#and let the guy with a knife and the guy that smashes plates hang out. they deserve it honestly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dameronology · 3 years

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love in a time of p.t.a. meetings {marcus moreno} - 5/5

v summary: you hadn’t expected to find anything at a stupid p.t.a. meeting - but somehow, you found everything {series masterlist}

warnings: swearing, one very mild innuendo

there’s a long message at the end but...this is the last official part and i’m very sad about it. with that said, i hope you enjoy❤️

- j

Being a parent was tiring.

So much so that you hadn’t even made it to bed last night.

In fact, none of you had. The entire household was slumped together on the sofa; Marcus was in the middle, with one arm wrapped around Missy on his left side and the other stretched across you and Jack on his right. You’d completely flopped into his chest, with your kid passed out on you in a similar manner. The dogs (plural - but more on that later) were both stretched across the four of you on your laps, snoozing quietly. It had been a long week, clearly; between the school year coming to an end and the hot weather, you were all worn out. It had been a rush of finishing up projects at school, evenings in the pool and ordering take out. Marcus had been working late and your cooking skills were...well, calling them skills was an overstatement in itself.

You grumbled slightly as you woke - why the fuck did your neck ache so bad? Right, because you’d fallen asleep tilted sideways. You probably would have stayed passed out for hours more if it hadn’t been for the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The TV ahead of you had stopped now, displaying an are you still watching Friends? message. You’d started watching it at what...six o clock the night before?

Rubbing your bleary eyes, you sat up. Instead of waking up, Jack simply flopped into your lap, clearly not phased by the sudden movement other than letting out a tiny oof! as he fell. The kid had fallen asleep on the log flumes at Coney Island, so really, it wasn’t a surprise. Plus, him waking up would mean having to get up and make breakfast, which you really weren’t ready for just yet.

‘D’you know what day it is today?’ Marcus quietly muttered.

‘One year.’ You peered up at him, a sleepy smile spreading across your face.

‘So where the hell do you think you’re going?’ He pulled you back towards him, broad arm wrapping around your shoulders to trap you against his chest. ‘Happy one year, baby.’

‘Happy one year.’ You leant up to a soft kiss to his lips.

You stayed like that for a minute, head resting against Marcus as you gently ran a hand through Jack’s hair. It was sort of a moment of...reflection. A lot had changed in the last year and yet somehow, it felt like your life had always been like this. The four of you have had gelled together into a slightly chaotic but ever-loving entity and you loved it. With the combined antics of your energetic children, everything was in disarray practically all the time but you wouldn’t have changed it for the world. It had been the thing you’d had all along and the very thing that Marcus had been looking for; you had been the one to bring it into his life and he had been the one to teach you to appreciate it.

The two dogs had brought a lot of chaos into your lives as well. After weeks of Missy and Jack insisting that the garden was too big for just Optimus Prime, you’d ended up traipsing to the dog shelter late on a Saturday afternoon. Bumblebee had become a valued member of the Moreno family within a matter of hours.

‘I love you.’ You murmured. You could feel yourself getting sleepy again.

‘I love you more.’

‘No, you don’t.’ You pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

‘At least that’s the only fight we’ve had over the last year.’ He reasoned. ‘What time d’we have to be at cook out?’

‘Twelve.’ You replied. Glancing at the screen of your dying Apple watch, you squinted at the screen. ‘It’s just gone eight.’

Every year, the PTA threw a cook out on the school field to celebrate the end of the semester. In previous years, you’d avoided it like the plague but this year you were actually excited. The last one had been in the very early stages of your relationship, and you and Marcus weren’t publicly showing affection when you’d been. There had been a lot of lingering glances across the field and knowing looks at one another but this time, you were solid. Everyone knew they were together and like hell where they gonna say things about you when you were with Marcus Moreno. Whether it’s because they’d suddenly got a newfound respect for you or because they were scared into silence by his reputation, you didn’t know, but you weren’t going to complain.

‘Do you want breakfast, hermosa?’ He asked.

‘Yeah, I’ll help-’

Having heard the b-word, Jack suddenly shot up. He was six now (too old, in your book) and just as much of a tiny, evil genius as ever. He’d upgraded from a Chewbacca onesie to an Ewok onesie, so that was something too, and you were proud of him.

‘- what’s for breakfast?!’ He demanded. ‘I want waffles.’

‘Then waffles we shall have.’ You stood up, sticking your hand out to him. ‘What about you two?’

‘I want waffles.’ Missy sleepily murmured.

Jack followed you through to the kitchen, swiping his iPad off the side as he did. Despite the fact you’d put it in a nuclear bomb proof case, he’d still managed to crack the screen. There had also been at least five occasions where he’d tried to take it in the pool. And this was the same kid who’d insisted he was responsible enough for his own hamster.

Marcus breezed into the kitchen a few moments later, pressing a kiss to your cheek and ruffling Jack’s hair as he went by. You heard him rustling around behind you for a few minutes whilst you prepared the food; he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He placed a terribly wrapped gift on the counter in front of you, head coming to rest on your shoulder.

‘Happy anniversary, baby.’ He murmured.

‘Hey.’ You dropped the knife you were holding, turning around to face him. ‘You didn’t have to get me anything.’

‘I know we said we wouldn’t do presents but since you got me a present last night and-’

‘- Marcus!’ You clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘There is a child in the room.’

‘He has his headphones in!’ He protested. ‘Just open it, please?’

‘Of course.’ You smiled.

‘Jack even helped me wrap it.’ He said. ‘And decorate it.’

‘That would explain a lot.’ You replied.

Pulling the paper off it, you felt your heart drop in your chest when you saw what it was.

It was a bright red photo with random doodles in puffy paint; the photo itself was one of you and Jack from when you’d all gone to New York for the weekend a few months previous. You were stood on top of the Rockerfeller Centre, the Empire State in the distance behind you and Jack on your shoulders. You were both grinning despite how windy it was, and his hat had blown off seconds after the photo was taken.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t - ah, dammit.

‘I love it.’ You tried to keep your voice steady, but it wobbled despite your efforts. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ He flashed you a lopsided grin, pressing another kiss to your forehead. ‘I figured we could hang it up in place of the one he managed to smash last week with the broom stick.’

(He’d recently watched Harry Potter. Don’t ask.)

‘Of course.’ You gave him one last kiss, before heading over to the empty space on the wall. It fit perfectly in the space, right between the photo of Marcus and Missy, and the sign that said 0 days since Jack’s last incident.

---

Four hours later, and after consuming enough waffles to feed a small army, the four of you finally reached the school. Both of the kids seemed excited to see their friends, but you were a little nervous. What if people asked questions about you and Marcus? About your divorce? Or Jack’s behaviour, or whether or not-

‘You okay, baby?’ Marcus had suddenly appeared beside you, an arm coming around your waist. You’d been stood on the sidelines of the football field for way longer than you realised. ‘You’ve got eyes like dinner plates.’

‘I don’t know how to interact with these people.’ You murmured back. ‘They’re all...you know.’

‘They’re all what?’

‘Perfect. And shiny.’ You huffed. ‘Look at their cars! There’s not a dent in sight. And their kids aren’t wearing an Ewok onesie to a cook-out in July.’

‘I think Jack is admirable for embracing his unique sense of fashion.’ You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. ‘C’mon! They’re gonna run out of food if you keep longingly staring at their minivans.’

‘You’re right.’ You stumbled slightly as he dragged your hand, pulling you towards the crowd in the middle of the field.

‘I mean if you want a minivan, we can get one.’

‘Moving to the suburbs was already a big deal for me.’ You grumbled.

Marcus continued to laugh, pulling you closer into his side as you reached the other parents.

Naturally, he immediately jumped into conversation about one of the other dads with...actually, you weren’t really paying attention. You switched off as soon as you heard the word football. One thing you did notice, however, was his ability to be completely and entirely charming with anyone. You lacked that, normally shying away from talking to strangers. Especially strangers who had previously cast you out for being a single parent and constantly given you the side-eye. The only reason they’d stopped was because you and Marcus were together now.

You tried to remind yourself that it didn’t matter, that their thoughts and feelings weren’t relevant. They shouldn’t have been. You had the best guy in the world by your side and two amazing kids. The people most important to you were the ones whose opinions mattered - and they all thought the world of you. Marcus loved and supported you unconditionally, and Missy thought you were a bad-ass. Jack, though probably a little bias, thought you were the best parent in the world. That was what counted.

But still, you couldn’t help but feel a little angry. You’d worked your ass off to get where you were, to raise your kid and make him a semi functional human being. You’d single-handedly kept a roof over both of your heads and provided for your family, even when you’d been married to a dead beat husband.

Things were different now; brighter, happier, filled with more dogs and more love than you could ever have imagined. You didn’t want to linger in the past, not when everything else was moving forward. If anything, being here had just solidified your faith in your relationship. If all you wanted to do was go home and be alone with your partner, then that was a sure sign.

‘Mum!’ You heard Jack from across the field. ‘Can you get my football out the car?’

‘Duty calls.’ You finally spoke. Marcus had noted how quiet you were, having made a mental note to bring it up later. ‘I’ll be back in a second.’

‘Okay, baby.’ He pressed a kiss to your check.

The sun beat down on your back as you trudged across the field, Doc Martens kicking up grass around you. Your outfit was cute at least; a pair of denim shorts and an old tank top with one of your boyfriend’s plaid shirts thrown over the top. You hadn’t even realised it was his until the lingering smell of aftershave hit your nostrils when you got in the car. After that, there was no way in hell you were taking it off.

The car park was around the corner from the field -- it was nice to get away for a minute. Even though you’d simply stood beside Marcus like an older man’s sidepiece at a business meeting, just being in the presence of the people and listening to them talk about their kids was exhausting. At least he had been good at pretending to be interested in their sugar free diets and screen time limitations and how their French lessons were going. You, meanwhile, hadn’t even tried to look like it piqued your fancy. You’d been half-tempted to put your sunglasses on so they couldn’t see you roll your eyes.

Pulling Marcus’ car-keys out your pocket, you opened the boot and began to rifle around. His car was a thousand times more put together than yours, but it still accumulated a bunch of crap.

You jumped backwards when you heard the gravel crunch behind you.

Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes fell on Carol. It had been a while since you’d last seen her, but she looked a little worst for wear. What’s more was that she had a cigarette between her lips, despite being the one to run the entire school’s anti-smoking campaign.

‘I didn’t know you smoked.’ You commented, catching her attention as you slammed the boot shut.

‘Oh!’ She jumped, quickly throwing it onto the floor.

‘Hey, I’m not bothered.’ You leant against the back of the car. ‘A lot of people do it.’

‘I don’t normally.’ She stamped on the remains to put it out, dusting off her bright pink work-out jacket. ‘I’ve just been stressed lately.’

‘Are you okay?’ You raised an eyebrow at her.

‘I’m fine.’

You tossed the football between your hands, giving her a nod. ‘If you’re sure.’

With that, you locked the car and began to make your way back towards the cook-out. If you could wear Jack out by playing with him all afternoon, then you might be able to catch some peace and quiet that evening. Then, you and Marcus could celebrate your first anniversary by ordering take out and watching Friends.

(Which is ironically, what you’d done for the last four nights).

‘Y’know, I’ve always been jealous of you.’ You froze when Carol called after you.

‘What?!’ You turned around to face her, confusion etched on your features. ‘Are you talking to someone else, or?..’

‘No, I’m talking to you.’ She muttered.

‘Why me? I thought you hated me?’

‘Because I was jealous of you.’ She said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

‘Carol, you’re the perfect one here. You’re married to your high school sweetheart, you’ve got a big-ass house - with a gate! - and your kids are perfectly well behaved. And you drive a fucking minivan!’

‘Oh, please.’ She groaned, falling back against the nearest car. ‘My husband is married to his job and my kids are more interested in their iPads than me!’

‘So’s mine-’

‘- you’ve always provided for yourself.’ She continued, cutting you off. ‘Always put your kid first and just did what was best for you without worrying what anyone else thought. That’s..admirable.’

‘Thanks?’ You furrowed your brow. ‘I never really gave it that much thought.’

‘I never thought I’d wish for your life.’ She muttered.

You gently approached her, placing a hand on her shoulder. With caution, obviously. You know that she had a tendency to be vicious and bite. Like a chihuahua.

‘My life isn’t perfect.’ You said softly. ‘There’s a difference between happiness and perfect. And if you keep trying for perfect, you’ll never be happy.’

‘That’s deep.’

‘Actually, it’s a quote that you shared on Facebook.’ You snorted. ‘You just gotta appreciate what’s around you. Your house, your kids, your husband.’

‘Maybe you’re right.’ Carol nodded. ‘You’re a good parent. A good person. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel less than that.’

‘I mean...you were an asshole, I won’t lie. You’re nosey as fuck and you got involved with my kid, but I’d probably be doing the same if I wasn’t satisfied with my life.’

Okay, so you didn’t mean for that to sound so rude, but who could blame you? The woman had given you nothing but crap. You’d already felt bad for her, but now you felt worst.

‘C’mon.’ You stuck your hand out to her. ‘You have two lovely daughters and a husband waiting for you back on the field....you family waiting for you back on the field.’

Dragging Carol off of the car, you dusted off her arms and forced a smile. It didn’t make you happy that she was miserable, but at least offered an explanation for her behaviour. The fact she’d envied you this entire time didn’t make up for what she’d done - the rumours the spread, the things she said - but it at least helped soothe you a little bit.

‘Can we be friends?’ She asked quietly, traipsing beside you.

‘...maybe in a few years.’

---

As it turned out, Jack did not pass out early. Instead, the four of you ended up having another night on the sofa -- this time with an extra large pizza, just to celebrate the special night.

Your head had been spinning since your conversation with Carol. You were glad you finally had closure on the whole thing, but it had completely fried your circuits. She was the queen of the hive, the perfect mum, the perfect wife. Her kids wore matching outfits to school and they never had a hair out of place. Her Facebook was filled with family photos of their international vacations and outings to all their activities. Was she not the blue print?

It made you take a step back and look at your own life, which was something you hadn’t done in a while. In fact, last time you’d done it, you realised you’d weren’t happy with your ex-husband.

Now, it was the opposite. You were in love with somebody who was better than you could have ever imagined; he wasn’t perfect - he snored and he never did the dishes and he always forgot to put the bins out - but he was everything to you. You had a kid who, although was undeniably a tiny meddler, you loved with your whole heart. You had Missy, who had welcomed you into her life with open arms and embraced the chaos you brought. You had dogs, and a house with a fucking garden.

You didn’t blame Carol for being jealous because, even though it was from perfect, you didn’t need it to be. You had everything you ever wanted and heck, you would have been jealous of it too if it wasn’t completely and entirely yours.

For the first time all day, you finally had a moment to yourself. You were stretched out across the couch, feet propped up on a pile of cushions; Marcus’ shirt was still on, only now you had changed out your shorts for leggings and your boots for socks fluffy enough to be dangerous on the wooden floors.

‘Hey, baby.’ Marcus quietly greeted you, shutting the living room door behind him. ‘Kids are asleep.’

You gave him a doubtful look. ‘Even Jack?’

‘Okay - Missy is asleep and Jack is on his iPad.’

You opened your arms to him, grinning. ‘I’ll take it.’

Marcus dropped onto the sofa, an equally big smile falling onto his face as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss you. He wound both of his around your waist, lifting you off of the couch and into his lap. It always reminded you of when you’d kissed on your first date -- it seemed like worlds away now.

‘Has it really been a year?’ You murmured softly, resting your forehead against his.

‘Yeah.’ He shyly smiled at you. ‘I don’t know how I got so lucky.’

‘We both got lucky.’ You reminded him. ‘I got lucky that Carol guilt-tripped me into that fucking meeting.’

‘And I got lucky that you were the person I chose to victimise with my small talk.’ He chuckled. ‘You know you’re my whole fucking heart, right?’

‘Yeah.’ You slowly nodded. ‘And you’re mine.’

You’d completely changed each other’s lives - blown them apart, and used the tiny pieces to rebuild everything back into one. Neither of you had even been looking and you’d still managed to find one another. You’d been hurt before and he’d been patient. He’d lost a lot before and you helped him find it again. What he lacked, you had. What you lacked, he had.

Above all, Marcus had embraced what everybody seemed to encourage; he saw value in the things you’d been insecure about and when he fell in love with him, so did you. In return, you brought an energy and light to his life that he didn’t even know he needed. In one another, you found unconditional love and support, and a feeling of security that you’d both lacked for so long.

This was it. And it was everything .

OKAY i’m actually so sad this story is over -- i’ve written over the course of maybe 2 weeks but when i TELL YOU i have become so attached? u better believe it. if you check out the series masterlist, you’ll see that there’s a few little fics i’m gonna write to fill in the gaps that were in the time skips between chapters, so that’s still something to look forward to!

thank so so so much for all your support on this series; it’s been so much fun to write & your comments are what encouraged me to finish it so quickly.

- jamie xx

taglist: taglist: @naivara-duneimith @1-2-3-4-5metalfingers @likeshootingstarsinthenightsky @phoenixhalliwell @crazycookiecrumbles @bitchin-beskar @comphersjost @absurdthirst @mjby @parkjammys @kteague @katdante @vonschweetz @cyarikashakira @mrsparknuts @starryeyedstories

#marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno imagine #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno imagines #pedro pascal character headcanons #pedro pascal characters

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skelanonymous · 3 years

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Song Prompt 3

Song - Looking at Me by Sabrina Carpenter

Skeleton - Killer Prob Murder Trio

Words - 3.3k

I cannot stress enough, listen to the song at least once. It’s a BOP.

@inertiaambition I made a decision. I hope you can appreciate it anyway. ^^’

“Accompany the others. You’ll learn best that way.” Cross stood up straighter, trying to impress his new boss. Nightmare had found him in his timeline and brought him in under the agreement he’d serve directly under him as a hired mercenary of sorts. He hadn’t hesitated to say yes. Anything was better than his timeline, empty as it was.

“Yes sir. Where should I meet them?” Cross was confident in his skills but he wanted to scope out these others he’d be working with. Nightmare’s satisfied smile filled Cross with foreboding.

“They’re just outside the door.”

The door opened to three very different looking skeletons, all a little...off. He waited for Nightmare to introduce him.

“Heya Boss. We gunna make a move on that rude kingdom or what?” A skeleton in white shorts, this guy had some sort of black paint traced down from his eyes.

“Patience Killer. I was preparing the new team member to join you. This is Cross.” His cyan eye traced over to the skeleton with a giant crack in his skull. “Try to dedicate it to memory Horror.”

“Gotcha Boss.” Horror dragged an axe behind him, hauling it up when Nightmare made the portal. “Orders?” Night scoffed.

“Wipe that pitiful place from the map. Show him what I expect. And Cross?” He snapped to attention. “It’s your first outing, so let me illuminate: I don’t have patience for failure so do not disappoint me.” Then he waved them off to their mission. “Now go.”

They all jumped through quickly, hitting the ground just on the outskirts of a smaller castle, hidden by the shadow of the treeline from the eyes of the guards pacing along the tower tops.

“So newbie, here’s the deal. Follow us, and try not to get in the way. Don’t get much easier than kill everyone, so remember these faces and aim at anyone else.” Killer cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders, bouncing on his knees. “Anything to add there Dust?”

“Don’t die.” Dust turned his odd colored eyes over to the fresh blood. Cross suppressed a shiver while Killer howled like a hyena.

“Holy shit Dusty, you’re great. Yeah, don’t do that. I’m good to go. You ready Horror?” Killer flipped out a blade from nowhere, too fast for Cross to even see. It glinted in the moonlight. The lumbering skeleton turned to face Killer before walking towards the place.

“Yeah.”

The first wall took no time to breach. Horror had broken down the front door and they walked right in. Unfortunately, a guard drill was taking place in the courtyard, so it had most of the armed forces right within view.

“Hang back guys. I got this one.” Killer winked at Cross. “Take notes.” Cross rolled his eyes. There were near fifteen heavily armed men in front of them, and Cross felt five would be a good match for himself, considering their stats he could check. He leaned back on the wall behind him, keeping an eye on the peripheral for back up.

Killer rushed headlong into the action, a stupid move by most accounts, but he’d moved so fast. His blade ran clean through one soldier, armor and all. He flung him off his knife with a flourish.

“Let’s dance.”

He cleanly cut off the first taker’s arm, head with the second swing. He shoved the body forward, knocking over another, scaring a third. An attacker went for his back.

With a swing of his hips, he dodged the attack at his spine. He grabbed the blade and spun, using his back as leverage to wrench it out of the offender’s hands. He cut them off with his knife and blocked another sword swing with his stolen weapon.

Killer parried the next clash, crossing swords to slide down, handles pressed together, one of his hands to his opponent’s two. He pushed up with his elbow to create an opening to get clean through the chest. When he pushed this body back, he did it hard enough to impale another. Before the impaled bodies could fall, he snatched the blade handle again, kicking up one leg to force them off of it.

He jumped over the attack at his one leg, smashing a foot into the fifth’s jaw. It dislocated with a sickening crack. Sixth and seventh tried to attack at the same time, but ate a blade into their throats for the trouble. Killer swayed his way towards the rest, stopping to dig the sword through the first person he’d knocked over, trying to hide under a dead body. They wheezed out a final breath.

Nine screamed a battle cry before rushing. Killer tossed his knife up, taking the sword right through the ribs and repaid the favor. Nine’s body fell to the ground. Killer pulled the sword out and spun to chuck them directly into No-Hands and Dislocated Jaw’s skull. He caught his knife with a grin

Six left. Cross had forgotten to breathe.

Killer ran up to horrified bystander Ten, stabbing upwards through their chin, yanking out the knife when the light in their eyes died. He grabbed the mace off their corpse. He got in one full wind up before smashing into Eleven’s sneak attack. Twelve hadn’t expected the just as fast throw, eating the spikes in seconds flat in a bloody spray.

“Fuck you!” Unlucky Thirteen attempted to swing for the throat, but Killer wasn’t having it. With a quick duck, he’s wrenched his hand under the front of the plate armor to gut the poor idiot. His hand slid down Thirteen’s horrified face, blood dribbling out of his mouth that Killer dragged his fingers through.

“No, fuck you.” His voice drops to something husky, eyes half lidded with the thrill of it. LV felt good in the moment, the burns wouldn’t come until the next day, or maybe not at all, Cross couldn’t tell anymore if he was dealing with a skeleton bound by the same physical limits as his own.

“I’m always good for a threesome.” He stalks towards Fourteen and Fifteen, gracefully as a tiger, waiting to pounce.

“You sick freak!” One went for him, trying to use the shield he was holding, but Killer was faster.

“Always.” He kicked hard at Fourteen’s left knee, bending it fully the wrong way. He collapsed with a scream, escalating to inhuman wails when he yanks the shield off so hard, it dislocates the left shoulder and right elbow. He finished with a clean neck snap, Fourteen dropping as a pretzel of a man.

Fifteen couldn’t breathe a word before Killer’s knife was embedded in his right forearm. It’s wretched high above his head, left wrist going limp in a vice grip.

“Let’s finish this little performance, shall we?” The knife dragged up to catch on the wrist, curved to hook and drag the bloody mess along with Killer’s tango, stepping in time to the horrified screeching.

He unhooked the knife to spin his partner outward. Killer yanked him back, letting go just before Killer met his chest.

With a twirl, he decapitated Fifteen with a flair, blood spurting into a light shower over his skull. He met Cross’s eyes when he licked the blood spray off his teeth.

Dust sarcastically clapped, Killer bowing to his ‘audience.’ Horror grumbled about wasting something, but Cross can’t hear it over the loud clang that follows. When he turns to the courtyard again, a new challenger has appeared.

A hulking knight, he glared at Killer and pulls out his greatsword with a patient rage, controlled and channeled. He raised the point of it at Killer’s amused grin.

“You shall fall here beast.” Killer didn’t move. Barely acknowledges that the contender spoke at all, just changed his stance, ready to take whatever this guy has to dish out.

The huge knight swung his blade into the confident Killer. Beside him, he could hear the light shuffle of slippers. Cross couldn’t look away from the clash, the blood spattered Killer blocking the arc with his knife but the unexpected amount of pure power broke through his guard and flung him into the wall. The blade followed the path, about to cut into Killer’s arm, but another blade clashed with his.

“Mind if I cut in?” Dust stood over Killer, holding the sword back with one hand.

“Heh, show off. Go ahead.” Killer stuck his tongue out. He laughed, shaking his head at the knight. “You’re fucked dude.”

“You monsters won’t best me! I will defend the princess!” The knight swung again, but Dust didn’t flinch when it made contact. He pushed back with no effort, knight thrown off balance.

Dust’s approach was as instantaneous as it was inescapable. He appeared behind the hulking opponent in a flash to dig his knife in as deep as it could go into Sixteen’s side. Just as quickly, it was out and Dust returned to before Sixteen’s eyes.

“Wh-wha-what?” Sixteen’s hand dropped to the fresh wound, disbelieving but unable to turn back. He returned to his confident stance, ready for another attack.

By now, Killer had moved away from the immediate area, freeing up Dust to do whatever he wanted without friendly fire as a consideration. Cross watched carefully for whatever technique Dust would show, especially after the artistry Killer performed.

Sixteen let loose a flurry of attacks. Cross evaluated his area control. His greatsword thrusted forward, curving and swinging to cover the entire field Dust occupied.

Dust’s smooth evasion was faster. Sixteen couldn’t hit him, only able to hit the air in the last place he could track with his eyes. On the flip side, Dust yawned. When he got truly bored, he caught an attack directly against the knife hilt. He blinked into Sixteen’s face, giving him a matching wound on the other side.

This time though, Sixteen anticipated it, smashing his armored elbow down into Dust’s skull, the point catching Dust’s cheek even as he dodged backwards.

A thin red line. It stood out against his dusty complexion, matching his determined eyes. Dust freed his blade, blinked back, then raised his fingers to touch it. He wiped off a streak.

“Heh.” Dust pressed the finger into his mouth, eyes getting wider and wider. “Heh heh…HahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The taste of his own blood flipped the switch. Cross felt the air shift, a bolt of terror striking him from just one glance at those mad eyes.

“Thank you! NOW DIE!”

The knight swung to intercept. Dust cut the blade in two. He reached him in two steps.

“HEH HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Dust kicked the center of Sixteen’s chest, flinging him into the wall he’d dropped from not much earlier. Dust followed along to ram the blade into Sixteen’s wielding shoulder. He stomped on the greatsword handle, clattering to the ground under the newly broken fingers.

Dust giggled, knife dug an inch in, tracing absurd patterns into his screaming opponent. Sixteen begged for death before Dust had plucked out the first eye.

The second eye had taken another two minutes, before the psycho finally got bored and slid his weapon solidly into Sixteen’s heart, between his ribs, humming when the heart stopped beating around the knife, body vibrating with the need to silence every heartbeat he could hear.

Dust grinned at Cross while he laughed, turning to Killer with wide eyes.

“I’m done putting on a show. Can we kill them now?”

“I’d never stop you from killing Dusty. I’ll let you pick which wing you want even.” Killer cackled when Dust took off like a rocket down the right path, only the echoes of Dust’s psychotic laughter and screams drifting back in their direction. Cross almost followed, but a hand dropped on his shoulder.

“Dust’ll kill you. He don’t do control very well.” Horror’s vacant stare impressed the danger upon him. “Only warning you get. Let’s finish up.”

Cross walked directly across the courtyard to the back of the castle, cutting down whoever he came across, trailed by Horror who kept his back clear with his wide axe cuts. Killer had gone down the left wing.

Cross took in Horror compared to the other two. There really wasn’t a comparison between them. Killer and Dust had power and grace, smooth and calculated in battle. Cuts were even and precise, like a planned wound that they could see before it happened, skills borne of a million kills to know the outcome.

Horror’s axe cut unevenly, not kept pristinely sharp like their weapons. He lugged it behind him, eyes unfocused, just cutting down whatever stood ahead. He attacked whatever he could swing at. Clean kills apparently didn’t matter, the only technique he could even parse out was hitting the same spot more than once, focused damage dealt like one chopped down a tree. Horror also didn’t appear to have nearly as much strength as the other two abominations, not struggling per say, but seemed to be near Cross’s level or slightly below in pure power. Nightmare keeping him eased Cross’s mind about not fitting in with the absolute monsters that were Killer and Dust.

They ended up in a throne room, throne overturned to a tunnel beneath. The princess must’ve been evacuated during the shuffle.

“Did we lose some of them?” Killer leaned against the doorway, looking less than impressed. “The princess can’t survive, she’ll just cause trouble.”

“I can’t feel any more souls in the castle.” Dust stepped around the other side of the doorway. His face looked a little calmer, though his hands trembled with bloodlust. Cross tried to breathe through his raising anxiety. He REALLY didn’t wait to fail Nightmare on day one.

“She’s not far.” Horror stooped down to the ground, looking at the torn carpet beside the throne. His eyes closed, taking in a deep breath. “Got it. Let’s go.”

Dust wordlessly held out his hand, taking Horror away in a blip. Killer swaggered up to offer his own to Cross.

“You ain’t gunna want to miss this Criss Cross.” Cross stared at the bloody hand with disdain. He took it, disgusted. They reappeared at the edge of the forest behind the castle, Horror and Dust just ahead. Too distracted, he didn’t catch Killer yanking him down until he almost fell over.

“What are you!-”

“I saw your fucking eyes.” Killer pointed his knife over Cross’s nasal crest. “You best pay attention newbie. You might think you’re not the bottom of the totem pole, but let me tell ya, ya’re outclassed.” He dragged the tip softly down the line of his eye socket. “Watch closely and realize you ain’t got shit on ANY of us.” He dropped Cross to walk over to the duo moving along the forest’s edge, Cross hitting the dirt hard.

Holy shit, Nightmare employed some crazy bastards.

Killer had a point though, he HAD judged Horror, found him lacking, and moved on. The recognition of his judgement wasn’t disproved yet though. He followed over to the group, barely making it before Horror’s head snapped to the right.

“There.” Horror leaned down to grab a few stones before taking off through the woods. The other two walked into the dark with him.

Killer, Dust, and Cross moved through the underbrush, trying to keep up with Horror’s quick walk. He twisted and turned without thought, following an invisible trail that he alone could track, not halted by any of the obstacles of the forest at night. It took all of Cross’s focus to walk steadily and not tumble over something gnarled and wet in all this black.

Cross squinted at the hunter, trying to see the thread he was following. By the light, he could see nothing to follow, no trail of broken branches and muddy footprints to track. Hearing when they were all behind him making an equal if louder sound seemed out of the question.

He turned to Killer to ask, but Killer had a finger on his teeth. Quiet. Then slowly tapped his nose. It took Cross fifteen long seconds.

He...was following her SCENT?! Where would he have even got the initial whiff? Got it. Then?! That’d been instantaneous and faint to begin with.

Compared to the massive crunching sounds Cross could hear from himself and the other two, Horror’s movement was suddenly silent. He’d hauled his axe up off the ground, sliding between trees without so much as a scrape, silently tracking until his head cricked to the side while walking. Without a word, he plucked a stone out of his pocket and chucked it off to the left. There was the sound of wood being chipped, then the softer sound of crunching. Horror turned towards the right, still quiet as the grave.

Even Cross could tell she was close.

With a slowly widening grin, he took off right, racing ahead with remarkably quiet speed. The crunches dwarfed those of the target, whose hurried stumbling across the roots of the trees rang like thunder by comparison.

Another pebble, flung with precision, and the princess practically ran into Horror’s arms.

“Good try.”

“AHHHHH!” She flailed back, falling onto the ground still screaming. To the side, he could hear the soft chuckles of the other two, looking at Horror and his prey with amused anticipation.

Horror raised his axe for a killing blow. The princess tried to punch him, but he dodged so her hand slipped by. He turned his head to line up his mouth with the forearm presented.

Horror caught Cross’s eye and smirked as he opened his jaw and bit down.

She screamed bloody murder when he took out the chunk, swinging down the axe to take the whole limb off at the shoulder. The loose arm hung from his mouth. He reached up to grab the elbow, pulling to tear off a chunk of the meat. Horror swallowed with a satisfied rumble. The princess cowered under him, frozen when he raised the axe again.

Right at the neck, curved to break the bones down into her sternum. It came free with a wet squelch. Horror grabbed at each side of the crooked break, yanking her warm corpse open with horrifying creaks and pops as the bones gave way, leaking red and revealing the varied organs within her body. Horror’s hand dug around and pulled back with his prize.

He bit into the heart like an apple. Cross wasn’t even sure it had stopped beating. The thought made bile rise in his throat, taking one step back. Horror chewed away, completely relaxed as they made their way back.

“Judge and you’ll be next.” Dust met Cross’s eyes before turning to walk next to Horror. Killer sidled up next to Cross.

“Have fun with the inferiority complex bastard.” Killer’s sharp smile burned into Cross’s mind.

The entire evening had made one thing very clear: his work was cut out for him.

The portal home opened and they stepped in, the castle’s carpets beneath their feet in an instant. Nightmare looked up from his paperwork. He made eye contact with Cross, holding it until sweat formed on his skull.

“We killed everyone in the area.” Cross reported. Nightmare leaned back, soaking in the positively delicious negative emotions pouring off his overwhelmed brain.

“Wonderful. Then again, I sent you with my best.” Nightmare crossed his fingers to rest his chin on them, endlessly amused. “So, did you learn anything from them Cross?”

“I have a lot of work to do.”

“The correct answer. Killer, lead him to the free room, shower, and training area. I’m sure our new recruit has need of all of them.” He spun his chair around to stare out the giant glass overlook of their courtyard.

“Gotcha Boss.” Nightmare inclined his head, facing them one more time as they made the move to exit.

“Good night Cross, and welcome to my castle.”

You said Killer prob because I get that the song is totally his vibe, but man, he’s the biggest show off while killing and I needed it. I promise I have fluff for other ones.

#murder trio #story time #song prompt #bad sans gang

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star-spangledstud · 4 years

Text

PARADISE

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Avengers enjoy a hard-earned vacation.

Word Count: 3700-ish

Warnings: Fluff (None)

Blistering heat. Skin sticky from several layers of coconut-scented sunblock with built-in self-tanner, causing a dewy glow to set upon your bronzed, heated skin. A bright pink cocktail stood beside the tanning bed you were laying on, a slice of fresh lime and a tiny blue umbrella hanging off the side of the glass. Drops of condensation made their way down the length of the fishbowl shaped glass, collecting on the palm tree coaster it sat on. You sipped it every minute or so through a neon yellow plastic straw, allowing the icy drink to cool you down while the alcohol warmed the back of your throat as it went down.

You turned the page of your romance novel, green doe eyes covered by large black sunglasses following along the words written on the tattered paper. A glance up from your book to the pool area in front of you revealed toned bodies in brightly colored swimming trunks and skimpy bikinis sprawled everywhere. Natasha sat beside you on Wanda's sunbed. She'd braided her hair and was busy putting flowers in it. Fake daisies by the looks of it, made of cloth with little plastic stems. You smiled and took another sip, savoring the sour taste and slushy texture and took a mental note to order the same thing over dinner later. Then, you turned back to your book.

Steve loved summer. Perhaps it was the stark contrast provided by the sun's rays to the ice he was trapped in for so long or the scent of nature in bloom all around him that sparked his admiration for the season. He wasn't sure. All he knew is that he enjoyed the blistering heat and the breeze carrying the scent of fresh flowers across the resort.

His skin had become wrinkly from spending hours on end in the pool with the guys, but he was finally starting to win the game of volleyball against Sam and Thor, and Captain America did not like to lose. He'd tried to convince Tony and Bruce to join them but they were sitting in the shade, stacks of paper and two laptops covering the sunbeds around them. You smiled and shook your head at them, but didn't comment on their constant need to work, even though it was Tony's idea to take everyone away for a two-week paid trip to paradise in the first place. Maybe he just really loved showing off his money. You didn't care, because you were sipping on your fourth free cocktail.

Your eyes drifted back to the water glistening beneath the rays of the sun, to Steve, who was laughing so hard at something Peter said his hand went to his chest.

Steve felt your eyes on him as soon as you lowered your sunglasses to the bridge of your nose so you could watch him lose the game. He held his hand up to the guys, motioning for them to continue without him. Peter begged him to stay, knowing he could never win the game by himself, but Steve already waded to the edge of the pool. Instead of using the metal stairs, he gripped the edge of the pool and lifted himself out in a fluid motion. Water dripped from his torso and out of his shorts, leaving a trail of it on the marble tiles as he closed in on you.

He softly took a hold of your calves, lifting your legs and placing them into his lap so he could sit down on the sunbed. You placed your book on your chest, marveling at drops of water that ran down his milky white torso. That boy did not tan.

"Tired?" You teased, eyes drifting to Thor smashing the ball across the water.

"I can go all day, remember?" He replied, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Sore loser then," you retorted, "nothing wrong with admitting defeat."

"'S not in my genes, I'm afraid," he paused, "so, what' cha reading?"

Even after the sun had set behind the palm trees, the heat remained. The air was still heavy and humid by the time you woke up from your pre-dinner nap and the second you stepped out of your shower, your skin was sticky again. You'd already given up on washing your hair. It would just get greasy again.

It was nearly nine when all of you met up at the restaurant. Overlooking the beach, you had a perfect view of the waves that crashed upon the shore from your seat at the table. You ordered the same ridiculous cocktail and were sipping it quietly, listening to your teammates conversating. Shadows of the palm trees waving gently in the breeze cascaded across the candlelit tables, hypnotizing you for a moment.

Tony's laugh broke your trance and you smiled, not really having listened to the joke. He stood up, scraping his chair back across the cobblestone. His glass of white wine swirled when he rose and he used a fork to tap the side of his glass. Silence immediately fell over the table.

"A toast, to the most annoying yet best teammates a guy like me, could ever ask for," he grinned, "the only reason why I'm saying this is because I've been day-drinking. They make hella Pina Coladas here."

"We know," Natasha said, grinning widely, "we love you too, Tony."

Waiters circled around the tables that had been pushed together to accommodate all of you, plates filled with various kinds of gourmet dishes balancing on their arms and in their hands. You raised your glass, smiling while everyone else did the same.

You looked at Steve, who had taken a seat beside you. He'd traded his swim shorts for a pale blue button-up shirt of which he'd rolled up the sleeves. A shark-tooth necklace, courtesy of one of the salesmen down at the beach who just wouldn’t leave him alone, hung around his neck. It was perfectly visible through the undone buttons on his chest. His hair was fluffy and soft from being in the water all day. You could tell he hadn't tried to style it with gel.

You almost hated yourself for watching him, even from the corner of your eye. It was a habit that had crept into your system over the course of four months. A habit that resembled an addiction to drugs. It was just fun at first, but your constant need to have your eyes on Steve had turned into a necessity, into a way of life.

The two of you had always hit it off. He was the first person to introduce you to the rest of the team when you were initially hired and he had taken it upon himself to show you the ropes and guide your training after that. He made you feel comfortable in an environment filled with strong, confident people during a time in which you felt like a small fish in a big pond. He watched your back on missions and took you to the city on days off - although admittedly, he mostly brought you along for his own selfish reasons.

He forced you to take him to places like McDonald's and KFC, not because the food - although advertised as such - was finger-licking good, but because he'd missed out on the experience of greasy fast food when he was growing up in the previous century. He forced you to take him to BestBuy, not because he was in the market for a new smart-fridge, but because he needed you to explain the appliances that had been invented after he went into the ice without judging him for his continuous stream of questions. It wasn't until your throat was sore from all the talking that he would take you to a coffee shop so you could sit down and enjoy a hot beverage. Not Starbucks though. Way too crowded and the drinks were too complicated. What the hell was a Frappuccino, anyway?

It was during those days where you began to glance at him. Peaks, out of the corners of your eye when he was trying to figure out whether to order a Quarterpounder or a Big-Mac. Admiration for adjusting so quickly in a world so far away from his own, for accepting it. Glances turned into zoned-out stares that focused on his features until he'd wave his hand in front of your face and ask you what planet you were on. Your cheeks would heat up every time, a sight he loved - but would never admit - and you would stammer and make up a stupid excuse about being tired.

You hated the feeling of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach whenever he would brush his arm against yours during the movie nights, or when his knees would hit yours as you sat opposite each other in the coffee shop. You hated the lopsided smiles he gave you when he thought you weren't looking and hated how close he would stand to you in the kitchen when you were making breakfast, shirt off and sweatpants riding low on his perfectly sculpted hips.

You hated how you'd begun to develop a crush on Steve Rogers. It just crept up on you, silent and deadly like a black viper. It had wiggled its way into your heart and settled there, causing it to hammer skip every time you were near him. You wanted to punch yourself for acting like a lovesick puppy because you were sure it was a one-sided thing and yet even as you laid in bed at night with thoughts racing and images of Steve flashing before closed lids, you couldn't turn your fucking brain off long enough to think clearly.

You and Steve were friends. Not just friends, either, but best friends. You spent so much time together it made Tony gag. Natasha couldn't stop obsessing over the two of you, constantly trying to prove that you were secretly dating. Even Bruce caught wind of the closeness of your supposedly platonic relationship and when he caught the two of you in the common room late one night doubled over in hysterical laughter, piles of blankets and fluffy pillows surrounding you on the couch you were sitting on, even he was convinced there was more going on than you were letting on.

As you were sitting on a tropical island, surrounded by the people that you cared for the most, a part of you wished there was. How nice it would be to experience a vacation at a fancy resort in the tropics with a romantic partner. You snorted, picking up your knife and fork while shaking your head. There was nothing going on between you and Steve and as far as he was concerned, there never would be. You were friends, after all, best friends at that, and there was no way that Steve could be interested in you in any other way. He was so perfect in every way and you were just, ordinary. Plain, a Big-Mac without toppings.

Dessert came before you even realized what was going on. You were buzzed at this point from all the cocktails you'd consumed and instead decided to order a glass of ice water to accompany the chocolate lava cake you had ordered. You only ate half, stomach feeling like it was going to burst at any point if you ate any more. Steve, being the gentleman he was, took the fact that you placed your spoon down as a sign and finished it for you.

"Y/N?"

You hadn't heard him coming.

He was standing behind you suddenly, shirt unbuttoned further than before and hair blowing in the wind that had started to pick up. Of course, it had been Tony's idea to host a private party after dinner in the club that was attached to the resort. Employees of SHIELD and the Avengers were dancing inside, booze flowing just as smoothly as the music. You'd stepped outside for only a moment in desperate need for some fresh air and time to think.

It was still warm outside, the soft breeze feeling wonderful on your slightly reddened skin.

"Hey," you said, elbows leaning on the railing that separated the resort from its private beach, "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he said smartly, offering you a sip of his sprite, "This is a nice place."

"It's beautiful," you mused, watching the gentle waves and the pearly white sands ahead.

"Yeah," Steve mumbled, "it is."

Seeing you in a white triangle bikini was the single most amazing thing Steve had ever seen. It had taken all his strength not to rip you from the beach and into your bungalow where he could kiss you and have you all to himself at last. The salty water had transformed your hair into waves, and the sun had kissed your skin and made you glow. You were on a towel on your stomach, book in front of you and sunglasses hiding your eyes. A bottle of sunscreen poked out of the tote bag you brought and a bottle of water stood perched up into the sand. It had to be warm by now, but you didn't care.

He loved seeing how much you enjoyed this. How naturally you adjusted to the change of pace, how you blended in with the scenery as if you'd always been there. He got to see a side of you he'd never seen before when you were in New York, where the rain seemed to permanently hang over the city. He loved how you interacted with people you were so used to seeing only at work, but this also made him jealous. He was used to being one of the only people you would hang out with in private but now, you'd practically been glued to everyone but him. How badly he wanted to take you out for a stroll on the beach alone or enjoy a cocktail with you with no-one else watching. Hell, he'd even dance for you at that club with the music he could hardly call music if it meant he got to spend more time with you alone.

He was playing volleyball again, on the beach this time. Half of your party had gone out on scooters for an island excursion, but not you. You had decided that your book was more important, and so you were reading the final chapter with the sun cascading on your back. He'd tried to get you to join him earlier, but once again, you'd declined. Not now, when you were so close to finishing the book. The main character was about to confess her love for the man she'd been chasing for years. She had finally built up the courage to tell him how she really felt. Her words caused your stomach to clench and your heart to pound. You had to know how it would end.

But even the most experienced of readers required a break every once in a while. You were hot, extremely hot and in desperate need of something to cool you off. Alas, the water you'd brought had warmed up, offering no relief from the constant heat blazing down on you. You got up, placing the book into your bag so it wouldn't get covered in the sand and stretched your limbs.

You looked around the beach for a while, noticing it was a lot quieter with half the staff gone for the day and exhaled, allowing a deep breath to escape your lungs while you began to jog across the hot sand.

"When are you going to tell her you're in love with her?" Tony asked with a smug smirk on his face and the ball in his hands.

Steve swallowed, catching the ball with ease.

"You're supposed to hit it back, not catch it and stand there like a dead guy," Tony commented, "Anyway, you dig her and for some reason, you're too afraid to just man up and tell her. Why?"

"Because," Steve said, "we're just friends."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Look, nothing's ever gonna change unless you act and you're an idiot if you think she doesn't feel the same way. Plus, I made a bet with Tash, so you better step up your game and get to it. Like, right now."

"Tony, I can't do that."

"Give me one good reason. Go on, I'm waiting." Another cocky smirk.

"We're coworkers."

Tony rolled his eyes, "Oh please, Fury doesn't give a shit and neither do I. Sign a couple of forms if you have to. Listen, pal if you don't make a move soon, someone else is bound to come in and sweep her off her feet and you'll be sorry forever."

Steve thought for a moment, watching as you walked further away from him and cursed Tony for being right. Again.

"She's the only one who can tolerate your shit, Rogers. Don't let her get away so easily."

Your feet were just touching the water when a hand around your upper arm stopped you from walking into the ocean. You'd ventured out to a more quiet area of the beach, where the only sound audible was the crashing of waves and seagulls over your head. You could still see your towel from where you stood, but the details had become blurry. Perfect.

"Hey," you said, voice sounding startled after you'd turned to look at whoever was holding you.

"I don't know why I allowed Tony of all people to convince me to do this, but I wouldn't be here if what he said to me didn't have a truth to it so I suppose it was for the best." Steve stammered, hands now on your shoulders as if to shield them from the sun.

"What are you talking about?" You asked, confused.

"Do you like me?" He asked, cheeks reddening more and more with each passing second. You couldn't tell through the darkness of your sunglasses, but he didn't know that.

"Of course I do Steve, you're my best-" He cut you off, testosterone and adrenaline taking over now.

"Not like that. Listen, you make me happy. Like, happy, happy. I don't mean the kind of happy that I get when I run into Sam at the gym and he has a fresh smoothie and a bagel for me, or when we successfully complete a mission and return home safely. It's not the kind of happy I get when I drink my favorite coffee, or when I see a dog at the park."

"What are you saying?" You whispered, eyes hidden by tinted glasses sliding across his face for any sign of fuckery.

There was none. You're suddenly painfully aware of the water swishing against your legs, aware of the grains of sand beneath your feet and his touch, which burned hotter than any sun in the universe could ever do. It's like you'd taken a step inside the book you were just reading.

"You make me feel things I haven't felt before, but want to feel all the time. I crave you when you're not there. The brush of your fingers, the softness of your voice and your laugh, Y/N, I need to hear it all the time and hell, I don't want to even think about having to share it with anyone else because I can't stand to bear the thought." He realized he was being dramatic, but he didn't care.

It disgusted him how easy it had been for Tony to convince him to tell you, but he was right. Walking on eggshells around you was ridiculous and even though Steve realized that being this honest could ruin everything in a matter of seconds, he also knew that lying was a habit he hated and he had been lying to himself for far too long by pretending to accept your friendship as the endstage.

Your hand was on his chest before he knew what was happening. A small smile played on your rosy lips, yet there was hesitation hidden behind those sunglasses. Hesitation, because what if the only reason why he said those words to you was because of a stupid bet? You were almost convinced of it, but his blue orbs told you the truth far better than any of his words could ever do. He was searching for confirmation, waiting for you to tell him you felt the same. Hell, they were begging you to say something, anything just to get the anticipation out of the way. It was like a horror movie, where you knew a jump scare was coming but you didn't know when.

"I do like you," you said finally, "more than dogs at the park."

An amused expression on your face allowed him to finally breathe again. Bright blue eyes still intensely scanned your face, just to make sure you too were telling the truth. He wasn't a walking lie detector - unlike Natasha - but he could tell you were honest.

"I want to take you out," more adrenaline, "properly. Not a coffee shop date, but a real date. With flowers and dinner."

Your heart clenched, second hand finding his chest, "I would like that."

It was hard to stand on the tip of your toes while being in the sand. You sank a little, so it kind of defeated the purpose, but still, you did your best to gain some height on the tall man in front of you. His piercing blues traveled across your shoulders, followed a trail of glimmering sunshine along your body and you sighed, almost fearful you ended up with a heat stroke and were currently delusional. Or drunk. Or both.

But his lips, salty from the ocean water he took in when he went under a while ago and soft, felt very fucking real. You could hardly believe it because did dreams really come true, but hell yeah they did, because you were in one right now and you were not asleep. You were kissing, mouth on mouth and it didn't stop there, because your tongue soon slipped in - you blamed the alcohol you had earlier for your sudden boldness. Blamed him too, for overwhelming you with it.

You didn't even care about the fact that Tony and some level 6 SHIELD employees were watching you guys make out on a private beach. Didn't give a damn about the fact that Tony picked up his phone to call Natasha about how she now owed him $200, or how your sunscreen was starting to wear off and your skin would soon turn red. You finally had Steve right where you wanted him, really had him now, and you didn't plan on letting go anytime soon.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #imagines #steve rogers imagines #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #captain america smut #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel smut #marvel #avengers imagine #avengers smut #avengers imagines #steve rogers fic

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hermankopusortizorsumshite · 4 years

Text

“Hey guys! I need a room! Girlfriend kicked me out.” Luca comes into the room hollering, and you laugh. Hooking his arms around your waist he pulls you against him. “Come on Sparrow, you know you’re single.” He coos, nuzzling your forehead.

“Oh no you don’t! You ate everything in my fridge and I didn’t get any sleep last time!” Hondo’s eyes meet yours and the cheering lets loose.

“I promise I won’t be so loud.” Luca chuckles, letting go as he drops his duffel bag against the wall by his locker. You glance over your shoulder and Street’s eyes meet yours.

“How long have they been together?” He asks Chris, watching your eyes land on Luca’s.

“Married since ‘07.” Luca winks at the new kid, pressing a sloppy wet kiss to your cheek as he walks by.

“Dominique Jack Luca!” You shriek, swiping the slobber from your face as you strap on your vest, chasing after the large man.

“Yeah baby?” He asks, watching your cheeks tint red.

“You have to quit doing that!” You bark, waving a hand at the kid who walks behind them.

“So, how does it work? How do they work together so well?” He questions, looking between his new teammates. The rest share a knowing laugh and a chuckle.

“Kid, they’re not married to each other. They started on the force together in ‘07, Luca likes to say they’ve been married since then to the new kids. It gets ‘em riled up. They-“

“Another point for the Dominator!” Luca cheers, pumping his fist in the air as they pile into Black Betty.

They enter through the back door, clearing the house, as they round the corner you spot a rabbit, and set off after.

“Rabbit! I’m on it!” You tear through the front yard, only caught off guard when you disappears. Searching the streets, he’s vanished. It happens so fast, Luca’s shouting his gun firing, the knife sinking into the top of your upper arm. The knife rips through the flesh as the suspect falls, you shriek.

“But you’ll never find a guy more whipped than Luca when it comes to her. She’s his number one.” Chris chuckles, knowing you’d be fine. Street watched on, as she was right, Luca was pacing, fists clenched at his sides in the cops face trying to get through to you. Street smiles a little to himself.

“Damn it, you had to wait to shoot him?” You joke, watching as Luca gets cleared to come to you.

“You’re okay though?” He hushes, his gentle hands cupping your face, his blue eyes blanketed in concern.

“Of course, I’m fine.” You chuckle, trying to make a little light of the situation.

“Hop on.” He groans, knowing what you were waiting for. Every time you were injured, you told Luca your legs were broken and you’d make him give you a piggyback ride to the car. Climbing on, he carries you back to the car, complaining the whole way there.

They make it back to headquarters, people clapping for them as they walk in. One person claps you on the shoulder, sending pain through her arm. Luca ducks across the row of his team, standing on her right to block her from the crowd.

“Hey Sparrow! Seeing as you’re wounded, why doesn’t—“

“No! No you don’t! Send him to Peabody’s house.”

“I’d love to help you little bird.” He laughs, patting your good shoulder. “I’ll be your slave for the night. You can do whatever you want to me.” He lets another award-winning smile and laugh as he grabs his duffel.

“Fine, I can’t say no to you. But tomorrow, I’m hittin’ that crazy bitch you let have your apartment.” Street watches as they walk out together, Luca’s arm so casually draped over her shoulder.

“They really are married, aren’t they?” He asks as Chris grabs her backpack from the table.

“No, best friends. They’ve saved each other’s lives. Taken bullets and knives for each other. I want that someday.” She sighs as the two of you walk out laughing about something.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“The type of love and confidence of working with your best friend. They have no doubt in each other. If they weren’t married to SWAT, they would be married to each other.” She laughs, patting Street’s shoulder before heading out.

“Hey I got it. I’m your slave here, remember?” His husky voice and his chuckle making you giggle, leaning his body against hers and stretching his long muscular arms over top of you to grab the plates and cups.

“Jesus Christ, Dom.” You groan, turning around face to face with his broad chest. He closes the cupboard and rests his hands there, his big arms still stretched out on either side of you. For the second time in the ten years you worked together, your breath hitched and you found yourself staring at him in a different light.

“Thanks.” You hush, and his eyes met yours. “Dominique.” You whisper, closing your eyes for a moment to compose yourself.

“Sparrow.” He gives you a moment, but not too long, before he leans against you, kissing your mouth hard. “Little bird,” he hushes against your skin as he hauls you against him.

“Dominique Jack Luca.” You stammer, pushing him away from you.

“Don’t. Don’t worry. There’s no way.” He assures, hauling you back to him and letting his lips find yours. “You and me baby, since ‘07.” He whispers, cutting the final string of decency you have left. He carried you to your bedroom, his lips never leaving yours.

The next morning as the two of you walked into Headquarters his hand swallowing yours, almost no eyes missed the way they walked in. Dominique was grinning ear to ear, a small smile on your lips, but mostly just red flush on your cheeks. As the two of you walk into the squad room, you find Chris and Street in a heated argument, and Deacon handing money to Hondo. Your eyes meet Luca and assess his reaction.

“You and I could get married.” Street laughs, elbowing Chris.

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes before putting on her gear for the day.

“You guys took bets? Were you a part of this?” Luca raises his hands in defense, a grin still hanging on his lips. “Grow up, you guys!” She growls, rolling her eyes before heading to the locker room to change.

“Hey, I’m sorry about them. We just had a friendly wager on this ten years or the next.” Hondo chuckles, “meet me in the briefing room. We’ll all be down there.”

When you reach the briefing room, there was a table set up with cards and a cake with you and Luca’s face on it, and everyone in the division was there cheering.

“Dominique Luca and Sparrow, come up here for a moment. You two have been a standard in the police department for almost ten years, those first two years you two almost killed each other don’t count.” Hondo and everyone chuckles. “You two have shown our squad how to love each other unconditionally even when you wanna strangle the other. Luca, you are a goofy guy, man. You don’t make sense sometimes, but despite that, your best friend and partner in every operation understands you. She even fights for you. You play the meanest pranks on her and she takes them in a stride. To the couple married since ‘07, congratulations on your decade. Here’s to many more.” Hondo steps down, leaving the two of you up there. Heading for the steps, you stop when you hear Luca speak behind you.

“Hey, wait a minute. Sparrow, I wanna say something.” He chuckles, “Little bird, you’re the coolest chick I’ve ever worked with. I dig you, man. But I need to know something. We’ve been married since ‘07 to this job. That’s why we always did so well. But we’re getting older, so how about we make it official?” Your jaw dropped, the hesitation written on your face. “Nothing has to change. But I’ve realized that neither of us are gonna ever find the time to make a relationship outside of work. So, let’s just live together and figure this out together.” He chuckles, still holding his breath. You heave a sigh, shaking your head. You snatch the microphone from him.

“Dominique Luca, you are an asshole. You are a child with a driver’s license. You almost killed me the first year we worked together, but when we had been under fire, just us, do you remember what you said to me?”

“There were two bullets in your shoulder, and two in my back, and I said to you that when we got outta there we were going for pizza. Cause I was hungry, and you were my work wife. And look at that, you and me, baby. Married since ‘07!” He laughs, scooping you into his arms and kissing you, not giving you a chance to tell him no. Not that you could anyways. “Mister and Missus Luca!” He cheers, sliding a small ring onto your finger.

“Hold on, you asked her on a date while you were under fire?” Jessica asks as they step off the stage. He laughs and nods, his hands never leaving your waist.

“Let’s cut the cake, man!” He cheers, the knife going straight to his own face. Cutting out a small square, he offers you a bite. Stupidly, you leaned in for it, and he smashed his small frosting face all over your face.

“Dominique Jack Luca!” You shriek, laughing.

“What? I figured frosting me would be sweeter.” Everyone laughs, lining up for a slice of cake as the two of you disappear to a back table.

“Was this your whole plan? Or—“

“Hondo arraigned the party, I just figured, since they were already gathered around I might as well ask.” His eyes drifting to the ring on your hand and a grin forming.

“Luca, you are crazy. But hey, you and me, baby. Married since ‘07.” You laugh, letting him pull you into his lap. “I just need to know one thing, are you moving in tonight?” You ask, watching his eyes light up.

“Of course.” He assures.

#luca #dominique luca #dominique luca imagine #swat luca #SWAT #dominic luca #dominic luca imagine

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 4 years

Text

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 60: Final Exam Part 2: Multiple Choice

Presenting the next chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

All chapters can be found here

Shota took in a deep breath and let out a scream, high-pitched and powerful. The sonic waves passed through the buildings ahead of them and then bounced back, giving him a detailed outline of everything and everyone those waves had touched. It was like seeing a picture in his head, online mostly just in sharp blue outlines. Normally, he couldn’t get this good of a picture. Solid objects slowed down the soundwaves and bounced them back. But with so many of the buildings having shattered windows or other hole in them, he could get a much better picture of what was going on.

“I count four people in the buildings,” he said, pointing. “Two there, one there, one there. Plus three people outside it and at least four more people up past that building, but it gets fuzzy after that.”

“Good job, Shinso,” Sora Iida told him. In her red and silver armor, combined with her height, she stood out distinctly in the morning sun. “I can scout ahead and take the far point, while you three work on the closer rescues.”

“Who put you in charge?” Aoyama asked. He was lit up like a small sun himself; with his arms and face exposed, his glow made him hard to even look at directly.

“Do you have a better suggestion?” Iida asked. It wasn’t a challenge, the way Kirishima-Bakugo might have asked it, but genuine interest. Of course, given Iida’s scientific leanings, she would be interested in the best outcome.

“…Non,” he admitted. His shoulders slumped and he gave his cape a flick. “Let us do your plan then.”

“We must also be vigilant against the presence of Villains, Aoyama,” Koda said, cautiously. She usually was the one to rein Aoyama in when he was getting an attitude or pouting. “Iida is the fastest of us. If anyone should be scouting ahead, it is her.”

Aoyama crossed his arms, but grumbled his assent. Shota knew he liked to show off and be the center of attention, but now really wasn’t the time for it. Not with all of them passing or failing depending on it. Shota was already worried enough that he was going to drag everyone down… He’d kept it together during training since he came back to school, but this was a lot more intense.

“You are correct as always, Mademoiselle Koda,” Aoyama conceded.

The matter settled, Iida said, “Remember, we are to check in with Tos—Gravi-Might and the others in ten minutes, unless they contact us first.” With the roar of her Jetpack, the wings of her costume snapped up and she took off, quickly speeding into the distance.

Shota, Koda, and Aoyama snapped into action as well. None of them possessed Quirks which granted much speed, but they were all still in good enough shape for a quick jog. On the road ahead of them, a pair of cars had crashed into each other. One had been abandoned, but the other was crushed where a downed electrical pole had landed on it. It showed no obvious signs of still being active, but…

“Hang on, sir!” Shota called out to the robot behind the wheel of the car. “We’re going to get you out!”

From the robot, there was no response. Unconscious, then? That meant they really needed to move.

Fortunately, Koda was one step ahead of him. From the seed pouch on her belt, she produced a handful of seeds and tossed them near the car. Once in the ground, she applied her Quirk and they immediately started to grow, becoming vines that wrapped their way around the pole, covering each stray wire, and slowly lifting it off the car.

“My hastily grown friends do conduct a little electricity,” she said, “but not enough to do them significant harm. And far less harm than that would do to us.”

Aoyama stepped in next. With the car partially smashed, there was no way they were just opening the door to get the robot out. From the mirrored wristband on his right arm, he released a small portion of his stored light, going for a concentrated blue-white laser beam that cut through the car like a hot knife going through butter, leaving an orange-hot line behind it. When he had gone completely around the edge of the door, he took a quick step back as it fell.

“Watch the edges!” Shota said. “They’re going to be hot!”

Aoyama shot him a dirty look. “I know that!” he snapped. But the look on Aoyama’s face said he didn’t. With care, though, he extracted the robot. “Do not worry,” he told it. “We shall get you somewhere safe.”

Getting it a safe distance away was enough for the robot to tell them they had completed its rescue. The other rescues went just as quickly. Shota was even able to use his Quirk to blast away some rubble, letting Koda and Aoyama finish up the rescue. It felt good. Even if they were robots, using his Quirk to find people, to help them, not to cause harm, was a welcome change. Still, some small part of him still flinched at unleashing the more destructive aspects of his Quirk, even for rescue work. He could still see the Nomu simply disintegrating under his power. Even if it had turned out not to be alive, he hadn’t know that at the time…

With a road of jet engines, Iida returned, landing near them. “I was able to rescue two, but I will need additional support for the others,” she said. “But first… Loud Kid, another sonar sweep, if you would, in case the parameters have changed?”

Shota nodded. But just before he could let out another sonar pulse, a loud crack sounded, echoing off the buildings. Something struck Aoyama in the head and he went down!

***

Isamu skidded to a stop, braking hard with a bit of reverse-thrust. The section of Omega City his group had headed to was a wreck, looking like a tornado had hit it. Robot civilians were running from a Villain, a muscular man with bird-like feet that ended in sharp talons, hair that turned into feathers and spread along his back, and massive wings. He wore tattered jeans and very little beyond that, with tattoos covering the space on his back between his wings. When he flapped his wings, he unleashed massive gusts of wind, blowing over everything in his path. The tornado theory was looking pretty solid.

The Villain hadn’t noticed them yet, content in his rampage, with his back to them. His shock momentarily halted, Isamu stood up. Already, he could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Even if this was some Pro-Hero helping out U.A. or one of the other year teachers or something, this felt like a Villain attack. Whoever they were, they were doing a damn good job getting into their role.

Of course, if he was a Hero, Isamu felt like he should have recognized him. But there weren’t a lot of Pro-Heroes with wings (Hawks and Kestrel immediately came to mind, but this definitely wasn’t either of them) and this guy didn’t seem to match up to any of them. Maybe from another country? He wasn’t so good with those.

“That’s right!” the winged man shouted. “Run! Run!” He flicked his wings forward again, sharply. The wave of air was more compressed this time, slicing through everything in its path. The change in air pressure was intense. Even as far away as they were, even from behind him, Isamu could fell it. This guy’s Quirk might make him even stronger than Gale Force…

“…I’m open to suggestions here,” Sero said. “I mean, I could probably shoot some Tape at him, but those wings look pretty strong. I’d have to take him completely by surprise and I’m just not fast enough to wrap him up before he notices.”

“Yeah, this why I’m going into Rescue Heroics,” Ojiro added. “I guess I could go invisible and kick him in the balls…”

“X-Ray,” Isamu said, and he had to force himself to say Sero’s Hero name, “Stick ‘Em Up… Rescue the civilians. Amaterasu and I will get his attention and hold him off.”

Behind the clear face plate of his costume, Sero gave him an astonished look, then performed an exaggerated salute. “It’s been nice knowing you, man. You ready, Kimmie?”

Ojiro nodded, a gesture only visible because of the visor she wore with her eye-searingly bright costume. Sero wrapped an arm around her and in the blink of an eye, they both became invisible, shielded from view by the power of her Quirk. Isamu heard the “thwip!” sounds of Sero firing off a strand of his Acid Tape and he knew they were on the move.

Tokoyami’s expression was more unreadable, but Isamu had known her long enough now to read some of the more subtle movements of her feathers and her eyes. She was uneasy, but ready to fight.

Training had mostly pitted them against robots or, occasionally, each other. And yes, they’d been allowed to engage some very minor level criminals and Villains during their Internships. But this was something different entirely. Who even was this guy?

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Ready,” she said.

“Could be bad,” he said. “Guy seems pretty powerful.”

“So are we,” she said. “Have confidence, Haimawari.”

She had a point. “I’ll go low. You go high.”

There was a small nod between them, and Isamu launched himself forward, employing his Quirk as soon as he hit the ground. “Hey!” he shouted, pouring on the speed and trying to get the guy’s attention. “How about picking on someone your own size, you big blowhard!”

That got the guy’s attention. He turned quickly and Isamu could now see that he had harsh, yellow eyes like a bird as well. “Well, well,” the guy said, a trace of a Chinese accent in his voice, “if it isn’t the brave little Heroes!” His wings flared out and Isamu felt a massive gust of wind push against him. He poured on the thrust, fighting against it, more grateful than ever for the goggles and bandanna protecting his eyes, mouth, and nose. There was plenty of dust and debris in the air that could have been really nasty otherwise.

Fortunately, he was just the distraction. With the bad guy focusing on him, he didn’t see Tokoyami’s Frog-Shadow snaking around from above. But suddenly, Frog-Shadow swerved from her path, flying erratically through the air, until she smashed into the ground, leaving a small crater from the impact. Isamu too, suddenly saw the world spinning around him, making it impossible to tell where the street was. He swerved, hard, and saw a wall coming up right in front of him…!

***

Midoriya had one of the strongest Quirks in the class, up there with Izumi, Shinso, and Tokoyami, and he’d bounced off the Villain like a ragdoll! He was getting back up, but it would take him a minute. That impact looked like it was going to hurt tomorrow.

The metal man grinned in a way that vaguely reminded Chihiro of Kirishima-Bakugo, the same kind of “this is gonna be a fight and I’m gonna enjoy it” sort of smile she got before she punched someone. It was made all the worse by the truly massive underbite the guy had. His bottom jaw was huge, like the scoop bucket on a steam shovel. Where the hell had U.A. found this creepazoid? It was part of the exam, right? It hadn’t been crashed by some real Villain, had it? No, if that was the case, Aizawa and the other teachers would be intervening already…

“You going try and fight me like the green kid there?” the metal man asked. Despite looking like a thug, he didn’t sound stupid or uneducated. The voice was deep, rumbling, and confident like a champion fighter. “Nothing wrong with running. I’ve fought plenty of Heroes before and come out on top. I don’t like fighting girls, but if I have to…. Well, I’m not leaving without the doc.”

“Girls”? Mika repeated. She stamped a hoof on the ground and pointed an indignant finger. “The nerve of this guy! We’re Heroes in training! And he’s trying to softball us? I demand the right to be fought just like a guy!”

Anybody else, Chihiro would have thought they were babbling. But among Mika’s many skills was provocation. It had worked well for her during the Sports Festival and judging by the guy’s expression, it was working now.

“I mean, really,” Mika went on, “what rock did they find you under? Haven’t you heard of women’s liberation? Have you even talked to a woman in the last twenty years..?”

The metal man let out a roar and charged, smashing his metal fists down. Mika dodged out of the way and his fists hit the ground. Or rather, they hit what was on the ground: Mika’s sticky balls, the trap she’d seeded earlier.

He tried to pull his fists back but was unsuccessful, the sticky balls adhering quite well to his fists and the ground. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized he was trapped.

“Shock-Jock!” Izumi called out. “Now!”

Which was when Chihiro and Izumi let him have it. Her Cords slinked down and plugging into her bracers and she brought her hands up, sending out dual blasts of electricity. Bless Aunt Momo and Mrs. Hatsume, they did their job well, specialized circuits in the bracers and gloves directed the electricity in a straight line. Izumi, meanwhile, released some of the heat she had stored up from building the ice walls, projecting yellow-orange blasts of flame at the guy.

Her electric attack hit first, setting the guy twitching and screaming, before Izumi’s flames washed over him, turning some of his metal body white hot. Chihiro actually felt kind of bad. This was still just the exam, right? She had to take it serious, but she didn’t want to give the guy permanent nerve damage or anything.

Izumi ceased her fire attack and held up a hand. Chihiro caught the signal and let up on her electric one. The guy stood there, groaning, his metal skin making a slight pinging sound as it cooled.

“That hurt,” he snarled. “But this is going to hurt more!” With a massive grunt, he freed his arms, not by removing Mika’s balls from them, but instead simply being strong enough to tear the sections of ground they were attached to up with them.

“…That’s new,” Mika said, quietly.

Fortunately, by this time, Midoriya had recovered. “GRAVITY...BOOSTER!” He shot forward like a rocket, then hit the guy with an uppercut that made her ears ring. The metal guy was in motion this time, not braced like before and went flying high into the air from the force of the blow, disappearing from sight.

Still, Chihiro couldn’t help but stare, wide eyed. “You sure All Might is only your step-grandpa?” she asked.

He didn’t bother answering her question. “See if you can get any of the other teams on the comms. Mine got smashed when I hit the wall.”

***

Kenta had been exploring the inside of the building with Tensei Iida, looking for people to rescue, when something had taken them by surprise. Or rather, someone: a massive, muscular woman who looked like she could snap you in half just by staring at you hard enough, the kind that Mineta would say could crush your head between her thighs. And for just a moment, Kenta had frozen, the memory of the Nomu rearing up over him playing on a continuous loop in his head.

Iida had saved him, rushing in with his Jetpack to shove him out of the way. The woman had hit Iida instead and seemingly forgot about Kenta. He hoped Iida was okay. It would be really bad if he had to tell Takuma he’d gotten his boyfriend killed or put in traction.

Great. He was making jokes at a time like this. Takuma really was rubbing off on him.

He forced himself to get moving, heading back out the way he had come in. Outside, he could see all three of his classmates (Iida was upright, that was good!, even if he was sporting a nasty dent on his armor!) fighting with the woman. Her costume left a lot to be desired, being only stylized biker gear, with heavy spikes on the shoulders of her jacket.

Kirishima-Bakugo fired off a round of disks from her gauntlets, peppering the ground with a series of small explosions that kept the woman off balance, while Iida flew around behind her and snagged her with a capture-line from his gauntlet. After they’d taken her off balance and restrained her, Shoji moved in, swinging all three of his right-side arms.

Great. He was definitely going to fail the exam and make everyone else fail. Because he’d frozen up like a damn coward. Maybe one bad moment wouldn’t be enough. But he needed to make himself useful somehow…

Shoji’s blows connected, but they didn’t rock the woman back even an inch. Thought the bottom half of his face was covered, Kenta could see Shoji’s eyes widen in surprise. The woman just laughed.

“No bad, kid,” she said. “That was a nice gift. Let me return the favor!”

She flexed her arms and snapped Iida’s capture line like it was made of string, then hit the six-armed boy with a blow that sent him flying.

“Finally!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted, throwing her head back and laughing. “A challenge!”

She charged, lashing out at the woman with a series of close-range blows. Every time a blow connected, she fired off an explosion. Some kind of contact transfer from her gloves, if he remembered right. It was hard to keep up with everyone’s costume and Support Gear updates. Maybe he needed to invest in something if he wanted to keep up.

The woman may have been sent off balance by the explosions fired at her feet, but this time, they didn’t seem to do anything. They didn’t even singe her skin.

Kirishima-Bakugo took a step back, fists still at the ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “What the hell, lady? What’re you made out of?!”

“Can’t stop everything by hitting it, girl,” the woman sneered. She swung her fist in a wide arc, but Kirishima-Bakugo was lighter on her feet, dodging out of the way. Iida swooped in, striking out at high speed. The blow clipped the woman’s chin, knocking her back for a moment and spinning her head around, before she struck out, faster than anyone that big should be able to move, swatting Iida from the sky.

What the hell was he supposed to do against that?

Wait…

She’d gone from being thrown off balance by Kirishima-Bakugo’s explosions to being unaffected. She’d shrugged off blows from Shoji but gotten her head spun around by Iida. Even with Iida putting his speed behind it, Shoji had a lot more power to his punches. What if she had to know a blow was coming to block it?

Hang on guys, he silently pleaded. He had an idea… he just needed her to stay in one place long enough.

He’d say this for all three of them, they kept taking her hits, but they kept getting back up again. And the huge woman gave as good as she got. She’d called Shoji’s blow a “gift” too…

But there, a telephone pole, right across the street…

As he ran towards the telephone pole, Kenta did a little math in his head, grateful for the fact that unlike Takuma and Kimmie, he actually paid attention in class. There was lots of math involved in baking and he was good enough at helping his dad to do some calculations on the fly. If she didn’t move too much, it would be just about right.

CHOMP! Kenta’s jaw muscles were strong and he could open his mouth wider than a normal person could. Combined with the fact that his teeth were incredibly tough, he could bite through anything very quickly. He bit, chewed, and swallowed as fast as he could, feeling like some kind of beaver as he worked his way through the wood. He kept his eye on the fight and the woman was still in just about the right position. In seconds, the telephone pole started to pitch forward. “TIMBER!” he shouted, giving it a strong push to finish the job.

He saw Shoji backpedal out of the way and Iida grab Kirishima-Bakugo (who protested that she wanted to stay and fight), and the woman try ineffectually to hit them as they fled.

THUMP!

The telephone pole came down on her hard, driving her into the ground. She’d started to turn, but hadn’t had time to fully do… whatever it was she did. For the moment, she was trapped.

“Sato!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted. She looked mad. Probably about him “stealing” her victory. “How the hell did you do that?” When she couldn’t was left unsaid.

He ran across the street to join the others. “I think… I think she can absorb whatever force you throw at her. But she has to know it’s coming. I just got lucky.”

Kirishima-Bakugo scowled. “Yeah, okay. …Not bad, Lips.”

“As soon as I get out of here,” the woman yelled, “you’re dead! You hear me! You’re all dead!” Already, she was struggling and working her way out.

“We’ll see who’s deader, ya witch!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted back. “I’m gonna explode you so hard your grandkids will have burn marks!” She brought up a gauntlet, ready to fire it.

“Ah,” Shoji began. He put a hand on her gauntlet.

“What?” she demanded.

“Perhaps we should continue our rescue work while she’s trapped?”

“I agree,” Iida added. “She is quite capable of neutralizing our attacks and is more than ready to anticipate them. We should rescue who we can, retreat, and fight another time.”

Kenta raised a hand slightly.

“You’re gonna agree with them, aren’t you?” Kirishima-Bakugo demanded. Her teeth were gritted in anger, her body language tense. She was not exactly the type of person who ran from a fight.

He gulped, then nodded. “Maybe we can get somebody like Kaminari or Todoroki or even Takuma or Minet to fight her. Somebody more zappy or who can restrain her.”

“AAAAARRRRGH!” Kirishima-Bakugo let out a scream of frustration. “Dammit, you’re right. Fuck!”

She gestured off in the opposite direction they’d come. “Iida, get eyes in the air, get on the comms and get somebody we can use. The rest of you, move!”

***

“Aoayama!” Koda cried out. The glowing boy went down, smacking his head on the ground, before any of them could react. But they had little time to panic. More shots followed the fist, one several impacting into the ground, others ricocheting off the building behind them. One even stuck Iida, making a clang where it hit her armor.

In response, Shinso screamed. But it was not a scream of panic, instead, he directed the soundwaves outward until they formed a protective, shimmering dome around three of them. Akaya said a small prayer that their classmate was all right. It may have only been an exam, but students had been greatly injured in training and exams before.

“Is he…?” she began, softly, bending down to examine Aoyama.

Around them, shots bounced off of the force field dome Shinso was screaming into existence. They came quickly and from multiple directions. Was there more than one person shooting at them? Guns were a rarity in Japan to begin with, even more so among Villains and Heroes, unless that gun augmented or worked with an existing Quirk, such as their teacher Hawkeye and her Super-Accuracy.

“Breathing,” Akaya continued, after taking his pulse. A nasty bruise was forming along the side of his head, one she could see even through his glow.

“Then we must move,” Iida said. “As soon as we can. I will distract them, while you three get to cover.”

The urgency was apparent. Shinso’s shield was already weakening. He could not sustain the scream for much longer. He held up a shaky thumbs up to say he agreed.

Akaya scooped up Aoyama. He was a fit boy, but slender and not as muscular as Midoriya or Haimawari, let alone Shoji, and while hers was not a strength Quirk, her size and rocky countenance did make her stronger than many. Despite his glow, his skin was not hot, but soft against her rocky one.

“Go!” Iida shouted. “Now!”

Shinso stopped screaming and the dome dropped instantly. He took off and Akaya followed close behind, while Iida rocketed into the air. Shots rained down around them, one narrowly missing her.

Slinging Aoyama over her shoulder instead and apologizing for the rough treatment, Akaya reached into her seed pouch with her now free hand and dropped seeds behind them, using her Quirk to make them grow rapidly. Trees sprung up like lightning behind her, offering temporary shielding from the gunfire.

She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but she could hear the sounds of gunfire still, hear it bounce off of Iida’s armor.

“I cannot see them!” Iida’s voice rang in her ears from their communicator headset. “Shinso, can you pinpoint them?”

Looking around, Akaya and Shinso came to a stop, sheltering behind a car. Shinso looked around, cautiously, then let out one of his sonar screams, casting it in various directions. When he stopped, he made a confused face. “I keep getting something, but it disappears as soon as I make contact. I guess it could be a teleporter, but those kinds of Quirks are, like, super rare! I mean, other than that kid who won the obstacle course, and we probably wouldn’t be fighting him…”

For a moment, the gunfire went quiet. Worryingly quiet. On her shoulder, Aoyama started to stir. Unconscious, the arrogant boy looked much smaller and vulnerable than usual, as though he puffed himself up like a hissing cat when awake.

She wondered sometimes why she tried so hard to be a friend to him. He was a walking tribute to the sins of pride and envy, and just as often prone to wrath. But there was something behind his eyes, a sadness that touched her deeply. There was a pain he carried with him he did not share, but which fueled his vices and she wished she could ease.

Aoyama groaned. “I… claim this land… for France!” he exclaimed, one arm shooting straight up into the air. “Ugh… what hit me?”

“Some kind of projectile,” Akaya told him, helping him get on his feet. “Iida attempted to draw their fire while we escaped.”

Aoyama frowned. She should tell his pride was hurt. “Merci,” he said, simply.

Around them, the world had gone deathly silent, save for a lingering echo of Shinso’s screams. Akaya quickly wished that she had chosen a different word to describe it than that. But it was apt. The strike had come out of nowhere and wasn’t even from a Quirk. They knew less than nothing about who was attacking them.

Iida’s voice again filled their comms. “The shooting seems to have stopped,” she said. “Like it or not, we must continue our mission. I will try to apprise the others of the situation and then join you.”

“She wants us to go on with some maniac with a gun out there?” Aoyama hissed. “Is she crazy?”

“We’ve… we’ve got to rescue people,” Shinso insisted. “Even if it’s dangerous. We’re Heroes. We can’t let everybody down.

It made sense, however dangerous it was. Real Heroes couldn’t just huddle and hide until the danger passed. They had to move on. As they got up to go, something made Akaya stop. There was the slightest of sounds, like a window shade being drawn back. Behind them, rising up from the shadow of a building like a swimmer appearing out of the water was a woman, her features plain and ordinary, especially for this day and age. She wore a black catsuit and carried a dangerous looking rifle.

“Then prepare to disappoint everyo—“ the woman began.

“Hey!” Shinso called out, suddenly sounding excited for some reason. “I know you!”

#my hero academia #their hero academia #fan fic #fan fiction #my writing #shota shinso #chihiro kaminari #kenta sato #akaya koda #isamu haimawari

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winterflash-2019 · 5 years

Text

Happy Halloween!

Warnings: One swear

A/n: Tried to make this a little spooky but most likely failed lol

Pairings: Barry Allen x reader

Requested by @kurtbastianlover

~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you actually talked us into this” Barry whispers as he walked through the creepy abandoned house holding your hand. Cisco voted the entire team go to a haunted house on Halloween and after weeks of begging they finally gave in. Everyone except Harry.

“Hey man it’s Halloween get in the spirit. Besides it’s just a house” he shrugs

“Yeah a house that has history Cisco. Bad history and if a ghost comes through how do you expect us to fight it?” You roll your eyes as you sassed back at him

“Look guys we’re only spending the night here and it’s only 8:00. Time will go by fast and then we’ll be back at the lab before you know it” As soon as the words left his mouth a loud crack of thunder could be heard and the lights start flickering causing you to squeeze Barry’s hand tighter.

“It’s okay baby I got you” He whispers in your ear gently. You’ve been scared of storms ever since you were little and it got really bad if Barry wasn’t by your side.

“What exactly are we gonna do to keep ourselves entertained Cisco?” Caitlin asks with a roll of her eyes. Maybe that was killerfrost.

“Tell ghost stories, play hide and seek, truth or dare? Cmon guys have you ever had fun in your lives?”

“Fine fine” You huff and sit on a broken down rocking chair.

“Let’s play hide and seek”

“I’ll be it” Says Ralph and Cisco rubs his hands together with a grin on his face

“Now this is what I’m talking about” He cheers

—

It’s been 10 minutes since you all started playing hide and seek. You and Barry were upstairs in an old room that had a secret door inside the closet. It was a tight space but you wanted nothing more than to snuggle into Barry anyway.

“Can’t we just leave? Cisco would never know that we left” you whisper and Barry chuckles at your little pout.

“Baby we promised Cisco we’d do this.” He said as he wraps his arms around your waist. Another loud crack of thunder could be heard and this time shook the old broken down house a little.

You whimper into his chest and he strokes your hair softly to calm you down. You were on the verge of a panic attack when a door opening sound came from outside the closet. Barry holds a finger up to his lips as his other hand continued stroking your hair.

Footsteps sounded around the room and then a yell of anger as the unknown person threw things around the room and smashed the dollhouse in the corner of the room.

“Come out here you little bitch!!” The voice screamed but it didn’t sound like Cisco, Ralph, or Caitlin.

“I’m gonna find you! You just wait until I get my hands on you!!!”

Another small whimper could be heard but this time it wasn’t from you. Your eyes widen as you looked at Barry. You didn’t want to look behind you.

Suddenly a loud scream erupted from downstairs and a glass breaking sound

Barry grabs you and flashes downstairs to see Caitlin on the floor with a glass piece from a broken plate sticking out of her chest. Cisco standing above her with blood all over his hands and his eyes were completely black as that same grin from earlier started spreading all over his face.

“Hello Friends” He growls and takes a step closer towards you and Barry

You were in shock. You couldn’t move as you stared into caits lifeless eyes. Suddenly Cisco charged at you and the lights completely go out as you try to doge his attack.

When the lights come back on Caitlin’s body was gone.

“N-No” you look around, realizing you were all by yourself.

“Barry?!” You scream. It was dark and storming outside and to top it off you were alone. You rush down the hall but stop abruptly when you notice the attic was open and legs were hanging out. You held your breath as you got closer to see it was Ralph. You scream a blood curdling scream and lightning strikes and thunder starts cracking in the sky.

You sob as you drop to your knees, shaking hard. Your nails dig into your palms as you try your hardest to calm down but it only gets worse. You start hyperventilating when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Oh y/nnnn” you hear Cisco say in a singing voice. Mocking you.

You couldn’t move. You felt something sharp poking the back of your neck and all you could do was stare into the glass case in front of you, seeing a reflection of a black shadow behind cisco. Controlling him.

“Please Cisco. Don’t do this man” Barry pleads as he sat next to cisco, cuffed in the power dampening cuffs.

“And why should I listen to you? You broke into my house so now you have to get the same treatment my family got” and with that the knife goes through your throat.

“NO!” Barry screams as he wakes up in a cold sweat. He calms down when he sees you stir in your sleep next to him. He rubs his face and look over at the time on his phone but a message caught his eye. It was from cisco.

“Wanna go to a haunted house?”

#the flash #barry allen x reader #barry allen imagine #barry allen #cw #grant gustin #grant gustin x reader #iris west #cisco ramon #joe west #caitlin snow

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dinoyoongi · 5 years

Text

Birthday Cakes & Breakdowns

SYNOPSIS: You bake the greatest cake that has ever existed for Jin’s birthday but it ends up at the bottom of Big Hit’s dumpster.

PAIRING: Seokjin x You

GENRE: Fluffy angst

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 2686

Author’s Note: This one was written in just a little over an hour. There is no structure and it’s kind of all over the place but I hope you enjoy anyway!

_______________________________

“Ta-dah! Happy Birthday!” you shout, setting the tray down in front of Jin at the table. His eyes light up at the sight of the large cake, expertly decorated with pastel purple fondant and a gooey, dripping layer of chocolate fudge. Twenty-eight flickering candles sit in the center, their alignment cleverly spelling out 'JIN.'

“Whoa, this looks amazing!” Jin beams at you. You feel a burst of pride when he immediately reaches for his phone to photograph your masterpiece. “What bakery did you go to? Did this cost you a lot?”

You huff in offense, stomping your foot. “I didn't order it. I baked and decorated it myself.”

Jin balks, his surprised eyes flashing between you and the cake. “You made this? Y/N, I didn't know you could bake.”

“Well, I couldn't. I took a class specifically to learn how to make this cake. I've been watching videos too. Isn't it beautiful? I really think I nailed it.”

He chuckles at your confidence. Like him, you took pride in everything that you did and you weren't afraid to let everyone know it. It was one of the many things that he loved about you and one of the reasons why your relationship was so strong.

“If it tastes even half as good as it looks, it should be delicious,” Jin compliments after snapping more pictures, making you pose in a few of them. You give him a a couple of moments to admire the cake before you hurriedly grab the knife to start slicing, anxious for him to taste it. You cut one perfect slice and slide the plate over to him.

“Don't eat it yet! I want to record your reaction,” you instruct, putting a fork in his hand and backing away, loading up your phone's camera. He can't help but laugh when you begin counting down on your fingers silently as if you're directing a movie. When you dramatically get to zero and jab your finger in his direction, he takes his cue and shoves a forkful into his mouth.

Oh no.

He freezes, the partially chewed cake sitting idle in his mouth. His eyes widen as he looks up at you. You grin and clap your hand to your wrist in celebration. “Look at you – you're speechless! Is it that good?”

“Oh yeah! So delicious!” he mumbles, garbling his words. His eyes remain large. “It's … it's really something else!”

Seeing you grin so brightly, basking in your baking accomplishment is enough motivation for Jin to not only finish chewing the bite of oddly textured, even odder flavored cake, but to also somehow choke down the entire slice that you cut for him. When you reach to cut him another piece, he practically flies out of his seat, gripping your wrist to pull it away from the garbage-fire flavored monstrosity.

“If I eat another slice, I don't think I'll be in any shape for practice tomorrow. How about I bring the rest with me tomorrow and share it with the boys?”

A quiet sigh of relief escapes him as he mentally pats himself on the back for his quick thinking. Because you love the attention, you'll absolutely allow him to take the remainder of the cake to the studio where the members and staff will marvel at your work and Jin will brag about what an incredible baker you are. It's no surprise to him when you squeal in delight, immediately whisking the cake away to be transferred to a travel safe container. Before you peruse your cupboards for an appropriate box, you raise on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to Jin's mouth.

“Happy Birthday,” you kiss him again. “I'm so glad you loved the cake. Now go rest, Birthday Boy. 'll clean everything up.”

With one last quick kiss, you disappear into the kitchen. Guilt smashes into Jin like a truck and he groans, rubbing his face in frustration.

She's not coming with me to practice, Jin tells himself. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

__________________________________

When Yoongi opens the door, you're struggling with arms full of bags and boxes. He dives for a box before it hits the ground, grabbing a few more things from your precariously teetering stack.

“Thanks,” you breathlessly greet him, throwing him an appreciative smile. He follows you into the kitchen, sniffing the contents of the boxes as he walks.

“What is all of this?”

“Treats for you guys! I've spent the whole night playing around with pastry recipes and I made way too much for just Jin and I so I'm spreading the wealth!” Yoongi is successful in turning himself away from you so you can't see the way that his face drops. He tasted the birthday cake you made for Jin last week and he wouldn't exactly classify your baking as any kind of wealth. He leans against the door frame, watching as you carefully position each box, opening the top as if you were turning their kitchen into a buffet and expecting everyone to pile their plates full. Yoongi winces. He respects his hyung. He'd do anything for his hyung. But putting something else you've baked anywhere near his mouth again? That isn't happening.

“You're here!” You hear Jin's voice exclaim happily from another room. He bounds into the kitchen and you giggle as he lifts you off the ground, spinning you in circles until you're both dizzy. He places you gently back to the ground with a soft kiss to your forehead. “What did you bring for us?”

“Hyung, she baked for us. She baked a lot,” Yoongi announces, his voice cracking a few times. You giggle, assuming that his wavering tone is because he's so anxious to make a plate. But Jin knows that Yoongi's voice trembles in fear, not excitement. “Too bad I can't eat anything right now.”

You frown. “Why can't you eat anything?”

“I'm on … medication. And you can't eat anything while you're taking it,” he stumbles through a lie, eyes flashing to Jin in a panic. “Yeah, it sucks. I have to go now. Thanks for thinking of us, Y/N.”

He's gone before you have the chance to ask more. Worried for the rapper's health, you turn to your boyfriend. “He's on medication? What for? Is he okay?”

“He's going to be fine. Don't worry about him,” Jin grits through clenched teeth. He doesn't expect any of the members to eat anything you've brought but he at least expects them to be discreet about it. Glancing at the line of boxes, he feels a tremor of unpleasantness. He knew that lying to you about the cake last week would turn into bad karma that would eventually come back to kick him right in his ass. How can he be honest now when you've baked so much? But what if he doesn't tell you now and you come back tomorrow with even more?

“Jagiya, I have to tell you-”

“Oh shit!” you exclaim suddenly, holding the bottom of your t-shirt out. Jin can see some kind of golden yellow ooze splattered along the bottom. “This is my favorite shirt! Does custard stain?”

Custard? He would have guessed it to be some kind of lemon filling. Since when is custard that dark shade of yellow?

“I think if we treat it before it sets, it should come out. Go change into one of my shirts and try dabbing the spots with soap and cold water.”

You nearly melt on the spot. Homemaker Jin was your one of your absolute weaknesses. You jump up to give him kiss in thanks before scurrying to Jin's bedroom to rummage through his shirts. He sighs as his eyes fall on the counter full of pastries, his stomach turning at the thought of ingesting any one of them.

“What's with the boxes? Are we filming something here today?” Jimin asks, yawning as he steps into the kitchen. He walks past the kitchen table, freezing when he sees Y/N's purse hanging off the back of one of the chairs. “Wait, Y/N is here? Does that mean … she didn't make … ?”

Jin tries to smile but it falls into a grimace. “She worked hard. Do you want to at least try any of them? It looks like there's a variety.”

Jimin laughs obnoxiously loud. “Yeah, right! I'm surprised you haven't already thrown these away. We had to practically beg you to let us taste that rancid cake before you tossed it in the dumpster.”

“You did what?”

Your voice comes out as a squeak, high-pitched from the equal amounts of anger and hurt that overtake you. The boys gasp at the sight of you standing in the doorway, Jin's oversized shirt enveloping your small frame as you press a cloth against your stained top. “You threw my rancid cake in the dumpster? Rancid?”

Jimin has the decency to look ashamed, bowing his head in apology. Jin throws an elbow into his gut and the younger boy doesn't need translating that it means he'll be in a lot of trouble later. He shuffles out of the kitchen.

“Sorry, Y/N,” he mumbles before he exits. You don't spare him any attention. Your fury belongs to only one man and you're about to let him have all of it. Don't cry over pastries. Don't cry over pastries. You have an overwhelming desire to put up a strong front, to be angry instead of sad. But Jimin's words were like an arrow that shot right through your hard exterior and landed into your feelings. And now they're very, very hurt.

“You threw the cake away?” you croak, blinking up at the ceiling to push the tears down. “Why did you tell me it was delicious? Why did you let them try it if you thought it was so bad? Did you guys make fun of me?”

“Jagiya, no,” Jin sighs, reaching his arm out to grab your hand. You childishly pull it closer to you. “I'm so sorry. I should have been honest with you last week.”

“I worked so hard on that cake,” you sniffled. “I spent so much money on the class and supplies. It was supposed to be perfect.”

“I'll give you the money for-”

“Jin, I'm not upset about the money. I'm upset because I tried my hardest to do something special for you and it ended up at the bottom of Big Hit's dumpster!”

“It was special,” Jin mumbles. You scoff in disbelief. He wonders whether he should shut his mouth now or keep going. But keeping his mouth shut is what landed him in this mess in the first place. “It was a special cake because you made it. It just … Y/N, it didn't taste good. At all.”

“Okay, Jin, tell me how you really feel,” you snarl sarcastically. He groans loudly when you bring out the sarcasm, one of your strengths in arguing. Jin tries to avoid conflict with you for this very reason; it's no fun trying to have a grown-up argument with your girlfriend when she's responding to everything you say like a ten-year-old. “I guess I ruined your birthday.”

Jin rolls his eyes at that. “Don't be a drama queen. My birthday was great. Are we really going to have a fight about this? Are you that angry that I didn't like your cake?”

“I'm angry that you lied and paraded my failure around to your friends and staff, yes,” you say defiantly, arms crossing over your chest. There's no way that he's winning this argument and he absolutely knows this. Soaring past his breaking point, he shoves his hand into various boxes, grabbing whichever pastries his fingers gripped first and shoving them all into his mouth at once. You stare at him in shock. And he thinks you're the immature one?

“Jagiya,” he cries out, his cheeks puffed with the food packed into his mouth. Crumbs rain down onto his chest. He hesitantly holds out one of your creations, a mini blueberry muffin. “It's all so bad. I'm so sorry. It's so bad.”

Plucking it from his fingers, you pop it into your mouth like it's nothing. You baked it – you know how much effort and love and time went into these so they should taste heavenly.

Except … they don't. Eyes widening, you reach for the nearest trashcan and spit the disgusting wad of blueberry garbage into the bin. Is this why Jin and Jimin made fun of you? Is this what the cake tasted like?

How is it even possible for somebody to make baked goods taste that badly?

You crumple to the floor in tears, staring up at your boyfriend with blurred vision. “I'm sorry, Jin. You're right, it's terrible. I'm a complete failure.”

He spits out the remainder of the food in his mouth before sitting next to you, wiping your tears with the palm of his sweater. He shushes you as he pulls your body against his. “You're not a failure, Y/N.”

“Yes, I am. What kind of wife could I be for you in the future? If I can't even bake a cake, how am I going to be expected to cook actual meals?” you cry. Jin's stomach drops at the thought of you cooking him dinner but he tries not to let that show. “We'd be eating take-out every night and you'd get fat and they'd kick you out of BTS. I can't let you marry me.”

Your ridiculousness makes Jin laugh silently. He grips both sides of your face with his large hands, interrupting your tears and locking his gentle eyes with yours. “Stop crying, Y/N. I'm not worried about us as a married couple. I happen to be an excellent cook. I'll take care of all of our meals. I won't get fat and they won't kick me out of the group. I promise.”

“That doesn't make me feel better,” you admit, sniffling away the last round of tears. “What do I bring to this relationship then?”

“Y/N, we were fighting about cake and now you want to discuss the dynamics of our marriage that doesn't exist?” he asks in bewilderment. The look on your face tells him that you're dead serious. He sighs heavily. “If you must know, what you bring to the relationship is the most important thing. It's the best thing. It's the most important thing and you're the best at it.”

“Very cryptic but tell me more.”

He grins and instead of talking, he leans in to capture your lips with his. Despite being at the tail end of an argument, you respond eagerly and heatedly. The kiss lasts for about thirty seconds before he pulls away. “That.”

“That what?”

“That's what you're the best at. Kissing me. Nobody else is as good at it as you.”

You burst into laughter, immediately forgetting what you were so upset for. “So you do the cooking and I do the kissing? Is that how our marriage is going to work?”

Jin laughs. “It sounds pretty good to me.”

“Okay, then. Let's practice,” you pat his knee. “I'll take some pancakes please.”

“And you too. I'll take some kisses please,” he says, pursing his lips. You giggle as you raise up on your toes to kiss him deeply. When you separate a few seconds later, you're both red in the face and out of breath. “Wow, that just got you pancakes and hash browns.”

You grin. “Nice doing business with you, husband.”

After throwing every single one of the boxes away, you hop up onto a stool to watch your boyfriend make you breakfast. Yoongi saunters into the room when he's sliding the last of the pancakes onto a serving plate. “Hyung, did you make pancakes? I'm starving.”

You pull the plate away from him before he can grab for one, frowning sympathetically. “Ah, ah, ah. You're not supposed to be eating on that medication, remember?”

Jin can't help but throw himself over the counter in a fit of laughter as Yoongi stomps away in annoyance. Okay, maybe your sarcasm wasn't completely useless after all.

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sternchencas · 5 years

Photo

Title: Romance is Dead | Rating: Teen and up | Words: 2365 | written for:

@spngenrebingo prompt: apple pie | @spnaubingo prompt: zombie AU

@spnonewordbingo prompt: fireplace

Ship: Destiel | Tags/Warnings: fluff, spn typical violence, fighting

Summary: Dean invites Cas to a romantic cabin to finally tell him how he feels. They get interrupted by very unwelcome guests.

Dean has never been so nervous in his entire life. He runs back and forth between the kitchen and the living room of the cabin that he rented out for this evening. Although the flames in the fireplace are cackling brightly, he constantly checks if he needs to do something to keep it going. After all, it’s the most important thing when it comes to creating a romantic atmosphere.

Romantic. Dean sighs when the word crosses his mind. He wonders how he ended up here and if it’s the right thing to do, but then he shakes his head. Doubt won’t help him. “You thought about this long enough,” he whispers to himself, his voice so low that the cracking of the logs in the fire drowns out his voice.

“This is the right thing to do. You can do it!” Dean adds louder. “I mean, what can go wrong, right? It’s just Cas.”

Dean’s stomach turns when he says his friend’s name out loud. It’s not just Cas. It’s Cas. Dies-for-me, sacrifices-everything-for-me, and is-the-best-person-ever-Cas. Well, maybe not a person; an angel; his angel. Dean runs his hands through his hair and storms back into the kitchen with another sigh. What was he thinking, baking a pie for an angel? Cas won’t even be able to taste it. But now it’s done, so Dean puts two slices of pie on paper plates and sets them down next to a bottle of wine in front of the fire.

He arranges everything on a blanket as if they are having a picnic and keeps fussing with the napkins until there’s a loud knock on the door. Dean jumps to his feet and opens it with so much force that he almost rips it off its frail hinges. “Heya Cas,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, his brows furrowed. “Why did you want me to come here?”

“I- just-,” Dean tries, not sure how to explain it. “Why don’t you come in first?”

Cas walks in and positions himself at the other side of the room, still looking at Dean. He doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s romantic arrangement. “Um,” Dean starts, watching Cas, “you really never take that off, huh? I mean, there’s a freaking fire in here.”

“That doesn’t make a difference,” Cas explains. “To me, every place has the same temperature.”

Dean thinks about making an argument about being comfortable, but then he gestures to the ground. “Let’s sit.”

Again, Cas does as Dean says, but doesn’t get the message a romantic meal in front of a fireplace usually conveys. “Do you need help with something?”

“We’ve been so busy lately,” Dean says, giving an answer he already prepared during the day, “I just thought we could hang out, have a little talk.”

Finally, Cas’ frame slouches a little bit as if he allows himself to relax. “Of course, I always enjoy our talks.”

Dean contemplates to go all in from the start but instead, he hands Cas one of the paper plates with the pie and begins to shovel big chunks of his own slice into his mouth. Cas eyes the pie warily for a moment, but then he picks up his fork and clumsily manages to get a tiny piece of it into his mouth. He’s clearly not used to eating but he chews, and Dean speaks with his mouth still full, “Good?”

“It’s more pleasant than I thought. These are apples, right?” Cas pokes a bit of apple with his fork, testing the texture. “It tastes … fresh, like a summer morning.”

Dean can’t help but feel proud. Nobody has ever compared his pie to anything in such a poetic way. “So you like it?”

“I don’t think I will consume food in the future,” Cas admits, “but I do enjoy this.” He puts another piece into his mouth, chews slowly, and unlike Dean, he only speaks again when he’s done. “What did you want to talk about?”

Chuck knows Dean wishes he could draw this out even longer, but he promised himself not to back down again. He needs to say it. Now. “We’ve known each other for years now, and you’re my best friend.”

Cas gives him a fond little smile, and for that alone, Dean wishes he could stow the speech and kiss the angel stupid. Instead, he tries his best to keep going. “Lately, well, not exactly recently, more like for a while now, I have- I felt-,” Dean says, and he gets angry at himself when the words won’t come. “Okay, forget that crap. Cas, I love-”

Dean doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Cas doesn’t look in his face but squints at something over Dean’s shoulder, and suddenly he leaps forward and pushes him out of the way. A second later, there’s a loud crash. The window behind Dean shatters, glass flying everywhere, and a dark figure stumbles into the room.

While Cas is already getting to his feet, Dean lies there, not yet sure what happened. Only when the figure comes for him, Dean’s instincts kick in, and he jumps to his feet. The thing is a muscular guy. With his arms outstretched and a terrible groan, he tries to grab Dean, who takes a quick step back and hastily checks the room for a weapon. He goes for the next best thing, the wine bottle, and is prepared to smash it on the guy’s head. The stranger groans again, and in the firelight, Dean can see something trickling from his mouth. At first, it looks like blood, but it has a greenish shine to it.

Dean raises the bottle, ready to strike, but the weird guy gets pulled back with so much force that he bends in the middle like a folding chair. Cas is holding him by the neck of his jacket and uses the momentum to throw him against the nearest wall. A second later, he’s next to him again and pushes a hand over his face. There’s nothing more their attacker can do before white light is shooting out of his eyes, and finally, he collapses on the floor.

“Woah, Cas,” Dean says, lowering the bottle, “you gotta chill. What if he was just drunk or something?”

Cas takes his place next to Dean and stares out of the broken window. “This thing wasn’t human. And I think there might be more of them.”

With a swift movement, he gets out his angel blade, and Dean checks the corps. Cas might be able to burn those things out, but Dean has to know what they are to fight them. “Looks pretty dead,” he says and gives the lifeless body a hard kick with his boot. “In fact,” he says, crouching down, “he looks like he’s been dead for a while.”

Cas glances over his shoulder at Dean but quickly turns back to the window. “I believe that most monsters you fight are not exactly what you might call alive.”

“Touche,” Dean admits and gets the biggest knife out of the kitchen that he can find. He’d prefer his machete but the Impala is parked about five minutes away, and they’d have to make their way through a small forest piece.

When Dean comes back into the living room, Cas takes another glance at him. “A knife?”

“I don’t know what this guy is, but he sure can bleed,” Dean explains. “Everything else is in the trunk.”

“We should go then. Something isn’t right.”

Dean doesn’t like Cas’ tone at all but before he can voice that, the other window breaks with an ear-splitting sound and another figure is stumbling at Cas. “What kind of 28 days later shit is this?” Dean shouts, not giving the thing the chance to get even close to Cas.

Just like Cas did with the first one, Dean grabs it from behind and pulls it close to cut its throat. It works better than intended. The knife cuts deep into the monster’s neck, chopping the head clean off and Dean’s chest gets covered in blood and a gooey green substance. He gags and pushes the monster’s body away. “Disgusting.”

“Dean,” Cas shouts, and when Dean looks up, Cas’ angel blade soares past him, and the following thumping noise tells Dean that it’s made contact with another slimy monster.

Dean turns around and grabs the angel blade that’s sticking out of the monsters eye. He takes a moment to check that it’s really dead and quickly moves over to Cas who, now weaponless, went back to burning out his attackers. Dean hands him the blade, and only moments later, they find themselves surrounded.

They end up back to back, hacking and slashing, making sure that they never lose sight of each other, and when Cas can’t land a final blow with one particularly gross monster, Dean grabs it, flings it with all his might into the fireplace and rams the poker into its stomach to hold it in place. It keeps groaning while it goes up in flames, but everything else goes quiet.

Dean turns to Cas, who looks more disheveled than ever. His hair stands up in every direction, the trenchcoat has almost fallen from one of his shoulders and his tie is undone, hanging by its last thread. “I think that was all of them.”

“All of what? What are these things?” Dean blurts out, pointing at the still groaning monster in the fireplace. Romantic my ass.

Before Cas can answer, Dean can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket and pulls it out. “What’s up, Sammy?”

“Dean, I know you wanted some alone time, but something is going on. People are getting attacked by-”

“Fugly, slimy corpses?” Dean finishes Sam’s sentence.

“How do you-?” Sam begins. “You’ve been attacked, too?”

“Yeah, got a bunch of those sons of bitches. Don’t think I’ll get my deposit back.”

“Are you alright? Can you come back?” Sam asks, clearly worried now.

“We’re on our way,” Dean says with a glance at Cas. The angel nods and walks around to check that all of the monsters are dead.

“We?” Sam asks, and Dean bites his lip.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says in the direction of Dean’s phone.

A small laugh comes through the phone before Sam speaks again. “Hey, Cas! Didn’t know you’d be there since Dean said he wanted to be alone.”

His tone is accusatory, and Dean definitely doesn’t want to get into that now. “What are these things? Any idea?”

Sam huffs, knowing full well that Dean tries to change the subject, but for now, he leaves him alone. “Best guess? Zombies. I have no idea why and how but they try to eat human flesh, they’re definitely dead, and beheading or otherwise damaging the brain seems to do the trick when it comes to killing them.”

“Great,” Dean grunts, kicking the corpse closest to him. Coincidentally, it’s the one who landed right on top of Dean’s picnic arrangement. “The Walking Dead.”

“I don’t think we’re in a TV show, Dean,” Cas deadpans, and as always, Dean is not sure if he’s actually this clueless or trying to take the piss out of him.

“Whatever,” Dean says, “we’ll grab Baby and haul ass back to the bunker.”

“Alright, I see if I can find something in the library. If zombies exist, I doubt it’s their first time around,” Sam says and hangs up the phone without a goodbye.

Dean pockets his phone before turning to the monster that’s still roasting in the fireplace. It’s at that moment that he notices the smell of burning hair and flesh. Dean pulls the poker out of the zombie’s body and rams it through its head instead. It stops moving immediately and the only sound left comes from Cas’ steps when he walks over to Dean. “I’m sorry the evening turned out like this,” Cas says.

A humorless laugh trembles over Dean’s lips. “Yeah, not exactly how I imagined.”

They stand there for a while, watching the dying flames when Cas reaches out and takes Dean’s hand. “I liked what you did here. And the apple pie was tasty.”

It sounds horribly stiff but since it’s Cas, Dean’s heart leaps. He glances down at their joined hands, and when he looks back up, Cas is watching him. Like so often before, Dean gets lost in the blue and depth of his eyes. He almost doesn’t notice when Cas speaks again, “I love you, Dean.”

“What?!” Dean’s brain freezes, and he squeezes Cas’ hand way too tight. For a moment, he’s sure he only imagined what Cas said, but Cas keeps looking at him with a soft smile.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steady. “I wish I would have said it before, maybe found a better occasion, but I’m not sure there will ever be one. So I’d rather say it now.”

When Dean’s grip loosens, Cas takes his hand away, and Dean is thankful that he’s giving him space. He’s almost tempted to leave or say something funny, just brush off what Cas said, but Cas is right. It doesn’t matter that they’re standing in a sea of corpses, the smell of rotten and burnt flesh still in the air. Dean’s heart is racing, the adrenaline from the fight still pumping through his veins. This is who they are, it’s what brought them together, and unless the world changes drastically, it will be their future. There won’t be a right time, no fairy tale moment with romance and all the right words. There’s just now.

Dean takes a deep breath, and all his fear and doubt crumbles under Cas’ familiar gaze. “I love you, too,” Dean says, the words coming as easy to him as breathing. “Kind of the whole point.”

He raises his arms and looks around the room to indicate that this is not his usual gig, corpses aside. Cas smiles, “When we’ve dealt with this, you have to show me how to bake a pie. For future reference.”

Dean grabs Cas and kisses him, deciding then and there that in the future, he’ll start with that.

#spnaubingo #spnonewordbingo #spngenrebingo #destiel #destielfanficnet #my writing

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jeromesxreader16 · 6 years

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Back Stabber

Request: do an imagine where the reader has a bad best friend and is always insulting her in some way until the reader breaks down, and Jerome finds her crying and deals with the friend?

!!!!

I walk into my home with tired feet and hurt feelings once again. I toss my purse onto the couch and slide my heels off. I rub my eyes and make my way up the steps to my bedroom where I presume Jerome is tucked in nicely. I creak open the dark wooden door and see him as I left him; boxers, remote in hand, and popcorn to his left. He sees me and he smiles while a few pieces of corn fall free form his full mouth. “Have a good time doll?” I shrug and replay a low yes before I make my way to the bathroom to remove the makeup on my face.

I pat my face with a warm towel releasing the tense face muscles from faking a smile the whole evening. Jerome’s hand wrap around my hips causing me to look at the mirror. “Was Adison there?” he asks in a growl of irritation. I sigh and pat his hand. “Hush Jerome. You know she doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just direct. She’s never been taught any other way.” He laughs and spin around on the tile floor. “Oh, darling that really is a trip! I’ve never been taught to love but look at me now!” he says in a sing son voice rising his eye brows. I grab his scarred face and kiss his forehead. “She’s never going to change Jerome. That’s just how she is.” I scoff and grabs my hands. “How can you have the sweetest heart in the world yet you’re with me?” I laugh and kiss him lightly. “The world just has a funny way of working I guess.” I make my way to bed while he follows me.

The next morning, I roll over to find Jerome’s side empty and a note in its place.

Gone with Tetch to cause some havoc! Smile doll! I love you! -xoxo J

Of course, he would be cheesy in a note. I shake my head and go down to the kitchen fixing myself a bowl of cereal. As I’m sitting on the couch the door nob wiggles. My eyes widen and I scurry to the kitchen to grab something for protection. The door is opened and footsteps file in. I get felt against the wall and as the steps come closer I appear and slash at the intruder. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Adison screams at me. She’s on the ground scared. “Oh! I am so sorry! I thought you were-“ “Was what? Some rapist? Please someone would pick a better target honey.” She says sneeringly and pats my cheek as a mother would do to a loving child.

I huff and pick the knife up placing it back on the counter. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were gone with that guy from last night.” Adison claimed her own seat on the couch. “Oh, I was. I got bored so I figured id come here and at least get some free entertainment. Maybe take some food off your hands. God knows you don’t need it. I swear when I saw you last night I thought you were pregnant! Then I thought as you were drowning in vodka, who would actually get in that? Like come on!” she says about to explode with laughter. “Adison I-I think it’s best if you-“ “Oops! Hold that!” She says pointing her finger at me while she answers her phone.

She sighs and hangs up after giving whoever was on the other side of the line attitude. “Listen I got to go but maybe later we could go for a run. Should burn off all those carbs. Chow!” She says and struts out in her pretty dress with her heels clicking every step she takes.

I throw a fit. Glass is broken, plates are smashed, pillows are torn apart. I plop myself on the couch and look down at my stomach. “Maybe she is right.” I sigh and lay down making wet marks on the couch.

Jerome POV:

“Doll face! I got a surprise for you!” I say holding up the ring box incasing the beautiful present. She doesn’t answer. So, I make my way to the top of the steps and try again. “Doll face! I got you something!” I jump into the room but once again find nothing. Where could this girl be? Only one last place to check! I walk down the stairs to the basement and open the door hearing the running of something. I proceed and when my eyes meet her my heart drops. There she is running her adrenalin out of her body on a treadmill. I didn’t even know we had one! I go over to her and see she is ghostly pale. “(y/n) honey could you stop for a moment?” She shakes her head. “(Y/n) stop.” She once again shakes her head and turns the MPH up two notches. “Alright! You leave me no choice! You shall not run!” I yell and unplug the machine. “Jerome! I was busy!” “You look like you’re going to pass out doll. Come on! I’ve got some burgers from that AMAZING place! Got them cheap too! Don’t ask.” I walk assuming she will follow but she stands still. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask and go over to her. “I’m not hungry.” I laugh and poke her belly. “well! This little guy is craving some food! So, come on! I promise it will be worth it!” she shrugs and wipes her head. “Just have to burn it all off again.” She mumbles as she passes me.

“Hey! What did you say?” “I SAID I’LL HAVE TO BURN IT OFF!” I shake my head confused as ever. “Burn it off? What on earth are you on about?” She sighs and sits on the cold stone step. “Adison came by for a little.” I roll my eyes and sit next to her. “She said I was so big she thought I was pregnant. That I needed to burn off the calories.” I groan and turn her face to mine. “Well that is completely bull shit! Boy I really do hate her! I mean have you seen her? Gosh those shoes she wears! SO LAST SEASON GIRLFREIEND!” I say getting her to laugh. “Come on. We’ll go pig out, regret nothing, and pass out on the couch.” We do as promise with snacks loaded on the coffee table and a movie on repeat. (y/n) fast asleep on the left couch arm while I am wide awake loading my gun. I kiss my darling’s forehead and make my way into the dark streets of Gotham. I come to the recognizable door of Ms. Adison Wilford and knock lightly. When not getting a reply, I break the door and enter in anyways. The house is lined with expensive objects and paintings. As soon as I get to the grand dinning room with a huge outside marbled padio the loose woman come out swinging with a fireplace rod. “Oh! There we go! I thought this wasn’t going to be any fun! Got myself a little spit fire, now don’t I? Well come on then girl! Show me what you got!”

Adison swings a pitiful swing and hits the table instead she continues to swing my way until I am outside and looking down at the city lights. “So, let me play this out in my mind. You’re going to push me off and become the hero Gotham everyone has been looking for. Gosh (y/n) will sure be upset! Killing the love of her life and all. Just a little rude don’t you think?” She breaths heavily and rises her rob up once more. “Alright enough of this. Getting a little boring.” I grab the rod throw it away, hold her in my arm with my gun pointed to her temple. “No! No! Please! I’ll do anything I swear! Do what ever you want with me.” She says in a seductive voice. “Oh my god! You’re actually getting a kick out of this! I really don’t understand who’s crazier! Me or you!” I bring my arm around tighter and press the gun harder. She screams and cries only advising me to roll my eyes. “Brought me no other choice! You messed with my girl, and for that you just can not be forgiven!” I pull the trigger and dump her body over the railing watch her fall lifelessly to the streets. “Perfect!”

I come back to the lovely home that houses my beloved. I walk in and she is still sound asleep on the couch. I slouch down with her and she kisses my cheek my back away quickly tasting the blood. “Jerome!” “Tell me doll! Does she taste as bitter as she acted?” I laugh and smack my leg in pure joy. “You didn’t!” “Oh, but I did!” She smiles slightly and curls up into my lap like a kitten. “I love you Jerome.” “And I love you (Y/n).

#jerome x reader #jerome #jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #jerome valeska smut #gotham imagine #Gotham #gotham fanfiction #gotham city #dc #batman #joker #such a joker #arkham #arkham asylum

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 6 years

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Together or Not at All

@thominho-week – Day 4 (July 18th): Not Immune/No Maze AU

Thomas, Minho, Newt and Alby were there when it all began; when the sun flares scorched the earth and the boiling sea water flooded the cities. They thought they could survive anything, that was until the Flare virus was released.

(Pretty much a Thominho Kill Order AU)

In those final few moments, he stood there with Minho, staring into his dark eyes as a sense of remembrance returned to his face. He looked up at Thomas, his stern composure wavering as the reality of the situation sank in; this is where it all ended. In that moment, in that shared gaze, Thomas knew that Minho was thinking the same thing; they were trying to memories every detail of each other’s faces as the memories of his past returned to them in fragments.

It started two years ago, the day the two of them were on the subway; the day everything changed.

They had been sitting across from each other on the train, talking about what they were going to do over the summer break, joking about how boring it was going to be; days spent following family around to tedious get-togethers or wasting time away in their room.

“We can always hang out,” Minho offered, his face unreadable. It frustrated Thomas that he could never tell whether his friend was being serious or not. “We can waste time together, playing videogames, eating ice cream…” A small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth as he added, “maybe even sneak a kiss in the basement.”

It caught Thomas off guard. For a second, he thinks Minho is being serious – hopes he is – but then his friend bursts out in laughter.

Thomas stares at him with a blank expression, feeling a little gutted as he says, “Hilarious. I’m laughing on the inside.”

“You always laugh in the inside,” Minho pointed out. “The day you laugh out loud is the day the world ends.”

Thomas let out a quiet chuckle.

The was a thundering boom as the train screamed to a stop.

Thomas was hurled from his seat, Minho catching him before he smashed his face against the seat. It took him a second to find his footing, steadying himself as he slowly rose to his feet and looked around.

The carriage was submerged into darkness, the yellow emergency lights blinking on and casting an eerie glow against the startled faces of the commuters.

“The power’s out,” Thomas noted, his voice quiet as a sense of unease twisted at his stomach.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Minho replied. “I can see that.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “The power never goes out.”

“It’s a malfunction, a blip in the system or something,” Minho said dismissively. “Just give it a minute, it should start up again.”

But something didn’t seem right. Stiles looked around at the faces of others around them. He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” Minho asked.

“Give me your phone,” Thomas insisted.

Minho pulled it from his pocket, setting it down in Thomas’ hand. Thomas turned the screen on, the pale blue light illuminating his face.

“No signal,” he said quietly.

The train shook, tossing Thomas off balance. Minho caught him again, steadying him as the metal floor beneath them trembled. The deep rumble or shaking metal rolled through the tunnel like thunder.

Thomas and Minho glanced at each other, their faces full of confusion and a spark of fear.

Suddenly, everyone burst into action. Two men charged at the exit doors, prying them apart and jumping onto the walkways that lined the tunnel. The passengers began to swarm, the crowd forcing their way out of the train as the echo of panicked cries echoed through the darkness.

Thomas and Minho stood still, watching them leave until finally they were left alone on the train, the pale, yellow emergency light hanging above them.

“I have a bad feeling,” Minho muttered.

“Me too,” Thomas replied, looking around in the darkness.

“You think we should go?” Minho asked.

“Yeah,” Thomas answered, rising to his feet and handing Minho’s phone back to him. “Come on.”

Minho follows him over to the open doors and they climb out onto the narrow walkway the metal plating rumbling beneath their feet. The emergency lights run along the walls of the tunnel, but their dim light does barely anything to break through the darkness.

“They went that way,” Thomas said, pointing to down towards the darkness and the distant echo of noise. “So, let’s go this way,” Thomas said, turning the other way. “I don’t want to follow the mob.”

Thomas took the lead, making his way down the narrow ledge. Something in the back of his mind tells him to hurry, so he does. He picked up the pace as he and Minho ran down the tunnel, keeping a hand on the wall to make their way through the darkness. The wall was vibrating, not as much as the train, but there was a distinct tremor, the quaking calming the more they walked.

“Maybe it was just an earthquake,” Minho ventured. “Maybe everything’s okay.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the sound of screams up ahead reach their ears; blood-curdling screams of pure terror.

Thomas slows to a halt, an icy chill flooding his veins.

Any doubts they had washed away. Something had happened, something terrible.

Thomas took another step forward, making his way up to the wide platform of the next substation. He froze, bile burning at his throat as he fought the urge to throw up.

Bodies littered the floors, naked and burnt. The smell of blood and burnt flesh filled at their noses and the gut-wrenching sound of screams and cries tore through them like razor-sharp blades. Those who are still alive drag themselves across the floors, their bodies covered in charred black flesh, smeared blood, boils and flesh that drip like melting wax. Those that can walk hobble forward, arms outstretched; those that can’t, drag themselves across the ground.

A surge of heat washed over them, their faces stinging and flesh reddening with small burns.

Minho grabbed Thomas’ hand, his usual composure fractured and a look of terror on his face. He pulled Thomas back into the tunnel, feeling the instant relief that the dark shadows provided.

“We need to go,” Minho insisted, pulling Thomas along behind him as he ran along the platform and deeper into the tunnels.

They ran back through the winding tunnels, their minds flooded with thoughts, running through the worst-case scenarios and questions about what had happened in the city above them: a bomb or an explosion from a gas leak; something that burned with an unbearable heat that was beginning to fill the tunnels.

Thomas and Minho made they way through abandoned offshoots to the tunnels, going deeper and deeper into the darkness.

People were everywhere, crazy with terror. They were picking fights, brandishing anything they could find as a weapon or clawing at each other with nails.

The two boys made their way through the labyrinth of tunnels and maintenance halls, becoming increasingly aware of the fact that they were being followed. They quickened their pace, but seemed unable to lose their follower. Thomas glanced over his shoulder every now and then, never catching a glimpse of the man as he darted into a nook or cranny.

Minho pushes open a large door, stepping into a long hallway that was ankle-deep with water. He held his phone up as a light, the pale glow of the screen cutting through the darkness.

Thomas followed him through the door and Minho grabbed him, pulling him aside into a small supply closet that he hadn’t seen. Minho quietly shut the door and switches off his phone, submerging them in abysmal nothingness. He felt Minho step closer, his hand brushing against Thomas’ arm to guide himself in the darkness.

“There’s no way that shank was close enough to see us come in here,” he whispered in Thomas’ ear.

They fell into silence, their heartbeats pounding in their ears as they listen for sounds outside the closet. They heard the distant sound of water sloshing around the man’s feet as he walks, the splashing growing louder as the man drew closer; a steady beat of footsteps.

Minho quietly ushered Thomas behind him, pressing Thomas against his back and shielding him from the doorway.

Thomas didn’t argue.

A light flicked on to their right, the sudden brightness blinding them. Thomas and Minho flinched, shielding their eyes as they slowly adjust to the intrusion. Thomas looked down at the source of the light, squinting to see a raggedy-looking man holding a flashlight.

The man dragged himself out of the small vent in the wall, rising to his feet and taking a step towards the door. He swung his arm and thumped his balled fist against the door.

Thomas’ eyes flew open wide.

“What the hell are you doing?” Minho hissed, fighting to keep his voice quiet.

The door opened and the man from the hallway stepped in followed by another, and another.

“We just got a few questions for ya,” one of them said, his lip curled back in a snarl. “We was here way before you and we don’t like visitors much. You two don’t look like the type that comes a-callin’ for the likes of us. What are ya doing down here?”

“Something happened up in the city,” Thomas explained, fighting to keep himself calm as he reached out and gently grabbed Minho’s arm, stopping the boy from lashing out at the men. “Haven’t you noticed how hot it is? There was a bomb, or a gas explosion, or something.”

The man shrugged. “You think we care? All I care about is my next meal.”

The man with the flashlight took another step closer and Thomas felt Minho tense, ready to fight.

Thomas tightened his grip on Minho’s arm, catching a glimpse of something silver in the man’s hand: a knife.

“We haven’t got any food,” Thomas told them.

“Shame,” the first man said without a hint of remorse in his voice. “You might have had somethin’ to bargain for ya lives with if ya had.”

Thomas swallowed hard.

The man nodded as the others. Wicked grins stretched across their faces, exposing rotting teeth as the two began to move forward.

There was a flash of movement outside as someone slammed into the guy by the door. His body hit a fuse box, the thundering bang ringing out through the hallway. The man let out a weak grunt before his body fell into the water with a splash.

The leader of the group spun around, his knife glinting as it caught the light.

The newcomer grabbed his wrist, slamming their arm down on the man’s forearm. There was a gut-wrenching crack of bone breaking as he cried out in pain and dropped his knife. He was hurled into the hallway where another crash rang out followed by a splash as his body fell into the shallow water.

Minho didn’t hesitate. He dove forward and scrambled for the man’s dropped knife.

One of the men realised what he was doing, diving on Minho and wrestling with him. Minho fought back, struggling to hold the man back as his knife neared his throat.

Thomas sprinted forward, slamming his foot into the man’s ribs. The man cried out as he was knocked off Minho.

Minho wrenched the knife from his grip and slammed it into the man’s shoulder. Blood pooled over his hand as the man cried out in pain. He scrambled to his feet and dove back into the vent, the metal rumbling like thunder as he scurried away.

Thomas grabbed Minho’s hand, pulling him up to his feet. “Are you okay?” he frantically asked, looking his friend over.

“I’m good,” Minho said, his eyes fixed on the doorway. Outside, he saw the newcomer throwing punches, knocking out the last attacker.

The torch that one of them had been holding rattled across the floor, bumping against the foot of one of the metal shelves and shining a light on the black leather boots of a young man.

Minho instinctively pushed Thomas behind him. “You were the one following us, weren’t you?” Minho asked, his voice sharp as he readied himself to fight.

“You can thank me later,” the young man said. “My name’s Alby. We’ve got bigger problems than these guys, so come with me.”

Alby stepped back into the shallow water, his pace faltering as Minho asked, “Why should we trust you?”

“I just saved your lives,” Alby pointed out.

“I had it handled,” Minho said.

Thomas rolled his eyes. Now was not the time for Minho to get snippy.

“What happened?” Thomas asked.

“Sun flares,” Alby answered. “We barely had time to react. But haven’t you noticed? The water’s rising. The sun flares melted the ice caps, there’s a tsunami heading straight for the city.”

“But we’re underground,” Minho pointed out.

“We’re in the subtrans tunnels of New York – a city that sits on the shoreline,” Thomas countered. He turned to look at Minho. “Water drains downwards.”

“We need to get to high ground,” Alby insisted.

The thought struck Thomas. “The Lincoln Building.”

Alby nodded. “If you want to live, we need to move. Now.”

Minho opened his mouth to argue but Thomas grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door, Minho’s words falling short of his lips as he was dragged into the hallway.

Along the way, Alby explained he was a young Berg pilot, contracted to a defence job in New York. He and his friend Newt were two of the few people who realised what was happening and took action before they got killed. They hid in the train stations while the flares scorched the earth. The two of them were doing the best they could to gather stragglers and get them to the Lincoln Building but time was running out.

They made their way through the tunnels, meeting up with Newt and a few others that he had rescued. Newt was a young man, tall and muscular, with tousled blonde hair and an accent. He stood with a few teenage boys, some of which Thomas recognised from school. Newt quickly introduced them: Gally, Winston, Ben and Siggy—who, for some reason, liked to be called Frypan.

“We need to get through the Lincoln Building,” Alby explained. “In order to do that, we need to make it through this last tunnel. This place is full of people and we have no idea what kind of mood their in. Walk like you’re not going anywhere, like you’re not in a hurry. Stay together. Let’s go.”

Newt opened the door and Alby stepped through, leading the group of teenagers into the tunnel.

After that, Thomas took in everything in glimpses.

Thomas caught a wayward glance of a passing stranger and that was all it took for them to start a fight. He remembered throwing punches and scrambling to escape. He remembered the moment of fear as all of them froze, turning towards the sound of roaring water, the foaming waves rushing through the tunnel. He remembered Alby shouting for everyone to run and they did. He grabbed Minho’s hand and ran.

The foaming waves lapped at his heels, the scalding heat burning his ankles. He cried out as he ran, his muscles protesting the effort.

He remembered the rancid smell of bodied burning and the haunting echo of screams as people fell victim to the rolling tidal wave.

They reached the Lincoln Building, but not fast enough.

The water was around their waists by the time Alby pulled Thomas and Minho onto the stairs, shouting for them to run, but they didn’t. They watched as Newt ran as fast as he could, limping on a weak ankle and fighting the current as he struggled to get to the stairs.

Alby caught his wrist and pulled him onto the stairs, but he lost his grip on the rail. Thomas felt his heart skip a beat as he watched Alby disappear beneath the waves. He opened his mouth to cry out for him, but Minho was faster; he dove in after him.

Thomas ran back down the stairs, Newt shouting after him. He grabbed the rail and reached out, catching Minho’s outstretched hand as he fought his way to the surface. He cried out as he strained to pull them in.

They broke past the surface of the water, gasping for air. Thomas pulled them onto the stairs and pushed them up into the building.

They didn’t stop. They ran up the stairs, all the way to the twentieth floor.

They stayed there for days, waiting for the waters to settle and the radiation to lower. They scavenged for food. The heat didn’t change, the building filled with the stench of rotting bodies and boiled flesh. Then came the day they escaped; when the boat pulled up by the building and the man tried to steal their dwindling supply of food.

He remembered Alby refusing to help the man, he remembered the gunshot and the blood the spread across Ben’s chest as he fell into Thomas’ arms. He remembered holding the boy as the life drained from his body and his eyes glazed over.

He remembers Alby turning the gun on the man and taking his boat, he remembered the waves rocking the boat and the buildings growing distant; the sun beating down on them as they sailed away.

A week ago, in the small town of wooden cabins and mud huts, everything changed again. They had recovered from the sun flares, rebuilt civilisation. They could have survived if it weren’t for the Berg that flew over town that day.

They were joking, laughing, messing around like the teenagers they were when the strange sound silenced them. They all recognised the sound; the rumble of engines.

They stepped out of the cabin, gusts of wind rolling through the buildings, stirring up clouds of dust that tore at their skin and whipping at their clothes. A crowd had gathered in street, all eyes fixed on the large ship in the sky.

Thomas winced, covering his ears as the roaring engines grew louder.

The Berg steadied, the sound of the engine dimming. The blue thrusters burnt hot as the ship steadied itself and hovered above the town.

No one said a word, they just stood there with the morning sun beating down on them.

“What’s it doing here?” Gally asked, practically shouting over the sound of the engine.

“Supply drop?” Alby proposed.

“No,” Newt replied. “Supplies get left in the bigger settlements, like Asheville. Besides, the ones that drop off supplies in Asheville have PFC painted in big letters on the side – Post-Flares Coalition. This one has nothing on it, no markings or anything to say whose Berg it is or where it came from.”

“So what’s it doing here?” a boy named George asked.

Newt shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s not enough room for them to land that buggin’ thing here.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. He stood by Minho, his stomach twisting with unease as something in the back of his mind screamed at him to run. He squinted against the glare of the sun, watching as the ramp on the back of the Berg began to open. The echoing groan and squeal of hydraulics rang through the air. The inside of the ship was dark, faint green lights lining the tops of the walls.

The crowd that gathered in the centre of the town looked up at the ship with wonder, gasps and shouts rippling through the crowd as they pointed up at the ship.

Thomas glanced back up at the Berg to see five figures emerge from the darkness of the ship. They were dressed in outfits that send a new wave of unease through his body: rubbery green one-piece hazmat suits that covered them from head to two. There were clear visors in the headpieces of the suits, but they were too far away for Thomas to make out their face. The five of the stepped out onto the lowered ramp, digging their black boots into the ridges of the lowered hatch door as they struggled to keep their balance. Each of the held a black tube in their hands, something that looked like a kid’s spud gun.

Thomas felt a chill run down in spine, making him shudder.

The strangers settled into their positions and held up the tube-like guns, aiming it at the people below.

Thomas’ breath caught in his throat. It took him a second to realise that Alby was shouting.

Minho grabbed his hand and hurled him back, narrowly missing the metal dart fired at him. Minho dragged him over to one of the cabins, diving behind the wooden panels as the darts rained around them.

Everything erupted into chaos, people shouting and screaming as they fled through the narrow streets, trying to find shelter. The metal darts fired from the Berg flew by in a flash of movement.

Thomas heard a sickening thunk, turning to see George’s body jolt, a five-inch-long dark sticking out of his shoulder. Streams of blood trickled from the wound, seeping into the faded fabric of his shirt. His body swayed, his lips trembling as he staggered slightly, struggling to stay upright. He choked on his breath, forcing himself not to cry out in pain as tears welled in his eyes.

Newt lay on the ground beside him, dirt smeared across his arms and legs from George shoving him out of the way. He shouted to his friend, scrambling to his feet as he tried to push George towards shelter, but the boy collapsed to the ground.

Thomas snapped out of his gaze. He leapt to his feet and burst into the street, Minho shouting after him. He sprinted over to Newt’s side, hooking his elbows under George’s arms and dragging him towards the shelter of the cabin. He shouted at Newt to run ahead, watching as the boy hesitated before reluctantly limping towards Minho.

The sound of darts flying through the air filled his ears. He was unable to look away as the darts hit people around him, metal barbs buried in limbs or slicing through throats. Spurts of blood rained across the dirt as bodies hit the ground with heavy, lifeless thumps.

Thomas dragged George into the shelter of the shadows behind the cabin. Minho reached forward and helped pull him to safety.

“I get the feeling they’re not here to help us,” Newt noted.

“Geez, what gave you that idea?” Minho said sharply.

“Not now you two,” Thomas warned, pressing his back against the wooden boards of the cabin wall.

The sounds of darts striking the wood of the buildings and the trunks of nearby trees reached his ears. Another dart tore through the wooden siding of the cabin. Thomas flinched as splinters rained down over him. Newt and Minho grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him further into the shadows.

Thomas sat back, trying to steady his breathing as his chest rose and fell.

The Berg’s thrusters roared, stirring warm winds that blew into Thomas’ face, whipping their clothes about and tousling their unkempt hair.

Thomas glanced around the edge of the building, shifting enough to see the Berg fly after the fleeing crowd. He saw Frypan and Gally urging people to hurry but their shouts were drowned out by the roar of the Berg’s engines.

It was a massacre. Heavy boots thumped against the ground, upturning tufts of green grass and dirt. People tripped and fell, trampled by the panicking crowd. Thomas’ ears rang with the gut-wrenching sound of breaking bones, the sound of darts tearing through flesh and the strangled gasps and cries of people as they fell to the ground.

Every projectile seemed to find its mark, slamming into the necks and arms of men and women and children. They screamed and crumpled to the ground almost instantly, others tripping over their bodies in the mad rush for cover.

Gally and Frypan dove to either side of the street, avoiding the darts that were aimed at them.

“What do we do?” Newt asked, crouching beside George and putting pressure against the wound in his shoulder.

The boy let out a pained wheeze, his eyes struggling to stay open.

“We can’t stay here. We need to get him to shelter,” Thomas said.

“Just leave him,” Minho said. “He’s dead for all we know.”

“They’re using darts, not bullets,” Newt argued.

“So what?” Minho shouted.

“So, there’s a chance he’s still alive. We’re not leaving him behind,” Newt said with finality. He looked around, his eyes wide as he shouted, “Where the buggin’ hell is Alby?”

Thomas looked the other way, down the alley between houses to where a glimpse of movement caught his attention. A large figure burst out of the house they used as a storeroom, holding what looked like two huge rifles with grappling hooks and big coils of rope attached to them.

Alby.

“Get to cover,” Thomas instructed, leaping to his feet and sprinting down the alleyway.

Minho shouted after him, but he kept running.

He grabbed an old door that had fallen off its hinges, holding it over his head like a shield as he ran through the openings. He heard the whistle of the darts cutting through the air and the heavy thunk as they struck the wood.

Keep running, he told himself.

Alby seemed to notice Thomas and came running towards him. They nearly ran into each other as Thomas sprinted to his side and held up the wooden door to shield the both of them.

“We need to hurry!” Alby shouted.

“What do I do?” Thomas asked.

“Cover me, with this,” Alby pulled a pistol from the small of his back, cocking it before handing it to Thomas.

Dart struck the wooden shield like a hailstorm.

“You’ve got twelve bullets,” Ably explained. “Don’t miss.”

Thomas nodded.

“Cover me while I go up, then follow me. On my mark,” the young man instructed, setting the other rifle down on the ground by Thomas’ feet. “Now!”

Thomas threw his shoulder against the wooden shield, knocking it to the ground as he turned and fired off two shots. They struck one of the men on the Berg, his body collapsing against the lowered ramp.

The four others crouched, trying to avoid the shots as one of them dragged their comrade into the hull of the ship.

Thomas aimed the gun and fired again. The recoil jolted his arm but he saw a spray of red blood as the bullets tore through the chest of one man and knocked him out of the Berg. The other shot hit one of the other suited attackers in the arm; he fell backwards against the ramp, clutching the bleeding wound. Two left.

To his side, Alby aimed the rifle, steadying himself as he pulled back on the trigger. The grappling hook flew towards the Berg, the rope soaring behind it. The hook clanged against the metal of one of the hydraulic shafts, hooking around the metal bar. The rope pulled taut.

“Throw me the gun!” Alby shouted.

Thomas tossed the gun to Alby who caught it with ease. He pushed one of the buttons on the butt of his gun, a sharp whir filling the air as he soared into the sky.

Thomas grabbed the rifle at his feet, watching as Alby cleared the edge of the ramp and disappeared into the hull of the ship. Seconds later, one of the green-suited men was flung out of the ship, hitting the ground with a sickening crack.

He spread his feet and steadied himself as he pressed the butt of the gun into his shoulder, aiming at the other hydraulic shaft. He pulled the trigger, wincing in pain as the recoil threw his shoulder back.

The hook shot up at the ship, the rope trailing behind it. The grappling hook struck the hydraulic shaft, bouncing off the metal pole.

Alby grabbed it just in time, hooking it around the shaft.

Thomas’ hand slid down to the butt of the gun, following what Alby had done and pressing the small green button. There was a sharp whir as the rope retracted and his body was hurled off the ground.

He heard Minho and Newt shouting after him, but their voices were drowned out by the rush of air and the roaring thrusters as the Berg lurched forward and the door began to close.

Alby quickly regained his balance, watching as Thomas let go of the gun and caught the edge of the rising door. He pulled himself over the hatch door and toppled into the back of the Berg.

The door slammed shut with a thunderous boom that echoed through the darkness inside the Berg. The cool shadows provided a brief feeling of relief as Thomas rolled onto his back and drew in heavy breaths.

“You okay?” Alby asked from somewhere inside the darkness.

“Yeah,” Thomas replies, steadying his breathing.

He gave himself a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, the only source of light being the small strips of green lights that ran across the top of the walls, but they did nothing to break the darkness.

“Why are we up here?” Thomas asked.

Alby pointed a finger at him. “Because it’s what you do when someone comes to your house and attacks your people. You fight back. I’m not going to let these shanks get away with that crap.”

Thomas thought about George, about the kid who was probably dead because he tried to save Newt. He thought about all those people who were hurt and confused and he realized that Alby was right. “Okay. I’m in. So what do we do?”

“The last guy ran through there,” Alby told him, pointing towards a door at the far end of the room. It was sealed shut. “But for the sake of our survival, let’s just assume he has company. Look around for something to pry the doors open, I’m going to try and break the control panel.”

Thomas nodded although Alby couldn’t see him. He staggered to his feet and made his way towards a nearby door through which he could see a dim light. He pushed back the door to find a storage room, the metal shelves that lined the walls were mostly empty aside from a few workpads strapped into place and some metal boxes.

Thomas tested a few of the workpads, finding one that was still fully charged and no password. He opened it, finding a map that tracked the flight path of the Berg. He unstrapped it and slid it into the small of his back. His eyes shifted across the shelves until he found something that could be helpful: a sledgehammer.

“Alby,” he called out, lifting the hammer off the shelf and holding it out for the older boy. “If you want to break something, this might help.”

Alby muttered “Thanks” as he took the sledgehammer from Thomas. Seconds later, Thomas heard the older boy slam the hammer against the heavy metal doors. The heavy doors rang out with a thundering crash as the metal buckled and dented with each blow.

Thomas turned to leave, the toe of his boot striking the corner of a metal crates. He looked down, the heavy metal case lay open and empty, the inside lined with black foam as if it were made to carry something important. There were several other cases like it, some open and empty; others sealed.

He crouched by the box, shutting the lid and straining to read the label in the dim light. There was a warning symbol plastered across the top, the kind that indicated the contents were some sort of biohazard. A label below the symbol said:

Virus VC321xb47

HIGHLY CONTAGEOUS.

24 DARTS. EXTREME CAUTION.

Thomas’ stomach lurched into his throat. He staggered to his feet and made his way over to Alby’s side.

“Find anything else?” the older boy asked, swinging the hammer again. He had nearly busted through the doors.

“There’s a reason they didn’t hit us with bullets,” Thomas muttered. “It was a virus.”

Alby’s action faltered. He lowered the sledgehammer and looked at Thomas. “What?”

“It was a virus,” Thomas repeated.

Alby froze for a moment, his face lit by the dim light. Thomas could see the pain and fear in his eyes and knew he was thinking about the others back in town; all those hit by the darts and Newt.

Thomas was thinking about Minho.

“We’ve been through worse,” Alby said, his voice steady and his face composed. He pulled the pistol from his belt and held it out to Thomas. “Seven bullets left. When I open this door, you get ready to fire, got it?”

Thomas nodded.

“We’re not going to let these guys get away with what they did,” Alby said with finality.

Thomas took a step back, bracing himself as he lifted the gun and aimed it at the door.

Alby lifted the sledgehammer high and brought it down with a thundering crash. The doors burst open and Thomas aimed the gun down the hallway.

Nothing.

The curving hall was empty, lit but pale blue lights.

Thomas stood still for a while, scanning the hallway, before he slowly lowered his gun. He took a step forward, slowly making his way down the dimly lit hallway. It curved slightly, Thomas keeping his back pressed against the wall as he followed the bending hallway that ran along the outer edge of the aircraft. They passed several doors, but each was locked when Alby tried them.

“Cockpit,” Alby whispered, reaching forward and gently taking the gun from Thomas’ hands – and Thomas was glad he did, a mix of fear and rage left him ready to pull the trigger on the first thing that moved, his hands trembling as he balled them into fists by his side.

They heard a door slam up ahead, then more footsteps; boots pounding against the metal floor.

Thomas’ heart lurched.

Alby broke into a sprint, Thomas following him down the curved passage. Thomas caught a glimpse of a running shadow up ahead, but it looked like someone in one of the green suits they’d seen earlier, without the headgear. The person yelled something, but the words were indecipherable as they echoed off the walls of the hallway.

Engines revved all around them and the Berg jerked into motion, blasting forward in a rush of power.

Thomas lost his balance and crashed into a wall, bounced off, then stumbled over his feet. He glanced up to see Alby struggling to hold his balance too. The two of them scrambled to their feet and sprinted towards the door the man had disappeared through.

As they neared the door, Thomas saw the man pulling the door shut. Alby lifted the gun and fired a shot, shattering the control panel by the door. Blue spars rained everywhere as the cockpit door flew open.

Thomas kicked up his heels, running past Alby and sprinting into the cockpit. Thomas slid to a halt, sliding across the metal floor and grabbing a wrench that had been toss across the floor. He stopped by the pilot who sat before a panel of instruments, dials and flashing screens of information.

He had barely taken it all in when someone tackled him from the right, both of their bodies crashing to the floor. His breath was knocked out of him as his attacker tried to pin him down.

There was a quiet click of a gun being cocked and the man froze. The man in the green suit slowly rose to his feet, realising that Alby was towering over him with a gun pressed to his head. Alby grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around and shoving him back against the wall.

“What’s going on here?” Alby shouted.

“We were just sent to do their dirty work,” the man answered.

“Sent?” Alby repeated back to him. “Who sent you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

The pilot continued to work the controls, ignoring the chaotic scene behind her. Thomas stepped up to her, not sure what to do – he couldn’t really threaten her with a wrench. He steadied himself and put all the authority he could into his voice as he said, “Stop this thing right now. Turn it around and take us home.”

She acted like she hadn’t heard him.

Thomas was listening to what was going on across the room. He was annoyed that the pilot had ignored his directions. “I said to stop this thing! Now!”

“Just following orders,” the lady replied without a hint of emotion in her voice.

Thomas looked over at Alby.

“Who sent you?” Alec barked. “What was in those darts you shot at us? Some kind of virus?”

“I don’t know,” the man whimpered. Suddenly his expression dropped, his eyes cold and emotionless as he said, “Do it. Take her down.”

“What?” Alby muttered.

The pilot turned to look at Thomas. He looked back at her, perplexed; she had the same dead-looking eyes as the green-suit guy. Her voice was quiet and emotionless as she said, “Just following orders.”

She reached out and pushed a lever, slamming it forward until it couldn’t go any farther. The entire Berg lurched and plunged toward the ground, the windows of the cockpit suddenly full of greenery.

Thomas flew off the floor and smashed into the control panels. Something huge shattered and the roar of engines filled his ears; there was a loud crash, followed by an explosion. The Berg jerked to a stop and something hard came flying across the room and smacked him in the head.

He felt the pain flood his body, the air knocked form his lung leaving him unable to cry out. He heard Alby call his name, but it was so far away. His eyes fell shut, the darkness consuming him.

It was hours before Thomas regained consciousness and two days of hiking before they made it back to town. The first thing they noticed was the smell, the rancid stench of rotting flesh and decay that overturned their stomachs. Thomas and Alby tore the bottoms of their shirts off, tying the fabric over their face to shield their mouths and noses. As they came closer to the town they noticed the piles of bodies, bloodied and discoloured. They had been laid in the lean-too on the outskirts of town; the crooked building that usually stored supplies and food rations.

As they stepped into town, something seemed wrong. It was too quiet. Everyone was shuttered inside buildings and the whole town was silent, all except for the blood-curdling scream from the furthest cabin.

There was no describing the relief that washed over him when he saw Minho. He wanted to run into his arms and never let him go, but Newt stopped them. He explained that everyone hit by a dart had died, everyone but George.

Thomas flinched as George’s screams rang out again, the pained cries tearing at the boy’s throat. He couldn’t help himself, he walked over to the cabin, peering through the small gap in the wooden boards that had been nailed over the windows.

“George?” he called quietly.

“My head,” the boy whimpered over and over again. “My head.”

Thin beams of light broke through the windows, illuminating the boys face. Streams of blood were smeared across his face. His veins were black and bulging from his skin, blemishes of purple, black and blue bruises coloured his skin, and huge gashes of flesh had been torn from his face as if he had done it with his own bloody hands. His hands were on either side of his head, his fingers pressed into his skull as he writhed on the ground.

“I know it’s bad, but for some reason you’re still alive. Maybe you’re stronger than the others, maybe you can survive this. Just stay strong, okay?” Thomas said, his chest aching as he listened to the boy’s weak whimpers.

“My head,” he repeated. It was as if they were the only two words he knew. “My head.”

“George?” Alby called, appearing beside Thomas. “If you’re still there, give me a sign.”

“My head!” the boy screeched, lurching to his feet and charging at the wall.

Thomas and Alby stepped back, listening as the boy slammed his head against the wall over and over again. Then came the sickening sound of bone breaking and a heavy thud as the boy’s body fell to the ground with a weak sigh. Then, there was silence.

Thomas stood frozen, staring at the door and hoping to hear something, anything. But it was too late, George was gone.

Minho gently tugged on his sleeve, leading him to the larger cabin that most of them shared.

Thomas showed them the map on the workpad.

It was Alby who suggested they follow it to where the Berg came from and get some answers; he was a man on a mission, out for revenge.

“I’m in,” Gally said without hesitation.

“Me too,” Minho added. He turned to look at Thomas.

“I was in when I grabbed the bloody grappling hook,” Thomas pointed out.

Minho bowed his head to hide a smirk.

“I’m coming too,” Frypan volunteered.

“Same with me,” Winston chimed in.

That just left Newt. The boy stood in the corner, his arms folded across his chest and his head bowed as he listened to them. He glanced up at the group, his eyes full of though as he let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

“Okay, I’m in too,” he reluctantly agreed.

They packed their bags, dividing rations between the seven of them. Thomas watched as Minho swung his bag onto his back and stepped outside to wait for them. Alby soon joined him. Gally and Winston stood in the corner, chatting quietly with Frypan as he finished packing his bag.

Newt stepped over to Thomas’ side, holding out a folded piece of paper. “Stuff this in your pocket.”

“What is it?” Thomas asked as he took it.

“Just stuff the bloody thing in your pocket.”

Thomas did as he was told, confused.

“Now look me in the eyes.” Newt snapped his fingers, getting Thomas’ attention.

Something about this made Thomas uneasy. His stomach sank at the anguish he saw in Newt’s eyes.

“What is it?” Thomas asked again, his chest tightening.

“You don’t need to know right now. You can’t know. But you have to make me a promise – and I’m not messing around here. You swear to me that you won’t read that note until the time’s right.”

“When the time is right?” Thomas asked. “How will I—”

“You’ll bloody know,” Newt answered before Thomas could ask. “Now swear to me. Swear it!”

“Fine!” Thomas snapped. “I swear I won’t read it until the time s right. I swear.”

“Good that,” Newt replied as he grabbed his bag and stepped towards the door.

There was a heavy thud that made them all freeze.

Thomas spun around to see Gally on his knees, clutching his head. HIs face was twisted in pain, his skin pale and glistening with sweat. He looked weak, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Gally,” Frypan called, reaching out for his friend.

“Don’t touch him!” Newt shouted, making everyone freeze. He took a step closer. “Gally? Are you okay?”

“My… my head hurts,” he muttered.

“Out. Now!” Newt ordered.

Everyone grabbed their packs and sprinted for the door. Newt was the last out, shutting Gally inside.

“We can’t just leave him like that,” Frypan argued.

“We have to isolate him,” Newt explained. “If he has the same thing George had, then that means that whatever this is, it’s contagious.”

Thomas thought back to the sicker on the metal case: HIGHLY CONTAGEOUS.

“Go without me,” Gally called out from inside the cabin.

A pained expression crossed Alby’s face. “We have to check this place out.”

“You guys go,” Winston said, setting his pack down on the ground. “I’m staying here.”

“Me too,” Frypan said. “You guys go find out who did this.”

Alby nodded, saying a short goodbye to both of them before turning to make his way out of town. Newt stopped to lecture them about keeping their distance and what to do if anyone else got sick.

“Maybe you should stay here too,” Minho whispered to Thomas.

“I’m not leaving you again,” Thomas argued.

“Thomas,” Minho started.

“We do this together, or not at all,” Thomas said with finality. He turned and said goodbye to Winston and Frypan before following Newt and Alby. Minutes later, Minho followed.

They had been hiking for two days. The effort was wearing on them, their muscles aching in protest of the effort. But for Thomas it was worse, every time he settled to sleep, the memories of the sunflares came racing back.

But that night, he was disturbed by the sound of twigs breaking in the undergrowth. He stirred awake, watching as a figure staggered out of the trees and into the small opening.

The moonlight lit the boy’s face, his tan skin pale and covered in radiating black veins. His dark eyes were focused on Thomas as the boy rose to his feet.

“Winston?” Thomas asked, his voice just loud enough to alert the others.

“They’re in my head,” Winston uttered.

Thomas frowned in confusion. “What?”

“I couldn’t take the screaming,” Winston explained. “I went in and held him. And they crawled out of his head and into mine.”

“What?”

“The bugs,” Winston muttered weakly. “They crawled out of Gally’s head and into mine.”

“Is Gally…?” Thomas couldn’t say it.

“Dead?” Winston finished. He bowed his head, tears glittering in the moonlight as he nodded. “Frypan too.”

“What happened to Frypan?” Newt asked, shocked.

Winston’s eyes shot up, dark; soulless. “He got in my way.” He blinked heavily as if shaking himself from a nightmare. He looked up at the others, fear filling his eyes as he said, “What’s happening to me?”

Thomas heard Newt and Alby talking in hushed voices behind him.

Newt stepped forward, talking quietly as he led Winston into the woods.

Thomas turned to look at Alby, but the older boy stood still, his head bowed.

A gunshot split the air.

Thomas spun around, his eyes wide as he stared at the darkness beyond the trees.

A minute later, Newt stepped into the clearing, Alby’s pistol in his hand. He looked at the others, tears welling in his eyes as he quietly said, “I had to.”

The next day, they stumbled upon another settlement. It was isolated, nestled among the trees. The wind shifted, blowing the smell of rotting flesh towards them. They took a few steps forward, stepping around one of the buildings and facing the same horrors they had seen days before: bodies strewn across the ground, bloodied and impaled by small metal barbs. They had been stacked upon each other, their bodies discoloured as if they had been lying there for months.

“We’re turning around, right now,” Alby ordered.

Minho and Newt followed his lead, turning back towards the trees, but Thomas didn’t move.

He saw a small figure step out from behind one of the houses. A young boy who looked like he couldn’t be more than four years old. He had a mop of curly hair that was tousled by the wind. His pale cheeks were smeared with dirt and his expression was sad.

“Hi,” Thomas said softly. “Where is everyone?”

“They left,” the boy answered, his voice dry and raspy.

Thomas took a step forward, ignoring Alby’s protests. “We’re friendly, I promise. We come from a village just like this one.”

The boy stood still.

“My name’s Thomas,” he introduced himself. “What’s yours?”

“Charles,” the boy replied. “But my friends call my Chuck.”

“Where did everyone go, Chuck?” Thomas asked, taking another step forward and crouching a few feet before the boy.

“They ran into the forest,” the boy answered. Something about that answer made Thomas uneasy.

“Why did they leave you behind?”

“Because I didn’t die like the others.”

Chuck’s answer sent shivers down his spine.

Thomas was about to ask him what he meant when Chuck held out his arm, showing Thomas the bloody wound on his arm. A large gash ran along his upper arm, dried blood spread across his bicep and a circular wound near his shoulder.

“Were you hit by a dart?” Thomas asked.

Chuck nodded.

“And you feel alright? No headaches or anything?”

Chuck shook his head. HIs lips quivered and tears welled in his eyes, falling down his chubby cheeks as he sobbed, “They left me.”

“We’re not going to leave you,” Thomas promised.

“Thomas,” Alby called from behind him.

Thomas rose to his feet and stepped over to his friends. Once out of earshot of the boy, he whispered, “We can’t leave him here.”

“No one’s suggesting we do, Tommy,” Newt reassured him. “We’re not heartless. We just need to be cautious.”

“Whatever happened here, happened weeks ago,” Alby pointed out. “And if that kid’s still alive after being shot, then there’s something different about him.”

“At this point, we’re probably all sick,” Minho said. “Maybe it just takes longer for it to manifest in some people than in others. Either way, he’s a kid. He’s alone and scared. I’m not leaving him here.”

Thomas smiled softly, feeling proud of Minho.

“Okay, the kid comes with us,” Alby agreed.

Newt turned to face the boy. “Hey, Chucky. Do you want to come with us?”

The boy sniffed back his sobs and nodded.

Newt waved him over, holding his hand out to the boy.

Alby shot him a glare.

“Minho’s right,” Newt said. “We’re probably all sick at this point, so isolation doesn’t matter anymore.”

Chuck made his way over to Newt’s side, reaching out to take hold of the young man’s outstretched hands. He wiped his tear-streaked cheeks with the back of his other hand.

“Okay,” Alby said. “Let’s get going.”

At some point, the group got split up. Thomas and Alby went to investigate the strange noises that rang out through the forest. When they returned, Minho, Newt and Chuck were nowhere in sight. They agreed to keep going; Newt and Minho knew they were tracking the Berg’s path and they knew where they were heading. If they could find them, it would be there.

But they weren’t.

Thomas doesn’t remember how they broke into the underground bunker, or how they stole the Berg. But he does remember reading the email on the workpad, one pertaining to something they were calling the Flare virus, but there wasn’t much information.

He remembers talking about how Chuck could have survived being shot two months ago and still show no sign of being sick. And then it struck them: he was immune.

He remembers something eating away at him. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the piece of paper Newt had given him. He turned it over in his fingers a few times, unsure of whether to read it. Finally, he gave in.

He unfurled the note, reading it.

Don’t let me die like that. If you’ve ever been my friend, kill me.

His heart sank into his gut.

When morning broke, Alby flew the stolen Berg over the old neighbourhoods.

Thomas felt a pang of pain in his chest as he looked down at the destroyed buildings that once housed families and the winding streets and cul-de-sacs where kids used to play.

After a few hours of flying, they found them: the figures of two young men and a boy being pushed towards a house by a group of people.

Alby landed the Berg a few streets over, searching the ship for weapons. He found a Transvice, a gun designed to disintegrate organic material. Alby lifted the strap over his shoulder, holding onto the gun with a tight grasp. He pulled his pistol from the small of his back and handed it to Thomas.

Thomas took it, keeping it in his hand as they left the Berg and walked through the blazing heat to where they had seen the others.

The cul-de-sac had been in an expensive neighbourhood; large buildings and expensive developments that had all been burnt by the flares; the buildings scotched, bricks charred and buildings crumbling. The streets were covered with ash and debris.

Thomas doesn’t remember much about what happened next. He remembered a street full of people who looked like they had escaped an asylum. A few people sat apart from everyone, muttering to themselves and rocking back and forth. Others stood nearby, staring into the sky; still mesmerised by the Berg they had flown over the street. People ran back and forth between houses, their bodies covered in black streaks, smears of blood and blistering sores. Small clusters of people gathered around make-shift fires on the curb, some dancing and singing and others drinking bubbling black liquid form a pot that sat atop the flames. A few people were hunched over the bodies of dead animals, stripping the meat from the carcases. Along the street and by the houses, bodies lie lifeless, some stacked in piles.

No one seemed to notice them as they walked on through the streets, passing by without so much as a glance from the others.

Alby stepped up to the house they had seen their friends escorted towards. He knocked on the door, waiting as a strange looking man opened it slightly, peering at them through the gap.

“We’re just here for our friends,” Alby said firmly. “Let us take them out of here and no one has to get hurt, got it?”

The man stared at him, frowning in confusion. It was as if he didn’t understand anything Alby had said.

“Newt?” Alby shouted. “Minho? You in there?”

From somewhere in the house, someone shouted back, a voice that Thomas knew anywhere: Minho.

Alby gently shoved the door open, walking past the man and down the long hallway.

Thomas followed him, his eyes darting back and forth as he passed the people who were huddled in the house.

Alby made his way down to the far end of the hallway, pushing open the door. His composure fractured, a wave of relief washing over his face as he looked at Newt and Minho.

But Thomas would never forget the look on Minho’s face; the fear in his eyes.

“He’s sick,” Minho said, his eyes focused on Alby. “He’s sick.”

Thomas and Alby looked at Newt.

Newt looked horrible. His hair had been torn out in patches, leaving bald spots that were nothing more than red welts. Scratches and bruises covered his face; his shirt was ripped, barely hanging on to his thin frame, and his pants were filthy with grime and blood. His pale skin was streaked by dark veins as if his blood were now ink. His eyes were vacant, his gaze fixed on a point on the floor as he stared into oblivion.

Thomas slid his pistol into the small of his back, reaching forward and hoisting Newt’s arm over his shoulder. He lifted Newt to his feet, letting the young man lean his weight against Thomas as he half-dragged him towards the door.

“Come on,” Thomas encouraged. “Let’s go.”

Minho lifted Chuck into his arms, cradling the boy’s face into his shoulder and shielding him as Alby led the way out of the house. They walked slowly down the hallway and out onto the street. All eyes were on them now, but no one dared to move.

They made it to the end of the street and rounded the corner, escaping the gazes that followed them.

Newt’s weight became too much, his body sagging to the side. Thomas staggered as he tried to set Newt down on the ground gently.

The older boy slumped back against a fence. “Just need a break,” he mumbled.

Alby and Minho had stopped, waiting for Thomas and Newt.

“Go ahead, we’ll catch up,” Thomas said, crouching before Newt.

Alby hesitated before reluctantly turning to leave.

Newt turned his head to the side, watching them leave. He waited until they turned another corner and made their way towards the Berg before reaching up to his chest. He dug under his shirt and balled his fist around his dog tags, yanking at the chain until it broke. He held them out to Thomas, streams of black blood dripping from his lips and his voice weak as he said, “Take it… Give them to Alby.”

“Give them to him yourself,” Thomas said, reaching forward to lift Newt up again. “Let’s go.”

“No!” Newt snapped. He heaved in deep breaths through gritted teeth, pushing the dog tags against Thomas’ chest. “Please, Tommy. Give them to Alby. He’ll understand.”

Thomas took the dog tags, the warm metal feeling heavy in his hand. He slid them into his pocket before reaching out for Newt again.

“Are you okay to keep going?” he asked.

Newt shook his head. “Just go,” he said weakly. He grimaced, holding his hand up to his face. “Just get out of here, Tommy. Go!”

“Newt, come with me, right now,” Thomas said softly. “We can take you somewhere safer, somewhere better to …”

Newt laughed, but it was dry, hollow. “Get out of here, Tommy,” he said warningly.

“Newt—”

Thomas froze, his words falling short of his lips. He remembered the note, his heart sinking as he looked at his friend.

Newt’s face suddenly hardened. His eyes filled with rage. He screamed and rushed forward, tackling Thomas to the ground. Thomas hit the pavement with gasp of pain, his breath knocked out of him. He struggled to fill his lungs as his old friend climbed on top of him and pinned him down.

His eyes were bloodshot, the whites of his eyes overtaken by red and black. Strings of saliva dripped from his mouth. He was like a feral animal, completely unhinged. Any sign of who he had been before was gone.

Newt clamped his hands around Thomas’ throat.

Thomas struggled against him, chocking as Newt tightened his grip. He thrashed about, knocking Newt off of him and staggering to his feet.

Newt leapt to his feet, swinging his arms as he slashed at Thomas. He let out animalistic grunts as he charged at Thomas.

Thomas dodged to the side, shoving Newt away.

Newt stumbled and fell to the ground, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees and whipping his head around.

He drew his gun from the small of his back and cocked it. He lifted it but froze.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot his friend.

Newt straightened his back and walked up to Thomas. He grabbed Thomas by the hand, yanking it toward himself and forcing it up until the barrel of the pistol was pressed under his chin.

“Kill me,” Newt ordered. “Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me!”

Chills ran down Thomas’ spine. His lips trembled as he shook his head.

“I trusted you with the note!” Newt shouted, spit flying from his lips. “No one else. Now do it!”

Thomas tried to pull his hand away, but Newt was too strong. “I can’t, Newt, I can’t.”

His voice dropped to an urgent, harsh whisper. “Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery.”

The words horrified Thomas. “Newt, maybe we can—”

“Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!”

“I can’t,” Thomas repeated.

“Do it!”

“I can’t!”

“Kill me or I’ll kill you. Kill me! Do it!”

“Newt …”

“Do it before I become one of them!”

“I …”

“Kill me!” And then Newt’s eyes cleared, as if he’d gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened. “Please, Tommy. Please.”

His heart fell into an endless abyss, his chest filling with pain as Thomas shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.

He walked back to the Berg alone. Alby was waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp. He didn’t ask any questions; he knew. Thomas dug into his pocket, pulling out Newt’s dog tags and handing them to Alby. He fought back tears, his stomach twisting with guilt as he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Alby was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on the dirty dog tags. He balled his fist around them, reaching out with his other hand and gently patting Thomas’ shoulder. Without another word, he turned and walked into the dark hull of the Berg.

Thomas sat alone in the darkness. His face illuminated by the workpad and his eyes burnt as he started at the bright screen.

The others were asleep, but Thomas couldn’t get the image of Newt out of his head. He tried to distract himself, searching through the files on the workpad, trying to find any kind of answers he could.

That’s when he stumbled upon the folder, the one titled KILL ORDER.

A lot of it was political junk and saved emails, but there was one thing that stood out to him, something about the Post-Flares Coalition putting together a committee, the Population Control Committee, in order to manage the impending food shortage. According to the PFC, too many people had survived the flares and there wasn’t enough food to go around, so they came up with one solution: the Flare virus.

Thomas felt an indescribable rage burn through his veins. Everything he had witnessed in the last week had been sanctioned by an acting government they had hoped would help them. It hadn’t been the work of madmen or extremists. It had been approved and executed in the hopes of controlling the population.

It was genocide.

Thomas’ body shook, his muscles tense and his heartbeat slamming against his chest. He was livid. He shut off the workpad and stared into the darkness, sparks of colour and bursts of light filling his vision.

The images filled his mind: the lifeless bodies that lay in the streets, the metal darts sticking out of flesh, Geroge’s bloodied face as he screamed and slammed his head against the wall, Gally, Winston, and Frypan, the mad men and women who flooded the cul-de-sac. Newt.

Thomas heard a loud crack, blinking as he snapped back to reality. He looked down at the workpad in his hand, the pale emergency light of the hallway illuminating the shattered screen. Shards of glass dug into the palms of his hands.

He tossed the workpad aside, letting it clatter across the metal floor as he rose to his feet. He jumped, gasping as he looked at the hulking figure in the doorway.

Alby slouched against the doorframe, his eyes weary. The light in the hallway lit his face, revealing the glistening beads of sweat that covered his skin.

“Alby?” Thomas said cautiously. “You okay?”

“I’m sick,” Alby muttered weakly. He looked up at Thomas. “I’m really sick.”

“Maybe you should lie down for a bit,” Thomas said, taking another step forward.

Alby reached out and grabbed Thomas by the front of his shirt. “Listen to me,” he whispered, struggling to find his voice. “I don’t want to die for no reason. You understand? … I don’t want to die for nothing.”

“We’re not going to die for nothing,” Thomas promised.

Alby sat hunched over the controls, his face slack and his eyes empty. Minho sat in the corner with Chuck. Both of them looked at him, but their expressions were unreadable.

“Flat Trans,” Thomas blurted out. Sparkles and flashes of light continued to cross his field of vision, and he could barely contain the unstable emotions that churned within him. “The email said the PFC had a Flat Trans in Asheville. We have to find it.”

Alby’s head snapped up and he glared at Thomas. Something softened in his gaze as he said, “I think I know where to find it.”

Thomas felt the Berg descending. He slouched back against the wall and closed his eyes, his head throbbing as his eyes began to feel heavy. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more but to fall asleep, but he had to finish this.

He forced his eyes open and looked out the window of the Berg. The small city of Asheville was spread out before them, encircled by walls that had been constructed of wood, scrap metal, melted cars and anything big enough and strong enough to protect what lay inside: a mostly burnt-out urban centre.

But something was wrong.

Thomas blinked his eyes, trying to clear the haze from his vision as he looked down. A mass of people had breached one of the walls, breaking their way through the barricade, climbing over the mess of scrap and surging into the city.

One man stood atop the walls, shouting at everyone and waving them through. He seemed familiar to Thomas, and then it struck him; he was from the bunker, one of the men who had released he Flare. He had come for the Flat Trans too.

As the Berg flew over them, it was clear that the green suits had done nothing to protect them; they were infected.

The Berg glided over the abandoned streets of the city, landing before a large metal building. Out the front was a sign with letters stamped onto it: PFC PERSONNEL ONLY. A few people were gathering at the doors, lining up as if they were heading somewhere. But what struck Thomas was how oddly calm they were.

“That’s it,” Alby muttered, struggling with his words as he brought he Berg to a halt and began to descend to the street. His movements were strained, his muscles tense and veins like ropes under his skin. He was flushed, feverish sweat dripping down his face.

Thomas nodded. He reached into the small drawer under the control panel and tore a piece of paper from a clipboard, He grabbed a pen and quickly scribbled a note, reading it over before folding it in half and pocketing it.

The Berg made a surprisingly gentle landing out the front of the PFC building.

Alby flipped the controls to open the hatch.

“Once we’re in there, you know what to do.”

Alby nodded, slouching forward and leaning against the controls.

Thomas turned to make his way towards the door but paused. He turned back to Alby. “For all the times I didn’t say it, thank you.”

Alby’s arm trembled as he held his hand out to Thomas. “It was nice knowing you.”

“You too,” Thomas replied, shaking Alby’s hand.

Minho was on his feet, suddenly aware of what’s going on. “Let me do this.”

Thomas shook his head. “We do this together, or not at all.”

Minho nodded and whispered, “Together.”

Thomas gently patted his arm and replied, “Together.”

Chuck rose to his feet, reaching out to take Thomas’ hand. Thomas took it, looking down at the boy as he quietly said, “You’re so brace, Chuck. And I need you to be brave a little longer.”

The boy nodded, his curls bouncing atop his head.

Thomas reached down, lifting the boy into his arms and holding him close. Chuck tightened his arms around Thomas’ shoulders and buried his face in his shoulder. Thomas made his way towards the door, Minho following him. He paused, only for a second. He looked back at Alby.

The older teen was slouched back in the pilot’s seat, looking down at something in his hand. The metal caught the sunlight and Thomas realised what it was that Alby was holding: Newt’s dog tags.

He watched as Alby curled his fingers around them, holding them tight as he switched on the engines again.

Thomas turned to leave. He ran down the curved hallway and out through the open hatch. He ran down the ramp and into the glaring light of day.

There was a thundering boom and dust and debris rained around them.

“Run,” Thomas shouted over his shoulder. “And whatever you do, don’t stop running.”

They kicked up their heels and sprinted around the Berg.

There was a loud screech as the rear door shut and the engine roared to life, the blue thrusters flaring as Alby lifted the Berg off the ground.

Thomas felt his heart sink as a realisation dawned on him: he was never going to see his friend again.

He forced himself to keep going, sprinting towards the flight of stairs that led to the shattered glass doors at the front of the PFC building. They bounded up the stairs two at a time.

The sun beat down on them and the doors seemed to get further and further away, like a nightmare you can’t escape. Thomas drew in broken breaths, his body weakening as he fought the haze that flooded his vision.

He heard Minho call out for him, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him on.

HIs legs ached in protest, but he had to keep running.

Behind them, he could hear the group of infected soldiers coursing through the streets, their boots thumping the ground and their shouts filling the air. They were set on their goal: the Flat Trans. But Thomas and Minho had to get there first.

The winds from the Berg whipped at them as they ran up the final few stairs and burst into the building.

Chuck clung to him and Minho slid to a stop by Thomas’ side. They stood in a large foyer, bare of any furniture. The only thing in the room was who metallic rods standing tall in the centre of the foyer, a shimmering wall of grey wavering between them like a sheet strung up to dry.

A man and a woman stood next to it, looking back at them with wide eyes filled with fear. They ran towards the grey sheet.

“Wait!” Thomas called after them, but he was too late: they were gone. They leapt into the greyness and disappeared.

Thomas and Minho stared at it.

“That’s the Flat Trans, right?” Minho muttered.

Neither of them had seen one before, but it looked like what people had described.

The noise of the approaching crowd outside grew louder, pulling Thomas back to reality and spurring him into action. He was out of time, he had to move now.

He carefully set Chuck on his feet and crouched before him, fighting to stay calm as madness seeped into his mind like ink in water. He set a finger under Chuck’s chin, lifting the boy’s face to look at him as he said, “Hey. I need you to listen to me. You’ve done so well. You’ve so brave, and I just need you to be really brave for me now, okay?”

Chuck’s eyes were full of tears, the glistening droplets caressing his chubby cheeks and clearing away the dirt and blood smeared across his skin. He nodded.

“There are people on the other side of this magic wall,” Thomas explained, pointing at the Flat Trans. “They’re going to help you. And you’re going to help them. Because you are so special.”

“Are you coming too?” Chuck asked.

Thomas felt his heart break as he said, “Not this time, buddy.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the note, reading it over.

HIS NAME IS CHUCK.

HE’S IMMUNE TO THE FLARE.

HE CAN SAVE US ALL.

His hands trembled as he reached out for Chuck’s arm. He put the note in the boy’s hand and balled his fist around it, scrunching the paper into his palm. He gave Chuck’s hand a gentle squeeze, forcing a reassuring smile.

The boy turned around, wrapping his arms around Minho and hugging him tight. Minho hugged him back, cradling the boy’s head to his chest and burying his face in the mess of curls so that no one would see him cry. After a second, he pulled back slightly.

Chuck then ran into Thomas’ arms.

He held him tight, fighting back his own tears as he whispered, “You’re going to be okay.”

He heard the sound of the Berg’s thrusters growing louder. The wind picked up, tearing through the broken doors and into the building.

They were out of time.

“Go,” he told Chuck, pulling bac from the hug and rising to his feet.

Chuck drew in a deep breath, trying to put on a brave face as he turned to face the swirling wall of grey. He stopped right before it, turning to look back at Thomas and Minho. He waved goodbye before taking a step forward and disappearing into the abyss.

The roar of the Berg filled the air. The building trembled.

The howling crowd drew closer.

“Break it!” Thomas shouted to Minho, his voice barely audible over the sound of the Berg.

They both kicked at one of the metal poles. The wall of grey disappeared as the metal rods broke in half, broken wires sparking.

They staggered back, turning to look at each other.

In those final few moments, he stood there with Minho, staring into his eyes as a sense of remembrance returned to his face. He looked up at Thomas, his stern composure wavering as the reality of the situation sank in; this is where it all ended. In that moment, in that shared gaze, Thomas knew that Minho was thinking the same thing; they were trying to memories every detail of each other’s faces as the memories of his past returned to them in fragments. The days they spent playing in their front yards, passing “Hello”s in the school halls, that day on the subtrans, the tunnels, the floods, the Lincoln Building. They’d been through it all together. With Alby and Newt, Ben, George, Gally, Frypan and Winston. And now it was just them.

Thomas tried to memorise his face. His dark eyes, messy hair, the two freckles on his cheek, the shape of his jaw, and his gorgeous smile. He remembered him smiling; tried to hold onto that memory.

Minho ran forward, grabbing Thomas by the front of his shirt and pulling him close, crushing their mouths together.

Thomas wrapped his arms around Minho’s neck, pulling him closer as the noise outside grew louder; deafening.

He let his eyes flutter shut as the Berg came crashing into the building.

In those final few moments, it was just him and Minho as the world came crashing down around them.

[AO3]

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deathgripsgravemoth · 2 years

Text

Had a dream abt driving an atv first in my hometown then out in the woods. I got a monster that was Fresh flavored??? Idk it didnt taste like anything rlly but i thought it was rlly good. I was riding w a guy a few years older than me he was supposed to be my brother idk what we were doing rlly? Just hanging out i remember finding a little pond that was split by the trail in the woods n we both wanted to look inside it but someone on the phone said it was a bad idea.

Next dream the only parts i remember was being in this weird little town w a tall person and a woman in a big blonde wig. The tall person didnt rlly like me but they hated the woman they thought she was annoying. I was in a 2nd story building w the person in a kitchen n the blonde woman wanted to come inside. The person refused to let her in n i threated to throw stale tomatoes at the person if they didnt let her in??? Idk they did n she hung out on the first floor we could hear her from the kitchen. The person was pissed at me n stared at me while picking up their own tomato n smashing it w a knife in their hand to make salsa later?? N i critizied how they didnt use a plate like a normal person since stuff got all over the floor. Idk what my beef or theirs was but ibwas kind of afraid of the person but i wanted to stand my ground and stand uo for the woman

#d #hii slept in an hr idk what im going to do for breakfast cant use the microwave too loud

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annebrontesrequiem · 6 years

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Could you do a HC for RFA+Saeran playfighting with MC please? I love your blog so much thank youu~💙

Dated Dec 14 2017

Sorry that this took so long! I finally got my computer to charge again. It was a real reign of terror! I’m so happy you love my blog and I will do my best to bring you hc to life!

Zen

· Zen was feeling down, he hadn’t gotten the role he wanted in a musical, it was Enjolras from Les Miserables if anyone was wondering

· So, when you saw him, face first in the pillows, you knew you needed to do something…

· You decided laughing was the best medicine, and was quickly inspired-

· “PILLOW FIGHT!” Your voice rang out, startling him

· He turned around, just in time to have a pillow smashed in his face

· Checking to see if he was dead you saw he took the fluffy pillow, and promptly chucked it right back into your face

· You were so surprised by it you began to nervously laugh, which just gave him time to grab the other pillows lying around

· Grabbing more and more pillows (eventually scouring the whole apartment) the fight got bigger and bigger, lasting a lot longer than you imagined

· Eventually it had to end when Zen tripped over himself and nearly broke his nose

· Hetoldyouitwasfinebutyouknowbetter

· So, you guys ended up just sort of collapsing on the couch, absentmindedly letting the TV blare

· It was peaceful

· “I hope you feel better Zen?” It was more of a question than a statement, and he smiled down at you, who was lying down, head on his lap, absently tugging on his ponytail

· “Of course, Jagi.” He gave you free hand a squeeze. “You always cheer me up.”

· “Even if you almost died?”

· “I tripped!”

· He’ll never admit how close to death he was, but that didn’t matter, what matter was he felt better about his situation, if only for a little while, there would always be other roles, but no one could replace the moments in melancholy, which now thankful were avoided…

Yoosung

· You guys were at a convention

· Isanyonesurprised

· And let’s just say your costumes were awesome!

· That included the weaponry

· They were fake of course, you couldn’t just take a real sword into a convention

· But these props were perfectly good substitutes

· And not just in looks

· You weaving in-and-out of crowds, when Yoosung turned around, and his sword unfortunately smacked you straight in the face

· Yeahyouweresupergratefulaboutthat

· Of course the minute he saw you holding your nose in slight pain he flipped out

· “I’m so sorry I mortally wounded you!!!”

· “Yoosung, it’s okay!”

· Yeah like he was going to listen to that!

· You didn’t bring it up for the rest of the con

· But when you got home…

· “Did you have a good day MC?”

· “En garde!”

· You swung your sword up, stopping it at his chin, as if to cut his head up

· Yoosung was bewildered

· “MC?!”

· “ARGGHHHHHHH”

· You swung your sword and brought it down on his head

· Thankfullyitwasn’tmetalamirite

· Yoosung yelped, and then went to grab his sword

· You guys ended up sparring around the room, trying not to trip over the couch, and lamps

· “MC! Not the TV!”

· Thankfully you sidestepped that particular obstacle

· Crisisaverted!

· The battle ended when Yoosung spectacularly fell, hitting his head on the couch

· “Yoosung!”

· “I’m okay – “

· You pulled him onto the couch

· “That’s enough fighting for today.”

· “Okay…”

· You kissed him lightly on the head

· “I love you Yoosung….”

Jaehee

· Jaehee wasn’t for playfighting

· Not because she didn’t find it incredibly fun and cute

· But more because she knew that if she got too carried away….

· But sometimes you wished she’d playfight with you

· Especially when it was snowing…

· You had dragged Jaehee outside when you guys had managed to get seven inches of fluffy stuff on the ground

· And you planned to enjoy every minute of it

· “Jaehee!!!! Look at all the snow!!!”

· “I know MC.” Jaehee stood standing, her arms wrapped tightly around herself against the cold, a very annoyed expression on her face

· You either took no notice, or didn’t care, deciding to continue in your escapades in the snow

· But eventually you got sick of Jaehee just standing there, and looking quite uncomfortable, so you decided something had to be done

· “ATTACKKK!” You pelted Jaehee in the face with a heap of snow

· At first, she just sputtered in surprise, but then an annoyed smirk crossed her face

· “Well, you asked for it!” She scooped up some snow next to her, and you started running across the yard, giggling like a first grader jacked up on pixie sticks

· YouknowwhatI’mtalkingabout

· Of course, she didn’t miss and you ended up stumbling, and falling

· “Hmph!” You breathed, before throwing more snow, which exploded, and didn’t really hit anything

· Jaehee laughed at your look of indignance by your failed snowball, and continue hitting her mark

· Eventually you guys took to wrestling in the snow, asonedoes, and you victoriously shoved her into a snowbank

· She then flipped you on your back, and the air was knocked out of your lungs, hitting the snow hard

· “Oh my God MC I’m so sorry are you okay!”

· “Ye-s” you were quite out of breath

· Jaehee, being who she was, scooped you up, princess-style, and carried you off to the apartment

· “You don’t need to carry me on the bus”

· “Shut up yes I do!”

· Setting you in a chair when you guys got home Jaehee made the most cream-filled hot chocolate you’d ever tasted

· “Jaehee how did you never do this before!!!!”

· Jaehee just blushed

· Later when you guys were cuddling she resumed her worries

· “MC, I’m so sorry. I really should’ve payed more attention.”

· “No, Jaehee it’s okay! Like you said, I asked for it! Besides, I had an incredible amount of fun!”

· “You’re sure?”

· “Of course, I am!”

· “-Thank you.”

· “No thank you! Forever.”

· It was a good night

Jumin

· “ONE DAY MORE!!!”

· You were jumping around the (main) living room at Jumin’s, scream-singing your favorite musical

· “Are you Cosette and I Marius?”

· You turned around, surprised to see Jumin behind you, arms holding Elizabeth, a small, amused, smile on his face

· You gaped, Jumin, recognizing a musical, and characters!

· Slowly a grin spread across your face

· “No!” You commanded, taking a pillow and pointing it towards him, your chest puffed out, you chin high

· “You are Grantaire! I am Enjolras! We fight together to dispel the autocracy! We fight for freedom!”

· “Okay Enjolras…”

· “Now fight my friend!” You screamed, throwing Jumin a pillow

· Jumin let it fall, before setting down Elizabeth and picking it up

· “Jumin…”

· “What?”

· “Never mind.”

· There were no people to fight, so you guys just sort of started fighting yourselves

· “This isn’t exactly accurate…”

· “Shut up and throw the pillow!”

· You guys didn’t have anyone to fight with (and Jumin wasn’t going to let you touch Elizabeth)

· So, you just decided to fight each other

· After Jumin managed to make all the workers disappear for a little bit you guys really didn’t hold anything back

· “MC, don’t tip over that chair!”

· “It’s a barricade Jumin!”

· Despite the silliness you both were happy for a break

· Recently work had been quite stressful, with Jumin managing a relationship of the kind he had never had before, and with you learning to adapt yourself to the kind of climate you were to be subjected to, being with the son of a very successful CEO

· So, the chances to have some fun were few and far between

· Eventually you guys just sort of passed out on the couch of exhaustion

· “Jumin, we need to clean up now.”

· “I think we can do that later, let’s read more of Dracula.”

· Heknewyousowell

Saeyoung

· Now if there were ever two people that would go all out when it came to fighting

· It was you two

· “MC let’s build huge forts in the apartment out of metal and make trebuchet and lob fake heads over like the Mongols!”

· “Yes!”

· The lengths that you two would go to have a fight was ridiculous

· “Now you’re going to be burned at the stake!”

· “Well, let’s get some wood.”

· The rest of the RFA was amazed no one had gotten seriously injured or, let’s be honest, killed in the shenanigans that you two had done

· One Saturday you two were just hanging out

· Nothing was planned, no big escapades or pranks, just two people hanging out, watching some TV

· Yeah, that lasted about as long expected

· “Wow, that action scene in Winter Soldier was awesome!” You threw yourself back on the couch

· “The fighting choreography was quite impressive!” Saeyoung noted, combing his fingers through his hair

· “No kidding, damn, I wish we could do something like that!”

· “Why not?” You stared as the smile that began to spread across the ginger’s face

· “We can’t just get people to teach us! You need to find and schedule for something like that!”

· “Aww, MC!” Saeyoung pouted, you just laughed

· “Okay, okay.” You picked up a paper plate, left over from God knows what, you never cleaned, and chucked it straight at Saeyoung’s face, flicking it so it would spin slightly, like a frisbee

· Saeyoung caught it, and chucked it back, before finding a plastic knife, also on the coffee table, and pulling his sweater over his mouth

· “Damn, that’s a good-looking Winter Soldier.” You noted, smirking slightly

· “And aren’t you a wonderful Captain!” Saeyoung retorted

· You guys stopped talking then, focusing on trying to recreate the scene you’d just watched, and trying not to kill anyone in the process

· You guys got pretty far

· Until Saeran walked it

· He just stared for a second

· Then the yelling commenced

· “WHAT are you two doing!!!” You guys just kept staring at each other

· Then a smile spread across both of your faces

· Suddenly Saeran was bombarded by paper and plastic eating utensils

· “CLEAN UP AT LEAST!” He yelled, running away from the dangers of the TV Room

· You guys waited until you were sure he was gone, before starting once again

· Eventually though you two decided enough was enough, and like Saeran asked, cleaned up the mess you’d created

· “Oh, there’s where that lighsaber went!”

· “Hey! I found the lever for the guillotine!”

· Lots of memories

· When you were done, you two collapsed on the couch

· “That was fun.”

· “Yeah, it really was.”

· You turned and kissed him. “But we should really learn some actual stage/film combat though.”

· He laughed, before kissing you back. “Definitely”

Saeran

· Saeran was never really one for playfighting

· He had too many memories, too many things that had happened

· �� You understood this, and acted accordingly

· Jaehee was good for pillow fights, Zen for snowballing, and Saeyoung for, well, anything else

· But you sometimes wished you two could just have a good, old fashioned, play fight

· However, you understood why you couldn’t ask for that, and you never said anything about it, and it was never brought up

· One day, Saeran came home from a walk to find you, your head buried into your covers, groaning loudly

· “Everything okay?” He walked over to you, but you just shifted away from him

· “This paper is driving me clinically insane!” You groaned. “I haven’t slept well in weeks! And I’m so stressed I’m thinking of seeing an anxiety therapist again! It’s been years!” You pounded your fists into the memory-foam pillows

· Saeran just stroked your head

· “Poor baby.” You grumbled again, before swatting his hand away like a cat.

· “Hmph!” Saeran looked dejected for a minute, but then a slow, calculated, smile, crept across this face

· Going to stroke your hair again, he found you once again batted his hand away

· “Don’t be like that MC!” He teased

· “I’ll be like that if I want to!” You retorted, flapping your hands at him

· Saeran flapped back, and you two started hitting each other, in the stupidest way possible

· You started laughing, and Saeran, despite himself, found him smiling, and smiling

· Eventually Saeran just threw you over his shoulder and carried you to the couch

· “What was that forrr!” You raised an eyebrow

· “To get you close enough to the kitchen to grab some ice-cream. And then, back to work!” He took an exaggerated French accent at that last phrase, and you giggled, Ratatouille in your mind. The idea that Saeran was like a short angry cook was quite absurd

· After the ice-cream was eaten you slogged back to work, while Saeran went to finish up the tub of Eddy’s

· That was fun. You thought, I don’t remember ever doing something like that before…

· Then it dawned on you, that was your first playfight!

· You nearly squealed with happiness

· This paper went a lot faster after….

Hope you like! Sorry for being gone so long!! And sorry if this isn’t great, but it’s 23:38, and I am EXHAUSTED!!! Hope you like, and feel free to tell me your opinions!

Going to NYC for something special, but an HC will be up if not tomorrow then by the end of Sunday!

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