon,” You plead with him, your eyes squeezing shut as he has another burst of energy, his hands roughly grabbing your waist so that he can control the pace better. You know that Van’s still trying to figure out what to do with this version of you in the bedroom, more demanding and particular and forced into doggy style by your round belly, and if you think about it too hard you might laugh through your bleary state. To his credit, he’s handling the nightmare you’ve become amazingly well. So well, in fact, that the pressure that’s been building between your legs finally implodes, sending you into a fit of swearing and screaming Van’s name so loud you’re positive the neighboring apartments can hear. 

Van shudders into his orgasm right after yours is complete, his chest hair tickling your back as he slumps forward, letting you support his weight until he’s finished, pulling out as he still twitches with aftershocks. 

“Oh my God,” You gasp as you flop into a sitting position, your thighs soaked with a mix of sweat and come. Your stomach rises and falls in jagged zig-zags while you catch your breath, and you pat it like you might pat a dog that’s sitting for a treat. You feel a bit sorry that there’s another person that’s going to be witnessing all the sex you and Van will be having for another five months, but you’re even happier that Van still treats you like normal Y/N, and not just an oven cooking up his firstborn. “That was so fucking good.”

“You’re mental,” Van grins. He sees you smiling down at your bump, and leans forward to give your stomach his own pat. “Sorry, lad.”

“You don’t know if it’s a lad!” You cry for the millionth time.

“Speaking it into existence,” Van brushes you off as he lights a cigarette for his usual post-sex smoke. 

You reach out for a hit, the craving crashing into you full force. And Van shouldn’t let you, but he does, affectionately rolling his eyes as he passes his cigarette over again for the second time. 

“Do I really have to quit?” You whine when you pass it back, itching for your own. “I’m sure it’s not a huge deal.”

Van shakes his head. “Benji showed me tons of studies on it.”

You slump into the couch, exhausted and sated. “I’m too tired to take a shower.”

“C’mon,” Van nudges you. “I’ll wash your hair for you.”

\\

Clean and warm from your shower, you doze off immediately after you and Van slip into bed, preparing to watch some TV. When you wake up two episodes later, Van’s nose is buried in his phone.

“Told ya,” He smirks, shoving his screen right into your face. You have to blink the sleep out of your eyes before you understand what you’re looking at; an Instagram post with Bob’s photo of you two.

Buzzing to announce we’re expecting a little one this July, Van’s caption reads. Can’t wait xx

\\

#van mccann #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann fic #vanfic #van mccann fanfiction #catb #I call this universe the #new york babyverse

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

Wicked Games

Short and literal interpretation.

♡

Erik hadn't slept in two days and though his mind was restless, his body was tired, melded to the soft red velvet of the chair he reclined in, amber Hennessy warming him from within. In front of him was a window where he could watch the dancers on stage in solitude. A black duffel full of stacks sat on the floor at his feet. The room was tinted red and he could feel the cool air blowing on his eyeballs, a sign they'd been open for too long. They were glazed. He was smacked. Crossfaded. A blunt sat between his thick fingers. The glass table next to his chair held the bottle of Henny and a thick glass sat beside it. He didn't need the glass. It shattered against the far front wall next to the glass window and he watched the pieces scatter on the floor across the room, catching a glimpse of the half-naked still body from the corner of his eye. She'd stopped moving.

"Dance," he ordered. His eyes stayed on the large pointed shards of glass ahead. Images of Katrin on the living room carpet laying in a pool of deep red blood with the shards of glass shoved through her neck infiltrated his mind. He retracted them as soon as they came, sliding his hand over his face. They were too fucked up to keep or entertain even though a part of him was willing to go there. 

The dancers down on stage hadn't missed a beat. They hadn't heard anything shatter. The body before him however still was not moving. What was he paying her for? When he made eye contact, she started dancing again but it was off and he couldn't feel it.

"Get me someone different." 

"You want someone d-," she snorted, "...Who the hell you want then?" 

He had noticed someone else.. just seen her for a moment but she'd made an impression. She had long black hair, golden brown skin, and green eyes like a cat. Slim build.. proportionate. 

"That's Bambi. I'll go get her then." 

The door opened and closed again and he picked up the bottle of Hennessy to take a burning gulp. "Ah," he gasped setting it back on the glass with a clink. The dancer on the pole was in an outfit that looked like it was made of ribbons. She was entertaining some tippers in the front frow. Erik puffed his blunt and closed his eyes resting against the velvet chair with the music bouncing off the walls of his brain. The click of the door opened his eyes to the young woman standing in front of him and he had to blink a few times to focus on her face. She looked so much like his girl it was blowing his mind. In an alternate universe, he'd have met this one first and then he wouldn't be dealing with any of this current bullshit. Maybe she'd have loved him.. just a little. 

"The last girl.. wasn't shit… so I need you to dance for me," he exhaled softly, smoke pouring through his lips as he watched her. She stepped forward, approaching.

"That was Tasha, she new. She said you putting up 2k just for a dance is that true?"

Her voice wasn't Katrin's but it had a similar timbre. He flashed the wad of cash in his pocket as she came closer. Fanning it, he looked into her cat eyes. 

"I need a distraction..please," he muttered. "I don't wanna think tonight..."

"I got you, babydoll, just focus on me." Winding her hips, she moved seductively, her ass on display putting him in a trance. She was shaped just like Katrin. They had the same body and facial structure. He'd be at home fuckin on her, but she was out fuckin on someone else thinking he wasn't onto her. He knew. But he also knew he had his own demons that prevented him from confronting her about it. For one, his job was a job that no woman in her right mind would accept. He killed people, was never home, was never there when she needed him, slept whenever he was home, they hardly had sex, and he had nothing real to give her but dirty money. What woman wouldn't cheat? He couldn't fault her though it hurt him. He had his own life or death issues and had to come home to find his girl had all but forgotten about him. 

Bambi bent over and dropped it, bringing it back up slowly as he watched. The only thing was she still had on her little costume panties and he wanted to see more.

"Take them panties off, sweetheart," he pointed with his blunt, careful not to touch her. "They in the way."

"I don't do full nudity."

"What you mean.."

"I. Don't. Do. Full nudity. I just dance and that's it."

Erik stared at her for a moment before putting his blunt between his lips. He took out his wallet and pulled out 200 looking up at her and adding 200 more. He'd emptied his card just for this.

She blinked. "...I'll get you someone else because I don't do full nudity."

"Nah I don't want someone else," he huffed, dry humor on his face. There was no one else in the moment he wanted to be with and more than anything he didn't want to be alone. "I want you… How much?"

"I'm not for fuckin sale, nigga," Bambi frowned. 

He knew she'd feel that way. Dropping his head, he took another hit from his blunt. He wasn't used to begging women or being denied. When he did approach women, which was before Katrin, he never had an issue. Katrin was the only one who could get under his skin and bother him, make him do things out of his comfort zone. He'd had big pride when he met her.. compared to now. She'd done such a number on his head, it had him feeling worthless like a no good nigga. She was the only woman who could turn him into a pathetic mess and she had, repeatedly. Just because she could.. because he'd been afraid to be alone. It made him feel like shit and though he hated her for it, he hated himself for sticking around. He'd still be back within the night whenever he left the club though because the sad fact remained that he didn't have anyone else in his life and she knew that. 

Bambi's stiletto nails trailed down his cheek. 

"I see you don't just look like her," he muttered, his puffed up energy deflating. He picked up the Henny bottle to drink the bitterness of loneliness, inadequacy, and rejection down and burn them in his stomach, squinting as he set the bottle back down. Her interest was piqued and her demeanor changed.

"Who is she..," she asked. 

".....My girl," Erik sighed. The picture was starting to come together for Bambi as she watched the scene of a handsome young man deteriorating on his own in a private lounge. He had girlfriend troubles, no wonder he looked so hurt and sad. That, she could deal with. "She don't know I'm here.. She don't know I know she out fuckin some nigga... I don't even care though, that's the thing. I don't even love her."

He felt it when he said it. He didn't love her, he just needed her.

"Then why you with her," Bambi asked sitting gently on Erik's lap, rubbing his head through his locs. He wrapped his arm around her waist, switching hands to smoke his blunt. She smelled like too sweet fruit and he put his nose to her soft skin.

"I don't know," he lied pulling another puff of his blunt before looking into her captivating green eyes. "Listen ma, I just need something..," he pleaded, not knowing what exactly that something was. Bambi held his cheek, smoothing the skin with her thumb. He passed her his blunt and she took a pull handing it back. He watched her blow smoke into his face before he took the $400 in his palm and tucked it into her gold bra. She looked confused for a moment, but then she stood from her position on his lap and reached to unclasp the piece holding her bra together. Erik held his breath as he stared at the two small and perky orbs before him. He reached into his duffel for a stack. "Let me see that ass," he whispered. This time she obliged and he gave her the stack plus another for her trouble.

Bambi looked at the money stacked in her hand with questions in her eyes. "What do you want from me," she asked legitimately curious. Erik sighed, his chest aching. He couldn't tell her because he didn't know. He looked down at the blunt in his hand, he'd smoked it down.

"I'm just tired of feeling.. how I feel.."

"How do you feel?"

"Hurt.. lonely.. tired." His eyes looked closed, they were so low. Meanwhile, she started to warm up, getting looser in her movements as she grinded on his pants. She wasn't just dancing anymore, they were halfway to fuckin. Bambi bounced and shook and when she turned around expecting Erik to be eye-deep in her buttcrack, his eyes were directly on hers... They were very gentle, his eyes squint. It caught her off guard.

"What's your actual name," he asked, "I wanna call you.. by your actual name."

Bambi hesitated quickly. "Shaina."

"Shaina," he tested. "..You are beautiful.."

"I know." She took his blunt and puffed it again, this time keeping it. He looked forward through the window there was a new girl dancing. The smoke Shaina blew wafted across his face. Instinctively, he grabbed her waist and she fell back onto his lap. 

"Listen," he exhaled willing her to let him finish. "Before you turn me down.. I have a proposition.. I just wanna pretend for a moment that we're together and you're my girl.." Shaina's brow raised and he rushed, "I just wanna see how it would be, that's it.. I'm in a low place right now and I just wanna hear you say one thing… you ain't even gotta mean it. I know you don't mean it... I just need to hear someone say it," he nearly whispered. 

Shaina frowned, curious as to what it was he wanted to hear. "Okay," she nodded, "What am I saying?" She stroked his cheek again and he swallowed.

"Just tell me you love me.." His eyes were earnest as he looked at her, full of pain and vulnerability. "Even though you don't love me.." he added.

Shaina bit her lip, her heart genuinely breaking for the man as she stared. "What's your name," she asked.

"Erik," he said softly. She could feel that he was broken. Planting her hands on his wide shoulders, she looked him in the eye firmly. She needed to be believable although she didn't know him at all. 

"Erik, everyone deserves to feel loved. I do love you." As she watched from his lap, he sighed, breathing in and out through his nose.

"Tell me again, please," he said gently and she repeated it. His expression scrunched and he rubbed his forehead like he was stressed before standing up and causing her to stand. "Thank you," he whispered. There was no more eye contact, he just went to the exit of the private lounge. 

"You left your money bag," Shaina pointed but he didn't turn around.

Shaina looked around the room at the empty Henny bottle. The broken glass. The money on the floor. She wondered if she did right letting him walk out. He didn't seem mentally stable, but that was just her studies kicking in. She only danced to pay for school. Counting the money… there was enough to pay for classes. She didn't have to dance anymore. 

The End

#erik killmonger black reader #erik killmonger x oc #erik killmonger imagine #erik killmonger #original

[ramckinnley]

The streetlights were dim tonight, nothing new. The cities power grid had been awful for years now and the church was in an older part of town.

Father John Martin made the trek back to his Parish from the shelter he had been volunteering tonight. The stench of stale bread and body odor soaked into his vestments like blood into an old carpet. Walking up the steps leading to his rectory he noticed the lights had been shut off. He didn't remember switching them off and the power seemed to be on, albeit faint.

He tugged on the door open; it creaked and moaned open revealing a dark void. No color, no objectivity. Father Martin navigated the room through familiar instinct. Enroute to his sleeping chambers he passed his office, a quaint little place to catch up on paperwork and plan that weeks sermon. He has walked past it a million times before, lumbering the same tired shuffle...the enthusiasm lost years ago. Yet tonight the air seemed heavier, almost as if he was moving through a dense fog.

Straight to bed...none of the normal, habitual hygienic pleasantries tonight. No, this was a man far too exhausted to worry about such menial tasks. For tonight at least.

The fathers rest was short lived as the smell of smoke filled his nose like waves crashing in the ocean. He jumped out of bed, running desperately to escape the sweltering inferno. With each step he took, he could feel the air being drained from his lungs. Falling to the floor he peered a blurry gaze around him...no fire, no ash...not even a bit of smoke. Father Martin stood up, visibly baffled by the events that had just transpired.

Room to room he searched, checked, ventured. looking aimlessly, hopelessly for a shred of logic or reason. Perhaps he was merely having a dream that bled into his waking mind and confused him...yes, yes that must be it. Simply a dream.

Walking back toward his chambers, the priest glanced over into his office again. To his shock and fright, a small shadowed figure of a child sat on his desk, tapping her heels against the aged walnut. She appeared to be no older than 8 or 9 years old and her features became more noticeable as he entered the room. Her long blonde hair was pulled tightly into a braid, porcelain skin was tainted by the spatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks...her eyes were a color he had never seen before. Something beyond...

"...Jessica..." He chocked out in disbelief.

"Tunc suus 'experrectus es." She stated gently. "Ego erat exspectans."

"Waiting for what." the good father asked the rigid child.

"You." She perked up in distorted English. "I've been waiting for you."

A shiver ran up the priests spine as he heard the child's words. What was this child, surely she wasn't of this Earth.

"Foul demon, give me your name." A mighty bellow from the shaken priest.

"O quaeso, est ut vos have optimus. Infirmi agresti nationis Dei." The girl chuckled back.

"Your Latin is weak demon." Father Martin announced. "I command you back to hell!"

"Not my first language Padre." The girl laughed. "And Hell is no place for me...Hell is a vacation compared to me."

The priest staggered backward, a sharp pain ran up and down his legs. The smell of smoke returned and the sensation of heat scorched his body. fear enveloped Father Martin and he fell onto the floor. Looking up to the child, the universe seemed to shift...distort.

Father Martin's office became a swirling maw of chaos and despair. He couldn't see but a foot in front of his face or hear his own thoughts over the cacophony of discordant echos, screaming in all directions.

Suddenly a voice...not the voice of the child. not the voice before. It was something different...

John began to pray.

"N'ektar ver romshuma Martin. Your time is upon you." A deep growl gurgles deep within John's mind. "Here Priest...here in the Other, your worthless God is one of my many slaves. Damned to die, rot and be reborn until the sands run still. Praying to him now only increases his pain."

A wind howled through the maddening, impossible vortex. John was thrown back, his body hurled at speeds that seemed to defy physics. Disoriented, he lay crumpled over a large rock on a suspended platform in the middle of the inescapable blackness. A stiff wind cut through the priest like a spray from the ocean; constant, unrelenting.

"For everything you tried to be, for every lie you passed as real, for everytime they had to suffer through you." A moan came from the darkness.

John stood up, fists clenched screaming into the hallow void of indescribable eternity.

"I FEAR NO EVIL, YOU SHALL NOT CONQUER ME." His voice echoed into the timeless malevolent filth.

"Evil...maybe not." The sinister voice called from John's left. "You know evil well priest, but what of innocence, what of purity."

John swallowed hard, a quiver came over him as the acrid taste of decay filled his mouth. Looking down he saw his flesh boil and bubble and peel. A spume of puss and blood seethe from his newly opened wounds. Falling to his knees, John erupted with a howl of pain so ear shattering, the hollows couldn't contain out.

"It seems I have your attention." The voice called. "I was wondering when we could get down to business."

Whipping and lashing, a festering, slime covered tentacle shot around John's body from the depths. Tiny lancers pierce into his exposed flesh an hold him firmly in place while the ground beneath him dissolves.

The rope like appendage retracts into the time space vacuum at speeds fast enough to agonizingly liquefy John's bones. What felt like a torturous eternity was condensed into a mere second as the Father was transported into a small room. a room he had seen before.

Lilac walls with daisies painted in the corners, a dense berber rug and the scent of camomile and cane sugar enthralled the priest's senses. his body now intact, pain free and vibrant.

"...Jessica?" A woman's voice called from beyond the room. "Father Martin is here to see you."

The clatter of footsteps thundered into the room and ended in a deafening silence. the door slowly opened and John's mouth went slack as he watched himself enter the room. The scene grew cold and John felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Waaaaaaaatch." That brooding voice from the beyond cried inside John's mind.

The man, dressed in priests clothes who was in everyway Father John Martin walked over to a young girl of no more than eight or nine, crying at the foot of her bed. John remembered this moment...suddenly he understood why he was here.

"STOP, OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP!" John pleaded with this second version of himself, in vain.

"We cannot alter the past priest. We must atone for the transgressions we commit." The young girl spoke in a guttural tone. "Even a man of God isn't absolved from his unconscionable actions."

He watched in horror as he relived a dark moment in his past.

John shuddered as he watched himself run his hand up young Jessica's skirt, exposing himself to her and ultimately taking her innocence. A single tear left John's eye.

"I've changed..." He begged. "I'm not that man anymore."

"CHANGED?!" The dark voice became enraged. "YOU'VE CHANGED?"

In that instant John was taken to another scene. Another young vulnerable girl taken advantage of, desecrated, raped. Scene after scene, girl after girl. The flashes continued into the futures of these girls, these young women. A mural of drug abuse, abusive relationships, destroyed self worth and suicide became an all encompassing ocean of despair, depression and death.

"Change can only come through sacrifice, hardship and pain." The echo rang. "Your existence has proven only that you used any and all of the pithy authority you could command to further your sick desires and destroy the innocence around you."

John fell to his knees. The weight of a life erroneously lived, the lives tormented, the blood on his hands finally took its break.

"I'm...I'm sorry." He wept.

"You will be." It grunted

With that Father Martin fell through the room floor, cascading through a near infinite vortex for what felt like razor wire, acid and flame. As his skin was flayed, piece by piece, the filthy priest was forced to eat the rotting chunks. Maggot ridden muscle was exposed from underneath as he was torn apart slowly, agonizingly by a force unseen.

An intense pressure compacted his head from within. Unable to withstand the punishment, his eyes burst. Foaming vitreous gel saturated his face. the contents of his stomach erupted out from within him. Flesh and bone, bile and blood covered what remained of his body and ate away the remaining rotting husk as he was hurled into oblivion.

Suddenly John awoke, sitting straight up in bed. a cold sweat beading down his face, ready to vomit he ran to the washroom. Clutching the bowl, retching over and over.

"What...was...that...dream?! He pondered aloud as the vomiting slowed.

He stood up and left the bathroom, headed back to bed. Except this time as he passed by the office he closed the door. A simple enough action, but one that made him feel a thousand fold better.

Walking into his room he stopped dead staring breathless, lifeless, horrified at young Jessica staring back tapping her feet against the end of his bed. Eager to start her dream...her eternal revenge all over again.

© 2020 R.A. McKinnley

#author #horror #scary story #short story #authorsofig #authors of tumblr #fear #abuse

[a-collection-of-villainous-aus]

BLIND AU PT6 the deleted chapter, changing pennywise to white hat.

(Had this sitting in my drafts for a few months, just finished it, if you don't like it just skip on by okays no one is making you read it❤️)

"Huh that's funny?"

Demencia leaned forward, hands on the glass, it was really more a murmured thought than something to be answered.

Black Hat who had recently found an odd comfort in petting 505 instead of relentlessly torturing him was currently running his claws lightly over the chubby bear, the soft feel of fur on fingers and palm soothing, sighing in response

"What is it? Something does feel off and yet familiar..."

"There's this guy, pretty tall, not tall as the tree though, big eyes, pretty hot stuff if I do say so my self talking to Fluggy."

The lizard girl explained, opening the window just a little more trying to get a better look.

Black Hat went from his lax position to sitting up straight, Demencia was ridiculously picky about partners, so if she was drooling over this one...snapping his fingers the window opened further and she nearly fell out a small sound of surprise escaping her, of course he could hear what they were saying, he was a predator with finely honed skills, the window could have been sealed and still he could have heard them, but there was no reason to keep Demencia out of the spying game.

"So how long have you been working here Flug, Acylius if I am right?"

The man enquired, leaning against the wall, smiling as he did so, it was unnatural, stretched too far back but then again it were not as if he were actually human.

"Please Robert, out side of the Manor, I am Kenning."

Acylius was currently lighting a cigarette and huffing, he was still miffed with his experiments failing and being unable to find a cure for Black Hat, he shouldn't care so much, it wasn't as if the old demon who practically boned anything in skirt or trousers cared how he felt.

"Yes, yes of course we all have our...ways and lives to live outside of our fun and games...though while it has been sometime since we last spoke I wouldn't mind a little game...you were always all games and no work make Flug a dumb boy."

He waved his hand wistfully, a playful gleam in his eye and shrugging, noting that Acylius was momentarily staring, even if it was a glare of sharp piercing blue eyes his own sparked into their golden colour, how lovely to be looked on so intensely by a creature of such power.

"Well it is why I am here and you are not, going around and scaring children instead, speaking of children are you not hiding until that club dies out, think you will return to Derry?"

The doctor was now smirking, drawing on his cigarette and exhaling smoke through his nose, he felt a sense of satisfaction as he watched Robert shift on his feet.

"My dear Robert Grey, you could so easily get prey if you looked like the current rendition of your story, fear is not the only thing that tastes good, there are adults begging to have you 'eat' them. "

Black Hats claws were digging into the wood work, he could hear the banter between them, so his informants forgot to mention this particular Eldericht demon was still alive and kicking and talking to his Acylius.

"Whoa wait isn't Robert grey that guy, that guy?"

"Yes that is...Pennywise, book got it wrong he's not here with just a lust for Earth women, gender and the like does not bother him...what is Acylius doing?"

Demencia peeked further out of the window, eager to answer Black Hat's question and curious herself.

"So what are you actually doing here, besides looking for new children to make a meal of?"

Acylius spoke bluntly, offering his cigarette to share with the being who'd stalked his University days.

Robert had always been weak against him because Acylius had never feared his existence, not once.

There was something pleasant in being near someone who could make him feel so submissive (at least in this case) and yet frustrating that he always chose to work.

Demencia acting as Hat's eyes whispered

"Sharing a cigarette, talking, clown dude totally wants to leave sap in the tree...or get the trees sap."

Hat's grip grew so tightly the windowsill broke answering through gritted teeth

"I see."

He kept his hearing sharp as this Eldericht asked if Flug would like to have some sort of dinner date with him, surely Flug would decline right, yes of course he would-

"I might take you up on that offer, but no children, I do not consume the young for my feasts..."

Black Hats pupil pulsed as smoke began to ebb past his lips.

"Boss man chill, I have a plan."

The demons tongue flicked out in thought, before turning to look at her, well he wasn't exactly eye line as he was facing her chest.

"Face is a bit further up Blackie."

Hat grumbled looking up a bit further, close but still not in line, it'd do Demencia decided.

Listening to her 'cunning' plan Black hat couldn't help but roll his eye, how ridiculously cheesy but as soon as he heard Acylius suggest this Pennywise dress up like the movie one he was all on board.

Acylius was continuing his conversation with Robert who was taking his suggestions to heart, especially considering who the Legion demon worked for, you would be a fool, not to take the free advice.

Black Hat followed the shadows that shied away from him, for even the darkness feared this beast who slithered amongst them, using Acylius's scent as a guide he finally appeared, rising up from the shadow cast by him.

Pausing, he was so close he could feel the heat of his back, lips parted slightly, oh he wanted to touch him, be touched willingly by him, hands lingering just above Acylius, taking a breath and about to follow through with Demencia's plan.

"My boss has arrived it would seem."

Acylius huffed, shoulders slumping and then blinking as hands slid around his waist, Hat was actually pissed about how Flug had reacted in his presence and not just that but in the presence of this LOWLY ELDERICHT WHO WAS WEAKER THAN BOTH OF THEM.

"Ohhh my boy you were pleading last night, but then again who would not beg for me..."

He forced The doctor to his knees so he knelt between both he and Penny, hands on his shoulders and claws running through his hair as fangs nipped at his neck, never looking up at the being at his door lest he give away his blindness.

Acylius was still reaching a height of Hats midsection, god his Flug was so tall, this being belonged to him and he would not let some little sloppy bitch claim what was his.

Flug growled, pupils turning to slits, he knew Hats secret had to be kept, so why not give the demon what he wanted, pulling him over his shoulder so that Hat was now in his arms

(Black Hat surprised, absolutely not expecting to be yanked over Acylius's shoulder)

In his dark world he felt the palm of his doctors hand, thumb stroking his cheek and then a kiss, deep intoxicating, taste of his skin, sinking into it, drowning in him.

This had not been part of the plan, Demencia had simply said make Robert uncomfortable and awkward so he left...waaaaait he didn't have his mask on for the clown but HE AGAIN was reminded that Flug had not been without it in his presence again, that any pictures taken were only of a faked one with his hologuise (hologram disguise) he had no idea how he looked, not that it mattered...but still he wished he could.

Pushing his face away with a hand, parting them, turning his head

"You bare your face for him...and remind me yet again you have not shown it to me."

Acylius who was holding him looked up at where Robert had been, no surprise he'd walked off.

No he was in the sewers where he liked to be, the door slammed shut by itself as he just let go of Hat, who unceremoniously fell in a heap.

"And why should I show it to you, you throw tantrums when I dare talk to someone who ia not you outside of this company, but oh it is perfectly fine..."

Acylius snapped getting to his feet and towering over the five ft nine demon, Demencia was watching from around the doors now, she'd never seen Acylius quite like this if his was him miffed how was he pissed.

The door to the front slammed shut by itself and he continued

"When you flirt with anything with a pulse, I am not bound to you, you have no right to demand to see my face, that is something I choose to display at my own leisure!"

He leaned down and Hat sucked in a breath as he felt the warmth of Acylius's ghost over his flesh, the inhuman growl that left him sending a shiver along Black Hats spine

"And considering you know not how my face looks both of your accusations have been wrong...I wear different faces with the hologuise you were once so impressed with, it clearly shows how easily you have forgotten my abilities. Lord. Black. Hat."

Black Hat had a twist in his stomach, so...he had been pissy over nothing, thrown tantrums over nothing...

"Yes I can see in your expression you realised you almost killed me in a pissy fit where you thought I would be so disrespectful as to just prance around without a bag simply because you could not see..."

"But I could feel your scars..."

Amadeus returned weakly

"You felt them because you know they are there, you are far too sensitive to be fooled by technology...now..."

Acylius's ears flicking back as he signed wearily

"I have to try and contact Robert and inform him that I am still free for that dinner date if he has not been completely scared off."

"I hope he has."

Hat mumbled, letting out a surprised out as Acylius grabbed him by the front of his shirt and lifted him off his feet

"Will you be quiet for once! I am free to do as I please, there are more things at hand that you do not even realise because you are too up your own arse!"

"What are you talking it about?"

Hat returned sharply, easily getting out of Flugs grip, stumbling as he misjudged the distance of his feet from the floor, Acylius caught him without thought, making him look up, hoping he was facing him at least.

His hands felt firm and sure of themselves and if he was not mistaken he felt a tender caress of Acylius's thumb at his side.

"It does not matter...until it does."

"I see, would you then at least walk me back to my office?"

"No, 505 can do that..."

He looked at the door opening that had green hair poking out of it

"I need a word with Demencia."

505 made a baw sound and cheerfully started humming and held out a paw for him to take, which Hat took silently, guided by a big Teddy bear what had his life come to.

Once he was off, feeling a mix of emotions that he absolutely did not like Acylius folded his arms and called Demencia out like she was a mischievous child who he knew had broken something.

She peeked out and started trying to explain her actions

"What, he likes you, you like him, I was trying to hook you two up and you were flirting with that idiot and-"

"He despite being an idiot, Robert Grey is one of the oldest Elderichts still alive who might have some idea of an answer on how to help Black Hat, you may have just screwed that up with your plan I hope you feel proud of yourself, who knows how far I will have to go with him to pump information out of him now...both of you are...idiots."

#eventual paperhat #paperhat #villainous #Black hat #Acylius flug #Au flug #Blind au

[reynesofcastamere]

People Try To Break

(A/N:All right, so it’s been...a WHILE since I last wrote fanfiction, much less published it. *cracks fingers* However Season 4 hit me with Too Many Damned Sad Feelings for these two characters and I have to get them out somehow. In collected one-shot ‘what if?’ scenario form. Thanks to remi-bw for calculating the Beast Island timeline on my previous post. WARNINGS: Violence, brainwashing, character death, Horde Prime, chronic illness and injury. Unbeta’d. )

(BAD END I)

Everything is in ashes. But Hordak will have this: the satisfaction of crushing his enemy’s skull beneath-A blast of pain, accompanied by acrid smoke and a BANG! that makes his ears ring. The makeshift club is torn from his grip, glowing eyes already seeking out the source of this intrusion- who dares, he will grind them into dust for...

Lord Hordak, Supreme Leader of the Horde, former right hand of the Emperor of the Known Universe does not even register the child who shot him, transfixed by the mass of writhing violet swarming out of the pipe. He cannot breathe, even as a form emerges from beneath all that hair and oh, he cannot see her face from this distance but he knows it with every fibre of his being- “Entrapta?” A whisper, uncertain and weak, legs moving of their own volition.

The light around him turns green after three steps, arresting his forward motion. Horde Prime is here at last. Yet he feels...terror. Please. Not now. I have to speak to her, she needs to know- “ENTRAPTA!” A hand reaches out uselessly, desperately in her direction, as if hoping against all logic and sense to close the gap between them. Too late. Darkness and Prime’s technology take him under.

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

(BAD END II)

Hordak had dreamed of standing before his brother with pride -all of this, I have accomplished in your name- next to the woman whose brilliance had made it possible. Instead he is damaged, dirty and on his knees while Entrapta lies unconscious among the rubble that was transported with them. He explains everything, but there is no flicker of gratitude or admiration on his Emperor’s face. Horde Prime seems...mildly amused, at best. At least until Hordak, in his growing anxiety to prove his worth, fails. The temperature in the room has not changed, and yet his insides are frozen.

Prime steps down from his throne to rifle through Hordak’s memories like a box of useless scrap. It feels...wrong in a way that it should not. He is a clone, the rightful property of the Emperor. Nothing can -or should- be hidden from His gaze. And yet there are moments flashing through his head that some part of him does not want Horde Prime to see. Because they are...special. “-There was even a time you wished I would not come for you. Is that not so?”

He protests in vain even as his Creator moves to stand over Entrapta’s prone form, lifting her up by the scruff of her neck. Stunned into silence, Hordak watches his brother examine the Etherian scientist as he once had-A backwater primitive with some shred of actual intelligence.

“Such an extraordinary mind... For a lesser species. A pity it cannot be utilized in service of my Empire.”

“What?” Surely he must have misheard. Then a smirk that can only be described as cruel quirks Prime’s lips and dread is a jagged stone in the pit of his stomach. “Poor little brother, so easily led astray. You truly thought that you served My will, that I would allow your pet to spread heresy. That you have even given yourself a name proves you have become an abomination.” His Emperor is no longer composed or pretending at benevolence, radiating sheer rage at the presumptive defect before Him. “You must be reborn.” His hand closes around  Entrapta’s throat.

Hordak’s body does not-cannot- obey his will, despite how fast his heart is racing. He pleads, begs, grovels like the worthless creature he is, all for the wretched hope of saving her. The one being in the entire universe who truly made him...complete. The sound her neck makes when it snaps is deafening in his ears, her killer dropping her lifeless body to the floor seconds later.

An anguished howl rips through the air as the monster approaches once more. Unable to lash out, blinded by hatred and tears, he does not even realize what is happening. There is pain and then...Nothingness.

Three days later, clone HK-001 still exhibits near-constant ocular discharge despite successful reconditioning. No cause is determined, and the Empire does not waste resources on defects. HK-001′s termination is carried out efficiently, while the conquest of Etheria begins in earnest. A small creature with no voice of its’ own looks up at the stars and the massive fleet that nearly blots them out, clutching an engraved crystal in its’ hands. Waiting.

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

(GOOD END I)

Horde Prime is dead.

Princess Entrapta of Dryl claims his body, empire, and army by right of conquest. There isn’t much left of the first by the time she finishes experimenting with it, but the treasure trove of data provided is invaluable to the field of xenobiology. And to the new Empress’s Consort. Who loves her very much and made that perfectly clear once they’d gotten past the post-fight sex in the throne room and the temporary awkwardness that followed.

She’s got fleets full of new and fascinating technology, infinite galaxies to explore, masses of clones to study; (Watching them adjust to the idea of individuality is fascinating, there’s already an entire ship’s crew who started wearing maroon after spending an afternoon with Scorpia.) Her Lab Partner is right there with her, working on projects, trading theories and ideas even while lying in bed with Imp curled up in her hair and Emily in sleep mode in the corner.

Some of her friends don’t quite...understand her choices, but they also don’t have the power or authority to stop her anymore. That they’re still her friends after a regicide means a lot, even if the bi-monthly Princess Meetings involve a lot of dirty looks being thrown in Hordak’s direction. Which he ignores. Pointedly. Without breaking anything, even! Which she definitely needs to check off on her progress list for Social Experiment 51-B. Life, in the simplest possible terms, is ‘good’. Entrapta intends to keep it that way. Besides, a being who couldn’t accept that imperfections and accidents were what allowed scientific progress and the driving principles of the universe to move forward was far better off as a test subject.

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

(GOOD END II)

Hordak freezes at the sight of the apparent ‘ghost’ for only a moment before rage draws him back into its’ black, razor-edged pit. The rebel archer miscalculates and winds up dangling by his neck in a choking grip. “You DARE to use that shapeshifter’s tricks?” He snarls, eyes practically emitting heat from sheer force of will alone. “What -hgk- do you-?”

“Do not LIE to me. Entrapta is dead.” They will regret this decision, for he will wring out their apologies along with their screams for mercy. But first. “And you are delaying my extermination of her murderer.” Catra will pay. For every action she had done, every lie told, every second of time she wasted while Entrapta was sent and abandoned to die on Beast Island. (It has been five Etherian seven-day units of time. No sentient being could have survived that long.) His grasp is suddenly surrendered when Double Trouble uses the existing rope-line and their imitation prehensile hair to swing down and tackle him to the ground. The attempts he makes at ripping the face off of this pretender end with his wrists bound above his head, growling in impotent fury.

“Hordak! I found the First Ones’ database at the centre of Beast Island! It’s a technological wonder-pure information buried in the midst of a sentient hazardous waste disposal site that slowly paralyzes and consumes any being exposed to it.” A pause for breath is accompanied by a tiny shudder that most people...probably wouldn’t notice. “Anyway, Bow and Adora showed up in a spaceship-I totally need to study it properly later- and I rescued them even though they were supposed to be rescuing me, there was this weird guy who ate bugs and oh! I made a new friend. She’s really great and didn’t have any problems with me sitting in her mouth.” Entrapta tilts her head at him, looking mildly confused and then hesitant. “You...really didn’t abandon me?” The question is quiet, a complete departure from her energetic explanations. She seems almost scared of what his answer might be, hair releasing his wrists now that he’s stopped struggling.

Hordak is stricken, tears welling in his eyes as he carefully sits up. He didn’t notice the changes in her appearance before, the indications that she couldn’t possibly be the form-changing mercenary. If this is another lie, and he is about to be killed for believing it, then he no longer cares. His fingers slowly, gently caress the hair along her scalp. “No. Never.” He’s never known her to be particularly fond of touching people with any part of her body aside from her hair...Yet they wind up with her arms around his shoulders and his around her waist. “I have been an utter fool.” Hordak murmurs, the upper half of his face resting against her left shoulder. “Believing you were a traitor from the start. Catra is a proven liar, and you...” The words catch in his throat for a moment. He has never done this before. Had neither wanted nor needed to until now. With her. “Entrapta. I need you.” Somehow he gathers the courage to meet her eyes and finds them as moist as his, but she also looks...pleased?

Entrapta sniffles. “I kind of gave up on you while I was imprisoned. Bow offered me some good advice, though.” She smiles, even if it’s a touch shaky. “Hey, we’re both imperfect, right? Just means we need to keep working on it.” She considers the question a success when he laughs softly and smiles at her in turn, their foreheads coming to rest against one another. Hm. His armor is missing the central crystal. She’ll have to ask about that, locate it, and tell him what the writing on it translates to. She loves him too, and he deserves to know it as an absolute proven fact. In time, they’ll rebuild what is broken (The Fright Zone is a mess, for starters.). When nothing arrives to block out the stars, no further attempts to contact Horde Prime are made. They have enough to keep them busy for a very long time. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(A/N: In Bad End II Entrapta is unconscious the whole time because I am a firm believer that she is capable of murdering him in 2.5 seconds. Especially if he has the alien equivalent of a jugular or carotid artery. So originally I was going to add reactions from Bow and Glimmer in Good End II buuuuut this is already decently long and their dialogue would have boiled down to Bow quietly squeeing, Glimmer going WTF?!, Entrapta being cheerfully blunt and Hordak scowling because You’re Interrupting A Moment, Godsdamnit.  Horde Prime accidentally flew into a black hole or something, IDK. One last thing. I’ve never written a neurodivergent character (coded or otherwise), so if I have butchered Entrapta’s character and/or written something that is offensive; I deeply apologize and will look to correct this if provided with constructive criticism.)

#entrapdak #sorry for starting with sad stuff but I wanted this to have a happy ending #Horde Prime is his own f*cking trigger warning lbh

[blueplanettrash]

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?

If you couldn’t tell, this is based on this Hamilton song. This is an AU of We’ll Meet Again, where they were able to defeat Zarkon when he attacked Altea but Sheeva still didn’t survive.

Let me tell you what I wish I'd known. When I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control. Who lives. Who dies. Who tells your story?

His father always told him that when he thought he was about to do something impulsive; something that could have dire consequences. He never thought about what it could mean for him.

When he first heard what Sheeva was going to do, he begged him not to go back into the fight. He had already had his fair share of suffering; he lost his arm for star's sake!

“Alluran, I have to this!” He pleaded with him to understand. Alluran shook his head, just barely suppressing the sob that wanted to tumble out.

“You’ll be killed Sheeva! Look around! We’re lucky to be alive right now and you want to throw that luck straight out the window!” He cried, gesturing to the large bay window in his bedroom. Just over the horizon, they could see smoking rising. Zarkon was closing in on the capital and it wasn’t long before he knew the soldiers would be sent out. The Lions had already been sent away in case the battle didn’t stay on Altea.

“How can I just sit here and wait!?” He demanded angrily pacing around the room. Alluran watched him, his heart aching. He glared down at the ground, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I know I can’t stop you,” he said quietly. Sheeva stopped pacing and looked over at the Crown Prince. “I just wish I didn’t have to,”

Sheeva gulped. “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,”

“Alluran,” he tried, trailing forward slightly. Alluran shook his head and turned away from him.

“As soon as you walk out of that door, you forfeit all rights to my heart,”

Sheeva let out a short gasp of surprise. He clenched his fists tight in indecision but ultimately headed for the door. Alluran’s legs shook with the want to fall to the floor and sob but he held strong.

Sheeva stopped at the door and looked back at Allurance.

“I’ll see you on the other side of the war, my love,”

Every other paladin's story gets told. Every other paladin gets to grow old.

Sheeva died in the battle for Altea. He died distracting Zarkon long enough for Alfor to get the final blow in.

His father died in the battle as well. Alfor knew that Zarkon wouldn’t stop until he was dead and he was right. With his last dying breath; Zarkon stabbed him straight through the heart. Then there was nothing.

There were no screams.

No fanfare.

Only silence for miles.

The soldiers took away their killed and wounded. They delivered the news to their families as soon as possible.

Lance didn’t find out about Sheeva’s death until months later. There was no indication where he was buried, whether he was in a mass grave, where his belongings were, or if he had any final wishes. It was as if they had simply forgotten him.

It was true that Shiro wasn’t as well liked as some of the other soldiers. He was opinionated, he had questions about every decision that was made by his higher-ups. People thought that he was taking advantage of being a future paladin and thought that he was better than regular soldiers.

It wasn’t true. It was never true. If they truly knew Sheeva, they would know and they would be ashamed to even think that.

Every other paladin received the highest honours, their war stories shared across the galaxy but not Sheeva. Why? Why didn’t they give him the credit he deserved? Even if Sheeva had a say in the processing, he wouldn’t have pressed for his name to be remembered. He just wanted to make a difference and he was shunned for it; by both the military and the civilians.

But when you're gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame? Who tells your story? Who tells your story?

Alluran

I put myself back in the narrative.

He couldn’t let Altea forget Sheeva. There was so much that they just didn’t understand, that they didn’t ever consider.

They never looked past their own egos. They didn’t see that he was helping them. That he wanted to make their lives better but because he wanted to change things he wasn’t worth listening to.

I stop wasting time on tears. I live another fifty years. It's not enough.

There was a time and a place for grief. That time had passed. He gave his fair share of tears, he spent his fair share of nights awake, aching for his love. He let himself fall apart and cry himself to sleep each night. But he knew that he was the only one that would fight for Sheeva’s memory, he was the only one that wouldn’t forget about him so easily.

I interview every soldier who fought by your side. I tell their story.

He talked to whoever he could. Anyone that had any contact with Sheeva, he wanted to know. He found Sheeva’s closest friends, they mourned alongside him. They told him all the good things Sheeva wanted to accomplish after the war was won.

They shared stories of the war, told everyone that would listen about the sacrifices that were made.

I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings. You really do write like you're running out of time.

Sheeva always wrote down everything, his arguments to commands, what he thought should change, who he thought should change. No matter what it was, he wrote it down.

His arguments made people question his loyalty, his notes made people think twice. He had everything from current events that he believed needed to change for the better, for future projects that would have revolutionized the planet.

I rely on Allura. While she’s alive, we tell your story. She is buried in the Castle gardens near you. When I needed her most, she was right on time.

He would never be able to thank Allura enough. She was patient and understanding. It nearly broke him when he lost her as well. A virus they said and she fought for so long but it wasn’t enough.

He had her buried in the Castle’s gardens, where he had Sheeva’s memorial placed.

She helped him whenever he needed, she never turned him away.

And I'm still not through I ask myself, "What would you do if you had more time?"

Whenever he thought about his progress, he thought of Sheeva and what he would have been fighting for if only he were alive. It always felt like more to Alluran, like he couldn’t do nearly as much as Sheeva would accomplish. It never mattered though, as long as he was continuing his fight, he was doing more than most after the war.

If only he had been given more time, just a little bit more and he would have changed the world. Maybe even the universe if he was given the opportunity. There wasn’t anything Sheeva couldn’t do if he put his mind to it and he believed in his own abilities.

It was always Alluran’s favourite thing about him; he never hesitated as long as he was confident in his ideas.

The Lord, in his kindness. He gives me what you always wanted. He gives me more time.

He’s lasted far longer than any of his friends, he lost his sister, his mother wasn’t going to be here much longer. He wasn’t going to waste the gift he was given though; he still had so much more to do.

He would fight in Sheeva’s place. Help him accomplish what he wasn’t able to in his lifetime. He would be the soldier this time.

I raise funds in the Capital for Father’s monument. I tell his story.

Sheeva always admired King Alfor. He wanted to learn everything about him, wanted to always be by his side. There wasn’t a soldier in the Altean army that was more loyal. If he had known that Alfor perished in the battle, he would never let anyone forget his sacrifice.

The council wanted to forget about the war completely; write off the entire thing like it was a tragic accident so they wouldn’t have such a stain on their history. Instead, Lance fought for a monument to commemorate the soldiers that fought valiantly for their planet. To give them the credit they were due.

He gained the favour of the public and the planning started.

It’s not enough.

I speak out against slavery. You could have done so much more if you only had time.

When Alluran first heard the word hoktril, it ran a shiver straight up his spine. The council was presented with the invention and right away were intrigued. But Alluran fought, he argued and defended the rights of his people until his very last breath.

Yes, the council had more power over the royal family but Alluran never gave up. He fought to unite the people, show the cruelty that was involved, showed them their Altean roots.

He won that fight.

The council was replaced.

But it’s not enough.

And when my time is up, have I done enough? Will they tell our story?

He thought about his progress too much. He thought about if was doing enough, if they would finally put Sheeva in the history books alongside his parents and sister. Or even if he was going to be remembered after his death.

Why wasn’t he able to do enough? When does he earn his legacy? When does he earn Sheeva’s legacy?

Will it ever be enough?

Oh. Can I show you what I'm proudest of? I established the first private orphanage in Altea.

Everyone was affected after the war; there wasn’t a single person who hadn’t lost something dear to them. He wanted to do what he could for anybody but the ones he tried to help the most were the children.

Before the war, there weren’t many children that didn’t have parents, or at least some sort of family left. He saw them begging on the streets, just hoping that one day they’d be picked up and taken care of. He couldn’t just leave them alone, they deserved a life.

He planned the entire construction himself, got the public involved, spread awareness of the problem, had volunteers flooding the centre. He stood outside the building, hands on his hips, it was his crowning achievement.

It’s not enough.

I help to raise hundreds of children. I get to see them growing up. In their eyes I see you, Sheeva. I see you every time.

Getting to be a part of their lives made up for the ache in his heart.

Seeing their perspective change because of a small thing he did for them was worth more than anything. Many of them came to his home beaten down, but he saw the hope come back over time.

He found Kei wandering the streets one day, dirty, thin as a stick and glaring at anything that moved towards him. He couldn’t plan him; the public became unkind especially to a child with a Galran parent. Even though he was also half Altean, they didn’t show him any kindness. He approached carefully, drawing his cloak hood down to reveal his face. As he thought he was instantly recognized and the child fell to his knees, shaking, apologies spewing out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry-if I had known p-please don’t h-hurt me,” tears rolled down his cheeks and he kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Alluran frowned and gently pulled his face up to look at him.

“Do you need help little one?” He asked simply. Kei only looked at him in shock before he burst into sobs and nodded his head frantically. Alluran gave him a soft smile and gently picked him up. He weighed practically nothing in his arms

He made a life for himself, he found friends; Pera and Hun. They both lost their parents in the war as well and they became a united front. He would never tell the others but they were secretly his favourites.

And when Kei finally looked up at him like he had found peace in the world that had wronged him, he thought.

‘Have I finally done enough?’

And when my time is up. Have I done enough? Will they tell my story?

He laid on his deathbed. Dozens of the orphans he helped raised surrounded him, some were approaching the middle of their lives; others were just barely children. He made a difference in their lives.

But was it enough?

Would they tell his story to others? Would they tell their families about what he had done?

Will they remember?

It wasn’t nearly as scary as it thought it would be to die. Kei was there, so was Pera, and Hun. More than anything, he didn’t want to leave them alone. They had families now, yes, but it didn’t erase the love he had for them for the last fifty years.

Kei reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling it closer so he could nuzzle it. Tears fell on Alluran’s hand; he wanted so desperately to wipe his tears away, tell him that it was going to be okay but he knew his time was up.

“It’s okay Pa, you can let go,” Kei whispered with a quivering smile.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again. It's only a matter of time.

He remembered the first time he even saw Sheeva. They were both young; he was in basic training and Alluran was doing etiquette lessons in the gardens. He was minding his own business about to take a sip of tea, back straight, fingers on the handle and eyes directed to his cup. But then a regiment jogged past and his eyes snapped to them.

Immediately he met equally wide, cool silver eyes and he was lost. His teacup ended up in his lap and Sheeva tripped over his own feet and slammed into the ground.

Alluran shrieked and hopped away from his chair and danced around the garden trying to cool the hot tea all over his clothes and skin. His governess hadn’t been pleased but there was only so much you could do when your charge was hopping all over the yard.

At least he found him.

Tears slid down his cheeks as he stared up at the ceiling. Kei let out a concerned whine and leaned over him.

“It’s okay Kei,” he whispered reassuringly. “I’m just thinking of him,” Kei nodded in understanding. His breathing started getting shallow and his eyes started to slip shut. His life flashed before his eyes, Sheeva smiling at him from across the courtyard, coming back after a long mission, or sneaking into their bedroom with a bouquet of flowers.

He couldn’t wait to see him again, eventually, he would.

With his last breath, he whispered “We’ll meet again darling,”

Will they tell your story? Who lives, who dies, who tells your story? Will they tell your story? Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

#langst #shance #lance #lance mcclain #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #shiro #takashi shirogane #altean lance #altean shiro #hamilton au #hamilton #We'll Meet Again #song fic #war #sheeva #alluran #fanfic

[eeveedel]

Hey all, I’m back with another rec list, this time of some really fabulous d/s fics! This is a big list and broken down by tropes, AND I marked which ones are sub Louis (SL) versus sub Harry (SH) this time around. I hope you enjoy! 

Established Relationship 

mr. tomlinson by iwillpaintasongforlou (4k) (SL) 

Louis is a billionaire CEO who makes grown men cry and rival companies crumble. He's also an omega. Harry is the quiet cupcake of a man he calls his alpha and the only one who gets to see Louis as anything less than fearsome.

Give Me What I’m Begging For by zedi (5k) (SH)

Omega Harry is a professor at a uni. Louis is his alpha mate, whose rut is coming up soon, so Harry has to take a week off from school to be with Louis. He tells his students it's a vacation but they all can tell the truth and tease him about it. Then Louis' rut comes and they both spend a week at home to fuck it out.

Taste and Plead by larrymylove (3k) (SH) 

The one where Harry wants something, and Louis' never been one to deny his boy anything.

With your body wrapped in stars by starryeyedkids (3k) (SL) 

They had a rule.

The moment they stepped foot inside their rooms, they stopped being King Louis William and his Consort Harry Edward. They were just Harry and Louis here, husbands, partners, equals. No rules of the court or propriety applied here. It wasn’t improper here for Louis to kneel at Harry's feet while wearing a collar made of gold.

Harry nods.

“Very well. You have fifteen minutes to shower and put in the plug I left on the bathroom counter. No need to dress afterward. When you come back, kneel next to the chair on my right. You may go.”

Howls Like a Beast (You Flower, You Feast) by indiaalaphawhiskey (16k) (SL) 

France, 1754. Château de Versailles.

“You don’t love me,” Louis had said, utterly blasé as he callously fractured the heart of a Harry that was just barely eighteen.

“I do,” Harry had insisted pleadingly, green eyes already watering.

Louis had rolled his eyes, exasperated and flippant in the way only beautiful, young boys could be when faced with the affections of a baby prince. He had run his finger down Harry’s cheek then, had forced him to look into his eyes as he delivered the final blow.

“You’ll change your mind once you’ve seen more of the world,” Louis had teased, pressing a brutally delicate kiss onto Harry’s lovely, pure cheek. “Once you’ve been properly defiled.” He had whispered filthily, delighted by the gasp he heard, the frantic pink blush that had rested high on Harry’s cheeks, the power he had felt at knowing he could make the Crown Prince squirm.

Daddy kink

a million roses (bathed in rock n roll) by deLILah (30k) (SH)

au. harry sings in smoky dive bars; louis misses his flight home. they go to coney island in the morning.

(aka - harry is lana del rey, and louis makes him a star.)

Precious little thing by mercutionotromeo (21k) (SH) 

Niall grins deviously and hits “make call”, putting his phone on speaker. They lean in close to peer down at the screen, heads knocking lightly together. Dull rings reverberate quietly around the room and mix with the monotonous buzz of the lights. It rings for a while - maybe six or seven times - then the other line picks up.

There’s a slow, steady inhale, and a low voice purrs, “Hi, sexy.”

Jesus - this guy has barely said two words, and both of them have made Harry's cock twitch in his jeans. That’s not even getting to what those words are, and why he’s saying them, and how Harry’s stomach is dropping into his shoes at the mere thought of him saying... other words. Words like “cock”, and “please”, and “come”.

Also known as: a university AU featuring phone sex operator Louis, copious amounts of sweet, soft kink discovery, and Louis being Harry's Daddy.

White Pages, White Lace, Big Hands, Pretty Face by thechesirepussycat (WIP - currently at 72k) (SL) 

“He touches his sides, his neck, his lips, all the places Harry has just been, all the places that still tingle from Harry’s touch. Such a strange feeling Louis has, so unreal and nerve-racking. He can’t begin to describe what Harry has done to him, what about Harry makes Louis want to call him… Daddy.“

Or, a gratuitous Sugar Daddy!Harry and Student!Louis AU.

Loving You is Free by littlelouishiccups (67k) (SH)

Louis is a workaholic record label CEO who hasn't been on a date in nearly a year. Niall and Liam make an account for him on a sugar dating website as a joke. And then Louis meets Harry.

daddy daddy cool by sky_reid (6k) (SH)

Harry wakes up hard.

Run and I’ll Give Chase by Madalynn_Bohemia (24k) (SH)

“You go out every night and maybe you’re able to drink without hurting anyone, but you’re still thirsty, aren’t you? Still have an itch you can’t scratch. A need you can’t put a name to. You desire a companion.”

“You mean a keeper?” Harry corrects with venom in his voice. “Someone to put a leash on me.”

“Wouldn’t need a leash, love.” Louis whispers sensually, and he is suddenly behind Harry, too fast for his eyes to keep track of. “You’re practically pliant just by being in my presence. Of course, if you’re into that sort of thing, I could always get you a lovely collar with a matching leash once you decide to take me up on my offer.”

Or, Harry is a fledgling vampire without a maker. Louis is graciously offering to fill that role.

Punishment Heavy

know you got that thing (that I like) by lightseep (15k) (SL)

In all the ways he thought about their reunion going, watching Louis finger himself open was not on the list.

Beside Me Like a Silhouette by domeasspreadsheet (3k) (SH)

“Quite the ruckus from someone who thought they were coming home to a sleeping household,” Louis says on an exhale of smoke.

Oh. Harry has been set up.

“Well, maybe if I hadn’t thought you were bailing on me I would have tried harder to be quiet,” he huffs.

Louis levels his gaze at him. “Is that so?”

Call Me Shallow But I Am Only Getting Deeper (7k) (orphaned) (SL)

Harry gripped the back of Louis’ chair and rested his left hand against the table’s surface. He slowly arched his back and let his lips hover just above the shell of Louis’ ear. Louis instantly reacted to Harry’s change of demeanor, his shoulders subconsciously pulling back. A smirk twitched the corner of his mouth when Louis’ thighs slightly parted.

“You want to keep acting like some bratty princess?” Harry quietly asked, lowering the tone of his voice. He slipped his hand from the back of Louis’ chair and clasped it around the nape of Louis’ neck. “Fine,” Harry gently squeezed, “That’s exactly how I’ll treat you, Baby.”

OR

The one where Louis is a brat so Harry spanks him with a riding crop.

Naughty Girls Get Spanked by Erin94 (4k) (SL)

When Louis gets caught trying to steal a trophy from Harry for his sorority, he ends up having a lot more fun than he had planned.

Or the one where Louis wears panties and gets spanked and fucked by frat boy Harry.

Kink Exploration

I Only Ever Want You by itsmiz (180k) (SL)

Louis and Harry's relationship goes through a series of changes while Liam and Zayn discover new things about themselves, as well.

Or: Louis & Harry and Liam & Zayn begin to have sex in front of each other and a lot of kink-discovery results from that.

Sugar, With Just the Right Amount of Spice by ZiamsLarry (6k) (SL)

Harry’s old fashioned when it comes to sex, he loves being face to face with his partner, watching their reactions to everything Harry gives them. He never does anything else then fuck in missionary position. Louis loves his sex life with Harry - but he’s getting a bit bored with doing the same position, all he really wants is for Harry to be rough with him, take control and dominate him for once.

Switch Out The Batteries by istajmaal and LoadedGunn (88k) (SH)

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Sex dice?"

"Yup," Louis nods. "You know the ones we sell, one die for a body part and the other for an action to perform on that… part."

"Isn't that what old married couples buy from you to spice things up?"

Louis frowns and opens his mouth to tell Harry off, but then he catches his absolutely dreamy expression and can only laugh. "Yes dear, we're just like any middle-aged married couple. Except for the fact that we're in our twenties and have a box full of bondage gear under our bed."

Two years after meeting in a sex shop, Harry's just returning to Louis from a month-long tour in the States, and they come up with a wholesome bonding exercise.

a cage for every ugly spirit by sarcasticfluentry (15k) (SH)

First-year uni student Harry gives up orgasms for Lent, featuring a cock cage and weekly prostate milkings on Sundays. Warning for religion kink.

Reduce Me to a Pleading Cry (Break the Skin and Tantalize) by taggiecb (37k) (SH)

As the CEO of Styles & Styles, Harry Styles cuts a brooding and handsome figure at the helm of a very successful business. His reputation for intensity is well known, but you would be intense, too, if you had to work numbers all day, give countless orders, and conduct endless meetings. When all you really want to do at night--ache to do--is give away the reins, let someone else make the decisions, be ordered around for once, just--let go. Harry has reached his breaking point when one touch from a man whose very stance commands attention leads him back to a place he thought he’d never return.

Or Harry is a broody submissive boss, Louis is a natural dom who works in the mail room at Styles & Styles, Niall is a matchmaking oracle, and a slender, dark haired man stands mute at the coffee stand encouraging others to spill their secrets.

Something in the World Today by whoknows (48k) (SL)

It shouldn’t be a surprise, the first time that Louis drops to his knees in front of Harry. It shouldn’t be, because it’s been something that Louis has needed for a long time. It shouldn’t be, because he’s been crawling out of his skin for weeks on end. It shouldn’t be, because Harry always makes him feel better. It shouldn’t be, because he’s needed this even when he didn’t know that he needed it.

Somehow, it still is.

Arranged Relationship/Born a Dom or Sub 

The Brat and the Tamer by Teddy1008 (18k) (SL)

No one can tame Louis Tomlinson. There’s only one word to describe him - brat. He’s been auctioned multiple times and returned every time. It seems like there’s no hope to tame the bratty Sub. That is, until a man with curls and piercing green eyes appear. Harry Styles.

Not that the man will change anything. Pfft. Of course not.

When I need you, I need it quickly by marvelous_things (160k) (SL)

"His wrist almost numb, Louis practically dissolves into the pillow, panting and guilty as can be, his belly splattered with his own come. He wipes himself off with a tissue and rolls over, only vaguely satisfied. And he thinks of how Harry might have actually done it – he might have actually ruined Louis, rendered him incapable of wanting anyone else...anything else.

And how terribly smug he would be if he knew."

or, the daddy!kink dom/sub au nobody asked for.

#larry fanfic rec #larry fanfiction #larry fanfic #god tier fic recs

[bucky-my-barnes]

Preference #1: How You Meet!

Tony:

Walking down the sidewalk minding your own business on the way to work you overhear a loud crash followed by a woman screaming. Throwing your phone in your bag you headed towards the screaming to see if you could help, you were a nurse after all. Upon reaching the scene you see a lady standing over a child who wasn’t moving and a car smoking against a fire hydrant that was spraying everywhere. Leaning down you wanted to tend to the child seeing he wasn’t breathing at all and covered in injuries.

Quickly you started administering CPR not noticing the sounds going on around you as something large clearly landed beside you. Coughing the child gasps for air, turning you see Iron Man next tp you. “Please take him to the hospital, I’ll phone ahead and tell them you are coming!”You pleaded with him taking the child and setting them in his suit covered arms.

Obviously you knew who it was, you did watch the news after all, and there was no one better to help than a Superhero! Seeing him nod and take off the jets thrusting him up into the air. For some reason you couldn’t help but hope you would see him again.

Steve:

A long time ago your parents had become in debt to the wrong people, and now you found yourself forced to be an agent of HYDRA. Not that you wanted to be of course, but it was the only way you could secure your little sisters freedom. Not only did they make you to hurt people, but they also forced you to undergo experiments at their whimsy. Unfortunately none of the powers you developed could hurt anyone, quite the contrary as you found yourself able to speed up cell growth and heal people. It also worked on plants which if you saw nature much might excite or even help you.

Stalking down the corridors doing your usual guard duty since they didn’t trust you to do much else at that point, you heard a loud banging followed by the alarms sounding. A breech was made somewhere, and that meant that you were now very much in danger from whatever force could infiltrate a HYDRA base. Someone wearing a red, white, and blue costume rounded the corner making you feel as if your heart was in your throat. Taking a deep breath you close your eyes and wait for what was going to happen next but nothing came.

“Drop your weapon and I won’t hurt you.”The deep voice rang out firmly causing you to drop it almost immediately. “Come with me you don’t have to do this.”He pleaded the look behind his eyes telling you that he was being truthful.

“I can’t they will take my sister if I leave.”You say biting your lower lip softly before taking off running in the opposite direction dreading the consequences you would face later for not addressing the threat.

Clint:

Coming out of the military, the Army to be specific you had no idea what you were going to do now that you were just a civilian. It felt weird to be out of fatigues and back into jeans but after serving your time and then some you were looking forward to having some sort of semblance of a life. Where the choices you made were your own, and you had a soft bed to sleep in at night especially the same bed every night. However as you walked around your old stomping grounds in New York you felt the ground start to rumble. Suddenly out of almost now where there were Chitauri everywhere to be seen, people screaming and things turning to chaos around you.

Grabbing your pistol out of your ankle holster you knew you only had a good six shots at most in it, so you would only use it when necessary. Quickly you began helping people get out of the way and into a place that would hopefully be safer. One of the creatures decided to try and take you out, so you quickly shot it in the head watching it drop to the ground in front of you. Unfortunately that kept you distracted long enough that you didn’t hear the one land behind you, and it swung out grabbing your leg forcing you into the air.

The next thing you knew you were hurdling towards the ground, an arrow now sticking out of it’s skull killing it immediately. There was nothing you could do but fall from that height and embrace your death… until you felt a pair of warm arms around you effectively catching you. “Falling for me already?”The blonde man asked with a chuckle.

Bruce:

Today was an exciting day because at your university there was going to be a couple of guest speakers to talk about the importance of studying science. While it wasn’t exactly the type of science you were studying which was Environmental Science, it was open to you as a science major. So when you had the chance to listen to two Avengers speak, there was no way you weren’t going to take on that opportunity. Opening the door you knew you were kind of early, but as you had always been taught to be. Taking a seat in the front row you didn’t even acknowledge that they were setting up on the stage.

Looking down at your phone you made sure to let your roommate know that you weren’t going to be home until later because of the talk. Hearing someone clear their throat in front of you jarred you from your current thought. Gazing up your (e/c) eyes met with soft brown ones in return, clearly this was Dr. Bruce Banner standing before you. “You are a little early aren’t you?”He asked with a clear amused expression.

“Well like my Dad always told me, if you are on time, you’re late. I guess it’s still ingrained in me today.”You replied blushing.

“He seems like a wise man.”Bruce chuckled before winking and walking back towards the stage after someone beckoned him.

Thor:

When Jane called you and asked you to help break her and some others into a top secret SHIELD facility you couldn’t believe your ears. So you met up where she asked you to randevu them just outside of the fenced in area. Opening the back of the van you set your tools down and began getting them situated. “Alright so does someone want to explain to me what is going on?”You begin looking to Jane and Darcy with a confused expression.

“Well (Y/N), I think it is best if he explains.”Jane said pointing to a blonde haired man now standing beside you. Curiously you turned your expression towards him to let him speak, although you were taken aback by how handsome he was.

“If I may Lady/Sir (Y/N), my name is Thor, and my hammer Mjolnir is being held captive in there. If I can just get to it, I can prove who I am. We need your help, Lady Jane here says that you are our only hope. Please, I beg of you.”He said falling to his knees before you.

“Thor, as in Norse mythology Thor?”You asked scoffing almost unable to believe his story, but a part of you wanted it to be true. “Alright lock and load, let’s do this before I change my mind.”You sighed leading the way, your bag of tools in tow.

Loki:

Running around with your sister Lady Sif when you were a child it was only natural that you would encounter the Princes’ at some point. It seemed your sister was infatuated with Thor even then, but you didn’t see what she saw. In fact it was Loki that caught your attention, he just had an air about him that appealed to you. You admired his intelligence, and the fact that he could wield magic even though you had never seen it in person.

However you would never utter those words, and you didn’t have to for he read your mind. It was shocking to him that you would prefer his company over his brothers, it wasn’t everyday that people even paid attention to his presence but here you were. “Would you like to accompany me to the gardens and see the flowers?”Loki asked holding out his small hand waiting for you to put yours in it.

“I would love to my Prince.”You smiled taking his hand giving him a little bow/curtsy before following him, your sister long since forgotten. Not that she noticed your disappearance anyway, too caught up in Thor.

Pietro:

It was rather quickly that the two of you met, it was when everyone was fighting Ultron, you being a mutant and in the area you decided to lend your help to the Avengers. Everything was going on so fast but luckily you had the power to slow down time so when you saw a white haired man going to protect another man and a child it was a clear recipe for disaster. Keeping time as slow as possible you teleported over grabbing all of them before teleporting away again, resuming time as normal. The bullets hit the concrete but Wanda didn’t know that she thought her brother was gone ending the fight once and for all.

“Y-You saved me.”Pietro said blinking still not quite sure what had happened but he was grateful to be alive to say the least. “Thank you, I can’t thank you enough.”He blurted out hugging you tightly before letting go.

“Keep out of trouble Speedy.”You chuckled before winking and teleporting back to Xavier’s school.

Peter Parker:

When your father told you he was going to enroll you in Midtown, Peter’s school so you could keep an eye on him it didn’t exactly sit well. Not only was Peter not even aware of your existence, but he had no idea your father wanted someone to watch over him. However when he offered to pay you a pretty penny and offered to finally build you, your own suit you couldn’t pass up that opportunity. He explained to the school who you were, and how you wouldn’t be going by your last name as he didn’t want someone to be able to threaten you if they knew who your father was. Then he requested that Peter be the one to show you around which they quickly agreed to, because let’s face it who turns down Tony Stark?

Leaving you to your own devices to wait for Peter you started to feel bad that he wouldn’t know why you were really there, or who you really were. That all melted away when you saw a cute boy with brown curly hair and a pleasant smile on his face. “Hi I’m Peter Parker, I assume you are (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)? I’m supposed to be showing you around today if that’s okay, it looks like we have the same schedule.”He said introducing himself holding his hand out for you to shake.

“That’s right, and that would be great Peter thanks!”You said as cheerfully as you could muster on a Monday morning taking his hand.

Bucky:

Tony had called you in to help someone as you had helped him many times before with his PTSD and other issues. When you were on the phone he didn’t sound exactly happy to be helping this person but said it was a personal favor for Steve or as the rest of the world knew him: Captain America. Walking into the building you knew it was serious when you were met with not only Tony but Steve and Sam as well. “Hello boys, to what do I owe the pleasure of being invited to Stark tower?”You ask trying to lighten the mood a little catching on that this was a source of tension so it could only be one person… The Winter Soldier.

“You see we need someone that Bucky can talk to that isn’t an Avenger, he is getting better in some ways and falling back in others. Every night he seems to have nightmares about the things he did for HYDRA and it wasn’t him.”Steve explained getting a scoff from Tony but when Steve glared at him he stuck his hands in the air defensively. Leading the way through the hallways you felt like there was pit in the depths of your stomach, it wasn’t fear...it was curiosity? Obviously you knew who he was and what he had done, specifically to Tony no less. However it was you that made him see the other side of things and brought them together.

Pushing you into a room Tony shut and locked the door behind you. “Well that was a little excessive Anthony.”You said receiving a scoff that almost sounded like a laugh from the other side of the room where Bucky sat. “Sorry he does seem to have a flair for the dramatic after all.”You apologized sitting in the chair across from him earning another scoff in your direction. “Alright let’s get down to business. I’m Dr. (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), I’m a psychologist, I’m not going to lie about why I am here. Your friends are worried, and I am here to help provided that you want me to.”You explain holding your hand out for him to shake.

“James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.”He said shaking your hand apprehensively.

Sam:

Working as a volunteer for the VA hospital was one of your more rewarding efforts that you had taken on. Ever since your brother was killed in action it was the thing that helped put you back together in the end. Currently you were going around asking people if they needed anything to drink or eat, pushing a snack cart along. Not paying attention you accidentally rammed someone with it rather harshly enough to send the handle back into your stomach. “Oh my goodness I’m so sorry!”You cried out rushing over to help the man off the floor. As he became eye level you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was, and that didn’t help the blush go away any faster. “I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing, are you alright?”You asked checking him for injuries.

“I’m okay, it’s really no big deal. It’s not everyday that I run into someone like you.”Sam said looking you up and down curiously. “I’m Sam, and it’s nice to see another dedicated volunteer, so much so that you didn’t see me coming.”He joked winking at you.

“I’m (Y/N), and this place really does miracles if you let it, not just for the Veteran’s it serves but for their families too.”You explained with a smile knowing that you could very easily become good friends with Sam.

Natasha:

How you got where you were today, you didn’t know but it wasn’t a happy place to be sure. It was a small dilapidated cell with a rotting mattress on the floor and a chamber pot in the corner. The only thing on the walls were the small tally mark scratches you had started to make just to keep track of the days, not that it mattered. It’s just where they kept you when they weren’t taking your blood, or injecting you with God knows what. Sure you had the power to manipulate the elements but you refused to hurt anyone, and that rubbed them the wrong way. More than once it led to them trying to torture you into using them, and last time it almost worked.

It was only a matter of time before they cracked you, and it was coming sooner rather than later. Hearing the door slam open you jumped and slid to the corner of the cell, even though if they truly wanted to get to you it would do no good. The cell opened and you closed your eyes hoping that the fear you were experiencing didn’t set off your powers. Instead you heard a woman’s voice which was new to you, usually it had been all males. “Are you okay?”The voice called again.

“Please don’t hurt me.”You said softly barely above a whisper, having not used your voice in what felt like years.

“I promise I’m here to help you, my name is Natasha. Let’s get out of here, what do you say to that?”She asked making you smile taking her hand.

“I think my name is (Y/N).”You said trying to recall what your parents had called you as a child for the first time in a long time you felt...safe.

Wanda:

Being the manager for The Avenger’s was fun to say the least, but they did not make it easy by any stretch of the word. Tony called you and the others in because he and Fury were going to introduce the two newest additions to the initiative. Great two more people to chase after to make sure they weren’t doing something they weren’t supposed to do. A PR nightmare in the waiting is what you kept thinking before you walked into the room seeing the most beautiful woman you thought you had ever seen. Clearing your throat you put on a smile and tried not to think about her knowing full well she could read minds after reading her file.

“Ah right on time as always (Y/N)”Tony said with a smile motioning for you to come closer. “This is our manager, so please take it as easy on her as possible. We all make her job so much worse than it has to be I’m afraid.”He said introducing you with a laugh.

“I’m Wanda, and this is my brother Pietro.”The woman said introducing them with a timid smile, one just like it mimicked on her brothers face.

“It’s nice to meet you both, don’t worry I’m sure we will be good friends. I am just here to try and keep you guys out of trouble, or deal with it if you can’t.”You said letting out a giggle, seeing them both physically relax a little seeing that you weren’t a threat of any kind. “It’s definitely understandable to be a little tense after all you have been through, please if you need anything let me know.”You said sincerely.

#tony stark x reader #clint barton x reader #bruce banner x reader #thor odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #peter parker x reader #steve rogers x reader

[its-love-u-asshole]

Twelve Hours [Ch. 6]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou has dealt with a lot since he was eighteen, each year bringing the same depressing challenges on the same depressing night. He expects this time to be no different, but the universe is trying desperately to prove him wrong in the most bizarre ways imaginable. So screw it, Kuroo’s only choice is to buckle in and hope he doesn’t die. Easy enough. And hey, with some new allies at his side, maybe he has a chance. Who knows? At least Kuroo is sure of one thing in life when it comes to March 15th, and he stands by this unwritten law, no matter what happens:

If you try to kill pizza delivery boys on Purge Night, you’re irrevocably a bitch.

Rating: T

Tags: Purge AU, mentions of violence but nothing graphic or too bad, no character deaths here okay, this is borderline crack and idk what I was thinking, first meetings, other characters, shenanigans and just…a lot of fun (it seems angsty but its not)

Note: Yay, I got through hell chapter lol. Action scenes are the worst, let me tell you, but I hope everyone enjoys this update! I think the pain was worth it... Big thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over! 

AO3

There was nothing quite as jarring as waking up one morning, everything as normal and mundane as the last, only to find the human right to living had been tossed into a raging hellfire.

The announcement of the Purge and its passing had put a hold on Kuroo's thoughts; no more qualms about the homework he didn't proofread the night before, or the Poptarts burning in the toaster. Kuroo forgot them all, and would continue to ignore them until the burning turned to smoke and sent the alarm blaring through his eardrums.

No, Kuroo had just stared at the television, life knocked off the rails with no hopes of finding the previous track ever again. He never thought anything would be quite as disorienting as that, but he had to admit, getting hit with a car came pretty fucking close.

The next hit caused him to lurch forward, and the seatbelt dug into the skin of his neck. He couldn't see anything except flashes of headlights and blurred faces, but he needed to snap out of it, needed to get control where he could.

Thank god Terushima wasn't a completely hopeless driver.

"Yuuji, back up! Back up!" Futakuchi yelled, and the blind trust which existed between them paid off. Terushima put the car into reverse with jerky, but efficient motions, not stopping to question why or how come.

Thank god, or else their front would've been unsalvageable.

The other car, zipped past the windshield, barely missing them, before correcting itself again. The car might've been smaller, but that heavy armor was not fucking around and neither were the drivers.

In short:

"Fucking step on it!" Tsukishima ordered, finally finding his voice, and no one was going to not listen to that.

"Oh fuck, oh shit, oh--"

"Yuuji." A chorus of three voices sounded, panicked, but loud enough to make Terushima put his foot to the floor. They sped off in a haze of sparks and burnt rubber, tearing down the street onto a section of empty freeway. No one cared about staying on course. Right then, it was about getting out alive.

Alive...

Kuroo looked to where Tsukishima sat, instantly finding the sizable dent visible from where they'd first been rammed at the side. If the car had been any less secure...

Tsukishima, who'd also been marveling at his 'near death' marker, just laughed nervously. "I know this is a really bad time, but the shell of this car is amazing."

And Kuroo, despite the way his body lurched from a sudden turn, regardless of how he could see the sedan barreling behind them, couldn't help but laugh back. If he and Tsukishima still kept their humor through all this, maybe he'd be able to not think about the game of vehicular pinball they'd been forced into.

Maybe.

As if there to shatter that, the sedan revved its engine, now beside them, and--

"Shit!" Suga cried out as he leaped to the other side of the car, not caring about Yamamoto's personal space as the car angled itself to hit the driver side. It missed, but Kuroo doubted it would again.

Terushima broke hard, arm moving to pin Futakuchi against his seat as they all flew forward. Swearing, Terushima let the car get ahead of them for a split second before moving the van into a full u-turn, taking them down another desolate stretch of highway bridge.

Yamamoto barfed, but no one seemed to fault him for it.

And damn that stupid little sedan, it had no problem adjusting itself, already on their tail again.

"These people are insane!" Terushima's voice screamed over the screech of metal as he turned the wheel frantically, not caring where the car went as long as it was away. He looked over his shoulder, taking the van's accelerator to its limits and doing his best to block the other car.

"They know that!" Kuroo yelled, but it hardly mattered when they were grazed again, only somewhat saved by Futakuchi's quick thinking. The brunet grabbed the steering wheel, turning it sharply so they swerved off the adjacent exit.

Didn't help much.

"Fuck," Kuroo growled, weighing the pros and cons of asking Terushima to open a window so he or Tsukishima could shoot. But if the other car had guns, which they certainly did....

"Too risky, too..." Tsukishima muttered beside him, and it was only after a few seconds Kuroo realized he wasn't talking to him, but himself. His golden eyes flicked about the cabin, straying on the windows, scratching at the leather, anything which might lead him to a solution.

And that was when Kuroo realized the bitter truth. No matter how prepared he or Tsukishima had been for this night, no matter how much they knew what to expect, when moments like these actually came there was no room for rational thought. No amount of knowledge or planning would change the fact that as soon as danger arose, all thoughts flew out the window, and all that was left was pure instinct, and the will to live.

Ha. And he'd thought his bullet proof vest was gonna help. So rich.

"Go faster!" Suga begged, his voice breaking, and he clung to Yamamoto's jacket like a lifeline. Yamamoto just sat there, staring lifelessly ahead.

The engine revved. The sedan nudged their back bumper.

"I--I don't--this is as fast as it goes! I don't--"

"You don't know what you're doing!" Tsukishima practically snarled from the backseat, and to Kuroo's horror, he looked prepared to jump from his seat just to take the wheel for himself.

Tsukishima's belt was already off by the time Kuroo figured out that was precisely what he planned to do, and as Tsukishima rose from his seat, Kuroo's arms wrapped around his waist in a flash, pulling him down with a fierceness that shocked even him.

The next hit came, and they lurched forward, but Kuroo did not let Tsukishima leave his arms.

"Don't ever do that." Kuroo's voice quivered, and he knew it wasn't an order, or laced with anger.

Tsukishima didn't take it as such either, just squirmed in Kuroo's arms until their eyes could meet, hand on Kuroo's pulse, frantic. "We have to do something! They're going to run us off the road if we don't--"

"There's no way I'm letting that tiny piece of shit run us off the road! Fuck that," Terushima hissed, following the curve of another ramp. He hit part of the median, taking the turn too fast, and his side mirror snapped off. "Dammit!"

"Hey did you not see what kind of car that is? Be realistic," Tsukishima scolded, and as usual, Terushima wasn't having it.

"So what? I've got just as much thick plating on this car as--"

"No, it's a fucking Honda!" At this point, Tsukishima was so enraged, he slapped his hands against the seat on either side of Kuroo's head, his voice distraught and gargling. "Don't underestimate people who drive Hondas, they're vindictive little bitches and they're not going to give up!"

"Oh my--shut up!" Futakuchi screamed back. "Whatta you know? Do you drive a Honda?"

Tsukishima leaned forward in Kuroo's arms, not minding the constraints as he growled back. "Yes smartass, I do."

Sure enough, what was supposed to be an insult quickly dissolved into a revelation. As soon as Futakuchi made the connection, his face showed it, the fact they were all fucked finally dawning on him. "Ah shit."

"Yeah, exactly," Kuroo couldn't help but add.

The car lurched again, and Kuroo took action, pinning Tsukishima to his seat until he got his seatbelt refastened. With that solved, he loaded up his gun, seeing no other way at this point.

"Kuroo, you can't." Tsukishima leaned forward, and Kuroo stubbornly pushed him back. "If they shoot back--"

"It's that or lose the car," Kuroo replied, fixing Tsukishima with an intense stare. The conflict showed on Tsukishima's face; he knew Kuroo was right. Even if they survived a crash and got away, being on foot during the Purge....

Unthinkable.

At this point, Kuroo was pleading."It's strong but it won't take many more hits like the first one. We're obviously not going to lose them, so--"

"Yes we are!" Terushima cried back, revving the engine to no effect. There were tears in his eyes. "I sacrificed so much to get to Takahashi and no one is ruining that for me!"

"Yuuji," Futakuchi begged, hand tightening on Terushima's wrist. "We can't--"

"I won't go back to my mom like this!"

Suga's head popped up from where he'd been hiding in Yamamoto's shoulder, eyes flashing with something pitiful.

Futakuchi only stared, hand falling away even as the car rocked. "Yuuji..."

Kuroo wondered if it was the gasoline in the air making his head cloud up.

Kuroo couldn't hold it against Terushima. His desperation, his refusal to be defeated...

Those were things which had been so strong in Kuroo at some point. To think he'd been robbed of them tore him in two. But they weren't gone completely, and his willingness to help Terushima proved that. It might cost him his life but, he wanted to be useful again, wanted to fight for something.

Kuroo's only regret would be that in the grand scheme of the Purge, his death would be nothing but a statistic delivered cheerfully by the morning news anchor. That, and he'd never be able to see Tsukishima again.

But no. No way. There had to be a way to get out of this...They just needed Terushima to--

"Well if these guys kill us, you won't go back at all," Tsukishima voice, cold but loud, rang through the car as blunt as ever. Suga winced, and Futakuchi looked close to berating him, but Tsukishima continued to shout. "I know it sucks, I know nothing is going to stop you from getting where you want to be...from your revenge! But don't be an idiot! All this means nothing if you end up dead on the side of the road, so quit whining!"

Kuroo looked to where Tsukishima's hands were curled at his side, shaking, and not from the car ride. Tsukishima related, perhaps too much, and Kuroo promised to stay alive just to find out how much so.

If only Terushima had listened.

Terushima's eyes widened, and he hit the steering wheel with his free hand, shaking his head. The blare of the horn rang out. The delusional muttering filled the car, and Kuroo knew it was over. "It won't catch us, it won't..."

Kuroo looked behind him slowly, just as the sedan found an opening.

Even as he tried to scold him, Tsukishima's voice had a fearful edge. "It will with your drivi--turn, turn!" Tsukishima's voice was too little too late though. Futakuchi reached for the wheel, his hand tightening over Terushima's as they turned it, but it was pointless.

The sedan had veered around them, risking it all to slide against them. Afraid and trapped, Terushima took the bait.

The tires screeched as Terushima turned them too quickly, the car spinning out until it connected with a pole. Kuroo wished darkness had settled in fast as soon as he grabbed Tsukishima's hand, but unfortunately, he stayed as aware as he'd always been, the crash whirling by in slow motion.

--

When he'd promised himself he wouldn't let go of Tsukishima, he had meant it, even if he had to be dragged out of the car with him and onto the rough pavement.

Even as hands tugged at Kuroo's shirt and kicked at his body, he stayed glued to the blond, and he didn't care when the ground scraped skin from his palm.

Tsukishima hissed as his elbow slammed against the cement from being thrown down, but didn't release Kuroo's other hand. Guess the feeling was mutual, or maybe Tsukishima needed something to steady him. Either way, Kuroo's hold tightened.

Don't do anything brash.

He couldn't say it, so he stared at Tsukishima, asking, begging for him to stay down.

The blond looked absolutely livid, and the only real reason he'd probably stayed put on the cold floor was the gun pointed casually at his chest. It sent fear rushing up Kuroo's entire body, and he moved to push himself in front of the weapon, only to be kicked down by a pair of cleats.

Kuroo coughed, and Tsukishima immediately pushed against the gun, drawing attention away from Kuroo.

So pathetic, Kuroo told himself. When would Tsukishima stop protecting all of them by himself? It wasn't fair to the blond. Kuroo should've been carrying some of that weight.

"I hate fighters, and you guys reek like 'em," the masked man spat, pushing the gun into Tsukishima's clavicle. Again, Kuroo watched as Tsukishima's eyes bulged in panic, but not from the fear of death. Despite the way the gun bruised porcelain skin, Tsukishima looked observant, clinical, his thoughts racing to get them out of this.

Kuroo had to do the same.

Kuroo's gun sat out of reach, and if he moved for the knife in his pant leg, he'd surely be noticed. This guy was too close to make a move...

Hopeful thoughts, too hopeful, raced in his mind.

Yeah. They could do this. Some kind of surprise attack? Maybe if one of the others could get free they could...

"Get off me!" He heard Suga snarl as he too was dragged from the wrecked car, and his glare didn't diminish when his body slammed against asphalt. His body trembled, afraid, but well, Kuroo could tell by now Suga did not like being controlled.

"Shut up!" One of the assailants said, one of four, from what Kuroo could now discern. The man made a move to slap Suga across the face, and he flinched, but it didn't stop the rage from bubbling out of his mouth.

"Fuck you! You first!"

Kuroo wanted to think he was an idiot. That he was too naive and this show of bravery would mean nothing if it got him killed. Kuroo always tended to think things like that, because admiring someone's actions during the Purge meant very little to him. What was the point?

But now, looking at Suga's dirt stained cheek and disheveled person, he felt nothing but respect.

At least Suga made some good impressions during the short time in this life.

Instead of punishing Suga though, the man looked to his friend, the smile on the mask conveying the sick cruelty well for once. So cliche, so stupid, and Kuroo was just as dumb, powerless to do anything except fling pointless insults in his head.

The other accomplice responded to the look by pointing both his guns to the huddled heap which was Terushima and Futakuchi.

Against his better judgement, Kuroo called out, demanding. "Get away from them!"

But no one bothered him with a glance, he wasn't going anywhere after all. Not with Tsukishima under the mercy of a gun. Trapped.

Suga's breathing trembled, and he stared, fixated on his friends as they were threatened for the first time.

Futakuchi sat there, curled up and hand clutching his head from the shock of the crash. Terushima's hand cradled his head too, as if the extra touch would solve all his ailments. Of course, it didn't. Futakuchi wasn't in any state to speak or look up at what endangered him, much less fight back. Not that Terushima would let him, from where he curled himself over Futakuchi, shielding him from both guns.

"See, that's what I thought," the assailant laughed, watching Suga's speechless face. He tapped the gun against Suga's cheek, but that didn't do much to change his expression. The shock stayed, persistent. "Whoops, I broke him."

The man next to Tsukishima, who Kuroo now noticed wore a striped tie, clicked his tongue. "They're no fun when they're like that. Gonna have to snap him out of it somehow..."

Tsukishima and Kuroo looked at each other helplessly, echoing each other's thoughts.

What do we do? We have to help them. We said we'd help them.

Tsukishima grit his teeth so hard Kuroo thought they might shatter, glancing between every member of the group of assailants.

Right. They knew what they were dealing with.

Striped Tie is here with us. Double Barrel hasn't moved from Terushima and Futakuchi...

The man currently prodding at Suga, who Kuroo referred to as Blue because of the god awful blueberry jeans he wore, only sighed.

But wait, there were four before...

Where--

"Hey Reo, maybe we should bring out their friend's body," Blue called out, his voice filled with a disgusting level of amusement which made Kuroo's blood run cold. "I'm sure that'll get a reaction."

Kuroo heard a choking noise, and barely processed that it came from him.

Terushima's body whipped around at the same time all their heads turned, looking back to their beat up van. Another man, Reo, sat against the side casually, fitting perfectly into a dent. Behind him, in the second row of seats, Yamamoto was hunched over, lifeless.

Kuroo's stomach twisted at the same time Tsukishima's head fell forward, disbelieving. The sound from Suga's throat was not human.

They'd failed. He'd failed. No one was supposed to--

"Yeah," Reo sighed, reaching in to pat Yamamoto's motionless form. "They can't all make it I guess."

"Don't touch him!" Tsukishima's head flew back up, and it was...it was scary enough to make even Striped Tie flinch a little. "I--I'll--"

But then, Terushima's weak tone broke through the dread drenched night. It reminded Kuroo of a whimper, and when Kuroo looked to him, he wished he hadn't. "W-wha--no. No, he's--"

The limbs holding onto Futakuchi had stiffened, as if Terushima's body were nothing but a sculpture. The only thing which told Kuroo the other hadn't just died from shock, was the trembling of his lip, the sheen of his eyes. "Yamamoto..."

In that moment, all Kuroo wanted to do was apologize, but he didn't know if he'd be given that chance.

I'm sorry you had to go through this.

Worst of all, Kuroo couldn't completely say he was surprised.

"Ah, it's the driver," Striped Tie laughed, unaware of the dread seeping into the group. He addressed Terushima, but Kuroo doubted the other heard any of it. His head had moved from Yamamoto's direction, fixed against the asphalt. "Good job by the way! That was a fun chase, you need to work on parking though. Maybe then your friend would've fared better."

Kuroo made a move to stand, to punch someone in the face, but Tsukishima's hand flew to his, pinning him there. Kuroo could feel the graininess of his palm, where the gravel had stuck.

No, Kuroo couldn't sit here. There had to be something he could do.

All his dumb internal advice about caution, rationale, and survival went down the drain. Someone was dead, someone he promised himself to watch over. Nothing mattered except saving the rest of them, some sick form of redemption he didn't have time to think about. Perhaps it was the selfish kind too, or the plain unwillingness to die himself.

Whatever it was, he had no time to be ashamed. He had to fight. If only Tsukishima would let go.

"Just let us go! Why do you even want us?" Suga shouted, and what a useless question, but it got the attention off Terushima.

"Why? Because we can," Double Barrel replied, shrugging like they'd just asked him what he wanted for dinner instead. “Two of us saw you dicking around at the gas station, you were easy targets.”

And yeah, Kuroo expected as much. Purging wasn't supposed to have a point. Not everyone listened to that, Terushima for instance. The point of the night was to release 'primal urges,' or that's what all the propaganda said. Killing for sport, essentially.

"For us," Blue jumped in, ruffling Suga's hair. "You were in the right place at the right time. A van full of idiots, perfect for purging."

"Not idiots," Tsukishima muttered beside him, seething, and Kuroo began to worry about how his shoulders shook. Upon looking down though, he noticed Tsukishima's fingers slowly scratching at the loose chunks of asphalt, suppressing himself with the cruel motions. No wonder his palms had been so rough...

Wait.

Kuroo hated the expressions about lightbulbs going off in people's heads, but it was the closest comparison right then. The chunks Tsukishima had managed to scratch free were medium sized, large enough to throw, to maybe obscure vision...

And yeah, it was a shit plan. A shit lightbulb. The goons were close by, even if they were just joking around with each other and not paying too close attention. If Kuroo managed to get it in Striped Tie's face, then great, he'd get shot by one of the others in the next second. But, he hoped the moment of distraction would let Suga or one of the others get the upper hand.

Even that wasn't a solid plan. None of them seemed in the right state of mind to think so fast.

But Kuroo had to try. If he could take one hostage then they'd have some equal footing...

In any case, he'd free Tsukishima, and that was a threat in and of itself.

Slowly, Kuroo moved to scoop up the rocks and pebbles, nudging Tsukishima's hand out of the way. But the blond's other hand clamped down on his, not allowing him to move.

One look at Tsukishima's face, and it became clear.

Ah, must've had the same idea as me then.

Kuroo almost laughed. Made sense, Tsukishima didn't seem like the type of person to do anything without reason, including digging up the floor.

Regardless, Kuroo's resolve was hard to move. He looked at the blond, taking in his features just in case. The darkness under his light eyes, the long eyelashes, the almost fully faded scar on his cheek which he hadn't noticed before...

He wished he'd been able to reach out and trace it, just once.

Let me do this. Let me help you this time.

Kuroo hoped his pleading carried through into his expression, willing Tsukishima to follow him for once. When the shaky hand against his loosened its grip, Kuroo knew they had an agreement.

Be safe.

That's really all he could hope for, the rest he left in Tsukishima's capable hands.

He steadied himself, put weight on his foot, and took his last breath, vision tunneling to see Striped Tie's laughing face alone.

This was his only shot, and he counted a few beats, letting the energy build in his muscles before rising up. 3...2...1...

Before he could lunge, or even move, a fist connected right against Reo's face, bringing all eyes to him.

Double Barrel hesitated, Blue dropped his gun, and Kuroo didn't take the time to comprehend how Yamamoto had manifested out of nowhere. He looked at Tsukishima, and from then it was all instinct.

Kuroo lunged at the same moment Tsukishima grabbed his gun from his back pocket, turning towards Blue and firing with no hesitation. And at this distance, those rubber bullets lost the label of 'non-lethal' real quick.

But Tsukishima didn't shake or tremble when Striped Tie was brought to the floor by Kuroo, only waited for Kuroo to roll a safe distance away before firing.

"H-hold it right there!" Double Barrel turned both his guns away from Terushima and Futakuchi, but it did him no good. He was distracted, aiming at Tsukishima when the real threat came from his side. All it took was Tsukishima hitting him in the leg for him to drop one gun, allowing Yamamoto to grab it.

The next few seconds were an eternity, but regardless, he didn't take his eyes off of Double Barrel as he lived his last moments.

"Wait, stop!" Double Barrel pleaded, but hadn't they all plead enough?

In the back of his head, Kuroo wished it would've been him firing the gun though, just for the sake of keeping Yamamoto the same man as before this night, but some things were not meant to be. It had to be done, this night couldn't go perfectly.

The Purge never did.

Fueled by pure adrenaline and protective instincts, Yamamoto fired straight into Double Barrel's head, ending it.

The gunshot rang out, echoing down the empty stretch of road. Tsukishima gasped lightly, finally lowering his weapon as his head cleared. Yeah, I know. The blond most likely realized all the things Kuroo had. Yamamoto was alive, but they still hadn't managed to save him in other ways. Somehow, Kuroo knew that disappointment would come back to them eventually, but at least it didn't weigh as heavy as blood.

Kuroo walked slowly towards Yamamoto's quivering form, hands raised. "Hey man, you got him. It's okay now..."

Or as okay as it could be.

"Tora," Suga whispered, walking past Kuroo, past the invisible perimeter he had marked. Unafraid. He didn't think Yamamoto would hurt him. "Time to put the gun down, alright?"

Kuroo felt Tsukishima come up behind him, also following the order by holstering his gun as well. Kuroo mouthed a silent thank you, but truthfully he couldn't express just how grateful he was.

All eyes were on Yamamoto, waiting, watching for some sort of reaction. Even Terushima looked stunned as he lifted Futakuchi to his feet, gaze flicking to every corpse on the floor.

Yamamoto looked between all of them slowly, then at Double Barrel's body, and at the gun in his hand. His eyes went from dead, to clear, to frantic, and he turned every which way, the realization dawning on him. He let the gun fall to the ground, then abruptly clutched at his stomach, and--oh. Oh okay yeah, he's puking. Awesome.

The shattering of frozen time didn't happen the way Kuroo expected, but come to think of it, this made perfect sense.

Yamamoto heaved, but after that car ride, not much was left in that stomach of his.

"What the fuck! Guys!" He threw his hands up, gesturing to the bodies and the blood on his jeans. He looked downright ridiculous. "There's so much--wha--look! All the--the blood. Oh my god--"

"Er...Tora..."

"Fuck! I just killed someone! Holy fuck, shit--"

"Yeah congrats," Tsukishima deadpanned, his face losing its concern in favor of the usual annoyance. "You seem just fine to me..."

"I know," Kuroo muttered, leaning into the blond. "They don't make criminals like they used to. Did they even check his vitals?"

"Apparently not."

"Hey assholes, I was out cold! It sure felt like I'd died," Yamamoto hissed, his hands moving across his limbs and abdomen. His panic turned into a delirious grin at the realization he had every piece intact.

"So what, you just woke up?" Tsukishima asked, walking towards where Suga was currently checking Yamamoto's head for worse injuries. Thick skull on that guy...

Yamamoto swatted Suga's hands away. "Pretty much, and then I saw all the guns and...yeah, I lost my shit when I saw you guys in trouble."

"You could have died," Kuroo scolded, but deep down, he was beyond thankful.

"That's a weird way to phrase 'hey Yamamoto, thanks for saving my life' but I'll take it," he replied with a sniff, and a poorly concealed smile. And well, how could Kuroo fight with that. He smirked, giving an appreciative nod.

"Fine fine," Tsukishima sighed. "But please, no scares next time."

"You do care!"

"Shut it."

It was then Futakuchi's groan captured their attention, the brunet rubbing at his head with dreary eyes."I don't know exactly what happened, but...we won yeah?"

Tsukishima arched a brow. "Are you alive?"

"Who knows."

"Good enough."

Terushima handed Futakuchi gently over to Suga before rushing to Yamamoto's side. He looked like he wanted to tackle him to the ground, hug him until he ran out of breath. But something made him falter in his step, like Yamamoto being alive was too good to be true.

He touched Yamamoto's arm, the flesh firm and real against his, and then he sighed, shaky and relieved all at once.

"Tora...you're really--you're not dead. Oh my god...you're not dead!" Terushima laughed, the tears beading in the corners of his eyes as he finally embraced his friend. "Thank god you're not dead! I'm...I'm so--"

"Shut it, you're still the best leader," Yamamoto said gruffly, rolling his eyes. "Even if you can't drive."

Terushima sobbed through his laugh, and Suga and Futakuchi joined in, huddling around the two. It made Kuroo smile, glad they could stay together.

Yet...

"There's still hours to go," Tsukishima whispered beside him, watching the makeshift family reunion with barely concealed wistfulness. He didn't sound hopeful or afraid either way, but the statement was eerie enough to make Kuroo figure out the point.

Anything could happen in those hours.

But somehow, watching the group hug and cry in front of him, and with Tsukishima by his side, he wasn't as worried as he was before.

"Then, we'll just have to get through those hours," he said, rolling his shoulders back. Tsukishima turned to him, eyes widening as the words sank in. Then, slowly, acceptance settled in those beautiful eyes, and Kuroo stared at the blond's lips as they formed the smallest of smiles.

Again, not everything that night had turned out so bad.

He did have a tiny afterthought though...

"Hey," he said softly, undoing the straps of his bullet proof vest. Tsukishima watched him with concern, the protests so clearly on the tip of his tongue. "I want you to wear this."

"Kuroo-"

"Nope, you're more likely to get in a gunfight than I am," Kuroo laughed, tying the vest around Tsukishima's form against the other's wishes. Shockingly, Tsukishima didn't put up as much of a fight as he could've, and Kuroo truly believed he could've. But instead of leaving Kuroo on his ass, Tsukishima stood frozen as their bodies scrunched close together, and Kuroo fastened the vest.

If Kuroo didn't know any better, he'd say they were both holding their breath. But, that must've just been his imagination talking.

"No taking it off you hear?" He asked, smirk extra infuriating.

Tsukishima's eye twitched, and he crossed his arms, but he made no move to remove the article. The reluctant resignation in those eyes made Kuroo want to pick him up and hug him. "You realize you just jinxed yourself right? What if you get shot now?"

Kuroo shrugged. The fear from earlier that night had faded, now he had someone to watch out for. "We'll have to see."

A scoff, and a smile. Music to Kuroo's ears. "Geek."

They lingered on each other for a moment longer before Terushima's long suffering groan called them back to the land of the living.

"God, I can't believe that just happened!" Terushima said, baffled as he wiped his eyes.

"You giant moron, you scared him half to death," Futakuchi muttered, back to using Terushima's shoulder as a personal crutch. Neither of them minded much.

"Okay but see, I was totally right earlier," Yamamoto proclaimed, smile big and smug, a relief to Kuroo. Guess he wasn't completely scarred, or he wasn't showing it. He'd have to pull him aside and talk about it later.

Futakuchi squinted. "Huh? About what?"

Kuroo had a bad feeling about the words before they even left his mouth, but only Tsukishima's whisper of 'oh god' really prepared him for it.

Yamamoto coughed in disbelief. "Uh, the Snickers bar? I told you I needed that shit for energy, and it completely paid off. Who's selfish now? Not me."

The silence which enveloped the street made Kuroo wince, and thank god Suga did something about it.

The other seemed thoroughly done with everyone shit, and pointed towards the car like he was talking to a two year old. Accurate. "Just...just go over there please. I changed my mind, I can't look at you anymore."

"What?"

"Mm, speaking of, maybe we shouldn't be standing out here like this...." Terushima looked around, on guard and way more wary than before.

"Yeah, I'd hate to have a gun pointed at me three times in one night," Tsukishima said, smiling all the way as he walked to the car. Everyone gladly cleared his path.

He appraised their van, walking around to survey the tires and dents. Kuroo, as badass as he seemed (or thought himself to be in his little delivery car), knew shit about cars. Then again, who knew if Tsukishima knew shit about cars either. Point was, Kuroo trusted him, and he didn't question the way Tsukishima popped the hood and scrutinized every detail.

Man, how could he have missed a person like this?

He'd regret it everyday of his life.

"As banged up as this thing is, most of the damage is cosmetic," Tsukishima said, slamming the hood back down after a few minutes. He glanced towards Terushima, smirking. "Guess you didn't do a terrible job after all. This thing's still drivable."

Terushima grit his teeth. "You little--"

"That's great!" Suga said, way too cheerfully, and piled right back into the behemoth. "Now let's go before we uh, I don't know, get shot."

They all nodded ruefully, because well...they'd had enough of that nonsense.

As Terushima took a step towards the driver's door though, they all paused, looking to Tsukishima as the blond eyed the steering wheel.

The silent hope was there, searing, and even Terushima couldn't feel wounded over it. It had to be done.

Tsukishima tapped his chin, as if he was actually thinking it over, when they all knew damn well he'd already decided. Of course, a few moments later: "You know, maybe I should dr--"

And thus, before he could finish, the unanimous chorus ruled: "Please drive."

#adri writing #kurotsuki #kurotsukki

[spideyyverse]

Grease! AU

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Chapter: 3/7 

Alternate reality where Eddie Kaspbrak is a boy from New York visiting the small town of Derry for the Summer and so happens to have met the greaser himself, Richie Tozier.

Characters: Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Stan Uris, Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough, Audra Phillips

Pairings: Reddie, Stenbrough, Benverly, Maudra (Audra x Mike!)

Warnings: Homophobia, swearing, underage drinking and smoking

Word Count: 2,094

Author Notes: Chapters will be based on a song from the movie, I’m not sure if I’ll do each song but if there’s a specific song you would like me to include, let me know in my ask box!

Also, the losers are very ooc. I understand they’re nothing like the way I’m portraying them in my story. Please do not get angry for the way I’m writing them, it’s apart of this au solely and that’s not how I actually view them.

Quick thank you to @get-fcking-reddie for the suggestion of Audra x Mike!

Tags: @universal-gay

What's that playing on the radio, why do I start swaying to and fro I have never heard that song before, but if I don't hear it anymore It's still familiar to me, sends a thrill right through me Cause those chords remind me of the night that I first fell in love to

It had been about a month and a half since the pep rally incident. After long and continuous “move on” and “He’s not worth it” from Bev and Audra, Eddie found himself mustering up some courage and agreed to go on a date with the football player he met at the pep rally. While the town of Derry was very much homophobic and Justin, the football player, was a closeted gay--both boys agreed to have dinner at the local diner. 

However, it had to be kept on the down-low; The date would be on Tuesday afternoon-a time when the diner wouldn’t be busy-and if anyone asked, they were just friends.  

“This is...nice,” Eddie bit his lip trying to make conversation.

“I guess...this place isn’t anything fancy. Although, the guys and I broke an arcade machine here once..” Justin shrugged eating some fries that were placed between both boys.

He continued to talk about the great broken arcade machine story while Eddie looked around the diner. His eyes landed on the juke box sitting near the hallway that led to the restrooms.

“Give me fifty cents, yeah?” Eddie interrupted Justin.

“Why?”

“Just give me fifty cents. It’ll be quick.”

Justin handed over fifty cents with a large amount of confusion placed all over his face, Eddie took the money and walked down to the jukebox. He inserted the two quarters and began to shuffle through the choices of songs.

Down the hallway that was next to the juke box, Richie Tozier had stepped out of the bathroom. He was running his hands through his hair when he heard the familiar sounds, it was the beginning of Africa by Toto. Something about it made him feel at home. It was the song that was playing when he and Eddie first met at the Quarry. 

Richie knew someone was standing behind him, as a matter of fact, he got a glance at the cute boy when he was wondering around the quarry. Silence was nice to have at times but Richie liked to smoke while listening to music. He brought over the boombox he stole from Ben and let the radio be his DJ for the hour. Africa by Toto began to play when he heard the boys’ footsteps. The cute boy. Cute, cute, cute...

Richie stopped in his steps when he saw the familiar brown hair standing in front of the juke box, he seemed satisfied with his choice of song and began walking back to where his table was. Richie picked up his pace and grabbed Eddie’s wrist before he could take another step.

“Ed’s,” Richie breathed.

“Don’t touch me,” Eddie growled but kept his voice low, despite the diner being mainly empty, he still didn’t want to cause a scene with the people that were there. 

“Please, it’ll only take two minutes. I just wanna talk,” Richie pleaded.

“You sure had a lot to say at the pep rally,” 

“You have to understand that wasn’t me Ed’s- none of that was,” 

“Don’t. You don’t get to call me that and pretend everything is okay Richie,” Eddie snapped.

“Eddie-” Richie bit his lip, from the corner of his eye, he could see the guys stepping into the diner after taking their smoke break.

“No Richie. You had your chance, besides, I’m with Justin now. He’s a sweet guy.” Eddie sighed and gave a small smile at Justin who made eye contact with him.

Richie wasn’t used to whatever pain that was tingling in his chest. he wasn’t used to rejection. He was Richie Tozier. Secret bisexual but could also get any boy or girl in his room then leave the next day and not think anything of it. Why was Eddie different? 

Because Eddie Kaspbrak had morals.

Because some stupid song called Africa was playing the day Richie Tozier fell in love with Eddie Kaspbrak and it fucking hurts him.

Beatings of my broken heart will rise the first place of the charts, Oh, my heart arranges, oh, those magic changes

Meanwhile, a month and a half earlier, Stanley Uris and Bill Denbrough were still closeted gays. 

Key word; were.

Stan and Bill didn’t think anyone would be in the area they parked at the drive-in. They parked in an area where they couldn’t even see the movie, it was far off to the side and the car wasn’t even parked in the direction of the large screen. So it was a surprise when Henry Bowers and his crew showed up hooting and hollering at both boys.

The thing was, Stan and Bill weren’t sucking face; They weren’t urging to take each others pants off. No, they were having a small and quiet conversation. Stan wasn’t some asshole who is always out to get someone and Bill wasn’t some leather jacket wearing asshole who does weed under the bleachers (That was Richie). With their quiet and shy conversation, they shared small pecks every once in a while. They knew being at the drive in would be Taboo, Bill even offered to drive back to his house on the way, but Stan insisted that they go the drive in.

Now that Henry and his merry band caught the two boys exchanging a soft kiss, they paraded with how much they were going to be able to torment the two boys. Now don’t get anyone wrong, the T birds nor the Pink Ladies take any of the Bowers Gang shit but when your closeted gay and the guy who holds a lot power just caught you kissing another dude, the situation is different.

“Denbrough? You’re one of those fags?” Henry sneered.

Bill only stood silent, letting the word fag run around in his mind.

“Now Uris. I’m not surprised. I’ve always known he’s one of those faggots, but you-You, I didn’t expect this!” Henry laughed while his gang snickered behind him like a bunch of hyenas. 

“L-leave him a-alone!” Bill snapped but it wasn’t very intimidating, his stutter really took control when he felt scared--And in this case, he was scared shitless.

He nor Stan were afraid of Bowers, they were afraid of what he was capable of. 

“Y-you w-want me t-to l-leave him a-alone?” He mocked him and stepped towards the car that had the roof down. 

“Henry, you can’t tell anyone. Please.” Stan pleaded but his voice came as low as a whisper.

“What was that Stanley? Begging? Whatever happened to the Stan who made people plead for him? I’m sure you would plead to suck my-” Henry didn’t finish the sentence by the time Bill hopped out the car and swung at Henry, sending him flying towards the car. 

“Bill!” Stan screamed but Henry had already tackled the Denbrough boy.

As strong as Bill was, he was outnumbered. Four against one. Stan froze as he watched his boyfriend get the shit kicked out of him.

Henry grabbed Bill by the collar of his shirt and held him to the point where Bill could feel his hot breath breathing against his, “If you don’t want people to know that you’re a fag, you’re gonna have to race us at Thunder Road,”

Bill could only nod as Henry continued, “You have until the end of the year to fix that shit box you call a car. I can’t guarantee that I can hold a secret for that long.” 

Henry let go of Bill and walked off with his crew.

Stan ran over to Bill and carried him to the passengers seat. Stan started the engine and began to drive back to his house, he prayed that his parents weren’t home. One good thing came out of that night, Stan’s parents weren’t home. 

The car ride had been silent, the radio static was the only thing that kept them company. Stan led Bill upstairs and to the bathroom. He pulled out the first aid kit and tended to Bill’s wounds.

“Bill?”

“Yeah?”

“We can’t do this, not anymore,” Stan whispered looking down at his feet.

“S-stan? No? W-we can m-make this w-work, this is o-our l-last y-year then w-we l-leave this s-shit hole!” Bill rose his voice a bit.

“This isn’t going to work if we’re constantly targeted and who knows how far Henry and his stupid crew will go!” Stan argued

“S-stan, it’s s-something w-we’re j-just g-going to have to d-deal w-with, besides w-we have until-”

“No Bill! We’re not doing this anymore!”

“S-stan P-please!”

“I’m doing this to protect you!”

“If you ever loved me, you wouldn’t fucking let Henry get in the way of us.” Bill snapped, his stutter disappearing along with his love for the curly haired boy.

I'll be waiting by the radio, you'll come back to me someday, I know Been so lonesome since our last goodbye, but I'm singin' as I cry 

It was now January. No one understood why Stan always seemed like he had a stick up his ass and no one understood why Bill had practically made home in the car shop. Eddie didn’t need to hear Stan’s comments about everything he did. Meanwhile, Richie was stuck as Mike and Audra’s third wheel since Bill called Ben to help him out with the wheel. 

“Hey Audra, would you-um-be my date to the Winter formal?” Mike scratched the back of his neck, he sounded like a middle schooler asking his crush out.

Richie only rolled eyes when Audra happily squealed yes and practically threw herself at him. Richie got up and walked towards the other end of the bleachers. Richie lit up a cigarette while Eddie sat in the stands with his secret boyfriend who was taking a break from football practice. 

Richie turned his head when he saw Eddie and whatever-his-name-was share a quick peck when they figured no one was looking. Richie felt anger build up in his chest, he threw his unfinished cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. He marched towards the track coach.

“Coach, I wanna join the team,” Richie instantly demanded.

“Tozier? Athletic?” The coach rose an eyebrow.

“Just let me try out Coach’ everyone deserves a fair try out, don’t they?” Richie smirked.

The coach only sighed and told Richie to change into athletic wear, which Richie thankfully had in his locker. Half an hour later, the team was finally done with warm ups and set off on the track. Richie jogged, trying to let his mind focus on anything but Eddie.

Anything but Eddie’s brown eyes. Anything but Eddie’s brown, soft curly hair. Anything but Eddie’s smile. 

Eddie was still sitting at the bleachers, trying to focus on the football but his eyes kept wondering off to focus on Richie.

Richie let his focus become about Eddie and Eddie only. He focused on Eddie sitting on the bleachers in his overalls. Cute, cute, cute!

Richie quickened his pace to turn his jog into a sprint but didn’t realize his shoelaces were untied. He tripped over his laces as Eddie watched and it sent him tumbling across the track.

“Richie!” Eddie shouted running towards the boy. 

Eddie quickly pulled some bandages from his bag and began to patch up Richie. Richie could only feel his tummy erupt with butterflies with the feeling of Eddie’s touch.

“Jesus Rich, you have to be more careful next time, are you okay?”

Richie only smiled, “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I just fell for you,”

Eddie could only bite back his smile but failed, “You’re an idiot Richie Tozier,”

“Listen Ed’s, let me make it up to you. Be my date to the winter formal,” Richie bit his lip then continued, “I can’t keep waiting for you. I need you now. I’ve been listening to our stupid song that was playing when we first met. I can’t keep missing you, I need you.”

Eddie quickly looked around and when he noticed no one was watching, he smashed his lips with Richie’s but quickly pulled apart, “Of course Chee.”

“What about your boyfriend?” Richie tried so hard to contain his excitement. The boy he pinned over for so long, the boy he loved was finally his again. 

“He’s an airhead. He loves his muscles more than anything,”

Eddie continued, “Now the real question is, will our suits or ties match?”

#richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #stan uris #ben hanscom #reddie #losers club grease au #the losers club