#like on top of everything imagine being in full body agony and not being able to express it bc they rewired you to be unable to

[the-acid-pear]

I wish Everett had such a strong line as "we'll make it fit" or "joe remembered" or even "not like that" but bro just died a, fairly normal death brought down on him by his kind soul. Which is arguably sadder but less impactful.

[angstyantoinette]

Some Yandere Alastor HCs, if you are able?

oh. my. god. absolutely. I’ve literally been waiting for this moment. 

Warning: NSFW mentioned.  

I DO NOT IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM CONDONE THESE BEHAVIOURS IN REAL LIFE.

(Sorry, but I got way too into this and began writing a full-on oneshot kinda thing. This also took wayyyyy too long to write)

When you first met:

Weakness is an inconceivable fault in Alastor’s mind, it must be used as a gateway for victory, and not for anything else but fear. In all the horrors he has seen and mostly caused, mental or physical weakness is what he uses to rile up his victims, make them think they have a mere chance of survival, while the demon is wrapping his charm and pure agony around their limping body, savouring his victim’s last breaths before they fall still, silent and cold, and he walks off, in search of a new plaything. 

He saw that familiar weakness in Charlie, practically being attacked by the sickening scent from the other side of the Pentagram. That Vaggie girl knew far too much for her own good; he heard her dramatically retelling his demonic history in Hell, and he silently chuckled as she shot him venomous glares, to his apparent unacknowledged state.

Pathetic.

 And that’s when you walked in. Poor Y/N, making the mistake of coming in that day. It wasn’t as often that you helped out at the hotel, but Vaggie had discreetly called you over in the hopes that you could help plan a movie night or something to cheer everyone up. You showed up with movies, popcorn and a small flask of booze in hopes that you could just forget everything tonight. 

You showed up to the hotel with the items, walking in, expecting Charlie to come rushing towards you like she usually did. Instead, you found yourself in a room with a tiny demon cleaning impossibly fast, Angel slurping on a Popsicle being seemingly berated by Vaggie again, and an obviously tipsy cat with wings, who was pouring himself another glass of booze.  

You almost didn’t see the red-clad demon, skulking around in the shadows, but a pair of strange eyes caught your attention. They were like radio dials, rich and red. In any other situation you would have investigated it discreetly. But a great evil was radiating from those eyes, of the demonic stranger.

Let’s just say that you didn’t enjoy the vibe that you got from him.

He stared at you for a little while, before shoving out his hand and gracing a huge, cheshire smile across his face; it was unsettling to say the least and thankfully Angel was far more approachable than this deer-like weirdo. However, to be polite, you painfully etched a false smile on your face, aware that it was probably incredibly obvious, and gently shook his hand, desperate to claw your way out of his vice-like grip. 

It felt like a million years before this demon ceased his scrutinising and you managed to glide on over to Charlie, and you shoved the red-clad entity out of your mind before beginning to interact with the princess. 

Alastor was in shock. Not only did he fail to politely and forcefully introduce himself, he still didn’t catch your name. He had to know. He had to.

You had piqued his interest in mere seconds.

“Charlie, dear, I must leave immediately! Business to attend to, and quite frankly, those low-life scum in the centre have been causing havoc again! Time to return the favour!” A mysterious departure that couldn’t be explained, but it left you and Vaggie more at ease, and you sucked in a breath and continued conversing with everyone.  You were just so desperate to forget about him, but even as you drunkenly danced with Angel, debated with Vaggie, and threw yourself onto a spare queen-sized bed in the hotel; the paranoia remained. 

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

Over a period of time, you had become skilled at avoiding this intimidating new demon, who you came to know as Alastor. You made your outright discomfort very, very clear.

You ensured that all tasks required to being completed were paired up with someone else if needed. In your two months’ of acquaintance, you knew that he was to be wary of. You made arrangments to sleep in many floors away from him, many locks sealing your bedroom shut. After moving permanently into Hazbin Hotel, you had thrown yourself into helping Charlie and the others. You owed your afterlife to them all, for being so good to you. 

And Alastor just made the cut. If he wasn’t technically your colleague, you would have never even caught a glimpse of his tall figure skulking and prowling the hallways, smile stretched wide as he hunted for his next plaything. 

Admittedly, you had been doing a small amount of research. It became a small fascination, but also an intoxicating frustration that you just couldn’t seem to get rid of. But why was “The Radio Demon” here of all places?

You knew his former life. You knew him now. And you had some ideas about what he was capable of. 

And the question still lingered; what was his actual purpose?

Demons of such renown didn’t just show up to random hotels to ‘help.’ They tortured, and played with their victims. They never spared anyone. Ever. 

But all of a sudden this red-clad fucker waltzes in, claims to be of “assistance” at at an all too coincidental time of when the staff was in great need?

You were sure he was planning something. An event, anything to with a big, fancy ass gesture to grab Hell’s attention. 

A divine, heavenly force would be the only thing now to help you.

A real pity you didn’t know it yet.

Or that you never get it.

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

Alastor didn’t understand why you riled him up so much. 

His attraction to you was intoxicating, and as he lay in his satin crimson sheets, nights after night, he grew to picture you in a rather...lewd fashion. Many a hazed, oddly relaxing day he had taken a seat, Angel slurping a god-forsaken popsicle and you could either be right there or not; it didn’t matter.

He could imagine you moaning as clear as day, begging, just wishing for him to-

A shameless, electrifying sensation would show itself, making him struggle to carry on whatever conversation, or interaction he may have been having, forcing him to ‘suddenly’ disappear. 

Just like this time. 

As he was walking upstairs-who knows why, he could have just teleported- hopefully scouring the halls for a glimpse of you. He sighed in pleasured frustration as he continued to search for your figure until-

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.” 

“Really?” 

“As if!”

 “Stop calling th- SHUT UP!” 

Snippets of anger could be heard, from a few doors down, was it? The laundry room it sounded like, the irritating rumble of the washing machine puncturing the former silence he so desperately desired. 

Alastor’s grin only ever widened when he saw you angrily tapping your fingers against the top of the counter near the violently vibrating machine, a tic he has come to love and hate just as much as you do. 

“Ah, Y/N dear, there you are!” 

His eyes flashed with unforgivable greed as you spun around, arms up in the air, as if you were about to attack him. A silent but gradual chuckle shook his body, the thought of you even attempting to defend yourself against him was simply too amusing. 

Watching him with a ferocious cautionary gaze, you ceased your finger tapping and pressed a digit to the washing machine’s button softly, ceasing its deep rumbling. 

Diving downwards, you opened the door and pulled out your clean clothes, not noticing a pair of predatory eyes mentally undressing you. Of course you could feel his gaze, and that didn’t make it any more comforting that you were literally bent over in front of him. 

Alastor was#s all too aroused comfortable by the view in front of him, and he was left disappointed as you bustled out of the room, steaming laundry in your arms, almost running down the hallway. 

A clawed hand picked up a pair of warm, lacy underwear. 

Clean. Fresh. His.

And you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not his toy, oh no. You were his prize, his consolidation, his REWARD. 

He deserved you. It was safe to say you deserved Alastor too.

So, yes, I know this wasn’t the best. But I felt guilty for not finishing it for so long. 

what Alastor the red bastard did next is up to you to imagine :3

thank you for putting up with my inconsistency-

[elise-jupiterstyle]

Every Little Grief

Rio is used to getting left behind.

He’s even more used to leaving others behind, but it doesn’t hurt quite the same. Doesn’t burrow between his bones and ache in the hollow space that’s been carved out there, begging to be filled with something that was never meant to feel permanent.

When he leaves others behind, at least there’s a benefit in it for him. Because it usually means he’s moving up, moving forwards, moving on, to whatever degree the situation calls for. At least when he’s the one leaving people behind, he has a sense of direction. 

Even when it hurts like hell, he know that he’s the one that holds all the power. He isn’t at the mercy of someone else’s actions—the pain is all his own doing, and that? That’s bearable. And more often than not, it’s worth it.

Getting left behind, though? There’s nothing in that for him but dust to bite in the wake of the person who’s chosen something else over him.

He thought that nothing could possibly top the burning, long-suffering, full-bodied pain of being left for dead in his own home, choking on the dust of the woman he’d— —

Well.

Turns out he was wrong.

Turns out the only thing that could top that was the same woman leaving him for a better life—a life without him—without so much as a parting message.

He hates himself for it. He hates that anything could top the agony of being turned on with his weapon—by his girl, no less—but shit, it’s not like he can help it. 

He tries, though. 

Tries to act like it doesn’t piss him off when one of his guys reports back to him that she missed the first drop in Canada. Plays it unbothered when she lets his calls go to voicemail until her inbox is full.

Tries a little harder when his righteous irritation gradually morphs into a vague seed of worry that plants itself deep in his gut. Feigns nonchalance in the following weeks as the seed takes root, burrowing into his very core and winding up through his ribcage.

The façade is one he’s no stranger to upholding, but he grows weary in it when the first week of her absence stretches into the first month. He tells himself that it’s for his business—nothing more, even as billowing leaves sprout from the stem of his worry, crowding the space between skin and muscle until he swears he can feel it itching in his bones the longer he goes without hearing from her.

He tells himself this when he drops by her house that first week, letting himself in through the back door despite the absence of her mama van blocking up the driveway. Keeps up the narrative to everyone—himself, most importantly—when he drops by a day later at a different time and finds himself waiting on her kitchen counter for three hours, steadfast in his assumption that she shifted some part of her schedule around, that he would catch her at some point or another. That all he had to do was wait.

He didn’t catch her. In her own home, she never showed.

Neither did that dumbass husband of hers. None of her brood, either.

So, he did what he had to do to protect his assets, secure his business—all that shit. He set up surveillance at her house.

(Not Mick this time, though. He’d taken enough shit about Elizabeth from that asshole to make him wish she’d emptied the clip.)

In the week that followed, not one person was reported going in or out of it. Not Elizabeth, not her family—not even her sister or that friend of hers.

Naturally, instead of allowing himself to feel the concern that had steadily crept in, he’d pushed it down, assuring himself that she was holed up somewhere else—a hotel, another family member’s house, or whatever the fuck else she was sure to have had up her sleeve. More importantly, he was certain that it was somewhere temporary—that she’d be back.

They’ve been doing this dance for over two years now, after all. As much as he loved to toy with her, raise the stakes, increase his demands, he’d come to believe not only that she wouldn’t leave, but that she couldn’t. They were cut from the same cloth, him and her, and he knew that that family of hers wasn’t the only thing that had her circling back to him all these years.

He’d been certain of it. Been certain of her.

He supposes now that when it comes to Elizabeth, that might’ve been his worst mistake of all.

Because that’s what it always came back to, didn’t it?

He’d been certain of her that night, too. 

Instead of allowing himself to feel the worry that had woven its way into his lungs, plaguing him with every breath, he’d centered his attention on his anger. Anger at Elizabeth, at everything she’d ever done to him, at everything she ever was to him, but mostly at himself for ending up in that position in the first place—deserted by the woman who tried to kill him before he could return the favor (and that ignited an entirely new spiral of fury, knowing that he still wouldn’t be able to do it now, will always act in his worst interest when it comes to her).

His anger centered him, allowed him to focus on how to proceed rather than how he got there.

He turned to his men on the inside, sent them sniffing around for follow-up intel on Elizabeth’s deal with the secret service.

He hadn’t expected them to turn anything up. He hadn’t wanted them to. He would have preferred having to settle with not knowing.

Lady Luck hasn’t been all that gracious towards him as of late, though.

Turns out they’d cut a deal with Elizabeth after all. Ordered one last batch of the Queen and the plates along with it in exchange for a transfer out of state. The expenses hadn’t been paid out like he imagines they originally would’ve been, but the relocation was discreet and anonymous, and came with police protection in the new city.

Not the full package, he knew. He might’ve been worth that, but a few sheets of metal sure as hell weren’t.

Still—it was enough to turn her again.

Enough to get her to quit him again.

Like he said—he’s used to getting left behind. 

He wishes the familiarity did anything to ease the burn of it.

[jojo-reader-hell]

BRO I JUST A TOP TIER GAY IDEA. SO OUR FAVORITE HAIR STAND BABE GETS JEALOUS BECAUSE SOME CHICK KEEPS LIKE LOOKING HER AND KOICHI UP AND DOWN. SO SHES ALL "BITCH KOICHI IS MINE STEP OFF", AND CLASSMATE IS LIKE "Girl I ain't checking HIM out boo 👀"......IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITES

THIS WAS A BAD IDEA TO REQUEST THIS WHEN IM BEING A SAD PINING GAY FOR MY GIRLFRIEND.

You think she didn’t notice you staring at them? Staring with those big ol eyes?

Wrongo bucko.

You stared in class at them. Stared when they walked out of the school building, stared when she showered her handmade gifts on him. It was nauseating.

The smell of infidelity, it was something she could get a whiff of in the air like a beagle locked on the scent of butthole balloon cocaine at a TSA checkpoint. Be it if Koichi had a new love interest, or someone was interested in him. Not something someone as paranoid as her would be able to miss even if there were thousands of life’s distractions to put her off the scent. She caught you the first time when she had finally invited Koichi to a cozy little cafe setting, waltzing on by like you didn’t follow him part of the way and glance longingly at their love. She wasn’t fucking stupid. Yukako knew what a longing glance was, and she was going to wring your neck out for it.

Every single time she caught you staring you ran, face turning red as a beet as you scurried away from the scene. At one moment she got so caught up in Koichi’s hesitation that she spilled her coffee and screamed at him.

She also decided after that date and confession got tainted that she was going to slam your face into the pavement, because after she returned from showing that class rep bitch who Koichi really belonged to, she saw you sucking up to him, trying to get sympathy from her one true love. You both were in an empty classroom, Koichi patting your back as you wailed in agony at his feet, kneeling on the floor.

How dare you... how dare you make a move on him behind her back.

You were twisting your skirt in knots, probably trying to make sure he got a peep of your underwear. From where she stood she could see it was a rose print pattern. What a fucking... you were just after one thing weren’t you?!

“How could anyone love me?!” she heard you blubber like a dying walrus. “I... I’ve never even had a boy like me. I’m so stupid and ugly and worthless-...”

“Hey hey hey!”

Yukako was seething. Spewing lava and hate when she saw Koichi lunge to hold you, rubbing your back gently as you got your filthy pedestrian tears all over the blazer of his uniform.

“Don’t talk like that...” Koichi’s voice was so soft, so kind, nothing like Yukako had ever heard before.

“You’re not any of those things. I think you’re beautiful and smart, and funny, and anyone who can’t see that has got to be blind! I think you’re very sweet and lovable too.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah! Totally, I mean if you were even interested I’d even go out with you!”

Now, it didn’t help that you had essentially turned the knife counter clockwise in her chest, sealing your fate forever to be just another teen casualty. Because her mounting rage was of Friday the 13th proportions, ready to burst through the window of your room with a machete in the dead of night and hang your entrails like fairy lights around your wall. She knew when she’d do it too. She was going to patiently bide her time and wait for your little “heart to heart” to end, lurking at the edge of the shadows and planning to ambush you when you least expect it.

That was the plan originally. She was waiting for you after school when there were no witnesses, confident she would get you. But how could she have any clue... Not the faintest idea of what to do came to her mind when she heard you cry out her name.

“Yukako! Yukako Yamagishi, I love you!”

She whipped around, almost too angry to hear what you said until she found herself immobile. You’d taken her hands, nearly falling out of your penny loafers when you leaned in, and you kissed her right on the mouth.

The whole time her eyes were wide open in shock. The mounting rage she felt... the burning flames of hatred, where did it go?! Suddenly her first kiss was gone and she noticed you didn’t really know what else to do from there because all you did was give her a quick peck and you were already shaking and out of breath.

She didn’t even focus that long on her kiss being taken by another girl, too busy wondering what had changed as she watched your eyes glitter wetly with tears.

“Yukako, I’ve loved you ever since the first time I laid eyes on you. I think you’re wonderful, and I don’t care if I’m weird or wrong or whatever, because I love you so much it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

Yukako blinked. That’s all she could do. Didn’t really have the coherence to do much else except blink owlishly at you. All her feelings were in such a jumbled mess, like clothes in a dryer.

“I... I’m not good at sewing or cooking, I can’t give you material things like a sweater with love in the stitches or some adorable box lunch... I don’t even have money to buy you expensive presents. All I have is a heart full of all my love to give, and I’d do anything to make you happy. Will you... will you be my girlfriend?”

It was as if the fire that burned brightly in her heart had burned so hot and fast that every bad feeling, every negative thought or psychotic fantasy she had about you had suddenly gone up in smoke. Every single part of Yukako’s consciousness seemed only left to ash. You didn’t want Koichi. She heard that part as you continued to babble on helplessly despite her silence, completely unsure of how to respond as she learned the obsessive thoughts she had about one person had been the thoughts you had for her. You continued to pour out your heart, not giving her one opportunity to speak. Anyone could hear it in the way that you were talking to her that you were on the verge of breaking down into tears. Your face was contorted into embarrassment, from the kiss she could feel the heat of your cheeks radiating on her clammy skin. You were still holding her hands and she felt her whole body vibrate because of your nerves.

“Yuka-... I... Yamagishi?! I... I’m sorry...!” Now your voice was starting to crack when you realized she was immobilized. “I... I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have kissed you... I...”

Tears. Great fountains of tears and bubbles of snot appeared and melted like ice cream down your cheeks, lips and chin. Your voice only got more choppy and your legs started to give. Her silence was deafening. She didn’t even know what she felt anymore and could only just watch as you sank to her knees, still holding her hands and not making a move to wipe your face.

Without thinking, she squeezed your hands.

The shock of her touch made you squeak like a mouse being crushed under a combat boot. Yukako knelt down to the floor with you. One of her perfectly embroidered hankies peeped out of her skirt pocket, and she only let go of one hand to fish it out as she carefully wiped every tear and bubble, wordlessly telling you to blow your nose as she placed the cloth over your face.

A soft, pale hand touched your burning cheeks. Her skin was so clammy and cold, like a compress when you had a fever it helped soothe you into calming down. A hiccup sounded in your chest, making you look small and vulnerable.

You looked her in the eyes. Locked with her. She saw the passion. The love. The devotion and pure worship. Everything she wanted staring her in the face.

Still unsure, but willingly, Yukako leaned into your space. Her lips cushioned yours, begging for another first kiss.

[nessinborderland]

Be Mine (06)

Pairing: Niragi x Reader / Chishiya x Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Omegaverse

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: You were able to stay unbounded throughout your life. You didn’t want an Alpha; you didn’t need one. You would rather die than to give yourself to some random male. But the man that saved your life thinks differently.

Warnings: Alpha/Omega, Dubious Consent, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Finger fucking, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding, Pregnancy Kink, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Drama, Developing Relationship, Past Abuse, Scars, Death, Blood and Gore, Animal Death, Trauma, Bath Sex, Blood and Injury, Oral Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Feelings

Notes: Welcome! Here is chapter 6! I apologize for the wait, but this is how things are going to be from now on, I'm afraid. I just started my second semester of college and I'm drowning in work. Please don't expect more than a chapter a week :/ I hope you understand that I'm trying my best. I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

AO3 Link        Masterlist

Niragi wakes up with the sun, light seeping into the room through the blinds that no one cares to close. His whole body hurts like he has been hit by a meteor. Not quite though, but sure feels like it. He keeps his eyes close as your scent hits his nostrils; you smell like vanilla and strawberries. It’s so sweet, he has to control himself every time you’re near to not bite you. And now you smell like him too. No more of that disgusting toothpaste and dirt stench Chishiya left on your skin. Only sweetness and warmth.

Fucking Chishiya. The bastard had tried killing him, he had no doubt about that. The way the wolf drove him right into that trap; he was lucky he didn’t get his paw cut off right there. He was also pretty sure he had fucked you just to piss him off. He cursed himself from being so stupid; he should know Chishiya would try something while he was away. But after your first night together, he had to leave. All these messed up and foreign emotions inside him; he couldn’t deal with those. After he saw your back and all his trauma came tumbling through, he needed to leave that room. He needed to think. 

So he left, got drunk, came back to the room, and vaguely remembers making you a promise; like a stupid boy in love. He bailed as soon as he woke up.

Before he noticed it, he was playing game after game, getting as many cards as he possibly could. He almost died several times, but he kept doing it. He couldn’t sleep either, his nights filled with nightmares. He wondered what he was doing it for. Then he realized; he was doing it for you. To take you out of this place. It had been instinctive to try keeping you safe. You had no idea how getting away from you hurt him, but he couldn’t bring himself to be close. He kept eyes on you though; he could never stay away completely. There was always someone watching.

Then Chishiya happened, and none of that mattered. You are his, and he will make sure everyone knows it. 

Fuck, how he hates that white-haired sociopath; his fingers tingle to shoot him every time he’s on sight. But he simply never had the chance. The man didn’t bother him half as much as he does now. Your arrival has changed everything.

You ended up in bed after sex, somehow managing to get out of the bath. If he was honest with himself, fucking you had been a struggle; everything in his body hurt, and he could barely think through the fever. But it was so worth it. He had almost forgotten how amazing your scent is, how your soft skin tastes, and how your warm pussy clenches around him in time with his thrusts. It was perfect. You’re perfect.

He opens his eyes to stare at the top of your head, your body nestled against his side. You sleep soundly, soft breathing raising the arm he has over you. Your whole body presses against his, and he can feel himself getting hard again. He can’t wait for you to be in heat; he will waste no time in knotting inside you and marking you as his. Then he will get you out of this fucking country and make sure to give you the best life he can.

These thoughts are foreign to him; he had no idea an Omega could awake those kinds of instincts. Before he met you, he had no interest in romantic relationships; every relation he had with a woman was either professional or straight-up sex. He wasn’t the caring type; he isn’t the caring type. 

Not that he will ever tell anyone this, but it terrifies him. 

Now he caught himself wondering about what you like, how he can protect you, and how you feel about him. Fuck, he even imagined what it would be like to have a family with you. 

He notices how your tone changes every time you mention family. He hadn’t expected the fact that your own father had given you those scars, but it added up to your refusal to bond and accept your true nature. Still, he can’t avoid the images of you pregnant with his child from popping up in his mind every time he’s inside you; it only makes him come harder.

Fuck, he’s painfully hard.

You stir against him, leg rising over his hip. Damn, how he wishes he could turn you on your back and fuck you till you’re a moaning mess without it bringing him agony. It borders on annoying how much his wolf craves yours. It’s such a powerful, almost impossible to ignore, instinct.

He just has to have you.

His hand slides down your back, fingers lightly touching the skin until he reaches the curve of your ass. Your skin is so soft and warm; he never touched anything like you. The sensation he feels when you touch is electrifying; addicting. He can’t get enough. Is it his wolf or his own feelings? He gives your ass a slight squeeze, smirking when you make a sound between a moan and a sigh. His hand slides a little lower until his fingertips are touching your pussy lips. His smirk gets wider; you’re already wet, and he barely had to touch you.

You whimper when he slides his fingers inside, your hips moving against his side almost immediately. He lets out a small laugh, his other hand rising to palm your breast. You push even more against him.

“Niragi…” you moan. The hairs on his body rise up as he feels your lips on his skin, kissing and licking his chest. He starts pumping his fingers in and out of you; he bets he can make you come just like this. After that, he will make you come on his cock, just like the night before.

Your moans fill the room as he keeps fucking you, fingers stretching you and massaging your velvety walls. The hand on your breasts rises to touch your lips, and you’re sucking on his fingers before he even has to ask. Fuck, your mouth must feel great around his cock. He decides right there that you won’t leave the bed until you suck him dry.

“Sit on my face,” he orders in a deep voice. You look at him with semi-open eyes, lips full, mouth open in a moan. He’s pulling your face in a kiss before you can utter a word, “I want to fuck your mouth while making you come on my tongue,” he whispers against your lips. He watches you hesitate for a second before moving into the position he told you to, legs spread on either side of his head, wet pussy right over his face.

Your scent hits him like a truck; is mouth-watering. He might be wrong, but something tells him you’re close to your heat; that makes him so hard he feels dizzy for a second. He gives you an experimental lick, waiting for your reaction, chuckling when you whimper and your thighs shake. His arms go around your legs to grab at your ass, spreading the cheeks for easier access. His tongue is inside you not long after, licking and thrusting and slurping as you move your hips over his mouth.

Niragi’s brain almost stops working when you put his cock in your mouth without warning. He freezes, lips still on your clit, moaning as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Fuck, your mouth is heaven. Nothing can compare to your pussy, but your tongue pressing down on his shaft is pretty damn close. The slurping and gagging noises you make only excite him further, and he’s back at lapping at your dripping cunt. 

“I- I want you inside me-” you whine as you stroke his cock, now slick with your spit. His only answer is a slap to your ass and a harder suck on your clit. You gasp at the joined sensation, arching your back as you rest your head on his thigh. A second slap, this time harder, makes you cry out.

“Use your mouth,” Niragi says with a light bite to your inner thigh. He didn’t tell you to stop. “Don’t stop until you’re swallowing every drop of my cum.”

Your mouth goes back to his cock, sucking him and licking him even harder than before. He can’t stop himself from thrusting into you; he needs more. Two of his fingers go inside your pussy at the same time he gives his full attention to your clit. The sounds you make as he sucks you and fingerfucks you are music to his ears; it’s the only thing he wants to hear for the rest of his life.

“Niragi I’m- ”

“Keep sucking,” he interrupts before you can finish talking. He knows damn well you’re about to come; he feels it on the vice grip you pull on his fingers. His movements get more experimental; he wants to find the exact spot that will make you scream.

He’s sure he found it when you almost bite down on his cock, body falling on top of him when your legs give up on you for a moment. He grunts in discomfort before warning, “I’m gonna stop every time you stop. Keep sucking, or you’re not coming.”

You do as he says, and he resumes his new found pace. You squirm above him, but he keeps fucking you with his tongue and fingers, waiting for your orgasm to explode. He feels his own getting closer, a pulling sensation on his pelvis barely letting him concentrate on you. 

You finally come with a scream around his cock. He keeps going, lapping at your cunt like you’re a fountain and he hasn’t had water for days. The vibrations of your voice make him come right after, surprising both of you. You choke for a moment as you try to swallow all of his cum.

He’s not done though; not quite yet.

“Ride me,” he says after a moment where you both try to regain your breath. Another thing he can thank his Alpha status for; he’s pretty sure he can fuck you nonstop for hours. He grunts in slight pain as you try to change positions, your wobbly legs making it harder to move. He’s already half-hard again, and it doesn’t take you long to sink on his cock.

Fuck, your pussy is just the warmest and tightest hole he has ever fucked. His hands go to your hips, immediately forcing you to set up a pace. His body still hurts like hell, but he doesn’t care. Nothing matters but you above him, mouth open in pleasure and tits bouncing as you impale yourself up and down on his cock.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he can’t resist the impulse to praise you. Your eyes flash with content, and he knows you love it. “Fucking me like that, so wet and tight. Such a good Omega.” Your lips are on his with a moan, and he smiles into the kiss, teeth softly biting your lip. He accepts your body on him, even though his injuries burn. It doesn’t matter, they will heal. You keep moving on him, his cock filling you to the brim. 

Images of you round and pregnant with his child, tits full with milk, pop again into his mind. He can’t control himself; he will make it into reality one day. His hips snap harder against you, and you clench even harder on his cock. He feels like he’s going insane; his wolf is howling to get out and possess you like the beast he is.

“Say it, who do you belong to?” he snarls between kisses and licks to your neck, “Tell me, who’s your Alpha?” 

“Y-you are- ” you manage to say between whimpers of pleasure. “Alpha- “

“Say my name!”

“You- Niragi, you are-”

“That’s right,” his teeth graze the skin of your marking spot, and you shudder. He’s so close.

His teeth sink on your shoulder for just a second, but it’s enough. His orgasm feels like an explosion of pleasure, and he swears he goes blind for a moment. Together with the euphoric sensation, comes something he wasn’t expecting. It’s like a faint echo of emotions that are not his; he’s pretty sure of that. They’re yours.

He opens his eyes to stare into yours, gaze filled with something he can’t recognize, but he can feel. A mix of euphoria, care, adoration, and… fear; apprehension, to be more exact. He doesn’t quite understand the last one. Why would you be afraid? He’s here to protect you, says his wolf.

All those emotions freak him out. The man is terrified. It’s too much again. He swiftly but carefully pushes you off of him to the side, and he curses himself as he feels the faint emotion of shame and rejection. Now that he’s fully conscious, this was a bad idea. It’s too much. Took years of work for him to be able to put his feelings under control; and then here you are, filling his head with your unruly emotions and thoughts of babies and marriage. 

That’s not him; it never was, it never will be.

Biting you was a mistake, he thinks for just a second, before the mere thought of denying you makes him want to slap himself.

You could kill her, a voice suggests in his head, for just a millisecond, barely there. He has to control himself to not gag at the thought; he would rather kill himself than put a hand on you. 

“Are- are you leaving again?” you ask in a faint voice. He’s sure you can feel him as much as he can feel you, and he tries to push your presence away from his mind. You’re not supposed to be in his head. 

No one is, not even you.

He only stares at you, noticing the faint bite mark he left on your shoulder. The expression on his face is probably not the best, because you swiftly cover yourself when you notice his gaze. He sighs, before shrugging with a chuckle.

“You’re the one in my room,” he says, fighting the urge to cringe. The words are out before he can second guess himself more. “Why should I be the one leaving?” The expression on your face and the emotions that he feels in his mind are almost too much to bear. He tries to hide them as best as he can but knows he’s unsuccessful when you scowl at him, a shine in your eyes.

“I know what you’re trying to do, so stop lying!” you’re on the verge of tears, and it makes his heart ache, “You have no right to say you want me and then push me away.”

“A lot of talk for someone who has been denying me since we first met!” he snaps back. He knows his words are hurting you but that’s what he wants; hurting others is familiar, hurting others makes sense. “What, you think you’re the only one allowed to have second thoughts? And what made you change your mind so fast uh, especially after you fucked Chishiya like a bitch in heat? Is my dick that good you fuck-”

Your palm hits his cheek with a sharp sound.

He was expecting it; he could feel it coming. You stare at him, tears streaming down your cheeks in an otherwise cold expression. But he can feel your sadness and anger. He’s reaching for you out of instinct before he can stop himself; to comfort you. But he was the one who hurt you. Part of him wanted to push you away, while the other part abominated the simple thought of it. 

“You’re clearly well enough to take care of yourself,” you say as you get dressed in haste. Your tone is ice cold, but he catches on the slight tremble of your voice. He just lays there, staring at the ceiling; he knows he will stop you from leaving if he moves or looks at you, “Stay away from me,” you say over your shoulder as you slam the door close.

He wants to shoot something. Like, really fill something, preferably somebody, full of bullets. Or kick someone until they’re vomiting blood. Or just do something, whatever it is, to take his mind out of you,

But his head hurts and he can barely get out of bed. So he just lays there, hating himself and blaming everyone else for what he just did. He messed it up; he wanted to mess it up. He hates himself for it.

He has to go after you.

No, he doesn't. He doesn’t need you or wants you close.

Yes, he does.

He makes a frustrated sound before making an effort to stand up. His foot is still the thing that brings him pain the most. Most of his body is bandaged up, but he doesn’t need half of those anymore; most of his injuries are either healed or halfway there. He tries to get dressed as fast as he can, which is not saying much.

He’s about to leave to go after you when there’s a knock on the door. He opens it to see one of Hatter’s men. 

“What the fuck do you want?” The young man just gulps while looking at him; at the rifle in his hand, more specifically.

“Uh, there's uh- there’s an executive meeting,” says the guy with a gulp, “They’re expecting you.”

“I’m busy, now fuck off.” He gets out and closes his door, pushing the man aside. Oh, someone give him the strength not to shoot the messenger. He starts walking when the man speaks again.

“Hmm, it's about the Omega...”

He doesn’t waste time answering, walking down the hallways as fast as he can without making his limp noticeable; he has a reputation to maintain after all. He catches your scent all the way to the meeting room and he knows he will find you inside.

He opens the door to find everyone already there, now looking at him. He keeps his head high, eyes locked on you sitting against the wall. You have been crying, he can see that. Your eyes are down, but your emotions are clear to him, now that you’re close to each other again. Disappointment, fear, shame. 

You’re fucking scum, his wolf whispers to him. Yeah, he is.

He takes his usual seat at the table, at Aguni’s left. He can feel your eyes on the back of his head, and he has to control himself to not look back. Hatter is saying something, but he’s not listening; he doesn’t care. Chishiya sits in front of him, and just the sight of the man makes his blood boil. His finger twitches on the rifle’s trigger; with a simple click, the biggest of his worries will be gone. His eyes are suddenly on him, and the man smirks. Niragi has no doubt he knows what went on; everybody else in that room has at least an idea.

Your name being said snaps his attention to Hatter’s words.

“- Ann said. And I agree,” the man says, “You’re smart, you’re fast, and you’re alive. I think that qualifies you for a lower number. You can even become a militant if you want, I’m sure Niragi-”

“No-” you suddenly interrupt, “I mean, I’m fine with just going on games and helping Ann with what I can.” You sound hesitant, “If that's okay with you…?”

Hatter’s smile brightens, “Of course Y/N, whatever you feel like doing. You got the right to it, after all,” he says with a nod. “Also, nice work at the Ten of Spades, guys. From what Chishiya told me, you were very close to dying, Niragi.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, I wonder why…” 

The rest of the meeting passes by in a blur. He can feel the occasional gaze on him, but no one tries to call his attention. He’s too focused on trying to get a grasp on his messed up emotions, while also trying to understand yours at the same time. You’re trying to hide from him, but he can still feel you in the back of his mind.

A nudge from Aguni snaps him back to reality, and he realizes the meeting is over. He looks behind him, but you’re already gone. He stands up with a grunt of pain and follows you; he needs to talk to you. He rounds a corner to find you speaking with Chishiya. You immediately sense him close, turning around to face him. Chishiya gives him a condescending smile before whispering something to you and walking away. It would be so easy to shoot the man in the back; what is stopping him anyway? He raises his rifle just an inch before your hand snaps and pushes the gun away.

“Stop that!” you say, eyes locked on his.

“You know he tried to kill me, right?” he says, lowering the rifle. “I’m just trying to return the favor.” He tries to touch your arm, but you take a step back. It hurts him more than he cares to admit, “What were you two talking about?”

“About how you rejected me and practically kicked me out of your room after we had sex,” you say, a bite to your words he doesn’t fail to notice. He can feel your anger. “He offered to take care of my problem for you, isn’t that so nice of him?”

The fuck he will. He grabs your arm and pushes you against the wall, hand firmly around your throat. He can’t feel your fear, and it only makes him angrier.

“I’ve been way too good to you,” he doesn’t really mean the words that come out of his mouth. He tries to control his shaking hand, “If you choose him, I’ll kill you both. Don’t fucking try me.”

Your eyes never leave his. He can feel a spark of rebelliousness in you. It both excites him and angers him even more.

“I’m not choosing either of you,” you say. He knows you’re not completely sincere either, “You can suck each other’s dicks, for all I care. I’m done with both of you.” 

He lets out a humorless chuckle, “You seem to forget that I can smell you.” Your eyes widened slightly, “You have what, three days before you’re in heat? What makes you think I’m gonna let you get out of that one unbound? Because I won’t, and that fucking dog sure won’t either.”

“Fuck- “

“-You?” he says, nose grazing your neck. He can feel your pulse fastening. “I will, you can bet your fine ass on that.” He can sense the confusion in you. He’s confused too; part of him wants that connection that only a bonded couple can have, while the other fears everything that comes with it. But he’s mad, he’s in pain, and he wants you. He does.

So he kisses you. You taste and smell like him, your scents mixing perfectly; it’s addicting. He can’t get enough of you. He forces his tongue inside your mouth and you let him, arms going around his neck to play with his air. One moment you’re pushing against him, the other you’re pushing him away.

“No, this is madness!” you exclaim. He sees the unshed tears in your eyes, “I’m not doing this anymore, get off me.” 

“Y/N- “

“Don’t touch me!” you swat his hands away, “I told you before and I’m telling you now;l,” you’re fully crying, tears streaming down your face, “I am not going to have the miserable life my parents had! You made your choice earlier, now let me make mine!” 

“Y/N I- “

“No, shut up and listen to me,” you point a finger at his chest, and he has to control himself not to touch you. “I understand how overwhelming this is for you too, but you have no right to say the things you said to me. Unless you’re here to apologize, I don’t want anything to do with you. I’m not a toy, Niragi.” He looks away, somewhere above your head. He can’t bring himself to say it, even though he knows you’re right. “If this is the behavior I can expect from you in a relationship, then forget it,” you say in a low tone, stepping away. “I’ll be in my room if you decide to apologize.”

He sees you walk away; he knows that following you will only make things worse. He never felt that he needed to have this much control over himself. Before you arrived, he could pretty much do whatever he wanted with no consequences; he could fuck, drink, kill, and torture as much as he wished. Now he can barely do anything without being afraid of what you will think of him. He wants your approval and acceptance more than ever, and it pisses him off.

“Having trouble with the Omega?” he doesn’t have to turn around to know that is Last Boss. He nods once and the man proceeds. “Want help persuading her? Make her more...compliant.”

Niragi considers it for just a second before shaking his head. He might not know you well, but he knows you more than you think; ‘persuading’ you would bring him nothing but a headache. Why couldn’t you be the submissive and shy Omega they talk about in books? It would make his life so much easier. 

But he does enjoy a challenge. Winning your heart and body is more than enough motivation for him.

Even if he has to fight himself to have you.

Next Chapter

[solarwonux]

36. “I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone from my least favorite book.” “Why not?”

37. “I think you’ve had enough to drink today.”

husband!joshua x f!reader

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst 

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drinking, hints at infertility, mentions of a surrogate, self doubt, hints at depression, mentions of therapy, brief mention of poly!gyuchan,  IVF treatment, suggestive, a cat named dog and a dog named cat, reader isn’t a fan of Shakespeare.

notes: this one’s a heavy one, but I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I did do some brief research as I was writing this one but I still could’ve gotten something wrong, so if I did let me. Either way, I’m grateful for those who read and please please please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Joshua threw his head back downing the shot of soju. His face twisted in displeasure, hissing at the bitter taste. He sets the glass down wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at you. 

“What about Elizabeth, like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice?” Joshua asks, grabbing the green bottle of soju and pouring himself another shot. 

You cross your arms in front of your body and lean back against the dark navy booth. “Nope, try again.” 

Joshua let’s out a sound of annoyance before downing another shot. He doesn’t let the acrimonious taste settle in on his taste buds before he’s pouring himself another one and downing it. The two of you knew it was going to be a long night. Time was ticking, your surrogates due date was approaching and neither of you had picked out a name for your daughter. 

Truthfully, her name should’ve been chosen months ago. At least that’s what you and Joshua had planned during the first trimester of the pregnancy. But every time the topic came up, the two of you would end up frustrated and running back to the drawing board. You had names picked out, so did he. Neither one felt right. It also didn’t help that throughout the eight and a half months of the pregnancy a sense of guilt would wedge its way into your veins.

According to the many doctor’s you and Joshua consulted throughout the first year of your marriage. Your body wouldn’t be able to carry a child until full term. It had impacted you negatively. Your mental health was never up to par twenty four seven, but during that year - the year that was supposed to be filled with happy memories with your newly wedded husband; your mental health was at its worse. Memories that were supposed to be happy and colorful were black and white. You spent every waking moment dreaming about your child and feeling like a failure all at the same time. 

Joshua would hold you every time you cried out in agony. Each sob that came out of your lips would find its way and break his heart even further. He felt worthless not knowing what to do as he sat and watched the light get sucked out of you. He was hurting too, there wasn’t a doubt left in his head that he somehow shared your pain. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be told over and over again that your body will never be able to carry a child. So he held you and prayed for a miracle every night. He loved you more than anything in the world and although he found himself frustrated whenever you treated yourself like you were worthless or nothing. He made a promise to you in front of your family and his that through sickness and in health he will be by your side no matter what. 

The miracle came after four years. On New Year’s Eve of that first miserable year of marriage you told him you wanted to go to therapy, but only if he went too. He gladly agreed, eyes blown up in uncertainty but he didn’t fight you on your decision. Immediately he started researching for the best therapists in town, forgetting about the holiday party at Jun’s house. 

Slowly he saw you come back to yourself. The first time you smiled at him and laughed he cried tears of joy along with you. After almost two years of individual therapy with the newly added weekly couple therapy session, the two of you decided to research alternatives. Joshua was apprehensive, he feared he would lose you again, reassuring you that the two of you didn’t have to have kids in order to be a complete family. 

That just the two of you, your cat Inu and your dog Neko was enough. In which you agreed but one of your dreams was to bring a child into the world, to be a mother and you refused to have that taken away from you. So, he agreed after many weeks of convincing and a glittery powerpoint presentation. 

Mingyu, Chan and their wife didn’t want kids, frankly it wasn’t for them. But she didn’t hesitate to offer herself as a surrogate when she learned that you and Joshua were looking for one. It took another glittery powerpoint presentation from all three of them, this time to convince you to let them help you. So you did. Eight and a half months ago through an IVF treatment, one of your eggs and Joshua’s sperm were inside of her, healthily growing your child. Each doctor’s appointment you went to, the excitement inside of you grew. 

You stayed up with Joshua talking about how grateful you were that your baby girl was so loved and she hadn’t even taken her first breath yet. Mingyu and Chan showered her with gifts endlessly. A competition between the two of them to determine who would end up being her godfather. Not to mention her other ten uncle’s competing to see who would win the title of best uncle in the whole wide world. A contest that was to be held annually. Or so they claimed.

You were happy and so was Joshua but the only problem the two of you faced was that you didn’t have a name yet. And it stressed out Joshua to the point of no return, especially after you told him that it would be better to just wait until she was physically in the world. That her name would come to you, appearing out of thin air the moment you saw her for the first time. 

Joshua on the other hand disagreed. He lived paranoid ninety nine percent of the time and liked to be ready just in case something went wrong. He also didn’t want his daughter to be nameless and bean sprout wasn’t cutting it anymore. “Okay how about Ophelia, like from Hamlet.” He says with a hopeful dewey look in his eyes. 

You grab the bottle of soju and pour yourself a shot, downing it before slamming it down on top of the dark wooden table. “Absolutely not, I refuse. I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone my least favorite book.”

Joshua ran a stressed hand across his face. He wanted this nightmare to end. No both of you wanted this nightmare to end. “It’s not a book, it's a play baby, you out of all people should know that.” He accused, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju and cracking the seal. “Mrs. Literature major.”

“Does it come with a front cover and a back cover and a bunch of pages in between?” You challenge cocking your head to the side, pushing your shot glass towards him. 

Joshua poured you a glass before setting the bottle down and placing his chin in the palm of his hands. A cocky drunk grin evident on his face. “Yes, but it started out as a performance not a book.” He mocks.

“I disagree. Shakespeare had to have written it down first in order to then show the actors. Therefore it’s still considered a book and my statement still stands. I’m not naming our child Ophelia.” You roll your eyes bringing the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip from it. You were finally starting to feel the weight of the alcohol. It was a given the two of you were five soju bottles (almost six) in and still hadn’t made any progress. 

“Why not?” He whines kicking his feet in the process, resembling a little kid who just got told that he couldn’t have cookies ‘n’ creme ice cream for dinner. “I like Ophelia, I think it’s cute.” 

“Because Ophelia drowns in the play, what if by naming our daughter that, we are instilling her an unfortunate faith?” You explain, drawing it out dramatically with your hands. 

“That’s ridiculous. Our daughter is protected not only by her guardian angels but also she has a whole football team on standby ready to beat the shit out of anyone that makes her cry.” Joshua states in a matter of fact tone while closing the half finished bottle of soju. He was finally starting to feel the effects and the two of you still needed to pay the bill and somehow make it home. 

You huff dipping your index finger into the half full shot glass and wetting the rim. “I read about it once.” You whisper. 

“Where?” He stands up holding onto the table and makes his way to your side, sitting down. “On those mommy blogs? The one’s I told you to stop reading because they don’t make you feel good about anything?”  His arm makes it away across your shoulders and pulls you close. 

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “I’m just scared and I want everything to be perfect. I know that there’s nothing wrong with the decision we made but sometimes I still feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to carry her.” You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “What if she doesn’t love me?” You cringe at how small your voice sounds. This is something your therapist and you had been working on for the past three weeks. Ever since you realized that the due date was approaching quickly. You’d gotten far but the doubt still lingered no matter how much you tried to push it away. 

Joshua leaves a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “You’re her mom through and through and she’ll love you no matter what. Your body couldn’t grow her, the risk was too high and I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to her. But that doesn’t mean you were not enough. You have always been enough and you will be the best mom she could ever ask for.” 

Years ago when you had first met Joshua you knew you didn’t deserve him. He was everything you could ever ask for and more. Every time you found yourself drowning he was there with his hand plunged into the water ready to raise you up. He was your pillar whenever you needed someone or something to lean on. He was your voice of reason and your biggest supporter. And it wasn’t fair, because you would never be able to be that person to him. 

“I love you Joshua, thank you for never giving up on me.” You sit up, closing the small gap between the two of you and leaving a soft, delicate, alcohol filled kiss against his perfect lips. 

“I would never in a million think of doing that. Baby I swear I would cut off each of my limbs and feed them to birds if that thought were to ever cross my mind.” He smiles, pecking your lips repeatedly making you giggle. The sound made his heart soar. “I know you won’t believe me but you taught me what it’s like to love someone endlessly and unconditionally and that’s something I will spend my life thanking you for.” He says, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he hugs you close. 

“Stop making it impossible not to love you.” You laugh, circling your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. “I like Ophelia too, I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” His arms get tighter around, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He wasn’t voicing his happiness, but you could only imagine the dumb smile he had on his face. 

After all, it was rare for you to admit defeat.

The two of you stayed there for a few more seconds before he brought his face down, stopping just above your ear. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck,  live out our young adults fantasies once more before we become parents?” 

You pull away an incredulous look decorating your face. “Yup, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Let’s go home.” You stand up, grabbing your purse, pulling on his arm earning a wine from your husband. 

“Come on just once, please baby please.” He pleads and stands up, following you as you make your way to the front of the bar where the cash register usually was. 

“Absolutely not, I don’t want to be arrested for Adultery. We are about to become parents Joshua Hong!” 

He shrugs, circling his arm around your waist watching silently as you wait to pay. “It was worth a shot, what about when we get home?” He whispers into your ear leaving a teasing kiss against your chin. 

“We’ll see. Now behave.” 

“As you wish my lovely wife.”

[moonbeambucky]

Friday Night Fights

Pairing: Wrestler!Bucky Barnes x Reader [AU] Word Count: 5948 Warnings: action, fluff

Summary: A night at a wrestling show proves more than you may be able to handle.

A/N: I’m so excited because I haven’t seen this before and I’m really, really happy with how it turned out! Thank you to my pizza love @all1e23​​​ for beta reading 🍕❤️ Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated! gif source (x)

It was early in the evening but the sky showed otherwise. Its pitch black blanket draped the world in darkness; a consequence of winter where night rolls over earlier as the days go on. Y/N is huddled together with her friend Wanda, teeth chattering as they brace for a gust of wind, the kind that’s so cold the icy breeze burns your face. They’re standing in a line that wraps around the block, hearing the excited chants from people all around them. Some are a little louder than others and Y/N suspects a few have been keeping warm thanks to those beers wrapped in paper bags. While she was too cold to physically show how excited she was, inside she was thrilled. It was the first Friday of the month and Y/N was spending it the way she’s spent all of them over the past year, front row at a local wrestling show.

MWF had been running monthly shows for a few years now but it wasn’t until Wanda’s brother Pietro begged them to come with him that she was hooked. It was so much fun to watch the athletic matches and even though there were some storylines that bordered on ridiculous they were a lot of fun. Y/N can honestly say she’s never laughed harder than watching a man named Doctor Doom wrestle The Invisible Woman. He was so convincing in kicking his own ass she was almost positive he really was in a match against a woman that no one could see.

Tonight was different though; Y/N and Wanda were alone, waiting to get inside the venue without Pietro because he was making his debut! He caught the wrestling bug from the moment they all went to a show and after speaking with some of the wrestlers he found a local school and started training. Things were rough, as Y/N remembered the day after his first lesson, Pietro was so sore he couldn’t even get off the couch of the apartment they all shared. As his training continued so did his injuries; his body was covered in bruises from all moves he was learning but he didn’t care. Pietro loved it so much and eventually his body got used to the new brand of workouts he was putting it through.

While he was training Pietro still went to shows with Y/N and Wanda but now things were different. He was on hand to help set up the ring during the day, staying after the show to help break it down and pack it in the truck. He no longer viewed each match through the eyes of a fan but as a student, carefully studying each move and the story the wrestlers were telling. Watching them interact with the crowd made him hopeful, imagining himself in that ring one day with a crowd of people cheering for him. That day had finally come.

The show wouldn’t start for another half hour at least so Y/N and Wanda went to the line for refreshments, saying hello to a few people along the way. They had grown familiar with some of the crowd, seeing familiar faces that were also dedicated fans. Besides the regulars there were always new people, fathers with their young children either using this as a replacement for expensive WWE shows or just bonding over more wrestling in their lives. It was always a treat to watch the kids yell at the bad guys as they walked around the ring, pointing fingers in their face before recoiling back with fear if they were snarled at.

There were a lot of women there too, some older ones where it was clear they had grown up watching classic wrestling. Sometimes it was obvious that they were there to meet their favorite stars from the past. Usually the shows had one match that featured someone that used to be really popular. They were older now, a little slower but still put on an entertaining match. During intermission they would sell signed 8x10 pictures from a table off to the side. It isn’t anything compared to the money they used to make but it’s something of a living, and taking a selfie with their fans makes everyone happy.

Other women filled the crowds, young ones that hoped to get in the ring themselves one day or those who were only there to support their boyfriends or other friends who were in the show. You could always tell who was there to support who, watching their disinterested face lift up from the phone it’s been glued to all night to cheer for someone, and once the match was over you could see how quickly they got back to their phone, furiously texting away probably asking when they could finally leave.

After the shows some kids would wait around hoping to meet their favorite wrestler, full of nervous joy as they took a picture with them. It wasn’t always the kids who were anxious to meet someone, a lot of times there would be some women blatantly flirting with some of them. Y/N’s seen a few wrestlers take someone by the hand, pulling them behind the curtain to get lost for a few minutes. As long as everything was consensual there was no issue with it though she couldn’t help but grimace as she watched it happen unbeknownst to that wrestler's girlfriend hanging around and waiting for him to leave the locker room.

Pietro always told her not to say anything. “Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.” It’s a lesson he learned the hard way after confronting someone about cheating on their girlfriend. They took it out on him during training, leaving a red handprint shaped welt on his chest for days for not minding his business. This was not a side of wrestling that any of them liked.

Making their way to their seats they were taken aback by the presence of the large ring assembled in the center of the room. It was always a beautiful sight and being there felt like home. The cold metal chairs brought comfort, the bright fluorescents that shined down on them from the vaulted ceiling brought warmth like a cozy fireplace. This was more than something to do on a Friday night; it was tradition, creating new memories with every show.

Y/N took off her jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. “Do you like it?” she said, turning to Wanda, proudly showing off her sweatshirt.

The bright blue fabric was eye catching but the design on the front really stood out. It was the symbol for a wrestler that everyone knew was her favorite; red and white circles surrounding a bright white star in the center meant for “Captain America” Steve Rogers, the current MWF heavyweight champion. He was a blue eyed, blond haired, six foot wall of pure muscle with the sweetest baby face she’d ever seen.

Steve was enthralling. Women would scream extra loud as they ogled him (those tights don’t leave much to the imagination) and kids would jump up and down cheering as he gave each and every one a high five. Steve was an all American wrestler, a good-hearted person who believed in clean matches and rushed out from the back to help others if their own opponents were cheating to win. And lately he’s been coming out a lot.

There was a faction known as Hydra that Steve has been feuding with for some time now. A man named Red Skull, whose face was painted to look like one, served as their leader, standing ringside as his assets would fight their way to the top for a shot at the championship. For a while he pushed Crossbones, a real sleazy villain that took cheap shots at the audience, sneering at them as he told them how lucky they were to be in the presence of his greatness. Steve had many fights against Crossbones but he wasn’t alone.

Steve used to be a tag team, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, the Howling Commandos, brothers in arms that were the reigning tag team champions. Fans adored them, cheering as they took on Crossbones and his partner Baron Zemo. One night Steve held up his belt over his head, rejoicing in another win for himself and Bucky, proudly showing it off to the crowd and never expecting what happened next.

A vicious blow knocked him to the mat, the belt dropped from his hands. Confused, Steve tried to get up but a heavy boot kicked him back down. He wondered who was attacking him and if Bucky was faring better than he was, that is until he was able to turn around. Bucky was standing over him, his foot kicking Steve in the ribs. He groaned in pain, his body feeling the agony of the attack but his mind suffered more. “Buck, why?” But Steve never got an answer.

Bucky grabbed his head, forcing him to his feet but Steve fought back to defend himself. He blocked one punch but not the next two blows that came out of nowhere; a swift kick to the stomach from Zemo that sent him right into another strike from Crossbones across his back.

Steve wobbled to his knees disoriented and Bucky took advantage of his former friend’s weakened state. Bucky pulled Steve by the top of his tights setting him bent over between his legs. He smirked feeling his attempt to find the strength to fight back, clawing at Bucky’s thighs to break free. Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s waist and with all his might he hoisted him up, flipping Steve’s body up quickly so his legs were straddling Bucky’s head and just as fast he used all his force to slam Steve’s back down onto the mat.

Bucky got up, laughing as he stared at Steve laid out in the ring, joining Crossbones and Baron Zemo as the newest member of Hydra as the crowd roared with anger. Ever since that day Steve has been facing Bucky Barnes now known as The Winter Soldier– an enemy with the face of a friend.

The main event tonight was Steve against the Winter Soldier who was fighting for a shot at the title. Everyone was excited. Y/N wasn’t the only one in a Captain America shirt although some people in the audience smudged black paint around their eyes, emulating their new favorite villain to show their support.

The Winter Soldier had become an intimidating figure, wearing a black mask that covered the bottom half of his face, piercing blue eyes stood out against the smear of black war paint. His left arm was wrapped in silver electrical tape from his wrist and up his forearm, the sections making it look like his arm was replaced by metal plates. A final piece was taped just above his bicep as if to show off the prominent muscle.

He traded bright blue tights for a dark black fabric with a jarring red star on his thigh. It was like he had it just to taunt Steve, showing him he remembered his roots and all the years they spent together as a team but now he no longer cared, twisting the image of a patriotic star for one that was blood red, dripping with the hate that fueled him.

Like everyone else, Y/N couldn’t wait for that match but first the show had to begin. A man walked out from the curtain to a roar of cheers. He was an older man with grey hair that bordered on silver and bright teeth that flashed against tanned skin. He entered the ring with all eyes on him, partially because of his striking gold jacket, beneath it an even bolder red tie that stood out against a bright cobalt blue shirt.

Bringing a microphone to his mouth he spoke, “Welcome to the Marvel Wrestling Federation. I am your host, the Grandmaster!” The Grandmaster smirked, taking in their enthusiasm. The crowd was pumped and he knew it was going to be a great night. “Please welcome your referee for the night Phillip Coulson!”

“COUL-SON! COUL-SON! COUL-SON!” The crowd cheered as a man in a striped shirt entered the ring, a modest smile spreading across his thin lips.

With that the first match of the night began but Wanda could hardly pay attention. Pietro had texted her saying he was going to be in the second match and her leg bounced nervously. She vacillated between feeling excited and nervous, wanting to cheer on her brother for his debut but in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but fear for his safety.

Sure, Pietro had been training for a while but that didn’t mean that things couldn’t go wrong. Y/N looked over at Wanda, taking her hand and squeezing it, hoping to provide some comfort to her, realizing how hard Wanda was squeezing her own hand back as the first match ended.

“Making his debut, all the way from Sokovia, here is Quicksilver!” the Grandmaster’s voice boomed as music hit, and suddenly a figure raced out from the curtains to the sound of fast paced music.

Y/N and Wanda shot up to cheer for him, proudly screaming as he ran around the outside of the ring, slapping hands with everyone before he jumped up on the apron. Stepping inside the ring he went to the corner, standing on the middle ropes as he raised his arms up, smiling at the crowd.

He looked incredible. Neither of them had seen his outfit, ombre blue pants with a white lightning bolt going down the side of his leg. His white boots shined brightly, their luster not yet marred by the history of a long career. His chest was bare and though he was not as tanned as some other wrestlers he still very much looked the part with bright blue elbow pads on his arms. He winked towards Y/N and Wanda, who was filled with nervous energy she could barely hold her phone steady to record his match.

“And his opponent, from Queens, New York he is the amazing Spider-Man!”

Everyone jumped up from their seats to cheer for a masked wrestler who was always a crowd favorite. He was a few inches shorter than Pietro but much slimmer, wearing a full body spandex suit in red and blue with a webbed designed all over it and a small black spider in the center of his chest. His eyes were blocked by a white mesh surrounded by black trim but somehow you could see the expression in them.

Pietro began clapping his hands, a rhythmic beat for the crowd to join in as he and Spider-Man circled each other in the ring. Once they began both men showed off their skill of high flying moves and near pinfalls for each of them with nonstop action throughout and the crowd loved it. Wanda’s smile was stretched proudly across her face as she watched her brother. The match was over before anyone wanted it to be, with Spider-Man climbing to the top turnbuckle and doing a backflip splash onto Pietro for the three count.

Ref Coulson raised Spider-Man’s hand in victory but he quickly went to his opponent and helped him to his feet. Pietro was half-keeled over with one arm across his stomach, feeling the pain from where all of Spider-Man’s weight had landed. Spider-Man took Pietro’s hand, celebrating Quicksilver as a mutually respected opponent.

Wanda and Y/N stood up and cheered loudly, sitting down again once Pietro had gone back through the curtain.

“He was incredible! Did you see that? My. Brother. Did. That!” Wanda exclaimed.

Y/N was just as proud of him, knowing how hard Pietro trained. His first match was a great success and she hoped it would be the start to an incredible career.

The next match saw Quake take on Black Widow, another member of Hydra. She was a short redhead but her opponents should know not to be intimidated by her size. Though she was a strong fighter Black Widow was also conniving, cheating to win whenever it seemed victory was just out of reach.

She walked around the ring with a slow stride, ignoring the boos and comments from the crowd. As she was approaching Y/N she noticed the Captain America shirt she was wearing and her red lips pulled into a disgusted scoff. Black Widow snarled at Y/N, unable to bear the mere sight of her enemy’s symbol.

As soon as the match began the crowd was behind Quake all the way which only seemed to upset Black Widow more, anger that she held firmly inside. She launched a vicious attack, raking Quake in the eyes to impair her vision as she tried to pin her right away. Quake kicked out, and after a lot of back and forth it seemed like Quake was finally getting the upper hand.

Not wanting to lose Black Widow found the strength to stop herself from being thrown into the corner, reversing the move and whipping Quake right into Ref Coulson who dropped to the mat in pain. With Quake and the referee both down Black Widow smirked, using this opportunity to slip out of the ring and grab a metal chair.

Black Widow raised the chair above her hands, about to slam it down onto Quake before she noticed from the corner of her eye that Ref Coulson was using the ropes to ease himself up. Not wanting to be caught, she slammed the chair down onto the mat. The sound alerted Quake who turned around and just as quickly Black Widow threw the chair to Quake and fell down onto the mat. Ref Coulson turned around and was stunned to see Quake holding the chair above her opponent. He refused to listen to her protests as she was caught red handed, signaling to the announcers to end the match and the bell rang.

The Grandmaster’s voice echoed through the room, “The winner of this match as a result of a disqualification, Black Widow!”

The crowd booed as Quake continued to argue with the referee. He helped Black Widow up from the mat, unable to see the wicked grin that spread across her face. Her expression was one Y/N saw again that night as Crossbones and Zemo fought against Falcon and Hawkeye but unlike Black Widow, their opponents would not fall for Hydra’s tricks.

Hawkeye spotted Zemo hiding by the apron of the ring, trying to hold Falcon’s foot down so he couldn’t kick out as Crossbones attempted to pin him. Racing towards him, Hawkeye speared Zemo into the guardrails, knocking him out. Crossbones and Falcon were trading punches and Falcon was stumbling in the center of the ring. Crossbones began to climb to the top rope, setting himself up to jump off and hit his signature move, the Strike Force.

Seeing this Hawkeye jumped to the apron, knocking into Crossbones who landed crotch first into the turnbuckle, letting out a painful groan. Hawkeye called out for Falcon who turned around, and both men climbed to the top rope, lifting Crossbones to a standing position as they threw his arms over theirs.

This was their finishing move, the Birds of a Feather, as Falcon and Hawkeye did a simultaneous backflip off the top rope, while holding Crossbones who flipped along with them, slamming furiously onto the mat. Thunderous applause carried through the room as the referee counted to three and Falcon and Hawkeye remained the MWF tag team champions.

There were so many other matches that kept Y/N and Wanda entertained, like Thor against his brother Loki, the two having their own long standing feud but now it was time for the final match and Y/N was full of anticipation.

The Grandmaster stood in the center of the ring again, commanding the microphone as he spoke to the crowd. “Wow, what a show, what a night! And now, without further ado… it’s main event time! Making his way to the ring at 240 pounds he is the fist of Hydra, The Winter Soldier!”

The faint sound of music is heard over the crowd, like a scream heard underwater. The tension builds with a growing hum, the cry is louder yet different, mechanized, like someone is trapped inside a machine. A motorcycle hums, revving its engine, racing louder and louder until a crash of metal clangs.

At the height of tension the Winter Soldier takes a solid step through the curtain as the haunting scream blares out. It’s as if the person he used to be was still inside, Bucky Barnes, Howling Commando, friend to Steve Rogers, trapped inside the shell of a brainwashed assassin, scratching at the walls and screaming to free himself. But the Winter Soldier is nothing like Bucky Barnes.

His movements are deliberate and slow as he stalks the ring. Blue eyes visible through the darkness of black around them. They speak volumes with every glare as he makes his way around the ring. Kids who are brave enough scream at him but the Winter Soldier doesn’t react. He’s cold, devoid of emotion, as mechanic as the sounds of his entrance music. Y/N does see something in his eyes, the subtle squint as he sees her Captain America shirt. She, like many others, boo him as he passes by.

Not everyone hates the Winter Soldier though; he has his own fan base that doesn’t care about what side of good he’s on. Y/N can hear the difference in the tone of their screams, lascivious howls as he steps in the ring. They cry out as he undoes the buckles of his leather jacket to reveal a broad chest and she wouldn’t be surprised if they had dollars ready in between their fingers to stuff down his pants. His hair is dark and stringy, falling just on top of his muscular shoulders. He removes his muzzle, rolling his neck from side to side as he awaits his foe.

“From Brooklyn, New York, weighing in at 225 pounds, he is your Heavyweight Champion, Captain America, Steve Rogers!”

Patriotic horns blare along with rhythmic percussion, building triumphantly until Captain America pops through the curtain to a clamor of cheers. The belt shines brightly around his waist as he takes a second to pose, hooking his thumbs into the top, proud to be the champion.

Y/N stands up, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound of her cheers making them rise above the rest. Steve was slapping hands with a group of children but he heard her, his boyish smile growing as he turned to see her in the front row wearing his symbol.

As Steve approached Y/N he took her hand, pressing a kiss to the top of it that set her cheeks on fire. She sat down giggling in her seat with Wanda, hardly able to look at Steve anymore even though she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Her breath got caught in her chest for a moment as the Winter Soldier glared in her direction. She swallowed the hard lump in her chest uncomfortably, feeling on edge by the intensity of his stare.

The Grandmaster leaves the ring as Ref Coulson pats down the legs of both men to make sure none of them have any weapons. Steve would never but you can’t put anything past Hydra. The bell rings and the match begins, both men circling each other. Steve puts his hand out to shake, an honorable sign of respect he shows towards all of his opponents but his former friend roughly slaps it away. The Winter Soldier lunges towards Steve to spear him to the ground, unleashing an assault of vicious punches to the champion.

Steve blocked what he could but it seems like the Winter Soldier is on a mission to take him out. Steve is able to push him off, rolling over to try and stand but his opponent is on his feet first The Winter Soldier grabbed Steve and squeezed him into a headlock, tightening his grip as Steve hissed. Steve tried to get out of the hold, clawing and punching his way to get the man who used to be Bucky to release it. Instead he bends his knees and gets his arms under the Winter Soldier’s thighs, with all of his strength Steve flipped him over his shoulder but the reprieve did not last long.

Just as quickly he was attacked again but Steve grabbed the Soldier’s hand, whipping him into the ropes. As the Winter Soldier ran back towards Steve he was caught with the strong force of Steve’s drop kick that sent him to the mat. Steve went to cover him for the pin but the Soldier kicked out. The match had everyone on edge, back and forth as they traded powerful moves until both men were laid out in the ring.

“Come on Steve!” Y/N shouted.

He was dazed, trying to get up as the ref began a countdown from ten. He slapped the mat with his palm slowly and the crowd joined him; slow claps that built with speed, encouraging Steve to get to his feet. The Winter Soldier stood before Steve did so he grabbed him by the back of the head, slamming his face into the turnbuckles. The Winter Soldier set Steve up in the corner, slapping his chest with a violent thwack. Steve screamed in pain, the sting burning his skin.

The Soldier slapped him two more times before he grabbed him by the hand and violently threw him into the other corner. Steve’s back hit the turnbuckle and he groaned in pain. The Winter Soldier ran towards him but at the last second Steve lifted his foot to kick him in the face. The Soldier stumbled and Steve hoisted himself up to the middle rope, jumping off and locking his arms around the Winter Soldier's head; the momentum allowed him to swing his body around and as Steve landed on his back the Winter Soldier was stunned from the impact of the top of his head being driven into the mat.

Steve goes for the cover but the Soldier just barely kicks out. The crowd groans in frustration with Steve who gets up. With the Winter Soldier still down Steve gets up, he leaps to the center of the ropes, springboards off the top rope and does a back flip. It’s the Star Spangled Splash and the crowd goes wild as Steve crashes down on the Winter Soldier. He goes for the cover again, the referee counts, one, two, thr– The Winter Soldier kicks out at the last second.

Frustration washes over an exhausted Steve. He grabs the Winter Soldier by the hair to get him to his feet. Steve gets the Soldier in a front facing headlock and tosses his left arm over his own neck. He hooks his own arm behind the Soldier’s left leg, cradling the Winter Soldier against him. His hold is locked tight and then Steve throws himself backwards, tossing the Winter Soldier over his head. He’s pinned to the mat, his head and leg still locked in Steve’s clutches, and Steve does a bridge to add more pressure to the hold.

Steve is waiting, holding the Winter Soldier down expecting the referee to be counting. He’s been holding him down for longer than the count of three so where is the ref? The crowd is screaming, telling Ref Coulson to turn around but he doesn’t hear them. He’s too busy dealing with Red Skull and Black Widow who had rushed out from the entrance. He knew it was almost over for the Winter Soldier and he wasn’t going to let Captain America have another victory over them.

Red Skull made Black Widow jump up on the curtain to distract the referee as Crossbones and Baron Zemo snuck inside the ring, stomping on Steve’s stomach. He released the hold, groaning as the men continued to stomp him.

“Turn around! Ref, turn around!” Y/N, Wanda and so many others pleaded.

Crossbones grabbed Steve, lifting him into a fireman’s carry as Zemo climbed to the top rope. He swung Steve around to disorient him, inadvertently knocking into Ref Coulson who dropped to the mat. Zemo flew off the top rope to add to Steve’s pain as Crossbones spun him out, spiking his head into the mat.

The Winter Soldier rolled out of the ring, going over to the table where the Grandmaster was sitting. He grabbed the championship belt in a vicious tug of war that the Grandmaster had no shot of winning. Steve was using the ropes to get to his feet and the Winter Soldier ran full steam, hitting him in the head with his own belt.

Chaos broke out as the bell was ringing for the match to end but no one inside the ring seemed to care. They used every opportunity they could to continue their assault on Steve.

Y/N got to her feet, leaning over the guardrails as she screamed at all of Hydra. The Winter Soldier whipped his head in her direction, his eyes flaring with rage. He signaled to Crossbones and Zemo who dragged a half-conscious Steve to his knees. He was in the corner, his head dropping forward as both men held his arms back.

The Winter Soldier jumped down from the ring with determination, stomping towards Y/N who was still giving him shit, screaming “You knew you could never beat Steve in a fair fight!”

Wanda was trying to pull Y/N down to her seat as the intimidating frame of the Winter Soldier hovered in front of them but it didn’t stop her. Y/N’s arms were in his face as she continued to defend her favorite wrestler. “You’ll never win! Steve will always kick your ugly, frostbitten ass!”

A round of “oohs” spread out from around her, the sound that quickly turned into “ahhs” as Y/N screamed. Her words were enough to break the Winter Soldier who grabbed her with two hands by the throat, lifting her over the guardrails. Her legs kicked furiously to get out of the chokehold as she struggled to breathe.

Wanda was screaming as the Winter Soldier placed Y/N down, only to quickly toss her into the ring. Confused, she crawled to the corner in an attempt to get out, feeling the unfamiliar padding under her palms but she didn’t get far. The Winter Soldier pulled her by the foot, dragging her back.

Y/N screamed for help and the Grandmaster shot up but Red Skull saw him coming and kicked him in the face, laying him out before he could make it into the ring. Cowering on all fours, Y/N began screaming as she felt the bottom of her sweatshirt being pulled off. She held onto the hem of the shirt she had on underneath; far too thin to be worn alone, her arms prickled with goosebumps but Y/N couldn’t think about that. Fear ran through her veins and she stumbled backwards, leaning against the turnbuckles. The Winter Soldier held up her sweatshirt that bore Steve’s symbol to the crowd and facing her again he ripped it in half, tossing the shredded fabric at Steve.

This jolted him alert and Steve looked around, getting his bearings. His eyes shot open wide as he realized one of his fans was in the ring. Steve struggled to break free and Red Skull saw the determination in his eyes. Steve was straining his muscles to loosen the hold but Red Skull came up behind him, locking Steve’s head in a chokehold as Crossbones and Zemo strengthened their hold on Steve’s arms.

Black Widow sauntered towards the fearful Y/N, who begged mercilessly to be left alone but she should have known Hydra only cares about themselves and they needed to make a point. There was nothing Steve could do but watch as Black Widow lifted Y/N above her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, the girl helpless in her arms.

Wanda screamed in fear as Black Widow popped Y/N’s legs up, throwing them behind her as she locked her arms around Y/N’s head, magnifying the impact on Y/N’s neck as she hit the mat.

The crowd lost their minds, screaming as one of their own was unmoving in the center of the ring. Steve fought harder to be free of his hold and his enemies let him go. He walked straight into a fierce kick to the stomach from the Winter Soldier who quickly hooked Steve’s arms behind his back, locking his grip around them.

This was it, his finisher– the Dead of Winter.

He lifted Steve into a vertical position with his back against the Soldier’s chest, holding him there as if to prove to the fans that he was obviously the stronger of the two former Howling Commandos. The Winter Soldier then dropped to the mat, driving Steve’s head straight into the unforgiving ring.

“HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!” The crowd went wild as the Winter Soldier bared his teeth, a growling scream as he defeated his former friend.

Steve was on his back unmoving as Black Widow dragged Y/N’s lifeless body and draped it over him. The Winter Soldier laid Steve’s belt on top of her, as he and Hydra taunted the crowd, showing them what they thought about Captain America, his fans and his stupid title.

Security was finally called in but it was too late, Hydra had left the ring. Ref Coulson was dazed but awake, horrified to see a fan in the ring. Weakened, he called out for medical attention the girl in the ring and Steve, telling them not to touch them.

Most of the crowd filed out of the building but some of them stayed, like Wanda who cried as she watched Y/N being loaded onto a stretcher, carefully taken out of the ring with a collar around her neck.

Y/N opened her eyes to find a massive shadowy figure standing over her. Through a curtain of dark hair she recognized the blue eyes of the Winter Soldier. A smile spread across his face as his hands came for her throat… removing the collar that was stabilizing her neck.

“How’d I do Buck?” she asked with excitement bursting in every word.

“So good doll,” Bucky said, taking her hand so she could sit up.

He stood between her legs, his arms finding their spot on her waist as he pressed a kiss to her lips. She tasted salt from his sweat but it was something she was used to after so many nights of training together.

“I can’t wait for you to make your debut. You and Steve versus me and Tash.”

She nodded, smiling just as widely as he was. “I think Wanda’s more excited to seek revenge on what ‘the Black Widow’ did to her friend,” Y/N joked. “Did she tell you she picked a gimmick name? Scarlet Witch.”

“It suits her,” Bucky said, taking his hand to gently rub away some dirt from the mat that was on Y/N’s cheek. “How ‘bout we get cleaned up and maybe tonight you can try and pin me?” A smirk pulled at his lips, the glint of mischief twinkled in Bucky’s eyes.

“Try?” Y/N scoffed, looking into the eyes of her boyfriend with a smirk of her own. “Oh I don’t need to try Bucky, I can get you on your back with ease.”

Bucky grinned, pressing another kiss to her soft lips as he helped her off the stretcher. Y/N already won his heart, a match that Bucky happily lost.

✨ If you like my work please consider supporting me on patreon ✨

[laurfilijames]

Slow Burn- Part 4

Pairing: Modern AU Fili x female OC Prim

Words: 2,388

Warnings: 18+, rated E.

M/F intercourse, unprotected sex (OC is on the birth control pill but that does not protect against STI’s, friends!) Mention of drugs/being high, slight asphyxiation. Dom/sub very briefly mentioned. Swearing.

Summary: Prim and Fili finally succumb to their desires and stop torturing each other. Smut and fluff!

A/N: Ahhhh! This is completely nerve wracking to post! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and that the slow burn was worth the wait!

—————-

The drive to her apartment was a blur. Prim felt like she was high, her senses heightened and the energy between her and Fili tangible.

He was her drug and she was addicted.

Fili’s deep exhalations and his fingers drumming against the steering wheel were the only sounds that broke the silence in the truck, making the short drive feel like an eternity.

They came to a stop at a red light and Prim could feel Fili looking at her, his eyes burning into her skin causing her to shift in her seat and bite her thumb in self-restraint.

She would’ve climbed onto his lap then to run her fingers through his curls as she pressed her lips on his, but thankfully the green light appeared and the truck started moving again.

Prim stared out the window in an attempt to distract herself, startling when Fíli’s hand gripped her thigh. It felt almost possessive, the sturdiness of his touch hinting at a dominance she hoped he would take over her.

At last they were in her apartment and as seamless as they always were together there was a change between them now. It wasn’t awkward, but rather a mutual fervor over finally arriving to this moment, both aware of what was coming next.

Prim felt hot. She wrapped her hair around one side of her neck to allow some air to reach her flushed skin while she poured them each a drink.

His eyes were on her the entire time and she felt exposed, naked in front of him even though she wasn’t.

Yet.

The sexual tension they had built was finally coming to a head and it was almost too much to bear. Four years of wanting and waiting had brought them to this. Prim felt as anxious as she was eager at getting what she wanted all this time.

Prim put music on to try and drown out the thumping of her heart in her ears, the voice that kept telling her to touch him, press her body against his.

It didn’t help.

She glanced over at him as he took a sip of his drink, his eyes heavy with lust, watching her over the rim of the glass.

Unable to resist him any longer, Prim walked over and reached up to run her fingers through his thick hair like she wanted to all night. He placed his drink down on the counter, and although his hands were now unoccupied, he didn’t reciprocate her touch.

She squinted at him and sighed. Surely he would stop this torture now.

“Fi?”

“Yes?” His voice was low and buttery, working to seduce her even more, his eyes spirited with mischief.

“Touch me..”

But he didn’t. Instead he stayed where he was, one hand on his hip and the other braced against the counter. Then he had the audacity to do that fucking hum-giggle that ended her every time, his lips curled up in a smirk that pulled at the indentations in his cheeks.

Prim was seething. Just before she was forced to smack him or kiss him - she wasn’t sure what, Fili wrapped his arms around her back and consumed her body in his, his lips finally colliding with hers and ending her agony.

She worked to unbutton his shirt while they explored each other’s mouths, and she thought how he tasted just as she imagined.

They were frantic for each other, hands grasping and groping, the straps of her dress having fallen down her shoulders and threatening to expose all of her.

Fili’s lips were wet and vicious on her neck, creating a trail of marks across her skin.

Prim felt like she could die right here and now and not regret a thing with how good he felt against her.

She moaned and tried to press herself into him when he stepped back from her to pull the rest of her dress down past her hips and to the floor.

Her breath was ragged but she felt like she had power over him as she watched his expression change from lust to adoration. She knew he loved her. She also knew that as much as he had been playing all cool and in control, he was reeling beneath his collected exterior.

He was slow to take her in, his eyes carefully observing every part of her, never wanting to forget how she stood before him, naked and ready.

Fili’s mouth watered watching her move to sit on the counter top, spreading her legs before him, her wetness glistening in the dim light of her kitchen.

He wondered how long she had been soaking there, her body anticipating his.

Fili closed the space that separated them and stood between her legs, gripping her thighs tight with his fingers, unsure if he would leave bruises in her flesh.

His mouth pressed hard onto hers, swallowing the soft whimpers that escaped past her swollen lips.

He could feel her slick glaze over the curls on his lower belly and it made him throb even more for her.

Eventually she pushed him away from her enough to reach down and unbuckle his belt, moving next to the button and zipper on his pants, now able to pull his length out in her hand. She could feel the vein on the underside of his shaft pulse with his heart rate and it sent another wave of wet between her folds.

Exactly how many times had she thought of this moment?

Her hand languidly stroked his shaft and twisted each time she reached the head, smearing his precum with her thumb.

She grinned against his neck as he groaned at her touch and she couldn’t wait to hear how he would sound when he pushed deep inside her.

They remained kissing for as long as she was able to tolerate before deciding she didn’t want their first time together to be in her kitchen.

She slid off the counter, deliberately seating herself on top of his cock, both of them pausing at the contact. He bit her lip in restraint while she gripped his ass with her free hand, the other still tangled in his hair.

She walked backwards toward her bedroom, Fili following without hesitation, his mouth never leaving hers.

Prim’s legs gave out as they backed onto her mattress, sitting and pulling herself back into her bedding, Fili following above her.

They continued to kiss passionately, progressing their tease, Fili dragging his heavy cock over her core in a delicious rhythm.

He pulled away from her enough to look at her face and brushed his thumb over her cheek, a moment of gentle affection between intense and powerful want.

Prim lifted her hips to make contact with his body again, signalling she was more than ready for him.

She’d been patient enough.

Fili nearly roared when he gripped under her legs to lift her up more and pushed inside her, not hesitating to fill her with himself to her deepest point.

Her fingers clawed at his shoulders as she took his size, the pressure bordering on pain as he stretched her completely.

Fili became near animalistic, his breath ragged, slamming his hips against her while his mouth and teeth consumed her neck and chest.

Prim didn’t mind him taking such control over her, a contrast from his usual calm manner, loving that she brought this out in him.

He swiftly lifted her off the mattress and sat back on his heels, allowing her to sink down further on his length and ride him, her clit rubbing against the coarse hair above his cock, sending shockwaves through her body.

Her head fell back while he focused his attention on her breasts, tugging at her nipples with his mouth and fingers, his other hand assisting the intensity in the movement of her hips.

This was exactly how Prim imagined being with Fili would be, raw and unrestrained, both aware of exactly what the other needed.

Their pace alternated between primal and slow, changing between wanting to savour every moment and pound out their highs.

Neither of them spoke, words not needed to express just how immensely they loved each other.

She rode him hard, building a pace that would allow her first orgasm to rip through her, but was interrupted when she felt Fíli still beneath her, opening her eyes to see his blue ones staring at her and full of emotion. He brought his thumb to rest on her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze while he pressed his other hand firmly on her hip, preventing her from moving even slightly against him.

The pause made everything she was feeling intensify, making her focus on the way his cock was resting against her g-spot and the tingling of her swollen bud.

Prim gasped when he twitched against her cervix and she made an attempt to resume their movements, but he gripped even more firmly on her waist and moved the hand that had gently held her chin to clasp her jawline with assertive pressure.

He shook his head side to side, a warning for her to obey.

She was easily persuaded.

He brought his face to meet hers and greedily took her mouth in his again, robbing her of breath and muffling her scream as he pushed up hard inside her.

The sudden change instantly tipped her over the edge, her orgasm hitting her quickly and almost unexpectedly, causing her to tremble and vibrate around him.

This egged Fili on even more, watching and feeling her come apart around him. He clenched his jaw and thrusted up into her in a fury to extend her climax while his hand trailed along the column of her neck, gently squeezing and adding to her pleasure.

A grin spread across her lips as she landed back on earth, relishing in the fact that she was the one who got to be kissed by him, fucked by him, loved by him. Those thoughts and the way he was looking at her while he continued to move beneath her made her shiver with anticipation of all the things that were to come.

She wanted to do everything to him, do everything with him.

Prim found the energy to climb off of his lap, turning around to prop herself up on her hands and knees, happy he didn’t stop her.

His strong hand spread her cheeks apart, allowing him access to her dripping folds once more and guided himself inside her. The pace he formed along with his loud grunts proved to her he was more than satisfied with the change of position.

Prim pushed back against him as much as she could, causing his head to slam against her g-spot with every thrust, building her up for another release.

His body folded around her and he reached his arms to cover her completely, one hand landing between her legs and the other across her chest.

She could tell he was nearing his end, his thrusts beginning to become erratic and she couldn’t wait to feel him empty himself inside her walls.

Not wanting to come yet, Fili backed slightly away from her, the tip of him remaining encased by her folds, and kissed his way down her back. She followed his positioning and leaned back against his chest, fully seating herself on his length once more. He growled in her ear with satisfaction, completely enthralled by her.

His thick fingers continued to dance and circle on her clit while his lips attacked her neck, making her head loll to the side from such intense sensations.

She never wanted this to end.

He was vigorous in his ministrations, an expert already at reading her body.

Fili used his free hand to turn her face to the other side to meet his mouth as he pounded her to her second orgasm. Her walls strangled his cock as she detonated, and she felt him pulse inside her signaling his own release with a rough groan against her lips.

Prim allowed the weight of her body to recline against him, panting and exhausted from their efforts. His lips trailed along her collarbone as he came down from his own high, leaving tender kisses over the spots he had nipped and been aggressive with just moments before.

Reluctantly, Prim lifted herself off of him, their combined spendings immediately spilling out of her and down her thigh. Fili reached for her and pulled her close to him as he lay back on the bed, her body gliding against his sweaty skin.

She smiled against his chest, finding it hard to believe that after four long years they were finally together. Prim propped herself up on her elbow so she could look at him better, admiring how perfect he was. His arm rested on his forehead, his chest still rising and falling heavily from fucking her. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him, his skin aflame and heated, highlighted with sweat, accentuating every notch in his muscles and smattering of hair.

Her heart nearly stopped when he smiled at her, his dimples flashing and his eyes bright with love.

Fili moved to run his hand through her hair, looking at her like he would worship her until the day he died.

“I love you, Prim,” he declared, his voice low but full of surety.

“I love you too, Fili,” she professed, relief flooding her at being able to say it to him. Vowing to herself that she would be sure to tell him and show him every opportunity she had, Prim kissed him with as much meaning and emotion as she could, knowing he felt it when she pulled away and saw his blue eyes glistening.

She rested back down beside him, wrapping her leg over his and her arm across his torso so she could comb her fingers through his chest hair.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get here,” Fili apologized quietly, his hand trailing a pattern over her back.

Prim couldn’t help but smile, thinking of everything they’d been through and how stubborn they both were, all while knowing this was going to be the end result regardless.

“I would’ve waited my whole life to be with you, Fili,” she admitted, “but I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

——————

@guardianofrivendell thank you for your encouragement! 🖤

[giorno-plays-piano]

Sleep tight Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, stalking, kidnapping, non-consensual drug use, allusion to breeding.

Words: 3571.

Summary: You know someone tried to break into your apartment, but no one believes you since you live in the very same building as famous Captain America. Who is willing to risk it?

Part 1

____________

Your instincts were telling you to ran and shout and scream until somebody would be aware that you were trapped in your own room with a psycho beneath your bed. You needed to get out and find your cousin before it was too late, before he took you away like he promised and did to you whatever his sick mind was telling him to.

Strangely, your legs were not moving as if you lost control over your own body. You were shaking feverishly, but you couldn't force youself to stand up.

Wasn't it too late already? He knew who you were. He knew who your cousin was. He knew all the places where you could hide and all your relatives who would try helping you. How easy would it be for him to kill them all? He was Steve Rogers, the man who had never failed. If he didn't get you now, he'd make sure to tear your world apart in revenge.

You tried moving your legs but failed miserably again. Did your own body betray you? Was it Captain who gave you more of his medicine?

You were stuck here. There was no way out.

"S-steve?" You whispered, bending down a bit and looking at your feet.

When he touched your ankle with his cold hand, a ragged scream ripped from your throat - you were watching him getting out from under your bed like a spider, a mutilated monster, a nightmare in a form of a man. You landed on the floor with a heavy thud, trying to get away from him, crawling to the door, but Steve was already on top of you, injecting another medicine with syringe into your neck. Though he didn't finish yet, you already felt your body freezing. You were getting cold, your eyelids heavy. You thought it was the end when you closed your eyes, listening to Steve's loud heartbeat right above you.

Of course, it wasn't the end. He didn't plan on murdering you now; he only wanted to take you to the other location where you would be safe and sound with him. He'd prefer you to stay conscious, but you had enough stress already with that unhealthy lifestyle of yours, too much work on your shoulders, and lack of sympathy from the people surrounding you. Steve couldn't demand too much from you - you needed some rest.

_____________

The awakening was torturous. Your neck hurt badly from the rough injection, and your head was spinning. You felt like you were on a ship constantly rocked by the waves only to discover you were laying on a bed in a simple room, not a cabin. You didn't recognize this dark empty place, but it was the least of your worries.

You couldn't feel your body below waist.

Moving your fingers, you weakly grabbed the blanket that covered your body, feeling the soft  cotton texture. Your arms lost their strength, but they still felt like a part of you. But your legs... regardless how much you were shaking, your body refused to move even the slightest bit. It was like your lower half wasn't intact anymore. Like somebody cut you in half.

No. No, please, no. NO!

"Shh, honey." His quiet voice cut through the heavy silence, and you find him sitting in the corner of the room in complete darkness. "Please don't stress yourself. It's not good for your health."

You'd laugh at his words if you could, but you weren't able to force even a single sound out of your mouth. He did something to your body. He broke your spine. He made your legs completely useless to you. He made it so you would never leave him, unable to walk.

When Steve got up from his place, you looked at him with pure horror, your eyes filled with tears and open so wide it hurt. He had a concerned expression, watching you tremble with fear. Wasn't he supposed to be happy because he had finally caught you?

The closer he came, the more your teeth chattered almost to the point of breaking. He had taken away your legs. He broke you and he would keep doing it more and more because no one was going to save you from America's most favourite hero. You would die in agony in his hands because he wanted you to.

"Everything is going to be alright, darling." His hand brushed against your forehead, and you whimpered, a thread of saliva running down your cheek from your half-open mouth. You couldn't make yourself speak to him, too shocked and frightened to death. "We're almost there. It's going to take one more day or so, and then we will finally settle down. You don't need to worry about anything."

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

His eyes watched your madly shaking figure, and Steve reached out to take your frozen palm in his.

"Why didn't you tell me you're cold, honey?" He frowned and stood up immediately, making you let out a little cry. "Wait a second, I'll give you more blankets."

Blankets. As if you needed any. As if you cared about your body that wasn't functioning properly, half of it just a useless piece of meat now. You felt like you couldn't breathe anymore, gasping for air and feeling like somebody squeezed your lungs with a stony arm.

Steve had returned from the other side of the room shortly with a pile of blankets and carefully unfolded them one by one, covering you with several layers. When he saw you choking, his hands flew to your chest, but your eyes were already rolling back from the lack of oxygen. It didn't take you long to go into the great darkness, sinking into it, feeling nothing at all, even the man's shouting quickly fading away.

It took you even more time before you awoke the next day, your body aching from staying in one position for long, apparently. You were feeling groggy again just like all those mornings in your apartment when your life seemed so boring and uneventful to you. Little did you know, it was heavenly comparing to the complete nightmare you were living in now.

You suddenly realized you could curl your toes on your right foot. And then on the left one too. Your hips felt warm under that huge and heavy comforter.

You could feel. You could feel your lower body.

Then you were crying so hard that at one point you became afraid of being suffocated in your own tears. Steve Rogers didn't break your spine. He did something to you, but your body recovered, nevertheless. Oh, you were strong. You were so strong. He would have hard time trying to break you.

Your euphoria was slowely going away with every minute you spent in solitude in that pretty little room with floral walls. It was the complete opposite of the dark place you woke up after being kidnapped - the new room was furnished very nicely, way better than your own apartment stuffed with cheap things straight from Ikea's sales, and it smelled like roses. Was there a vase with flowers somewhere? It could be. That sick psycho was still playing the role of your loving fiancee.

Wait. Was he under your bed? WAS HE UNDER YOUR BED?

Caring little for the noise you made, you leaned down and lost your grip on the headboard, falling to the floor. You hissed in pain, but then saw there was no one hiding beneath and let out a loud sigh. Relief washed over you. Steve wasn't there. You were completely and utterly alone in the room.

You spent some time listening to any sounds, but you didn't hear anything at all. If Steve was somewhere close, he decided not to show up just yet.

Trying to move as quietly as you could, you got back on your bed and glanced over the room - it was so girly with light pink bed sheets, pillows, chair's upholstery and even a carpet. There was a beautiful vintage vanity with a large mirror - lifting your head, you caught a glimpse of yourself and quickly laid back. You weren't ready to see that just yet.

It was light as day here, but you didn't find any windows. You doubted he would give you a chance to escape through one, and you heart sank at the realization: it wouldn't be surprising if he locked you somewhere underground. Maybe he didn't chop off your legs, yet he took away your opportunity to run away, nonetheless.

Anyway, you could still cry from happiness knowing you were able to walk. It felt like the biggest present somebody could give you.

You didn't know how much time you spent there, staring at the white ceiling and imagining Steve Rogers waiting with an axe behind your door. You didn't hear any sounds whatsoever, even the clock if there was any in the room. Slowly, you started moving your legs again and then clenching your fists real tight. You were in full control of your body, and you wept a little at the thought.

Soon you lifted the comforter and stepped on the pink carpet. Did he put floor heating in here? Your feet felt oddly warm.

Dropping your gaze to your pink silk pyjamas after that, you almost threw up in both disgust and fear. Did that sick pervert do anything to you when you were unconscious? You glanced at the door nervously and took off your top, covering yourself with the comforter in a second. Then you looked at your skin, touching your neck, your breasts and your arms: as far as you could see, there were no marks on your body. It didn't hurt. After that you put the top back on and took off your pants, repeating the same manipulation and finding nothing. Good. He didn't rape you, at least. He couldn't hide this with whatever medication he forced you to take.

Watching youself in a mirror, you wiped a tear running down your cheek. Well, you didn't look as bad as you expected. Certainly not that bad, even after all those horrible things that happened to you.

You searched the room for anything that could help you protect youself but found bothing, not even a pen. You tried grabbing a lamp from your nightstand like the last time, but, apparently, it was glued to the surface. Anyway, how would you protect yourself with it against Captain America? He could break your body in half with his bare arms, and he certainly could have more syringes with whatever fucking drugs he used on you.

You had to go with empty hands. You cringed at the thought, but moved on regardless.

The door was unlocked, and you threw a quick glance at the corridor before stepping away and waiting for Steve to storm into the room. He wasn't there, still, and you swallowed the knot in your throat before opening the door wider with your shaking hands. The dark grey - or green, you weren't sure - colour of the corridor walls made you feel nauseated. It was so much different comparing to the pretty room you woke up in. These walls, however, looked like the walls of a prison.

Was it prison? Had that room ever been a cell before? You covered your mouth with your palm and tried to pull yourseld together. No, it wasn't the right time to vomit. You needed to move.

The room you walked out just now was in the middle of a very long corridor with doors to your left and right. With a lack of light you saw poorly, but you were sure there were no people, at least. After you spent a bit more time standing there to give your eyes time to adjust, you realized that this place had to be huge - the corridor was abnormally long.

Having no clue where to move, you went to your left, feeling very disturbed by the huge difference between the corridor's and your room's appearances. If Steve spent so much money and efforts decorating that place with beautiful furniture and other pieces of interior, why he didn't care to do it anywhere else? Was the room you woke up in the only decent one here?

Oh, you didn't want to open one more door. Breathing heavily, you were covered with cold sweat as you reached for the door knob and softly pushed it, jumping back to the wall beside you.

No sound, no movement, nothing.

Tears were clouding your vision, and you spent one more minute trying to wipe them off before you gathered enough strength to move further. The room you opened was a bedroom just like yours, but not so girly - the walls were covered with light green color, yet the furniture looked as exquisite as in your room. No vanity, however, and nothing to give you at least some protection too. You moved forward.

All those rooms looked pretty fantastic, you had to admit with displeasure. They all were comfortable and completely new.

You stumbled upon more bedrooms, several living rooms, a dozen of restrooms, a walk-in closet, two kitchens and an almost empty cabinet. Although all of them varied in size, you still saw no windows anywhere. And when you found a nursery you cried hard, clenching the fabric of your pyjamas with your teeth.

This place was a maze with more corridors and God knew how many rooms. You had no idea how Rogers could have this house - or whatever it was - running. Well, with his position of Avengers' leader he probably had a fortune to spend.

Oddly enough, all rooms looked pretty as pictures, but not the corridor. It was ugly in every part of the house as if you were supposed to be repulsed to even step outside the room. Maybe it was his intention, you thought. The other strange thing was that Steve was nowhere to be found - you checked every goddamn bed and sofa he could be under, but saw only a dusty floor. Where was he? Wasn't he supposed to be here with you? Not that you objected, though.

You felt tired and hungry after your long jorney.  There was food neither in the kitchen nor in any other room, and your stomach hurt at the thought of chicken nuggets. You'd give up anything for your usual McDonalds meal.

Before you chewed your lips thinking of hot French fries, you heard the distant sound of the door opening - a very heavy door. Probably a metal one.

You were in a bedroom you discovered at last without even realizing what you were doing. The thought of Steve coming to assault you, kill you, and dismember your body caused you to have a panic attack when you were getting behind a huge chair standing in the corner of a room. You couldn't hear anything but the blood pounding in your brain. You didn't remeber whether your screamed or not when the man entered.

Dragging you out the corner you were tucked in, he pushed your head into his chest and then put you onto the bed gently, holding your arms in his when you struggled and kicked involuntarily, not realizing what was happening as the world spin around you. He reached out for his pocket and took out one more syringe - you saw it later as he left it on the nightstand while you were laying on the bed with your body going limp again. But after taking away your strengh, the drug made you regain your sanity instead.

You were laying under the blue blanket, Steve sitting close to you and watching you with a sickly sweet smile of his as he caressed your hair with his hot palm. A few grocery bags were dropped to the floor near him, and you saw a pack of dark red cherry tomatoes almost falling out.

"You must have been scared to be all alone in such huge place. I'm sorry I wasn't waiting for you to wake up in your room, dear." His face lit up when you looked at him, chewing your lips to bits from fear and all that tension, your body pretty mich useless again. "I give you my word to become more considerate in the future. By the way, did you have a good look at our house? You got pretty far."

Pretty damn far. The entrance must have been so close.

You couldn't make youself speak to him again, so you simply nodded, weakly grasping the blanket in your trembling hands. Well, at least you could still feel your own body.

"I wasn't sure what you would like, so I just... filled the space, I guess. Of course, we can make any changes you think are necessary."

Changes? Oh yeah, like having windows and ten times less rooms, not even talking about that obviously thick door preventing you from leaving.

"You'll think about it later. How do you feel now, honey?" His shamelessly pretty eyes looked at you almost innocently, and you felt something like anger rising in your chest. "You will have to take some pills before coming into norm, I have them all here. Nothing that could harm your health, of course! They were prescribed by a very good doctor. The best I could find."

You were close to weeping, listening to Steve talking. You were under his full control again, and of he wanted to break a few of your bones, he could do so easily since you were barely able to move again.

"I'm better." You managed to whisper and shut your mouth when Steve smiled at you, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

"Good. I was getting worried about your constant anxiety. I've told you so many times your lifestyle isn't good for your health, darling! Why have you never listened to me?"

God, he was a madman while you were confined to bed. Your chances to stay alive were miserable.

"I'm sorry, d... dear." You basically pushed these words out of your throat, afraid to make Steve upset. "I will do better."

"I'm glad you heard me out." You shivered and closed your eyes when he leaned closer and dropped a kiss to your forehead.

You expected him to get away and sit straight, but Steve didn't. His face was inches away from yours, and you were afraid to look at him knowing you'd see nothing but the frenzy in his eyes. Captain America was long gone. Someone else had taken his place, and that someone wasn't a good guy ready to sacrifice himself to save his people.

Listening to his erratic breath, you tried to prepare yourself for the end. That was it, right? He'd take that syringe and plunge it into the socket of your eye or into your carotid artery any second. You could feel his madness showing itself on his face even with your eyes closed.

"Why won't you look at me, sweetheart?" His kind voice made you shook. "Come on, open your eyes."

You refused, still. What did it matter?

His breath burned your ear when he spoke next time.

"If you're so willing to run away from me, do you want to play a game?" Steve planted a kiss on your cheek and smiled when you finally opened your eyes. "It's an easy one. Do you like hide and seek?"

You gulped down, watching him like a dangerous animal ready to plunge its fangs into your soft flesh.

"I'll give you ten minutes, and you have to run and hide from me. If I won't find you soon, I'll let you go." His gentle smile was quickly turning sinister while you were left gasping for air. "But if I am going to catch you, I will..."

"No."

He stopped talking and stilled, watching you with wide eyes. The pure confusion on his face looked strange - he didn't understand what you were trying to do.

"I'm not a child." You said, watching him with determination emerging out of nowhere as you spoke. "I don't like these games and I'm tired. I wanna see a movie, Steve."

Was his madness contagious? You certainly felt so, giving him what sounded pretty much like an order. No, you wouldn't play his sick games just to end up mutilated and broken. You'd play yours. You felt so bold and intent to resist him after dreading torture and death so many times. It was like that syringe injected some magic potion into your body, leaving your mind free of fear. What there was for you to lose, anyway?

"Of course, honey! I'm so, so sorry. Of course, you're a grown woman, and it was silly of me to offer you this." He looked... apologetic? Bewildered? Ashamed? "Let me take you to the living room... yes, like that, darling. You're doing so good."

Lifting you in his arms, Steve showed you that warm smile of his once more and carried you away, humming some melody. You put a hand on his chest and listened to his heartbeat that was quickly slowing down. You just escaped your own death, probably. Maybe being a little crazy would actually help you survive.

Once you got an opportunity, you would slit his throat the very first night, you thought.

THE END

_________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 5 - The Stratosphere

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, where will they go?, 2.7k

@trevor-wilson-covington​ is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

“So, I was thinking,” Luke was saying to Julie once everyone was back in the green room, chatting lightly as they packed up their gear. “Maybe I could visit your mom in the hospital and play some songs for her. Cheer her up, you know?”

Julie looked so touched. Willie still didn’t know their whole story, but they seemed like a good fit. He had offered to help Alex load up his drums, but apparently there were people paid to do that here. Alex was just supervising it because he wanted to make sure they were handled right. It was a pity this place was full of techs and ushers and security because it was so tempting for Willie to try a few tricks on his board in there.

He’d finally gotten a proper introduction to everyone, and it turned out that all of Alex’s friends were great. The guys were all super chill, and he couldn’t thank Julie and Flynn enough for letting him be there to begin with. They seemed almost like a family. If he didn’t think about it too long, then he could ignore how badly he wanted to stay around all of them for as long as he could. Willie couldn’t remember anywhere that had felt so warm and open. He ran his fingers over the new bandage that he’d gotten on his hand.

Alex sat beside him, gear all stashed away.

“So, what’s your plan?” he asked.

“It’s a surprise,” Willie teased. “But it’s close.”

Alex looked around the room and then back at him with wonder in his eyes, raising the corners of his lips.

“Just the two of us though,” Willie added.

“Of course,” Alex nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, guys,” Luke spoke to the entire room. Flynn, Reggie, and Bobby stopped the silly hand clapping game they were in the middle of and all turned their heads to face him.

“Julie and I just came up with a super cool plan,” Luke continued. Julie stood with him, and Luke immediately stood back to let her speak.

“I told you guys that my mom’s cancer is back. She’s given a lot to me, and I don’t think I could ever give back everything. But it would be really neat if we all gave her a private mini concert.”

Cheers went around the room, making Julie beam with happiness.

“I know it’s short notice,” she went on. “But I want to try to do it once we’re all back in California.”

“But what about your shows in the next couple of days?” Flynn questioned.

“I’m gonna see if I can reschedule them. I know it isn’t an ideal thing to do but with my mom’s condition, I’ve gotta do what I can.”

Willie sat quietly. He would’ve been happy to be involved, but was too aware that he was staying here in Vegas. That same feeling of wrongness crept along his skin, making him fold his arms and rub his thumb where it rested. He wasn’t sure when he’d picked up the habit, but he was doing it a lot more often recently.

“Uh…” he started. “I’m gonna catch up with you guys later, if that's okay.” He glanced over at Willie in a subtle but giddy manner.

The group finished discussing plans about getting together for a quick practice and what kind of songs they would do for Julie’s mom. When Willie suggested Yellow Submarine, Alex advocated for it as well, and he was happy to have made at least some contribution to their ideas. Once all that was put together, everyone got ready to go their separate ways. All the guys shuffled toward their van and Alex hung behind for a moment.

The guys all looked mildly surprised, but ultimately shrugged.

“Catch you later, Alex,” Luke said, giving him a wink. Reggie was singing Yellow Submarine under his breath as they drove away, to which Willie giggled quietly.

“You ready?” he turned to Alex, noticing his hands were free from clutching the strap of his fanny pack this time.

“I guess I am,” Alex said, smiling through his nerves.

Willie took his hand tightly and carried his board with the other. Alex's smile only grew wider as they hurried out to the street. The goofy jerking between their hands only made them squeeze harder to keep contact. He could hear the delighted chuckle being released behind him as he guided Alex across the city. He felt his lungs let forth a youthful yell from his throat, and he felt like Peter Pan crowing as he flew through the stars.

People darted out of their way as they rushed onward. Willie eventually saw his target, the Stratosphere, and didn't even bother pausing before he pulled Alex through the entrance. The elevator was just being emptied and before anyone could stop them, he tugged Alex inside and pressed the buttons to get them to the highest floor. The doors shut and they felt the jolt of being lifted from the ground pull them downward.

"Aren't we supposed to pay for tickets?" Alex panted, laughing between breaths.

Willie, also doubled over in laughter, just shook his head.

"Capitalism sucks, man! Don't buy into it!"

Alex only wheezed, leaning into the wall for support. Eventually, they both sat on the floor and after a few more bouts of laughter were able to calm down and breathe normally.

"When you said you had your ways I didn't know you literally meant you could just walk in anywhere," Alex thought aloud.

"The concert was luck," Willie smiled. "Here, it's just practice."

Alex shook his head incredulously. They both sighed, feeling that strange tension that had been there back in the diner, except Willie felt it in his fingertips. He eyed Alex’s hand lying inches away, and imagined himself reaching through and lacing their fingers together.

"How's that relaxing going, by the way?" he wondered.

"Hard to tell with you around," Alex stated, sarcasm not to be missed.

"I'll take the compliment."

Their long ride inside the elevator was near the end, and they stood up as the numbers got closer. Willie felt Alex's pinkie reach for his and he was happily surprised at the feeling of skin twining with skin. It was like they didn’t have to say anything - they just felt the same things. The door opened to the fresh evening breeze and revealed the wonderful sight before them.

"Whoa," Alex breathed, immediately drawn to the view on the observation deck. The lights from below sparkled in his eyes and Willie followed as they came right up to the railing. Both of them sat in awed silence, watching everything blink and glitter beneath them. The mountains in the distance bordered everything in a gentle, majestic manner. Willie had been up here so many times and somehow never noticed the odd sense of being folded in angels' wings before.

“I’ve been an idiot,” Alex started saying. Willie turned his head in confusion. Their hands slipped apart as Alex began gesturing to emphasize his words. “I’ve been thinking all day about how everything goes wrong and expecting everything to go wrong. I haven’t been enjoying anything nearly as much as I should be right now.”

Willie didn’t reply just yet. He just looked at Alex, watching how tense he was still, almost as if he could see the lion in the cage inside his head. All he wanted was to set it free. He looked around, and while there were a couple people on the other side of the observation deck, they seemed likely to just take pictures and then head back down.

“You know what I love about being up here besides the view?” he asked Alex.

“What?”

Willie gripped the railing as hard as he could, took in a deep breath, and screamed out into the darkness. Alex looked around nervously, but only watched the other people on the deck make their way back to the elevator.

“You gotta try it,” Willie urged.

Alex braced himself against the barrier and gave a nice little yelp.

“Oh, are you a puppy up for adoption?” Willie joked, tugging on Alex’s jacket. “Your whole body needs to let go.”

Alex looked back at him with an intense focus, and then turned back to the railing. Filling his lungs to the brim, he yelled viciously over the top of it. Willie joined him and they both staggered between screaming and taking moments to breathe. Something about it said words beyond what they had spoken. Willie heard a unique sort of agony as Alex belted everything to the night. He wondered if his pain came through as well.

Alex finally sighed as he finished his last shout and then looked up at the sky and closed his eyes.

“I did enjoy that,” he said. “Thank you.” He dropped his posture and Willie smiled at seeing him finally loosen up.

“Didn’t know you had so much pent up rage,” he commented.

“I guess I didn’t either,” Alex said, chuckling darkly. He sat on the ground and looked up at Willie to follow suit. Taking a seat across from him, Willie eyed him curiously.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Staring contest,” Alex said plainly.

Unfortunately, Willie blinked immediately. Probably ten times in succession, actually. This time, Alex got to laugh.

“Okay, not an actual staring contest,” he said. “ But I’ve tried this with all the guys in the band. We look into each other’s eyes for a few minutes, no speaking, and we just....know each other better. Bobby’s the one who started it.”

Willie only nodded as they got into comfortable positions before locking eyes. He tried to silence any impulses for his mind to focus on anything else and channeled everything into looking at Alex. Even in the dim light, he picked up the green color staring back at him. The stillness outside rivaled the storm within them.

Slowly, the storm softened into waves of caring kindness. They were powerful, but low, as if Willie were wading in shallow water and letting them crash over him. Each wake broke upon him in just the way he wanted to collide with them. This wasn’t a tide where he would get lost in the danger of the deep. The current was pushing him back to the shore, toward safe ground. 

The image in his mind suddenly morphed, and he was transported from calming waves to a rickety road. Fields passed by as he found himself looking out a window. His vision steered to his left, and an older man with a jovial smile sat at the wheel, turning to him as if they’d been passing jokes between them. The man’s familiar laugh echoed in his head.

 Absent-mindedly, Willie grabbed Alex’s hand. Pulled out of his trance, Alex looked at him with concern.

“I just remembered something,” Willie said, sounding like he’d received divine communication. It almost felt like he had. That image was supposed to be locked away, he’d been told. Never to be known again.

“What, like you left the stove on or something?” Alex asked in confusion.

Willie shook his head seriously. His hand was still squeezing Alex’s but he couldn’t get it to loosen its grip. It wasn’t because the memory had scared him, but fear was present anyway.

“No.” His eyes had trouble focusing on Alex’s face, now. “I think I remembered my dad. Like we were driving together. I remembered him.”

Alex dipped his head lower as he tried to figure out what Willie meant.

Willie bit his lip and looked at him apprehensively. This wasn’t the intended topic of discussion tonight. It wasn’t a subject he was usually allowed to speak of to begin with. He opened his mouth and clamped it shut, and then opened it again.

“I have retrograde amnesia,” he confessed.

Alex’s jaw slacked and hung open for a minute. Willie wasn’t sure how long he could handle this gorgeous boy blinking at him in disbelief before Alex closed it again.

“Oh my god, Willie,” he started, still sounding unsure but remaining gentle.

“I’m sorry, that’s sort of a really big thing to just drop on somebody,” Willie started.

“No, no, you don’t need to be sorry,” Alex soothed. “But, oh my god, you just remembered something.”

Willie ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath.

“Yeah… I did,” he said, just realizing the significance of that himself. His past wasn’t entirely under lock and key. That...brought a lot of emotions with it.

“Wait, so how long have you been like this?” Alex asked.

“About a year and a half,” Willie told him solemnly. “Caleb told me I was hit by a car when I was out skating. I even have a scar.” He lifted his hair and turned his head so Alex could get a look. Alex grimaced and shook his head, clearly not liking the visual he’d received in his mind.

“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” he said.

“Yeah, Caleb said that too.”

“Wait, who’s Caleb?” Alex blurted.

“Oh,” Willie looked downcast. “He’s my legal guardian. And my boss. You saw him this morning, remember?”

“That’s your legal guardian?” Alex said, sounding slightly upset. “Guy gave me the creeps.”

“That’s fair,” Alex said, sounding a little unconvinced of his own statement. He sat quietly for a minute. Willie studied him, worried about how he would respond next. Any fun had been sucked out of the air due to his own personal business.

“Yeah, well,” Willie shrugged. “He does that. But, what can I do, you know?”

“So, for the past year and a half,” Alex started. “You’ve had nobody except your boss?”

Wow, that hit him right in between the eyes. Willie hadn’t actually considered that before. He blinked momentarily and then looked directly into Alex’s eyes as pain slowly took over. Then hot tears welled up, causing him to look away.

“I guess not,” he said quietly, his voice already trembling. Before he could huddle into a little ball, Alex’s arms were around him, pressing his head to his chest. Heaving a sigh, he let the tears fall as quietly as he dared to be. His hand crept up to hold onto Alex’s shoulder and gripped tightly. A funny weight was felt on the top of his head, and he realized Alex was running his fingers through his hair. It was so soothing, so...sweet. Willie didn’t realize that was something he missed from his many forgotten memories.

Soon, he straightened up and wiped his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said to Alex, knowing he couldn’t possibly convey how grateful he truly was.

“Of course,” Alex assured him, still gazing upon him tenderly.

“I guess I killed the mood, huh?” Willie attempted to joke. Alex simply smirked and shook his head.

“For what it’s worth, I was totally lost in your eyes, so I needed to come back to reality.”

Willie couldn’t help but smile, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“That was for free,” he said, already getting back into step with his sense of humor. “I charge everyone else.”

Alex quietly entered the hotel and slipped into the door of their room. The guys had thankfully left it ajar so he wouldn’t be locked out. Luke was already lightly snoring on the couch, and he saw that Reggie and Bobby had both taken the larger bed. Carefully pulling his fanny pack over his head and setting it on the side table, he kicked off his shoes.

“Hey, Alex,” he heard Reggie whispering. Dammit. “How’d it go?”

The entire night replayed on fast forward in his mind, and he couldn’t get over the beauty of it all. The weight of it all.

“It was good, Reg,” he whispered back. He quickly changed and climbed into the bed that came down from the wall. Too many thoughts and feelings swirled in his mind like a cajun soup. Willie was amazing. There was nothing else to it except smaller details that attested to the same fact. Today had been all he would have of him, though. His mind paused on that thought as silence filled his ears.

“Did you kiss him?” Reggie whispered out of the blue in curiosity.

“Hey, bigger spoon,” Bobby mumbled groggily. “Be quiet.”

Alex didn’t answer, but smiled quietly to himself. He should have kissed him.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

I Ain’t A Judas (part two)

[Off-West End]

TW: Blood

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

Lynn had seen her fair share of gruesome injuries in her time, both as an active sports player and gym coach. 

When she was on her high school’s wrestling team, she vividly remembered throwing her (male, mind you) opponent to the ground and hearing the distinct sound of bones cracking. There was something haunting about being on top of a person while their skeleton seemed to fold inward, having her ear so close to that sickening snap. The resulting nightmare-inducing scream was actually a mercy to the other noise.

She had scrambled off of the boy, backing away on her hands and knees like she was a scared animal. Her opponent must have landed wrong when she pinned him because his knee was bent at an unnatural angle and he was screaming bloody murder. Someone in the audience threw up. Someone else fainted. The boy’s parents rushed over to him and began yelling.

The parents had tried to sue Lynn for the broken leg, but the school defended her, saying it wasn’t her fault and injuries were to be expected in sports. She obtained a title of sorts, being one of the most feared wrestlers in the district. She took it with honor, despite its double-edged outcomes.

The experience desensitized her to all types of gore, but not without a price. For a while, she was sensitive to any sound that resembled snapping bones. Even a foot stepping on a twig was enough to bring back the memory of the boy and the broken leg. She got over it eventually, but at the time, it had been hell.

Injuries became repetitive after that. Broken arms, broken legs, broken noses- she saw it all when she became a coach. They always went the same way, too- that damned snapping sound, a limb bent at an angle that wasn’t normal, screaming that was so loud it could probably break the sound barrier, everyone in the general vicinity panicking like chickens with their heads cut off. Not that Lynn blamed them for such a reaction; she supposed it wasn’t ever the same after you were chest-to-chest with someone when the injury happened.

But in sports, broken bones were the worst thing that could be inflicted upon someone. Scratches, bruises, black eyes, bloody noses, even the broken bones themselves to some extent were nothing compared to other horrors. So as the repetition of injuries continued its cycle, Lynn believed nothing could get worse than that time back in high school.

And then she entered the darkened White bungalow and saw Carrie on the ground, surrounded by blood and covered in blood and frothing up blood, and that way of thinking was thrown out the window.

This. This was worse.

Lynn used to think that the screaming was the worst part of any injury, regardless of severity. That elongated, guttural sound of agony that the victim didn’t have the power to mute or muffle, bearing completely raw emotion, ripped out from the throat without control or consent. 

But as Lynn had knelt above Carrie White’s body, she now knew that the screaming was a mercy. The silence was the real thing that she should have been fearing all these years.

The screaming, at least, as awful as it was, meant the victim was alive. Even with their mind clouded with agony, they were sentient enough to even feel that agony. They were there, they knew, they could feel.

Carrie White was not, did not, could not.

The silence did not bring serenity. The silence did not bring peace. The silence brought panic- overwhelming, blood-rushing panic that made Lynn feel like she was standing in the middle of a rushing white water river, battered by the current. It made everything fall away into little broken pieces that would never be able to form its proper puzzle ever again. It made her feel true, unadulterated, unbridled terror for the first time since she was sixteen and in a gymnasium that smelled of salt and sweat with another kid screaming his heart out right beneath her.

It made her feel helpless.

And then, as if a giant log had been hurled from the raging river of dread and hit her in the face, awareness came rushing back to her. She stopped the flow of tears that she had not been able to fight back in those initial moments of hysteria and got her head on straight. 

Sue was there, holding Carrie’s body close to her chest. Margaret was there, too, face-down on the floor, unmoving, but Lynn could have hardly cared. Her focus was entirely on the young girl bleeding all over the place before her.

The cause of that bleeding didn’t feel real, either.

  “Her throat. She slit her throat.”

Lynn remembered watching something on TV, one of those cookiecutter crime shows that had been copy and pasted dozens of times before, saying something about how a throat wound could bleed out within minutes, if not seconds. She cursed her school training for not teaching her how to deal with this, opting instead to make all the teachers relearn the heimlich maneuver and CPR for the hundredth time in a row.

When she took Carrie’s small, shaking body into her arms, she discovered something worse than the silence. The gurgling. That wet, foamy sound that gargled in the back of Carrie’s throat, so desperate for proper articulation and enunciation, choked back by a torrent of her own blood. It may have meant she was still alive and fighting, but Lynn much preferred the silence.

Unwrapping Sue’s shirt from around Carrie’s neck and actually gazing upon the wound felt like a physical knife against Lynn’s throat. She had never been one of those people who could feel pain from watching others get hurt, and yet, in that moment of raw horror, she swore she could feel her own flesh being sliced open, muscles and tendons snapping away like weak thread, vessels punctured and windpipe split, slowly filling her lungs with her own blood, drowning her, restricting breathing--and then she realized she wasn’t breathing. Not while she looked at the gash. It used its severed arteries as a noose and strangled her, so she strangled it back.

Even with the hideous green and brown curtains wrapped around the wound like bulky bandages, Carrie’s neck was still so small. Lynn’s hands were so large. She felt like she was trying to asphyxiate a baby bird.

Lynn realized then that the experience in the gym was not the most horrific thing she had ever witnessed. At least she was a teenager when it happened. Being an adult and squeezing onto a child’s slashed open throat hurt in more ways than she could truly express. There was just something so fucking terrifying about being the one to pinch gushing blood vessels closed, to be the hands around a dying girl’s throat, to be the one and only defining factor to if that girl would survive the night. Even though she knew it had to be done, Lynn wanted to cut her hands off for the things they had done in those horrifying six minutes before the ambulance arrived.

Carrie’s eyes had looked so dull, so lifeless. It was a stark contrast to half an hour before she was bleeding out all over the place, when they were full of joy and life.

Lynn had never seen Carrie so happy before. She had never seen her dance, either, which made everything pre-blood dump even better. Carrie looked like a normal teenage girl, having fun at her school prom, being treated as she should have been all these years.

Lynn remembered, clear as day, those hours before the destruction.

Carrie had truly stuck out like a sore thumb in the Prom, but not in the way that any of her bullies had been expecting. The dress she wore, hand-sewn herself she had said, was soft pink and seemed to glitter in the overhead lights. Her red hair was brushed back to neatness, though that one iconic lock of bangs still dangled in front of her left eye. When they had spotted each other, Lynn was endeared to watch Carrie rip away from Tommy and run over to her in her heels. 

  “Miss Gardener, you look incredible!” Carrie had exclaimed.

  “Thank you, Carrie,” Lynn said. “You look beautiful.” As shy and modest as always, Carrie ducked her head and said, “Oh, thank you.”

Tommy had then walked over to them. “Miss Gardener, I don’t think I would ever see you in a dress.”

Lynn gave him a sharp look. “Tommy.” 

Tommy cleared his throat. “You guys want some punch? I heard Stokes and Freddy spiked it.”

  “Oh no,” Carrie said in a woebegone voice. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink spikes? What if someone chokes?”

  “Really?” Lynn said to Tommy at the same time.

Tommy had laughed, then noticed Lynn’s unamused, deadpan expression. He stopped instantly.

  “Uh-- No.” He said. “I’m joking.” He rubbed his palms on his black pants. “I’m going to get us some of that punch! Which is not spiked!”

Lynn rolled his eyes as he skittered away, then turned her attention back to Carrie. She looked so amazed as she gazed around the Prom, like it was the nicest event she had ever been to.

She and Carrie had talked until Tommy came back, but it wasn’t the last she would see of the girl. She chatted with her several times during the night, even danced with her on a few occasions. It was nice to see her smile after everything.

But of course, it had been ruined. Would Carrie ever get to experience true bliss without someone taking it away from her?

The memory of the blood dump had brought Lynn back to the present, to the blood on her hands on that moment. Every time she would lift them long enough for Carrie to get air, more would gush out, and she slammed them back into place every time, desperate to halt the flow. She wouldn’t have taken them away at all if Carrie wouldn’t have suffocated from the pressure on her neck. 

Lynn thought about Chris when she was effectively strangling Carrie. Her own will was keeping her from adding the proper weight to Carrie’s neck, so she made herself angry to compensate for the thing she really didn’t want to do.

How could anyone be so cruel? Especially to someone who didn’t deserve such treatment? Lynn imagined it was Chris beneath her hands, and that made her squeeze tighter.

She knew it had been Chris, and not just because of her gut feeling. Norma had told her.

During the panic of laughter and shock and confusion after the blood dump, Lynn had found Norma Watson, Chris’s second-in-command, in the crowd. For a moment, she didn’t know if it was even really her, as she wasn’t used to seeing her without her trademarked red backwards hat, but then recognized her snarky face and grappled onto her with her nails dug in. However, when Norma looked at her, her face was anything but snarky. It was horrified.

  “What happened?” Lynn had demanded. “Who did this?”

  “Chris,” Norma told her instantly. She looked back to the stage, to the blood dripping off the edge. “I-I didn’t know it was blood…”

  “What?”

Norma shook her head, mouth hanging open.

  “Norma!” Lynn dug her nails in further. She didn’t care if it got her fired, she had to know. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Norma looked back at her, wide-eyed and sickened. “I didn’t know it was real blood.” She said. “Chris-- she said it was red water. Just dyed with food coloring. I didn’t think she would--”

Lynn had released her, noticing that Carrie was now gone. She couldn’t stick around any longer. 

Before she rushed away, she could have sworn she faintly heard Norma utter, “I’m sorry.”

When the paramedics finally came rushing in, Lynn did not let go of Carrie. She couldn’t risk it, not anymore. Not when they were so close to salvation. The paramedics let her stay by the girl’s side until they got to the actual hospital, but then not even she could remain. She had to peel her hands back, and they were completely covered in blood.

She and Sue sat in the waiting room for what felt like forever, when it was really only two and a half hours at best. They spoke to each other in brief, choppy instances. The stink of guilt wavering off of Sue was sickening--though, that may have just been the stench of the rancid pig blood and regular human blood mixed together into a miasma upon their skin.

When the nurse finally came out and walked up to them, Lynn had been expecting the worst. Surely such a lethal wound take longer to treat. But it didn’t, apparently, because the nurse said that Carrie was stable and Carrie was going to live and they would be able to see her if they liked.

They did.

Lynn and Sue both comforted Carrie when she woke up. Her voice was very hoarse and weak, and Lynn guessed that was both because of her throat wound and from her having to strangle her to keep her from bleeding out.

Carrie didn’t seem very happy to be alive, but then Lynn realized she didn’t have much to live for in the first place. Her mother was all she had, and now even she was gone (the doctors said it was a heart attack). Lynn was hoping to take the place of that empty maternal role and give Carrie the life she deserved. She just wanted to see her happy again.

It was one in the morning when Lynn finally left the hospital. Since she had rode in the ambulance, Sue’s mother dropped her off back at the White bungalow to get her car. 

The place was already swarmed with yellow tape and crime scene investigators. A few neighbors were standing out on their porch, watching the scene. Red and blue lights lit up the dark street. A police officer walked up to Lynn while she was trying to get to her car and began asking her questions about what happened.

By the time she got home, Lynn was mentally and physically drained. The first thing she did when she pulled up in her driveway was step out of her car and throw up in the lawn. Carrie’s blood was still on her hands.

Lynn lost her complete sense of time when she took a shower. She stood beneath the spray of scalding hot water and blankly watched blood run down the drain. She dimly wondered if this was what Carrie saw That Day in the locker room.

She finally broke when she got out of the shower. Staring at her own reflection in the fogged up mirror, she crumpled. Everything she had been holding back hit her like brass knuckles and she sunk to the floor, sobbing.

The tears stopped, eventually. When Lynn dredged herself from the bathroom floor, she went downstairs, started a fire in her fireplace, and threw her blood-stained Prom dress into the flames.

She would not be getting sleep tonight.

--

Carrie was permitted to leave the hospital two days later. By then, it seemed like everyone in the whole country had heard of what happened. Apparently a few reporters had even tried to sneak into the hospital under the guise of being family members to do an interview with Carrie, but were wrangled out.

Carrie herself looked no better than the day she came in. Her hair was wiry and tangled, and her skin was very, very ashen. Her eyes were dead, sunken into two pits in her skull. When Lynn had stepped into the hospital room, her gaze did not brighten like Lynn had been hoping. She just stared at her with a blank expression.

Lynn was given strict instructions to keep an eye on Carrie’s neck, to come in if even a single stitch popped out. Carrie was prescribed tramadol, which she should take a few hours after arriving home. If Lynn’s house could even be considered her home.

The drive was silent. Lynn tried to fill the space, but Carrie never responded. Hell, she barely even looked at her. All she did was look out the window with the same dead fish look in her eyes.

Was this even still the little girl she had danced with at Prom?

  “Here we are,” Lynn said as she parked. “There’s someone waiting for you inside. I’ve told them all about you.”

Carrie tensed. Lynn realized her mistake and quickly went on, “They’ll like you, I promise. It’s nothing bad.”

Carrie’s anxiety did not go away. Lynn quickly unbuckled both of their seatbelts (had Carrie ever even ridden in a car before?), then led Carrie inside. Instantly, Carrie flinched, probably expecting someone awful to be waiting there for her, but instead a grey pit bull bounded up to them, tail wagging so fast it became a blur. Carrie relaxed slightly.

  “You have a dog.”

It was the first thing Carrie had said to her all day. Lynn smiled and nodded, scratching behind the dog’s ear.

  “I never told you?”

Carrie shook her head.

  “Well, her name is Rosebud. You can also call her Rosie. She responds to both.”

Carrie nodded. She reached down and tentatively pet Rosebud. Rosebud responded by eagerly licking her hand. Carrie pulled away with a tiny noise, but it wasn’t one of shock or fear, rather awe. Had Carrie ever touched a dog before?

  “Come on. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

Lynn gave Carrie a tour of the house while Rosebud trailed after them. Carrie nodded to everything she said, not voicing her opinions about anything. Not that Lynn was expecting her to. She wasn’t like that. Even if it weren’t for her traumatic injury, she wouldn’t say anything.

By the time Lynn was done showing Carrie around, she realized it was only now turning to 12:00. They still had the whole day stretched out before them, and Lynn had no idea what to do.

It was weird, she thought. She had imagined raising Carrie herself several times before this, but she always pictured them doing regular family things like watching TV together or baking or going jogging. Now that the opportunity was finally in front of her, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. Though, in her defense, in all of her fantasized ideas, she hadn’t pictured Carrie with a slashed open throat and severe trauma.

  “Would you like to do anything?” Lynn asked. Might as well like Carrie choose.

But Carrie just shook her head, looking as clueless as she felt. 

  “Ah-- well…” Lynn was grasping at straws here. What did Carrie even like to do? “Here, I’ll turn the TV on for you. You can watch something.”

With a small bit of coaxing, she got Carrie to sit down on the couch. Rosebud jumped up next to her. Lynn turned on the TV and opened up the channel guide, then handed the remote to Carrie.

  “Turn on whatever you want.”

Carrie looked down at the remote, then up at her, blinking.

Oh, please don’t tell me she doesn’t know how to--

  “I-I, umm…”

Yep. That was enough of an answer. Carrie didn’t know how TVs worked.

  “Oh, let me--” Lynn took the remote back and began explaining how it worked. “See these two arrows? If you press on them, you can go up in the channels. That’s what all of those little boxes on the screen are. And you can select with this circle in the middle.” She demonstrated, selecting one of the channels and turning on one of those house hunting shows where the white couple (and they’re ALWAYS white) never seem satisfied with any of the options they’re given even though they’re all beautiful houses. “So, is there anything specific you want to watch? Sports? Cartoons? Movies?”

  “This is okay,” Carrie said softly.

  “Alright,” Lynn set the remote down next to her. “You can change it anytime you want.”

Carrie nodded, then looked up at the TV. Lynn lingered beside her for a moment before walking into the kitchen.

Wow, okay. She did not expect motherhood to be this awkward. This was definitely going to be an adventure for her and Carrie both.

--

Time passed. The hours went by. Carrie didn’t say very much. There were some instances where Lynn completely forgot that Carrie was even there and found herself rushing back into the living room to make sure she was as she had left her (which she always was). 

It was a very quiet day, indeed.

At around five o’clock in the evening, however, that quietness was broken.

There was a whimper.

It was so faint that Lynn thought she was just imagining things at first. She had looked up from the soup she was making (the doctor said that Carrie was going to have a liquid/soft food diet for awhile) and furrowed her eyebrows. She strained her ears, but the only sound she got in return was the voice of one of the Property Brothers (she couldn’t tell which was which) from the TV, so she turned her attention back to stirring the noodles in the pot in front of her, writing it off as nothing.

But then it sounded again, this time slightly louder.

Lynn’s spoon clattered against the countertop when she took it out of the pot. She looked out of the kitchen. Maybe it was just Rosebud? She whistled for her pet, then heard the scratching of claws beneath her. She looked down and saw that Rosebud was already there, begging for food in the way she always did when Lynn would cook. Lynn gave into her adorable puppy dog face and tossed her a piece of meat, which she scarfed down greedily.

Well, the whimper was probably just from Rosebud pleading for food in her usual doggy way. But then there was another whimper while she was looking down at the dog, and it had most certainly not come from Rosebud.

Lynn’s eyes widened.

Remember when it was said that Lynn sort of forgot that she had a child now living in her house? This was one of those times.

Lynn hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room, where she found Carrie curled up against one of the pillows, hand on her throat. Lynn was half-expecting there to be blood everywhere and was expecting Carrie to already be dead even more. If only she had been faster, paid more attention, actually known what the fuck she was doing and how to take care of a child--

Carrie whimpered again.

Lynn knelt down beside the couch and gently touched her arm. Carrie flinched away, eyes popping open wide. She looked at her as if she were expecting someone else, someone worse. There was terror written all over her face, and Lynn could tell she had an apology sitting on her tongue.

  “I-I’m sorry--”

And there it was.

  “Shh, it’s alright,” Lynn said to her, keeping her voice low and soft as to not freak the poor girl out even more. “You’re alright. You’re not in trouble. Are you okay?”

  “M-my neck--” Carrie’s voice was strangled, caught in her throat like it was snagged by a fish hook. “I-it hurts--”

Lynn cursed herself for not knowing that. Of course that would be the cause of Carrie’s pain- she got her damn throat slashed open! Was she expecting it to be her damn elbows or something?

  “The painkillers have probably worn off by now,” Lynn said, glancing at the time projected underneath the TV. “I’ll go get you some more.” She retrieved a tablet of Tramadol and a glass of water in record time, not wanting to leave Carrie alone for very long. She helped her sit up, then set the two items in her hands. Carrie went to take a sip from the cup, but flinched away at the last second.

  “N-no--”

Lynn frowned. “You have to drink, sweetheart.” She said. “You need to take that medicine.”

  “I-I can’t--” 

  “It’ll make the pain go away.”

Carrie shook her head, then cried out in pain when she did so, nearly spilling the water. When Lynn reached out to steady her, she jerked away as if her hands were made of fire.

  “Hey, hey,” Lynn spoke softly. “It’s okay, Carrie. You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Carrie looked at her, and there were tears glistening in her big hazel eyes.

  “Why don’t you want to drink?” Lynn asked. Maybe if she knew the cause of the problem, she could solve it.

  “Hurts--to swallow.”

Once again, Lynn mentally punched herself for not knowing that. She couldn’t imagine what Carrie must have been feeling at that moment. Was she worried that the stitches would fly out if she simply took a drink of water?

  “Oh, honey,” Lynn said sadly. She reached out and gently rubbed Carrie’s shoulder, hoping to comfort her. “I know it hurts, but the medicine will help with that, I promise. You just need to take one sip, that’s all. Just one. Think you can do that for me?”

Carrie looked at her uneasily, then nodded. She drank from the cup and put the pill in her mouth while Lynn rubbed her back comfortingly. The poor thing got an expression of absolute agony on her face when she swallowed, but she managed to force it down.

  “It hurts!” Carrie cried.

  “You did it, baby,” Lynn said, smiling warmly. She thumbed away the tears that had sprung to Carrie’s eyes. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

  “Hurts,” Carrie uttered again. The hand that wasn’t holding the cup grasped at her neck, as if she thought the flesh was still splitting open and she could mend it back together if she held it for long enough. 

  “I know,” Lynn said. “The medicine is going to help with that, though. You’ll feel better soon.”

Carrie nodded weakly. Her eyes were so dull and lifeless. Lynn wished she would smile.

  “I’m going to go take the pot off the oven before I burn the whole house down,” Lynn said. “I assume that you aren’t up to eating right now?”

Carrie shook her head.

  “Okay. But when the medicine starts working, you’re going to have to eat something. Doctor’s orders.”

Lynn went back to the kitchen and took the pot of soup off of the burner. She got to it just in time; it was about to bubble over the edge.

When Lynn went back to the couch, two bowls of soup in hand, Carrie was leaning back against the cushions, a glazed look in her eyes. Her hand was still on her neck. Lynn nudged her gently to get her attention.

  “I’m back,” Lynn said, sitting down next to her. “I hope you like chicken noodle. Homemade.”

Carrie blinked at her slowly. “My Mama would make me boiled chicken.”

  “I--” 

That sounded absolutely disgusting.

  “Sounds delicious!”

Carrie shrugged. Pain flashed in her eyes, and Lynn knew it wasn’t because of her neck for once.

Everyone knew about Margaret White and her weird teachings, but nobody had ever thought to do something about it. Lynn was, shamefully, one of those people. Even after she grew attached to Carrie, she still held out hope that it wasn’t as bad as everyone was saying, that the bruises that constantly showed up on Carrie’s little body were just from clumsiness.

She should have known. She should have been smarter. Maybe if she stepped in sooner Carrie wouldn’t be the way she was now.

  “It was certainly boiled,” Carrie finally said, and Lynn couldn’t help but bark a laugh. Carrie blinked at her in delight.

  “I bet it was,” Lynn said back, patting her head.

She and Carrie ended up switching the channel to some animated movie while they ate. Or, while Lynn ate. Carrie didn’t touch her bowl from where it sat on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Some time passed. Lynn noticed that Carrie was starting to blink a lot more, as if she were fighting off tears, but when she looked directly at her, she realized it was from weariness. 

That was right. Tramadol’s main side effect was drowsiness. Lynn tried not to smirk.

  “Someone is sleepy,” Lynn said.

  “Mm-mmm,” Carrie shook her head stubbornly, then let out the most adorable yawn that Lynn had ever heard. 

  “You definitely are,” Lynn set her bowl down, then picked up Carrie’s. “Think you can take a few bites for me? Just a little.”

Carrie looked at her, then the bowl, then back to her, then nodded. She took the bowl from Lynn and began taking small bites.

  “Good girl,” Lynn smiled, rubbing Carrie’s back. Maybe taking Carrie wouldn’t be so hard after all!

  “Hey, Miss Gardener?”

  “Yes, sweet girl?”

  “You wanna know what it was like?”

  “What?”

Carrie looked up at her, eyes like hollow glass, a thin line of soup dripping down the corner of her mouth, and said, “Your hands felt like they had been hanging me.”

…Or not. 

[tired0artist]

sing to me (part one)

paring: female!V x Johnny Silverhand

summary: a street kid V falls in love with SAMURAI music and idolises Johnny Silverhand. years later she finally understands the saying “never meet your idols”

warnings: angst and fluff, Johnny being a dick as always, arguments, Jackie and V are like siblings, Mama Wells is the best, grief, V plays the guitar, more/different warnings in the future parts

note: I’m describing my V, but you can imagine her however you want tho

•SAMURAI fan V (street kid)•

Ever since she heard “Never Fade Away” playing on some radio on the streets, she fell in love with it.

She was around 13 and world was shitty, she was angry at the corpos and other rich bastards (her rebellious years really).

So finding out that basically the whole SAMURAI was fucking the corpos and singing about it? Also that Johnny Silverhand bombed Arasaka? Fucking legendary.

One of the happiest days of her life.

V started scavenging for their old records, t-shirts and shit like that. And her first payment for stealing some shard from some corpo fuck, went for a new record player.

When she hit 17, V snuck into some fancy bar to see Kerry Eurodyne playing. Of course he was playing some of his own songs, but couple of SAMURAI ones were there.

Another great day in her life.

Turning 21 instead of going drinking or something like that. V found herself at a music store, buying her first guitar.

For a year she was teaching herself how to play. To the point where her fingertips started scaring, from all the times she played until she bleed.

At 22 she played at some bar, earning some descent money. And a broken nose from some fuck who dared to insult her playing.

He of course looked far worse than she did.

That was when she met Jackie, while trying to steal a car.

Apparently getting your shit beaten out of you by cops, was a great start of a friendship.

Greatest day in her life.

She stopped sleeping in an old warehouse and moved in with Jackie, to his mama’s basement.

V felt the happiest there, the warmth and freedom of her new home. That’s how she wrote her first song.

“You should be a musician, you’re really talented” said Mama Wells as she came upon V humming and playing out on the balcony, Jackie sitting next to her with a beer.

V laughed but didn’t stop playing “Yeah sure”

“Mama is right! You could be a star chica” Jackie said, being as optics always.

“You could play at El Coyote Cojo during the weekends” Mama Wells said with a smile.

“I don’t know, the last time I played at a bar it ended up in a fight” V said, chewing on her lip.

“Chica... I’ll be your bodyguard. I’ll even wear a suit!” said Jackie with a grin.

V laughed “I sure would like to see that”

“So, I’m going to tell Pepe to set everything up for you” said Mama Wells with a smile “Now come on ninõs, dinner is ready”

And so for three years, V was regularly playing at Mama Wells’ bar.

Some people even got inside just to listen to her play and sometimes sing whenever she felt like using her words to channel even more emotions through her music.

And then came the worst couple of days of her life.

“Dexter Deshawn!!! Can you believe it V?! We could finally be on top!” said Jackie on their way to Afterlife.

V smiled at her friend, as her heart screamed that it wasn’t what she wanted anymore. When she met Jackie she wanted to the best of the best.

But after so many years with music? She longed to play. Even to get her own album someday!

And yet she bit her tongue, buried her dreams thinking.

I’ll help Jackie get on top and then I’ll take care of my own dreams.

But it didn’t happen.

Jackie died along with V’s musical soul, right in that Delamain. As the rain poured against the windows, creating an off rhythm that reminded her of her stuttering and crushed heart.

Next thing she knows after that, is that she died.

Then woke up.

Got saved by Takemura.

Nearly died again.

And once again woke up, this time at Vik’s.

Panic was clawing at her chest as she remembered hazily her hallucinations, tears gathered in her eyes as she didn’t know what was happening to her.

“These hallucinations... explain them to me”

“I-I’m on stage... but not at El Coyote... I don’t recognise it. T-The music is loud and aggressive... familiar in a way but I can’t remember it clearly anymore... lights are shining on my face as I scream to the crowd. I-I’m full of rage and no matter how much I’ll scream... it won’t go away...”

She then chuckled humourlessly “And then... just don’t laugh at me. I bombed the Arasaka tower...”

“Nothing there to laugh about, kid...” Vik said, his eyes showing sadness.

“The worst part is that... I can still feel this rage. And some... frustration? Irritation? But I-I don’t know why. I don’t feel that way? Then why?”

Vik sat down, saying “These hallucinations.. they were memories. There’s a personality construct on that shard. Dreams you had, were from his past”

“So you’re saying that... I was experiencing another psyche’s memories? How’s that even possible?” V asked, the alien irritation in her head growing.

“You two are connected in a way that I can’t make head or tail out of”

“Two? Me and who Vik? Who’s in my head?” she asked, anxiety growing in her chest.

“Johnny Silverhand. A terrorist. A real talk of the town back in my days”

V’s breath got stuck in her throat as she said “You’re saying... that there’s a dead rockerboy in my head. The same one who played with SAMURAI?”

Victor just nodded, and the fear inside her grew.

But that wasn’t even the worst part yet.

“He’s overwriting your consciousness. You don’t have much time left kid... few weeks tops”

V cried with fear begging Victor to help her, but there’s nothing he could do.

Nothing anyone could do.

The same night she met him. The guy that she admired as a kid. The guy who was a part of her favourite band. The guy who inspired her into making her own music.

And the guy who was killing her.

Silverhand tossed her around her apartment, surprising her with that fact that he could touch her.

It made her afraid of him. Because no one would help her if he suddenly decided to kill her. To them it would seem like cyber psychosis.

But still she fought back. She had nothing to loose after Jackie. She glared at him, yelled at him and crawled her way towards the pills.

“Fuck off!” she said to him, seconds before he dematerialised. With that she laid down and fell asleep on the ground, her body too exhausted to move.

Next morning was hell for her.

Her head was in agony not only from the fact that she was shot in the head, but also because it got smashed into a window.

She washed herself, took care of her broken nose, dressed in her favourite black leather pants, grey sleeveless hoodie and black biker vest. Putting on her combat boots and pulling the hood over her still damp peach-pink hair, she left her apartment.

As she was leaving the bloc, Takemura called her. Asking to meet up.

V didn’t want to, but the man was persistent. So finally she agreed and still feeling like shit, took the metro to their meeting place.

Takemura was easy to find, his clean and fancy clothing standing out.

The man seemed reliable and openly spoke about what he wanted. She could work with that.

After Goro left, V let out a deep breath. A feeling of hope finally igniting in her, that maybe. Just maybe, she’ll be able to survive.

But that moment of peace lasted only couple of seconds as Silverhand appeared, sitting in front of her as if he was really there, tapping his hands against the table.

“Zapper-dumples and filth. In some ways, Night City never changes. Arasaka’s still a despotic machine and the world’s on a collision course with chaos. But hey, at least Rogue’s still alive” the man said, his leg on the table looking like a jackass.

Or a rockerboy.

V’s fear and anger bleed into one as she said angrily and quite loudly.

“You know, you got some nerve. First you’re out to kill me, now you wanna be my choom? Make like nothing happened?”

People turned to stare at her as if she’s lost her mind. Making her realise that, yeah. Only she could see that fucker.

And to think that she idolised the bastard as a kid.

Silverhand looked around at the people saying “You know you don’t gotta speak out loud to talk to me?”

V glared at him, her fingers twitching.

“What. Do. You. Want” she said in her mind.

“I’ve processed some shit, changed my mind. Don’t want you dead anymore”

“Go fuck yourself, you fucking dick” she said angrily, pointing her finger at him.

“Hey, wasn’t easy for me, either. You woke up in a landfill, I woke up in your head. Wrestling with your thoughts, memories. Think we’re even”

“The fuck we are! I didn’t try to murder you, while you were almost dead in your bed!” she accused, not feeling scared anymore. Just angry.

Silverhand pretended he didn’t hear her as he took off his glasses saying “I’ve taken a step back, looked at things... think we might be able to help each other. We could start with Rogue. Her and I go back to the stone age”

V snorted “I don’t know if you realised it yet. But you’re dead Silverhand. No one close to my age even knows that you ever existed. Your friends are either dead or so old that their memory is shit”

Silverhand looked ready to murder her but she didn’t stop.

“And what? You fucking know Rogue. What do you expect me to say to her? That I have a parasite inside my brain that would love to meet her? I’ll be out of the Afterlife before I can say “SAMURAI””

“Rogue’s heard dumber shit than that. Way back when you weren’t even an itch in your daddy’s ballsack” he said, the alien feeling of annoyance becoming clearer inside her. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, his other leg joining the first one on the table “Rogue will dance to any tune I play her. Just get us to the Afterlife”

V stood up and leaned down on the table, their faces inches from each other “You think you’re so smart Silverhand. So fucking clever. But let me give you an advice, old man” she watched him glare back at her, as she continued “I admired you as a kid. You know that, from my memories. But should also know from them, that I don’t bow down to anyone. Especially to dicks like you. So now. Be a good little ghost and fade away”

With that she stood up and left. Silverhand didn’t appear again that day, which she counted as a win.

•english isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors.

•you wanna be tagged in the next parts? leave a comment!

•thanks for reading! hope you like it. I will be going through some parts of the main story and beyond. I’m planning it to be a bit longer so if you want something longer than 5/6 parts, this is for you

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

SAFE

Marcus Álvarez x Reader

Anon asked: Hi! I'm sooo in love with ur writing!! Anyway I'm wondering if I can have an Alvarez one were the reader gets jumped and beaten by some guys and shes found by him but he thinks shes dead the whole time on the way to the hospital and super super fluffy and the reader gets out and he goes on a man hunt to kill them? I'm sorry if it makes no sense it's a rough idea I had of my own XD

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford​  ✨

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: NSFW, smut

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

The only thing you can feel besides the pain running up your spine, focusing in your head through your neck, is two hands holding your left tightly. A soft kiss on the back of it and some tickles because of the facial hair. You’re trying to open your eyes, turning the gesture into an agony. His voice sounds so far that you’re not sure what he’s trying to tell you, but at least, knowing that he’s there calms all the nerves that were consuming you seconds before. And you don’t know how much time passes when your throat begins to work again. Babbling word with no sense, stirring slightly above the mattress you notice that the edge sinks a little more.

“Whe— Where I am…?”

Taking your time, you’re finally able to talk only opening your right eye. The left seems like it’s covered by a cotton patch and hurt like hell. You don't need to be a genius, looking around you, to figure out that you're at the hospital. Some flashes about last night squeeze your mind. You just closed the bar, outside of Santo Padre, guiding your walk towards your car after a long Saturday dawn. And everything you wanted was coming home faster than other days and lie down on bed. You weren't even in the mood for take off your clothes. But you remember a hand tangling your hair in his fingers, before you could open the automobile, pushing you to the ground. Your head hit it, feeling how the asphalt and your neck got wetted by the blood. Disoriented, you didn't know where the kicks came from straight to your stomach, your back, your arms and your face.

“You know… who I am, chamaca?”

Your gaze quickly reach Marcus, with a worried look on his face and two dark shadows under his eyes. Your orbs tour the largest fingers caressing yours, laying your head above the pillow needing to be more comfortable. You're supposing, because of the pain and the punts, doctors could think that maybe you could need some time to also remember your name. But they're wrong. You can feel the fright wrapping the mexican when there's no answer from your lips, narrowing your hand a little more hoping that the gesture can help you.

“Ma— Marc… us Álvarez”. Muttering for a second, you provoke a soft laugh full of happiness pouring out a tear whilst leaning to you, so he can leave a kiss on your temple.

“You're thirsty, mi niña? Do you want water?”

You nod as you can, moving your chin for one second, trying to get up by your palms. The man helps you after pressing a button on a side of the bed, so it can lift up the headrest. Serving some water in a plastic cup and guiding it close to your lips, he places his free hand on your nape making it easier for you to drink from it. Your throat feels somewhat better, even if the liquid forces you to cough two times.

“I'm so sorry, (Y/N). This is my fault”. Álvarez says leaving away the cup, sitting down on the edge of the bed caressing gentle your bruised cheek with his fingertips. He looks disappointed, upset, sad. His gaze over your hand between his again, but you can't understand why he's blaming himself. “Those perros... are Mayans enemies. They should heard me talking about you”.

“Did you…”

“Bishop”. He doesn't need to listen the whole question. “I brought you there. I thought you were dead, and I didn't care anything else. You're safe now”.

That's enough for you, closing your eye nodding as wrapping his arm to pull him closer until your nose touches his chest. He was just another client of the bar you were working in, but with time he became a friend. You started to assist to Mayans parties, helping them when you were free. And El Padrino was always jumping around you, even when you couldn't notice him. His eyes are always on you, controlling everything surrounding you just to work on making you feel comfortable. Last night was like a blind point.

The days pass between some visits by cops trying to get something out of you about that night, Mayans watching the place and the amazing care of Marcus, until they get you on medical discharge. And even if you would like to go home, as a club decision you're going to stay at the clubhouse till the mexicans find the men who assaulted you.

You're falling asleep under the soft blankets with your gaze on the big window covered by the wooden blind, when the door gets opened. Marcus walks inside without turning on the light, sitting on the edge of the bed. There are no words. Just a heavy sigh escaping from his lips, rubbing his face with both hands and giving you his back. Every night since you're staying there, he comes after being outside all day long to know how you feel, how you are and what you need. But now it's different. You can notice that his whole body is too tense. His breathing is somewhat shaky as his heart beating. Crawling with your knees above the bed, you reach him in silence. You don't need a single word to know that they already found those guys who almost killed you. Marcus is tense because you're going to leave the clubhouse by morning, coming back to your house, so he will not able to see you as much as he would like.

With your fingertips touring his shoulder blades slow, going up to both sides of his neck, you leave your arms falls down on his chest feeling how your skin get wet slightly for what you know it's blood. But you don't care. Not even a little.

“What if I don' feel safe?”

You mutter on his ear, touching it with your nose in a smooth caress. You have never felt insecure, because your father taught you pretty well. That night they just caught you off guard. And Marcus knows that right now you're just pretending because you also want to stay with him. But neither of you are too good expressing yourselves.

“You would have to stay here, till you do”. He just replies, lying his back on your chest as you sit on your heels.

“And you would come every night?”

“I would do anything you want”.

His eyes are closed when your lips reach his left cheek, trailing down every mild kiss towards his jaw, till them find his neck. The simple fact of having his scent so close flooding your lungs, provokes a soft chill going up over your thighs. Your fingers sliding under the kutte the enough to take it off and leave it on a corner. You know how tired Marcus is, so you're good if he doesn't move yet, enjoying every touch of yours. And what you have inside your mind it's not to thank him for taking care of you, but because you truly feel things for him, as he does for you. While your mouth and your tongue are focused on his neck, biting, sucking and tasting it taking your time to memorize every inch of him, your fingers unbutton one by one every button his shirt, playing and trying to desperate him just a little.

“Come here”. He demands with a soft growl on air, grabbing your waist as good as he can, to push you on top of him.

His legs between yours, sitting on his lap and facing each other. When his lips almost touch yours, you feel like you could die right then and there. You both have waited for this too long, so when he kisses you taking away your breath, you don't care about anything else. Getting comfy above him with both hands placed on his head, your lips conform to his and every move they made. You're feeling as if you were on top of the world. Marcus nails his fingers on your thighs, dragging them up under the fabric of your shirt. You know that he wants to be careful, being a little convalescent yet, but if you can't even keep your calm, how are you going to ask him to?

Taking off and throwing his black shirt away, his hands travel over your skin up by your sides so soon as your shirt can fly off from your body running the same fate. Your hips begin to dance over him, noticing the lump under his jeans, listening in the background how his boots falls down too. The friction of the rough fabric rubbing your panties with some delicious pressure provokes you a moan sinked on his mouth. You need him more than you could need anyone, letting your hands travel as if they had a life of their own to unbuckle his belt with trembling fingers, unzipping the jeans faster than he can even think. Helping you to slide them right to the floor beside his boxers, you lick your lips having a quick look of his hard cock touching your abdomen. Latent lust burning in your eyes, getting up of Marcus the enough seconds to pull down your panties by the waistband being grabbed by your hands. You're not going to lose more time, you want to feel him inside you, filling you completely.

Tangling his fingers with yours, pushing you slow to him and touring your whole body with his dark eyes wanting to lease it from memory, you crawl above him attacking his lips again. One of your hands go among your skins holding his hardness, stroking him with necessity while the kiss becomes impure and naughty, with your tongues colliding and tangling with each other. Marcus' breathing starts to be more frenetic and wild, stopping just for a second when you tuck his dick between your legs sinking it in your wetness without expecting. It's fucking delirious. His hugeness breaking through inside you, no waiting for your body to amold wrapping his heat, your hips bounce on top of the mexican whilst your lips being unable to separate from the others.

“Fuck, chamaca…” He growls satisfied with every touch, every move and every sensation you give him.

Forcing you to spread your legs a little more and his dick digging inside you deeper, your uncontrollable moans becomes somewhat louder. You don't care if someone can hear you, because everybody knows that this would happen sooner or later. And even if you have to wait too much, no one could stop you now. Marcus is all you want, not needing to go into details, and you are all he needs to keep his feet on the ground. Like the two pieces of a puzzle, fitting perfectly.

Turning you above the bed, pushing you to the middle of it without pulling himself out of your inland, the man roams his mouth over the skin of your throat biting it so gentle that ends up bristling it. Every delicious thrust with his abdomen hitting yours, makes you beg for more and he absolutely loves it, pounding you somewhat faster nailing his cock and playing with your body. One of his hands pinches your nipple, touring them with his tongue and tasting every inch of your breasts, whilst the free arm is surrounding your waist completely. Marcus needs to have you close, letting him do whatever he wants with your anatomy ready to please him, even if the only thing he wishes at this moment is show you every damn thing he can feel for you without using more words than necessary.

Your legs get tangled in his when the man lies down on top of you, looking for your mouth with somekind of filthy desperation devouring them as soon as he reaches them. You can't describe every sensation that it's running through your body ending up concentrating on your lower abdomen, giving you delectable tickles on it.

“Cum insid' me, please, Marcus…” You beg throaty against his face, while he bites your inner lip hitting your body more anxious.

You don't need a nod, nor an agreement, to know that he's going to do it. And even if you aren't using a condom, having left that idea more than discarded for your first time, you don't care about the risk. There are no hazards when you're together and both are conscious about that fact. You can't help but arching your back as soon as he filled you up with his heat and his teeth biting your lips to silence the way that he has to fall apart under your warmth. The ecstasy finds you after some hard thrusts that almost hit your soul, with his hungry tongue tasting yours. Your hands placed on Marcus' head, being easier to drown his full name wrapping by the undeniable pleasure he provokes you, even when his moves become slowly and leisurely, going rough at least till your bodies can't handle it.

You can feel his seed spilling down by your thighs, when the mexican falls exhausted by your side with a fleeting smirk on his face and a hand lying on his chest. Turning his head to yours, he doesn't waste any more time, wrapping you into his arms whilst you two are trying to recover yourselves.

“Maybe… I could feel more safe sleeping with you”. You mutter sinking your nose on his sweated skin, like yours is.

“Then, I will have to stay”.

[hookedonapirate]

Through the Rising Tide

Thank you so much for the beautiful graphic @itsfabianadocarmo​!

Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.

Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.

The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.

Oh, and apparently their taste in women.

Or rather, one woman.

Feisty.

Blonde.

Gorgeous.

Green-eyed Goddess.

Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…

Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.

Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.

Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.

Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.

Notes: Because I’ve received some comments saying that this fic is “inscestuous” EVEN THOUGH I CLEARLY SAID IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS IDEA TO HIT THE BACK BUTTON, I feel like I have to repeat myself and make it louder and clearer for the people in the back: If you're not comfortable with Emma and Killian’s relationship after she is with Liam, or if the idea of Emma being with both brothers at different times makes you squick or is cringy to you, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU AND YOU ARE NOT INVITED TO READ SO HIT THE BACK BUTTON RIGHT NOW. I repeat, if the storyline makes you squick or is cringy to you, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU AND YOU ARE NOT INVITED TO READ SO HIT THE BACK BUTTON RIGHT NOW! For everyone else, please enjoy!

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​​ for looking it over!

This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.

The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:

"I hope you know through the rising tide That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"

If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw

P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—

"There is no happiness without tears

No life without death

And no true love without heartbreak"

Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

 One Week Later…

  “I’m so sorry I'm late,” Ruby apologizes profusely as she scurries across the bar and rounds the counter. “Please don't fire me,” she pleads, her words full of panic. “I promise it won't happen again.”

  Killian arches a brow, thoroughly amused as he watches her haul ass. Is Ruby Red actually worried about losing her job?

  Well, this is a first. 

  Liam looks up from the paperwork in his hands and actually smiles as he waves off her words. “Don’t worry about it, Rubes.” As he turns around and casually heads into his office... he’s fucking whistling.

  What the hell?

  Killian and Ruby exchange bewildered looks.

  This isn't the only time Liam has left them perplexed lately. He's been easy on his staff all week.

  The question is, what the fuck changed? 

  There can only be one explanation—Liam met someone. He knows this because Liam was like this when he met his last girlfriend. Very lenient and cheerful and whistling all the time. But last time, he told Killian about her. So why hasn’t he said anything this time?

  “I think your brother is broken,” Ruby remarks.

  Killian chuckles and tosses the bar cloth over his shoulder. “Or pussy whipped.”

  Ruby furrows her brows. “I thought you said him not getting laid wasn’t the issue?”

  Killian shakes his head. “No, him not getting laid is why he’s in such a good mood.”

  Ruby’s even more perplexed, not understanding how being sex-deprived could possibly put Liam in a good mood. “Huh?”

  Killian smirks. “He met some lass, and she hasn’t put out yet. Which, being the hopeless romantic Liam is, he’s fine with, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hoping to get some.”

  Ruby rolls her eyes and walks away to begin her shift. “Why are men so fucking complicated?”

  He laughs at her words and the thought of Liam being so nice this entire week over some lass he’s smitten with. Killan’s happy for Liam, but to be honest, his brother's happiness makes him kind of bummed. Because it's reminding him of how unhappy he is. He’s been unhappy and kind of pissed all week. Ever since last Friday, when that angel never came back. 

  He was so enchanted by her.

  He keeps asking himself why she never returned to him. He’d thought they’d had a connection, he’d thought they’d shared a moment. He’d thought she’d felt the same attraction for him he’d felt for her. Was she just leading him on? Or did she find some other bloke who gave her more attention than he could that night?

  He wishes he knew.

  Killian suffers through another evening without seeing Emma enter the bar. He keeps eyeing the door, keeps waiting for her to appear and approach him to explain herself, to supply him with some sort of explanation. But she never shows. 

  The next night is no different. Same agony, different day. But this time, his brother isn't here to poke fun at and distract him from the blonde bombshell weighing on his mind.

  The dim lamp light cascades over the living room when Killian trudges through the door after three a.m. Tossing his keys on an end table, he chucks off his jacket and looks down, seeing Liam's boots laying haphazardly on the floor by the door. Which is odd because he's always yelling at Killian for leaving his shoes on the floor instead of storing them in the closet. 

  Killian shakes off the thought and throws his jacket over a chair before heading to the bathroom. He always needs time to wind down after his shift, but tonight, he just wants to sleep and hopefully forget about Emma for a few goddamn hours. But in order for him to do that, there’s something he must do, first. 

  He’s been unbearably hard all week from thinking about her. So as soon as he feels the hot water spraying his skin under the shower head, he wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself, his stiff, wet flesh easily slipping through his fist. He can’t help it, though. Emma had stirred something inside him. Something he’s never felt before. 

  He knows this is a bad idea, he knows he shouldn’t get this worked up over someone he’s only spoken to once. But at the moment, he’s too hard and his head’s too foggy with lust, his blood running too hot when he remembers how she’d smiled at him, how she’d bitten her bottom lip, remembers her soft curves and how fantastic her ass looked in those tight jeans and how that sexy, pink lace had clung to her breasts. He groans, needing so desperately to ease the tension before he goes completely mad. 

  Pressing his free hand against the shower wall as the hot stream cascades down his back, he pumps himself harder and faster, grunting as he imagines her pretty lips on his mouth... on his chest... on his stomach... wrapped around his cock. Imagines her humming around him and growing wet from tasting him in her mouth. Imagines what her soft, silky tongue would feel like on him. Imagaines how good her pussy would feel around his cock. Imagines her on top of him, naked and writhing, her skin shimmering in the moonlight as she rode his dick. 

  He can almost hear her moans and short pants in his ear as he imagines taking her breasts in his hands, squeezing firmly while he fucked her good and hard until she was screaming out his name, her walls squeezing him tight as she came all over his cock. 

  His body goes rigid, a rough, drawn-out groan rippling through his throat as Emma's name tumbles from his lips. Seconds later, his hand and stomach are a hot, sticky mess as his hand stills around his pulsing length. His heart is pounding and his breath is ragged as he watches the aftermath of what he’d done disappear into the drain. 

  After he washes the night away from his body (and feels the urge to touch himself again when he lathers his balls and softened cock with soap) he rinses off and steps out of the shower without giving in to more temptation. He dries off with a towel, pulls on a pair of boxers and heads to bed, feeling no shame for what he'd done in the shower. For jerking off to visions of Emma, who’s almost a complete stranger to him. He knows he should feel some kind of guilt or remorse, but right now he can’t find it within himself to feel sorry. He needed that.

  And maybe now, he’ll be able to stop thinking about her long enough to get some shut-eye.

  But it doesn’t bloody work.

  He tosses and turns, still unable to rid her from his mind, and he’s not even sure why. Well, actually he is. She was gorgeous and sexy and playful, and he’d wanted to get to know her. He’d wanted to know everything about her. But apparently, she hadn’t wanted the same from him. 

  He’d waited over an hour for her at the bar the night he met her, and would've waited longer if not for Tina approaching him and chatting his ears off. He'd wanted to either ignore her or tell her he wasn't interested, but he didn't want to be a jackass. And when Emma never showed, he thought about taking Tina up on her offer and bringing her home in an attempt to forget about Emma. To forget about her smile or her eyes or the memorizing light surrounding her or the way she winked at him as she walked away from the bar. 

  But he knew it wouldn’t be fair to Tina to be with her while thinking of another woman. He may be a dashing rapscallion, but he's still a gentleman.

  He’d seen Emma with Mary Margaret and Ruby, and he was half tempted to cash in a favor from Ruby and have her obtain Emma's number, and maybe he should've. But Emma obviously made her choice and he's afraid she would be creeped out by his advances. So he never did.

  Just as Killian is drifting off to sleep, something yanks him awake, but it's not thoughts of her. Rather it's…

  Thump. 

  Thump. 

  Thump.

  Moaning.

  Thump.

  Cursing.

  Thump.

  Grunting.

  Thump.

  What the actual fuck?

  Liam knew Killian had a late shift tonight and yet he decided this was the night to get some action from the mysterious woman he's been seeing? 

  Killian even asked Liam about her, but he completely denied it.

  “Not seeing anyone, my arse,” Killian grumbles, but even though the walls are paper-thin, he's pretty sure he can't be heard over the sounds.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh God, yes!”

  Bloody hell.

  The walls are so thin, he can hear every pant, every moan, he can hear it every goddamn time the headboard slams against the wall.

  “Fuck!”

  Why now? Why wait until four in the fucking morning? Or have they been at it all night? 

  Killian groans and grabs his headphones from his nightstand. He slips them on and plays some music, turning up the volume. He closes his eyes, trying to erase everything from his mind, but he can actually feel the wall rattling and he’s surprised the bed doesn’t come crashing through the drywall.

  He curses and grabs the pillow next to him, covering his face with it. He wants to pound on the wall and tell them to shut the fuck up, but he knows he deserves it. He's done the same thing, he's brought a lass to his bed while Liam was in his room, forced to listen to every sound. 

  Besides, part of him wants to high-five Liam for pleasuring this woman so well and at such a late hour. He wonders how many hours they've been at it.

  He's kind of proud of Liam, actually. He just hopes this one doesn't cheat on Liam like the last girlfriend did.

  “Bloody… fucking... hell!” Liam groans loudly. 

  With one final hard thud, the noises cease.

  Finally.

  Killian removes the pillow from his face and is soon able to get some sleep, but only for a few hours before he's awake again. 

  Unable to fall back asleep, he wipes the sleep from his eyes and drags himself out of bed.

  Coffee.

  He's not sure if the smell wafting through the apartment is due to lack of sleep or if Liam got up and made a pot. Which would surprise him, considering all the amorous activities he engaged in last night. Killian would think he’d be exhausted after that.

  As he nears the kitchen, he can hear pots and pans clanking around, so he knows he's not imagining the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the flat.

  When he enters the kitchen, his eyes are immediately drawn to the coffee pot on the bar counter, and it almost appears to be glowing. “Thanks for making coffee,” he says appreciatively, opening the cupboard door to grab a mug. Though he's not sure he should be very appreciative, considering Liam's to blame for Killian's lack of sleep.

  He and the little vixen he had in his bed last night.

  “I barely got four hours of sleep, thanks to all the banging and screaming coming from your—” His words are frozen in midair when he turns around and sees the nearly bare ass sticking out from the refrigerator door.

  That's definitely not Liam.

  His girlfriend, rather.

  And she’s dressed in nothing but a pair of pink laced panties and one of Liam’s oversized dress shirts.

  Killian smirks and fills his cup before turning around and leaning against the counter, admiring the view while he sips his coffee. There's a half-naked blonde pillaging his refrigerator, but right now he couldn't give a fuck.

  He’s too busy appreciating the view, because bloody hell, she has a dee-lectable ass.

  Liam did good.

  It’s a good thing she’s already been claimed by his brother because otherwise, she’d be in big trouble. Or, rather, not a good thing. It’s quite a shame, actually.

  “What was that, babe?” The sweetest voice pulls Killian from his thoughts as she rises, carrying eggs and milk in her hands. She sets the items on the counter next to the refrigerator and turns around.

  He lifts his gaze from her pretty ass, and when his eyes meet hers... his jaw drops to the fucking floor, his face paling. He almost drops his coffee mug.

  You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

  He has to blink a few times to make sure it’s actually her. But maybe, just maybe, he’s still sleeping, and this is all just a terrible dream.

  “Killian?”

  Nope. He’s wide awake.

  And the woman standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but panties and a shirt that falls just past her butt is real. And just like that, Killian’s hopes of being with this woman shatter into a million pieces. 

  “Emma?”

  There’s a shocked expression plastered on her face, but he doubts she’s more surprised than he is right now. He had never suspected the woman making all those noises in his brother’s room to possibly be the same woman he met in the bar last week. The same woman who’s been on the forefront of his mind ever since. The same woman he’d jerked off to thoughts of only a few hours ago.

  “You two know each other?” Liam’s voice sounds through the kitchen when he enters and glances between them, seeing the recognition flickering in their eyes. He walks across the kitchen and pulls a half-naked Emma into his arms, pressing her body against his. He hadn’t even bothered to throw on any clothes either and is only in his boxers. 

  “We met at the bar last week,” Emma answers, because apparently Killian lost his ability to speak. His brain is too occupied with the fact that Liam and Emma are together, their hands all over each other as she’s semi-straddling his thigh.

  Well, fuck.

  He just doesn't understand how this happened. How had his charm not worked on Emma like it had worked on so many women before her? And he was actually genuine with her. He wasn’t charming her just so he could get into her pants. He actually wanted to get to know her. Besides, even if he ended up taking her back to his flat, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to have just one night with her.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, the same night you and I met. He made me a Baby Yodarita.”

  “A Baby Yodarita?” Liam parrots, amusement obvious in his tone.

  “Yeah, I made it up based on Baby Yoda, but Killian was happy to accept the challenge.”

  Liam chuckles and takes her chin in his hand, bringing her lips to his. “Of course he did. He’ll do anything for tips.”

  Killian balls his hand into a fist. He didn’t make her that special drink to get a tip from her. He didn’t even charge her for the damn drink.

  He wants to strangle his brother for saying that and for having his paws all over Emma, but he’s still trying to process what she’d said about meeting him the same night she met Liam. When had she met him? They weren’t there at the same time, so how did they meet? It must have been outside the bar.

  Wait a bloody minute. 

  Killian’s eyes widen when something occurs to him. Was Liam the reason Emma never came back to him that night?

  Emma’s eyes dart between them when something occurs to her too. “So, this is your brother?” she asks Liam. “You said you lived with him.”

  “Aye. And I’m sorry if he startled you. I thought he’d still be sleeping.”

  “It’s fine,” she assures, waving off his apology.

  Wait a damn minute. Liam’s sorry she was startled? Killian was the one kept up by all the noises coming from Liam’s room.

  “And what, I don’t get an apology for being kept awake by all the noises? You do realize I can hear everything through the paper-thin walls, right?”

  Liam and Emma exchange blushing smiles, but neither of them seems apologetic. “Sorry, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other last night,” Liam comments, brushing his nose against hers. She smirks, displaying her total agreement as she caresses his cheek.

  Killian staves off a groan of disapproval. “I gathered that,” he says casually, trying not to sound completely gutted.

  “So you two must’ve met while I went on that wild goose chase David sent me on,” Liam guesses, thankfully changing the subject.

  “Wild goose chase?” Killian inquires, furrowing his brows in confusion. 

  “Aye, it’s a funny story, actually.” Liam chuckles, his eyes glued to Emma as she smiles at him. He finally tears his gaze from her to look at Killian as he wraps his big hands around her little waist. “So before I left to run those errands I told you about, I received a text from David asking me to look after his little sister who was bar-hopping with his wife. So I get there and she’s nowhere to be found. Well, when I returned, I ran into this stunning angel just outside the bar,” he says, squeezing her hip and pulling her closer. “Well, I quickly find out, she’s David’s sister.”

  “Oh,” Killian utters, still shocked by this entire set of circumstances. It made him forget little details, like the fact that Mary Margaret is her sister-in-law and therefore David is her brother.

  “Anyway, she missed her Uber, and after we started talking, I offered her a ride home,” he looks at her again, with googly eyes and a blushing smile as she gazes at him with the same love-struck expression on her face, “and the rest was history.”

  “Wait, so that’s why you left the bar that night? To spy on Emma?” Killian glances at her, a little pissed she’d put up with Liam stalking her. “And you weren’t pissed at him for that?”

  “A little, at first,” she admits shyly, “but more so at my brother for asking him to spy on me in the first place. Besides, look at this face,” she says, cupping Liam’s chin in her hand as she smiles at him. “How could I possibly be mad at a face like this?” He grins and leans in, capturing her lips with his.

  Killian wants to ask her exactly when she left the bar, but he’s afraid of what the answer would be. He stares at Liam, wondering why he never mentioned her. “So, why did you tell me you weren’t seeing anyone when I asked you about it?” Okay, and part of him is hoping to get him in trouble with her.

  But instead of looking pissed, guilt flashes in her eyes. Like she had something to do with it. 

  Liam eyes his brother apologetically. “We didn’t want to tell anyone about us yet. David’s my good mate and we don’t know exactly how he’ll take the news when he finds out about us. He’s very protective of Emma, if you couldn’t already tell. So we haven’t told anyone.”

  Killian scoffs. “Since when haven’t you been able to tell me anything without worrying I wouldn’t keep your secret?”

  “I know, I know. I should’ve just told you. I shouldn’t have lied.” He gazes at Emma again, a little more serious now as he caresses her cheek. “But I could tell right away Emma was something special, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my chance to be with her.” Emma blushes and smiles as he rests his forehead against hers. “ Very special,” he emphasizes, brushing his thumb over her button lip.

  She presses a palm against his chest. “I could tell you were, too,” she says sweetly, as though they’re having an intimate conversation. As though Killian’s not even in the room, inwardly dying inside. If only Liam knew what this was doing to his brother. 

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Killian assures them, trying to disguise how unnerved he is that she picked Liam over him.

  Liam pulls his head back suddenly, as though he just realized something. “Wait, you mean to tell me you saw Killian first that night?” he asks her.

  “Yeah… why?” she asks dubiously.

  A slow smile crawls over his lips as he looks at Killian. “Because, I think this is the first time someone has actually seen my little brother first and ended up with me, instead of the other way around.”

  Emma cocks a brow, intrigued by this. “Really?”

  Killian doesn’t even bother to correct Liam for calling him little brother. He’s too busy seeing red.

  “Aye. Most women prefer the bad boy type over the nice guy,” he says with a smile. “But not you. If I didn't know you were a keeper then, I sure as hell do now.” He presses the pad of his thumb against her chin and kisses her forehead. 

  Killian thinks he’s going to be sick as he watches them. 

  This is all wrong.

  It was supposed to be him taking Emma home. It was supposed to be him bringing her pleasure over and over again until both of them were sweaty and exhausted and yet still couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was supposed to be him standing in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her half-naked body and kissing her shamelessly as his brother watched. 

  It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around.

  Killian can’t get over the irony of it all. The irony of him jerking off and fantasizing about the same goddamn woman Liam was having sex with right down the hall. 

  It makes him wonder how many times Liam's been in this exact position. How many times had he laid his eyes on a lass, only to come home and find her in his brother’s arms? How many times had Liam touched himself with thoughts of a woman in his head before finding out she was messing around with his brother?

  He’s not sure; all he knows is karma's a bitch.

  “I should probably start breakfast before the milk and eggs get spoiled,” Emma says when she notices the items are still on the counter.

  “I told you I would make breakfast,” Liam says as she saunters over to crack open the egg carton. 

  She smirks at him over her shoulder. “You already gave me a hot breakfast in bed.”

  Liam quirks a brow. “When would I have done that? You were in my arms until you got up to use the bathroom.” 

  Killian takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing as he tries to block out their conversation. They’ve only been together for a week and already act like a fucking married couple.

  “True, but before that, you gave me some delicious sausage.”

  Killian chokes on his coffee and spits it out. Do they not realize he’s still in the room?”

  “What the bloody hell, Killian?” Liam upbraids as he inspects Emma to make sure none of the coffee spilled on her. 

  But Killian only got it on himself. He curtly slams the coffee mug on the counter and walks across the kitchen with clenched teeth, ripping a piece of paper towel from the roll to wipe off the coffee he spit out.

  “Sorry,” Emma says after realizing she probably shouldn’t have made the sausage remark with Liam’s brother in the room.

  You think?

  “Why are you sorry? I’m not,” Liam murmurs against her ear and grabs her hips from behind as she tries to crack some eggs into a bowl. “You can taste my sausage anytime.”

  She looks over at him and smirks. “Hmmm, I like the idea of that. But right now, it’s my turn to make you breakfast.”

  Liam growls and spins her around, picking her up like she weighs nothing, and placing her on the counter. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, gently biting her there, his words muffled against her skin as his hands slide up her thighs and under the hem of the shirt she’s wearing. “I can think of something else I’d rather eat.”

  That’s it.

  Killian’s going to vomit. He tosses the paper towel into the trash and storms out of the kitchen, his face probably green from how ill he’s feeling right now. 

  How the bloody hell did this happen? 

  “Killian.”

  The sound of his name coming from her lips causes his jaw to clench. She and Liam seemed so lovesick, Killian’s surprised they were able to tear themselves away from each other for two bloody seconds.

  When he spins around to face her, Emma’s holding his mug in her hands, her eyes flickering with apology. “You forgot this,” she says, offering it to him.

  “Thanks but I can’t stomach anything at the moment,” he grumbles, sounding angrier than he had intended.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, probably so Liam can't hear her. “I didn’t know he was your brother.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s not like you and I were ever together,” he says bitterly as his eyes drop to the mug she’s holding. “On second thought, I’ll take that.” He grabs the coffee from Emma’s hands and gulps it down, since it’s no longer hot. Emma doesn’t speak as she stares at him, probably unsure of what to say.

  Killian lowers the mug and gives her a hard look before turning around and heading to the bathroom, deciding he needs another shower. After what he’d done in the shower while thinking of Emma and then after what he’d witnessed and heard in the kitchen, he feels filthy all over, almost as if he’s covered in slimy worms. He has to scrub himself down since he can’t scrub away the images that will now be permanently burned in his brain. 

  The images of Liam and the girl Killian wants but knows he can never have.

  Fuck… my… life.

Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added or if I missed you. @itsfabianadocarmo @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells​ @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif @katielovesstarcrossedlovers @uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel

[mythologyfolklore]

No rest for the wicked

There were no words to describe the agony of falling from grace.

It was impossible to paint the picture to a non-fallen being, impossible for a not metaphysical being to imagine, and be they ever so imaginative or wise.

How could one possibly describe the feeling of the sacred light of God, the blessedness and holiness being ripped from your body and soul? The feeling of your angelic purity burning away, as you slowly and torturously turned from a creature of God to something vile, unholy and evil? Having to watch, as your white wings were set ablaze and burned, only to reappear later, tainted and pitch black …

Lucifer woke up screaming.

He spent the next approximately thirty minutes hyperventilating and shaking like a leaf, before it finally dawned on him, that it had just been a dream. He was fine, the Fall had been 6000 years ago, he was in his own king-sized bed, in his bedroom, in his palace … in Hell.

He had just been sleeping.

Demons technically didn't need to sleep, but sometimes chose to.

However, every time Lucifer chose to sleep, he was haunted by the memory of his fall. The flashback dreams were so harrowing, it was impossible to get used to them. Of course he was. It wouldn't be much of a punishment, if he was able to forget, would it?

Eh, whatever.

He didn't care. Of course he didn't care!

He was the King of all Demons! Leader of the Fallen! Head of the Council of the Seven and the Prince of Pride!

“I'm fine”, he mumbled to himself.

He was not shaken.

He was not crying!

He was not curling up under his covers, trying to convince himself that a stupid nightmare had reduced him to such a state!

That was just preposterous!

“I'm fine”, he repeated to himself again and again, like a mantra.

Until he actually believed it.

.

Asmodeus awoke with a start.

It took zir a few seconds to realise, that ze wasn't sleeping anymore.

It became obvious, when ze saw that Lilith was sitting next to zir in their marriage bed, her owlish eyes full of concern.

“That dream again?”, she guessed.

“As always”, Asmodeus groaned frustratedly. “Six thousand years and the only improvement is that I don't wake up screaming!” Ze stopped short. “I didn't scream and thrash around in my sleep, did I? Are you hurt?”

Lilith shook her head. “No. You just groaned in your sleep and stirred a lot, but not violently. But as you know, I have sensitive ears. I was about to wake you up, but then you woke up by yourself.”

The Prince of Lust sighed and leaned zir human head onto zir wife's.

Her giant owl wings enveloped zir and she hooted quietly.

Asmodeus sighed once more. Ze was just so tired! “You know, Lilith … as stupid as this sounds, I think I need a vacation.”

“Damn right you do”, Lilith agreed, “You're so overworked, because you and Beelzebub are the only ones actually doing their work, that you actually fell asleep next to me! Even though demons don't need sleep! That's how exhausted you are! Tell you what …” She wound herself out of zir embrace and looked zir in the human eyes. “I bet your partner is just as much of a nervous wreck. How about you and Beelzebub take a vacation together? We both can have some alone time, you and I, and I can take the kids and your work, while you're gone.”

Asmodeus smiled. Ze loved one – one – human turned demon queen.

“Have I told you lately how much I adore you, my queen?”

Lilith laughed and told zir to turn around.

She spent the next hours preening Asmodeus' enormous six wings.

.

“Beelzebub … Beelzebub … Beelzebub, wake up!”

The Lord of the Flies screamed and thrashed around in the grip of the claws that were gripping zir arms.

“Easy! Easy! Calm down, my pretty! It's only me.”

My pretty?!

Only one person had the nerve to call Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of Gluttony pretty; not just, because ze was a Prince of Hell and member of the Unholy Trinity, but also because ze the very opposite of pretty.

On top of that, this smooth and sultry feminine voice could only belong to one person.

Beelzebub opened zir eyes and recognised zir own office. Ze was hunched over zir desk and at some point the candles must have burned down. In the darkness ze could make out a red-eyed, red-lipped and deathly pale face smiling with the gentleness only one Prince of Hell was able to muster (even though that person was far from actually being tender).

“Aeshma Daeva¹?”, ze choked.

Asmodeus nodded gently. “Of course it's me, Baal Zevuv². Settle down now, my pretty. It was a dream and it's over now. Everything is fine.”

“What are you doing here?”, Beelzebub asked.

“I was taking a walk. I passed by your office and heard you groan, like you were in distress. It had me worried.”

The Prince of Lust snapped zir fingers and the room was lit by floating hell flames.

Beelzebub was a bit embarrassed, because surely zir eyes were all puffy and zir face completely tear stained … not that it was that noticeable on zir pitch black skin. As if on cue, the flies crawled out of zir floating white hair and buzzed around Asmodeus.

“Hello there, little pretties”, the Prince of Lust cooed (again, being the only one to ever find Beelzebub's flies pretty).

The buzzing and Asmodeus' smile were soothing.

But then the latter saw Beelzebub's tear-stained visage and frowned. “Oh! Oh, my pretty …”

The Prince of Gluttony leaned into the clawed hand that was caressing zir face.

“Go ahead”, Asmodeus coaxed the other. “Let it out, Beelz. It's okay to hurt.”

Beelzebub leaned into the taller archdemon's shoulder and allowed zirself to cry.

“I dreamt of it again”, the Lord of the Flies whispered.

“I know”, the Spirit of Anger responded and rubbed the smaller one's back. “We all do. Whenever we choose to sleep. That's why I almost never do.” A bitter smile. “Good thing we demons don't really need sleep, hm?”

“Yes”, Beelzebub croaked. “But I'm just so exhausted …”

“No wonder”, Asmodeus grumbled. “We're both overworked, because we're the only ones with a work ethic.”

“To Heaven with it!”

“Indeed. Hey, how about this: I'll stay with you for a while. You know, give you a massage and all and just generally diverting you. And tomorrow, we both will waltz into the council, give the others Heaven and demand a vacation. It's what we deserve, don't you agree, my pretty?”

“What about your wife and children?”, Beelzebub objected. Trying to keep the jealousy from zir voice at the reminder, that Asmodeus was hitched and leading a successful marriage, despite zir notorious promiscuity – that a mere former human, a being of clay, had put a ring on the Prince of Lust and could say with pride, that they were husband/spouse and wife.

Beelzebub heard the smile in the other's voice, as ze answered: “Don't wreck your pretty head about it, Beelz. Lilith can handle the kids without me for a while. Most of them are big enough to care for themselves by now anyway. And Lilith will be happy to have some quality time to herself.”

The Lord of the Flies sighed and leaned further into Asmodeus' shoulder.

A vacation … that sounded wonderful.

.

As Astaroth awoke, she screamed, but her scream was silent.

Without her voice, which God had taken away, she couldn't scream like all the others could.

Her screams, her tears, her laughter, they all were silent.

So was her sigh of relief, when she realised that it had just been a dream.

With annoyance she realised, that she had fallen asleep completely, whereas to the simple dozing she normally did, when she chose to rest.

Dozing was a way of getting some rest without having to suffer those horrid flashback nightmares, but sometimes …

She pressed her face against the pillows, curled up and wept.

It wasn't fair!

She had done nothing to deserve this!

She had done nothing to deserve her fall from grace and the loss of her voice!

She hadn't sided with Lucifer back then, even though he had freed her from the house arrest/de-facto prison God had put her in before!

Her only crime had been … knowing too much.

As the angel of time, she had known past, presence and future (still did) and therefore also the Ineffable Plan. However, no one was allowed to know God's plans (aside from Satan, maybe, but even he didn't know everything – not to the extent Astaroth did).³

But still … she was innocent … she just wanted to …

Astaroth cried harder.

That went on for a while, until someone knocked on the door.

The Princess of Hell wiped her tears away and wiped her tears away.

She whistled, as a sign that whoever was out there was permitted to enter.

A minor demon came in.

“Your Royal Highness, Princess Astaroth – their Highnesses Beelzebub and Asmodeus are calling for a council meeting in two hours”, the demon announced.

Huh.

That was weird.

And rather short-term.

But Astaroth nodded and the demon bowed and saw themselves out.

Two hours … that was time enough to take a nice bath to relax from the nightmare and to freshen up a little.

And half an hour before the meeting she would kick Belphegor out of bed, just to lean back and enjoy him run down as hastily as a lazy boy like him could, thinking they were under time pressure.

.

Belphegor also awoke screaming.

When he realised, that he was awake, he groaned and ruffled his blue hair.

“Fuck this shit … I must've fallen asleep completely.”

Contrary to what people believed, he and Astaroth never truly slept – ironically, as they were the demons of sloth. Instead they dozed for a while, never really quite asleep. It was a loophole to avoid those traumatic dreams. Astaroth was a lucid dreamer to boot, but that didn't work on the retrospectral dreams.

Damn it, Dad! I wasn't even on their side!

He hadn't been.

But he hadn't been on Heaven's side either.

He had been too cowardly to choose a side and remained neutral and that had been his ruin.

Belphegor grumbled sullenly, before lying back down and resuming his nap.

Unfortunately it didn't last long, because soon someone ripped him from their dozing slumber.

Upon opening his eyes, he saw Princess Astaroth glowering down on him.

“Wake up, lazy boy!”, she signed (would have snapped at him, had God not stripped her voice away before the Fall). “Get your demonic ass to work!”

“Who're ya callin' lazy”, Belphegor slurred, but stood up.

Astaroth shared his position as Prince of Sloth, but as she was Lucifer's left hand, a former Seraph and member of the Unholy Trinity, she outranked him by far. It was too dangerous to resist her. And even though she lacked the capability of speech, she had a lot to say – and certainly didn't need speech to be intimidating!

“Beelzebub and Asmodeus are calling in a council meeting”, she signed. “So wash and get dressed. You have half an hour.”

“But that's too little time!”, Belphegor whined.

Astaroth snarled menacingly.

“Alright, alright! On my way, your Royal Highness!”, the Prince of Sloth grumbled and dragged himself away to do as told.

Fucking bitch!

.

Mammon hadn't actually been asleep.

They had just hit their head and passed out, but that had been enough to make them relive the horrid memory of the Fall.

The Prince of Greed came to themselves, cursing up a storm; swearing usually made them feel a little better.

“Okay, fuck this shit”, they muttered, “I'll just finish this paperwork, then go rob a bank or something-”

A knock on the door.

It was a mook demon, informing them that there was going to be a council meeting.

“Right, I'll be there”, Mammon replied.

Once they were alone again, they smirked: “Hmm … wonder if Asmodeus will join me afterwards – go shopping, gamble and rob some casinos … it's always more fun with zir!”

.

Leviathan and Satan were never haunted by that kind of dream, as neither were fallen angels.

Leviathan was a giant sea monster and Satan was an entity God had created before all others, specifically to oppose Him, yet in a way be His right hand.

But they knew of the others' nightmares, of course they knew.

It had once slipped out of Lucifer and Satan hadn't left the fallen Morning Star alone, until he had been told everything.

“They're collectively having nightmares, these six”, Satan reported to the sea serpent, when he was on the phone with her.

The Adversary knew that, because his presence was everywhere but Heaven, thus he always knew what was going on in the entirety of Hell (which belonged to him, by the way, no matter how much Lucifer acted like it was his).

Leviathan chuckled at the other end of the phone: “Well, that'ssss nothing new now, issss it?”

“It's funny”, Satan laughed, “How they still haven't got over it after such a long time! One would think that after having the same dream every time they sleep, they would have got used to it!”

“Well, look at it thissss way”, Leviathan hissed into the phone, “It's fun to sssee them suffer like thissss from time to time, issssn't it?”

Another laugh from the Adversary: “You're so delightfully cruel, my friend!”

A hissing laugh from the other end of the phone.

“By the way”, Satan continued, “There is about to be a council meeting. Will you attend or shall I find someone to step in for you?”

“No need. I'll turn humanoid and teleport mysssself to Hell and it'll be good.”

“Cool! We need to connect again! This is going to be interesting, I can tell!”

.

---

.

1) Aeshma Daeva (Avestan: "Spirit of Anger/Fury") is a demon from Zoroastrian tradition, which embodies wrath, murder and greed and is armed with a bloody mace. While Aeshma and Asmodeus are not the same being, it's thought that the latter's name is derived from/a reference to the former.

2) Ba'al Z(e)vûv/Baal Zebub (Hebrew: "Lord of the Flies"), a derogative pun used towards the Philistine god Ba'al Zebûl ("Exalted Lord/Lord of the dwelling") and towards that god's worshippers. The Septuagint later transcribed it into Baalzebub, which later morphed into the Beelzebub we all know.

3) Just to make this clear: this is a headcanon. The idea that Astaroth is a former seraph and guardian of time, rendered mute because he/she knew God's Plans, comes from the German Wikipedia article on Astaroth (once again proving that one should never trust Wikipedia about facts), but since no sources were stated for the things written there, I will treat it as a headcanon and not as actual canon. It's really annoying, because I can't even credit the person who actually came up with this, because the part stating it was quoting no sources, so I don't know who it was. Please don't kill me.

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.4

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 4/20

Previously <- Chapter 3: Training

Chapter 5: Nine-Years-Old -> Next

Author’s Notes:  I have a total of 20 chapters planned, and just so you are warned, it is going to be slowburn. Sorry, not sorry. I don’t make the rules.

Chapter 4: Fear

Katsuki stood across the rink from Izuku, fingers digging into his hips as their coach chided him for “another reckless jump” when he heard the startled yelp. Spinning around, he caught the moment Izuku’s partner made the decision not to catch him. There were no spotters despite how new the trick was for them, and the alpha boy flailed as he dropped backwards.

Izuku hitting the ice was the only sound in Katsuki’s skull.

The almost silent ‘chink’ of his blade connecting first followed by the sickening wet ‘pop’ of a joint being dislocated. Everything was eclipsed by the ‘crunch’ of bones breaking.

Katsuki moved before he’d even made the conscious decision to, and he was the only one rushing towards the pair. “Deku!”

Izuku’s rising scream drowned him out.

Skidding to his knees beside the omega, Katsuki’s alpha snarled viciously when the other made to crawl close. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he howled, sharp canines on full display, “Don’t fucking touch him you useless excuse for an alpha! Get the fuck away before I rip out your goddamn throat!”

The other alpha recoiled before seemingly remembering that he was older than Katsuki. His canines flashed on instinct, but almost immediately disappeared behind his lips again. “He’s my partner, not yours, Bakugou,” he snapped in return, “You’re the one who went to singles.”

“I’m not the one who didn’t catch him! You don’t deserve to be his partner!” Katsuki was screaming now. He could feel it in his throat, the rasp and click of a voice pushed, but he couldn’t hear himself. Could barely hear the other alpha. His ears were too full of Izuku’s screams as he crouched protectively over the omega, his mouth full of mint and putrid distress.

“Dude, reign in your scent! You’re choking me!”

Katsuki was by no means in control of his scent just as he wasn’t in control of the sound slipping from deep within his chest. His alpha was responding to Izuku’s distress and agony, both attempting to drive away the other alpha and to help ease some of the pain. He couldn’t tell if it was working or not, but he wouldn’t have been able to stop it even if he wanted to. “Back the fuck off instead! Get away from us! You’re not welcome here!”

The alpha didn’t move, and Katsuki stole a glance around the rink. There were too many eyes on them, too many mouths hanging open, no bodies moving.

“What are you all staring at? Call an ambulance! Jesus fuck! He needs help!”

The ice exploded with movement. People took off toward the rink entrance. Others pulled out cells even though they weren’t supposed to have them while they were on the ice. Several darted forward to pull the other alpha away despite his protests. No one dared approach Katsuki and Izuku.

Izuku’s screaming had quitted to low deep sobs, but when Katsuki pulled back his bangs to get a better look at his face, his eyes were vacant holes. Pupils blown wide with only a sliver of green remaining.

Something snapped in his chest, and he lunged for the other alpha.

Arms wrapped around him, pulling him back and away as he screamed every obscenity he knew. Obscenities that would make even his mother raise an eyebrow. There was blood underneath his fingernails. “Don’t come back! Don’t you dare set foot on this ice ever again! You don’t deserve to skate! Don’t go near Deku ever again!

“Katsuki, dude, calm down! The ambulance is on the way!” someone shouted in his ear.

“Fuck you! You’re fucking nuts! He’s just an omega!”

Katsuki was seeing red, and he howled, “Say that again! I fucking dare you! See what happens!”

“Both of you, calm down!” the person on his other side shouted.

The other alpha looked him straight in the eye. “He’s just an omega!”

“He’s your partner!”

“He was your partner too!”

“I never dropped him!”

They went back and forth like that, screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, for several long moments until someone got the bright idea to finally drag the other alpha away. Katsuki calmed the further across the ice the other alpha was taken, and when he was released from the near choke hold his friends had put him in, he dropped back to the ice beside Izuku. The sobs that had been building slowly back to screaming quieted again to whistling whimpers that were driving Katsuki’s alpha straight up a wall. There was nothing he could do for Izuku, nothing but wait.

He huddled silently overtop of Izuku, releasing enough warning pheromones that the paramedics had to send in their betas with vapor rub beneath their noses. When they finally peeled him away and got Izuku off the ice, he immediately packed away their things, called his parents and Inko, and sat outside to wait on the curb. No one said a thing to him. Not even his friends.

…..

“Bakubro.”

Katsuki’s eyes were glued to the body moving in the mirror in front of him.

Izuku wore a t-shirt that could barely even be called a t-shirt anymore. The sleeves and sides had been cut off leaving only the shoulder seams and a small strip of fabric along the hem at his hips to hold the front and back together. The muscle framing his waist and running up his sides was on full display. Then there were his arms, finely muscled yet strong. Not even to mention his legs encased in tight black spandex that ran along sculpted calves up to an ass made luscious by seventeen years of figure skating. There was nothing ‘typically omega’ about Izuku’s body, and that had always appealed to some weird primal part of Katsuki’s brain.

“Bakugou.”

The only thing ‘typically omega’ about Izuku was his hair, kept long more out of habit from growing up with his omega mother and skating follow for so many years. That day, he’d tied the long green curls back in a high ponytail, hair thick and lush and surprisingly healthy looking. ‘Surprisingly’ because Katsuki had seen the shit Izuku ate as a snack or when practice overlapped a meal, and he was sure the rest of his diet was no better.

“Katsuki!”

As Izuku’s body flexed and bent and contorted, gliding lithely across the floor though a little clumsier than he was on ice, Katsuki felt his mouth begin to water.

He should have looked away, but he couldn’t force himself to. He just barely caught the minute falter when Izuku’s bangs shifted and fell across his forehead before knuckles slammed into his shoulder.

“Katsuki!”

Jolting, he turned a heated glare to the pink-haired woman at his side. “What the fuck? Do you want to die?”

Ashido shrugged, leaning back over her leg to press her nose to her shin. “Take a picture will you. I was trying to ask you a question.”

“Why’d you punch me to ask a goddamn question?” he snarled, forcing himself to follow her lead and fold over his own leg. Still, he could feel his eyes trying to make their way back to the mirror. Nothing said ‘desperate’ like ogling another skater during practice. He was fucking better than that.

At least, he should have been better than that.

Beside them, Kirishima whined, just barely able to wrap his fingers over the top of his toes.

“Because I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes, but you were too busy getting an eyeful of that scrumptious butt to answer me. I had to resort to drastic measures. Switch.”

“Don’t be disgusting.” Katsuki rolled up and folded over his other leg with ease.

He could hear the grin in Ashido’s voice without needing to see it. “Oh honey, that wasn’t even dirty. I can get worse. Just ask.”

“I’m telling you whatever you thought I was doing, you’re wrong. Don’t fucking be gross by imagining I would want anything to do with Deku,” he snarled under his breath, glancing under his arm to find her eyes already on him.

A shit-eating grin was plastered to her face, just like he’d suspected. “Okay, sure, Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Have-A-Sex-Drive-And-Don’t-Need-No-Omega.”

Katsuki scoffed. “Whatever.” This time, he discreetly let his eyes return just in time for Izuku to launch himself into the air, arm above his head as he rotated three times before landing easily. Again, there was that falter before he shoved his bangs out of his face, and Katsuki narrowed his eyes this time and ignored the watering of his mouth.

“Oh my god, Bakugou, pay attention. We’ve got shit to do today. You are being such a knothead.”

Snapping his head around, Katsuki snapped, “Fucking say that to my face, pink bitch. What’s your damage today?”

“The fact that you’re pining is going to make all of my teeth fall out. It’s so sweet how you look at him, like you’re so enamored. It’s disgusting. I love it. Normally, I’d be all over that shit, but I’m not in the mood today. It’s been years, dude, just talk to him like an adult. Middle.” Ashido was a rather laid back person most days, but just like anyone, her patience would eventually thin. The scowl that had replaced her smile was a very clear indication of the impending snap.

Kirishima reached over, nudging at Katsuki as they moved onto the next stretch. “Yeah, she’s right. The way you look at him is cute and all, but it’s never going to get you anywhere.”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up.” Dropping his face low to the floor, Katsuki ignored the two at his sides.

“No!” Ashido snapped, flicking at his thigh before shoving at his hip with her foot, “We need to talk about what we’re doing. I’m not letting you lift me up or any other shit without knowing what the hell is going on beforehand. Think of this like a scene, Bakubro. You explain. We discuss and negotiate. I say green, we go. I yell ‘goldfish’, and you stop. So explain.”

Growling, Katsuki turned his attention back to his friend. Still, he managed to keep an ear out for Izuku.

…..

Aizawa stood off to the side of the wall covered in floor to ceiling mirrors. “Are you ready? We can go back to choreography instead for now if you don’t feel comfortable enough yet.” His hands were shoved deep into the loose black joggers that he wore on studio days, hair pulled up and into a high bun.

Izuku wished fervently that he had never let Uraraka talk him into cutting his bangs. They were cute most days, and framed his face just the way he liked, but now… He could get the long sweep of his curls into a ponytail, but his bangs were another story. Forgetting his headband was probably the worst thing to happen to him all week, and while he knew in the bigger picture that it wasn’t really that bad, it felt like it was. With his bangs shifting against his forehead every few moments, he couldn’t help but hyperfocus on the feeling.

His already high anxiety was only making it worse.

Everyone in the studio could smell the sourness of his anxiety, there was no doubt in his mind about that. Someone had already cracked the high windows close to the ceiling. He hated it, hated that everyone knew that he was freaking out or maybe they just thought it was normal jitters that came with all big tricks.

It wasn’t.

Izuku smiled despite himself, pushing his bangs from his sweat slicked forehead again. They immediately feel forward, and he swore he could feel every individual strand against his skin. He tried not to fidget and reach for them again. “No, I can do it. I just keep getting distracted by my hair. Sorry.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, something smacked him in the back of the head.

Jumping, Izuku whirled around to stare at the floor where a blue, yellow and white headband lay crumpled.

“Bakuhoe, oh my god! You are such a dick!” Ashido shouted even as laughter filled her voice.

Kirishima was already shaking his head when Izuku glanced up to where Katsuki was zipping his bag closed. “There was a better way to do that, dude.”

Katsuki didn’t respond nor did he look at Izuku as he took his towel and water bottle across the room.

Stooping, Izuku scooped up the headband. It was new, tag still attached, though it smelled vaguely of the alpha. Allspice and cinnamon. Izuku frowned, but after a moment of deliberation, ripped the tag off and slipped it on. The feeling of his forehead free of stimulation was a relief. “Thanks, Kacchan. I’ll wash it and get it back to you tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” he grunted without looking over as he directed Kirishima to keep stretching and knelt to show Ashido where to place her foot. He didn’t let her lift up like the hand braced on his shoulder said she was ready to, instead adjusting her foot. “Keep it. I don’t need it.”

“Okay… Uh, thank you.” Turning back, Izuku smiled more genuinely this time. Bangs off his face, his anxiety was quieter, more of a hum in his body than a roar. “I’m ready.”

Nodding, Aizawa pushed off the wall, and came to stand on one side. “Your spotters are myself, Sato and Shouji, so don’t worry if you start to wobble.” He glanced towards the other end of the studio. “Bakugou, get another spotter. Just because she’s not your partner doesn’t mean you get to disregard her safety. She still has her own program to perform.”

Katsuki didn’t respond, continuing his explanation of the trick, but Izuku saw the way his shoulders and jaw clenched.

Izuku nodded to Aizawa. Turning to Todoroki, he swallowed thickly as Todoroki dropped into a high lunge. He positioned his foot high on Todoroki’s thigh, and allowed the hands on the back of his calf to hold him steady as he lifted himself up.

For the briefest moment as he rose, he caught the flash of spinning lights. When he released a trembling breath, there was the absence of warm hands on his waist as he completed his rotations. Using Todoroki’s hands on the back of his calf to support his weight, he leaned back slightly and remembered the sharp pop of his hip dislocating.

Izuku’s breath came faster, and he counted them to ten and a second time to twenty, fighting the image of the ice rushing towards his face. ‘Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.’

‘Alpha. Scared. Comfort. Protect. Scared. Please, alpha-’

‘We don’t have an alpha! Shut up and calm down!’ Izuku wasn’t calming down though, and neither was his omega. Still, even as his scent soured further, Aizawa didn’t call for them to stop.

“Try leaning back into position. You need to be more at a forty-five. Don’t worry. Todoroki’s got a good hold on you, and your spotters are at the ready,” his coach instructed, voice steady as the two omegas reacted to his scent at the same time. Calm brushed up against his senses, one smelling of vanilla black tea and the other of orchids, and while Izuku appreciated the attempt, they wouldn’t be able to calm him.

Swallowing down his fear, Izuku let his eyes drift in an attempt to find something to distract himself. Where his eyes led him were to where Katsuki’s hands were wrapped around Ashido’s leg, one around her calf and the other around the back of her upper thigh as she leaned back into his grip. Her arms were thrown wide, her free leg held high and parallel with her hip. There was the widest smile across her face as her laughter fell silently on his ears. His focus was solely on Katsuki, on strong fingers pressing into soft skin and the narrowing of his red eyes in concentration.

Izuku didn’t even realize when he effortlessly leaned back to mimic Ashido, spreading his arms and lifting his free leg. His foot was steady against Todoroki’s thigh. The only thought on his mind was that of those hands on his own skin, holding him firm and steady. If it was Katsuki, Izuku thought maybe he wouldn’t be so scared.

‘Trustworthy alpha,’ his omega whispered longingly.

He and Katsuki were the only two to notice when Ashido’s inconsistent wiggly foot slipped.

Izuku gasped.

Everything happened in quick succession. Ashido’s foot slipped from Katsuki’s thigh. Katsuki’s hands shot up her body at the same time he shot to his feet, the spotters only just realizing what was going on. Ashido didn’t drop an inch, caught against Katsuki’s chest. After a moment of stillness, he lowered her to the ground.

Immediately, anger clouded over the fear that had twisted Katsuki’s features. “You need to stop moving so much! If you were wearing skates, that could have sliced open my femoral artery! Do you understand that?”

Righting himself, Izuku eased off of Todoroki’s thigh, careful and precise.

Ashido didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation as she simpered, “But your big strong hands just make me so nervous. I get all hot and flustered when they’re one me so intimately.”

“Stop fucking around! I’m being serious!” Katsuki snapped.

Smirking, she said, “So am I.”

Aizawa stepped away from Izuku and Todoroki towards the pair. “Alright, break it up. Someone explain to me what just happened.”

‘That wouldn’t have happened if I were practicing with him,’ a voice in the back of his mind whispered.

He shook his head, turning his attention away from Katsuki with his grit teeth to Todoroki as he tapped him on the shoulder. “Did you notice?”

“Notice what?” Izuku asked.

“You got through the first big stunt without falling. That means you can do the others. We can try the twist next, if you want.”

Surprise filled Izuku. He’d been so focussed on Katsuki by the end, he hadn’t had enough brain capacity to pay attention to what he’d been doing. In the end, that would be worse on the ice, but if he could get through it unconsciously that meant there was a chance he could pull it off with intent. It would just take time. “Let’s do that one again, and then we can move onto the others. I think I’ll at least be able to get through two sets of each today. I’m feeling really good now.”

Smiling, Todoroki nodded.

After the first, the rest were easier to get through even as the difficulty increased. Each time his fear returned, he reminded himself that there were mats beneath him and people to catch him. He reminded himself that he didn’t deserve to skate with Katsuki again if he let fear get the better of him.

Off ice, he was safe. Off ice, he could perfect every movement. Off ice, he couldn’t get hurt. On ice would be a battle for a different day.