#i wanna suck the cursed energy outta this man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bittercoldbrew · 3 years

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Well, geeze, this got outta hand... I blame @silverwolf319 for being so kind and encouraging and joining me in the little spoon!Ezra club even though he’s technically a big spoon in this one, but I think it still qualifies. Thank you, darling 💕

In theory this is a follow-up to my earlier Ezra/OC oneshot (which is, in theory, a follow-up to my finished story, To Build Something New), but I think they can be read independently, or in any order you please. Here we’ve got about 5k words of just the softest fluff I think I’ve ever written, Cee and Ezra and his unnamed partner with she/her pronouns, building a blanket fort together when the rain keeps them all up at night. This briefly gets a teensy bit saucier than the other one did, so I’m asking to keep this one 18+ only, please and thanks, friends. No other warnings, just an absurd amount of established relationship sweetness here. Enjoy!

Most nights, she loves the skylight above their bed, loves the view of the vast and glorious expanse of space beyond the meager atmosphere of this dwarf planet that has become so dear to her—loves, too, the occasional brush of willowy branches against the glass from the big tree outside, when the wind is up. After so very many years spent floating through the galaxy aboard slingbacks and freighters, she needs this glimpse of the heavens just as much as she needs the reminder of the solid ground beneath her feet. Even now, more than two years spent as a resident of Aphelia, she still has horrid dreams of hull breaches and micrometeoroids and hairline cracks, and often it helps to wake and watch for lazy clouds drifting by or those familiar leaves or the rare nightbird, proof that there is a sky here, hugging her close to the crust of the planet she’s made her own and promising to never let her be sucked out into the void.

Tonight, however, and the storm it has brought, offer far more proof than she would ever need. The wind howls; branches thrash and snap into the air; rain pelts harsh rhythms against the glass; and the sky is so full up with clouds that she can’t find a single soothing glimmer of any stars beyond.

The man in bed beside her, with his steady breaths and radiant warmth, the gentle weight of his arm across her belly, should be more than comfort enough. Ezra is not often an easy sleeper, but he can be a deep one under the right circumstances, and if she were a sensible woman she'd cuddle up against his chest and let the sweet thrumming of his tender heart lull her back to sleep.

She puts on a good show, she'll admit; but she is not often as sensible as people seem to believe.

Feeling guilty, yet restless, she creeps out from under his loose hold and to the edge of the bed. Light flashes overhead, followed closely by a deep groan of thunder, and she freezes halfway to her feet and glances over her shoulder to make sure it hasn’t woken him. But no, his eyes are still closed, those pretty dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, though a slight frown now creases his brow. He buries his face deeper into the pillow with a soft grumble, and she releases her held breath and stands and creeps around the bed and out into the hall—taking one of the spare blankets with her, of course.

She has some vague thoughts of decaffeinated tea and chocolate bars, maybe a dip into that carton of ripe berries in the refrigeration unit if Ezra hasn’t eaten them all by now, but her weary feet can’t seem to carry her that long way to the kitchen and she all but collapses onto the couch, instead. Ridiculous, she thinks, that she can feel this exhausted and this wired simultaneously. There’s been a stomach bug getting passed around at work, one she’s somehow managed to dodge thus far—both a blessing and a curse, because it’s meant that she’s been picking up extra shifts left and right. Tomorrow—technically today, she confirms after a quick glance at the time—is supposed to be her first day off in a tenday and a half, and she’s been so looking forward to finally having time to unwind and spend with her little family. Given the way her pulse keeps jumping with every crash of lightning and rattle of windows, she’s going to spend the day catching up on lost sleep, instead.

Cursing herself, her anxiety, and the weather—not necessarily in that order—she curls up against the arm of the couch and tucks the blanket under her chin, contents herself to a night spent merely hoping for sleep to come.

The storm is...beautiful, she has to admit, viewed through the front room’s wide windows. Dark as it is, there’s enough sheet lightning to paint the sky in grayish purples and greens, and the ribbons of rain seem to dance in the wind. They do have a DTV in here, but the signal isn’t great even on the clearest of days, and the serials streaming in the overnight public blocks are nothing but trash. The storm, for all its insolence, is likely to be far more entertaining.

She loses track of how long she sits there, knees pulled up to her chest, head resting against the back of the couch, until she hears the low rasp of her name and turns to find Ezra shuffling into the room. His hair is mussed, his chest bare, patched and tattered sleep pants riding tantalizingly low on lean hips; but his eyes are only half-open, hand and attention occupied as he hitches his prosthesis up over the liner that insulates his limb remnant, and seals it into place. There’s a soft hiss, and then a gentle whirr as the delicate machinery twitches synthetic finger and wrist and elbow joints, cycling through its startup flexibility test.

While it’s busy, Ezra rests his left arm on the back of the couch, and leans over to place a slow and sleepy kiss to her lips. “Hey, you,” he sighs.

“Hey, you,” she answers, mouth spreading up into a smile as she lifts a hand to smooth along his jaw. “I’m sorry; did I wake you?”

“Nah, the storm did,” he tells her, and though he’s not the sort of man to lie to her, she’s not entirely sure she believes him. “Mind if I sit with you a while?”

“I’d love that.” Kevva only knows why they’re whispering, with the storm crashing so loudly around them, but it feels right, here in the dark—especially when he comes around and settles in close beside her. She unwinds the blanket and drapes it over them both, and he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his warmth. He smells a bit like derma-cream, but she’s grown so accustomed to the tangy blend of menthol and citrus that it mostly just smells like home, and she all but melts into him.

“How long you been awake, starlight?” he asks, keeping his voice low and gentle, and she sighs and shakes her head.

“Never fell asleep in the first place. I got up, oh...” She lifts her gaze, checking the time that floats into view, courtesy of her optical implant. “An hour ago, maybe?”

He squeezes her tight, and she can hear the frown in his voice as he asks, “Why didn’t you wake me?”

She kisses his shoulder—there’s a little cream there, too, and it makes her lips tingle for a brief moment. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

He huffs, dipping his head to meet her eyes. “You know you’re more important, babygirl. Besides...” he trails off, lifting an unsubtle eyebrow, “you know how much I love sendin’ you to sleep.”

She snorts a laugh, shakes her head. “You’re a selfless man.”

“I’m just eager to help,” he says, grinning, and she laughs again.

“You’re eager for something, I’ll grant you that.” The grin broadens, his cheek dimpling, and she considers the offer. It’s tempting, that’s for sure—she’s been working so much, hasn’t had much time or energy to indulge in the pleasure he’s always so willing to give her. She’s missed him, missed the sweet words that fall from his lips as he comes undone for her, missed the way he fills her just right, as though his body was made for hers, and hers for his.

But the idea of just the walk from the couch to the bedroom seems a little insurmountable right now, even for such a delectable reward. She doesn’t think her body can get any more exhausted than it already is, with or without his best efforts, and sleep hasn’t blessed her yet; and he’d put his arm on which means he’d expected to be awake for a while, hadn’t really planned on taking her back to bed so soon. With a sigh, she tucks her face into the crook of his neck, and shakes her head softly. “Thank you...but I think I’d just like to listen to the rain a little longer.”

He nods, hugging her close and resting his cheek against her hair. “That sounds just fine to me.”

Ezra gives her so many reasons to love him, and this is no exception—how willing he is to set aside his own desires for hers, how he always seems to know when she wants to be wooed and persuaded into bed versus when she just wants to be close to him without interference, even of the pleasurable kind.

She’s never been as skilled with words as he is, has no idea how to really verbalize such a feeling, but she breathes against his neck, “I love you so much, Ez,” and hopes it might suffice, for now.

He rubs her back, presses a kiss to the top of her head, murmurs, “I love you too, baby,” into her hair, his soft voice full of so much tenderness that she thinks he understands everything she’s ever left unsaid.

A boom of thunder splits the night, so close it seems to happen before the blinding flash, and they both jump. Ezra pulls away, squeezes her shoulder. “I’m gonna...go check that out,” he tells her, and she nods as he heaves himself to his feet and crosses the room to peer through the window.

She twists around to try and watch as he moves away from the glass and heads into the kitchen, beyond her view. An instant later, she hears the back door slide open, a strong draft and sharp whistle of wind blowing into the house before it closes again. “Ezra?” she calls, but there’s no response, so she assumes he’s gone outside to investigate, and waits with bated breath for him to return.

A minute later, he does, with another rush of wind; then he comes striding back around the corner, rubbing at his wet hair with a dish towel and looking far more awake and alert than he had before. “Looks like there’s a tree down in the back,” he announces, shaking his head. “Not one of ours, though, and I didn’t see a lick of flame. Too wet out there, I reckon.”

She puffs out a breath, and nods her head. “That’s a relief.”

“Mm-hm,” he agrees, dragging the towel over his face and down his neck and across his broad, glistening chest. Her hands suddenly itch to grab the towel from him and finish the job herself (possibly with her tongue, perhaps, fuck the towel, why do they even have towels?), the sight of him enough to cause her mind and libido to make a stark course correction from where she’d just said she wanted this night to lead, and she opens her mouth to make those intentions clear.

Before she can, another voice speaks up. “Did you guys hear that?”

Twisting back the other way, she turns and spots Cee stepping into the room, one hand rubbing at her tired eyes, the other holding her beloved plush Puzu doll against her stomach. “Aww, not you, too,” she calls, propping her chin on the back of the couch and offering the girl a sympathetic smile.

“We didn’t wake you, did we, little bird?” Ezra asks, slinging the towel over his shoulder with a sheepish expression on his face.

“Pretty sure it was the sky exploding that did it,” the teenager says dryly, shaking her head. “Planets are weird.”

“They are indeed,” he agrees, glancing from his daughter to his partner with a broad grin. Of the three of them, she is the de facto expert on planets, having resided on one for the longest and most recent stretch of time—but that was almost twenty years ago, now, so she isn’t entirely convinced it should count.

Shaking her head, she hauls herself up off the couch and stretches her arms up above her head, feeling something pop along her spine. “Well,” she sighs, turning to face them with her hands on her hips. “Why don’t I make us some cocoa, then, before we lose power or something?”

They both seem thrilled by the prospect, and she makes her way into the kitchen with a smile, taking only a slight detour to trail her fingers along the cooled, damp skin of Ezra’s back as she passes him by. There will be opportunity enough, later, for her hands to have their fill of him. They might all end up sleeping the day away after this storm finally passes, so for now she’s going to make the most of this time to spend with them.

Her hot chocolate recipe, perfected over the course of many years of sleepless nights, has become something of a ritual now that she has these two beloved people to make it for; she falls into it without conscious thought, toasting cardamom pods and a cinnamon stick in the saucepan before adding milk, then chopping up a bar of the good chocolate to stir in once it’s warm enough. The storm still rages loudly, and she can only just make out the cadence and timbre of Cee’s and Ezra’s voices as they discuss something in the other room, and she lets the sounds wash over her as she grabs a foil-wrapped parcel of popcorn and sets it on the other burner to pop, marveling at how surreal yet mundane it feels, to have a family—something she’d never even dreamed of for herself, before she met these two.

She’s poking around in the pantry, checking to see if there are any other tasty treats to munch on, when the sound of heavy furniture creaking along the floor—and their resulting laughter—reaches her ears and makes her question all those warm and fuzzy feelings. She leans back, trying to catch sight of what’s going on over there, and calls, “What’re you two up to?”

“Nothin’!” Ezra answers, far too quickly for her comfort, and she frowns and takes a step that way.

But then Cee calls back, “It’s a surprise! No peeking!”

“Fine! Fine,” she mutters, shaking her head but turning back. She’s pretty sure, now, what they’re doing, but resolves not to interfere in the creative process unless they ask for it.

Besides, she has snacks to prepare.

She whips up a few peanut butter sandwiches, crusts on and sliced into triangles, in case anyone’s really hungry—they’ll make for a quick lunch tomorrow, if not—and grabs the last few handfuls of berries out of the fridge as well. Tossing one into her mouth, the sweet, sharp juice bursts along her tongue as she dumps the popcorn into a big bowl and pointedly ignores the sounds of bedroom doors opening and something heavy being dragged down the hall. She fills the kettle with water and heats that, too, just in case they do lose power tonight and someone decides they want tea or something before it comes back; with a couple towels draped on top, it should stay warm enough until morning.

The milk is ready, so she scoops out the spices and whisks in the chocolate and ladles up three mugs, then arranges them and all the food into one of the fruit crates Ez brings home from Kikur, and calls, “Can I come in yet?”

“Just—hang on a tick,” he grunts, and she can hear a bit of scuffling. Then, Cee’s voice, “Okay, it’s ready!”

Already smiling, she hefts up the crate and heads over to see what they’ve made of the front room.

The coffee table has disappeared entirely; the couch has been moved back against the wall, its seats and pillows removed to serve as cushions atop Cee’s mattress, relocated from her bedroom to the floor. The floor lamp was taken from its usual corner to stand at the foot of the mattress, and two big bedsheets have been clothespinned together and draped over its lampshade and tucked behind the back of the couch, forming a canopy to cover their heads while still giving them a view of the windows and the rain beyond.

Ezra has changed into a dry pair of sweatpants and one of the soft sweaters she tends to steal from his wardrobe when he’s away. He clicks on the lamp, bathing the space inside in a warm, cloth-dampened glow; then he takes a step back and surveys their work with his hands on his hips and a serious expression, as though it were something far more architecturally complex than a cozy blanket fort. “You know, I think this is our best one yet.”

She sets the crate down gently, careful not to spill anything, and crosses her arms with an appraising air. “You know, I think you might be right...” she says, nodding her head slowly. “We better get in it, just to be sure.”

Laughing, Cee tosses her stuffed animal inside and clambers in first. She follows after the girl, settling in among the soft cushions and warm blankets with a sigh, amazed at how well the lightweight sheets muffle the harsh noise of the raging storm.

Ezra doesn’t join them just yet, instead crouching down to investigate the contents of the crate. “What is all this, starlight?” he asks, lifting up and passing over the mugs of chocolate and bowl of popcorn. “You made us a feast.”

“Just some snacks, to tide us over. Hey, no, you give that to us,” she reprimands, seeing him prying open the carton of berries. “Don’t even think about it.”

The man is a berry-eating fiend, just inhales the things like some sort of confused anteater gone frugivore. If she takes her eyes off him for one second with that carton in his possession, they’ll all be gone before she and Cee ever get a chance.

Even with her staring him down, he pops three into his mouth at once; but then he does, begrudgingly, hand the rest over, so she allows this transgression and snatches them up and passes the carton into Cee’s hands for safekeeping.

“You’re so mean to me,” he grumbles, even as he rests the plate of sandwiches she made on top of the mattress and stuffs one wedge into his mouth, finally moving past the lamp and under the canopy to settle against the cushions beside her.

“You need to learn how to share,” she scolds, taking the bitten-off piece of sandwich from his mouth and biting into it herself.

“Ew, no,” Cee groans. “If you two are gonna be gross, you’ll be banished from the fort.”

"Sorry, boss," she tells her, genuinely chastened.

Ezra nods his head, settling his expression into something solemn. "She's harsh, but fair."

Then, in a flash, he snatches back the last corner of bread and peanut butter and shoves it in his mouth, shattering the moment and sending them all into fits of laughter, too giddy from the lateness of the hour and the lack of sleep and the spontaneity of finding themselves all huddled together like this to ever be able (or willing) to reign in their shared mirth.

They giggle and tease each other and snack, mouths going sticky with peanut butter and chocolate, fingertips smeared with butter and salt and berry juice, even as the wind howls and the rain beats down on the roof. Here, under their makeshift tent, the three of them are warm and content and safe, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy to have found herself unable to fall asleep.

Cee is not often very physically affectionate, but she turns into a real cuddlebug when tired, and tonight is no exception. The older woman wraps her arms around the teenager’s shoulders and hugs her close, the Puzu plush tucked between them.

Beside her, Ezra tosses the last of the berries into his mouth and heaves a slow, satisfied sigh. “Did I ever tell you two about the time I met a ghost? Was a night just like this one.”

The girls look at each other, sharing matching dubious glances. “No, you haven’t,” Cee says, voice dry as bone. “And no, you definitely didn’t.”

“Swear it on my good arm!” he proclaims, laying his prosthetic hand over his heart, and it is utterly impossible to tell if the expression on his face is genuine or not. “Even know whose specter it was; I described his face to my crew after they found me, and one of the old timers said, ‘Why, that was Long Richard Johnson!’”

His captive audience squawk similar, wordless sounds of protest—she’s certain there’s never been such a man with such a name, let alone a spirit of the same.

But Ezra’s eyebrows shoot up with surprise, and he pushes himself up on his elbows to gape at them. “What? You never heard the legend of Ol’ Long Dick?”

“Stop,” Cee groans, tossing a handful of popcorn at his face, but he shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face as he really starts to delve into the role of storyteller.

“No, no, I’m not— This is not just a me thing, this an honest-to-Kevva prospector’s legend. He was one of the greats, the first independent contractor to ever set foot on the Green.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, still disbelieving, but resting her cheek atop Cee’s head to listen. With or without any kernel of truth, this is bound to be an interesting tale, at least.

“I mean it! He was the first to reject allegiance to any of the corps; and they let ‘im, too, because no one else, before or since, could suss out those gems like he could. He was a master of the Green Moon; they say he was the first to locate the Queen’s Lair, but he refused to mark it on any map or tell anyone where it was, knew the corps were too greedy and bloodthirsty to ever be trusted with such knowledge. They say he hired a private ship to sneak him out there without their purview, determined to harvest it all his own self, but there was some engine trouble and he never did make it. They say he’s buried up at the top of the Green’s highest peak, with a headstone that reads, ‘Here lies Long Dick Johnson, who earned every inch of his name’.”

“You’re a menace,” she gasps, pelting him with more popcorn, because she’d almost started believing him until that last bit.

But he only laughs and shakes his head, plucking popcorn out of his own hair and tossing it in his mouth. “I’m only relaying what I myself have been told, any deviations from the truth are someone else’s doing.”

“And this ‘ghost’ you saw?” Cee asks, making exaggerated air quotes with a skeptical look on her face.

“Ah, now, that is my tale to tell.” He leans in and props his chin in his hand, voice lowering to a whisper as he begins, “It was a night just like this one...”

He weaves a tapestry with his words, painting a picture for them of himself as a (somewhat) fresher-faced kip, new to the moon above Bakhroma, having contracted out his able body and his rundown ship to a crew of grizzled prospectors, in exchange for training on how to harvest the dazzling gems and a reasonable cut of their earnings. All had gone accordingly, until they found themselves caught in one of the moon’s rare, but devastating, rainstorms, and had to stay cooped up inside the ship, unable to harvest and unable to relocate lest the ship get struck by lightning midair and leave them stranded there permanently. So instead he spent his days learning complicated board games with made-up rules using bits and pieces of supplies they had lying around, letting his ears be filled with raucous stories of days and prospectors gone by.

And then, late one night, he’d been shaken awake by a man he’d thought to be one of the crew, dragged from his bunk and shuffled into his suit and helmet and filter and pack. He’d only briefly tried to hesitate, to wake the others, but the man had grabbed him and growled, “There’s no time, boy—move, or you’ll miss it.” So, only half awake and unable to think straight, he’d obeyed without question and followed him out the airlock.

He had stumbled in the dark, in the mud, in the rain and wind, still relatively new to this and unaccustomed to the bulky suit, and by the time he realized that the only reason he could follow at all was because the man leading him was glowing—luminous and stark and visible even through the sheeting rain and dust and muck that clouded his helmet—they were too far from the ship for him to ever have any hope of making it back on his own. He’d had no choice but to plod along after the ghost, for hours, maybe, until finally the figure stopped and pointed at his feet and commanded, “Dig.”

And then, without a whole lotta options otherwise, he had obeyed.

Eventually, the storm passed, and the light dawned, and his crew must’ve noticed his empty bunk and followed the single track of stumbling footprints until they found him where he’d fallen asleep in the shallow gouge he’d carved in the dirt, still clutching his shovel.

They accused him of sleepwalking, of cabin fever, of dipping into the good hooch behind their backs—all without malice, really, but certainly refusing to believe any claim of spectral visions. At least, that was, until one of the men looked down, and realized that the thing at his feet wasn’t, in fact, a large clump of dirt, but an aurelac root nodule the size of a small child.

“To this day, that was my finest single harvest,” he admits, shaking his head slowly. “The crew gave me a heartier cut than promised, and still all had enough to retire off of. Not me, though; from that day on, I was hooked. Sunk my savings in a newer ship and sought out another crew and kept goin’ back, always hoping to see him again, to pull another fabled haul.”

She nods her head, unsure of what she could possibly have to say to that, but she can so vividly imagine how such an experience would inspire a man like him, would spur him on to the sort of life he’s led. So she says nothing, simply lays a hand against his cheek, letting the edge of her thumb rest in the dimple that creases his cheek as he blinks and tears his gaze away from the past to smile at her instead.

He turns his head, presses his lips to her palm with a sweet kiss, and nods toward the teenager resting against her shoulder. “How long’s she been out?”

“Hm?” she asks, surprised, and looks down to find that he’s right, that the girl’s eyes are firmly closed, her chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. “Oh,” she whispers, scared to wake her, “I didn’t even notice.”

His breathy laugh is quiet, a chuckle kept mostly inside his chest, and he nods his head and says, “Let’s not wake her. She can sleep out here, don’t you think?”

“I—” she tries, but the words are stifled by a deep yawn that causes tears to prick at the corners of her eyes; she brushes them away, offers him a sheepish smile. “I think I might join her.”

His grin is brilliant as he nods again, leans in for a quick kiss, then pulls back and starts gathering up the empty mugs and half-eaten popcorn and sandwiches. “How about we all stay, hm? I’ll put these away.”

“Here, I can help—” she starts, but he catches her reaching hand in his and shakes his head.

“I got it, baby. You stay here with her, yeah? I’ll be back soon.”

She nods, rubbing at her eye again, the exhaustion of the past two weeks finally catching up with her. “You promise?”

Ezra kisses her again, warm, soft lips lingering in a way that steals her breath away, leaves her lightheaded and a little dazed when he pulls back and whispers, “I promise.”

She settles deeper into the cushions as he quietly gathers up the dishes and food and the few errant popcorn kernels they’d thrown at him, and slips out from the blanket fort. It’s immediately colder in there without his warmth, emptier without his familiar weight beside her, and she hugs Cee a little tighter as she listens to the fridge opening and closing, the faucet turning on and off, his footsteps drawing near then moving past and away down the hall to the bedroom. Above it all, the sound of the rain against the roof has settled into a steadier, gentler thrum, the booming thunder and frightful wind moving on to rattle someone else’s windows.

When Ezra returns, clicking off the lamp and crawling under the canopy to slide in beside her, he has removed his prosthetic arm—never fond of sleeping with it on—and brought the heavy quilt from atop their bed along with him. She helps him spread it out over all three of them, making sure Cee is tucked in snug while he settles in and wraps his arm around her waist.

He rests his chin on her available shoulder, his whispered words a warm brush of breath on her skin as he asks, “What’d you think of my story?”

“I think it was...effective at making us all sleepy.”

He huffs a laugh, rubs his nose against her cheek. “Alright, sure, but did you believe it?”

She grins in the dark, even though she knows he can’t see it. “I believe that you believe it,” she allows.

His lips, pressing against her skin, curl up into a smile, and the warmth of it works its way deep into her heart and radiates from there to the top of her head and the tips of her toes. His hand slips beneath her shirt, palm spreading along her belly—not teasing, not suggesting anything more than a blatant desire to touch as much of her as he can. “That’s more than enough for me,” he sighs, achingly content.

She nods her head in agreement; and in these last few instants of consciousness before sleep finally claims her, she thinks that this moment, snuggled close between the two best people in the known universe, safe and warm from any storm, is more than enough for her, too.

#god this is so self-indulgent i really have no excuse #maybe someday i will write about something other than these three. but no promises #little spoon!Ezra #(on a technicality)#ezra prospect x oc #ezra prospect x reader #to build something new #theres a line in here that made me laugh when i wrote it and makes me laugh every time i read it again #i wonder if you all can spot it lol #real yearning hours #silverwolf319 #my writing

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gayenerd · 3 years

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The Band You Love To Hate By Tom Lanham of RIP (There’s no date on this but I would say 1995 or 1996?)

Eyes wide as a barn owl's. Spines stiff with anticipation, like a hungry scorpion. The two teenage girls sit stock-still in their booth at a posh Berkeley diner, practically bursting with excitement, but without the faintest clue how to handles it. Clueless, you might call them. A few feet across the linoleum aisle--with his back to them, oblivious to all the oh-my-gawd facial expressions--sits the object of their adulation, dressed in unassuming black jeans, black T-shirt, shredded black Converse, and a beat-up black baseball jacket. But even with his once-green dreadlocks tamed to a short black business cut, Billie Joe Armstrong--yes, the snaggle-toothed MTV ragamuffin from megaplatinum neo-punkers, Green Day--is as easy to spot as Michael Bolton at a Rogaine convention. Although the kids want to leap up from their seats and race over for an autograph or a jittery hello, they don't dare. Instead, they're forced to deal with their seething emotions as if they were eating post-tonsillectomy ice cream: a lot of numb gulping and a quick pain chaser. This is the blessing of being Billie Joe Armstrong. Alas, it's also his curse. By the time you read this, the irascible little rocker will have turned 24. And exactly two years ago, he and his wacky bandmates--drummer Tré Cool and bassist Mike Dirnt--lolled around the trashy basement flat they shared, getting stoned and sneering at the idea that Dookie--their just-released "sellout" on big-time Reprise--would ever amount to more than a nice drink coaster. Fame? They were more preoccupied with their bong collection, stacks of rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards, and a thriving sea monkey tank displayed prominently on a window-sill. Most of their furniture had springs poking through--they didn't care. Armstrong regularly picked boogers from his gold-ringed nostril and then flick them onto the scary shag carpet--what did he have to worry about? Too bad he couldn't have foreseen the all-too-near future. Green Day happened to be in the right place at the right time. The three-chord slam-a-rama Dookie--a pop-edged return to decade-old punk ethics--became the surprise hit of '94, going on to sell over 11 million copies. Armstrong, accustomed to frenetic club performances, began translating the group's infectious energy to larger and larger venues. Demand continued to grow at a staggering pace; Green Day fought back. They turned a satellite MTV Video Awards performance into a "spit-cam" fest by urging the crowd to gob any camera lens it could ("[The cameramen] tried to make it look like it was cool, but it wasn't"). Last October, Armstrong and company issued their 32-minute follow up, Insomniac, almost as an afterthought, with little promotion, a visually offensive video (for "Geek Stink Breath") and--at least initially--a strict no-interview policy. Simultaneously, they ditched their high-powered Cahn-Man management team and are now virtually managing themselves. Along the way, Armstrong married his long-time sweetheart Adrienne and last March fathered a son, Joey. In typical down-to-earth fashion, the couple spent their honeymoon a few blocks from home at Berkeley's prestigious Claremont Hotel, not on some exotic island. Beginning to see the problem here? How does a street-smart kid from humble beginnings skyrocket to world-class notoriety and yet--with his music in millions of homes and his privacy suddenly a right that needs defending--still adhere to the simple ideals, the simple lifestyle that spawned him? Is "successful punk" an oxymoron? Insomniac provided few clues--it was more of the same slacker-ennui sentiment, more defeated, disenfranchised grousing set to speedy, memorable hooks. Or, as Armstrong barks in the aptly-dubbed "Walking Contradiction," "My wallet's fat and so is my head...I'm a victim of a Catch-22." And that, in essence, was the topic this tortured artist wanted to discuss at the diner. The old "be careful what you wish for" adage. The classic "problem with success is finding someone to enjoy it with you" truism. Armstrong, who takes occasional sips from a vanilla milkshake, but mostly stares morosely at the floor, seems to be dealing with superstardom in a relatively normal way. Don't be fooled by the steady stream of negative vitriol that follows; he's analyzing it, breaking it down, figuring out ways to disconnect his kinetic career. Or at least turn down the volume for awhile.

RIP: We know what's going right. But what's going wrong?

BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG: Lots of things, really. Actually, when I came here today, I said I didn't wanna talk about anything good, because I don't really have anything good to talk about. Goin' on tour pretty soon--don't really wanna go. Just because I've been kinda torn. I wanna stick around at home. I don't like playing arenas, and I realized I didn't know what I was getting myself into on the last tour, but I went into it being positive and getting excited about it. But I didn't realize that I was the kind of person to whom it's too much of an event and not really a personal thing anymore. And I started to realize how much I liked being the background music to this scene at the club. And now it's.... I dunno. People expect so much. It's cool and stuff, and it can be a lot of fun, a really good experience. But when you play that many arenas.... The first time we ever played those big kinds of shows at the Shoreline (Amphitheater in Mountain View, California), there was weirdness--we were playing for a lot of f?!kin' people. And I hate to say it, but sometimes it just feels like another gig. We played every day, 50 gigs this last leg, and it just wears on ya. There's all these people, and they think "Alright. I paid my $15--you better impress the f?!kin' shit outta me right now!" And I realized that for Joey, the rock and roll touring life is not a good atmosphere for a kid. I tried to make it to where it would be, bringing lots of his toys out. But there are no familiar surroundings for him. And he likes all the attention--people come up and say hello to him every day, people who are on tour with us. But he doesn't have his own room or a home to go to every day. So, no more touring for Joey.

RIP: Turned on Regis and Kathie Lee this morning to find their gossip columnist dishing dirt on Green Day. How Insomniac didn't do nearly as well as predicted, how it was a disappointment to the label. A failure, supposedly.

BJA: Well, it's like, we didn't set up this record. We didn't. We didn't do any promotion beforehand, we completely quit doing interviews, and basically we just wanted to go on into it. We weren't even sure if we wanted to do a video. And then when we did a video, it got yanked from daytime rotation because people were getting grossed-out by it. So I think we did alienate a lot of people. So that was expected, that it wasn't going to sell a lot of records.

RIP: NOFX have taken it one step further. They refuse to talk to press, make videos, pander potential singles to radio. They don't want to get any bigger.

BJA: I dunno, maybe I'm just getting jaded or something. But I just got cable again and I can't stand anything. Six years ago you could hear something that was different and know that it was different. So it'd be "alternative" or whatever. But now it's like you get this Joan...Osborne? With the ring in her nose, waving the alternative rock flag, when she's just...not, ya know? And I'm thinking, I hate all this music that's coming out now--the past year was just hell for music. But people are buying it, so then I'm thinking, Maybe they're the ones that are good and I'm the one who sucks? I just don't know if I really wanna be involved in the rock world anymore at all. Period. I don't necessarily have anything against a big record company or people who what to join up with a big record company. It really is right for some people, but more and more, I don't think that I'm really meant to. And I hate to sound like that, because I don't like taking things for granted. I don't like to talk about my problems when there's some kid struggling in his garage somewhere saying "F?!k him! He's just taking it for granted. Shit, I wish I could do something like that, but I'm just stuck here in Biloxi, Mississippi, and I can't even get a gig." I'm so confused right now.

RIP: It must be odd to know that, with all those millions of albums sold, drunken frat boys are probably staggering around to your music right now. Your audience grew far beyond your control.

BJA: Oh, totally! We became what we hated. Which is, the people I despised in high school--and now--are buying our records. We initially became a trend, so there was no way I expected to sell as many records with Insomniac as with Dookie. That's one of the biggest-selling records of the decade. We get slagged by the punk rockers, and it's like, I don't blame them. If you draw that much attention to yourself, that's what you're gonna get--attention--and it's not personal anymore.

RIP: Ever think about giving it all up?

BJA: There isn't a day goes by in the past year and a half that I haven't thought about quitting. I went to this party on New Year's Eve, and this band Juke, and another band, the Tantrums, played in a friend of mine's backyard. And a lot of my old friends showed up, and everybody was just dancing. And I was dancing, and getting really muddy, and I was having a great time. I can't remember the last time I sat down and listened to a record from beginning to end and felt this incredible spine-chilling music. And it's because I haven't been able to go out and watch bands play at my free will. I'm not gonna live in a closet, I'm not gonna vegetate myself.

RIP: But it has to be difficult, when tons of kids know your face. You're on your way to Michael Jackson-dom, where you have to wear a disguise in public.

BJA: If you think about the Beatles, at that time all people had to go by were the photographs on the records and every now and then a television appearance. So when they'd come to town, people would just flip out--it became this huge public event every single time. Whereas now, everything is so saturated kids don't even have to leave their home to go to a show anymore. They can sit in the comfort of their living room, and your favorite rock star is gonna be entertaining you while you sit down and have your microwave burrito.

RIP: The Milwaukee cops weren't pleased with aspects of Green Day's Milwaukee show last November. Why were you arrested?

BJA: I dropped the pick and--actually, I even forgot about it--I just mooned the crowd, which is pretty harmless compared to what I've done before. And I wasn't even thinking about it--I just went out and started playing again. Then I went backstage and was hanging out with Adrienne, and this guy Jimmy who does security for us goes "Come on--there's a car waiting for you outside right now. You've gotta get out of here!" I said "What's wrong?" and he said he didn't even know. So we get in the car and all of a sudden about ten cops come walking over, fully surrounding the car. So the guy puts the cuffs on me, throws me in the car, and I get tossed in the holding tank for two, three hours. I wasn't in the bullpen--I was in with the other ones, the not-so-bad ones. They made me take all my jewelry out. And my shoestrings, so I wouldn't hang myself or something. I dunno. I just don't know how to fit into rock music anymore. I don't know what I like about it anymore. I don't like anything about it anymore, to tell you the truth. To tell you the real truth, I'm a pretty miserable person right now. I'm totally depressed, and my wife can vouch for that because she's around me. In fact, she's the only person who's really around me. I dunno, the whole thing with the mainstreaming of punk rock. I just feel lost in the whole thing...I don't really know...I don't wanna...I dunno...It's miserable, it really is. It's f?!ked up.

RIP: For every original voice that comes along, there will be countless mad signing dashes for any and all sound-alike artists, with no thought given to the artist's longevity. Just throw the record out quickly and hope it sticks.

BJA: The thing is, a lot of musicians have gotten so comfortable with this big so-called "Revolution in Rock Music" over the past decade. First it was like, "F?!k the corporations! F?!k the corporations!" And then people just sorta got cozy with that, and forgot that these bands are getting lost in the shuffle. And I'm talking about the ones that never get noticed at all and just get kinda bitter. The 15 minutes of fame is getting shorter and shorter. And now music is totally going backwards--the first half of this decade, there were a few things going on that were interesting. It wasn't my favorite kind of music, but it had a sensibility about it. If you think about Nirvana and Pearl Jam and that whole Seattle scene, and even the Offspring--there was this thing going on that was more honest, in a lot of ways. It wasn't like, beer, drugs and pussy, like what went on through the '80s with all the hair bands. But now what we've got is Hootie & the Blowfish....

RIP: Who are probably a lot like you. They seem like nice, regular guys who--through no real fault of their own--are suddenly assimilated into pop culture.

BJA: Yeah, but that's the problem, is that they are nice regular guys. And they're totally comfortable with that, and they sort of put that out, to where they don't really have...I dunno, there's a certain amount of attitude that, say, someone like Cobain or Vedder has that they don't have. But it's becoming way not...real anymore or something. Maybe not real to me. It's just turning back into what it was in the '80s. It's like, "Hey, everyone! We're Huey Lewis and the News!" I dunno. Maybe nobody knows what the f?!k I'm talking about anymore.

BJA: I get so irritated by people. I think I'm more bitter than I've ever been in my whole life, to tell you the honest truth. I think Insomniac is much more of a bitter record than Dookie. And I think the older people get, the more they kinda get angry. I think a lot of people feel like they get cheated by lief somehow--no-one is ever completely satisfied. There's maybe a few. But I mean, I'm in a place where I don't really wanna be. It's like, sometimes I feel like we're losing our passion for playing music. And that's the f?!ked-up thing, when you lose passion for what you love, then it's like, Is this marriage headed for divorce or what?

RIP: Theoretically, you can fight back a couple of ways. Like Cobain, you could make a record almost calculated to offend all the bandwagon-jumpers. Or take as much time off as you'd like. Who says you can't go live on a desert island for two years?

BJA: That'd be nice. I'm just not enjoying life right now. I'm really not. I'm so cluttered, I can't even speak. Yeah, I do feel like I'm getting old, and I'm kinda bitter about that. I'm not excited about being onstage anymore, and I was really trying to convince myself that I was. Really. Before we did this last U.S. tour, every time I did an interview--I don't know if you read the last Rolling Stone piece--I was like "Yeah! I'm excited! I wanna play these arenas!" and stuff. And then just every night, it started sucking, it felt like a routine or something. It felt almost choreographed in a lot of ways. And I was yelling "f?!k you!" to people, but I didn't know who I was yelling "f?!k you" to anymore.

RIP: Last time we spoke, you said you went out of your way to change every single show, make each one different.

BJA: Well, I think it's just the stress of getting up in front of all those people all the time, every day. It's like, "Do I really feel like downing another f?!cking pot of coffee and a bottle of wine before I walk onstage to do this again? Just to get myself ready to go?" You know, for all those people. And every night I always do something different and stupid. But at the same time, it'd be really cool to just say "F?!k you!" to people and like, walk off. And then they'd get it. It's like, "I'm really telling you to f?!k off this time! Time to pack up and go home." It'd just be so nice to start from scratch again.

RIP: In many ways you can. That's the music-making system trying to program your behavior. And obviously you've broken quite a few rules already--you don't even have to be talking to me right now, actually....

BJA: Oh no. I really wanted to do this interview, just because the last interviews that I've done, I've been miserable, and I was pretending not to be. I really was, I was lying. Not to the reader, not to the person I was doing the interview. But I was lying to myself, convincing myself that I was really happy with how everything is going.

RIP: So you always knew what you wanted, and now you've got it, in spades. You're having trouble figuring out what's next?

BJA: I didn't even know what I wanted back then. I really didn't. I didn't know if I wanted to be huge, totally successful. I never knew that. I was struggling so hard even to sign that f?!king contract--when I was sitting there, I was contemplating, "Should I just run outta here right now? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?" A lot of people say, "You're totally disillusioned with what money can do for people," but money never meant shit to me. There's something very passionate to me, very romantic, about living on the street in a lot of ways. Just because I really like my lifestyle back then. I was totally content, in retrospect. A lot of it has to do with the fame. I dunno, I'm trying to talk right now and just totally stuttering.

RIP: It's not like you chose music--it chose you, and you can't help it.

BJA: Yeah, it's cool when people really get it. But what a lot of people don't understand is that we're a band that's been around a lot longer than people know. And that's the thing. The difference between this and what happened between Kerplunk and Dookie--in a year, I got married, I had a kid, and I sold 11 million records worldwide. That can do something to ya, ya know?

BJA: Sometimes I think it'd be cool to just hang out with my friends, drink beer, smoke cigarettes. The more I think about it, the more I'd be really happy with that. I don't think that we're feeling quite like a band anymore--that's one problem we have. There was this certain rock 'n' roll underdog think that we always had--we always drove for something, always drove from town to town in a small van. And you know, I f?!kin' like touring like that--it's like culture shock, really, driving around in a van, setting up my amp when I get there, and playing. That's rock 'n' roll, that's what it started out as. A bunch of sweaty pigs in some tiny f?!kin' bar having a hootenanny, that's what punk rock was to me, that's what drove me to it. I love rock music in its simples, rawest form. And I think we're the only band, really, that plays rock 'n' roll.

RIP: Has all this put a strain on your old friendships? Do your pals treat you a little differently now?

BJA: When I come up to friends I haven't talked to in a while, there's a weirdness. And the ones who are really close to me don't really bring up anything, but that thing is still there; it's still in the air. And sometimes I'll just not say anything the whole time we're hanging out. I'll be totally quiet, because the only thing I'll have to talk about is my band, and I get so sick of talking about my band and myself. So I'll just be quiet, since that's the only thing there is to me, except for my son and my wife.

RIP: Pretty soon, you'll be boring everyone with slide shows--"There we are at Yosemite!"

BJA: Ha! Adrienne was telling me the other day, "When you were in there dancing with all your friends, while the band was playing, you were so happy because you were so in your element." And I've even gone as far as saying we're not a punk band anymore. But no matter what, that's still gonna stick with me forever, because I love the music, I love the energy of a new band coming out that creates this sense of urgency about 'em. I'll never be able to kick that habit. I love hangin' out with my friends who have small fanzines--kids just writing their guts out about whatever the hell's bothering 'em, and putting it on a Xerox machine and then handing it out for a quarter apiece at shows or at a party. All I wanna do is just try and work it out. I was sitting there the other day, counting all the records that the Replacements put out, stuff like that, Dan thinking how [Paul] Westerberg totally came across to his audience and did everything, everything that the wanted to do in music. He wasn't extremely successful for it, but the guy has influenced people, and a lot of 'em don't even know that they are influenced by him. All I wanna do is just write good songs and stick to it. I wanna develop--not being experimental--but go into different styles, go across my boundaries of the two-and-a-half minute punk song with a three-and-a-half minute jazz song, or maybe get into a little bit of swing or rockabilly.

RIP: With such staggering success, you could walk into Reprise and tell 'em you're doing an album of saxophone solos and they'd allow you that creative luxury.

BJA: Well, I never wanna be that experimental. I don't wanna get into synthesizers and shit like that. The thing that was cool for me with Insomniac was that I think we definitely set a foundation for ourselves, because we put out our hardest record to date, totally in-your-face all the way through, and now we're able to go anywhere we want. We can do that now--we do have that going for us. That is, if people are still interested. Which is kinda weird for me to say....

RIP: Your craft will always remain the most important thing of all, even if you're just writing for your own amusement.

BJA: Yeah. No matter what, I'm gonna be writing songs for the rest of my life. I mean, I already have a shitload of new songs right now. But I just wanna do some other things with it. We've sold a million of Insomniac so far. But I definitely want to be respected as a musician. Well, more as a songwriter than as a musician. I wanna be f?!kin' normal, is what I wanna be. The thing is, I've seen so many freaks and so many weirdos and crazy punk rockers and drunks and junkies. But for a lot of those people being weird is easy. It's so easy to be strange--the hard thing is to try to be normal. There's no such thing as normal, ya know.

RIP: How's your mom feel about all this?

BJA: She's kinda worried about me. She doesn't know what to think of everything. We have a hard time communicating with each other, just because I don't like to talk about it that much. So she feels like she has to walk on eggshells around me all the time.

RIP: You buy her anything cool once the money started rolling in?

BJA: Nah--she doesn't want anything. I've asked her. She's been living in the same house for over 20 years, and she's content living there. But I did give her a trip--she went to Hawaii, her and her boyfriend. And I think travelling is really good--if you paid for someone to travel, so they can go and explore and see some things they've never seen before. But I think that's probably where I get it from. I get so content with not having much. And then you get all this stuff, all this attention, and you don't really know what to do with it. You don't know how to channel it.

RIP: Most outrageous thing you've bought for yourself?

BJA: I got my car primered! And one thing I did do was build a home studio. So I've been recording all my friends' bands for free. I produced this band called Dead and Gone, and Social Unrest, Fetish and the Criminals. And I have this side-project called Pinhead Gunpowder--nothing's up with it right now, but we played at the beginning of '94 a few times. RIP: Sounds like you've got more than enough pressure valves to let off the steam. Still, do you worry about death?

BJA: Yeah, I do. But I have too many reasons to stick around. One is my son and my wife. And I don't feel like I'm finished yet. I'm not done, ya know? And the beauty of it is that death is forever and your problems aren't. And that's why I'm talking about my bad shit, because you vent that, you get it off your chest and you can move on to something else. There's gotta be a positive side to all this--so you just sort of try and dig it out. Get rid of all the bad--out with the bad air, in with the good air.

RIP: You said about Green Day that you think your "bandwagon is coming to a close and all that's gonna be left is just a band. Hopefully." So then will you start writing happy songs?

BJA: I thought about writing a totally sarcastic song called "I'm So Goddamn Happy," just talking about how happy I am. Actually, I'd like to put out a double record--I'd like to put out tons of music. But I never wanna become an egomaniac. I just wanna keep things down to earth, so I think it's really important for us to take a long break after all this stuff. We just put out two records back to back, one year after another, and now we can sit back and work on ourselves as people again. So we don't parody ourselves. And it's so hard to be a father and a musician at the same time. If I get into one thing and I pay close attention to it, like if I'm with Joey and I start neglecting my music, then I feel like I should play more often. So I start playing my music, and then I'm going, "Am I neglecting Joey?" So it becomes hard to do everything at the same time.

BJA: I wanna create a very mellow and sound atmosphere for him, because I don't wanna make any mistakes for him--I want him to be able to make his own mistakes. And even when it comes to swearing--I don't cuss in front of my kid. I'd rather him get it from some dirty-mouthed kid at school. Then at least I'd know, I could go "Thank God--my kid is in a real world and he's learning these things from his surroundings." That'd be a good thing. Because the best things you ever learn are the things you learn in kindergarten.

Finally, after more than an hour worth of gut-spilling, Armstrong suddenly observes four brace-faced girls, each no more than 12 years old, idling over by the cash register. They're there on the pretext of getting change. In reality, they just want to ogle punk icon and pin-up darling Billie Joe, stare at those caterpillar eyebrows and chiselled cheekbones up close. Another oh-my-gawd event. "I gotta go--it's gettin' weird," the reluctant rocker whispers, literally leaping up from the booth. "I can feel eyeballs all over me already...." And as fast as that, he's gone. "Was that...was that...B-B-B-B-Billie Joe?" stammers one swooner. "No," says the waitress, with a subtle smile. "That was just some guy who usually eats here alone, nobody famous at all. You know, just an average guy." A little white lie to herd the young 'uns out. But nevertheless the truth.

#i know it wasn't healthy for him #but i miss when he would use interviews as free therapy #the discussion about how he hates playing bigger shows is interesting #obviously he figured it out because i think he genuinely likes playing arenas/stadiums now #i wonder how he did that #like did he get tips from other rock stars #or did he just work thru his emotional baggage about selling out #article #interview #articles

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devil-in-the-d3tails · 4 years

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It’s the End of the World as We Know It - Chapter 4

summary: During the international quarantine in your first-ever pandemic, the people around you slowly begin to disappear. As the world grows quieter and quieter, you find yourself all alone-- no power, no friends, and only one goal: to find whoever of your friends might be left and reunite with them.You're naive to think anything can be that simple. As you're faced with ever-increasing loneliness, you run into some boys who apparently went to the same high school as you. Will you join forces with them to figure out your strange circumstances together, or will you brave loneliness in a world that is slowly crumbling apart?

Link on AO3!

words: 3,721

rating: M - Mature

genre: angst/humor, romance, adventure, apocalypse AU, reader-insert

warnings: sort of depressing content, a smidge of violence, cursing

a/n: there's finally some ACTION y'all!! i had so much fun writing this chapter haha, reader is really finding her footing and putting an end to the bullshit! thank you for reading!!

- Fuck Outta Here -

“You huh?!”

You slam on the brakes, and Kuroo and Bokuto yell in surprise-- Bokuto didn’t put his damn seatbelt on, so his face smushes right into Kuroo’s headrest, earning you a glare from the dark-haired boy.

“I said don’t freak out! Keep driving, what are you doing?!”

You look in your rearview mirror-- the street is empty. Were they running from anyone chasing them?

“Dude, you were whispering at me when you ran out, and you guys were like, running on your little tippy-toes trying to be quiet, and nobody’s behind us right now. Were they asleep, or something?” You demand, and Bokuto gasps.

“You’re so smart-- how did you figure that out?” Bokuto exclaims, and Kuroo just looks even more annoyed. “Oh, your groceries were there, too! Like, just chillin on the floor.”

“What? No way!” You exclaim,

“Bokuto, shuuuuut iiiit,” Kuroo groans at the same time, and upon a fierce glare from you, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, they were asleep, but there’s no way in hell I’m going back in there. I get why you were scared-- one of ‘em looks like a damn school shooter, and the other one looks like a roided-out football player.” Kuroo huffs out a breath, trying and failing to get some wayward hairs out of his eye. “I’m surprised we got out alive-- I’m also surprised at how bad Asahi is at hiding weed. Did his parents just not give a shit?”

“So you were willing to stay in there to look for your weed after you knew they were there, after you saw them, but you’re not willing to go back in for my groceries? Meaning, shit that can actually help us?!” You exclaim, having fully turned in your seat to face the boy beside you. He looks at you for a moment, blinking twice to make sure he heard you correctly.

“Uh-- yeah!” He says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You throw your hands in the air incredulously.

“Kuroo, you yourself said that food is hard to come by right now-- why would you prioritize weed over food?!”

“She’s kinda right, bro.” Bokuto says, and Kuroo rolls his eyes.

“You guys were so down to be heroes and shit and protect me from those guys if they turned out to be in my house; where’s that energy now?” You fling the car into park, and move to open your door.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Kuroo exclaims, and lunges across the center console to yank your door closed again. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I’m going to get my shit! I looted it, fair and square!” You shoot back, and you realize how incredibly childish you sound, and also how close Kuroo is to you. He sets his jaw, and heaves a sigh.

“[Y/n]...” He leans back, and shares a look with Bokuto, who already looks guilty. “They had guns with them.”

Your heart sinks. Well, that changes everything.

“I didn’t wanna mention your groceries, ‘cause I had a feeling this exact thing would happen.” Kuroo explains, and scratches his eyebrow. “It’s not a bad thing how you’re so hell-bent on proving yourself and proving you’re not scared or whatever, but that mentality is gonna get dangerous. Like, right now, you’re really willing to storm in there and go get some-- what, some poptarts? Totinos pizza rolls?”

“I didn’t know they had guns before.” You mumble defensively. “...and there weren’t anymore Totinos left in the store in the first place…”

“Aw, man.” Bokuto mourns under his breath at the last part of your sentence.

“Even if they didn’t have guns, you were willing to storm in there after those guys hurt you once before.” Kuroo shoots right back.

“Well, she has us now, Kuroo.” Bokuto pipes up, and you both turn to him in surprise-- he’s been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. “She’s right, dude, we were all down to be her bodyguards this morning, but now there’s actual danger, we’re not willing to back her up?”

“There’s always been danger, but it’s exponentially worse now.” Kuroo says, and you haven’t heard anyone use ‘exponentially’ in a sentence ever since AP Calculus.

“If she wants to go back in there, I’m going with her.” Bokuto says, and crosses his arms to give you an encouraging smile. Your heart warms at the sight-- his smile, his encouragement, is all you need in this moment to get the courage to go back and take what’s yours.

“Let’s go.” You say to Bokuto, who nods once, and slips out of the car. You give a pointed look to Kuroo, his handsome features unreadable. You open your door, and step one leg out, when Kuroo speaks up.

“Wait.” He says, and you turn back hesitantly, unsure of what he might say. “You’re forgetting your mighty hammer.” He holds it out to you, and you’re so irritated to find the corners of his lips twitching up.

You swipe the hammer out of his hand, narrowing your eyes at him before slamming the door closed to stalk around the car to join Bokuto. You really weren’t expecting to get pissed off this early in the morning.

“Let’s do this!” He says loudly, and you leap to slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shh! We don’t wanna wake them up, dipshit!!” You hiss, and Bokuto’s eyes widen.

“Awww, fuck, I’m sorry!” He whispers as you pull your hand away.

A car door slams closed, and you turn to see Kuroo sauntering towards you two with his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, be quiet, dipshit.” He leers, and Bokuto actually squares up. You cross your arms.

“The car’s still running, so we need someone to watch it.” You say, channelling the bitchiest ‘you-can’t-sit-with-us’ attitude you can. “Plus, I have Bokuto and my ‘mighty hammer,’ so we’ll be fine.”

“Who’s gonna steal the car?” Kuroo gestures around him, and playfully swipes Bokuto’s arm away, the latter of whom delivers two harmless jabs to his side. The two boys laugh, but you won’t forgive Kuroo that easily. “C’mon, let’s go, grumpy.” Kuroo strides past you, ruffling your already messy hair on the way.

You have no choice but to follow behind them, and the closer you three jog to the house, the tenser you become. Steeling your nerves, you refuse to be intimidated by these guys a second time. They’re asleep, and are clearly heavy sleepers if they can’t be disturbed by the two jocks stomping around with you, so that gives you some comfort.

They didn’t close the door behind them when they rushed out, so Kuroo just has to gently ease the door open and you three slip inside silently. It seems like this house has been untouched— they probably sought shelter here last night, since your home was basically useless in terms of keeping warmth in. Your eyes dart to the hardwood floor, and you look up to hook Bokuto with an accusatory glare. He responds silently with an expression like a hurt puppy, his face reading, ‘what? What did I do wrong??’

“You said the groceries were on the floor!” Your voice is just barely a whisper, and based on Bokuto’s continued distress, you can tell he can’t hear you. You fight back a loud sigh, and tip-toe over to him, yanking his shoulder down so that his ear is on level with your lips. You repeat yourself, and Bokuto straightens up, understanding now.

“They’re upstairs! Next to those guys, in Asahi’s room.” He whispers back, and your heart sinks even lower. This is going to be riskier than you thought. You can practically feel Kuroo’s ‘I-told-you-so,’ hanging in the air, and upon glaring at the tall boy, it’s painted all over his face, too. You jerk your nose in the air, absolutely refusing to pussy out now.

The three of you cautiously ascend the stairs-- they’re on the left, as opposed to the right, like in your home, and it sort of trips you out how similar but different the two houses are. At the top, Kuroo passes you and nods to the door at the end of the hallway, slightly ajar with snores emanating from the inside. You suck in a breath as you follow him, and jump a little as Bokuto grips your hand without warning. You whip around to face him, and he gives you a smile and a thumbs-up. That just warms your heart, and you feel a little bit of confidence from the exchange-- you nod to him, a brave smile pulling at your lips.

The room itself is pretty average, just like any other high school boy’s room you knew. There’s a few volleyball posters on the walls, and clothes are still spilling out of the hamper. You’re getting less and less shocked at how everything seems to be frozen in time, since everyone just disappears without a trace, these days.

Sure enough, there’s a handgun resting on the floor next to the red-head, and another similar one resting on the bedside table by the brunette. The sight of actual guns sitting before you is jarring, to say the least— you don’t feel particularly confident about your hammer anymore.

The taller brunette is sound asleep on the bed, and the red-head is slumped on the floor, sitting against the desk with his head drooping down. You swear you can see a bit of drool hanging from his mouth, but your sole focus is on the three bags resting against the closet doors.

That’s your stuff-- you share a glance with Kuroo and Bokuto, take a deep breath, and cautiously tip-toe to the bags, picking them up as quietly as possible. As you straighten up, you keep your gaze trained on the red-head, and you successfully retreat outside of the room-- Kuroo and Bokuto follow behind you with bated breath, but it’s when you start to carefully descend the stairs that shit hits the fan.

In an instant, a bullet ricochets off the wall in front of you, and you duck down, effectively losing your footing to end up tumbling down the stairs. You hear Kuroo shout your name from above, but once you’re on solid ground, you spring up to your feet, and are met with Bokuto crashing into you. He barrels into you, and you tumble to the floor once again, landing on your back with Bokuto sprawled out on top of you.

“Get-- get off me, you fuckn-- mammoth!” You wheeze out, and Bokuto scrambles to his feet. After scooping up your groceries (with the exception of a few wayward items spilling out in the midst of the crash), you are pulled up by Bokuto, and Kuroo swiftly passes you, a slew of “shitshitshit”s running from his mouth as he sprints out the door.

You don’t have time to look behind you, up at the stairs where the red-head scrambles after you three, frantically cocking his gun, clearly very inexperienced in the art of shooting. Instead, you race after your even more athletic friends towards your van, which is still running and not stolen-- another thing Kuroo was right about, you think somewhere in the back of your mind.

Speaking of, the dark-haired boy rips open the backseat door, and after he tosses his bag of groceries inside, he frantically turns back to you just as you’re sprinting up to him.

You’re maybe two feet away when strong arms wrap around your middle, halting you in your panicked sprint, and your grocery bag tumbles out of your arms in front of you. Furious, you twist around in the grasp of whoever is holding you, only to come face-to-face with the red-head.

“You!” You both exclaim at the same time, and the guy narrows his eyes dangerously. You don’t have the patience to find out what sort of masochistic shit he has in plan for you-- instead, you summon all of the strength and frustration that’s been building up inside of you the past few days, and deliver the strongest punch you’ve ever dealt straight into his nose.

For some reason, you screech, “Fuck outta here!” as you deal the blow.

He yelps in surprise, and tumbles back, which gives you enough freedom to spin out of his grasp, only to be caught in Bokuto’s arms as you reach for your groceries strewn on the asphalt.

You’re lifted off your feet, groceries still strewn on the damp street, as Bokuto hurls you into the backseat of the car, slams the door closed, and leaps over the hood of the car to slip into the driver’s seat. Kuroo isn’t in the passenger seat, you realize, and your gaze darts out your window to spot him rushing back, scooping up your groceries to toss them into the open passenger door, where they tumble onto the floor of your car.

“Kuroo!” Both you and Bokuto yell just as the red-head recovers, his hand clasped over his now bleeding nose, blood trickling through his fingers and down his chin to stain his already filthy white shirt. The red-head raises the gun to Kuroo, who freezes in fear-- you scream, and just as you are about to shove your door back open to help, the red-head pulls the trigger, only to be met with an empty click!

“Fuck!” The red-head yells, and Kuroo actually laughs in his face-- if that wasn’t surprising enough, he slaps the gun out of his hand before he has a chance to reload, and promptly punches him, certainly harder than you had, and your face splits-- miraculously-- into a smile.

Kuroo turns, and dashes inside of the car-- as soon as his ass hits the seat, Bokuto slams his foot onto the gas as Kuroo hauls his door closed.

Bullets shatter the windows in the very back a second later, and all three of you scream and duck down as glass rains down behind you. Bokuto swerves the car, but keeps speeding ahead nonetheless, and you turn around to see the tall brunette, standing proudly in the street, gun raised and smoking. It looks like a shot out of a movie, with your shattered back window as the frame that keeps zooming out. The red-head is just barely beginning to stand, and they get smaller and smaller as you drive further away-- from your home, your biggest fears, your childhood. It’s all ruined, disappearing with every house you pass, and eventually Bokuto swerves around a corner, and it’s gone forever.

[-]

The brunette slowly lowers his gun, and lets out a disappointed sigh. The rain starts up again, drizzling on the two boys left behind in the car’s exhaust.

“Tendou,” He begins in his deep voice, which so rarely gets used to deliver pleasantries.

“I know, I know,” The red-head says, his voice blocked off slightly from his grip on his bleeding nose. “I should’ve been on watch. Sorry, Ushijima, but I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Our food is gone. Now we have to find more, and we are back in the same situation we were in three days ago.” Ushijima says evenly, and Tendou can hardly believe this is the same man that’s been starving with him for the past few days. He’s still so calm and collected-- well, he is a natural-born leader, he supposes.

“Relax. We can find them again, and take all our shit back. I’m sure they have a cute little hiding place somewhere with even more food for us. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Tendou assures, smiling his same unsettling smile he’s had since elementary school. Ushijima isn’t put off by it, though-- he never is.

He stays unbothered as he shakes his head.

“No. I’m tired of chasing after them. Let’s look around these houses, and then we’ll look for more grocery stores.” Ushijima says decisively, and picks up Tendou’s gun to hand over to him nicely. “You need to remember to keep this loaded, especially right now when there’s crazy people after us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tendou begrudgingly takes the gun from his friend with a sigh. “Not my fault I didn’t grow up knowing how to shoot a target from miles away.”

“I can only shoot a target with extreme accuracy when it’s about ten or maybe even twenty feet away.” Ushijima responds, confused as to why Tendou would give him so much credit when it comes to shooting. He pauses, then asks, “Are you alright?”

Tendou blinks, a little surprised at Ushijima’s sudden caring tone. “Yeah, I just need a towel or something-- it should stop bleeding soon.”

Ushijima nods, and pats him on the shoulder. “Let’s find some bandages, and then we’ll look for food.”

Tendou nods as he follows Ushijima back inside the house.

“Kyotani’s gonna be pissed…” He mutters under his breath.

[-]

“Ho-holy shit!” Bokuto yells, swerving around another corner without letting up on the gas.

“I know!!” You exclaim as you sway in your seat, the adrenaline just now beginning to ebb away. Your hands are shaking, but you’ve never felt more empowered. “I literally punched a guy in the face!!” You laugh, and pinch your cheeks to make sure this is real.

Kuroo laughs with you, wiping sweat off his brow, and turns around to look at you with that grin of his.

“‘Fuck outta here’? When did you become an action hero?” He teases, and you giggle, tossing your hair over your shoulder playfully.

“I guess I’m just that bitch.” You declare, and Bokuto laughs boisterously from the front seat.

The rest of the ride goes smoothly as the three of you shake out the rest of your jitters from earlier. It turns out, this is the safest and most at ease you’ve felt since the quarantine started two months ago-- Kuroo and Bokuto are some of the nicest guys you’ve ever met. You sort of can’t believe your luck; if you hadn’t run into them at the grocery store, who knows where you’d be right now?

A dopey, happy smile stays on your features the whole rest of the way back to the gym. Even though it’s started raining again, you feel on top of the world as you gaze at your two newfound friends in the front seat.

“I know I’m sexy, but you don’t gotta keep staring.” Kuroo pulls you out of your little daydream with his teasing, and you roll your eyes, but don’t stop smiling.

“Thanks, you guys. Seriously.” You say sincerely. Bokuto looks into the rearview mirror to give you another one of his heart-melting smiles.

“Ehh, don’t mention it.” Kuroo rubs the back of his neck as Bokuto turns onto a dirt road you don’t recognize.

“Uhhh… Bokuto? Where ya goin, bud?” You ask.

“Shortcut!” Bokuto declares proudly. “This side street cuts through all that traffic on the main streets.”

“Nice!” Kuroo praises, then snickers. “Except there’s no traffic right now, dude.”

“Oh.” Bokuto blinks, and blushes. “Sorry, um… force of habit?”

It actually tears your heart in two just seeing Bokuto even slightly deflated, so you leap to comfort him.

“No, don’t worry!” You lean forward, wrapping your arms over his shoulder to hug him from behind. “It’s the scenic route!”

Bokuto blushes even deeper, but his spirits are definitely lifted as he presses on. Trees drape over the unfamiliar road, and you pass by lots of beautiful shrubs and grassy areas which have only grown larger since the huge absence of people. You sit up quickly as a blue Toyota comes into view-- you’d recognize that stupid Death Star foam antenna tip anywhere. As Bokuto drives closer and closer, you have no doubt in your mind that that’s your father’s car just up ahead, the front completely crashed into a large oak tree.

“Stop! Stop,” You exclaim, but don’t wait for Bokuto to do as he’s told as you rush out of the car. Luckily, he was already slowing down as you tumble out, much to the displeasure of the boys inside the car.

You don’t quite feel your legs as dread and worry settles over you the closer you walk to the car. Had your dad been killed in a crash? Was he injured, and didn’t have the strength to call for help, and then died when you didn’t come looking for him? You cover your mouth as you feel tears prick your eyes as all sorts of terrible thoughts and scenarios overwhelm your brain, but when you finally reach the driver’s seat, you’re met with nothing.

There’s no blood stains, only a now-deflated airbag, and you notice that the seatbelt is still clicked into place. A chill goes up your spine-- it’s as if your dad just… disappeared.

“Yo, what’s going on?” Kuroo’s voice coming up behind you snaps you out of your little trance, and you turn to Kuroo and Bokuto in distress. They frown at your expression, and you can’t help the sniffle that escapes you.

“This is, um… this is my dad’s car.” You say, and your voice is so small. Kuroo and Bokuto exchange a glance, unsure of what to say. You don’t expect them to have any words of comfort, anyway-- you’ve all lost those closest to you, so you’re all familiar with this feeling but… seeing your dad’s car, how it’s crashed in such a peculiar way with zero trace of your dad ever being there… it hurts so much more when you don’t even have a body to bury, or ashes to hold onto.

You bite your lip, and open the driver’s side door to flip the sun visor down, revealing a picture of you, your dad, and your mom on vacation, clipped in place next to the mirror. With a sad smile, you gingerly take the photo, and run your fingers over the faces of your mom and dad.

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, and you look up with teary eyes to meet Bokuto’s bright ones. He’s smiling, if only to comfort you.

“Let’s go.” He says gently, and you suck in a breath, and nod. The three of you pile back into the car, and you tuck the picture into your jacket’s inside pocket, placing your hand over it just to make sure it’s safe as Bokuto continues the drive back to the gym.

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #akaashi x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #bokuto x reader #reader insert

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phobiadeficient · 4 years

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Speeding bullet - scout being really braggy and boastful while 'trying' to get sniper into bed and when sniper finally agrees Scout is rlly fuckin insecure bc he didn't think it would work

scout tf2 all “ooh i got big dick energy” until he’s gotta get his dick out. ft. trans sniper because i fuckin feel like it

It was only half-joking, yeah, but that still meant that half of it was a joke.

It mostly started as just… an extension of what Scout was already kind of doing. It had started on him trying to get Snioer to laugh, and when it turned out he liked doing that, he’d worked hard to dig up all sorts of material. Puns and lame dad jokes and stuff, mostly. Then when he’d run low on those, he moved on to cheesy pickup lines. Then eventually he moved on to just regular pickup lines, then it somehow morphed into straight up flirting.

Kissy faces at Sniper across the room when he was trying to focus on a different conversation and pretending he hadn’t been doing anything when the other person looked was one of them that he had fun with for a while. Offhandedly saying “hot” when Sniper did normal, regular things, because to be fair, Sniper was a real attractive dude. Sniper occasionally bopping him on the shoulder for a sassy remark, to which Scout would make a dramatic noise and go “harder” just to make Sniper blush. Casually calling Sniper “babe” or “hon” when he wasn’t really paying attention just to see him sputter a bit.

He didn’t think it was ever gonna go anywhere, not just on the basis of it mostly being a joke, but also because Sniper was wayyy out of Scout’s league, as far as he was concerned. Mysterious Australian marksman, tall and handsome, real sweet and awfully polite in a way that made him the exact kind of guy Scout would’ve wanted to bring home to his Ma back when he lived in Boston and was still trying to date for real.

And he knew Sniper was into dudes, had gathered as much when Sniper one day quietly murmured some remark about an ex-boyfriend and promptly tried to brush past it. But that didn’t necessarily mean he was into Scout.

But he liked the way Sniper’s mouth ticked up at the corner when he hit him with a really good pick up line. Liked the way Sniper would sometimes roll his eyes, sometimes flush, sometimes sputter and smack his shoulder. It was nice, the thing they had going. Friends, but better than coworker friends, but kind of different than friends. It was a weird dynamic they had going on.

They were in Scout’s room one day, playing checkers on the shitty little board Scout had picked up from a thrift store at some point and never gotten around to throwing away. Sitting across from each other with the board between them on Scout’s bed, Scout criss-cross and Sniper half-lounged against the wall.

Sniper finished off his last two pieces in a double jump, and Scout swore, having lost track of the piece responsible.

“You suck, dude,” Scout complained, picking up the pieces and stacking them with the rest of his own.

“Mate, you suck,” Sniper corrected.

“Only on weekends,” Scout shot back, only a second delayed, and winked. “But hey, I can make exceptions.”

“Is that right?” Sniper asked.

This was a new bit. Sniper didn’t usually push the joke forward, or prompt him for more. Scout rolled with it. “Yeah, man,” he laughed. “I can start taking walk-in appointments for a nice face.”

“How far do you schedule in advance?” Sniper asked next, raising an eyebrow.

“Not too busy these days,” Scout shrugged.

“Might be able to say you’re able to… squeeze someone in?” Sniper asked, and Scout’s heart hammered, even as he burst into laughter.

“Aw, fuck, that’s a good line. Jesus, I’m mad I didn’t think of that first,” he managed, and Sniper was smiling too, looked away after a second.

“Thanks, mate,” he replied, looking satisfied. He shifted, not looking back. “You’d think there’d be a waiting list a mile long.”

“Fuckin’ tell me about it,” Scout groaned, leaning back to get a bit more comfortable. “I mean, seriously. There’s like nobody out here. Unless I wanna dick down on some sand or whatever, I’m shit outta luck. And most of the people in town are way too old for me, and the people that ain’t are like, either taken or super weird or just not interested. And yeah, one or two are all clear, everything’s fine, but the second the word relationship crops up, poof, gone, smoke cloud, fuckin’ witness protection levels of disappeared. What’s a guy gotta do to get appreciated a little around here, y’know?”

Sniper nodded and hummed sympathetically. “Well, I’m sure there’s one or two people around who can tell a good thing when they see it,” he said, tilting his head.

“We talkin’ besides you?” Scout asked, grinning and starting to gesture at himself. “I mean, look at this, look at all’a this! No duh, I know you’ve got two workin’ eyes and at least a little bit of taste. Even if your food is fucked up and weird.”

Sniper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Humble, are we?”

“What, am I supposed to be?” Scout asked, cheeky and unapologetic.

“It’s alright. It’s cute,” Sniper replied, glancing him up and down.

Scout flushed. The tables weren’t usually turned like this, and it was taking surprisingly little to fluster him. “Thanks,” was all he could think of. He cursed himself for not having a better line. “I mean, yeah. Of course I am. Uh, it is. Fuck.”

Sniper chuckled, and sat up. “Thought you usually hate it when people call you cute,” he pointed out, tilting his head back and forth to stretch his neck where he’d been sitting weird.

“I mean, it’s okay if it’s… you,” Scout said, words slowing as he realized how sappy that sounded. “I—I’d be okay with—“

He stammered a little, distracted by the visual of Sniper pulling off his shades, which he almost never did, and folding them up, setting them off to one side and fixing him with a look, eyes sharp and overwhelming now that they were uncovered and Scout was faced with the absolute brunt of them.

“—I mean I-I-I’d be okay with all sorts of things,” he said, a little desperate to turn the conversation back to their standard flirty jokes. He felt way out of his depth all of a sudden and it made him a little uncomfortable.

Then every muscle in Scout’s body froze as Sniper moved forward.

He knocked over their little stacks of checker chips with his knee, sending a few in a lazy topple down off the bed towards the floor, and a gentle push to Scout’s shoulder was all it took to make him fall back onto his back, and then Sniper was over him, on top of him, inside of his thigh against the outside of Scout’s propped up on his arms.

“What sorts of things?” Sniper prompted quietly.

Scout’s breath caught, staring up at Sniper with wide eyes.

After a few seconds of silence, Sniper’s eyebrows started to furrow. “You awright, mate?” he asked gently.

“Yeah! Yeah, for sure,” Scout said right away, fumbling to try and find a good place to put his hands, settling on Sniper’s shoulders despite the awkward bend it put into his elbows between them.

“Are you… not ready, to…?” he started to ask next, trailing a little, and Scout was faced with a series of concepts. That Sniper thought their arrangement was one where Scout could be ready for this. That Sniper thought they had some kind of arrangement. That Sniper wanted him.

The last one buzzed around in his head hard enough that Scout didn’t even remember to respond.

“We can stop,” Sniper said next, and Scout fumbled for a good reply.

“No! No, I’m good. It’s good,” he said, trying to calm his hammering pulse.

Sniper sat up a little, glancing him up and down again. “It just seems like you’re nervous is all,” he said.

And he was, and he was sure his hands would be shaking if they weren’t holding on to Sniper’s shoulders. “I’m good,” he said anyways. “I just—I dunno what you, what you like, what you want.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Sniper replied, and Scout had to fight hard not to jump at the feeling of Sniper trailing a hand down his side. “What do you want to do?”

Scout swallowed hard. “Can,” he started to ask, and he didn’t know how he could be reading this wrong but he was sure that he was, had to be, felt this was an insane thing to be able to request but Sniper had asked so he tried anyways, “can I touch you?”

Sniper shrugged, sitting up just slightly further, squaring his shoulders to open himself up. “Go ahead,” he prompted, and Scout did.

He managed to undo the buttons of Sniper’s shirt, pushing it down his shoulders a little ways before he realized he had an undershirt on and that it would need to go as well. A glance up at Sniper, and Sniper chuckled, sat back slightly, pulled off his shirt and undershirt both before he leaned back forward within range of Scout’s hands.

Scout traced across all the scars he could find with gentle fingers, trailing them momentarily over two large scars there at Sniper’s pecs. “How’d you get these?” he asked, glanced up at Sniper.

Sniper frowned. “Mate, I’ve told you already,” he said quietly, and Scout took a good few moments to realize what Sniper meant, then looked down again with wide eyes.

Somehow the words “top surgery” hadn’t brought him the mental image of big, wide scars. Suddenly he was all the more impressed with Sniper. “Oh yeah,” he said, tracing over them again. “Huh.”

Sniper fixed him with a befuddled smile, the sort of fond “are you serious, how’d you forget that?” look he tended to get from people who actually liked him, and Scout could only smile back sheepishly. Finally Sniper rolled his eyes and plucked on Scout’s shirt. “Planning on ever taking this off?” he asked, and Scout quickly nodded, trying to wrestle himself free of the shirt as fast as he could. “Easy, mate. No time limit, here.”

“I know!” Scout said a little defensively, finally getting the shirt off over his head, and Sniper smoothed down the hair on one side of his head where it was probably sticking up and looking dumb.

God, he probably looked so dumb. There lying beneath a big, cool guy like Sniper, all… scrawny and already flushing and not a single cool scar to speak of—

“Mate, it’s alright if you’re nervous,” Sniper said, worry increasing.

“No I’m not nervous why would I be nervous I’m totally cool,” Scout said all in a rush.

Sniper raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I mean, maybe a little a little nervous, but just because I—“ And he realized it in the same moment he fished through his head for an excuse. “I just don’t have anything to… y’know, stuff we might need.”

Sniper stared, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I don’t have any condoms or anything on me,” Scout finally admitted, surely flushed down to his chest.

Sniper’s lips parted around a silent “oh”, and he nodded. “Awright. Well, that’s fine, still plenty we can do,” he decided aloud after a second. “How’s about I tug you off, you do the same for me?”

Scout didn’t know how he was in a situation where it was acceptable to ask the thing he blurted a second later, but thank god that he was. “Can I go down on you?” he asked, not entirely sure what words he would use in the specific and not wanting to be super rude and ask.

Sniper laughed, grinning. “Sure, mate. If you want,” he nodded. Another look up and down. “Mind if I get you off first, though? I’ll admit, I’ve, er, been looking forward to the chance a bit.”

“Go ahead,” Scout said weakly, and Sniper’s grin widened, and he moved to work Scout’s pants open in simple, confident motions.

It was a little embarrassing that he was so hard already, and he had to look away from Sniper, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. Sniper hummed, and then spit into his hand, and then he was jacking Scout off, steady and nice.

“How’s that?” he prompted softly into Scout’s collarbone when all Scout did for a while was pant and gasp quietly.

“S’good,” he managed, voice shaky. “Real good. Real fuckin’ good.”

So good that he felt a moan rising up in his chest and pressed his hand against his mouth, biting down on the meaty part of his palm to try to stifle it.

“Oh, no,” Sniper chided, voice a growl, taking Scout’s wrist and pinning it just to one side of him, grinning. “I wanna hear you.”

Scout started to protest, but then Sniper squeezed nice nice nice over the head and it made his lashes flutter, his back arch, his mouth fall open in a gasp trailed by a moan, and his face was absolutely on fire.

“There’s a beauty,” Sniper purred, and pulled his hand back to spit in it a second time before he returned, picking up speed and apparently greatly enjoying the way Scout squirmed, the noises that rose up in his throat. “There you go. Nice, aren’t it?”

“Yeah,” Scout agreed, and he wished he could shut up, wished he could shut his big fuckin’ mouth for a minute before he embarrassed himself, but he couldn’t, could only whimper out praises and pleads as Sniper drew him closer to, and finally over, the edge, heralded by a weak groan and Sniper’s name.

He came back down to earth to the feeling of lips and stubble against his cheek, his jaw. Scout blindly fumbled with his newly-freed hand towards his dresser, managing to find the tissues and mop himself off, still flushed, thoroughly embarrassed.

“Cute,” Sniper hummed, looking down at him, and Scout groaned, head falling back for a second to finish collecting himself.

“Uh,” he tried to say, blinked once or twice, looked at Sniper. “Hey, let me hit you with somethin’ real quick.”

“Mm?” Sniper asked, mildly intrigued.

“How about you, uh.” And usually he was so much smoother, way cooler, but Sniper had him frazzled in a way that most people didn’t, not even that really hot guy he met the year after he graduated, the one with the leather jacket and the cologne that made him practically lightheaded. He fumbled for a way to phrase it that was hot, but couldn’t seem to find anything, and just sighed, spitting it out and cutting the bullshit. “How about you sit on my face?”

Because in a cursory glance, he’d noticed that while Sniper was smiling, movements languid and smooth in a way that meant he was very much into the proceedings, he didn’t seem to have a bulge in his pants, there being no hardness to speak of when he ground his hips forward into Scout’s thigh. And apparently he’d made the right call, because Sniper chuckled and agreed.

And to be honest, he didn’t remember much after that. It was mostly a haze, movement and heat, Sniper’s husky voice dripping into his ears much in the same way that slickness dropped down Scout’s chin and cheeks. All he knew was that Sniper was gorgeous, and seemed to like what Scout could do with his mouth—and damn right he did, he had enough experience that he would be a little insulted otherwise. All he knew was that halfway through he found himself outright hard again, and wound up jerking himself off desperately with his free even as he continued trying to wring noises out of Sniper with mouth and fingers, muffled groans escaping him as Sniper decided to tease him about it in that low raspy voice he was starting to get addicted to.

Sniper finished first, and the rush he got feeling Sniper’s legs close right around his head drove him over the edge, bucking and making Sniper roll forward slightly and prolonging things for him.

And finally Sniper was leaning up onto his knees, reaching for the same tissues Scout had gone for earlier and laughing at the picture Scout made. His hair was all stuck up on one side again, he was pretty sure, and his face was red and shiny with wetness, lips swollen and parted as he panted, staring up at Sniper with bright eyes.

“We gotta do this again some time,” Scout said before Sniper was even done wiping himself down.

And Sniper laughed. “Sure, mate. Any day of the week.”

#//sniperscout #//trans characters #//tenderness

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billnye4potus · 5 years

Text

Another late night drabble

Idk where I got this idea but it popped up in my head and I had to write it. Enjoy this clusterfuck.

“A… dance?” the class asks, confused looks on their faces.

Aizawa sighs. “The administration seems to think it’ll raise moral. So the school is putting together a dance for the students. It’ll also give you a chance to mingle with students from General and Support. Think of it as a Prom of sorts.”

“Are we allowed to bring dates?” Kaminari asks.

“Only if they’re from this school. Teachers will be chaperoning the event, so don’t get any ideas, Kaminari. It’s obviously a formal event, so dress accordingly. You have two weeks to get suits and dresses. Class is dismissed.”

Kirishima stands up, his heart pounding. This would be the perfect opportunity to confess his feelings. He quickly catches up with Bakugou. “So, you gonna go to this dance?”

Bakugou scoffs. “Fuck no. Shit is stupid as hell. I avoid anything that gives my dad an excuse to put me in a suit.”

“You wore a suit to the party on I Island.”

“Yeah, because you fuckin forced me to. I’m just gonna fuckin stay at the dorms and get some work done while everyone else is stuck listening to shitty music while wearing uncomfortable clothes.”

Kirishima frowns. “Right.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah. I’ll probably go as a group with Sero, Kaminari, and Mina.”

“Not gonna find a date?”

“No.”

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. “Whatever, Shitty Hair. Come on. You need to study for tomorrow’s quiz.”

Kirishima stares at the ground, only barely registering Bakugou’s words. He can’t ask Bakugou to the dance. Not if Bakugou doesn’t want to go. Sure, he could just go with his other friends. But his friends are all in relationships and are probably going with their significant others. He’ll be alone. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t go…’ he thinks.

“Oi! Kirishima. Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” Kirishima looks up. “Sorry. I was just… thinking.”

Bakugou snorts. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Hey, uh… Bakugou? I think I’m just gonna turn in early. I don’t feel like studying tonight.”

“I ain’t giving you a choice. You need to pass the quiz.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Bakugou stops and crosses his arms. “We always study after class.”

“I’m tired, dude.”

“You need to study.”

“I’m just fucking tired! I’m going to bed!” Kirishima shouts.

Bakugou’s brows furrow, obviously taken aback by the yelling and cursing. “Fine.”

Kirishima stomps off.

This sucks. It really fucking sucks. Kirishima can’t seem to get his mind off this damn dance or Bakugou. He’s been avoiding is explosive best friend for three days now. The school is buzzing with excitement over the dance and, at this point, Kirishima can’t bring himself to care. If he can’t go with Bakugou, there’s no point in going. He’d just be seventh wheeling with his friends. Mina is going with Tetsutetsu, Sero is going with Todoroki, and Kaminari is going with Shinsou. Kirishima would be completely alone.

He’s quickly ripped from his thoughts by a knock on the door. He groans into his pillow. “Go away!”

“C’mon, bro!” Kaminari’s voice calls. “You’ve been sulking for three days! It’s time to get over whatever is going on and come hang out with us!”

“I told you to go away!”

“Do I have to make Blasty come talk to you?”

Kirishima’s chest aches at the mention of Bakugou. “Don’t do that…”

The door slowly opens and Kaminari steps into the room. He sits down on the edge of the bed and rubs Kirishima’s shoulder. “Dude, what’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“It’s stupid…”

“Talk to me, man. It ain’t very manly to keep your feelings in.”

Kirishima curses silently. Kaminari has always known just how to get him to talk. Before he knows it, the words are spilling out. “I just don’t get what I’m doing wrong! I’ve tried everything, man… I flirt, I’m touchy, I blatantly fucking stare at him! And now all this dance stuff… I asked him if he was going and he said no. He said he has better things to do. So now I’m stuck either skipping the dance or going alone and spending all night watching everyone else have fun.”

Kaminari’s brows furrow in confusion. “Dude… Are you talking about Bakugou? You’re into Bakugou?”

“Thought I made it pretty obvious.”

“But… But you’re sunshine incarnate! You’re the kindest, happiest guy I know! And you’re telling me you have a crush on Lord Explosion Murder himself?”

Kirishima buries his face even deeper into his pillow. “I’m in love with him, Kaminari… And I don’t know what to do. He obviously isn’t into me.”

“Alright… I’ll help you. Let me go talk to Blasty.”

Kirishima grabs Kaminari’s wrist with an iron grip and looks up with a scowl. “If you say anything about this to him, I’ll never forgive you.”

Kaminari laughs and shakes his head. “Chill, dude. I’m just gonna see what kind of info I can get outta him. No need to be so jumpy.”

“Fine…” Kirishima buries his face in his pillow once again. He knows Kaminari isn’t telling the whole truth, but doesn’t have the energy to fight about it. He just wants to sleep and ignore all of his problems until they go away.

Sleep does eventually come after Kaminari leaves, but it’s short-lived before his door is thrown open.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Kirishima!” Bakugou shouts.

Kirishima blinks a few times and sits up, groggy from his nap. “Uh… Why?”

Bakugou stalks forward, poking his finger against Kirishima’s chest. “Why didn’t you fucking ask me?”

“Huh?”

“Come on, Hair-For-Brains! Ask me to that stupid dance or whatever!”

Kirishima’s eyes widen. “What?” he squeaks.

“Ask me to the dance.”

“Y- You don’t wanna go.”

Bakugou leans forward until his nose is brushing Kirishima’s. The tension is palpable. “Ask me.”

Kirishima takes a shaky breath. “Uh… D- Do you wanna… go to the dance with me?”

A grin stretches across Bakugou’s typically angry face. “You’re the only motherfucker here I’d even dream of going to this stupid shit with.”

“Is that a yes?”

“My dad needs your measurements by tomorrow if we want our suits in time.”

Kirishima can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from his chest. All tension and sorrow seems to have disappeared in an instant. “So… It’s a date?”

Bakugou smirks. “Damn right it is. And that means your my boyfriend. So if you ignore me for three days again, I reserve the right to kick your ass.”

Without really thinking, Kirishima leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to Bakugou’s lip. “Yeah. Alright.”

Bakugou’s smirk turns soft as he runs his hands through Kirishima’s hair. “You could’ve just asked me, dumbass. I would’ve said yes.”

“I was scared.”

“Don’t be fuckin scared. Now come on. I’m taking you on a date.”

#my writing #kiribaku #kiribaku drabble #bnha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou

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alistoffeelings · 2 years

Text

May

My main reason for not going to university is the fear that on day one they’ll make me do icebreakers with the class

Cat pissed in my roller skates

If interdimensional travel was possible id want to visit the version of me that was circumcised so I could laugh at him

127 hours except mentally

Going on a brisk walk

Finding a hair where you shouldn’t

Being that hair

An evil villains secret lair but it's a nice two story apartment with great city views and the trains nearby only pass a few times a day so as not to disturb the peace too much

Being welcomed into a group in which you don’t belong

Curse the swine that imprisoned me in my own head

Don’t forget me

Your photo on a block of wood for $30

Being boring as FUCK and not knowing how to not be

Corn on the cob with a bit of butter and salt

Tuesday is such a nothing day

How is swimming fun like seriously after 5 minutes im outta there

Yeah im a fucking Pisces shut the fuck up

My social battery is empty but don’t leave me on my own

Sprite sucks

I was scared of butterflies until I was like 15

I’m going to be reincarnated as a bee cause fuck it why not

The overwhelming smell of a grilled cheese

If you’re a bad person in life in death you spend purgatory in a kmart

Wanting tattoos but never liking anything enough to get it tattooed

Imagine being murdered and having a law n order episode about your death but you get played by some shit D list celebrity and your episode gets a shit rating on imdb

If you like peppermint tea I have bad news about your ability to taste

Jawbreakers are not as good as ed edd n eddy made them out to be

Our energies just don’t match and by that I mean im cooler than you

Navigating every social interaction like its a game so you don’t go crazy

God I wanna fuck the folds of the michelin man

#poetry

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shitty-fallout-art · 6 years

Text

Companion meme MUGGY

Name: muggy

Karma: good

Alliance: none/ the sink

Location: the sink; big mountain

Perks:

Little bot, big bite- size doesn't matter, it's how you use it. You now do bonus damage to large enemies such as super mutants or securitrons. (Permanent perk, must complete personal quest)

Lets break it down!- muggy has taught you how to be more efficient at the workbench. You now get bonus materials when breaking down items at a workbench. (Temporary perk, must have muggy as active party member)

General:

"<hums the mug song> errrhhh...no! God damn this song!"

"Hey! Don't walk so fast! They programmed me to wash dishes, ok, not run track!"

"Wow, I've never been outside the sink before! The world looks...absolutely filthy! Ugh!"

Combat:

"OH FUCK ME!"

"Oh great. Combat. Just my fucking specialty!"

"<terrified screaming>"

Death/ unconscious:

"With my dying breath....I curse thee...doctor oh"

"<over exaggerated chocking sounds>"

"It's...so cold...so dark...farewell"

Revive:

"Don't ever let that happen to me again!"

"My legs! I can't feel my legs!...oh..wait..."

"Thanks for the fucking help!"

After combat:

"WOOOHOOO! I TOTALLY KICKED ASS!"

"HAHAHAHA FUCK YOU ASSHOLE! I WIN! MUGGY WINS!"

"Another victory for the little guy"

Sneaking:

"Outta sight, outta mind"

"I'll try not to let my screaming of mortal terror give away our posistion"

"Don't worry, I doubt anything bad will happen when they inevitably catch us"

Open inventory:

"You better be handing me mugs this time, I'm tired of hauling around your garbage"

"Sure, make me the walking trash can for you to dumb your useless crap in, ITS NOT LIKE I MIND OR ANYTHING!"

"I might have some energy cells for you...if you have some coffee cups for me"

Lovers embrace/ romance:

"What's cookin good lookin"

"Hey! You! Yeah you! ...wanna hold hands...?"

"Huggy for muggy?"

Location specific:

The sink:

"Be careful going near the biological research station. He'll...SEED you..."

"Ya know, sometimes I feel bad about the other ai that's stuck up here. But then I remember how they weren't programmed to be self aware of their obsession, and suddenly, I remember THAT I HATE THEM!"

"That sinks central ai can suck my chassis, that pretentious fuck"

The think tank:

"doctor ooohh better be prepared tO THROW SOME ROUNDS WITH ME!"

"<scoffs> think tank? More like...think..dank...ah fuck it"

"<angrily muttering>"

The forbidden dome:

"<mocking doctor Mobius> 'a dome, that is, forbidden! To you!'...god what a dick"

"God, Mobius really let himself go..."

"AHH! ROBOSCORPIONS!"

The strip:

"No, I'm totally not jealous of these big, intimidating securitrons! Not insecure or anything! JUST PEACHY!"

"Oooooo...I bet there's just...PILES...of dirty dishes around here. Makes me shudder to think about"

"Wait a minute. Is...is Robert house still alive? HOW!?"

Personal quest:

01000111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01110010 01100101 01101011 01110100 00100000- help muggy get revenge on Doctor 0 by sabotaging his work. Replace doctor 0s notes so that his project is rendered inert. (Optional, kill doctor 0 by causing his project to blow up)

I finally feel at ease- help muggy find peace of mind by upgrading him to no longer be obsessed with mugs.

Likes:

Killing the think tank members

Killing mr house

Uploading yes man into the strips mainframe

Bringing him mugs

Affection directed towards him

Dislikes:

Siding with the think tank

Siding with mr house

Disabling robots

Using coffee cups

#shittys headcanons #companion meme #fallout #fallout new vegas #old world blues #muggy

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lecherouswritings · 6 years

Text

I gotta dump these alterations here excuse me!!! I guess if anyone doesn’t want spoilers to my stories lol

Had some ideas I didn’t wanna forget so I’m gonna dump them here for further development when the day comes someday. The hunters! There’s that burly trapper dude, the sharpshooter dude, and the manipulative lady. I think I want her to deal with poisons and stuff? One hunter is killed in Georgia, Rat has a snap-second reaction and kills this guy on the spot without realizing it’s like a hunter. Peter recognizes him, bursts out laughing when Rat kills him ?? hmm Can’t decide which hunter bites it first. The sharpshooter is really cute and all the girls fawn over him and it makes Peter mad because he’s a gross weirdo and doesn’t like competition. Sharpshooter loves birds, his sister and him keep birds and Peter loves birds too. Loves them. The village declines because Grandfather has a CHANGE OF HEART and decides human sacrifices are OUT and love is IN and that makes Peter SO ANGERY... it makes Hito angry too!!!!! THE LAND IS CURSED THAT’S WHY PPL THINK THEY’RE SEEING WOLVES BUT THEY ARE NOT WOLVES LOL the founders aka 3 lil piggies, man with house of hay stacks, man who built house of wood, and Grandfather with his stone home, all 3 are destroyed, other two men are killed, leaving Grandfather and the residents of the land AKA HITOTIANS!!! GASP!!!! and he’s like EEHGHH PLS DON’T KILL ME I JUST WANNA START A NEW LIFE OUT HERE ALSO MY TEETH FUCKING SUCK I DIDN’T TAKE CARE OF THEM so Hito is like Ok worship me I’m God however the fuck you wanna interpret that, kill ppl for me and I’ll make everything good and he’s like gimme wolf teeth and we have a deal and she’s like OK DEAL. THAT’S WHY THE TOWN THRIVES, and he leaves town to bring in outsiders and claims THESE SINNERS WERE TRYNA HURT US and will often pick up minorities because he’s racist and gross and given the time period and area there was a lot of hostility between shitty white assholes and Mexicans/Native peoples, hey I’m not defending Grandfather here racists exist. Hito doesn’t care racist or not, as long as ppl die that’s all that matters and if he wants to do it under the guise of Jesus or whatever the fuck fine, just do the Ritual I Asked You To Do and we’re good, and he’s like yeah cool. Then he asks for MORE, I want a SON :(((( and Hito’s like ok, go fuck someone and have a son but I swear to Me you’re gonna have to up your killing game I hate the idea of letting you make more people like that’s the opposite of my teachings you dumb shit ?! THE WOLF is a manifest of the cursed Hitotian land, that since the ppl perceive the monsters as wolves that Hito is like cool, this Proto Rat creature that’s being projected, so there’s this malicious spirit that’s lingering because Grandfather is SLACKING in his murders, so the crops are failing and people are getting sick and Peter is becoming host to this Wolf thing and Grandfather is NOT A FAN OF THAT, decides it’s SATAN and we gotta DRIVE SATAN OUT, not realizing it’s his own stupid ass fault for ignoring Hito’s wishes. After he has a son he wants to like retire and start preaching love and shit. Peter had prophetic dreams of Rat and helping Rat and THAT’S SCARY NO I WANNA BE A LITTLE KID I LIKE BIRD SONGS AND STICKS ALKGHAKJGH just kidding I’ve been tied to a bed most of my life I don’t know what I like. God I guess, Grandfather tells me how much God loves me and love is supposed to be good, good good, when Peter is good Grandfather takes him on walks so GOD BLESS. But after a while he gets to move about the room and seeing people outside his toothed window and he gets Angry. Shouts HI GRANDPA from his bed tied up because he can hear the front door slam shut. Grandpa will go untie him if he’s been good and read some bible to him or feed him or tell him how his day went CENSORED VERSION LOL because the boy is............ Not right............. all that Wolf stuff growing up MY HORRIBLE SON.....but he’s gonna carry on his legacy. HAVE A SON, SON. So Grandfather is the way he is because he made a deal with Hito ( GOD ) and the Wolf ( Proto-Rat ) tries to influence him but he’s TOO STUPID so the demon goes roaming around causing havok mindless energy no where to go. A lot of Hitotian demons target kids because they don’t have any defenses and are naive. So the town does descend into some madness because Grandfather quits. I have a scene where Sharpshooter’s sister kills her sons because she had sex with Grandfather and therefore committed a Sin and punished herself by killing her kids, and then killed the birds she kept and was shoving them inside herself and screaming gibberish about how they were going to remove the sin from her, and Peter and some of the villagers are there and I think I was thinking Peter would allow Sharpshooter to kill her instead of himself as like a familial courtesy out of respect. Peter’s more upset about the birds :( and maybe some sick pleasure in seeing Sharpshooter upset having to kill his sister like idk. Taking pride in someone else’s misery. Hito keeps Grandfather alive because that’s punishment death would be the easy way out!!! Live and suffer!! I’m gonna do away with the toxic chemicals thing because Hito can just mutate people as punishment and I like that better. If Rat kills the handsome guy then ... That leave gruff trapper dude who would be more well equipped to deal with Rat in the last arc, but... I’m thinking Peter gains trust from Grandfather by getting Sharpshooter on his side like “I let you take your sister’s life, I didn’t rob you of that, I’m a man of my word and you can testify” sort of shit. Yeah, so let’s have the gruff trapper be the GA victim and the sharpshooter be in the village at the end. The lady hunter tho isn’t having any of Peter’s shit and they have a confrontation and Amy helps and yea they help each other. I like the idea of Peter covering her with a rifle as she goes out into the wild to find Rat, then Peter had to go after Amy because she gets her leg caught in a bear trap and has to get her outta there and is like Well I’m already here might as well look for Rat before Sharpshooter finds him fuuck he tells Amy to go back and hide but she sneakily trails by the time Peter finds Rat, Rat’s stuck in a hole!!! A trap!!! He can’t get out he’s all rotted and gross!!!! and he’s YOWLING!!! HELP!!! :( Sharpshooter is there, and he’s like OH PETER JUST IN TIME :))) LET’S KILL THIS THING and Amy’s watching from the thicket. Peter has some crazy ass vision and is like hhHH and shoots Sharpshooter’s kneecaps out and ties him to a tree with his own rope. Rat’s saying some gibberish and Peter’s like oh no the wolf is so hungry hungry boy feed wolf feed wolf the hunter munch munch that was a tasty leg Thank You.... Hey Friend, can you help me out of here? SO YES Peter reaches down and pulls Rat out but IT’S SYMBOLISM FOR WHEN HE WAS A KID AND REACHED OUT TO RAT AND “LET HIM IN” SO RAT GETS OUT AND IS LIKE YESSSSSBITCH the 2nd rain of blood happens and he tells Peter to run back to the village. Amy follows behind him. I HAVEN’T DECIDED HOW RYAN, JESS, AND KYLE GET OUT OF THEIR TORTUROUS PREDICAMENT YET BUT I WILL BECAUSE THEY’RE THERE and they all reunite and RAT DESCENDS ONTO THE VILLAGE AND KILLS EVERYBODY LOL, theres all these Hitotian demons that just DECIMATE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING. Ryan is SO MAD at Peter because this is ALL HIS FAULT, and Amy already had this fight with Peter but they reconciled and teamed up but RYAN IS NOT FORGIVING and GOUGES PETER’S EYES OUT SO HE CAN’T SEE HIS GOD ( THIS IS SO SAD.meme ) and it’s the real first time since his reign as tyrant of the village when he was younger just FLIP THE FUCK OUT because Rat’s going through his final stages of metamorphosis and everyone can witness it but Peter slkdgjslkgh RYAN!!!!!! I think the castration of Rat happens just before the villagers capture them ??? SPEAKING OF CASTRATION that was really big with Peter, lots of sterilizing and castrating because THE ROOT OF PEOPLE’S SINS ARE THEIR DESIRES so I love that he has this knack for cutting genitals and Rat’s like I NEED A CUT BRO and he’s like oh Yeah I know this song and dance hold my beer. I think tho.... Peter has to kill his Grandfather, maybe after he returns to the village? I can’t decide if it’s a YES I FINALLY GET TO KILL YOU or a I LOVE YOU AFTER ALL BUT I HAVE TO DO THIS :(((( I can’t decide. I’LL FIGURE THIS OUT LATER. Also what if Grandfather was creeping on Eunice and so when Peter had a thing with her, he had Hito’s demons go kill her off in the woods??? hmm... idk how I feel about that.... or Rat’s wolf entity would ?? Yeah he would lol just to fuck with Peter, fuck you for having nice things you dumb bitch COME WORSHIP ME IN A FEW DECADES NERD!!! If I think of anything else I’ll make another dump post but there’s SO MUCH and also I gotta sleep but this is what I got in the last few days.

#long post

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teentitansblackbird · 7 years

Text

Chapter 4

The Watchtower. April 24th, 2028. 2:40 PM EST.

Damian entered the computer room and pulled his cowl off, letting a worn sigh pass his lips as he approached the seated figure currently still unaware of his presence. He didn’t think too much on it, but he and Drake hadn’t talked much since Damian became Batman. After Tim earned his Master’s in Forensics, he and Stephanie were in and out of Gotham rather frequently. Of course they saw each other every November, but they hadn’t actually sat down and had a proper conversation since… well, since Damian had been Robin.

“You certainly seem to enjoy monitor duty,” the Batman said as he leaned over the other cowled figure’s shoulder.

The Red Robin smiled as he looked back to meet his younger brother’s eyes. “Well, Stephanie always says I’m good with computers.”

“How are they, by the way?” Damian asked, taking the open seat beside Tim and running his eyes over the swarm of displays before him.

“Good,” Tim smirked. “Ryan’s about ready to start walking.”

“That’s big,” The younger man remarked, his eyebrows raised.

“Well… not as big as your news,” Tim said with a wink. “Congratulations, man.”

“Thank you,” Damian replied, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t surprised; Tim had a way of finding things out.

“Boy or girl?” The older brother leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his eyes moving back to the screens.

“We don’t know yet,” Damian leaned back, looking at the photograph Tim had placed on the console. In it he could see Stephanie smiling back at him, holding young Ryan in her arms. The boy had her hair and Tim’s eyes. Ryan was rather soft-spoken, not quick to warm up to new people. Still, the baby took to Damian well enough, much to his relief.

“You got names picked out?”

“Yeah.” Damian smiled. “Thaddeus if it’s a boy. Angela if it’s a girl.”

“Thaddeus…” Tim turned to look back at Damian. “Like Alfred.”

“Mhmm,” Damian replied. “And Angela for Arella, Raven’s mother.”

“Where is she, by the way?” Tim reached for his coffee as he asked.

“She’s gone to see Zatanna, tell her the news…” Damian paused for a moment before looking back to Tim. “Is Superman around?”

“The big one? Yeah, he’s here talking to some of the new guys,” the other replied. “Haven’t seen yours around, though. Sorry.”

“Ah well. Thanks anyways…” Damian sighed as he looked past the displays out at the planet below. He’d seen the Earth from orbit countless times during his time as Batman, being in and out of the Watchtower periodically. But even so, the sight of the world from so far away still seemed to mesmerize him every time.

“You hear anything from Jason lately?” Tim asked, casting his gaze out at the planet as well.

“No, not in awhile…” Damian was a bit slow to reply, thinking to himself. “Pretty sure he’s still on the road with Harper and Starfire.”

“Hmm…” Tim leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I should probably give him a call. Make sure he’s not in jail or anything.” Damian stifled a laugh at the idea. Wouldn’t surprise him one bit; Todd was as dependable as they come, but that didn’t make him reasonable. He was still a loose cannon, and rarely did he ever do things by the book. That pattern of behavior evidently had rubbed off on Kori and Roy as well, earning their little triad a new moniker: “The Outlaws”. Damian thought it was a bit concerning, but he knew Jason meant well.

“Oracle to Batman. Dame, you there?” Damian jolted back to the present as Barbara’s voice came over his communicator. He quickly slid his cowl back on and engaged the suit’s HUD to see his sister-in-law looking back at him.

“Batman here,” the Dark Knight replied. “Go ahead, Oracle.”

“You need to get back to Gotham, now. Quinn says she’s going after Joker, and she needs you to come with her.”

“For God’s sake, I told her not to…” the Bat let out an irritated groan. “Fine, I’m on my way.” Damian looked back over his shoulder at Tim with a smile. “Drop by the Manor sometime. Dad’d probably like to hear from you.”

“We will,” Tim waved back at him. “See you soon, Little D.”

John Constantine’s apartment. Paddington, London. April 24th, 2028. 7:45 PM BST.

A light splash of water spilled into the doorway as the sorcerer stumbled through the doorway, his coat drenched from a walk in the rain. Cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella, Constantine stared back at his reflection in the mirror as the door slid closed behind him. He ran a hand roughly through his greying hair, studying the subtle lines of age beginning to show beneath his light beard. Time was beginning to catch up to him, it seemed. He smiled weakly, wondering why time had been so much kinder to his partner. Zatanna had hardly changed in the past ten years, he thought. Or maybe he just didn’t notice because they were always around each other. Despite the occasional fighting and butting heads, Zatanna Zatara was the only person John could always come back to at the end of the day. She just got him, better than anybody. Sure it sucked a little not living in the House anymore, but he didn’t mind. He hardly used all the space to begin with.

“Z, I’m back,” he called into the apartment as he stepped away from the mirror. “Knocked of early tonight, everybody was ‘eaded on home an account of all the…”

Constantine trailed off when he discovered that Zatanna had company over, locking eyes with Raven as he walked into the room.

“Hey John,” the younger mage spoke gently, leaned back into the sofa next to her sister. “How’s work?”

The detective chuckled. “Crap as always,” he replied. “Good to see ya, Sunshine.” Constantine shuffled further into the room, planting a quick peck on Zatanna’s forehead as he walked by her before dropping into his recliner.

“You hear the news?” Zatanna looked over at John as she took Raven’s hand. “You’re gonna be an uncle, pal.”

“I hadn’t heard,” John answered, peeking up as he did so, “but I could feel somethin’ comin’ off ya when I walked in. Kid’s got a strong spirit, an’ that energy comes off ya real strong if ya know how to sense it.”

“I know what you mean,” Raven said, looking down at her abdomen. “I could feel it almost as soon as it happened. I didn’t realize then what it was, but…”

“It?” John piped up curiosity. “What ya mean 'it’? Can’t ya… can’t ya tell what…”

Raven’s eyes widened. “Wait… you can??”

Zatanna turned back to Raven, one eyebrow cocked. “You really can’t? I thought you knew, what have you been doing up in that penthouse if you can’t tell?”

Constantine let out a laugh. “Boy, are you outta practice, aren’t ya kiddo?” He smirked as he began to pull off his tie. “You wanna know?”

“No!” Raven threw her hands up as she spat the word out, almost frantically. “I mean, not yet. Damian and I said we want to find out together.”

“Seems fair,” the older magician grunted as he propped his feet up on the coffee table. Before Zatanna could open her mouth with a “get your feet off the table, you moron”, a quick alert tone sounded from Raven’s communicator.

“Crap, I gotta take this, it’s from… huh.” Raven looked down in surprise at the ID displayed on her communicator. “That’s… wow, after all this time… I’ll be just a second.” Without another word, Raven quickly stood up and walked into the kitchen. Just as she left the room, John and Zatanna both looked right at each other, their faces both beaming.

“Ohhhhh ho ho, boy,” Constantine whispered. “Little Batsy’s gonna 'ave his 'ands full!”

“Right?” Zatanna replied, grinning wildly. “Can you even picture that punk with a kid?”

“Swear to god, we HAVE to get over to visit sometime,” the detective began to scheme, “even if i’s just to catch the freakin’ Batman at a little tea party in makeup for his princess!”

“You shut your mouth, John Constantine,” the older mage-girl snipped playfully, “there’s no way that little girl is gonna be the princess type. Have you SEEN her parents?”

“Z, I’ve 'eard the stories about that wank Raven 'ooked up with! They called 'im 'Prince Damian’! The girl’s already a prin–”

Both of them froze upon hearing the thump of Raven’s communicator hitting the floor, turning to see her walk back into the room.

“… cess.”

Raven’s eyes widened. “… you’re messing with me.”

Zatanna quickly stood up, walking quickly to Raven’s side. “Sis, I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean for you to– oof!” The words cut off as Raven’s arms slung around Zatanna’s neck, holding her tight.

“It’s fine,” Raven assured, a smile forming on her face as her cheek pressed into her sister’s. “This is… this is just… oh my god, it’s a girl, isn’t it?”

Constantine rose to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Heh, sorry kid. But 'ey, at least now namin’ the kid’ll be easier!”

Raven beamed back at John contently. “Actually, we already have a name picked out…” her cheeks began to redden slightly as she looked down. “… her name is Angela.”

CADMUS Headquarters, Washington DC. April 24, 2028. 11:36 PM EST.

“Welcome back to the real Project CADMUS, Mr. Wayne.”

The glass elevator doors swiveled back as Bruce walked alongside Director Waller into the dimly lit corridor. Aside from the hum of electricity, the hall of massive marked doorways was eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic clatter of the two elders’ footsteps, accompanied by the tap of Bruce’s cane. The old billionaire scanned his eyes over each doorway carefully, taking mental note of each door’s designation. He’d have to enter these into the Batcomputer when this whole ordeal was done… Bruce never trusted Cadmus. Not when he was the Batman, not they first came to into the public eye, and certainly not now. They made a habit of meddling in affairs that they had no business meddling in.

The two of them stopped abruptly at the end of the hallway and turned to the door on the left. PROJECT: KR, the door read.

“Mr. Wayne, before I show you what’s behind this door, I need to know you trust me, and that I can trust you. No more secrets here…” Waller peered over at Bruce from the corner of her eye. “… so you can go ahead and ditch that two-bit walking stick. I’m not buying your old cripple act.” Bruce looked back at the woman for a moment, before a faint smirk appeared on his wrinkled face. Chuckling low in his chest, the old Bat stood up straight, collapsing his cane and tucking it away in his coat. Waller shook her head subtly as she pressed her thumb to the print scanner on the wall. A puff of steam emitted from the doorway as the enormous metal door rose out of sight, and the two of them stepped forward into the room.

What stood before Bruce shook him to his core: at the very back of the room was a stasis pod, with the shield of the House of El emblazoned on the glass. Inside the pod was a boy, who looked about the age of sixteen, who bore a striking resemblance to…

“Dear god, Amanda…” Bruce muttered. “… what have you done?”

The old woman stepped forward, making her way to the console beside the boy. “Bruce Wayne, I’d like you to meet the Superboy.” Upon entering a few commands into the console, the pod erupted with a billow of steam as the glass case began to rise. As the fog dissipated, the boy opened his eyes slowly, revealing the same electric blue irises that Bruce had looked back into time and again throughout the years. Waller smiled. “Superboy, come greet our guest.” Immediately, the boy dropped to the floor from his pod, and walked up to the old man.

“Hello, Mr. Wayne,” the creature said quietly. “I am Superboy.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he thought hard about the situation he was in. The kid even sounded like the Boyscout. But his tone, the way he looked at him, the slight tremble in the boy’s knees… something was off.

“Waller, you need to start explaining exactly who and what this is, and why he’s here.”

Waller cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead, child.”

The boy looked down at his feet for a moment before looking back up and meeting Bruce’s eyes. “I am a genetic replication of the hero called Superman. My purpose is to supplant the Superman should he fall in battle, or to destroy him should his behavior become contradictory to the interests and survival of the human race.”

Bruce crossed his arms, still processing this information. “You’re a clone of Superman.”

“Yes sir,” the creature replied, “however, I am not a perfect replication. Due to the limitations of modern human science, CADMUS was unable to produce a full Kryptonian. Instead, I am a human-Kryptonian hybrid, engineered to have as many of Superman’s traits and abilities as possible.”

“And I suspect you’ve never left this facility?” The old vigilante asked.

“No sir,” the boy answered. “The risk of Superman discovering my existence was deemed to great to permit my exposure to the outside world. Instead, I have lived here for the past year since my creation, developing my abilities and replenishing my strength through exposure to microscopic yellow suns kept within this facility.”

“Smart…” Bruce looked back to Waller, his expression grim. “So why are you showing me this?”

“Because I need some things from you. Three things, to be exact.” Amanda walked back from the console to join the two others in the room. “First and foremost, I need a favor…”

“A favor?”

“Yes…” Waller put her hand on Superboy’s shoulder. “I’ve had a change of heart after seeing how well the other Superman has been doing. What was his name? Jonathan?”

Bruce remained silent.

“Well, either way…” Waller looked to Superboy, then back to the old man. “Superboy has expressed a few times that he wants to see the rest of the world. He wants to know what it’s like out there, and… honestly, there’s not much left for him here. Doesn’t seem right to keep the boy locked away anymore.”

“This is rather out of character for you, isn’t it?” Bruce asked.

“Maybe so, but I stand by my decision. And I need your help.” Waller took another step towards Bruce. “I need you to take Superboy with you. Bring him to Superman, let him have a chance at a real life.”

“Why didn’t you just call Superman?” The Batman inquired, his eyes squinting with suspicion.

A twinge of a smirk appeared on Waller’s face. “Because you’re easier to reach, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce shook his head before looking back at the clone.

Superboy reached out, placing a hand gently on Bruce's arm. “Please.”

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adreamingsongbird · 7 years

Note

OKAY BUT YOU ARE SO AMAZIBG YOU'RE MAKING ME SHIP TODODEKU JUST FROM YOUR FICS AND DRABBLES HOW. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN. But seriously though, you are amazing. Now I need more tododeku so here you go! 4, 10, and 42. Or for whatever other ship you think fits. Or not at all either way have an amazing day!

THANK YOU ANON THAT IS SO SWEET!!!! you are amazing!!!!

10. “You are a bloody idiot, you know that?”

Izuku barely has time to cry out before his body collides withthe wall with a sickening crunch. Pain explodes everywhere, and his vision goeswhite with it for a moment before he gasps, blinking back tears, and findshimself on the ground.

“Deku!”

Did—did it work? He saved—hedid, he saved Kaminari, Kaminari is over there, he’s already hurt but that blowdidn’t hurt him, good—with One ForAll, Izuku can survive something like this and be fine, but someone without it,like Kaminari, would have been way worse off, thank god, it worked, he saved—

“Deku!” It’s Kaminaricalling for him. He sounds upset. Worried.

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, trying to sit up, but his—his everythinggoes white-hot with a blaze of agony again and it comes out as a chokedwhimper, because he can’t quite take in a deep enough breath to cry out. “I’m fine, I’m fine—”

“Still alive, little hero?” rumbles the huge woman, the villainwho just smashed him into the aforementioned wall. Izuku grits his teeth and clenches his fists,fighting down the nausea as pain makes him dizzy. There’s workto be done, he’s fine, he can manage… “Not for much longer!”

“Midoriya!” Kaminari cries. “Hang in there!”

The next few moments are a blur. Kaminari is already hurt, and he knows Ochako is also in this generalarea, somewhere, but she’s with the rescue crews, and of course, he doesn’tneed rescuing! And there are stillpeople who do, so she can’t come for them. Which means he has to get up and keep fighting!

“Go!” he cries to Kaminari, as best as he can while strugglingto his feet. It hurts, oh, god it hurts, but he can stand. “Y-you’re hurt, I can… I can handle this—”

“I’m hurt?” Kaminaricalls back incredulously. “Pot, meet thedamn kettle, Midoriya!”

He darts in with a yell, his wounded arm clutched against hischest uselessly while his other reaches for the villain. She dodges by a hair, and it’s Kaminari’sturn to dance back out of reach, hissing a curse as her fist swings far tooclose for comfort.

He ducks, while Izuku struggles to step forward, still wheezingas he taps into One For All again. Itrenews his strength, though it doesn’t do much to buoy the pain, but at leasthe can stay on his feet. Okay. Just a moment to catch his breath, then hecan jump back in and help again…

“Why, you little—” thevillain hisses. She grabs for Kaminariand he yelps, falling to the ground and rolling away in an undignified scrambleto get out of reach. He gets back on hisfeet fast, though, circling to keep her attention away from Izuku, and then—

The temperature suddenly drops.

Kaminari lets out a whoop.

Izuku breathes a sigh of relief, and then immediately regrets itas his ribs none-too-gently remind him that they have really had a rough day. He sinks to his knees again and coughs, whichalso hurts.

The villain pauses, glancing around suspiciously.

In the blink of an eye, the ground is covered in a sheen of ice,glimmering in the harsh city lighting and the last vestiges of the dyingsun. It spreads too fast to track,surrounding the villain, and as she stumbles back to keep her footing on solidground, there’s suddenly a blast of heat, and with it, Todoroki is here.

The villain turns her attention to him, apparently deemingKaminari the lesser of two threats, and as soon as he can, Kaminari sprintsover to Izuku.

“Midoriya,” he breathes, dropping to his knees, his good armreaching out but then stopping as if he doesn’t know what to do. “Shit. Shit, oh, god, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Izuku says dryly.

“We gotta get you outta here,” he says, glancing back at thefighting, where Todoroki is expertly dodging and weaving around the villain ona stream of ice. “Shit, man, you didn’thave to—you shouldn’t have—”

“Didn’t wanna see you get hurt,” Izuku cuts him off, shaking hishead as best as he can. “I’m okay. Really.”

“No, you’re not,”Kaminari huffs. “Dumbass, look atyourself.”

“Can’t,” Izuku says sheepishly. “Moving hurts.”

Kaminari throws up his good hand in consternation. “And there it is!”

Before he can say more, there’s a crash from behind him, andTodoroki roars, “Kaminari!”

Kaminari throws himself back into action before he even knowswhat’s happening, and Izuku’s eyes follow him. Oh, he realizes. Todoroki has the monstrous villain pinned,just for the moment, blocking him, and that gives the perfect opportunity forKaminari to—

Lightning flashes. Everything goes white again, but this time at least it’s not because ofpain, and it’s only for an instant, leaving Izuku blinking to clear the spotsfrom his vision. By the time they’regone, he realizes the villain was knocked out; Kaminari looks like he’salright, though a little frazzled—but he didn’t exceed his energy limit, whichis good, because otherwise he’d become a liability instead of an asset.

…Like Izuku himself, if he’s honest.

And then Todoroki is in front of him, kneeling with concernwritten in every line of his body as he glances over him swiftly, up and down. “Midoriya,” he greets. “Come on. I’m taking you to the medical tents.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare finishthat sentence with ‘fine’, ‘okay’, ‘alright’, or any variant of those,”Todoroki warns, eyes flashing.

Izuku closes his mouth.

“Let me guess,” Todoroki sighs. “You didn’t think, you justjumped in the way?”

While he speaks, he slips an arm under Izuku’s arms, then slowlygets to his feet. Izuku follows asTodoroki pulls him up, wincing again, and after he’s caught his breath heoffers a sheepish smile. “Something likethat.”

Todoroki lets out a breath through his teeth. “I’m not asking that much from you,” he mutters,his arm firmly wrapped around Izuku as he half-helps, half-hauls him across thefield. “It shouldn’t be that hard. But time and time again, younever cease to … to do this. Can you at least thinknext time? Could you do that?”

Izuku attempts to laugh. “Sorry?” he wheezes, then coughs,tasting the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Oh, that’s gross. Getting used as a punchingbag sucks in many ways, such as when you get slammed into the ground andinadvertently bite your cheek and it keeps bleeding into your mouth. Yuck. His ribs hurt, too; some of them might be broken. He’s not sure.

“Honestly, one ounceof self-preservation is all I want from you,” Todoroki gripes, irritablyflicking his arm to one side and sending a blast of fire to thwart the thug tryingto get in their way. “Just one!” He sighs, pauses, and looks down atIzuku. “You are a bloody idiot, you knowthat?”

Izuku can’t help thegiggle that bubbles up in his throat. Itmight be slightly hysterical, but that’s beside the point. Wiping blood from his lip on his sleeve, helaughs and says, “Yeah. Emphasis on bloody.”

“I’m of half a mind tojust drop you and leave you here, just for that,” Todoroki mutters, giving hima cross look.

“You won’t,” Izukuassures him, completely confident.

Todoroki sighs,sounding exasperated. “Just a moment.”

He stops walking,pulls Izuku in front of him and switches the arm around him, so now he’sagainst the warm side instead of the cool one. Izuku blinks at the sudden movement.

He twists around,trying to see what Todoroki is looking at, but by the time he’s peeked overTodoroki’s shoulder, there’s a glistening layer of ice creeping up the legs ofthe same villain following them. Hebreaks one leg out, but the ice thickens impossibly fast around the other assoon as he does, leaving him flailing until he loses his balance and falls,landing on his butt with a thud that makes Izuku giggle again, before he wincesbecause ow.

“Don’t make me put him down,” Todoroki warns, and unlike a momentbefore, his voice is full of ice, completely cold and terrifying. A few seconds ago, there was warmth and worryin it, along the grumbling and reprimanding—honestly, the rebukes and complaintswere the warmth and the worry. He wants Izuku to be careful because he cares.

“See? Told you you wouldn’t drop me,” Izukumumbles, just loud enough that Todoroki hears. The corners of his lips twitch in response, but he doesn’t look awayfrom the struggling villain for another long moment, his gaze piercing like adagger. Wait, no, the obvious metaphorto go to here would be like shards of ice, duh…

“Come on, Midoriya,”Todoroki says, abruptly shifting Izuku to his side again instead of holding himagainst his chest protectively. “We’realmost to the medical area.”

“Yeah,” Izuku agrees,wheezing slightly as they start walking again. Walking is hard. Some kind of quirk-enhanced fist to the sidesent him flying into a wall earlier, so bothof his sides hurt—both the one that got punched and the one that slammed intothe bricks—and every time he takes a breath that’s even a little deeper than “shallowerthan a toddler’s swimming pool”, his chest and ribs scream.

Yeah. Moving kind of sucks.

He swallows, wincingat the taste of his own blood again, and focuses on moving his legs instead ofthe ow, ow, ow, ow, and also ow. Just one more step, and then another, and then another. Just one more, just one more…

He’s so focused onstaring at his feet and forcing them to move that he hardly realizes they’vereached the triage station until Todoroki lets him down into a free chair, andhe blinks, looking up.

“Do you need anythingbefore I go?” he asks. “Water, a tissue,I don’t know…?”

“No,” Izukuanswers. “I’m okay.”

Todoroki snorts. “I’m sure you’ve been waiting for anopportunity to say that again.”

Izuku chucklesslightly, then coughs a little and sighs. “Thank you, Todoroki.”

Todoroki softens. “Of course,” he says, and then to Izuku’ssurprise, he steps closer again, his warm hand cupping Izuku’s cheek while coolfingers brush his hair aside so that Todoroki can lean down and kiss hisforehead. “Please take better care ofyourself,” he murmurs, and then he’s gone, leaving Izuku to stare after himtoward the battle again, until a harried nurse comes rushing over to tend tohis wounds.

#Anon #tododeku #written #bnha written #phewie that took longer than i meant it to!! sorry anon!!! <3 #bnha #todoroki shouto #midoriya izuku #kaminari denki

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