#and those two lines hit me like a tonne of fucking bricks.

[umbracirrus]

... Animal crossing, man.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Fic: All You Knead is Loaf (Mowen x Lan Jue x Zhang Ping;Modern AU, PWP)

A/N: Because @xinxiaojie​ was kind enough to send me this picture at five minutes to two in the am and thus fed the thirst. It is now sober hours. And you get a new fic. Yay us.

I don’t know how spicy these lemons are for you, but. Yeah. 

Spicy Lemons ahoy 🌶️🍋 (for those uninitiated on the unholy ways of this blog, “spicy lemons” or 🌶️🍋 mean pR0n) ENJOY YAAHAHAHHA I’m running on four hours of sleep here soz soz

[still accepting ALoN fic prompts]

~*~*~*~

The kitchen is an absolute mess. Someone’s upended a bag of flour on the floor and Zhang Ping thinks he spies traces of an egg on their pristine ceiling. In the fuzzy reaches of his mind, he feels a desperate draw to check on the oven, but none of that matters as much when Mowen’s crooking his stupidly beefy fingers, catching them against his prostate with a divine efficiency that only his lover can do.

“That good, huh?”

The smug bastard has the audacity to chuckle, not even a whit out of breath or gasping even as he’s fucking Peizhi on their kitchen counter through the throes of his orgasm. 

Pale skin flushed, beautiful face slack, mouth parted and panting, Zhang Ping delights in the way he is undone by the pleasure that paints his belly in pretty ribbons of pearlescent.

“Pretty Ping’er,” Mowen drawls sweetly. Zhang Ping watches under his lashes when he pulls his come coated cock out of a weakly protesting Peizhi. Still hard, he grips it by the base, nudging it to the back of Zhang Ping’s thigh, smearing the mess on his skin. 

Then, as if a sudden thought occurs to him, Mowen asks, voice quiet and earnest in a shift from just a second ago. “Can I?”

There’s a certain truth to the way the three of them loves - Zhang Ping shows it in every meal he makes and every way he does to make their life together as comfortable as he can, Peizhi provides and gives and protects them in every shade he can cast with his abilities. And Mowen, their darling, brash and confident man, catches them both when they fall, asking for very little in return but these small moments where he is laid bare for them. 

They complete and complement each other.

So, what is Zhang Ping to say other than a contented, “Yes, of course.”

Mowen moves his fingers out of Zhang Ping’s ass. He hisses at the discomfort, but rolls his waist into the grip of Mowen’s hands, racking his own digits through his hair to anchor himself at the blunt press of Mowen’s cock at his hole. “Don’t tease,” He says, working for stern, coming out more like a whine.

“He’s a bad, bad man, isn’t he, Ping’er?”

Peizhi’s hoarse laughter has him tilting his face. Eyes crinkled with tired amusement, he leans in, “C’mere. Kiss me.”

And so, Zhang Ping does.

Allows Peizhi take the lead, blinking sluggishly when a cockhead becomes the sensation of more and then some. He thinks he cries a little when Mowen, without being told to, fucks him to the rhythm of his rapid beating heart. 

“So good. So perfect just for me, just for us,” Mowen purrs over the dirty, sloppy slap of their skin. Zhang Ping thinks his brain shorts out at the way he fills him up, legs shaking as he tries to keep his balance. “Beautiful Ping’er...”

He hums into Peizhi’s mouth, moaning a little when the man licks right back into his own. He feels fucked dumb. It feels like heaven.

“One day, we’ll have Mowen fuck you while I’m riding your cock,” Peizhi murmurs around a smile pressed to the corner of Zhang Ping’s mouth, tongue dragging through the thin line of drool that escapes him. “How does that sound?”

The picture of them doing just that slithers into whatever last braincells he has left to rub together. And it undoes him.

When he comes to, the suspicious stain on the ceiling is what greets him. Definitely egg. Zhang Ping giggles at the realisation. Right before another hits him like a tonne of bricks. 

“The cookies!” 

[britishassistant]

What happens if a new villain comes to town and starts tearing shit up? Like a new rival shows up, falls in love with yuu, and kidnaps them before enacting a huge take over the city scheme, will the NRC and RSA finally come together for the same goal? Or would it lead to chaotic in-fighting in their individual attempts to rescue the reporter and save the city/stop this jerk face from showing them up only for yuu to break out just so they can knock them all upside the head?

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“It’s so simple, love.” The villain coos, one hand cupping Yuu’s chin gently to tilt their face up, “Just accept my proposal, and we won’t need to have any nasty accidents where you and the tarmac down there have a...terminal disagreement.”

Yuu glances down at the drop from where they’ve been “tied” to the top of the skyscraper by the metal beams that the supervillain bent around their body like they were rubber. They think they can see a flock of pigeons flapping by below them. “That’s your idea of a threat? Really? Because I’ve heard worse over breakfast. Sorry, but I really don’t think we have the right chemistry to accept marriage to the likes of you.”

The villain pouts, leaning against the tip of the building as if they were a pair of people chatting on the streets far below, and not one hapless captive tied to an antenna and their captor floating with nary a second thought in midair. “Oh c’mon now love. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be—you know that I could do far better with your Daddy’s little league than any of those second-rate bozos crowding around you.”

The reporter’s gaze sharpens, the corner of their mouth curling up in a snarl. “Don’t. Refer to them. Like that. They’re each seven times the supervillain you are, at least. Besides, I’d rather be turned into pancake mix on the pavement than do anything that could advance that man’s little projects.”

The villain tuts, coiffed hair ruffled by the breeze as he leans in far closer than Yuu is comfortable with. “Don’t play hard to get, love. So you’ve got Daddy issues, who doesn’t? It’s no reason to get in the way of progress. Maybe you’ll change your mind if I show you exactly what I can offer...”

Yuu recoils as the villain’s tongue forces its way into their mouth when their lips collide with all the force of a car crash, an invasive writhing thing that makes them gag at how far it pushes in as the villain hums greedily at their taste.

And one that the reporter swiftly brings their teeth down on.

Hard.

“FUCK! Ugh—you foul little bitch!!”

The backhand jars the reporter’s skull even as they brace for it, cutting the inside of their mouth and leaving them worried that if they try spitting out the blood gathering there, they’ll lose a tooth along with it.

The villain huffs, one hand carding through his ruffled hair. His tongue is already whole and unblemished, the last indents of their teeth healing as the reporter watches. “I didn’t want to do this, you know. I would’ve gladly taken you to the altar, and had you screaming in our wedding bed. I could’ve made you happy, if you’d just do what you’re told.”

Yuu sneers. “Frankly, I can’t imagine anything more boring.”

They take cold comfort in the fury that burns in the supervillain’s eyes at that.

“Fine. Fine.” The villain floats away, his eyes glowing that same bright red that melted through the wall to Yuu’s bedroom when they were first taken. “I was prepared to do this the nice way. I wanted to do this the nice way. But if you’re going to be such a little bitch about it, then I can always rely on the old fashioned method of succession.”

The laser beams swipe through the block of abandoned offices four stories below where the reporter is tied up.

The top of the building wavers, then begins to crumble forwards.

The villain says something else, probably something mocking and challenging them to get out of this mess because that’s the kind of cliche line that’s always used here, but Yuu can’t hear him over the whistle of the wind in their ears and the scream torn from their throat as they plummet.

They try frantically tug their arms free as their legs are pulled upwards by gravity, try their damndest to squirm free, but it’s no use, they’re not The Prefect right now, don’t even have the fedora on them, they’re Yuu, just Yuu, just helpless reporter Yuu, who can’t break steel beams with their pathetic powerless normal person strength, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, they’re going to die, oh Great Seven, they’re going to die—!

“KING'S ROAR!!!”

There’s a discombobulating moment of freefall as the metal and concrete around them disintegrates into sand.

Then a strong, wiry arm loops around their waist and they’re pinned to a carpet as their rapid descent gradually slows to a stop in midair.

“Need a lift?” They can’t see Snake Charmer’s eyebrows through the mask, but they get the feeling one of them is raised in a wry fashion as he smirks at them.

The reporter lets out a hysterical, shaky laugh that only narrowly escapes becoming a sob, trembling hands seizing onto the two supervillains like they’re lifelines. “Wh-what took y-you so long? Did you ge-get held up in traffic?”

King grumbles, flicking their temple gently as Water Boy laughs gleefully from where he’s steering the carpet. “You could show a little more gratitude, herbivore. Do you know how hard it was to evade all the goody-two-shoes on the way here to save your ass?”

Yuu’s about to reply, when they catch a movement above them out of the corner of their eye.

“INCOMING!!”

Water Boy jerks the flying carpet to the side just in time for the villain to plunge past them fist-first, close enough to see his teeth bared in a furious snarl.

“DRIVE!!” Snake Charmer screams at his lieutenant above the rushing wind as the villain rises back up to try his luck again. Water Boy presses the corners of the carpet forwards and they go into a rollercoaster dive that makes the reporter’s stomach roil in protest.

King unleashes his powers on the two buildings behind them, disintegrating the foundations in hopes that the tonnes of concrete and rebar would be enough to slow the flying brick chasing them. The villain just bursts through the obstacles with nary a broken sweat, and speeds up to the point where Water Boy has to turn the carpet upside down so they don’t get knocked out of the sky.

“Where the fuck is that computer junkie?!?” King yells at Snake Charmer as they draw dangerously close to the road below. “He was supposed to be here hours ago!!”

“How am I supposed to know?!” They can hear Snake Charmer’s heartbeat hammer in his chest from where he’s pinning them to the vehicle in the absence of a seatbelt. “It was the conman who was meant to give him the si—”

Yuu can barely scream a warning in time as the villain looms behind Leona’s head, eyes glowing red and ready.

A rush of flying metal harpies collide with the bastard’s face, effectively pinning him in midair as he struggles to destroy the thousands-strong swarm that obstructs his path to them.

“OPEN FIRE!!” Comes Hermes’ high-pitched cry as a blue beam shoots past them at the center of the robotic maelstrom.

A pair of red lasers rocket out to meet it, almost seeming as though it could push Ortho’s assault back—!

A white-hot streak of lightening descends from the formerly clear sky to where the villain was pinned, disrupting the red eye lasers and allowing Hermes’ beam to make contact.

There’s a hideous scream and the stench of burnt meat.

“We’re coming in too fast!!” Water Boy yells, tugging on the carpet’s tassels until they’re almost vertical. “Ja—I, I don’t know if we’ll slow down in time!!”

Yuu barely hears the curses the other two occupants spit, lunging to try and cover as much of them as they can with their body. Even if they crash, if Yuu can just absorb most of the shock of the landing—!

Small pinpricks of pain latch onto their scalp, their pajamas, the carpet and supervillains beneath them, hundreds of small beating appendages smacking them all in the face as the carpet’s rapid descent slows incrementally.

“Oh boys~?”

Four sets of strong hands seize the front of the carpet, their owners grunting as they attempt to force the carpet’s stop through sheer force. Of course, the continued existence of Newton’s Third Law combined with the reporter’s precarious shielding position means that though the carpet experiences sudden stop, Yuu keeps going at the same high speed that will ensure serious injury once they hit the tarmac.

Or it would do, if they didn’t collide with a solid chest and waiting pair of arms first.

The reporter finds themselves cradled in a nearly crushing grip, their catcher muttering “child of man, child of man,” into the top of their head and a warm thumb swipes over the rapidly darkening bruise on their cheek. The wind picks up around them alarmingly, whipping into a gale.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m okay.” Yuu reaches up to pat Tsunotaro’s head soothingly. “See? Just a few scrapes and a little scare. Give me an ice pack and a shower and I’ll be right as rain.”

Tsunotaro doesn’t look very convinced, but at least the wind drops to more of a strong breeze.

“Oi, let ‘em down, you dumb lizard.” King growls behind the reporter, the rings on his tail clattering as it swishes irritably. “We did all the work of saving them, you don’t get to take the rewards.”

Tsunotaro clutches them closer, getting that stubborn look in his eyes that makes Yuu want to groan in exasperation. “No.”

“Why you—!”

“Now, now children, the world works in mysterious ways.” Batman beams. “I’ve always found destiny draws those it finds most suitable together.”

The reporter rolls their eyes as King snarls in response to that remark and Snake Charmer mutters, “I didn’t know ‘destiny’ was what you called interfering old fools.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Snake Charmer climbs off the carpet and straightens his headscarf. “What’s next?”

There’s a crash as the mass of robots pinning the singed villain about three blocks down the street begins to shift, however unwillingly.

“‘Kay, the ‘save the princess’ team barely cleared the parameters for their part of the mission.” Charon’s floating tablet drifts forward, the sounds of frantic tapping on a keyboard almost drowning out his voice. “Now it’s time for the ‘aggro’ and ‘debuff’ teams to move in, Tsuntaro-sshi, Royal-sshi.”

“Understood. I’ll leave the coordinating of the others to you, Charon.” Royal Flush looks up and raises an unimpressed eyebrow at the tall fae. “Well? Are you coming?”

Yuu could almost swear they hear a small grumble as Tsunotaro finally lets them down out of his grasp. He runs his thumb over their injured cheek one last time. “Sebek, Silver. Defend the reporter as you would me.”

“Yes, Tsunotaro-sama!” The two of them chorus.

Royal Flush shakes his head, then reaches out and squeezes Yuu’s hand once. “If anything happens, Three of Clovers and Howl-san will get you somewhere safe. But this shouldn’t take long.”

“Oi, don’t presume to give orders to my minion, Flush.” King growls, inserting himself bodily between the two of them. His mouth curls up in a smirk as he places a proprietary hand on top of their head. “Besides, I’ll be here, won’t I?”

Royal Flush and Tsunotaro narrow their eyes at him, but their attention is claimed by the sound of metal crashing down the street as the villain shrugs off the rubble, the burns on his arms and face healing rapidly as they watch. His eyes flicker over their motley group, before settling on Yuu with laser-precision.

It’s only the arrow that flies into his shoulder, combined with a second lightening bolt striking him from the blue that keeps that metaphor from becoming literal.

Yuu chokes a little at the pressure on their pajama shirt collar as they’re dragged out of the line of fire. From where they’re crouched behind a car, they can see Tsunotaro and Hermes throwing almost everything he’s got as the bastard, while Royal tries to close the distance without ending up attacked himself. They also catch a glimpse of who they think is Leviathan silently gliding closer through the alleys on the far side of the street.

But the villain just won’t stop getting back up. Despite the fact that anyone sane would’ve given up the moment the green flames were broken out, he keeps coming, no matter how many times he gets thrown back.

And he’s clearly getting closer to the reporter he so desperately wants to kill.

“Now what?” Yuu asks, barely able to hear themselves think over the worried growl rumbling from Jack’s chest.

Charon’s muttering to himself as more of his robots fly by overhead. “Need to pin down the rate of regen, if we can get that and surpass it so the ‘debuff’ team can do their thing before the second wave gets here, but what is it?”

The reporter blinks. Well, taking into account the insult, and the backhand...

“He was able to heal his tongue about...four, maybe five seconds after I’d bitten through it? That’s only a rough estimate though, it may’ve been shorter.” They murmur.

The area around them goes very quiet.

“B-bitten through...?” Water Boy asks, hand coming up to his own mouth with a wince.

Yuu scowls. “That creep put it in my mouth when I did not ask him to. Ugh, I would’ve gone for his balls too, but the metal didn’t let me lift my legs that far.”

They huff for a moment at the unfairness of it. Then, “King, stop grinning at me like that.”

“Like what herbivore?” His tone is the picture of innocence, even if the way he’s eying them is most decidedly not.

Snake Charmer ‘accidentally’ kicks him in the shin as the sound of frantic typing erupts from the tablet again. “Setting the Erinyes to follow up on Ortho’s and Tsunotaro-sshi’s attacks within a three point five second time frame...fwe he he he, let’s see how that mob likes this!”

With the clack of what sounds like an enter key, the robots above them begin divebombing the villain in sequence, deliberately targeting the parts of him injured by Tsunotaro and Hermes’ blows.

One of them sacrifices itself in a kamikaze dive that leaves a bleeding scratch on his arm.

The villain roars, the force of his fury almost knocking them over even with how far away their little group is crouched, turning the lasers on every robot within his line of sight.

Of course, this means he stops paying attention to the three supervillains who have been steadily making their way towards him.

“FAIREST ONE OF ALL!”

“IT’S A DEAL!”

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

The powers hit the villain one after another, his lasers sputtering out with a pained scream. The scratch on his arm doesn’t start healing. Neither does the gash he gets across his face when Poison Queen roundhouse kicks him away with those stilettos of his.

“Was that it?” Leviathan says, his careless facade somewhat ruined by the fact that he wobbles as he begins to levitate. “I must confess I don’t understand what all the tr-trouble was.”

A low whistle by their ear makes Yuu jump. “The bosses can be scary when they wanna be. Remind me never to piss off those three at once.”

The reporter look up to see Ace and Floyd standing behind them. “Ace, wha—where have you been?!”

Floyd giggles and Ace shoots them an evil grin as they chorus, “Sending out party invites~”

Yuu blinks and tries to puzzle out this cryptic phrase, but their attention is swiftly drawn back to the scene of the battle at the sound of manic, unhinged laughter.

“You think you’ve won? You think something like this will stop me?!” The villain cackles, eyes wild and beginning to grow red again despite the way his body tenses and the collar around his neck starts to buckle. “You think that second-rate half-hearted hacks like you can stop someone like me?!? I am your superior!! You all will bend the knee once I snap that ungrateful little bitch’s neck and take my rightful place as head of the League!!! I’ll decimate every last one of those pathetic, moronic heroes who pollute this city like a fungus!! And then, oh , and then I’ll make every last one of you who thought they could get away with this pitiable attempt to stop me—”

“Us? Here to stop you?” Poison Queen tilts his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re supervillains.”

“Stopping the likes of you.” Leviathan proclaims triumphantly, “Is their job.”

The villain stops.

The villain turns.

Over half the top heroes of the Royal Sword Association lead here by the minions meet his gaze.

“Hello.” Niko Niko Neko says with a wide grin.

Yuu isn’t close enough to hear if the villain whimpers, but they almost wish they were.

Almost.

[thisisthehardestthing]

This Is The Hardest Thing - 5

NSFW, 18+

AN: Okay, let me try this again. I deleted the previous version because it was not... right. Enjoy! bakugou x reader smut

Warnings: degradation, dub/noncon, swearing, unprotected sex

Thank you @joyousandverywarlike​

masterlist

CHAPTER 5

Katsuki grumbled as he ate his lunch, thinking of you, of your eyes. There was something that changed in them the second your palm touched the door. Your pupils dilated even though it was bright inside, lips slightly parted, breath shallow. He saw it, the way your entire being vibrated, and it confused the shit out of him. You’re a hard one to figure out and he hated it. His chopsticks stabbed at the plate, clinking noises echoed in the silent room.

He hated losing. He hated change. He hated the fact that he was stuck inside for a full day, and he hated you. His hands scrubbed his plate clean, trying to rid his mind of emotions, rinsing off his feelings as the plate dipped underneath the running water. It wasn’t true, though. He doesn’t hate you, and his head shook as he reprimanded himself.

Stop lying, dumbass.

Towel drying the plate, he remembered the feeling of your hair tickling his knuckles. It was so soft. He had kicked your seat to control those urges of trailing his fingers through it, wrapping his hands around the ponytail, pulling it. Then he thought of the first time you fought him, breathing heavily, panting as you circled each other. That look of pure glee and adrenaline as you stared him down, predator vs predator.

That’s it, that’s what was in her eyes. He sighed when the plate was packed away.

Rage, adrenaline, glee… lust. However, it was not the kind of lust he was used to seeing, sometimes directed at him. This lust was for something specific, which he couldn’t recognize. He knew that nagging feeling of needing release, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted to consume. It made the hair on the back of his neck, forearms, and shins stand on end. That look.

His thoughts were still on you when you walked down the stairs and into the main hall, still in your school uniform like him. The sight of your slight smile further enraged him. He had no idea what you could be smiling about, and he wanted to know. Instead his words came out harsher than he intended.

“What are you so happy about?” His voice was gravel crunching beneath boots. Rough and addictive, painful when you fall against them. The frown that took over your face almost made him do a double-take, your eyes narrowed the second they saw him.

“None of your business.” You replied, and it was true. Shinsou and you had just briefly spoken across your balconies before he went back for lunch. The kitten’s name was Kit-kat and you promised not to tell anyone. The mental image of the kitten clawing its way up his white, uniform shirt made you smile again.

“Well, knock it off. Here.” He pushed a bowl of rice and chicken cutlets across the dining table, now cold. “Eat this while I get the cleaning supplies.” He ignored the raised eyebrows, turning around.

“Bakugou, that’s almost kind of you.” He scoffed at the skepticism.

“I don’t need to deal with you fainting and leaving me with all the fucking work,” he mumbled, pulling out equipment from the storage closet in the corner of the living room.

This might’ve been a record for Bakugou. Neither of you was at each other's throats yet, which made you hold your tongue, digging into the slightly cold meal, wondering if he cooked it himself.

It’d been two hours and you wished you wore shoes. From time to time, you found yourself reaching out to him involuntarily, either to feel vibrations through the soles of your feet, or with your fingertips passing by him, but not touching. The waves you felt earlier were no longer there, but traces of it were,always right on the surface. And God, did you want to feel it again.

You were both in the laundry room at this point. You mopped the floor while he dried it. When a step backward kicked over the bucket onto the newly clean floor, the dam burst. It poured off his body in waves through his bare feet, into the tiled floor, and up your soles. The fuse he seemed to keep at a simmer exploded as he jumped up, lifting the edges of his baggy pants and swearing. You were frozen, unable to move. The high frequency at which his body began to vibrate caught you off-guard.

“No, don’t tou—”, the words caught in your throat as he walked, reaching out to push you to the side. He did, and it was as though the air itself was made of Bakugou. Your body moved before you realized what happened and your fingertips wrapped around his wrist.

Katsuki saw it happen as if in slow motion. The way your pupils dilated and the goosebumps prickled under his palm. The look returned. His heartbeat stilled as your head whipped to stare at him. Your grip was strong, holding his sweaty palm in place, the water around his feet forgotten, already draining out into a hole in the corner somewhere in the room.

Your breaths were shallow as you kept his gaze, Katsuki was too shocked to move when your hand traveled up his forearm, over his bicep and shoulders. It was almost as if you were not in control of your own body when it wrapped around the back of his neck and forced his head down to your level. There was something in him that couldn’t look away from the predatory gleam in your eyes. As confusion replaced his anger, you could feel the vibrations begin to die down, too fast, too soon. His hand dropped from your shoulder.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he whispered, entranced by the swirling emotions in your eyes. The rational part of your mind was losing the battle as it began to cloud over.

“Touch me.” A demand by your body. The waves began to pick up again, different than before but just as intense.

“Don’t tell me wha—” He was cut off when he felt something begin to course through his body, originating from your palm. A moan escaped his lips, his head fell backward.

What was this feeling? There were oscillating waves, traveling down his arms, into his hands, which lifted and grabbed your waist. He felt the shiver wrack through your body the instant his palms touched you, over your shirt, the last barrier. He had no control over his movements, almost floating above his body as he witnessed himself pull you close, against his chest.

“Not enough.” The words were muttered against his chest, and his hands followed unheard instructions as they began to unbutton the front of your shirt.

Why couldn’t he stop himself? His fingertips grazed your skin as they moved under the fabric, around your sides and splayed open on your back. He thought he would collapse under the pressure coming from his neck and flowing into your body. You were all-consuming, absorbing everything he had. It was a closed circuit, a switch turned on, that touch.

It was when your hands brought his head further down, did he realize what was happening. The tsunami that he felt brewing inside himself crashed onto the shore of your lips and nothing else mattered. All he could do was feel the immense power flowing through his atoms, creating nuclear fission, multiple explosions going off all at once.

I don’t want this. Your tongue darted out, a gentle touch against his bottom lip as if asking for permission, although he had no power to resist. Katsuki couldn’t breathe when your tongues danced together, circling each other before you sucked on it. When you panted a hushed ‘more’, he was ashamed of the moans that echoed in the room. Both your hands were on his shoulders to steady yourself when he picked you up and placed you atop of the washing machine. Lips still against each other, his shirt fell off his shoulders, onto the damp floor with just a touch. He was standing between your open legs now, a growing erection pressing against your inner thighs. He felt his hands wander over your chest, cupped your breasts out of the bra, rolling and pinching your hard nipples.

The need to have him was too much for you. Your mind clouded in a thick fog and his hands were your guiding light. You couldn’t see without his touch, he couldn’t see with yours. You whimpered when his calloused hands left your body only to moan as they stroked up your thighs and under your skirt. When they reached the hem of your underwear, toying with the fabric, it was bliss on a knife’s edge.

At the bristle against your damp core, electricity shot through you, parting the sea of mist. You were clear-headed, pulling your face away from his, but only for a second. The needy whine that escaped from Bakugou’s lips made your eyes cloud over. Lust for power overcame you, and you no longer held back. Your hands explored his body as his fingers stroked languid lines along your slit. One hand gripped his hair, blonde tufts poking out between your fingers as you pulled his head down, against your neck. He sucked and licked the salty skin, each taste making him thirstier, harder. Your other hand began to undo the button of his pants. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill. He was frustrated and angry at not being able to move at his own volition, not feel you on his terms.

The emotion hit you like a tonne of bricks, making your toes curl and back arch as his fingers crept underneath the fabric and played with your wetness. A thumb circled your clit, your moans a whip that spurred on his movements. Your fingers dragged against his upper back, red lines raised on his skin as you marked him, before you grabbed his hips and pulled him closer, pants dropping down so he was left in his underwear. His body and actions were yours, hands trapped between your bodies.

The control must’ve slipped as you got lost in the friction, like the sweat rolling off his palms and against your skin. Katsuki’s mouth started to falter against your skin, but when his finger slipped between your folds, he saw nothing but stars. The breath knocked out of him, forehead on your shoulder with your palms pressed flat against his back, wanting to absorb everything into your body. You turned your head to smell his hair—sweat and shampoo—and sucked on his earlobe.

His thick finger pumped in you, your whine against his skin made him hyperventilate. He couldn’t believe what was happening, but he didn’t want to stop. Not anymore.

“Fuck, Bakugou.” Your lips moved, finding his name through the fog, calling out to him.

A part of you sensed the shift; the vibrating waves changed tempo instantly underneath your grasp. Without your bidding, he slipped in a second finger. They massaged your walls with precision, exactly the way you wanted it. The stretch was new, his fingers thick and delicious as they curled up and into your g-spot. The movement shocked you, woke you up, and your palms flew to his chest as if to push him away.

Not again, the thought danced around your head as the hand that gripped your thigh reached up to grab your waist, then your bicep, and ended on the back of your neck, fisting your hair. The feeling of lust so different from anger, yet equally as potent. With it came a new sense of longing. He was no longer oscillating but rather swirling under your touch, like a tornado, each cell spiraled and made you dizzy.

You couldn’t think of anything, only feel the tightening coil in your belly. Your hands moved up as you clung onto his neck. His eyes were open now, just as hazy as your own. When you began to rhythmically pulse around his fingers, he quickened the pace. Your hands dropped to the cool metal of the washing machine beneath you, keeping you upright along with the hand on your neck. A pained growl erupted from Bakugou at the loss of contact.

“Touch me,” he panted your words from earlier. He couldn’t see straight and when your palms left his body, he felt cold and empty, the only warmth between your legs and on his hand.

There was something in his face that made you believe that he might crumple to the floor without your hold. You knew not to continue, that this wasn’t him, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were close to orgasm, the willpower to stop too far out of reach. Your hand reached to palm his erection, tugging down the waistband. His cock sprung free, joining the tangle of limbs between your legs. Unlike his palms, where there was rage, his groin seemed to be the epicenter of lust and when your fingers closed around his girth, you screamed as you teetered over the edge.

The coil in you snapped as stars danced in your vision, flashes of white and black and the red of his eyes. The sounds of the ocean crashed around you. He kissed you again, mouths clashing as teeth bumped and tongues intertwined. All too quickly, his fingers left your sopping core to grip your thigh, right thumb hooked over your underwear to keep it pulled to the side, he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance. Your sensitive cunt tensed as he pushed in and he hissed through his teeth, warm air blowing against your lips.

It was what you were looking for, and more. Finally, you felt it inside you, pulsating and swirling outwards through your core and into your body and limbs, flowing right back out of your palms. You swore the contraption beneath you shook with the same energy, vibrating beneath your fingertips. The hand that was wrapped around his cock had moved to his Adonis belt, palm pressing down hard as Bakugou began sharp thrusts into you.

You fell backward with a moan, eyes rolled up and into your skull at feeling so full. You relied on the hand supporting your head to keep you upright, his forearm against your back. The way his hips snapped against you was sure to leave bruises against your inner thighs, hip bones hitting the same spot over and over again. You were being wound up, a second time, with more vigor, as the machine beneath you rocked in time with his thrusts. His hand pulled at your hair, tugging your head back and your eyes flew open to find his, clear as day.

Katsuki was finally in control of himself. It happened when your hands first left his body and fell to the equipment he was fucking you on. It was torture for him to feel you beneath his hands but not be the ones to control them. He’d never felt such longing before, already accustomed to the intense waves of energy flowing through his body and feeling empty when the connection cut off. Now, he would pleasure himself the way he wanted to. With his right hand still on your thigh, he lowered the left one that supported you until you laid flat, palm spread over your chest, latching onto a breast as he pounded into you.

“Don’t let go,” he grunted in time with his thrusts, venom seeping into his voice. His eyes narrowed as they glanced down at the point where your bodies joined. That jaw of his clenched again and you brought your ankles together behind his back to pull him in deeper. He moaned when you brought your palms up and gripped the arm pinning you, the circular connection established once more.

“Fuck,” Katsuki breathed, thrusts becoming sloppier, “You’re such a slut, aren’t you? So needy, couldn’t fucking wait to feel me inside you.” His degrading tone alone had your heart beating out of your chest, shame welled up inside you.

When he felt the way your cunt clenched around his length, he could tell you were close once more. He leaned forward, a hand traveled up and wrapped around your throat. It pressed on your veins, your head swam with the limited blood supply. Your hands went to his shoulder, then chest, palms flat once more as you felt the full force of his vibrations; rage and lust combined. He groaned the second he felt it, in sync with you. His breath fanned against your cheeks as he grunted into your ear.

“I’m not even wearing a condom. I bet you thought about that. You wanted to feel all of me, didn’t you?” There you were, falling against the gravel that was his voice. “Ungh, fuck, answer me.” The hand that was holding your thigh dug into your flesh, bruising, and the waistband of your underwear bit into your skin at the tug.

He could see the hesitation in your throat; you were unsure of the answer yourself at this point, so he ignored it as he chased after his release, letting go of your underwear and grinding a thumb down on your clit instead. He watched your back arch up in response as you clamped down around him. The sight of you so helpless in his grasp pushed him that much further over the edge, reminded of how he’d felt moments before.

Too soon, before your orgasm crashed around you, Bakugou pulled out and you felt warm, sticky cum spread underneath your skirt, onto your thighs and the bend of your groin. Just as sudden, the vibrations died down and you fell limp. Your hands dropped from his chest and open, knuckles hitting the machine next to you. Your ankles unclasped and lowered down. You felt the cum drip, between your ass and the smooth metal of the washing machine. You felt like curling up inside yourself. The hand around your throat went slack, before it inched upwards and gripped your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his.

“You didn’t orgasm just now, did you?” he asked. You shook your head no. A smirk lifted one side of his mouth, but the amusement didn’t reflect in his eyes. “Good, you shouldn’t get to.” He pushed himself away, clicking his tongue as he tucked himself back into his boxers and pulled up his sopping wet pants. He bent over to pick up the forgotten, spilled bucket and his shirt, but when he stood back up, both slipped out of his grasp, clattering to the floor. Shock plastered across his face as he looked around the room. His head whipped around to look at you.

“What the fuck is your quirk?”

*****************************************

taglist: @aizawascumslut​, @whats-her-quirk​​, @joyousandverywarlike​, @bubbzibubbles​

please send me an ask to tag you! <3

[bxthharmon]

Through the Ages || JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Words: 1870

Warnings: Super toxic relationship, underage drinking, smoking, weed

Summary: The development of your relationship with JJ, from when your first met aged eight to adult life, MAJOR ANGST

A/N: okay i know i havent written anything in WEEKS but im watching obx and im obsessed... i really wasn’t expecting this to take such a dark turn?? contact me if you wanna request anything or make friends :)

masterlist

8 years

You’re eight and when you meet John in front of the school to walk home, he has a friend. You know your brother’s friends - most of them, at least - but this boy is new. He is tanned and blonde and tall for his age, and a girl in your class had told you about how he’s always getting into small playground scraps. You eye each other warily on the way home, your brother between you, oblivious to the hostility. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him - how could you dislike someone you knew nothing about? - it was that John had promised to stop bringing his friends on the way home, because he would end up ignoring you, and now there was a friend walking with them. 

When the boy finally leaves, John looks at you as if he forgot you were there. You watch as the boy goes through the front door, catching a glimpse of a dark, cluttered house. You wonder where his parents are. 

John coaxes you into a race - who can get home first - and he wins. He always wins. A year older, stronger, faster. Your dad greets you, asking about your days, and laughing as you complain about how John ignored you on the way home.

The next week, the boy walks with you again. His name is JJ, and he’s funny. He gives you a twinkie as a peace offering, saying that he wants to walk with you and John from now on. You shrugged, and took the twinkie, telling him it was for the food, and only the food.

11 years

You’re eleven, in your first year of middle school, and you and John ride home from school everyday on your bikes. On the days when you’re not surfing or hanging out with friends, you cycle home with John, JJ and a new member of the gang, Pope. You and JJ, while still at a twinkie-incited truce, are growing more competitive and show-offish around each other. You race your bikes to his, and if you stop at the corner store on the way home, you see who can chug their cola faster. John fights with you when you get home because they’re “his friends, not yours!”

You have your own friends, and sometimes you cross with your brother’s friends in town, sass thrown between the groups like a tennis rally, the twinkie-truce fading into the past. You can’t stand the tall blonde surfer, but you can’t wait to argue with him on your way home from school.

14 years

You’re fourteen, and after a year long break from your brother’s friends, you’re, once again, at the same school. You’ve changed, filled out more over the last year, puberty having hit you like a tonne of bricks since you last hung out. The three pogues now have one female friend, Kiara, and you become fast friends. You can tell your brother has a thing for her, and you wonder if he’ll ever bring her home to meet your dad. 

JJ sees you differently now. You seem less like the eight year old he met six years ago, but you’re still very much yourself. He pulls your ponytail as you pass him in the hallways at school, and you flip him off in return. You sometimes go to the same parties, and your drinking races have switched from cola to beer. John hates you being at parties, claiming your too young to drink or party, as if he wasn’t the year before. John can see how JJ looks at you, and he hates it. He hates seeing how guys look at you now, how they flirt, hit on and catcall his baby sister. He also hates how in your efforts to compete with JJ, you get into fights and run your mouth. He hates how JJ shows off around you, and vice versa. 

Despite his frustrations with JJ, he’s also the only guy who’ll stand up for you when you or John can’t do it yourselves. He hopes you don’t grow up too quickly, and he knows that his friends will always have your back, so he’s not worried. 

15 years

You’re fifteen, and you go to a kegger for the first time. You get drunk quickly, flirting with too many guys and giggling at every little thing. You share a blunt with JJ, and the pair of you practically piss yourselves with laughter when John tries to reprimand you. The night is fun, and you can’t wait for the next one. 

The next one is much worse. You’re one or two drinks in when you see JJ flirting with a touron. In retrospect, that’s probably when you first noticed your feelings, but at the time you have no idea why you’re so angry about it. By the end of the night, you’ve had half a bottle of vodka and two spliffs, and you’re way far gone. You might even have blacked out - but all you remember is the pure rage, and how you spent ten minutes throwing up by the front porch when you got home. 

You saw JJ the next day, and you’re both hungover. He checks on you, and neither of you really understand why you’re so cold towards him, but he leaves pretty quickly.

You cry that night.

16 years

You’re sixteen, and your dad is missing. You lost all your friends when you fell into a depression after it. Nine months later, and you feel happy again. You’re the final member of pogue crew, and you spend the summer surfing and swimming and settle into the routine of summer. You surf first thing in the morning, as dawn breaks, often with JJ, competing over who’s a better surfer (he is). You spend your afternoons on the HMS Pogue, competing with JJ over who’s the better swimmer (you are). The group of you drink and smoke and live your best lives. On the days where you’re not on the boat, you work. 

You know you love JJ, and you flirt constantly. He kisses you at a kegger, barely twenty minutes before he pulls the gun on Topper. You have your first serious argument that night, and it ends with him kissing you.

You wear your heart on your sleeve, and assure him you love him. He doesn’t say it back, but he shows it. You learn about his Dad and his work and how he learnt to surf. You sneak around, and, miraculously, don’t get caught. 

16 ½ years

You’re sixteen and a half when John and Sarah go missing. Kie and Pope try to help, but you don’t pay them any attention. You and JJ struggle, with yourselves, each other, and your relationship. You’re on the rocks, you’re up against the wall. You don’t think you’ll last, and you fight constantly.

Your relationship is toxic, taking your own angers out on each other, fighting and screaming in each others faces only to make up for a honeymoon period that lasts a week, max, and the cycle repeats. You’re both miserable. 

17 years

You’re seventeen, and he breaks up with you. You were too alike - both too impulsive, angry, broken for it to ever work. You apply to out-of state colleges, hoping to escape the islands you used to love.

You wait for an acceptance letter, and watch as the people you call family try to rebuild their lives.

18 years

You’re eighteen, and you get the letter. UCLA, on the other side of the country. You say your goodbyes to Kie and Pope, and eventually, JJ.

He looks broken, when you tell him. He asks you what you’d do if John came back and you weren’t around, but you had resigned yourself to John’s death long ago. You fight one last time. You fuck one last time. You love one last time.

You wonder if you’ll ever return.

22 years

You’re twenty two, and you’ve got a degree. You fly home the day after graduation, and everything has changed.

Kie runs the Wreck now, and she gives you a free meal and you talk for hours when you first arrive. She invited you to her and Pope’s place. 

They have a nice place. Not on Figure Eight, but on that side of the island - Pope’s got a high earning job in marine biology research. They’re happy.

You smoke a blunt with Pope, for old time’s sake. He tells you to see JJ, and gives you a slip of paper with the address. You don’t know if you want to throw it into the ocean or treasure it forever. You do neither.

It takes you a week to psych yourself up to it, and then you knock on his door.

His house is small, but not tiny, not like his childhood home. He welcomes you in, a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen in years. He sits you down at the dinner table, and you take in the pictures on the mantel shelf, and the mementos stuck to the fridge. 

You see the ring on his finger.

You enter a state of stasis. You were sure he was it for you, but the circumstances were wrong and you were too immature. Right person, wrong time, or something along those lines. No, apparently not. He moved on, he built a life without you, a happier, healthier life.

His wife is lovely, everything you’re not. She’s patient and kind and soft-spoken, the opposite to him, bringing balance. She stabilises him, and gives him what he needs.

You think of how you would argue with him, the screaming, shouting, throwing plates and vases. Your love was so naive, but so passionate. Everything that happened while you were together, everything that went wrong, happened because your tempers and stubborn natures and impulsivity was destructive.

You fly back to California a week later. 

You sit on the plane and reminisce. The night you and JJ broke up, the house got wrecked. You had been standing inches apart, but screaming at the top of your lungs. You had lost your temper and overturned a table, smashing all the crockery left on it. He had thrown a vase at the wall, and you had fought until your voices broke and you were too tired and sore to keep throwing shit at walls and each other. You had sat next to each other, leaning on the wall by the front door, an uncharacteristic calm washing over you. 

You had looked at him, heart aching, and told him that you needed to split up. He had nodded, and eventually, the pair of you had drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a world where you could be together without all the hate in the way.

When you woke up in the morning, he was gone, but the mess had stayed. You had had to tiptoe over thousands of shards of broken crockery and glass to get to your room, a reminder of how you were destined to self-destruct. 

You watched out the window as the plane landed, and vowed never to return again. 

Outer Banks was no longer your home.

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Screaming Salvation (Part one)

[[ The rest of this author note is from when I wrote it, but this is me now. Here’s the first chap of the gift I promised. Please remember there will only be 5 chapters and as of now, I have no idea when I’ll go back to finish this.]]

-----------

So this one will end up being AU. Focused heavily and my OC and Daryl rather than everyone else. Not much else to say, no idea where the fuck I’m going with this as usual loool Set before the group gets to Alexandria.

Name of the fic is inspired by a song. The Two Tongues by As It Is.

When I think of him there's comfort in the cold

He gives me solace when I offer him control

Her voice so beautiful will find me and explain

That life is agony but worth it all the same

I've been to hell and back

I've been living in between

Where the sky is always grey

And the grass is ever green

No I'm not sure I'm right

But I'm not sure I'm wrong

I'm just desperate to belong

Her voice like a sunrise

His voice like temptation

She sings to me softly

He's screaming salvation

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The sounds of boots slapping the damp mud in the forest, mixed with her own heavy breathing, were the only sounds in Rosalie's ears. Blaring like an alarm, letting her know exactly just how much she was in danger. And to put it lightly, she was fucked. She dodged and weaved the trees like a bat out of hell, eyes fixed on the break in the trees in front of her. The weight wrapped around her middle was weighing on her heavily, not just physically, but mentally. With each step it was as if she could feel just how heavy the burden placed on her shoulders really was. Like being put to the test, and she really fucking hated it. She had to get out of here, she fucking had to. She could still hear the men back further in the forest, not giving up the unrelenting chase of the young girl. Despite the fact her boots felt like they were filling with blood from her torn up feet, she didn't slow down. She was a lone survivor. Well maybe not completely alone, but she didn't exactly have anyone to have her back. She knew better than that by now. She’d been alone for years now. But the weight of having something else to keep alive, something to keep safe, it was a hard pill to swallow, especially when said thing was making life that much more difficult. 

The cut on her arm stung like a bitch as it bled everywhere, the warm crimson liquid dripping down her arm. She had a fleeting thought that it was creating quite an inviting trail for the dead ones to track her with and have a nice meal, or even the assholes who were after her. She knew it'd need stitches and could only pray to a God that clearly either didn't exist or give a shit, that it wouldn't get infected. At this point, so far past the turn, finding antibiotics was a rare fucking thing. Her lungs burned deep in her chest from her violently sucking in air and heaving it out. She could only focus on getting far away. She knew she'd put a good distance between her and the assholes chasing her, being small and nimble had its perks. But she knew they were still chasing her, and she wondered with a dark feeling if they’d ever even stop.

She broke out of the tree line, but what should have felt like a small victory rapidly turned on its head as she was faced with a large group of survivors just a few feet away in the road. It felt like a fraction of a second before all weapons were trained on her, and she drew her machete with a shaky weak arm, the other curling protectively around the thickly wrapped sheet around her middle. Her eyes were wild. Fear and desperation clear as day in them. A girl who had seen way too much shit for her age. Twenty...something. She was twenty one when the world fell apart and she’d lost track of how much time had passed since then. She really wasn't sure anymore, she didn’t give a shit. None of it mattered anymore. The only thing that did matter was staying alive. Age had no purpose in the new world because no matter the number, your life could end swiftly from the dead or the living. It didn't matter if you were 5 or 82. 

Her wide haunted eyes rapidly flit around, taking in the threats as she was assessing them. A man with shaggy hair and a beard, holding a revolver. A dirty man with a crossbow and a scowl that would make Satan shit himself. A black woman with swords, a young boy with a gun. There were more, but her fatigue was making it hard to even decipher them, her stance wavering as she fought hard not to collapse. She wondered if they were part of the group chasing her, but despite the fact they looked worn down and like they'd been dragged through hell and back, they didn't seem like it. They didn't give off the extremely dark vibe that the others had. The others, although clearly living and breathing humans, were more animal than man, and those were the kind you really needed to stay away from.

“I don't want any trouble,” her firm yet scared voice sounded foreign to herself, rough and scratchy from not using it for so long and from not having had a drink. She couldn't remember the last time she had a drink. She often went without these days. There was something much more important that needed it. The others squinted at her, and the man with the revolver cocked his head. She couldn’t hide from his eyes that looked like maybe he'd lost his marbles just a little bit. She couldn't really blame him, she had that same look in her own eyes. The one that said she had seen the darkest depths of hell, that said she was desperate and would do anything for survival. It was tense, none of them wavering as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then, the bundle wrapped securely around her moved and a small cry came from it. The survivor's eyes widened just a fraction, glancing at each other before back to her. A sound of a baby so strange to them, despite the fact they had one of their own. Some of them wavered their weapons a little, as if the idea of hurting someone with a baby wasn't something they could stomach. If they shot her, they could hit the baby, or the baby would get crushed when she fell like a sack of crap.

Rosalie swallowed thickly and took a shaky step back, her weapon still raised as she tried to see if they would put a damn bullet in her back the second she turned. Her hand held the baby's head protectively as she glanced down, shushing the baby in a low soothing tone. The man with the revolver slowly lowered his weapon, and most of the others followed suit. He was either the leader or they just trusted his judgement, Rosalie mused. He looked almost pained as he glanced at the wiggling bundle attached to the woman, the woman who seemed too haunted. The thought of one girl, one person on their own having to survive with a baby, made the man's blood run cold. He knew how hard it was and he wasn't ever alone anymore. He had his group, his family to have his back. To know that if anything did happen to him, the baby would be safe and protected still. And this girl, with the desperate look in her eyes that he knew all too well, she didn't have that luxury.

She exhaled a shaky breath and was about to leave, but that would be way too easy for the unfortunate events that made up her life. Nothing was ever easy in Rosalie's life. From the moment she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck to her mother dying in childbirth, it only went downhill after that with her evil father shifting the blame onto the innocent child. Her life was one shitty thing after another, and the new world did nothing to change that fact. If anything, it made it much much worse. 

The three vile men suddenly appeared out of the trees. It was as if they had somehow not noticed the large group of survivors not too far away, or maybe they were too stupid to care, their eyes on the prize as it were. She thought it was a combination of both. As deranged as these men were, they really weren't too clever or aware of their surroundings. It was how she managed to get away in the first place. 

Rosalie's eyes widened in terror and took a step back, a low feral sounding growl erupting from her lips as she held her machete up, looking more alert than she did seconds before. She looked like a wild animal ready to attack, to fight for its life and do whatever it took to survive. It was a look that didn't match up with her almost angelic pretty face and tiny petite frame.

“Now now kitten, that wasn't very nice to leave us like that,” the man with long straggly hair sneered. He was thin and sickly looking, a wild gleam in his eye. The man to his left, far too fat for this world and Rosalie wondered how the fuck he’d managed that one, laughed loudly.

“Forget the girl, I want the baby,” the balding man to the right side gleefully stated. The words polluted the air and caused the group to gasp, shocked from the other survivors who were watching, weapons drawn and appalled faces. Because no matter the horrors you found in this world, something always came along to outdo it.

With no hesitation, when those vile vile words left the man's lips and then left them distracted by the other group, a loud snarl left Rosalie as she dove at the man, swiping her machete with a force that looked unreal for her small weak frame. The blade sliced cleanly through the man's neck, almost severing his head. And with a sudden flurry of movement and noise, the leader hit the floor like a tonne of bricks, a bullet right through the temple, as the man to his left got a bolt right in the eye and fell next to him.

Rosalie's head whipped to the others, seemingly shocked that anyone had even bothered to help her or the child. Did good people exist anymore? She really gave up that hope a long fucking time ago. She stopped expecting the best of people before the world went to shit and it only went downhill after. The thick silence filled the air and she blinked wearily at them. Fatigue was setting into her bones but she needed to go. She needed to find somewhere to hole up for the night, to find safety for the little thing attached to her that had seemingly taken over her life, the fierce need to protect. She turned her back, feeling like they wouldn't hurt her. Why bother helping if they'd just kill her? She started stalking away, wincing at the pain in her feet. 

“Wait!” the voice rang out in the tense air and stopped her in her tracks, making her turn cautiously, half expecting a gun trained on her. But instead, she found the revolver man who had taken a few strides towards her. She narrowed her gaze distrustfully at him. In response he held his hands up, giving her a weird look, like he was looking at a scared animal and he didn't want to spook it.

“You should come with us, ain’t safe out here on your own, not with a baby,” his words were soothing, like he'd done this all too many times before. Diplomatic and calming. She was good at reading people and she wondered if he was some kind of law enforcement before the shit hit the fan. She'd had enough experience with police in her past to know one when she heard one. Rosalie chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes flit to the others watching carefully behind him. Although no weapons were pointed at her, she could sense their readiness to do so if needed. 

“They won't hurt you, we’re good people,” he said softly, as if he could sense her apprehension. He didn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially not after what they had just witnessed. It painfully reminded him of the other group he came across when one of his own had returned to him. The Claimers. The one slimy fuck that had his eye on his son, the one who ended up with his entrails all over the floor.

She didn't like this. She didn't like people and she didn't want to be part of another group just so they could fucking die around her like the last one all those years ago, not long after the dead started walking and got a penchant for eating people. She already had enough on her plate looking after the kid. She didn’t need feelings or attachments, nothing of the sort. One was more than enough. That shit was what got you killed out here. She didn't say a word, turning around and carrying on walking. The man's shoulders slumped a little, the idea of letting her and the baby walk away to an almost certain death not sitting right with him.

“We have a baby too...We have formula...if you need any. We look out for our own. You come with us, we can make sure the baby is safe,” Just as he hoped, the woman stilled again, but didn't turn to him this time. He could see her clench her fist a little, the one with no weapon. He also noticed the gash on her arm that looked like a defensive wound. It was dangerous to have a wound like that these days, and he doubted she could sew it up herself.

“Someone can help with your arm, sew it up. Won't be much use to your baby if you die from infection or blood loss,” he prodded, knowing the girl clearly cared about the baby and trying to coax her using that knowledge. 

She slowly turned around, tugging her lower lip with her teeth as her bloodied arm came around to the baby’s head that was now poking out from what looked like a tatty bloodstained blanket that was tied tightly around her. The dark-haired baby cooed at her, pulling at her necklace, and Rosalie glanced from the man to the baby. She knew he was right, that she couldn't do this alone. If she died, what chance did the baby have of surviving? None. Just like when she had found him. She mulled around the idea of leaving the small boy with the people, but she found a strange pain in her chest when she did. She’d at least have to stick around a little to see if she could trust them with such a thing.

After a few tense moments of silence, she looked back up at the man, seeing his hopeful gaze imploring her to do the right thing. If they wanted her dead, they would have done it by now, that much was obvious. She’d run into too many bad people already in the new world. She could tell they were different. But despite the apprehension swelling inside of her, she had to. She had to fucking hope that maybe all the people left in the world weren't evil, and that maybe this was her chance to give the baby the life he deserved. The guilt swam deep in her veins, remembering what he said about formula. She’d ran out weeks ago, and the baby was surviving on mashed foods that were way too much for a boy his age. As much as she was grateful that the baby was mostly quiet, she knew deep inside of her, part of that reason was because he wasn't getting what he needed, wasn't getting the right nutrients and it was making him weak.

Rosalie took a deep shaky breath to steady her nerves before giving the man a small nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief, stepping closer. He didn't fail to notice how the grip on her machete tightened without her raising it, or how the arm around the baby gripped harder.

“I’m Rick,” he said with a warm smile, holding his hand out but she looked at it like he’d grown three heads. Shaking hands wasn't a thing in this new world. Hell, she didn’t shake hands in the old world either. She still took it though, her small hand giving him a weak shake and letting him see just how tired and weak she really was.

“Rosalie,” she muttered, her eyes tired and her whole body screaming with pain. She didn't offer up the baby's name but Rick didn't mention it. He would be protective of Judith too. He nodded at her and tilted his head in the direction of the group before walking back over to them. She heaved a sigh before trudging off after him, watching the others eye her curiously, some wary. They should be wary. They didn't know what she was capable of, and she knew they were smart just for feeling the same apprehension she felt about them.

“This is Rosalie, she’ll be joining us,” Rick’s words were firm as he gazed around the group that had become his family, waiting for anyone to speak up, to challenge him. But the baby cooed again and it was as if the noise itself was enough to soften anyone who may have had doubts, to leave such an innocent thing out in the world like this. The children were the future now, the only hope the cold world may have. And with no more words, they all turned around and started back on their journey. One to find somewhere to call home, to feel safe. Somewhere Carl and Judith could be safe from the horrors of the new world, and now somewhere for this new baby to have the same.

[solohux]

Prompts are open? Would you mind doing something that's a continuation of an earlier idea of yours? Where Fox!Hux is moody because he's in heat and so he and Kylo have sex and he gets pregnant but when he's all happy and clingy Kylo doesn't understand what's changed, leading to some angst on Hux's part? Do you remember that idea? Like a continuation of that please :D

I assume you’re talking about this ask!

“We have to do something, Dopheld,” Thanisson nudges his fellow officer, noting how Doph’s rabbit ears are flopped down in woe. “He won’t even go to a medic.”

“Well, we can’t force him,” Dopheld replies. “He’s our General.”

“And he’s pregnant. He’s hurting himself and his pup.”

“He’s also not deaf,” Hux calls out from where he lies on the sofa, wrapped in his favourite silk robe, eyeing his two officers from across the room. “I asked you two to deliver my reports to me and you’ve done that. You are dismissed.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Thanisson steps forward, his golden puppy tail in between his legs. “We’re concerned about you.”

Hux doesn’t look up, letting his datapad rest on the gentle curve of his two-month pregnant belly. Even without being so close to him, Mitaka and Thanisson can see the red lines around his eyes from all the crying he’s done, and the way his pretty fox ears and fluffy fox tail just lie limply against him is a worrying sign; depression is a cruel prize that awaits an abandoned, pregnant fox.

“I appreciate your loyalty, gentlemen, but nothing can be done.”

“You could talk to him, sir,” Dopheld says quietly, nervously. “Even he wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

Hux scoffs, “He’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me. Or his pups.”

Dopheld and Thanisson share a worried glance, “Pups, sir?”

“Twins, yes, if you must know,” Hux switches off his datapad and tosses it onto the coffee table with a heavy sigh. “Dismissed.”

“Yes, General,” both of them say in unison with dejected tones as they turn to leave without uttering another word.

Hux watches them leave, absently wishing he could ask them to stay and keep him company instead of him being alone with his upsetting thoughts and broken heart. Closing his eyes, the fox allows himself to cry quietly, cuddling his pregnant belly in the hopes that it’ll help to comfort him.

It doesn’t.

                                               / ……………/

The moment that Kylo steps through the door to his chambers, Hux is on him like a magnet to metal; arms wrapped around his neck and pressing their bodies so closely together that Kylo can feel Hux’s heart pounding.

The wolf can’t help but sigh exhaustedly at finding Hux in his private quarters for another consecutive night. It’s been almost a month now of Hux living in here, being present when Kylo leaves in the morning to when he comes back in the evenings after training or missions. The fox has become so clingy that it’s almost embarrassing; giving him a good knotting to tame him as obviously worked a little too well.

“I’ve missed you,” Hux purrs, rubbing his cheek against Kylo’s as though trying to scent him. The wolf represses his urge to growl. “I’ve got some news to share with you. I thought you would have been back from training hours ago.”

“I did some overtime,” Kylo states, giving Hux a quick kiss on the forehead in the hopes that it’ll send him away. “And I’m pretty tired.”

“Say no more,” Hux steps back with an understanding nod. “I’ll run you a bath and order you some food and then we can talk. Would you like—”

“NO.” Kylo snaps, brushing past Hux and walking away from him. “I’d like for you to go back to your own chambers and give me some fucking space for once.”

The fox’s ears flop, and his shock become palpable through the Force around Kylo, annoyingly so.. “Space? Ren. Are you breaking up with me?”

Kylo halts, letting his tail angrily spike. “Breaking—? Hux. We’re not together!”

“Wh-what?”

“Is that why you’ve been so clingy? Is that why you’ve been at my side constantly since that first night? It was sex one time, Hux.”

“And many times after that.”

“So? We have great sex. I like knotting you. You took it so well on that first night that I wanted to keep doing it.”

Hux has tears in his eyes, “You brought me back here—to your den—whilst I was in heat and knotted me. Please tell me how I could have possibly misread those signs that we’re in a relationship?”

“You weren’t in heat,” Kylo rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I would have smelt it.”

“I was in heat,” Hux corrects, clenching his fists by his sides. “Because I’m pregnant, Kylo. I’m four weeks pregnant.”

The air turns cold. The two just stand on opposite sides of the room, staring at one another with confusion in their eyes—though Hux is clearly angry too.

“Pregnant,” Kylo echoes, digging one of his sharp canines into his bottom lip in the hopes that it’ll wake him from this dream.

“I thought you wanted me,” Hux says softly. “I thought you wanted me to be part of your pack. But you just wanted to knot me, is that it?”

“I…”Kylo finds himself suddenly shy, lost for words.

“Well?”

“I thought knotting you would make you more likely to listen to me, shut you up.”

The fox growls, storming past Kylo with flames of anger in his eyes, “I thought you cared! You! You vile monster!”

Hux’s rage hits Kylo like a tonne of bricks when they brush shoulders as Hux leaves, taking Kylo’s unborn child with him. The wolf does nothing, merely standing frozen on the spot and staring at the door, believing that Hux will be back any moment because he clearly can’t be without Kylo.

But he doesn’t come back. He never comes back. He resigns his work to his chambers, claiming that the medics have signed him off duty with a terrible but non-contagious strain of flu that only affects his species. Kylo doesn’t see him again for weeks.

The worst thing? Kylo misses him.

                                               /……………./

Hux wakes from his turbulent dreams with the feeling that he’s being watched. He’s still curled up on his sofa, naked beneath his black robe and hand resting atop the small bump of belly. The fox stretches, flicking out his tail too, and groans quietly as he opens his eyes.

“Ren!” The sight of the wolf kneeling on the floor in front of Hux’s sofa is enough to make him jump of out his skin with surprise. “What are you—? Get out!”

Kylo’s tail is between his legs, his helmet on the floor beside him, “Before you kick me out, let me talk to you. Please, Hux. Please.”

Just being near him again is intoxicating, Hux finds, taking in the young wolf’s dejected expression.

“Fine,” Hux sits up, folding his legs underneath him and making sure not even a slither of his pale neck is showing beneath his robe. “Speak quickly.”

“This is my first and final attempt to win you back,” Kylo begins, unable to hide the shakiness to his voice. “If, after this, you tell me to leave you be then I swear to you that I will. I won’t concern you with my sentimentality again. We’ll return to our formal positions and that will be it. But I…cannot begin to understand how much I’ve hurt you, Hux. I won’t tell you that I’m sorry because I’ve said it so much that I fear you’ll think I won’t mean it if I say it now. But I plan to spend the rest of my miserable life showing you how sorry I am. I thought I just wanted a quick fuck but I don’t, I never did. I want you, General, if you’ll take me back.”

Hux huffs.

“I want you in my pack,” Kylo continues, his head still bowed. “I want you to be mine.”

“How do I know that this isn’t another trick to tame me? To shut me up?”

“You don’t. I’d say you have to trust me but I know it’s going to take a long time for that to happen. Please, Hux. I was an idiot.”

“A big idiot.”

“Yes, that. I’m sorry. Not having you near me has made me see how much I care…how much I…love…you.”

Hux’s heart flutters at the words that he’s been dreaming of hearing since he stormed out of Kylo’s chambers.

“Look at me,” he orders, and the wolf obeys.

Hux moves almost too suddenly, tail wagging as he leaps into Kylo’s arms, and those strong arms hold him tighter than he’s ever been held before. Hux’s copper hair rubs against Kylo’s cheek as the wolf gently nuzzles him as though trying to get as close as possible to him, make up for the lost time they’ve been apart.

“Don’t leave me,” Hux says, pulling apart for a moment to grab Kylo’s wrist, guiding it to the soft, curved top of his belly. “Us. We don’t want you to go.”

“Never,” Kylo says, scenting Hux’s cheek before kissing him. “Never again.”

[oyesmendes]

The Coffee Roasters - Chapter two

a/n: we’re here!! this one’s a little sad and angsty so i’m sorry!!! and also, i would like to know how you would like the next chapter to go so leave me some suggestions in my ask :)

Long black - two shots of espresso poured into a glass of hot water; two lovers thrusted into reality.

when Sophie woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains, she knew she was fucked. Never in the twenty three years of her life did she wake up after the sun rose, not even when the cafe closed during the holidays. her hand was resting on Niall’s chest, his arm draped across her waist lazily. She turned slowly, careful to not wake him up as she turned on her phone to see a dozen text messages and missed calls from her family

Dad: Where are you? come to the store now.

Mom: darling, are you coming to the cafe today? Your father is worried

Harvey: I tried to cover for you, but it can only last so long. Good luck Mei ;-) ps hope you used protection

Sophie rolled her eyes at her brother’s message, only replying with a middle finger emoji and a be there soon before she felt Niall’s arms snake around her. She lets him pull her close to his body, turning around in the process to face him. Niall’s eyes were still shut as he hummed under his breath. Sophie thinks she could get used to this - to him, and then reality hits her like bricks when Niall mutters a string of swear words under his breath. She pulls away, looking at him confused.

“Sorry petal, I totally forgot to tell my manager I was staying the night in Brighton. I’m supposed to be at a shoot right now” Niall rubs his face with his hands a little too hard just to shake away the sleep in him. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s slept this well with someone in the bed. Sophie chuckles, shaking her head “well I guess that makes two of us. was supposed to be at the cafe…” she looks at the time on her phone screen, “three hours ago.” They both lay flat on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. A comfortable silence filled the room, both their hands intertwined with each other's. They should be worried about the consequences, the repercussions of their decisions, but right now all they cared about was the person laying by their side. Sophie gets up first, running her fingers through her hair as she sits up on the bed. Niall soon follows, peppering kisses on her cheek all the way down to her collarbone. She grabs his hand and he follows as if they’ve been doing this for years, and leads him to the bathroom where the twin bathroom sinks were waiting. She hands him a new toothbrush - a permanent one, not one of those you steal from a hotel - and they begin their morning routine. They were quiet as they moved around the apartment to get ready for the day; Niall was on the phone with his manager, looking like a child that was being berated by his mother and Sophie was making them coffees and breakfast. Both of them had the same thought in their head - will they see each other again? Was this just a one night stand? definitely not. Whatever they had between them, the comfort, the teenage excitement of love was something that was so real. Yes, they’ve only met 2 days ago, but what fell between them was so familiar, it felt like they’ve known each other for years and you can’t say that to many people in your life. Niall finishes up his call (or scolding, it was more like a scolding) and wraps Sophie into his embrace which makes her smile all too wide before she spins around.

“Here’s your coffee, and a day old croissant that I’ve put ham and cheese in. Take them on your ride back to London” She hands the bag and coffee cup to him, her eyes never meeting his. He frowns, setting the food aside and tilting her chin up so she’s looking straight into the ocean blue eyes.

“What’s wrong, petal?” He knows what��s wrong, he just doesn’t have the balls to say it. Sophie shakes her head, but her heart spoke faster than her brain could stop it.

“Is this it?” She asked, her voice cracks at the end with tears threatening to spill. Come on Sophie, you’re not going to cry over a boy you met two days ago. Get it together. Except she is crying a little and she is utterly in love with the Irish boy standing in front of her; and she’s terrified. Terrified that she’s going to lose it all in this moment before she could even begin anything. Niall catches on, pressing a kiss to her lips in which she returns hastily.

“Of course not, petal. you’re less than an hour away, I will come back to you” And that calms her down just by a bit. He envelopes her in a hug, swaying as they hold each other as tight as their bodies would allow them to.

-

Niall kept his promise. despite the promo tour for Heartbreak Weather and countless of interviews, he tried his absolute best to keep his promise. They were constantly texting and talking on FaceTime whenever their breaks coincided; and when Niall was in London with more than an hour to spare, he’d drive down to Brighton just to see Sophie for less than thirty minutes.

“M’so glad you’re here” Sophie whispered, her head resting on Niall’s shoulders as they sat by the steps of the back door to the cafe.

“Me too, petal.”

However, this long-distance teenage love could only last for so long. Niall was soon due to go on his world tour with no time to spare, and lets not even talk about visiting Sophie. From trying to spend every moment with her soon turned to weekly FaceTime calls that lasted no longer than 2 hours because Niall simply had “no time”. Which was true to a certain extent, he had rehearsals almost every single day if not, he was thrown into some meeting or interview where he was barely paying any attention.

"I can't keep doing this, Niall" Sophie shifts, the phone now propped up against the wall. Those words that came out of her mouth suddenly felt like a tonne of bricks raining from the sky.

"Just a little bit more Soph, I'm gonna be home-"

"and then what?" she cuts him off, her head pounding from the lack of caffeine in her system. It was 5am in Brighton, and Sophie was up an hour early because she couldn't get Niall out of her mind. She picked up the phone to call him, not caring about whatever event or activity that he was in so she could settle it once and for all. at least she was hoping to.

"because from the looks of it, i don't think we're going anywhere. I've barely spoken to you all week, and i don't think that's going to change until you make up your mind on what you want" She’s folding her arms now, and Niall knows that's a clear sign that she's not pleased. He sighs, hands bunching up the pillow next to him. Niall was supposed to be at the arena 10 minutes ago, but here he was sitting in his hotel room with the tension thick in the air between him and his girl.

"bub i just need you to hold on a little longer- a week? i'll be home in a week, yeah i can do that-" before he could even get an answer from her, the line cut off. Sophie slams her phone face flat onto the desk in front of her, a loud groan leaving her mouth. She couldn't do this, not like this when everything was so uncertain. Come on, Niall couldn't even give her a proper answer over the phone. Sophie had a strong character, any of her friends would admit that. She was level headed, confident and a sunshine for all. but right now, all of those characteristics were thrown straight out of the window; all because of one boy.

-

It was Friday evening, the slowest day of the week so the Hoang siblings were by the front counter catching up with each other. Harvey was bragging about the blonde he met the same day you had your encounter with Niall (yes surprise surprise! They started dating!) and Austin was well, talking about something that has to do with his online classes. Sophie had her mind somewhere else, eyes fixated on her phone waiting for some kind of message or call from Niall. they haven't spoken since that day (well, Niall has sent her multiple good morning and night texts but Soph really couldn't be bothered) she needed him to say something substantial, she needed him to use his words. something he could do so well when he wrote, but when it came to talking to the one he loved, it's as if the man doesn't have a mouth on his face.

“Hello? Earth to Soph?” Harvey was waving his hands in front of her face, giving her a questionable look.

“Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying about Sarah?” He rolled his eyes at his sister, “its Samantha, and I was asking you what do you want to have for dinner? I could go pick something-“ before Harvey could finish, the familiar jingle of the door with a very familiar figure standing at the door caught the attention of the siblings.

“Yo! Nialler! Haven’t seen you in the longest time man” Harvey and Austin both gave Niall fist bumps while Sophie stayed behind them, arms folded with her head down. When her brothers sensed the lack of enthusiasm from their sister, they both gave a look at Niall who showed the same emotions.

"we're gonna leave you two to talk" Austin rubber his sister's back before leaving to lock the front doors of the cafe and putting up the "closed" sign. Sophie let out another sigh before proceeding to wipe the counter, and steam the machines - anything she could do to keep her mind off the irish man standing on the other side of the counter.

"Soph...please" he stretched his hand across the counter, softly taking hers into his grasp. She squeezed the towel in her hand tilted her head back, legs bouncing as she willed her tears not to fall. Niall knew her like an open book, letting her hand go while he made his way round the counter. He was never allowed behind it, Alex never letting him around the coffee machines for the fear that he might distract his daughter at work. But this time Niall ignored all the rules, crossing over the barrier between them to pull her into his arms. At first, Sophie didn't move, she didn't hug back until Niall spoke.

"i'm here petal, i'm here and i'm sorry" those words were enough for her tears to fall and she was now full on sobbing into Niall's shoulder.

"i missed you" Niall choked out. Sophie pushed Niall back, hands resting on his chest as she took in his features. No, she couldn’t bare to break up with him. She threw her head back, sighed and scrunched the fabric of Niall’s hoodie.

“You’re making this so difficult.” Sophie whispered.

“Making what difficult, love? I’m here, I’m finally here” Niall was confused by her words and to be honest, the inner turmoil that Sophie was facing felt 10 times worse.

“This! This whole thing, your blue eyes and boisterous laughter; your singing and dancing; and the god damn world tour, Niall. Everything is difficult” She leaned back against the counter as Niall’s hands drop to his side.

“What- what do you mean?” Sophie snapped, or rather she was snapping at Niall and she couldn’t help it. She wanted it to stop, she wanted him to stop.

“I don’t know! I should’ve seen it coming, and trust me I tried to prepare myself for all of this” she let out a sad laughter. “You’re Niall fricking Horan, how the fuck can you be my boyfriend?!” Sophie turned and slammed the counter in front of her. Her chest was heavy, and everything started to hurt. Is this what letting go of real love feels like?

Niall’s arms snaked around her waist, pulling her close to his body. Sophie tried to fight it, but she was too tired after being so consumed by the thoughts of Niall and this entire relationship. She let herself melt into his arms, quiet sobs leaving her lips. He swayed from side to side, his head buried in her hair while he let her cry.

“I’m sorry petal, I really am”

“I know”

[angelicthor]

billion dollar man - part 11

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary: after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship, slightly nat-centric chapter, FLUFF

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist

a/n: this is the last of the reuploads! the next chapter is gonna be brand spanking new (and its super long oops), as always please let me know what you think! 

Staying up with Tony in his lab become routine for you after that night, whether it be going down with him knowing he couldn’t sleep or waking up to an empty bed and seeking him out, Tony’s lab soon became a familiar place to you. Sometimes Tony would work and talk to you as he did and others you simply went down there to sleep, curling up with a blanket on an empty workbench wanting him to know that he wasn’t alone, and you were happy to see that little by little Tony was indeed joining you to sleep more and more.

He still didn’t sleep enough but it was a start and one you would happily take.

Nat’s birthday was fast approaching, and you had helped everywhere you could with the planning, the moulin rouge themed party bigger than anything you had ever seen before in your life. Nat sure as hell had gone the full mile for this and nearly everything was ready, the both of you were shopping for your outfits today but there was one thing you had yet to do: get her a birthday present.

I mean, what do you buy for someone who has everything?

You had racked your brain for days and the closer her birthday got the more you began to panic. You were meeting up with Nat later and you wanted to have some sort of idea before you did so you could drop some subtle hints and test for a reaction before you actually bought anything.

The paper with ‘Nat’s present ideas’ scribbled at the top was void of any other writing – the same as it had been for the past 5 days – and with a huff you jumped from the couch, dropping the pen you were twiddling in your hands as you went off in search of Tony.

Tony was sitting in his office, eyes mulling over the papers in front of him when you sat yourself on his lap, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzled into his neck. Although his eyes never left the papers on the desk, a ghost of a smile played at his lips at the feeling of you pressed tightly against him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting Nat soon?” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss against your forehead as his hand gripped your waist keeping you close to him.

“I am but I have a problem.”

Tony’s eyes snapped up to yours, worry filling them instantly at your words as his gaze washed over you, searching for any signs of injury or distress. Unable to find any, Tony quirked a brow at you, leaning back in his chair as he gave you his full attention, “What’s wrong?”

“I have zero ideas on what to get Nat for her birthday and I don’t have long left! What if I can’t find anything in time and then I’m the only one that hasn’t got her anything and then I’ve hurt her-”

“Wait, wait; that’s what’s bothering you?” Tony asked you incredulously, staring at you with a slack jaw before he started to chuckle at your expense, “Y/N, baby, you don’t have to worry about that. Presents aren’t really a thing in this world, presents are pre-bought and delivered to parties by the host. It’s a little redundant to ask people to get you stuff when you already know exactly what you want and can afford it easily, this way there’s no disappointment or drama of ‘oh they never bought me anything’, you know?”

“Wait so no one gets anyone any presents? Ever? That seems really… cold. I mean, for me, presents were never about how much money someone spent or if it was something I really wanted, the best presents were those personal things that only that person could have thought to have got you. You know, the inside jokes and the special memories that only you have together.”

Tony watched you with a fond expression as your teeth worried at your bottom lip, troubled that gift giving simply wasn’t a custom here, one side of his mouth curling in an adoring smirk. “You’re something else, you know that?” He murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, finger grazing your cheek before he gently pulled you into a sweet kiss, “Don’t worry about Nat beautiful, she’s just happy to have you as a friend, trust me there’s not much out there that she doesn’t already own anyway.”

The sound of your ringtone cut through the room, Tony pressing one final lingering kiss to your lips before he let you go, watching as you pulled the phone from your pocket and saw the photo of you and Nat lighting up the screen. You smiled at the picture before you swiped to answer it, leaving Tony’s office as you headed to fetch your jacket, the phone pressed to your ear as you listened to Nat eagerly tell you how excited she was.

“Anyway, I’m sitting outside waiting for you to make an appearance so hurry the fuck up!” Nat cut the phone off without so much as letting you say ‘bye’ and you could only chuckle at her impatience. 

You stared at the photo of the two of you once more before it faded from the screen, the cogs in your brain starting to slowly turn as an idea began to form for her present. Clicking on your photos you scrolled through the many pictures you had stored there of you, Nat, and the rest of the gang – the silly selfies and off-guard shots brought a smile to your face and you remember the look Nat had when she saw your first photo together, the naturalness of it was something she was unfamiliar with, telling you that the only real photos she had where from professional photographers or paparazzi and she had practically begged you to send it to her.

That’s when it hit you like a tonne of bricks, the perfect present for Nat; a photo album filled with personal photos of her and Sam and her friends. Grinning to yourself, you pocketed the phone and dashed out the front door to meet with Nat, practically flinging yourself into her car as she laughed at your enthusiasm.

“Wow Y/N, keep this up and people might thing you actually missed me,” Nat teased as the car pulled off towards the designer stores Nat had requested you go to.

Given that Nat was throwing a Moulin Rouge themed party, it was no surprise she was requesting that people dress appropriately and when Natasha Romanoff requested something only a fool would say no. She had asked you to come shopping with her for her outfit, wanting your opinion before she purchased something and giving you the opportunity to get yours as well.

Entering the store, you were blown away by the various outfits on display; beautiful corsets embedded with diamonds on mannequins in the window whilst luxurious feather fans and headdresses lined the shelves. One thing you did notice however, was that the store was near empty, the only other people in it bar you and Nat seemed to work there but before you could question it, one of the women were approaching you with a wide grin.

“Miss Romanoff! We’re so glad to see you; per your request this is completely private so feel free to browse at your leisure and myself and Mary-Anne are here to help you with anything you need,” The woman - who’s name tag read Julianne - informed you, holding her arms out wide to gesture to the empty store.

You arched a brow at Nat in disbelief and she only gave you a sly smirk in response before dragging you over to look through everything in the store. Mary-Anne brought you both a glass of champagne as you surveyed everything in the store, Nat holding things against her body for some idea of how it would look, adding the one’s she liked to her every growing pile to try on later.

Nat also forced you to pick out the ones you liked, adding them to your own pile but you were far more reluctant than her, the idea of wearing something so form-fitting and revealing in front of so many people making you apprehensive.

Heading to the back where the changing rooms were you both tried outfits on for the other, leaving your favourites until last of course, and giving each other opinions on what looked good and what you could pair it with.

Whilst you changed into your final outfits, you called out to Nat through the wall of the dressing room; “Hey Nat, once we’re done here do you want to get a massage? My back is killing me.”

“Yeah of course, what did you do?”

Unable to think of an excuse you tried to brush of Nat’s concern, but you should have known by now that it wouldn’t have been that easy, “Oh, it’s nothing, just a little stiff is all.”

“Y/N.”

You could hear the warning tone in Nat’s voice as you finished adjusting your corset, cringing before you slowly opened the door and saw her standing there with her arms crossed and brow raised like a disappointed mother.

Glancing behind you at Julianne and Mary-Anne you made sure they were occupied and not eavesdropping, grabbing Nat’s arm and moving her further away from the two just to be safe before you told her the truth.

“It’s just, Tony’s being doing really well with therapy and he is sleeping more but he still spends a lot of time in the lab, so I started going down there with him; sometimes I can stay awake but sometimes I sleep on one of the work benches down there and it’s not exactly been great for my back.”

Nat’s expression morphed into one of concern, moving closer to reassuringly grip your forearms, “Why are you sleeping in the lab, why are you even down there to begin with when Tony has a perfectly good mattress to sleep on upstairs? Is he making you do this because I-”

“No! Nat, god no he doesn’t ask me to do it it’s just – I just don’t want him to feel alone you know? I think that’s always been part of the problem for him,” You mused, Nat nodding her head slowly in understanding, “Please don’t tell Tony Nat, he’ll only feel guilty and it’s not his fault I promise, besides it’s nothing a little massage therapy won’t fix.”

“Hey, you never have to worry about me telling anybody anything ok? You’re my best friend, your trust means everything to me, I’ll take it to the grave I promise but I do have one question; are you sure that what you feel for Tony is just ‘friendship’ or whatever bullshit you said this arrangement is?”

You froze at Nat’s question; you knew that you were worried about Tony, who wouldn’t be? And you’d do anything to help him. But you’d do the same for any of your friends. Wouldn’t you?

You did have to admit that whatever lines you did have were beginning to become blurred but whether it was extending past platonic at this point you couldn’t decipher and you knew it was dangerous territory to try to at this point.

Swallowing against the dryness in your throat, you shook your head of the dazed feeling that had come over you, giving Nat a soft smile in reassurance. “We’re just friends Nat, I promise.”

Nat hesitated for a moment and you panicked thinking she was going to question you more but to your relief she simply grinned and took your hand in hers, leading you to the huge mirror so you could appreciate what you and she were wearing.

“Wow, you look good,” You complimented, eyes wandering over her very eye-catching outfit. Nat’s outfit consisted of a corseted bodysuit and was completely embellished in tiny silver diamonds with black diamond detailing that caught every ounce of light, making her shimmer with every slight movement. The outfit was finished off with fishnet tights that had diamonds sown into them and black silk gloves that ended at her wrists, a black top hat with a diamond completed the ensemble and if you didn’t know any better you would think she was off to perform any second now.

Nat could sure as hell rock this look that was for sure.

“Correction; WE look fucking amazing,” Nat said with a pointed look, linking her arm through yours as you smiled at her reflection.

You did have to admit that you liked what you saw, the idea of wearing to Nat’s birthday party seemed less daunting then it did half an hour ago and you sure as hell couldn’t wait for a certain billionaire philanthropist to see you in it.

Unlike Nat’s outfit, yours came in two separate pieces, a blush pink satin corset and a matching pair of panties, the corset had minor diamond detailing on it - compared to Nat’s which was covered completely in them - but it did have a diamond fringe that followed the along the bottom of the corset, creating a V shape on your front and behind. There was a diamond embellished garter strap that came down from the corset and attached to the matching pink hold-ups you were wearing. Your white silk gloves reached your elbow and you had a white and pink feather piece clipped into your hair.

You both admired each other in the mirror some more before your eyes met Nat’s in the reflection, smiling at her as you linked your hands together, “You’re my best friend too ya know, well, you and Wanda.”

Much to your surprise Nat pulled you into a bone-crushing hug and you froze at the unexpected gesture before you melted into her touch, wrapping your arms firmly around her as you returned the embrace.

The two of you were pulled apart when Julianne asked if everything was ok or if there was anything else that you needed.

“Everything’s great: we’re definitely gonna be taking these.” Nat answered, the both of you heading back into the dressing rooms to quickly change back into your clothes.

Nat finished everything with the order and even paid for your outfit even though you told her not to and Mary-Anne arranged the delivery to be sent to Tony’s apartment given that you would be getting ready there. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t just take the one you had tried on home, but Nat explained that they were only for show, not for sale, the ones you both would be wearing would be made to order and delivered to you.

After a successful day of shopping together, you went out for lunch at Nat’s favourite bistro chatting more about her upcoming party and what she had planned, both of you laughing over the boys’ latest shenanigans before she asked you if she could meet Wanda. The request took you by surprise but what shocked you more was the fact that the Natasha Romanoff looked nervous, your wide eyes and slack jaw morphed into a warm smile as you reached across the table and took her hand in yours, telling her that you’d love for her to get to know Wanda at which a relieved smile played at her lips.

The conversation soon returned to the usual and you and Nat headed off to get massages, having the kinks and knots in your back worked out felt heavenly and the day you two had spent together had put you in amazing spirits so much so that as soon as Nat had dropped you back off at Tony’s you had headed back out to gather everything you needed to make Nat’s birthday present.

And that’s how Tony found you, sitting on the floor of his living room, an open scrap book in front of you and a stack of photos to your left, scissors, glitter, glue, and stickers surrounding you as you decorated the pages surrounding the photos you had glued to the center.  

Tony simply allowed himself to watch you unnoticed for a minute longer, allowing himself to take in the enthusiasm you crafted the book together with, the sparkle in your eyes and pleased grin on your lips causing him to smile too, your happiness far too contagious to be ignored.

He couldn’t quite place what it was about you that made you so damn special; your kind heart, your selflessness, your loyalty and dedication, the fact that you could – not matter the situation – get him to laugh, the way you had taken every single one of his problems in your stride, he honestly didn’t know. Tony was beginning to suspect that he would never understand how anyone could be so astounding without even realising but as he watched you carefully add glitter to the page you were working on, tongue poking slightly out as you concentrated on your design, he knew that he had never made a greater choice then when he chose you.

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

[chisie12]

Dance of Silver, Chapter 3 - Smile

Ah! Took longer than I expected but here’s chapter 3! Hope you guys enjoy it! The bed lulls me to sleep.

¬-¬

The silence was heavy between them, one person on either side of the train. It was deserted in the train, barely another living soul besides the few students grouped in a corner and an elderly lady going home, besides Angela and Jesse.

Her legs wouldn’t stop twitching as she repetitively curled and uncurled her toes. Her teeth was continuously lodged in her bottom lip, eyes blankly staring out the window, unregistering the blur of scenery that rushed by.

Directly across on the left was Jesse McCree, head lowered with elbows heavy on his thighs. With a groan, he dragged a hand down his face before sliding it up and over his head, combing the messy strands of his hair back. Dropping his free hand on his cowboy hat occupying the space next to him, his eyes darted over towards the blonde woman of a sister who was equally hunched over as he was.

“Jesse! No!”

Her shrieks fell on deaf ears. Jesse tightened his hold on her body while he ran, ran as far as he could go, leaping over the roots and fallen branches, making a beeline towards even the smallest sign of civilisation.

“Let go of me! We can’t just leave him there!”

“No can do, sis.” There it was again. ‘Sis’. The underlying tone of seriousness and absolute defiance to any of her requests. Not taking any bullshit from anyone, not even her.

She screamed his name again, pounding her fists onto his back. Bloody scenes filled her mind, the anxiety painting a gruesome play of shredded limbs, broken bones, and the lone, desolate curve of his back, as though he gave up on living, on fighting.

“Fuck! Jesse, we have to go back!”

Jesse dug his nails into her skin, bearing the pain with gritted teeth. His head still throbbed with pain from the fall, and she wasn’t the only one screaming at him. His muscles wanted to give up, to break down, stabbing pains shocking his nerves, but he focused on putting one foot after the other. He needed to run. Keep running.

He needed to bring her back to safety.

Angela fought and wiggled out of his grasp, her mind filled with only the smile Genji last gave her, and that small wave of his hand. He’s all alone, fighting those hordes of vampires alone! And that sniper! Weren’t they after him!? As if by a stroke of luck, she successfully hammered her knee into Jesse’s stomach, and the man doubled over in pain, grip loosening and sending her tumbling forward.

“Oof!” A sharp pain shot up her neck as her back hit the sturdy wall of a stump, and painful groans drifted into her ears. Her eyes flew open, directly landing upon the young cowboy hunched over, arms wrapped around his middle. “Jesse? Jesse!” She scrambled over, tripping over the propped root and falling onto her knees before him. She hadn’t kicked him that hard, did she? It shouldn’t have caused him this much pain!

Her hands trembled as they reached out towards him. Now, it was only now that she took a good look at him. Soft brown locks matted and stuck to his face, sticky with sweat. Splats of blood caked his skin, from his cheeks to his neck, and definitely over his clothes, but as her eyes moved downwards, they widened as fear struck her hard.

A large patch of eerie crimson extended its greetings towards her, the pool growing bigger and bigger, all the while Jesse pressed a hard hand onto the wound.

Jesse glanced down at his black undershirt, having thrown his shirt away after being stained by blood. They barely passed the checks even with his stained undershirt, the dried blood barely visible over the black, and with Angela blocking the view from the front. Security had been suspicious, warily watching them with narrowed eyes at their staggered, slow steps, and laboured breathing.

But at least they got home.

The pair of siblings stared up at the three-story house, brick walls painted a clean white, tall silver gates bordering its large perimeter with lush trees providing a curtain to what’s inside.

Angela gingerly held onto Jesse as she tapped the four-numbered pin and the side gate opened with a click and closing behind her with a light kick and a loud clang.

“Angie!” A raspy voice called out. A figure padded his way over with arms open wide, face marked with the vicissitudes of life and a bright smile. His blond hair faded into a silvery white but unlike other old men his age, his head still had a full head of hair, and that was something he was still proud of.

Angela’s eyes, tired and rimmed with shadows, lit up at the sight of her grandfather. “Grandpa!”

“Come here, my darling angel.” He kissed her hard on the temple, ignoring the spluttering of a certain cowboy in her arms. “I’m so glad that you’re finally home. Are you alright?”

“Yes, grandpa. But we need to tend to Jesse. He’s been wounded.”

The old man scoffed, eye-rolled at Jesse and gave the younger man a pointed look. “Weren’t you supposed to be tough? ‘Those vampires ain’t got anything on me!’, or something. Didn’t you tell me that?” The grandfather mocked with a badly done accent, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

A pleasant laughter bounced on Jesse’s chest. “It sounds funny coming from you, old man. Good to see you’re alive and still kicking.”

“And I can easily kick you a hundred meters away if you weren’t injured!”

Altherr Ziegler was an old man in his mid-60’s, standing tall and proud at nearly two meters. His biceps were still bigger than his own (and there’s no way Jesse would acknowledge that. His were always going to be bigger) and he was still as fit as a fiddle, as healthy as an ox even.

“Come on. I’ve already prepared the room just in case.” A warm, deep voice carried over from the door, watching the trio slowly make their way over amidst their banter.

Jesse looked at the man leaning against the doorframe. Unlike Altherr who was muscle-bound, Wendell Ziegler was tall and wiry. His body was lean and defined, blond hair tied into a low ponytail. Rectangular glasses framed his vivid blue eyes and the cowboy’s lips twitched upon seeing the smile on the man’s face. From the hair to the eyes and to even the smile.

Like father, like daughter indeed.

Wendell helped his daughter bring Jesse into the medical ward of the house, set aside for emergencies like this. Altherr wordlessly stood outside the door, watching his son and granddaughter do their medical magic through the small window. He clicked his tongue, seeing them clean the wound, flit and stitch it with deft fingers, made him clueless yet proud. He knew the young cowboy was definitely going to live.

Enough for him to beat him up again.

“Done? Is he done?” Altherr voiced out, an eagerness unmasked in the tone.

Angela and her father cleaned themselves before bringing a bandaged Jesse out of the room. Altherr trailed behind them like an oversized puppy. When they set him down in a clean bed, he repeated again: “Done? Is he finally done?”

Angela giggled and held onto her grandfather’s hand. “Yes, yes. He is, grandpa. What’s wrong?”

The old man beamed, stretching the laugh lines on his face and patted her hand lovingly. “Come! Grandpa has something for you!”

At the mention of a gift, Jesse shot up but he groaned and fell back down onto his back. “Gift? I wanna see too,” he whined.

“It’s not for you,” Altherr snapped, bringing his granddaughter away.

“Rest well, Jesse.” Wendell graciously wished before closing the door behind him, leaving the young man to his sulking.

Alther set his granddaughter on the three-seater couch of the living room before running upstairs. Angela faintly heard the sound of metal clanking and doors slamming before an excited grandfather bounded down the steps. Her father watched in amusement at his own father, sitting on the sofa on the other side of the couch. Turning her head at the nearing footsteps, the smile on her face froze.

“Is that…?”

“The one and only! Our ancestral weapons: Caduceus Staff and Blaster!” Altherr plopped himself down onto the space next to her and gently set the two weapons in her lap. The staff’s body gleamed an inky black with a silver head and the blaster was similarly coloured.

“But why…?”

She knew of the two weapons, having been brought down generation after generation, but all this time, she didn’t think they worked, having only ever seen and heard of them.

“As you know, our family is a descendant of Angels,” Altherr began solemnly. “And unlike other hunters, we rely on our blood to sense and hunt the vampires. The reason you hadn’t seen it being used is that our blood wasn’t strong enough.” He folded her hands over the weapons. “But yours is.”

She spluttered some words, half-formed from confusion and shock. Her mind was reeling at the turn of events. Half her heart was beating furiously at the pride and happiness at being given the responsibility, to actually be acknowledged, strong, yet it was that very same responsibility that weighed down on her like a ten-tonne boulder, pushing her shoulders down and holding her there.

Could she do it? What if she disappoints everyone?

“I was supposed to give it to you on your 21st birthday but…” Altherr trailed off in a nervous laugh, the words stuck in his throat.

“Father forgot where he left it. So he never gave it to you. That’s why he was so excited the moment you came home,” Wendell filled in, cheeks on his knuckles and a leg over the other.

“Wendell!”

Instead, Wendell chuckled and grinned at the frantic spluttering of his father, but his eyes turned worried as they landed on his daughter’s quiet figure. Her head remained lowered, fingers absentmindedly stroking the metal on her lap. He furrowed his brows.

What was she thinking?

———

Red. It was only red in her vision. That dark, sinister colour painted everything in her sight, the Caduceus weapons turning into the backdrop as blood spilled.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

It had been the scent that day. Their sweet, young fleshed aroma that counted. Their sugar levels were high, having been only 15 years old. The vampire had been like an uncontrollable diabetic and the first crazed one of their kind.

Her eyelashes trembled, her eyes squeezed shut tighter.

The warm blood splattered onto her fear-laden face. Her body froze. Her muscles were heavy, stuck to the ground, unmoving. His voice, just having cracked from puberty, screamed. Screamed so loud, so terrified. But she couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even twitch. Couldn’t even goddamn scream.

She didn’t know what to do.

“J-Jesse…”

Her voice came out weak, utterly weak that even she was disgusted.

Swoosh!

A gust of wind blew with a dark, lithe silhouette dropping beside the pair of hunter siblings. Hidden by the shadows, the figure easily ripped the diabetic vampire away from Jesse’s neck and sunk his own teeth in his new victim’s neck.

Why it chose the vampire and not Jesse? … was something they couldn’t comprehend.

And it had happened all in practically three breaths; The time short enough that Jesse wouldn’t turn into a vampire even if he wanted to.

When Jesse slumped forward, hand clutching his bleeding neck, Angela swore as she caught his body, wishing and hoping that she just had something, anything, to patch him up. But she didn’t.

The bone-crunching crunch and slurps caught her attention, yet all her eyes could catch in the utter darkness was a glimpse of bright green hair crowning a pair of demonic red eyes.

The scene faded and blurred. The darkness stayed. But instead of a bleeding, screaming Jesse came the screams of another young man, no, vampire. He was being ripped limb by limb, scratched and torn by a horde of newborns, all because he wanted to protect. Her. Protect her. She didn’t know if he escaped, or if he was even still alive.

The smile he threw her way, that wave he waved before Jesse dragged her away, that heart-wrenching, gut-stabbing pain in her soul; She couldn’t forget.

She wouldn’t forget.

If only she had the ability, the strength, then things would turn out differently. If she could protect others and protect herself, wouldn’t that change so many things? Not just to her as a vampire hunter, but as a combat medic.

Gripping onto the staff and blaster, Angela’s eyes glazed over with a newfound resolution, and the silent men in her life could see it, the change happening in her mind, in her spirit. They watched her lift her head, a fire blazing in her gaze, and they knew they made the right choice in entrusting the Angelic articles to her.

“Thank you.”

Just those two words, nothing more, nothing less. It was her pledge to them and they understood the silent pledges; She believed she could save the world, both humans and vampires alike.

And they believed she could change the world the way she wanted to.

One step at a time.

The door to his temporary room slid open and Angela emerged from the doorway. He was pleasantly surprised to see her there when surprised crossed his face upon catching sight of the staff in hand and blaster holstered on her waist and to complete the oddity, there was a brown box tied with a big red bow in her arms.

“What’s that, darl’?”

She beamed at him. “Your last gift.”

Jesse grinned at the box shoved into his arms, body jumping in excitement. Who wouldn’t from being given three birthday gifts? The suspense could have killed him! Tearing open the bow, he lifted the cover just as Angela sat on the edge of his bed, watching his face change from surprise to utter glee.

“BAMF indeed!” he exclaimed in joy, removing the belt from within the box. The gold buckle was engraved with the same four letters in uppercase on a neat leather strap. “You spoil me too much!”

Angela hurriedly leaned over and accepted his hug so that he wouldn’t have to move too much, and accidentally straining, as well as ripping the stitching open. Knowing him? The possibility of that happening was well within the 90’s. This brother of hers couldn’t stay still no matter what.

“Happy 21st birthday,” she softly said with a smile.

Jesse caressed the leather, a loving gaze in his eyes. From the cowboy hat to his Peacekeeper and now the BAMF belt. He didn’t think things could get any better.

Oh, yes. He didn’t have to watch the unrestrained flirting of that damned green-haired vampire.

Other than that, he was blissful.

“Grandpa gave this to me just now,” she showed him the weapons, finally getting to the main point she came in instead of letting him rest. “As a late birthday gift.”

He nodded at the weapons. “Did the old man forget where he left them and that’s why he gave them to you now?”

Her mellifluous laughter made him grin wider. “You sure know him well. It’s our Angelic artifacts from way back when. To fight against the vampires.”

Jesse nodded. He knew of the family’s Angel’s blood, that they were all descendants. “What does it do?”

“I’ll show you.”

She lifted the staff, hand in the center of the body and clicked onto a mechanism with her thumb. The three ribs at the head of the staff flicked open and a yellow halation appeared. The blood in her veins boiled, rushing faster at the sudden connection between her and the staff, and willing it in her mind and thumb still on the button, she gently waved it towards his wound. A yellow ball of light separated from the halation, extending out into a beam that floated towards the side of his body.

It was an icy, itchy sensation the moment the beam touched him. His muscles shivered, mind refreshed with the chill and he felt it close. The wound that was held together with the stitches twitched and waved towards the other edge, skin automatically grafting together and swiftly closing. Gasping, he threw the blankets off and lifted his side, inspecting the wound he — the wound that was supposed to be there.

“Holy shi—” Jesse’s mouth gaped open. Sure, he had thought that the Angels were cool, but not this cool.

Now this, this topped it off. Cowboy hat, revolver, and BAMF belt could only come second to this. Alright, maybe not. Those three still meant a whole lot. It’s a close battle for first place.

Angela also leaned over to inspect the wound, glad that it had disappeared with a simple heal. Her thoughts wandered over to a certain vampire whose smile she couldn’t erase. “Now you can keep going. I’ve got you.”

———

Haa…

A breathy mist drifted out of his mouth, white fangs drenched in blood. A pile of newborn corpses lay by his feet in a mound, strewn over the trees and covered the ground.

His demonic red eyes darted up towards the opposite canyon where the sniper’s glint was not seen in the last hour. They flickered with an intense heat, the glare almost burning through the thick clouds that obscured the sky. Despite the weariness in his bones, the aching of his muscles, it did little to diminish the hate that he kept buried inside.

“It’s not over yet.”

The face of a gentle smile flickered in his mind and the anger promptly sizzled away like a bucket of cold water splashing his face, and he found his own lips curving upwards at the mere thought of seeing her.

“It’s definitely not over yet.”

[atropaazraelle]

A Spell for Happiness: Ch.8

Final Chapter

Also available on AO3

Chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

Ignis was a mermaid.

Ignis was a mermaid.

Ignis was a mermaid.

Gladio paced the beach with his hands in his hair, trying to keep the thoughts in his head from spilling out into the air. Ignis. His Ignis, the beautiful, gentle blind man he'd taken in, the man he'd kissed, the man he'd fantasized about in the privacy of his own bed, was a mermaid.

“And you knew?” he yelled at Prompto, trying to take that particular tidbit of information in at the same time.

It had seemed fine, out in the water, with Ignis' tail twined around his legs and his beautiful, bright green eyes looking at him for the first time ever. With the scars gone and his eyes clear, Gladio had been thunderstruck by Ignis’ beauty, and not even the fact that he had a tail and gills could dampen Gladio’s desire for him.

Then he'd come ashore, and seen Prompto, and Prompto had asked where Ignis was and suddenly the fact that this was all real and not some dream had hit Gladio like a tonne of bricks.

Prompto hadn't been surprised by the truth. He hadn't called Gladio a liar, or laughed at him, or anything that he should have done. Instead, Prompto had taken Gladio by the arm and dragged him off to the rocky part of the beach where they'd found Iggy, and told him to wait.

Prompto made an urgent hushing noise between his teeth, flapping one hand at Gladio as he gripped his necklace in the other hand and muttered something. Gladio couldn't hear what he was saying, although Prompto seemed to be concentrating very hard.

None of this made any sense. Prompto had known, but how? And what the hell was he supposed to do now? Ignis was gone, back to the sea where he belonged, but Gladio couldn’t accept that. He wanted Ignis back. There were so many questions he needed to ask, not least about how the hell he'd been human.

Banished, he'd said. Banished from the sea for the crime of saving a life or two.

The truth hit Gladio like a ship coming in too fast, first colliding, and then plowing right on through and destroying everything in its wake.

Him. It was him and Prompto. Those were the lives Ignis had saved.

“It was us, wasn't it?” he asked, sitting unsteadily on a rock while his head swam. “It was him. This whole time, Iggy was the one who saved my life.”

Prompto turned his back to the ocean for the first time since coming to this spot of the beach and looked at him.

“It took you 'til now to work that out?” said a voice from the water.

“Noct!” Prompto cried, and leapt into the surf.

Gladio looked up sharply. A boy, maybe Prompto's age, naked and pale, with black hair plastered to his face and the bluest eyes Gladio had ever seen, was reaching for Prompto's hand. Prompto pulled him up until he could grasp one of the rocks and haul himself onto it, and then Gladio saw the brilliant blue tail that started from his hips.

“You're Noct?” he asked, dumbly. This boy was the one Ignis had screamed for, the one Ignis had been banished for. Gladio wasn't sure if that made him want to smack the kid or thank him.

“Yeah,” Noct replied. “Where's Specky?”

“Specky?” Gladio repeated, lost in the conversation already.

“It's his nickname for Iggy,” Prompto supplied, nervous energy radiating off him. He fidgeted as he spoke, hovering near Noct as if the two of them had to put up a united front against Gladio.

“His tail was speckled when he was younger,” Noct supplied. “It's supposed to be a mark of beauty, so we called him Specky.”

A mark of beauty? Gladio huffed at that information. He'd seen Iggy's tail, and it was brilliant green, the sort you could see rainbows in when he moved. He didn't think Iggy could be any more beautiful.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? Ignis had a tail. He wasn't human. He never had been. “It was all a lie, wasn't it?” Gladio muttered, placing his head in his hands.

There was a splash of waves against the rocks, almost as if they'd been thrown, and Gladio looked up to see Noct's tail shimmering for a moment before the colour settled. “Do you really think he's that sort of person?” Noct challenged, venom in his tone. “You've spent nearly a season with him, and that's what you think?”

“He's a fish!” Gladio snapped. There was no other way to put it bluntly; Ignis was a merman, half fish, not even human. No wonder he hadn't known what coffee was, or that he'd marvelled at fire. They'd taken it for amnesia, but it wasn't, it was culture shock.

“He's still Ignis!” Noct bit back. “You think where he came from or what's below his waist changes anything about the person you know?”

Gladio struggled to answer. Ignis loved coffee, and Byron, and early mornings. He loved the softness of fine cotton against his skin, and placing his hands in the small of Gladio's back when they kissed, and no, none of that was different just because Ignis had a tail. “He lied,” Gladio replied. “I was...” I was falling for him. “He lied to me.”

“Not because he had a choice,” Noct said firmly. “Where is he?” he asked, turning to Prompto.

“He's gone back,” Prompto said awkwardly, and gesturing at Gladio. “He wasn't making much sense, and Ignis was gone, so...” he trailed off, and gestured at Gladio again.

“Ardyn,” Gladio said, drawing himself up to recant the tale. “Iggy mentioned someone named Ardyn. Something about him coming back for us, and Iggy couldn't let him have me.”

“It was Ardyn?” Noct asked weakly. He seemed stunned, even distressed, by the information, his tail drooping listlessly in the water.

“Who the fuck is Ardyn?” Gladio asked, already sick of hearing the name. Ignis was a mermaid, and some guy was out for Gladio, and nothing made sense any more—and worst of all, Ignis wasn't here. Gladio wanted to hold him and forgive him for lying, but he also wanted so many answers from him that his head spun with the questions.

“He's a witch,” Noct answered. “A really powerful one. He hates humans.”

“What's he got against humans?” Prompto asked.

Noct sighed, flashing Prompto an apologetic look. “The same thing as the rest of us?” he offered. “You drag nets through our homes, catch our fish, and poison our water. That's why we hide from you.”

Gladio listened to Noct explain, staring blankly at the water lapping on the beach. “That why it's against your laws to save us?” he asked.

Noct gave a nod, frowning. “But it's not right,” he said. “Our laws say we should have let you drown, but you're good people. We could sense that, so we saved you.” He looked down at the water, his tail twitching unhappily, like someone scuffing their foot. “Specky took banishment to save me, so I went to Ardyn and I brought him a spell.”

“To make him human,” Gladio intoned, slotting the pieces together in his own head.

“No,” Noct said vehemently, “it was supposed to give him a chance at happiness. It was supposed to set events into motion that would let Ignis have what he wanted out of life.” He took a deep breath, and then sighed heavily. “But it turned him human and he nearly drowned, so I brought him here.” Gladio glanced at Noct, who looked just as defeated as Gladio felt inside. “Where we come from, if someone saves your life, you owe them. I thought it might work both ways, and that we couldn’t understand how the spell worked, but when I saw him last...” He shook his head, looping his arms around the back of his tail and tugging it toward himself. “I realised that maybe his happiness wasn't with us after all.”

Gladio felt his throat drying out. You made me happy. Those had been Iggy's parting words to him. “He went to Ardyn for me. He said I made him happy, and that it was enough.”

“If he gave up on happiness, then he broke the spell,” Noct said.

“So he's going to be miserable as a merman, for Gladio's sake?” Prompto asked.

Noct scowled, his shoulders hunching. “If he's with Ardyn, he'll be worse than miserable,” he said. “Specky is pretty powerful—with magic, I mean. Ardyn will use him.”

“Like fuck he will,” Gladio said, gritting his teeth. Iggy had surrendered his home and his happiness to save Gladio’s life. That alone was bad enough, but that he'd willingly given himself up to someone he knew would use him? No. Gladio wasn't about to let it end like that. “How do we get Iggy back?”

Noct shook his head. “He gave himself in your place. It's like a magical contract. The only way to free him is if one of them dies, or Ardyn doesn't hold up his end of it.”

“So we have to kill the guy?” Prompto asked, sounding more and more nervous with each word, shuffling his weight and fidgeting with his hands.

Noct laughed humourlessly. “Not that easy,” he said. “I'm pretty strong, but I don't think I could do it. You've got no chance.”

Gladio considered that. It left them with one option that he could see, because leaving Ignis behind wasn't among them. “So how do we get him to break his own contract?”

Noct looked at Gladio, and Gladio held that blue eyed gaze as he was studied. “How much are you willing to put on the line for Specky?”

Gladio didn't flinch at the question, instead taking a deep breath and drawing himself up. “He saved my life twice. I at least owe him that.”

Noct continued to examine Gladio, his tail swishing thoughtfully, and then he gave a nod. “We can work with that.”

*****

“Just so I've got this clear,” Prompto said, asking the same question for the third time in the vain hope that he might get a different answer if he kept at it, “we're bait?”

“That about sums it up,” Gladio agreed, only paying a quarter of his full attention. Noct had left them a mile back, and sailing a glorified dinghy this far out to sea was dangerous enough without knowing you were crossing some threshold that would draw a magical lunatic to you.

“Us two,” Prompto pressed, “in this tiny little boat.”

“You could have stayed ashore,” Gladio snapped at him, though it was the dull, inattentive jab of a man with other things on his mind.

“I'm not saying that!” Prompto hurried to protest, his voice rising in urgency. “I just wish we could have brought a bigger boat.” He looked around unhappily. The shore was almost lost in the distance, as was any hope of help, and there was nothing but blue seas and blue sky around them. It was kind of unsettling, really. “Like a galleon,” he added.

“Less whining, more working,” Gladio said, shifting to start reeling the sail in. “We're almost there.”

“Did I mention that I don't like this plan?” Prompto said as he got up to help.

*****

The shine of Ignis' tail had dulled, becoming as drained as he felt as he obediently pushed a stoppered vial onto one of Ardyn's shelves.

“Thank you, dear boy,” Ardyn purred. “Do let me know if you feel like producing any more.”

“Of course,” Ignis answered, and sincerely hoped he wouldn't. It wasn't just the way it felt to cry with no consolation, to sit and wallow with only one's own heartbreak for company. Ignis also didn't want to hand over such a powerful thing as mermaid tears to Ardyn again.

He hadn't been able to help it. Gladio's confusion and grief had flared in his chest and resonated there, and he'd known that somewhere in his castle, Gladio had been alone with his own tears. He could feel them as well as if they'd tracked down his own face, a few minutes spent in helpless fear and loss, and he'd wanted nothing more than to go to Gladio and take him into his arms.

Instead, he'd been faced with Ardyn pressing an empty bottle into his hand, and giving him that shark's smile. Ardyn had let him be for the evening at least, although there was no comfortable hollow for Ignis to nestle into and sleep. Not that Ignis could sleep. He'd drifted off at one point, and his traitorous brain had taken him back to the shore, back into the library and Gladio's arms, where the press of his mouth had been urgent and heated, and Ignis' skin had flamed.

He'd woken, consumed by longing and loss, to find Ardyn still awake, flitting around his lair doing the depths knew what.

Ignis was tired, and the grim determination that had emitted from Gladio since the early morning was both a source of comfort and concern. He hoped that one day Gladio would move on, that Ignis would feel him falling for some eligible girl and finding happiness. Perhaps he could learn to love the princess, if he gave her the same chance he'd given to Ignis. Perhaps he could build a happy marriage out of their betrothal. Ignis would be content with that. He'd know it the day Gladio married, the day he held his first child. It would be enough to feel that happiness through him.

It was late morning when he felt the irresistible pull of a human wearing a mermaid's charm in the water. It made his fins shiver and his scales tingle.

Ardyn noticed it, too, giving Ignis a curious look as he fought the compulsion to swim out, and to Gladio. Ignis backed off as he approached, one hand extending toward his face. Ardyn's touch made him recoil. Those fingers were cold and unpleasant against his skin as they stroked Ignis' cheek.

“He's calling to you, isn't he?” he asked. Ignis flitted back, twisting away from the touch.

“What of it?” he asked, glowering at Ardyn with defiant venom.

“A human that calls to a mermaid is entitled to an answer,” he said.

Ignis could feel the trap opening under him. He didn't know what game Gladio was playing, what fool idea he'd taken into his head, but he could feel him nearby, the charm around his neck beckoning to Ignis with a magic so strong it was hard to resist.

“Then let me go to him,” he said, feeling his chest throb as Gladio pulled on that connection. If Gladio continued, Ignis would have no choice but to respond. But Ignis would rather not lead Ardyn straight to him.

Prompto must have told him how to do it. Noct had likely told Prompto how to call to him with it, and now Gladio was doing the same.

“Oh, but that won't do,” Ardyn said, extending his hand again. “You're currently indisposed,” he said, as the water turned black around his hand and extended inky tendrils toward Ignis. Ignis gave a flash of his tail, pulling out of its reach, but the blackness exploded outward, filling the room, and Ignis felt it choking his gills and sticking to his scales, worming its way under them.

“But since you're mine, I'll go in your stead.”

The words settled in Ignis' mind, and he fought against them, and against the feeling of taint and restriction that tried to swallow him. It swamped his senses and blotted out Gladio’s call, enveloping him in something dark and oily that was still somehow comforting. He needed to be free of it, he needed to go to Gladio, he needed to warn him, he needed...

He needed...

Something pierced the gloom, something bright and golden, like the sun. Something reached in, and took Ignis' arm, and pulled.

“You okay there, Specky?”

The voice washed through Ignis' insides, driving the corruption away like the sun chasing shadows, and blue eyes came into focus.

“Noct!” Clean seawater through his gills was as refreshing as the first gasp of air had been when he'd become human, and Ignis shook Ardyn's influence from his mind. “Gladio!” he began, trying to explain in a hurry, “he's—”

“Protected,” Noct said, gripping both of Ignis' arms. “Don't worry, I've got them both.”

“Both?” Ignis asked, and then realisation dawned. Prompto.

“Yeah,” Noct gave a nod. “Now come on, let's get you out of here.”

It was the hardest, longest swim of Ignis' life. Clear of Ardyn’s cloying magic, he could feel Gladio more keenly. He was no longer in the water, but he was pumped with adrenaline, in danger. Noct swam with a fierce determination straight toward the surface, undoubtedly feeling the same from Prompto.

Magic permeated the water as they approached the surface. The waves roiled and the sky was dark, but Ignis could just make out the hull of a boat. Bigger than Gladio's rowing boat, smaller than anything that could stand a chance against the waves, yet it had remained resolutely afloat. Gladio was up there. Ignis could feel him, protected by Noct's charm at full power, holding off against the magic that was trying to pull them under.

Ardyn was nearby, too, churning the water into a storm, darkening the sky above. Ignis doubted he'd noticed their presence with so much of his own magic in the water. Noct gave him a significant look, and Ignis nodded, knowing what he was thinking. It was an opportunity; if they could distract Ardyn with an attack, his influence on the storm would weaken, giving Prompto and Gladio a chance to breathe and regroup.

“Flank him,” Ignis advised, pointing Noct in the right direction.

“You got it,” Noct answered.

Ignis watched him go, and checked on the position of the boat, seeking Ardyn in the water and finding him with pinpoint accuracy. Ignis could feel him, at the heart of the building storm, in the centre of the dark pall within the water. He drew closer, as close as he dared, as pulses of magic threw powerful waves at the boat. Ardyn was trying to capsize it, but Noct's protection held strong.

Ignis counted to three, extending his arm, and released his own magic into the water. The ocean boiled, and a split second later, it glowed as Noct's light burst through as well, dispelling the darkness. Ardyn's attack on the boat ceased, though the waves and the storm did not. He turned, rounding on Noct, and Ignis dashed closer, hitting Ardyn with another wave of his own magic, hot and biting.

It hit Ardyn in the back, and he spun in the water, darkness oozing from his eyes and mouth, and then the water exploded. Ignis reeled as he was blown away by the sudden current, incapable of fighting it. It shot him out of the ocean, and he twisted uselessly through the air before he landed hard on the surface.

“Iggy!”

Ignis felt as if he'd been pummelled all over, every part of him stinging with the impact. There was a splash of something else landing in the water, and Ignis shook himself, trying to recover his senses quickly. Ardyn wouldn't stop at one attack. He was likely going for Noct now, who was the bigger threat. The rest of them were only minor annoyances.

Splashing approached, and Ignis twisted to see Gladio struggling in the waves to reach him. “Idiot,” he hissed, as Gladio's hand found his arm. “I can breathe water; you can't.”

A shockwave went through the water again, and Gladio shielded Ignis' head against his chest as something flew out of the water and over their heads. For a horrible moment, Ignis thought it was Noct, blasted back as he had been, and then he saw the grey colour of some poor shark caught in the crossfire. “Come on,” Gladio said, and paused to spit out the water that lapped into his mouth. He tugged on Ignis' arm, heading for the boat, and Ignis went with him.

Pale and horrified, Prompto reached over the side of the boat to grab Gladio's shirt and help haul him into the boat. The water around it was eerily still, and Ignis could feel Noct's influence holding it steady in the storm that tried to wash over it. He looked up, seeing the charm around Prompto's neck glowing a faint blue as he pulled Gladio over, and then extended his hand to Ignis.

Gladio's hand soon followed, and Ignis looked up into his amber eyes, seeing the relief in them echoing the worry that resonated in his own chest. “You came back for me,” he said.

Gladio gave a small huff. “Like I was gonna leave you,” he replied.

Ignis swallowed and reached up, taking Gladio's hand, and then Prompto's. Their palms were warm in his, and Ignis gave a hard flick of his tail as they pulled, dragging him onto the boat. “Whose foolish plan was this?” Ignis asked.

“Uh, Noct's,” Prompto said, betraying his friend in an instant, “and Gladio's.” Gladio shot him a look. “Well, it was!”

Ignis shook his head. The boat lurched as the water roiled around them, but Noct's charm held fast, and Ignis gave up on reprimanding the two idiots to look out across the sea. “He can't win alone,” he said.

“He's not alone,” Prompto said, reaching up to curl his fingers around Noct's charm.

Ignis looked at Prompto, at the fierce determination in his eyes despite his pale skin and the nervous set of his mouth, and he gave the boy a nod. “Give it to me?” he asked, holding his hand out for it. “He needs it now.”

“Iggy,” Gladio protested, his hand going to Ignis' shoulder, “you can't go back in there.”

“I'll be fine,” he said. “I told you; I can breathe underwater, you can't.”

The boat rocked on the water as Prompto removed the charm and dropped it into Ignis' waiting hand. The magical protection that was keeping the boat stable in the churning sea had begun to fade, and Ignis swallowed as Gladio gripped the side of the boat and held fast against the rocking swell. Prompto sprawled to the floor, pushing himself back up hastily. “Hurry!”

Ignis took a deep breath and threw himself at Gladio. The kiss was quick, clumsy, a mere graze of lips. “I'll try and hold the protection,” he said as he pulled back just as quickly, and then hauled himself over the side of the boat before Gladio had a chance to grab at him.

Keeping one thought on the boat was hard as he fought through the churning water. Ardyn's dark influence, and Noct's dispelling light, wove through it like currents. Ignis found a stream of bright, pure magic and followed it, unable to pinpoint their locations from their magic alone; there was just too much of it all around. Noct was a flash of glimmering blue in the dark, and Ignis powered after him. He was dragged off course by a dark sweep of current, but fought against it, blasting his own magic back into the stream to lessen its power.

Noct was tiring when Ignis reached him, sagging in the water between pulsing waves of his own magic. “Here,” he said, putting his arms around Noct.

“Ignis.” Noct looked at him, his eyes half glazed. “You have to get out of here. I can't hold him off.”

Ignis shook his head, his fingers fumbling with the charm as he fastened it around Noct's neck. “We're with you,” he said. As the charm settled back against Noct's skin, Ignis saw it glow once more. “You're not alone.”

Noct looked at him, and Ignis gave him a small smile. “Be quick, I can't hold them safe for long.”

Noct's eyes widened. “Specky—”

Ignis placed two fingers on Noct's charm. It was like touching sunrise. It was warm, and kind, and filled with laughter, but it burned, too, and Ignis added his own heat, as much as he could, as much as he dared when he had to protect the boat on the surface, too. He felt the heat leaving him, and the cold creeping into its place, up his tail, sweeping in and around his scales. It slithered up his back, and through his chest, and down his arms.

Ignis let go, exhausted and cold, but Noct shone more brilliantly in the darkness than he had before. “Go,” he said.

Noct's lip trembled as he struggled to find something to say. A swath of dark magic was coming their way, and he raised his arm and threw it aside like it was nothing. “Hold on, Specky,” he said.

Ignis watched as a blue glow suffused Noct's entire body, and then erupted out into the water around him, forming weapons that began to circle him. It was the last thing Ignis saw before Noct swam, with a strength and power he'd never managed alone, looking every inch the King Ignis had known he could one day be, to face Ardyn down.

Swimming was hard, and each breath was an effort as Ignis made his way to the surface. The currents and shockwaves from Noct's continuing battle tossed him this way and that, and it grew difficult to keep track of which way was up. His only tether to the surface was Gladio, and Ignis headed toward him.

He barely heard someone shouting his name, didn't feel it when he bumped into the side of the boat and floated there listlessly. He didn't fight the arms that reached down and grabbed him, but he couldn't help them either as they fought to pull him in, scraping his back against the boat as they hauled. Arms wrapped around him, and a hand cradled his face. A familiar voice called his name over and over, but responding to it was too hard; it was all he could do to stay conscious, to keep the safety of the boat and its passengers in mind as he used what little energy he had left to maintain the barrier around it.

Lips pressed against his forehead, and a warm hand enveloped his cold one. Arms bundled him tightly into a delicious warmth he never wanted to leave again. “Gladio,” he murmured, knowing it was him.

“The storm!” Prompto's voice barely punched through Ignis' consciousness, but he knew what it meant. If the storm was clearing, then Noct had won.

Ignis fought to open his eyes, fought to squeeze the fingers holding his hand. “It's all right,” he said softly, “you're all right.”

He was drawn away from the warmth, but it didn't matter as he looked up into amber eyes and smiled. Then Ignis let go of his hold on the boat, and let himself slip into the beckoning arms of sleep.

*****

“Iggy? Iggy!”

“Noct!” Prompto's scream near deafened Gladio, but he didn't care. Prompto could hang over the side of the boat and shout for the other mermaid all he wanted. Gladio was preoccupied with running his fingers over Ignis's throat, checking for a pulse. He was breathing, weakly, but Gladio could see his gills flexing more slowly, more desperately, like a stranded fish gasping for water to breathe.

Ignis breathed water. He'd always seemed to breathe air, too, but Gladio didn't know if he had to concentrate to do that. He picked Ignis up in both arms and jumped into the sea with him. Staying above the surface was hard with another body's weight dragging him down, but he kicked, and tried to keep Ignis' gills beneath the water line.

Noct broke the surface a short distance away, and then dived below again with a flash of blue tail. He looked exhausted when he surfaced in front of Gladio, placing his hand on Ignis' chest.

“You said we'd save him,” he said, accusing, and angry, and hurt. Ignis was dying in his arms, and if they'd just left well alone he'd have lived, if miserably.

Noct shook his head. “He gave me his magic. He knew.” He paused and swallowed as he moved his hand to Ignis' forehead. “He knew what it would do.”

Gladio glared at him. “So give it back! You're done with it now, right?”

The pain and despair on Noct's face hit home for a second as he gave Gladio the lost look of a little boy watching his brother die. “It's not that simple.”

“There has to be something!”

Noct looked lost, glancing up at Prompto, and then back at Gladio, and then his eyes fell lower, and his expression changed to one of grim purpose. “Promise me you'll take care of him,” he said.

Gladio looked at Noct as if he was mad. “What?”

“Promise me,” Noct said. “Will you take care of him?”

“Of course I will!” Gladio snapped. This was pointless time-wasting. Of course he'd take care of Ignis. He'd take care of Ignis every day for the rest of his life if it would save him right now.

Noct reached forward, carefully unfastening the charm around Gladio's neck. Gladio tried not to be too concerned by the way Noct's hands shook; if he had an idea, it was worth a shot. Gladio would try anything right now.

He cooperated when Noct placed the charm in Ignis' hand, and then placed Ignis' hand in his. Prompto leaned on the side of the boat's railing, a silent, worried presence at Gladio's back, watching Noct work. Noct took a deep breath before he closed both of his hands around Gladio and Ignis', and then Gladio felt warmth suffusing him.

It started in his fingers, and swept down to his chest, swirling around his heart. Slowly, Ignis' hand in his began to warm up, too, and the colour seemed to come back to his unnaturally pale skin. His gills closed, and Gladio watched as Ignis took a deep breath through his mouth, his chest rising and falling. He was warmer in Gladio's embrace, and Gladio felt something shift below the surface as the texture of Ignis' scales changed and became skin, became legs.

Ignis opened his eyes and met Gladio's gaze, and Gladio felt relief wash through him. Prompto gave a whoop.

“I've tied your life to his,” Noct said, as Ignis blinked and seemed to start coming back to himself. “As long as you live, so will he.”

Noct's hands fell away, and Gladio pulled Ignis upright in the water, smiling at him like he'd seen him for the first time in years.

“Gladio?” he asked.

Gladio shushed him, drawing him close. Ignis clung to him as Gladio murmured, “I got you,” and tied the charm back into its rightful place around Ignis' neck.

“Noct?” he asked, turning slightly in Gladio's arms to look at his prince.

Noct gave an awkward shrug, the kind only a teenager could truly manage. “Sorry,” he said, “you're going to have to live happily ever after.”

Ignis gave a cough of laughter, turning back to Gladio, who smiled down at him like he'd never been happier.

“Looks like you get your chance to really fall in love after all, big guy,” Prompto said, leaning over them both.

Gladio glanced up at him, and then back at Ignis, cupping his face with one hand. “I already have,” he said, and then leaned in to claim Ignis' mouth.

[lozenger8]

Answer questions given by the person who tagged you, write 11 new questions of your own, tag 11 people.   I was tagged by @scottstiles. Thanks!

I’m not going to tag people, but I did add some questions, if you felt like doing an interview today. 

1- if you could go back to one major decision you made that impacted the path of your life and change it, would you? what was it? how do you think your life would be different? or don’t answer those second two questions, if you don’t want to.

I wish I had opened myself up more when I was younger: joined some kinds of clubs, gone out and found people to hang out with, got myself a job so at least I was interacting with other people more even if it was in a minimum wage retail position. I didn’t know how to connect with people, so rather than trying to learn how, I closed myself off more. And now I’m a fully-grown adult who’s really obviously awkward in most social situations. 

2- in what direction does your belief lean (like, you don’t have to agree with my description of it, but what fits your image best):

a single/multiple divine power that controls every facet of our existence (or like, any traditional religious worldview), with or without free will? a harmonious interconnected universal complex that directs matter and energy but is affected by our existence in said universe? everything is just a series of random events passing through time and everything that happens, everything we do, makes the next thing happen, but it could have happened any other way as well.

I’m not sure I believe everything is entirely random, but mostly random, yes. I don’t believe in any sort of divine power. If I did, I don’t think I’d view it kindly. 

3- on that topic, what do you think happens when we die? do we go to heaven/hell or some other religious construct? do we have a soul that sticks around? reincarnation? do we just… end, and decompose, and that’s it? what do you really think? are you afraid to find out you were wrong?

I think I do believe in an imprint of the energy we once had living on in some way; in the memories people have of us, in the stories that will be told, in that sort of weird way places seem to retain energy from events and people that existed within them. But, we decompose and the circle of life continues, and the ‘you’ that you think of ceases to be.

4- tell me about a moment in a movie or a show that made you go all tingly inside, like, that really special tingle, and every time you see it you get those feelings again.

When Sam went back to 1973 in Life on Mars [spoilers, but it’s been 11 years so fuck you.] If I think about it (and I did very shortly after it happened), I get critical, and I hate how Matthew Graham, one of the show’s creators frames it, but the emotional reaction was absolute fucking joy and no joke, I sobbed my eyes out. For like, 20 mins. And cried again a week later at a bus stop, going to an interview. I never, ever expected it, because it’s narratively not the ending the show had been building towards up until that episode. But, fuck, it still hits me like a tonne of bricks that Sam chose Gene and Annie and ‘73. 

For something that’s a simpler tingle, how about when Ben & Leslie in Parks and Rec got engaged. I also cried then. 

5- what’s your go-to method for letting out stress?

Watching beloved inconsequential comedy, like Whose Line and Taskmaster and Would I Lie to You. Fun shit that doesn’t make me think but does make me laugh.

6- what are 3 of your favorite words (english or otherwise)? why do you love them? the way they sound? the way they look? what they mean? (i usually would answer this based on sound, kinda like fave color, just a feeling).

I like petrichor, defenestration, and fuck. 

Petrichor is a word we use for the smell of rain after a dry spell, and there’s something very calming about it. I like defenestration because I love how we have a word for throwing someone out of a window and it sounds fancy. And fuck’s such a multi-purpose word that’s fun to say. 

7- this isn’t so original but i wanna know- if you could live in any other period of time, in any part of the world, what would it be and why? or would you even? would you if you could choose your station/place in society?

You know what? I don’t think I would, because there are so many great things happening in the world at the moment alongside all the shit, the level and access we have to tech is phenomenal, and it’s easy to say the grass is greener, but the truth is you need to water your own grass.

8- is there anything you’ve ever done or ever happened to you that you absolutely never ever could ever tell anyone about? not even your soulmate or someone who would never judge you? if so, does it bother you, or do you have it tucked away in your mind and never think about it?

No, I don’t think so. I’m pretty lucky. 

9- which teen wolf cast member would you get along with best? not who would you like to be in a relationship with, but who do you think you’d have the best relationship with (romantic/platonic/otherwise)? if you don’t think you know any of them well enough… which one would you bone? boooooooooone all night long?

Based on their personas, I think I’d get along well with Tyler Hoechlin and Arden Cho best. They both seem like really good people who are well-meaning and can play along with jokes, but aren’t ‘on’ all the time. I also think I’d get along with Dylan and Tyler Posey when they’re in their more sedate mode, but I’d probably roll my eyes a lot at them when they’re in peak Boy mode. 

10- do you have a talent/skill that you feel is really underrated or underused by you or others? is there something you’re really proud of but have nobody to brag to about it because nobody you know really cares at all? brag to me.

I really wish my parents had realised just how good a singer I am in comparison to other people and had bolstered me rather than telling me to shut up. I wish I had pursued more of my singing/acting/speaking abilities. Other people now always tell me I’m a fantastic singer, and yeah, I wish they had fostered that confidence in me to perform. 

11- do you think it’s truly possible to be happy if you never have a significant other(s) for the rest of your life? could you ever be?

You probably shouldn’t have asked this question while I’m listening to Moses Sumney’s ‘Doomed’; “Am I vital, if my heart is idle. Am I doomed?”

I think it’s possible for people in general to be happy without an S.O, yes. Me personally, I don’t know. I sure hope so. I’m a highkey romantic that no one’s ever romanced and it’s definitely the thing that sends me the most into depression spirals. And, you know, I don’t mean roses and chocolates and moonlight serenading, though if you serenaded me I would cry. I mean the romance of someone knowing you and thinking of you and caring about you even on your off days. Someone who thinks of you and feels lighter because their connection to you makes their life better. I’ve never had that, and at this stage, I think I probably never will? 

The truth of this comes down to: I’ve never tried online dating or app dating or anything like that because putting myself out there like that and getting rejected, or worse, hurt, sounds equally as horrible as living as I currently do: which isn’t always happy, but is mostly safe and stable. 

1. Is there anything you like that you will get defensive about, even though you know you’re overreacting?

2. Do you eat out/get take-out a lot? What’re your go-to dishes? If you cook more: what dishes do you most like to prepare?

3. Are there any musical artists or specific songs that you love that you could say are objectively bad, but you don’t care, you love them anyway. 

4. Is there anything from your cultural heritage that you’d like to learn more about? 

5. What’s your favourite time of day and why?

6. Do you have any favourite fictional characters that make you worry about yourself? They’re basically terrible in every regard but something in you connects to them?

7. What’s your second biggest fear?

8. If you could rewrite one relationship you’ve had in your life, what would it be? 

9. Do you have a favourite song? When did it become your favourite?

10. What is a scent that you dislike?

11. Is there a place you’ve visited that you’d like to go back to some day?

[newtts-scamander]

Just A Friend [Pt. 1]

Imagine: Newt, your boyfriend, comes home from the Ministry one evening. You are both caught up in a heated exchange when you discover something that causes past flames to be relit. 

Author’s Note: I haven’t written in so long and I am so sooooo sorry!! This will hopefully have several parts and yessss, as always, I hope you enjoy x

Prompt: Asked you once, asked your twice now, there’s lipstick on your collar. You say she’s just a friend now, then why don’t we call her?

Word Count: 1516

Upstairs, you laid awake; a piece of parchment gripped in your hand. Your eyes softened as they scanned over the words scrawled in black ink. Inhaling a deep breath, the comforting smell of lavender and burning wood being emitted from the surrounding candles filled your lungs, allowing you to relax further into the soft white sheets. Your grip loosened on the piece of paper, gazing at the loving words Newt had scribbled down. They were similar words to which he had recited to you when he asked you out; reading over them placed you into a trance.

The front door opened abruptly, followed by an outstretched creak which groaned throughout the house, disturbing you from the once tame atmosphere that had settled upon nightfall. Newt, you thought. A wide smile tugged at your mouth. Pushing your way past your bedroom door, you made a B-line towards the staircase. However, once you reached the top of the stairs and looked down, all the lights remained off. How odd, you pondered.

“Hello?” you called.

An eerie silence followed. Louder this time, you repeated your query to the quaint home but only received your own echo in response. Cautiously, you moved down the flight stairs, slowly approaching the flickering light of the kitchen, a single light which barely lit the darkened hallway. Attempting not to disrupt Newt’s unmistakable figure, your eyes flickered through the slightly ajar door.

“Newt?” you questioned curiously, moving to stand at the doors opening. Feverishly, as if he has been caught, he yanked the sleeves of his midnight blue jacket onto the wooden table. Quickly peering over his shoulder, he did a double take, for a split second his face contorting to one of irritation. Even if you did think it was irritation, it was gone before you could acknowledge, more so, even register that it was there in the first place.

“Darling,” he whispered through an intake of breath, a faint smile forming as he took a stride towards you, his arms lengthened, outstretched as his eyes fell over your body in admiration. “You look absolutely breathtaking. I missed you.”

His soothing words put you into a foolishly bashful state, so much so, that you felt as though you were fumbling for words at the bottom of an empty pocket. You knew you looked like a wreck, but his words were appreciated nonetheless. You grinned, your sleepy eyes closing in delight as he embraced you in his strong arms. “I missed you more,” you murmured sheepishly into his chest. A loving kiss was pressed to your hair as you looked up towards him. His eyes glimmered in admiration and a faltering emotion you couldn’t quite make out.

“Why didn’t answer me when I called out before? You scared me,” you whispered.

“Hmm?” Newt answered distractedly, his head shaking in confusion. “Oh, I mustn’t have heard you.”

Rolling your eyes you scoffed, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m just glad you’re home safe, Scamander.”

Your hand gently hovered over his jaw, your eyes entranced, as you gazed at his handsome features. A sense of longing and passion had replaced the now quiet room, both of your movements and small gestures somehow taking place of the meaningless small talk. A yearning kissed was pressed onto your lips as Newt’s eyes wandered over your face, his eyes consumed in a state of awe.

Needier this time, another fervent kiss was shared between your lips; both differing in smoothness. Newt’s hands had fallen to grasp the small of your waist while your hands moved up towards his neck, your hands falling underneath his collar. Opening your eyes from the small moment of pure bliss, you looked up towards Newt, bringing your hands down to his chest, wanting to pace yourself. However, as your eyes flickered towards your hands, you found yourself frozen in place; unable to move.

Red.

You could only seem to ever recall one moment where a colour could evoke such a sickening feeling to arise from your stomach, yet, here you were. Again. Your heart had taken a leap into your throat, a vacant stare occupying your face as you observed the pertinent smear which stained your hand. Red lipstick.

You couldn’t help but recognise a familiar, small, ball, burning bright, deep in the pit of your stomach. A flame you hadn’t felt ignited since your ex-boyfriend had done something shockingly similar.

Words failed you, but this time, it was for all the wrong reasons. Disgust. That was the only emotion that you could bear to feel. You looked up towards Newt, his eyes now feigning worry and clear uneasiness.

“You bastard,” you spat.

Tearing yourself away from his strong arms, you felt overwhelmed; claustrophobic in the small room. Your breathing quickened as you squinted at Newt, who attempted to move towards you, unaware of how you could have ever been so blind to believe his synthetic words.

“What is this?” you hissed, raising your stained hand towards Newt. Your tired eyes watering slightly as the situation sunk in.

Newt’s mouth opened, his finger raised slightly as if ready to raise an argument. Yet, he closed his mouth and lowered his finger as if lost for words. Your anger and adrenaline didn’t seem to last long as your eyes fell to his face, your expression faltering as realisation hit you like a tonne of bricks.

“You were with her, weren’t you?” your voice broke.

A sensation of distaste formed in your mouth as your mind wandered to what Newt could have possibly been doing with another woman prior to having his mouth on yours mere seconds ago. Newt’s silence was more than enough validation to confirm the thoughts which were racing through your mind.

“Why me?”

Newt’s heart broke a little further as his glimmering emerald eyes stared back into yours. The truth was, he couldn’t think of an excuse, but he wouldn’t dare  to tell you that. Your delicate face held two emotions; hurt and betrayal. Both, of which, caused Newt to feel like a monster. Desperately, he attempted to string  together any sentence to justify the stain you had found. 

Come on, he thought. 

He had to say something... anything. He squeezed his eyes closed- regretting it the moment it slipped out from his mouth.

“Tina’s just a friend,” he said with a shrug. Fuck, he cringed.

Your breath was caught in your throat. You couldn’t bear to hear another word, not again. Your chest became tight and your hands, clammy. 

That sentence. Those five words were engraved in your mind. You had heard that phrase before; and Newt knew that all too well. You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your face as you looked at his concerned expression. 

Fucking idiot. He doesn’t understand, you thought.

Bringing your hand up to wipe your reddened cheeks, you attempted to calm the harsh sobs that you so desperately wanted to let out. Newt moved forward, in attempt to wipe the tears falling from your eyes. Taking a step back you watch a frown settle on his face.

“No, I didn’t mean to say that- you, I mean I wouldn’t do that agai-“ he tried, loosening the tie around his neck.

“You wouldn’t?” you whispered, just above a whisper. 

“Like you haven’t done it before?” your voice cracked again. You couldn’t bear to look into his eyes.

“You know what I meant, baby-“

“Don’t call me that,” you quipped.

Making your way past the door, you jogged quickly upstairs. Newt moved quickly to catch up to you. Your bedroom door swung upon as your eyes flickered down to the piece of parchment which was practically taunting you with Newt’s love for you. 

What a joke, you thought.

You stopped, the house falling silent once again as Newt climbed to the top of the staircase.

“I told you; she’s just a friend,” he attempted to reassure. Obviously currently unaware of how the words had affected you.

“Pfft,” you snickered through a sniffle. “You think I’m that dumb?” Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your coat and wand, pushing past Newt’s tall frame.

“No,” he exclaimed, his tone confused. You hurried down the stairs as he questioned, “Where are you going? You can’t leave.”

With more haste, you flicked your wand towards the lock of the front door, muttering to yourself. Moving past the small, dampened garden and the front gate, you turned to see Newt running to the door’s frame.

“If she’s just a friend,” you called. Taking a step further away from Newt and the warmth of your house, you raised your wand, “then why don’t we call her?”

As you disapparated, Newt’s face fell, his features becoming pale and cold. The street light flickered as an eerie silence fell over the icy, haunting street.

Alone, all Newt was left with was the faint smell of your perfume and a stained collar.

If you enjoyed like, reblog and follow. I love you. If you need ever need to talk, ever, message me, please. Leave a request or two if you’d like. Life is a precious and short ole thing.

[allthethingswecoulddo]

Being a Bi Survivor- 11 Reflections

This Bi Visibility Day I want to share my story of being a survivor. Before we begin, some content warnings. 

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In this post, I talk about coercive relationships and sexual violence including mentions of rape in an intimate relationship. I explore my experience of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and other mental health issues including thoughts of suicide. 

I’ve used asterisks for some difficult words e.g. I write s****l violence and r**e  

You can find links to services in this post. If you don’t feel like reading on, that’s cool!

When I read the statistics on bi experiences of s****l violence, a whole cacophony of feelings surface. I see myself and my friends reflected; surviving, processing and trying to pave a way through the rest of our lives after abuse. I hear echoes of the invalidation and ridicule that permeates public consciousness about bi identities. I’m reminded of the voices within the queer community that erase and degrade bi people, with off-hand comments or sustained attacks. And it’s not easy to find the words for those feelings or the words to explain that biphobia leads to deep and lasting harm.

Bisexual women are five times more likely than heterosexual women to be abused by a partner. In one study, 10.8 per cent of bi women reported having been abused, compared to 8.2 per cent of lesbians and 6 per cent of straight women. *

Bisexuals who experience multiple oppressions, such as trans, BAME or disabled people, face even higher rates of sexual violence. Evidence from America shows that while trans people face higher rates of sexual violence, bi trans women are the most at risk.*

I hope that by sharing my experience, other survivors will feel less alone and discover tools to navigate their way through the uncharted terrain of trauma. The role of biphobia in the abuse I experienced might not seem obvious, but it is front and center - biphobia made me vulnerable to abuse, biphobia played a part in sustaining my self-doubt and biphobia strengthened my fear that no one would believe me.

It’s important to emphasize that abuse can happen to anyone. Whether or not you are bi or LGBT+, I hope that this is useful for you.

I was trapped, and only when I left did the fear flood in.

Whilst I was in an abusive relationship, I couldn’t see it. My mental health spiraled, and my friends expressed concern about the dynamics of the relationship. I was much better at finding flaws in myself and other reasons I felt tangled up than I was at recognizing the ways my boundaries were being crossed, and my trust abused. In other words, I blamed myself from the start.

Only after I had left the relationship did I start to recognize what had been happening; that coercion and manipulation were at the heart of the way my abuser had been communicating with me and treating me. The dislocation between my inner world of turmoil and the realities of the relationship suddenly make sense, and that’s when I started to feel the fear.

I felt it hit me like a tonne of bricks.

It might seem like a strange concept, to ‘realise’ that you’ve been fearful of someone or to ‘realise’ that you’ve been harmed. How could I not know that I’d been s******y assaulted?

The saying ‘the penny dropped’, ‘it hit me like a tonne of bricks’ and ‘my world turned upside down’ had never felt so literal as when I started to recognise that I’d escaped an abusive relationship.

My body kept secrets until I was ready to survive them.

Even at this time, when symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) kicked in and I was at my lowest, I remember being so grateful and in awe of my body. It was as if it had held onto all the feelings I couldn’t have processed and managed within the relationship.

My body waited until I was safe to release all the feelings that you’d expect in a situation of threat. I could feel the chemicals in my bloodstream, keeping me awake, alert, poised for defense. 

Hypervigilance plagued my days and nights - it was exhausting, and at the time I didn’t understand what was happening. I felt like I was losing control, and didn’t know what to believe.

Fight. Flight. Freeze. 

I’d heard of the fight or flight response, but I didn’t know you could freeze. It makes sense. When it happened I left my body, I left the room, I went into another world because the one I was in was unbearable. That’s how my body and mind protected me.

But then dissociation became a way for my mind and body to cope in the aftermath too. For me, it felt like a powerful anesthetic, numbing out every feeling indiscriminately, even the good stuff.

Random things would trigger panic or dissociation - most annoyingly, for a long time, I couldn’t listen to the song Golden Years by David Bowie. If I smelt damp clothes or saw a red rain jacket, a whole string of associations fired through me and I was hurtling towards a panic attack.

She told me to respect my coping mechanisms. I hated them. 

My therapist (who I could barely afford - that’s a whole topic of its own) explained that this was a coping mechanism and that I should respect it and work with it. But I was impatient and frustrated. I wanted to get over this, quick.

Looking back, I was struggling to accept what had happened. It was like a story I was telling myself, about someone else’s misfortune.

Time was my enemy.

This period of time, in my memory, feels warped and strange. I remember feeling minutes passing, and time was like sinking sand - it was so hard to keep moving forward and I couldn’t see a future.

I started to have thoughts of suicide. I hadn’t experienced that before and felt really scared and confused. Above all, I felt completely alone, like no one would understand - even if I had the words.

Just above the city, our dinghy, my lifeboat- Survivors’ Network.

Something that surprised me and I’ve never forgotten is how a reserve of resilience and determination, an energy that I never knew I had, surged forward just when I thought I wanted to give up. 

I found Survivors’ Network and started to go to group meet-ups. At first, I’d sit in the circle and drink the tea, eat the biscuits and smile like I was at a community meeting about, I don’t know...a litter problem in the city!?

I fooled myself into believing I didn’t belong there, that it was inconsequential and I was just coming along for the ride. I was keeping my own experience at arm's length so I didn’t have to face the fallout. But as I listened to other survivors’ stories and got to know them, I became comfortable enough to start sharing and chipping away at my shame. 

The group became like a transient family, and a lifeline when I needed it most. 

She told me she believed me.

Only a few friends knew what was going on. I started using other services like Samaritans, RISE and Rape Crisis for extra support. One night I called a hotline for survivors and confessed (to myself as much as the volunteer at the end of the line) that I couldn’t tell anyone what had happened, because I was scared they wouldn’t believe me. They just paused and said, I believe you. I felt relief radiate my chest and hot tears melting the frozen numbness I’d been trying to break out of.

Every good night’s sleep is a Fuck You.

After that, barrages of feelings were set free. One of the most difficult being anger. I didn’t know how to channel it or what to do with it.

I played Golden Years really loudly in my room, pushed myself to go places I desperately wanted to avoid because they were associated with my trauma or ran the risk of seeing my abuser by attending things I would usually go to.

I later learned that intentionally triggering yourself after abuse isn’t unusual. It was partly a way of feeling alive through the numbness, and partly my rage starting to bubble to the surface. I wasn’t going to be kept silent and hidden.

But over time I learned to redefine defiance. I remember the first time I said my abusers' name in therapy without disappearing into dissociation, I called them a wanker and my therapist - who was quite posh and quite serious- said, ‘I see your strength come back when you say that.’

My successes in recovery were small, slow and quiet - I learned to celebrate every single one. And to start sharing my journey with the people I love and trust.

It took a long time to feel like a ‘survivor.’ 

A friend who supported me at the time told me once to ‘make the abuser small, in your mind.’ For me, PTSD flashbacks were not the only way that I felt I was ‘reliving’ the trauma. Fear had permeated every aspect of my life, making me feel as if I was still living through it. The idea of shrinking down my abuser in my mind started to help me see that there was no looming, invisible threat, ready to strike at any moment. It was over, and I was safe.

It became something I had survived. Bit by bit I befriended my body again, and started to heal - recalibrating into the present and mapping my ‘new normal.’

My ‘new normal’.

I wish I had known that although trauma would devastate my life, it would give me an opportunity to rebuild it with self-compassion at the center. When people told me, ‘you won’t always feel like this’, or ‘you’ll adjust’- I thought they meant that I would get used to living in darkness.

Survival for me has meant a lot of private, proud moments. Managing to sleep through the night, laughing with friends, finding coping mechanisms that make me feel safe and above all, learning to open up to meaningful connection with others in a way I don’t think I did even before all of this.

Recovery is a process and one that isn’t always linear. There’s no right way to do it. If like me, you take two steps forward and one step back - just know you are never alone.

Thank you so much for reading.

Here’s that post featuring some survivor services again.

Want to know about any future posts, zines or projects about I do about being a survivor? Pop me an email at mollymaher93@gmail.com

* Both stats are taken from here: https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/bisexual-lgbt-pride-sexual-assault-violence-invisible-minority-survivors-a8435226.html

*Here’s a definition of bi from Stonewall: https://www.stonewall.org.uk/help-advice/glossary-terms#b