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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Adhesion

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, TA/student dynamics, tw.mild drug use, tw.bribery, tw.recording without consent, tw.dubcon, brat taming, fingering, cucking

Words: 8,915

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man.

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

Notes: i bribed @libiraki and this fic is my part of the bargain. you heard it here folks, full stop, i am trash.

this story falls under the University AU that i’m working on: Licentia Docendi - the first fic is Practicum & is all about Professor Shigaraki. For Adhesion, Dabi is a TA: Teacher’s Assistant in a college chemistry class.

my reward for completing this is User 433 by libiraki. go read it, it’s killer & i’m so fucking pleased my nefarious deeds have paid off.

Adhesion ad·he·sion /ədˈhēZH(ə)n/ noun the molecular force of attraction in the area of contact between two unlike bodies that acts to hold them together

What time did he say this was supposed to start at? There’s no way you’re late. Did he tell you the wrong room number? You paw into your low slung backpack and wiggle out the [Teacher’s Assistant (TA) handout for Organic Chemistry II]. Nope, you’re not in the wrong room, so it looks like he’s the one who’s late.

Not too surprising, judging from his appearance.

You’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning. He’d sauntered to the front of class when the professor had finished with the preliminaries of the syllabus and introduced the lanky man with inky black hair and some of the scruffiest clothes you’d ever seen, as nothing other than, DABI. No last name, no other credentials, just a simple, ah, here’s the TA for this class; he’ll give you a handout on meeting times and be sure to follow his lead with the labs. This Dabi fellow hadn’t even grunted out a hello. He’d merely waited, hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets, and dropped down from the raised platform once the professor finished his brief introduction.

You tend to avoid the TA sessions. They’re usually just reviews and endless reminders on the readings, and study prep has never been a weak spot for you, but this semester is different. You’re a junior and you’ve got to push through six classes this term if you want to graduate on time. You haven’t slacked off, haven’t taken less than a full course load. No, it’s just bad luck that they only offered organic chemistry during the Fall term this year.

Thanks to the addition of Organic Chemistry, now all of your classes are heavy sciences. Ick. Well, it’s the price you’ll have to pay for your pharmaceutical degree. It’s not that you don’t like the classes. Honestly, they’re fascinating, chock full of information and techniques that you love to dive into. Nah, it’s not the material of the classes themselves, but the course load and labs that’ll be your downfall if you don’t keep pace.

So, here you are, waiting in an empty room in the library’s basement for the errant TA of organic chemistry to show. You’re a little shocked that no one else has come to this session. Maybe they’ll try for the other times, or they might be under the blissful impression that they can score the ‘A’ with no outside help. Who knows?

You’re twiddling with your phone and debating leaving when the study hall door opens. His dark hair is the first thing you notice. It gleams in the bright light of the fluorescents, and you’re distracted by the sheen. It’s almost a little too black.

It’s not that it doesn’t fit him. If anything, it makes the angled features of his face and neck stand out and draws your eyes to his pale patches of skin. They’re patches because his collarbone and lower neckline are wrapped with spiraling whorls of tattoos; they’re everywhere. How had you missed that? Was his jacket zipped up when he stood in front of the class?

“What’s up?” he calls out, tilting his chin at your wide eyes. He pauses beside the table you’re sitting at and regards you frankly. His eyes are half hidden by his fringed mop of hair, but you can see that they’re a vibrant blue. It’s a haunting color, almost otherworldly. You don’t particularly like the coldness that’s reflected at you, so you focus on the rest of his face instead. He’s got a few nostril piercings, three little studs that shine out when he wrinkles his nose at your bewildered expression.

“You hard of hearing or something?” Dabi scolds, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. You shake your head and loosen your heavy tongue, finally pulling your gaze away from him.

“I-I’m here for the TA session.”

“No fucking way!” he mocks, a barked laugh escaping his quirked lips. “Alright captain obvious, let’s get you set up so I can go about my day. Sign this and I’ll give you the power point slides for this week.”

He yanks his backpack forward and tosses a few mismatched papers your way. One is so badly crumpled you have to iron it out with your arm, ignoring the slight stick that clings to one side. Ah, it’s a sign-up sheet. But, hang on, isn’t he supposed to poll the class on these meeting times? He can’t just pick the times himself, can he? You’ve never seen that before. What’s going on?

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to ask which time works best for us before you set the schedule?” you question, sliding the paper back to him.

His long fingers catch the sheet before it can tumble off of the narrow table and he gives you a wolfish smirk. “Ah, you’re gonna be one of those,” he grumbles, pulling back one chair and flopping into it, splaying his long legs out in front of him.

“Tch, what do you mean by, ‘one of those?’ I’m not some green freshman, I’ve been to TA meetings before. You ask us for the times.”

“Hmph, okay. Let’s put it this way then, you’re here now, right?”

“Yeah. I–”

“So it’s fair for me to assume that you can make this time?”

“I can today, but what if it’s a one-time thing? What if I have another class or a job?”

“Do you?” his voice drops as he lingers on that ultimate word, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, blue eyes watching you closely.

“N-no, I don’t personally have any objections to this time. But what if others–”

“Others?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, do you see anyone else in here? We’ve been talking, what, five minutes? And I was, eh, almost fifteen minutes late? That sound right? Hate to say it, but I think it’s just gonna be me and you babe.”

“Ew. Don’t call me that! It’s (F/N)(L/N). Gross, who does that? Babe? You don’t even know me,” you sputter, leaning away from his hunched gaze, earning yourself another clipped chuckle.

“Ooh, so sensitive! Alright, miss. “I’m not a freshman,” if there are no more objections from the peanut gallery, go ahead and sign this so I can conclude this session. Don’t particularly like chatting with you either, since you’re taking years off my life with these pointless questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a dick,” you bristle, crossing your arms and glowering down at the crinkled sign-up sheet that Dabi’s pushed back toward you.

“Damn, we’re already talking about my dick! I usually reserve that kinda thing for the third week, but I’ll let it slide. Now, be a good little girl and sign that paper for me.”

A month in this whole TA arrangement hasn’t gotten any easier.

Half of the time Dabi doesn’t even show up, opting to text you the notes and study guides, waving you off with some vague excuse, or promise to make it up next time. The days he appears for the session, he’s always late and glumly sits beside you in the vacant study hall, tinkering with his phone and doing his best to avoid any kind of work.

But today? Today takes the cake.

He’s got his booted feet on the table and is taking quiet hits on his vape pen, exhaling long breaths of clear steam into the study hall. “Dabi,” you hiss across the room, aghast at his cavalier attitude. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here! Wait. Oh, my god! Is that weed?”

“Shhh, Jesus. Keep your voice down, mom,” Dabi sneers, puffing a wisp of smoke your way. “Why don’t you try focusing on your work, huh? You’ve got twelve more molecules to stabilize and your functional groups are a mess; you don’t have time to worry about me. Come on, chop, chop. I’ve got places to be.”

“Ugh. Places to be. What a load of bullshit. You know what? I wonder what might help me speed things up? Oh! I know! What if you did your job instead of getting stoned out of your mind?”

Dabi swivels around in his rolling chair, lowering his legs from the table and cocking a dark eyebrow at you. He’s foregone his tattered jacket today, and the sleeves of tattoos that lace up the chorded muscles of his arms are on full display. He’s done that on purpose, the bastard; likely noticed that you like to stare at them, your eyes engrossed by the shadings and designs. Not your fault you like some of the artwork. You’re not looking at him, not admiring any kind of twist or pull of his forearms. Not thinking about how nice they look when he wears a low cut shirt, or rolls up his sleeves. Nope, you promise yourself, careful to keep your eyes down and on your notes, it’s not that.

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“Such a fucking sour puss. I bet you’d look a lot prettier if you’d wipe that scowl off your face every once in a while. Lemme see what you’ve got,” Dabi snorts, sauntering out of his chair and bending over your work.

His tattooed arm braces itself beside your shoulder and the exposed skin brushes against you, making you unconsciously scoot awkwardly to one side.

“Don’t get so close,” you chastise, doing your best to ignore the pull of his cologne. It’s got a hint of patchouli and oranges, and it mixes so well with the cloying sweetness of his lingering vape smoke that it makes your head swim.

What’s he doing? This… well, it’s not like him. He never “checks” your answers, he usually just tells you to submit it to his email and he’ll get back to you later, which he never does. You don’t like this. Nope, not one fucking bit.

He takes his time studying your work, one long finger etching its way across your scribblings. His skin is warm; almost too warm. The heat of it against your clothed side makes you shiver and you duck your head at your unbidden reaction, balling your hands into fists and scrunching them against your tense thighs.

When he finally replies, he dips his head close to your ear, keeping his voice low and steady. “Not bad, (L/N). Nice to see you have some capacity for development after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you huff, whipping your head to his.

Oh, that’s right; he’s close.

The lazy smirk he gives you stretch his lips over his teeth and his eyes fall to a half mast as he leans closer, ghosting his breath over your face. “It means, you did a good job, babe. I’m impressed.”

You must be gaping at him; there’s no way that you’re not, but you can’t fucking think, not when he’s so close. If he wanted to, he could close that gap and he’d be against you. His lips look nice from here, smooth and pink, and you suddenly have a wild urge to see what he tastes like. Heart pounding, you feel yourself tilting your chin upwards, your lips parted, tongue dancing across the open plushness, dampening them, waiting, hoping that he’ll just…

“Practice your Lewis structures. Some of those compounds look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi replies, pushing himself off of the table and peering down at you, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth. “But, you’re on the right track. Finish this shit up. Gotta go.”

“W-what?” you sputter, trying to quiet your pounding heart and steady yourself, upended by his short-lived…seduction? What exactly was that?

“Already told you, got some place to be. Send me the screenshots, if you wanna’, but I’m prolly’ not gonna look at them until after the weekend. Well, see ya’ around, (L/N).” And, with a last wave, he snatches up his backpack and saunters out the double doors, leaving you alone.

“So what are you thinking? Just go up to the dean’s office and ask to file a report against him?” your boyfriend questions, his voice hazy and distant through the filter of your earbuds. You’d called him a few minutes ago, once you had a good signal and filled him in on, well, most of the details.

After Dabi left, you’d gathered up your things and paced the floors of the library, debating your next move. He’s not doing his job. That much is a fucking given. You’d even talked with a few of the other students in your class the other day and they all said the same thing: He’s lazy and he can’t be bothered to help. Apparently, you’re the only student who had one on one sessions with him, but the group meetups sound worse. They told you he usually just opened the textbook and asked them to copy down definitions, and those were the days when he showed up for the meetings.

“Yeah, and today he really outdid himself. The jerk basically… well… he’s not doing his job,” you flounder at the omission of Dabi coming onto you. If you’re honest with yourself, he hadn’t really done much, and you’d been the one who was surging forward, suddenly tempted by his closeness, his scent, and those rippling sets of tattoos and bright blue eyes. No. Stop it. It’s the last straw, you remind yourself, shaking your head and refocusing on the familiar tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m sick of it. Midterms are coming, and I’m not about to let him hold the fate of my GPA in his stupid hands.”

“Go get em,’ love! You’re totally right, you’ve worked so hard and you shouldn’t have to put up with some middle-aged asshole’s antics. It’s been a crazy week for you, so dinner’s on me tonight. Wherever you wanna’ go, name the place and I’ll make sure we get a smile back on your face!”

That… that’s so like your boyfriend. He’s always so sweet and caring. Always looking out for you, ready to pick you back up and dust you off each time you feel you’ve fallen short. He’s perfect. He’s all you want, all you need… right?

Goddamn it, you think after you hang up your phone and hop on the elevator that will whisk you up to the dean’s offices, you’d almost kissed your TA. Here’s your boyfriend, being the most supportive and loving thing in the entire world and all you can think about is how fucking good Dabi’s cologne had smelt has he leaned over you. Some partner you are.

The dean’s office is emptier than you expected. There’s a single secretary, who is sitting behind a low desk, twirling a dark lock of hair and skimming over the pages of a magazine. She looks up when you clear your throat and a practiced smile lifts her lips.

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“I uh, need to file a complaint against someone in the College of Sciences,” you explain, dropping your heavy backpack from your shoulders and scratching at the back of your head balefully. You’re likely not the first one to file a grievance against the Dabi, so why are you suddenly bothered by the idea? It’s not going to get better. Just remember all the shitty, half-baked sessions he’s made you sit through (Y/N) and get this over with.

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that! Let me grab you the registry of TA’s and adjunct professors,” the secretary chirps, pushing her rolling chair across the wooden floors to snatch at a heavy binder on a shelf.

“I can, um, just tell you his name. If that makes it any easier,” you quietly reply, one foot tapping agitatedly against the other. What is this uneasy feeling that keeps zinging through your mind? It’s going to be an anonymous complaint. It’s not like he’ll ever see it. He likely won’t even know it’s you. Some of the other students had discussed the idea. He could think it’s one of them, not you.

“No, no,” the secretary replies, sliding the binder across the glass counter of the desk. “It’s no trouble at all! Just search for their name and fill out all the particulars on the university system. Doing our best to reduce waste! Gotta keep that paper trail down! We’ve got a little kiosk outside, close to the elevators. It’ll help you with all the details, just click on the form and it will file it into our online system. The dean’s office closes in fifteen minutes, so be sure to bring the binder back as soon as you’re done!”

“Uh, ok,” you mumble, hefting the thick book into your hands. “Do you want me to take it with me, or just look it up here?”

“You can take it out there! It’s sorted by department, for ease of use, so it shouldn’t take you long to find them.”

Great.

You lug the binder to one of the many empty tables outside the sliding doors of the office. Slipping your backpack into a vacant chair, you flip through the lists and sections. Chemistry, chemistry… ah! Okay, you’re in the right section. Now to find Dabi, should be easy enough.

Yeah, no. There’s no one in here listed as “Dabi.” What the hell is this? Some kind of elaborate scheme? Is he just a random student who’s fronting as a TA? It would explain some of his general disinterest, but he knows more about molecular chemistry than anyone you’ve ever met, and that skill isn’t exactly a common parlor trick.

Oh? My secret talent? Well, I can tell you about isotopic labeling and the exact timing of the reaction speeds! Wanna hear more?

No. No one does. Plus, the professor had introduced him to the class on the first day. He knew him and Dabi’s not exactly inconspicuous. There’s gotta be something you’re missing.

You close the heavy book and make your way back into the office, fingernails tapping out a disjointed pattern against the plastic of the binder. “Hey, um, sorry to bother,” you begin, tilting your head and biting your lip at the secretary’s beaming face.

“No bother! Did you find them? Everything work okay in the system?”

“No. I, uh, couldn’t find their name? He said his name was Dabi, never gave us a last name so, um, that’s all I have to go on,” you explain, placing the binder back on her desk and praying she’ll give you some kind of explanation.

“Ooh! Dabi! Sorry about that, he’s a special case, since he goes by his nickname. He’s under the adjunct section. I believe his last name is Todoroki,” she twists the book toward herself and flips through the pages at an alarming rate, eyes skimming over the names.

“Here he is! Touya Todoroki! They don’t put nicknames, or preferred names, since it’s an official listing. He’s a brilliant man and one of our brightest junior professors. I know the university is hoping to snap him up this coming semester, get him on track for a tenured position.

He’s a little unconventional, but he’s a super nice guy and… oh! Wait a minute, you wanted to file a complaint against him, right? I’m so sorry, here I am, running my mouth! You want a pen and paper? So you can jot his university number and info down? Lets me keep the book in here. Four minutes to closing after all, might as well save you the trip back.” She whips out the procured sheet of blank printer paper and a university stamped pen, holding them both toward you, a friendly smile still crinkling her eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, a little bewildered by her chatter. From the sound of it, Dabi’s got some university backing and is a ‘nice guy’. Coulda’ fooled you. Doesn’t matter, you think, crossing the t’s of his first and last name; he’s likely just skimming by on the promise of tenure, and the sooner the school knows about his lackadaisical attitude, the better.

You’re typing in Todoroki, Touya when the secretary closes up the office of the dean, flicking off the lights and waving a goodbye to your tensed expression. A few minutes later, the elevator swallows her up and the only sound that fills the empty space is the clacking of the keys as you finish typing out your complaint.

Alright. Got most of the minor points out of the way.

Inattentive to the lessons, frequent absences, missing materials, smoking in the library; you’ll leave out the mention of weed, it’s not like you can claim innocence on that charge yourself and you’re not looking to have the guy arrested, just stripped of his TA status. You could mention the near kiss, but it feels too vague, and it’s not like he made a move on you. No, all that shifting forward rests squarely on your own shoulders. Damn it, stop thinking about that! You’ve got a boyfriend, someone who loves you, who’s going to take you to dinner! Hit complete and get the fuck outta’ here, before someone–

“Whatcha’ doing?”

His voice makes you jump half a foot into the air, your right knee contacting the protruding keyboard of the university kiosk. “Fuck,” you hiss, twisting around and hunching over at the bright spots of pain that flash across your vision as you rub your fingers over the hurt. The soft footfalls of his approach snap you out of your dazed reverie and your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

He’s got a loose fitting white shirt on and you can see the coiling of his tattooed muscles under the thin fabric. His chin is lowered and his eyes are distant pinpricks of blue flame in the low lights. Booted feet take a few more steps toward you, but he pauses beside the table that your backpack is sitting on, hands sliding into his dark jeans, waiting for your response. You gulp back your nerves and lift your eyes to his, hoping some of your ire and defiance will shine through. “I’m putting something into the system,” you reply, your voice holding steady as you re-straighten your spine.

“Can see that,” he counters, head tilting, dark hair falling to one side of his soft jawline. “Why are you doing it up here? This is the College of Science’s dean’s office. Most people don’t come up here to adjust their university login. So let me ask you again, whatcha’ doing, Ms. (L/N)?”

“Filing a complaint,” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists, shoulders rising and fall with your quickening breaths. That’s right, asshole, and it’s a complaint about you. How do you like that? Not much you can do about… about it now…. oh, shit. Fuck.

You haven’t hit the enter key.

The fucking e-document is just sitting there, unattended and completely vulnerable. He might not have seen that you haven’t sent it through and if you could just step a few feet to the right, then you can slip one finger against the keypad and hit that all important “enter.”

You look up at him again, praying he won’t notice you scooting your shoes backwards, doing your best to keep him wholly focused on your face. “What did you expect?” you taunt, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around your back, fingers unconsciously stretching out, feeling for the lift of the keyboard. “You’ve been shit. Midterms are in a week and half of the class says you’re not showing up for their sessions. Don’t look so shocked. This can’t possibly be your first run in with something like this? No wonder you go by that silly name, Dabi. What’s the matter? Upset that I know your actual name now?”

As you ramble on, his face has dropped all pretense of blank civility and now his entire body is hunching forward, shoulders curving, hands pulling free of his pockets and coiling outward, reaching, palms tilted upward.

“So much fucking talk (Y/N). Looks to me like you forgot that last step. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” he begins, a wicked grin twisting across his lips, not quite reaching the glare of his narrowed eyes. “Ah, babe. Why you gotta be this way? Make you a deal, huh? Walk away now and I’ll forget the whole thing. No repercussions, no questions asked. Never even saw you up here, scout’s honor.”

The keyboard is close; you can hear the hum of the monitor, buzzing as it holds the screen with your complaint against Touya Todoroki steady, waiting for your inspection, for that final command. Dabi is close, his looming form heavy against your wide eyes, but it’s now or never. You’ve got to turn around, got to let the predatory lumber of your ill-appointed TA slip from your mind, you have to do this. It doesn’t matter what kinda promises he’ll make to you. That changes nothing, absolutely nothing.

Now! Do it now!

You whirl around, hands shaking as they search for the right keystrokes, the right submission link. It feels like minutes have passed, not seconds. Even though you’ve pressed all the buttons and heard the computer chime, a sent message alert into the sudden, reverberating silence, you can’t take your eyes off the burning gleam of the screen. Not until that thank you pops up.

He’s still behind you. You can hear his boots as they click across the wood. His movements have slowed, but he’s still advancing. It’s too late for you Dabi, you think, watching as the submission page fades to a pleasing orange, the school mascot waving a large “Thanks!” as it dances, close to the bottom of the page. You did it! There’s nothing he can do. Nothing that–

His powerful arm drapes across your stiffened shoulders, his wrist popped beside your face, fingers dangling lazily into the open air. “Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning over you, resting his head beside yours. You half turn your face to see him, aghast that he’s so close again, that he’s touching you, holding you in place with his weight. His muscled side presses against your back, leaning heavily into you as he gives you a rakish smirk. “Well, looks like we get to do this the hard way.”

“What the fuck? The hard way? What does–hey! HEY!” He’s stepped away from you, and that arm that was braced over your shoulders shifts to the back of your neck, ramming your face down into the keyboard, mashing out a random string of commands. Your nose stings from the impact and your eyes wince shut, protecting themselves from the threat of the black letters.

“Warned you about sending that,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s stroking a hand down your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair, pulling at the strands until you’re groaning in pain. “Now we have to do this another way. Gotta even the score, don’t we? Need to make sure you’ve got some kinda blemish on your record, too! I know that secretary filled you in on my upcoming tenure. No way she didn’t. She’s a fucking leaky faucet and I know you had to ask her about my name to fill out that complaint. No, no. We gotta fix this, babe.”

His voice has dropped into a terrifying lower octave, his words sharp, barbed, lancing into your mind like a showering of sticks and stones. He fucking sounds like he’s seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. The hand that’s wrapped around your hair is tugging against you in earnest, jerking your neck away from the threat of the keyboard, forcing you to look up at his leering face. The pupils of his eyes are blown, the black eating away at the shine of the blue until there’s almost nothing left. His teeth are bared in a grimace and his cheeks are pinched, making the silver of his piercings stand out against his flushed skin.

You do your best to gasp out another set of questions, but he’s yanking you back, holding you against his broad chest and wrapping those ink sleeved arms around you. They coil over your stomach and across your breasts, digging into the globes and heaving them under his forearms. His lips are tracing over your arched neck, teeth nipping against your bared pulse.

“You always smell so good, babe. What are you wearing? Hmm?”

“W-what… get off me! You sick fuck! Why are you… ow… damn,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin, gnawing and pulling until you’re writhing in his arms. You keep attempting to slip away, to shift your feet forward, but that mouth of his won’t let up. Each time you shake yourself free from those quick pants and hums he’s dashing across your neckline, he moves to another spot, or his hands cup and squeeze at your heaving chest and shivering waist, distracting you.

“Mmm, this is unexpected. Looks like you just might enjoy what’s about to happen,” Dabi teases, licking a wet line under your jaw. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

You exhale a shuddering breath and remain perfectly still, hoping your feigned submission will lull him. Thankfully, it works. He chuckles and spits something out about being a ‘good girl,’ but when he moves back, his arms unlacing from you, you stumble forward, one heel raised, cracking down over his booted feet with as much force as you can muster.

Dabi hisses out a string of low curses, his body coiling over itself protectively. You do your best to squirm out of his grasp, but one of his broad hands reaches out for you, snatching at your leg and forcing you back to him. The sudden shift jolts you off your feet and you tumble to the wood, your palms skinning against the uneven surface.

“Stop it!” you shout, kicking your feet, trying to dislodge his iron grip.

“Kick me again and I’ll knock you out,” Dabi threatens, lowering himself to your level and jerking you underneath him, trapping you, bracing his knees on either side of your hips.

“Fuck you,” you screech out, bucking upwards, trying to dislodge his weight.

“That’s the idea,” he croons, long fingers curling under your clenched chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you and stop acting like you don’t want me. You were practically salivating for me this afternoon. I bet you’re already wet. Let’s find out, hmmm?”

His other hand drifts to the clasp of your jeans, flicking past the barrier of your button and dipping his hand into your pants. His touch lingers around the elastic band of your panties, yanking and teasing at the seam as he works your zipper down. Unconsciously, your traitorous hips roll under him and he gives you a sharp grin, blue eyes blazing. “There you go, babe, just relax. Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers, his voice catching as his touch slips downward, tapping across your curls and snagging against your slippery folds. “Maybe… ahhh… look at that,” he moans, a satisfied grin lifting those tempting lips of his.

His middle finger brushes between your quivering flesh, gathering droplets of your arousal onto his finger pad. You choke back a staggered breath and your head flops weightlessly against the floor as you arch pitifully into his hand. One of his nails digs into your clit and faint stars pulse over your eyes. “S-stop it,” you stutter, unable to control the shiver that echoes up your spine.

“Tch,” Dabi scorns, adding the pressure of another finger. “Figures,” he continues, his mouth dropping into a pleased smile as you writhe under him. “I thought you liked being difficult. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, you know? So what happened to all that vigor, (Y/N)? Not gonna struggle anymore? I’m disappointed, I was hoping you’d keep it up.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, your fingers lifting from your side, grabbing the loose collar of his shirt and jerking him to your waiting lips. You can feel the lift of his grin, but he allows the caress, sharp nose digging into your upper cheek. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. But, if you have to endure it, it’s only fair you get a little bit of enjoyment out of this sick power play, so you nip at his lower lip, giving him soft presses and sharper pulls. Dabi, for all of his earlier barbs of prowess, is a bit taken aback by your sudden interest, his hands cupping at the back of your head, urging you on each time you maneuver away from his open-mouthed kisses.

“You want to fuck me here? Right in front of the elevator?” you question breathlessly, fingers coiling into his dark hair, carding through the rough strands until he’s groaning above you.

“Nah,” he pants, pulling away from your lips and leaning back. His fingers are still working their way against you, but it’s not enough friction and you wriggle under him, slipping him from your clit. “The fuck are you doing, babe? You gonna try and make a break for it again?” he laughs, pulling his hand from your pants and licking at the faint sweetness that you’ve left for him.

“Why bother?” you reply, twisting your neck, your head dragging over the grains of the flooring. “You’re just going to catch me. I don’t know my way around this part of the building, so even if I got away, you’d only find me and I don’t really like being tossed around. Not good for me, you know? Why do you care? I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he assures you, one hand snagging under your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. “Just wanted to know what changed.”

“Nothing,” you barb, tugging your chin free and fixing him with a pointed stare. “This whole thing means nothing. I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s buying me dinner tonight, so, just get through this and I’m free to go, right?”

“A boyfriend,” Dabi muses, knees tightening around your hips. “Should we call him? I’d hate to think how he’d feel about all this. Knowing that his girl is letting her TA take advantage of her this way.”

“Hmph,” you snort, arms bracing under you, pushing yourself upward, doing your utmost to level this shitty playing field he’s laid out for you. “Like you give a shit.”

“You’re right,” he affirms, hands snatching under your arms and pulling you out from under him. “I couldn’t care less.”

His office is small.

You keep a sharp eye on the door, watching to see if he locks it. Fingers crossed, he’ll get himself off and that’ll be the end of this. But that tone he’d shifted into, when he’d told you that you’d need to fix this, to erase the complaint, to walk it back, that made your spine tingle and skin prickle. There’s something else, something he’s not telling you, he’s a smart guy, there’s no way it’s this simple. He’s paced behind his desk, fiddling with something in one drawer, his eyes lifting to observe you each time you shift on the couch he’d gestured for you to sit on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice a dull monotone. You don’t care, you remind yourself, hands wrapping around your stomach. No matter how good he looks, or how skilled his fingers are, you don’t care (Y/N) and it’s pathetic that you have to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Just making sure everything is ready,” he answers, eyes flicking over you. “Take off your pants and shirt, but leave your bra and panties on.”

“Huh?” you question, shoulders tensing as you glare up at him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he responds, closing his desk drawer and stepping back to you, kicking his boots and socks off as he gets closer.

“I-I guess not, but I don’t understand why you–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all when I’m finished,” he reassures you, kneeling on the floor and propping an elbow against his tattered couch. “You can make a show of taking your clothes off, I won’t mind.”

“You’re revolting,” you snarl, curling your fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up.

“Mmm,” Dabi agrees, one palm rising to run over your exposed skin. “Whatever you say.”

“Ugh,” you grunt, popping your hips up and yanking your jeans down your long legs, not wanting to give him too much of a viewing as you pull them along your calves and onto the floor.

“Cute,” he murmurs, one finger racing along the lace of your panties, curving around your hip and onto the soft skin of your ass. “Oooh, did you wear these just for me?” he asks, cupping a broad hand under your soft skin and tugging it into his palm. “Love a girl in a thong,” he murmurs, fingers pressing and lifting into the plush flesh.

“Stop it,” you groan, lifting your hips up, depriving him of his lecherous grip. “I’d never do anything for you.”

“Always such a stuck up little thing, let’s see if I can’t change your mind,” Dabi laughs, pushing you back and splaying you against the haggard cushions. His long fingers hook under the band of your thong and steadily work it over the curve of your hips and down the line of your calves. Instinctually, you clamp your thighs together, rubbing against the ache that’s budding between your clenched legs.

“Come on,” Dabi encourages you, slapping his hand against your round thigh, smoothing his palm over the redness that he’s left behind. “Open up babe, let me see you.”

“Don’t, ah—” you bite out, leaning away from his ravenous gaze and bracing yourself on your elbows as Dabi leers over the sight you’ve been forced to open for him. He glances up at you for a single moment, the blue of his eyes ensnaring your attention and leaving you gaping against the cushions. Seconds later, he’s diving between your spread thighs, his curious tongue lapping over the exposed folds of your cunt.

He slows his licks as he passes by your clit, pausing against the bud before wrapping his lips around the nub, sucking a swift rhythm over you. Your feet rise from the floor to brace against his broad shoulders and you coil your hips upward, urging him on, your head falling into the swath of pillows that rest under your neck. Tense fingers wrench into the cushions and you give a soft gasp, your lips stumbling over his name.

“What was that?” Dabi asks, lifting his head from your curls, lips wet with your slick, his blue eyes watching the contours of your face.

“Fuck you. I-I know… I know you heard me… D-Dabi,” you moan, hissing when he brings a digit against the quivering ring of your entrance.

“Dabi, huh?” he ponders, letting the edge of his fingernail tease over you. “Don’t know if I like that. I think I’d much rather hear you screaming out my name, my real name.”

“What?” you question, popping your head up and giving him a blank stare.

“You remember,” he grins, poking out his tongue and dragging it over you, smiling as you buck under his hands. “Come on,” he taunts, sucking at your clit again. “I know you know it. Go on, say it for me.”

“Wha-what’s wrong with Dabi?” you smart, bracing your feet against the couch and forcing him to insert his wavering finger, digging it forward until it hits the second knuckle.

“Nothing, I just wanna’ hear how the other name sounds. I want to know what it’s like when you’re choking on it, barely able to gasp it out cus’ I’m making you feel so good. Come on, (Y/N), indulge me, huh?”

“Fine,” you huff, legs trembling as he shoves another finger into you, curling them upward, poking and prodding until you’re squirming. “Keep going. Make me cum all over your mouth, Touya.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dabi hisses, his teeth catching over your clit. “That sounds real nice, baby.”

His lips seal over you again and he drags another finger into you, stretching you until you feel you’re close to bursting. It’s a low ache he’s working up, but you love the burn. It’s not like your boyfriend can’t do this, but you’ve never worked up the courage to ask. How do you even go about that? Hey, I want you to pin me down and… no. That doesn’t matter, you remind yourself; fingers sinking into Dabi’s black hair, pulling him closer. You just need to get him off and get the hell outta’ here. Don’t think about it. Just relax and get this over with.

“You need more, don’t you?” Dabi questions, tilting his head and cracking one cerulean eye open, watching as you writhe and cant under his skillful hands.

“I-I just need…” your voice fails you as he resumes that suction, tugging your engorged clit between his sharp teeth and giving you a few rapid fire nips. “Al-almost, just… keep… oh fuck…” you sigh, thighs tensing around his dark head. His fingers speed up that sinful drag and he wriggles them forward with each push, tapping and stroking over the spongy patch of nerves within your cunt.

Then, right when you’re breaths away from a mind blowing release, he yanks his fingers from your sopping pussy, laughing as you pant and whine for him. “Ahhh, come on babe,” he sneers. “Why would I reward you when you’ve been such a fucking pain?”

You openly gape at him, your eyes blinking back dots of frustration and distant flashes of lingering starlight arousal. “What the fuck,” you pant, shifting away from his slicked lips and crossing your legs. “Wh-what what was that for?”

Dabi pushes himself onto his haunches, licking the last traces of you off of his fingers before digging his hand into his jean pocket. He returns with a small remote and waggles it in front of your aghast expression. “Got all I needed,” he informs you, flicking it toward a bookcase. You swiftly whip your head to the shelves and spy the tiny camcorder resting above the topmost set of books.

“You fucking ASS,” you screech, hands reaching for the dangling remote, not caring that your sopping pussy and half naked breasts are on full display. Dabi hovers the remote above the two of you, cracking that all too familiar grin over his thin lips.

“So, about that complaint,” he taunts, scoffing at your desperation, leaning on his heels to watch you scramble up from the frayed pillows of his couch.

“Y-you, why… I… give me that! You can’t record me without my permission!”

“Awe, babe,” Dabi barks, his laugh echoing around the small space. “Too bad for you, huh? I don’t need two party consent.”

“That’s for phone calls,” you bite out, finally snagging his wrist, yanking him toward you.

“Who said the video was on?”

“You fucking jackass! That’s why you wanted me to say your name!”

“Calm down, I won’t release it if you walk back the complaint,” Dabi counters, letting you pull him closer, his lips teasingly reaching for yours. You dodge his touch and fix him with a pointed glower, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing.

“This sounds like a well oiled routine,” you accuse, dropping your hold on him and crossing your arms over your exposed stomach.

“Tch, you jealous?” Dabi sneers, cupping both of his hands under your bent elbows, forcing you to lean into his hold. You shake your head at his accusation and grit your teeth, tilting your face away from his seeking touch.

“What are you going to do about this part? Where I’m yelling about what a son of a bitch you are?”

“Edit it out,” Dabi informs you, lips latching onto the hollow of your throat, teeth worrying your tender skin between their grasp. “Again, if you walk back the accusation, all of this goes away.”

“What if…” you pause, biting your lower lip and shrugging Dabi off of you. He leans away, bright eyes studying your face, pausing at the dip of your lips, following the pink indentations that your teeth leave behind. “What if I wanna’ fuck you?”

“Oh?” Dabi hums, nose flaring, making those three tiny piercings gleam under the low light of the moon that’s streaming through his window. “Now you wanna’ fuck me? You sure about that? Not that I blame you, I’m pretty good, pretty big, too.”

“Ugh, don’t say shit like that,” you reply, lifting a shaking hand to his neck, tracing your fingertips over the indentations of his tattoos.

“Hmm,” he groans, already leaning into your touch, his skin prickling under the gentle strokes of your fingers. “One condition. I get to record it. This time with the video on.”

“Fine,” you confirm, coiling your hands into his inky hair. “Never know, you might want it for later.”

“For what?” Dabi asks, yanking himself away from your intoxicating strokes to jerk his white shirt over his head. You shake your head at his question, not wanting to think about the ramifications of this situation, distracting yourself with the new patterns and whorls of dark ink that are bared to you. He twists back to the camcorder, hitting a few buttons before tossing his remote across the room, the plastic clattering over the wood.

You can just make out the outline of wisps of blue flames beside his ribs when he kicks his pants and boxers down, finally lowering the curtain on the dip of his hipbones, displaying his straining length to your ravenous gaze. He’s covered in piercings. A silver Prince Albert is gleaming at his tip, catching the drips and bubbles of pre-cum that are hovering against his slit. His cock curls proudly toward his stomach when he releases it from the thin protection of his boxers and you catch sight of the Jacob’s ladder that climbs up his impressive girth. Unconsciously, you gulp in a swift breath and shake your head, not wanting to show him your wavering uncertainty.

He’ll undoubtedly be the biggest cock you’ve ever taken, and you’re not sure that he’s stretched you out properly. He’d paused too soon and you can still feel the shuddering echoes of your faint brush with release travel up your spine as you gape at him. It’s not enough… it’s not…

“What?” Dabi questions, one black brow arched. “Worried I’m too big for you?”

You’re about to respond when he shoves you down and maneuvers you sideways, stretching you along the cushions, his hand a steady pressure against your windpipe, choking out any reservations that threaten to escape your lips. He’s on top of you seconds later, the sheer weight of him pinning you under him, and you let out a whine when he spreads your legs, popping the brittle muscles of your hips in his rush.

“I’ll make you like it,” he promises, looming over you, his lips tracing up your neck as his hands dig under your back, unfastening your bra and stripping you of your final defense. “You’ve got a nice rack, babe,” Dabi praises, lowering himself, ghosting over your peaked nipples, tongue lapping out to dip over the puffy areola.

“Stop saying shit like that, I might think you mean it,” you snarl, throat catching on your gasps of strained pleasure. He sucks one stiffened peak between his lips and suckles, hard. The pressure makes your back bow off the cushions, fingers reaching for him, clawing and scratching your way down the muscled plains of his back.

“Mmm,” Dabi groans, popping his lips free from the distraction of your nipples. “Do that again, but put some effort behind it.”

Well, why let him down now? You dig your nails into him, yanking until you feel his skin part under you, splitting from the drag of your touch. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, his hips jerking into you, blindly seeking your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Dabi warns, teeth biting the hollow of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you until all you can say is my name.”

He blindly reaches for your hips, two fingers searching for your cunt. Once he finds it, he grasps the swollen length of his cock, jerking himself a few times, splashing his hot pre-cum against your inner thighs. There’s no warning, no call for preparation, or a quick kiss, instead there’s just the heady press of his hips and the weight of his length as it splits you in two. Your neck arches off of the cushions and your hips fall away, shying from the keening sting that he’s thrusting into you. A low hiss slips from your lips and your toes curl, legs unconsciously wrapping around his thin waist, heels digging into the soft dip of his back.

“F-fuck,” Dabi chokes out, hands bracing themselves over the swell of your hips. “You’re fucking tight, babe. Goddamn it.”

“Dabi,” you moan, curling upwards, praying he’ll give you a few more seconds, positive you’ll shake yourself to bits if he tries to move now. Your hand finally lifts from his back and makes its way toward the crest of your thighs, desperate to tweak and roll your pulsing clit. Once you’re inches away, one of Dabi’s hands unlatches from your waist and snatches your seeking fingers away. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, lips rising to suck against the lines of your neck. “Only if I tell you,” he continues, warm tongue dipping and licking over your ear. “Understand?”

You nod, still reeling from the steady stretch of his cock as he tugs it out of your sopping cunt. It pricks and bites and your heels do their best to restrict his movements, pinning themselves to his lower back and grinding down. He ignores your hints and starts a steady push and pull within you, the rungs of his piercings catching on the edge of your leaking pussy. Each thrust snags against a piece of you that sends a scattering of sparks and stars over your vision and you coil yourself forward every time he yanks back, anticipating that ignition, that ache, as he braces himself to slip into you again.

“How the fuck are you still so tight?” he complains, hands jerking your chin upward, demanding that you kiss him. The bittersweet sting of pain is still too close for you to get into his caress, so he soon gives up, finally settling the pad of his calloused thumb over your clit. “Is this what you need?” he asks, hips lancing into yours, picking up the pace of his ruts. You nod as your teeth chatter, a thin slip of drool escaping your parted lips. Dabi grins at your overwrought expression and his tongue laps at the traces of saliva, nose pressing into your skin, his hisses of exhaled air hot against your cheek.

“You’re getting real tight (Y/N). Wanna cum? You wanna’ cum on my dick?” he asks, his voice shaking with effort, trying to ignore the insistent envelopment of your slick cunt. “Hey, come on, answer me!”

His deep pitch of exasperation snaps you out of your stupor and you fix your hazy attention on him, closing your swollen lips and giving him a cruel smile. “I don’t think you’ve done enough,” you taunt, a laugh bubbling from your throat. “Looks like you’re gonna cum first. Turns out you’re not as impressive as you think, huh, Touya?”

He’d usually ignore you, keep pressing and teasing until you’re putty in his hands, but it feels too good. It’s too much. Your fucking cunt feels like heaven and he can’t help himself, thrusting and pounding into you like he’s fucking fifteen again, all hormones and no finesse. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself, it’s too good, it’s just too fucking good.

With a half-formed groan he spills into you, his cock pulsing and swelling, hands bracing themselves against the swell of your hips, lifting you to him until those dots leave his vision. “Fuck. Fuck, that was… you were… God. That felt so fucking good.”

You sprawl under him, your eyes languidly meeting his as you crack a sly grin. “Ahhh, Touya, like I said, you were so close. Too bad. Thought you’d last a little longer. Haha! Maybe next time, hmmm?”

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @evesmores

notes: editing always takes me so long :((((

#dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #university au #bnha dark fic #tw: violence #TW: cucking #tw: dubcon #tw: drugs #tw: bribery #tw: teacher/student #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: recording #libiraki #my own personal fic exchange #well bribery #bnha smut

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beevean · 3 years ago

Note

I might become annoying with my Shadow game questions as I love that game. What is your favourite and least favourite mission(s)?

Are you kidding me? Have you seen how many times I've gushed about this dumb game? Please ask me all of your questions <3

Favorite mission:

concept-wise, Circus Park Hero, because it's by far the most unique and the whole level feels the most Sonic-y. I adore the idea of the shooting gallery, because it implements the weapons so well! And unlike Casino Park Chaotix, 400 Rings are very easy to both pick up and keep, as you only lose 10 Rings when hit. And the level itself is by far the best looking (maybe too bloomy) :)

generally speaking, Air Fleet Dark, which is also my second favorite level overall behind the similar G.U.N. Fortress. Easily the best "destroy the flying ship" mission, the level just throws at you super powerful weapons, it's so easy to stay in Dark Chaos mode meaning constant invincibility and infinite ammo, and there are some engaging platforming sections, including some that may be the earliest instance of 2.5D in the series! (well you still have full 3D control which is a little cumbersome, but it's easy to get the hang of it) I also like the look of the sunset outside, poor Tails is terrified that it might be the last time he'll see it :( my only gripe with Air Fleet is that it has easily my least favorite track in the game.

Least favorite mission: Mad. Matrix. Dark.

Oh sure, Lost Impact Hero is infamous. Lost Impact Hero wants you to kill 35 of the most resilient and annoying enemies in the game, and it wants you to use those slow, clunky G.U.N. Lifts, and the level is a maze, and god help you if you miss/forget one of those assholes, I know all of that.

But. You can pull on a map on the internet, roughly get the feel of the location of the Artificial Chaos, and subsequently have an easier time, because you remember which rooms are a dead end, and how many AC you have killed by a certain checkpoint, and it's not fun, but it's manageable.

(yes I'm keeping tabs of my ShTH playthroughs. please don't judge me)

This is how many times I've completed LI Hero as of today. I'm almost done with it! I can go through this stage like a breeze (well, it still takes roughly 8 minutes), and enjoy the lovely music :)

This is how many times I've completed Mad Matrix Dark. Those 6 times are the most pain this game has ever given me in 16 years since I got it.

The main problems of that mission are that:

the circuit is extremely convoluted, complete with dead ends in certain parts;

the colors are garish and even nauseous, making orienting yourself even harder;

you go at high speeds and can't turn back easily if you miss a turn - a problem that doesn't exist in Lost Impact, since you can move at your own speed and checkpoints help you teleport;

draw distance? Is that something you eat?

sometimes the camera bugs out and assumes a top down view! And this is easily the worst part! Because maps of the circuit exist, but I can't follow them, because sometimes the game is like "no fuck you get lost", literally!

Also the music is mediocre. Let me tell you, 15 minutes straight of this is maddening. It's a fairly short loop to boot!

Cosmic Fall, both missions, are a somewhat close second - the missions themselves are super easy, literally "get to the Goal Ring" and "go further"... I just don't like the stage in itself and I dread reaching it. Good thing that unlocking the secret door means you pretty much gain an autowin button for the Hero Mission, but you still have to go through those awful, slow platforming sections :\

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #shth #shadow the hedgehog (2005)#in case your wondering #the second number indicates how many paths out of 326 have that mission #14 paths have lost impact hero and 30 paths have mad matrix dark #so not only it's worse it's also more frequent :V

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boop-le-snoot · 5 years ago

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 21

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Wanda fluff, Loki fluff, we're getting a whole ass friendship! Dad sucks. The outfits are neat tho! Check the end for a mood board 😍

a/n: dress inspo and aesthetic visuals can be found here, here and here. (Paolo Sebastian, Firefly Path gowns and Viona Ielegems photography).

"Gi-i-irl..." Wanda drawled, seeing me arrive with Tony, both of us freshly showered and still hazy from the amazing orgasms. God only knew what she'd seen in both of our heads - if judging only by the vivid, crimson blush she spouted, it was definitely something very NSFW. Bruce already sat at the dinner table, quietly slurping his soup, his back and shoulders the most relaxed I'd ever seen. He gave me a knowing smile once he noticed my presence in my usual spot by his side.

The rest of the team appeared completely oblivious, preoccupied by their food.

"So, about the party. Got any costume ideas?" I cut straight to the chase, unwilling to wait for Wanda to start asking for details right in front of everyone.

Steve, Bucky, Pietro, Thor and Natasha all answered affirmative, the latter whacking Clint upside the head and firmly stating "no funny business". I couldn't help but wonder what kind of crazy shit the Bird had in mind and was kind of disappointed at Nat's intervention. A good chaotic moment was always worthwhile in my opinion!

The other bird, Sam, approached Bruce with caution as he wondered if the scientist was interested in doing a paired costume with him, only to be interrupted by Tony declaring, with childish glee, he had a "wicked project" that he and Bruce would be doing together. The scientist gave a resigned sigh and apologized.

Sam wasn't deterred by the slight setback; he approached Clint instead and after being given an okay from Natasha, the Birds decided to pair up. As they should, if you'd ask me.

"I have a costume but I need some accessories. Wanda, Lokes, join me on my lil' shopping trip?" I prompted, wanting everybody to be included. I was fully prepared for Loki to scoff and dismiss my invitation but the Asgardian nodded after a second of brief speechlessness. Didn't anyone invite him to birthday parties as a kid? Either way, Thor gave me a grateful smile, like a proper big brother. Both Asgardians had grown visibly closer during the past couple of months which made me hide a secretive smile behind a spoonful of soup.

It turned out, Loki hadn't exactly been introduced to the buzzing beehive that is NYC. He didn't get out much and when he needed to be somewhere, the man simply teleported to the desired destination. As convenient as it must've been, I still expressed my outrage at his lack of experience doing the usual "touristy" things that, in my opinion, every non-newyorker was obligated to do when visiting. Yes, even if said visitor had literally traveled across different galaxies.

Wanda wasn't much better in terms of city knowledge. According to her, she'd lived here for several years already but never bothered to go beyond the borders of the block surrounding the Avengers tower. The witch didn't have friends outside of her teammates (therapy. they all needed so much therapy. y'all...) so she simply saw no point in going anywhere beyond the local mall.

Which was trash. I mean, I loved Hot Topic and Forever 21 as much as any other young adult with depression and anxiety but it was literally impossible to wear clothes made out of cheap cotton and polyester all the time. I'm pretty sure I would have hives and ulcers if I attempted that.

"We're going on Sixth Avenue and that's final. No friend of mine will be wearing shit from Wal-Mart at a Stark party," I interrupted Wanda's defensive stuttering, using my other hand to summon an Uber.

"That is good advice," Loki, previously silent, added in a sweet tone. I counted on the fashionable Asgardian to be on my side and with his schmoozing skills, I didn't even have to drag Wanda inside the car by, like, her hair or whatever. The three of us barely fit into the small Toyota anyway.

A thought struck me when I had to consciously avoid stepping on Loki's leather shoes and keep away my elbow from Wanda's stomach. "Mister? I'll give you a hundred bucks cash if you turn around and drive to this address," I hurriedly rattled off my home address, delighting in the way the driver nearly did a U-turn at the mention of crispy dollar bills.

We arrived home quickly. Wanda gaped in mild disbelief at the size of my house while Loki looked about as interested as he'd ever be. His face was akin to an expression one made while smelling fresh manure. Opening the garage, I was greeted with an unpleasant surprise of my dad's outrageously painted Corvette standing neatly by my white Range Rover.

Loki looked and felt considerably less tense in the back of my car. The subtle signs of discomfort all but left his face replaced by slight wonder as I explained how to adjust the temperature and turn on the heated seats.

Dad met us at the gates. "You didn't come in to say hello," He pouted. His breath reeked like a five-day drinking binge hangover and he looked a dead man.

"We're in a hurry, dad. There's a lot to be done," I replied curtly, hoping to get rid of him fast. I hated being sober around my drunk father. My fingers twitched on the steering wheel.

"You're like your mother, always busy," Dad's laugh was coarse and bitter. "But at least you find time for Stark and his friends. That'll do your future real good," He clapped once on the hood of my car, heading back to the house with a wave of his hand, just in time to miss the disgusted shudder that ran through me.

I knew my dad well enough to understand the implications of what he meant by his words. In his world, fucking way up to the top was considered the norm. I'd rather cut off my own foot than use Tony that way.

"Sorry you had to see that. I thought he was still in Cali," I gritted my teeth, pulling out of the driveway.

"I'm sorry you had to experience that. I have no kind words regarding your father," Loki's look was sympathetic in the rearview mirror.

"Or your mother," Wanda added, messing with her seatbelt. Loki nodded tersely.

"Aight, aight," I sighed, set on improving the mood. "Let's not poop this party. We're getting some absolutely delicious beverages and wasting my money on outrageous pretty things. My treat."

Wanda's protests were drowned out by Motorhead and Loki's grumbling was overshadowed by Guns'n'Roses. Their resistance didn't stand a chance. Few blocks out, the witch was singing along to November Rain, heavily accented and terribly off-key, and the Asgardian watched New York city intently behind the protection of the tinted rear windows of my ride. He seemed mesmerized by the crowds and the variety of colorful shop fronts. This was the the one and only reason I eased off the gas pedal and drove the speed limit for once.

The atmosphere was, well, magical. Looking at my two companions, I discovered the familiar city anew with every question they asked, every remark they made. The desire to ask in turn about their homelands melted like the tension I was harbouring after the run-in with my father. Content and warm, I had my attention divided between Loki and Wanda juggling their wonder back-and-forth between themselves and the absolutely crazy NYC traffic.

So what if I parked in a no-parking zone just to get us the most delicious coffee in the city? Loki, the resident tea person, ordered himself something unpronounceable, something that made the barista twitch. Wanda got a sugary-sounding vanilla-white chocolate perversion. I just got a mocha, having had outgrown my adolescent desires to experiment with "how sweet can I make this coffee before I literally puke?" beverages.

With a laugh, I instructed them to pose in front of the nearest reflective surface to brag about our coffees on Instagram - this café deserved more recognition. My companions reluctantly obliged.

I wonder if the barista realized just who had bought the coffee - Loki was quite a media darling when it came to fangirls. Tony's PR team did a wonderful job on the Asgardian's redemption arc. The trickster only fueled the utter devotion his fangirls had for him by being extra nice and charming in every video I've seen. I guess you can't out-mindcontrol manners outta somebody, he was raised a prince after all.

It wasn't raining but the autumn chill seeped into the tiny spaces between my layers of clothing. I already managed to regret my fashionable dark academia inspired outfit at least twice, however the matching vibe all three of us had was positively dashing. Loki, wearing his usual onyx black and dark green. Wanda with a burgundy sweater dress and thigh high platformed boots - sweater dresses, out of all things, had no business looking this good on anybody. But she pulled it off.

"You said you've got a costume. Mind sharing what it is?" The witch said, curiously peeking into the windows of a nearby vintage boutique as we took our leisurely stroll with steaming paper cups keeping our fingers warm.

"A fairy dress. It was custom made for me last year and I actually didn't get to wear it. I need some jewelry to go with it," I explained, stopping to show a photo of the dress on my smartphone. "And some shoes, too. Let's hope the party will be held completely indoors, otherwise I'll freeze my ass off."

"Custom made?" Wanda squeaked, looking at the garment in wonder. Loki gave a vaguely approving nod.

"Yeah, there's a company that makes these fantasy dresses. You want one? What did you have in mind for your costume anyway?" I switched the topic quickly, seeing how Wanda withdrew into herself slightly. I heard from Peter she grew up poor, in the middle of a war and I didn't want to make her feel bad or anything. I wasn't good at these things...

"I thought maybe I could match with you," She replied, slowly taking a sip of her coffee.

"Sure. There are a couple of shops with really cute dresses that fit the aesthetic." Marchesa. We need a Marchesa store. And a Zuhair Murad - if there was one on this stretch of road. "What about you, Lokes? Anything in particular strike your fancy?" I asked our silent companion, frantically googling the information I needed.

"Black," He answered moodily.

"Boo, you whore," I rolled my eyes at his scoff. We had watched the Mean Girls recently and he got the reference, immediately raising a sarcastic eyebrow. "You know, you could do so much with this pale aristocratic look you've got going on. How about a medieval vampire?"

"Like Lestat? He's fucking hot," Wanda and I understood each other promptly. She jumped on the bandwagon immediately.

Combining my blunt honesty and her adorable fawning over a fictional bloodsucker, we managed to convince Loki into going on a hunt for brocaded, velvet suits and blouses with ruffles for his look. The trickster revolted at the mere suggestion of procuring some fake fangs, instead magically making them appear and showing them off in the middle of the crowded sidewalk, much to my and Wanda's delighted shrieking. He looked, I daresay, very attractive, like a porcelain figurine. Delicate but dangerous.

We arrived at the store that showcased beautiful, airy dresses of silk, chiffon and tulle. The lace was delicate and the seams invisible. I ushered Wanda into a dressing room with a shop attendant that was quietly but strictly instructed to not discuss the cost of the dresses and hide the price tags.

"I want it to be a gift. My friend here deserves no less than a magical experience," I explained quietly, winking at a bewildered Loki.

"Why did you do that?" He asked once Wanda was given a selection of several dresses in flattering colours and led into a separate dressing room.

"These dresses, they're special so they're a bit pricey. And knowing Wanda, she'll make a scene and refuse to let me buy them for her," I idly twirled my phone in my hands. "But every girl wants to be a princess and it's kinda sad she never got to be one. It's more than just a dress, it's more than feeling pretty, although it's a big part of it. She'll feel on top of the world."

Loki nodded. I'm certain he didn't understand it - being a man and all - and I wasn't sure I understood it completely, too. I never lacked pretty or expensive things, always got whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. But for a moment, I thought how it must've been for Wanda - seeing all these girls on TV, looking like pictures - and never having the chance to experience that. A concept that made me so sad, I was tempted to ask the customer service person for a glass of scotch. Being poor sounded depressing as hell.

Suddenly, Loki's cool, large hand landed on mine. "Thank you. I am certain Wanda will be the most beautiful lady at the ball."

I stared at him. Loki understood.

"Well, I... I don't know how finicky you are on gender labels for clothes, but there were a couple of blouses you might want to check out. They've got the neck ruffles and shit." My throat suddenly seized up and I had to clear it before speaking, steering away from the uncomfortably emotional moment. Thankfully, Loki wandered off without as much as a word.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

& the promised aesthetic

#tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #party favours #bun writes

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speedypandaweasel · 4 years ago

Text

One Big Adventure - a Wilford Warfstache and Abe story (Non-Ship) (2,914 Words)

Thank you for the request @canceltheact! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you would like to submit a request, see the information at the Masterlist and submit through the Q and A!

PSA - THIS IS NOT A SHIP oke, let us begin...

Dazed images fog up the minds of two *very* hungover men as they stagger their way up to the apartment. Abe fumbles his way through the door and over strewn clothes. He continues on and manages to put together the kaleidoscope of scenery that is right in front of him. To his left, a saggy sofa sits and a cheap TV dangerously hangs off the stripping wallpaper by a thread. To his right, a grimy kitchen is on display which even the worst chef in the world wouldn't waste his time in. The other man, however, is blabbering away, slurring his words like a car on an icy motorway. "HA!, I tell *hick* you Abe, I'm so glad I remembered you, you see *hick*, I can't even remember where I put my-" Aaaand he's gone. His body moulds into the cushions that poorly support his droopy frame, and his scuffed platform boots dangle over the side. Abe smiles, slightly soberer than before. Who would have thought that this stock still of a man, whose only aesthetics were the colour beige and veterans, would somehow have a goofy, lighter side to him? All the criminals he's met and caught among the years...

Hold up, has he met anyone? He can't remember any experiences where he HAS met any, so why did he think that? Hm, must be the Tequila talking. Abe hopscotches over the empty Wine and Martini bottles that are decorated across the stained carpet. Damm, William has not been taking care of himself. Mind you, neither has he so he can't really say anything. He arrives into the walk-in kitchen and opens a dusty cupboard. His tired eyes only meet with shot and tumbler glasses.

How much does this Man drink!? Shuffling used plates and greasy cutlery out of the way, he fills a scotch glass with water. Dowsing the liquid felt like heaven. His exhausted physique felt like a body that's been stuck in the desert for a considerable amount of time and didn't know it needed water to survive. Oh, now he feels the headache coming on.

Reader, you know when water tastes funny? It's because your brain hasn't been receiving enough H20 because you've been drinking too many energy drinks. Yeah, that feeling is exactly what Abe is feeling right now. CONTINUING ON!

The scotch glass watches from the draining board whilst the Detective plays the quietest game of the floor is lava, whilst the moustached man is making much more noise. He manages to reach a corridor which he thinks leads towards the bedroom and tiptoes down the tight hall to find a vacant room. On the way, he passes another room. It was Barnum's. His mind was split in two, Does he go in? Or stay out? Through the crack in the door, the catastrophe has indeed spread into his sleeping quarters. A mountain of flamboyant disco clothes gathers dust in front of his Chester draws, the bed's not made and more liquor bottles are having a social gathering on top. Oh William, you may be a murderer, but you need to prioritise yourself. He takes a last look at his passed out flatmate down the hallway, before shutting the guest bedroom door. Grey. It's all he's met with. Much like his exterior. He slips his shoes off and starts to unbutton his off-white shirt. he runs a hand down his chest and over the scar. How the Hell did he survive that? He can't be bothered to go into it right now, he's too tired. He snuggles into bed and does the infamous cold bed dance.

You know the one.

Abe gets out of the tempting bed once more and walks back into the living room. He creeps over to William, the man's mouth catching flies. He carefully takes his enormous shoes off and places them on the floor. Barnum's mismatch socks disappear underneath the blanket. "Night William."

~ A gorgeous smell of Breakfast wanders its way through the apartment and Abe groggily wakes up. His eyes peel open and with a yawn, he trudges through to the living room. Remembering from earlier this morning, he needed to position himself for his dance routine around the non-existent floor. "What are you doing my main man?" Barnum brightly asks, a hearty chuckle accompanies the question. Resided in the pristine kitchen, his big, strong hand holds a Skillet and two China plates are centred on the pebble grey marble island. Abe, however, is currently squatting as though he was playing a game of leapfrog with some imaginary friends. The Detective goes to jump but then is taken back at the sight. The apartment is now spick and span, no more Wine Bottles, no more strewn clothes. The windows are tied wide open and it overlooks the sketchy neighbourhood that they reside in. "How did you do this?" "Do what?" "You know, clean up this quickly?" Barnum checks his watch. It's 7:30 am "Oh well you see, I ironed a nice pair of jeans and found a lovely dandelion coloured shirt. Accompanied by some rainbow braces I think I look quite dashing don't you think so?" "No William, I-I mean the Apartm-AAH!" Abe clings his hand over his head, damm this- "Headache is killing you?" William slides a glass of water over with an Aspirin pill. "And no, I didn't clean the apartment, she did." Wilford looks- wait, why are you looking at me!? "Anywho, we need to get going my slightly hungover companion! But first, breakfast!" Wilford sets a serving plate down of a full English Breakfast: Sausage, an Egg, two cooked Tomatoes, Bacon rashes, Baked Beans and a slice of Buttered Toast. Wow. He didn't know William could cook? The two men got stuck in right away and the TV is turned on. Two bright and very similar faces appear on the screen "Badgers the secret Killer?... And now for the weather, Jim?"

The camera pans to, what they believe, is Jim. Their face resembles a deer in headlights. "I swear, they don't know what they're doing. It's hilarious!" The Detective says with a mouthful of Toast. Barnum laughs, wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swig of his Orange juice. "Right! I mean, who is their boss anyway?!" The men eat and laugh their way through their plates talking about what topics they would cover if they were reporters. After a while, they both recline back into their bar stools and the cook starts to tidy up the dirty dishes. "Oh, no, let me do it. It's the least I can do." "You're alright my man, I've got this. Besides, you need to freshen up!" "But whe-'" "First door on your left"

They share a light chuckle. "Thanks Wilford, I really appreciated that," Abe says before going back down the hallway, whilst Wilford rolls his sleeves up and starts to clean the less-silver cutlery.

He smiles. That's the first time he's ever said that to him. "No problem Abe."

The passenger door slams shut on the Detective's Vintage SUV and Wiford pulls out a gigantic map from his pocket. This map includes hundreds of paths scrawled with crayons and a hint of Martini can be smelt.

"Are you sure, you know where you're going?" Abe questions. Judging by what that map reads, they are going to get lost very easily.

"Of course I know where I'm going! I am Wilford Motherloving Warftsache after all." A pang of guilt hits the Detective, he genuinely can't remember who he was.

"Ok, Wil, you can drive."

After playing at least 3 rounds of rock paper scissors, or when Wilford won, Abe hesitantly let the murderer drive. God knows where though.

Wilford excitedly thrust the keys into the ignition. He couldn't wait for what the day entailed!

"Careful Willford, you're gonna break the keys!" Abe says through gritted teeth.

"Oh pah-lease! I know how to drive" he retaliates. His brown boot floors the pedal and reverses straight into the iron fence.

"Yep, it's working."

The Detectives face, now pale, grips tighter onto his seatbelt and his feet are glued to the floor. "Wil, of course it's working. Now, step on the ga- nope, that's the brakes Wilford."

Pedestrians quiver in fear as they see a horribly driven brown vehicle screech to a stop and then start again. They have to clamp down on their ears as the monster of a car drives past them down the alleyway, swerving left and right much like the driver's speech the other night.

The SUV survives to the end of the road and dents a stop sign perched, well once, straight on the kerb.

"Will, which route are we taking?" Abe asks as he takes the map from the driver's hands.

"It's the one marked Highway of Life, it's gonna be a good one, trust you me."

"Well, this has got off to a surprising start so why not go for an adventure?" Abe says. He's given up at this point.

"LIFE IS A HIIIGHHWWAYY! I WWAAANNNA RRIIDDEE IIT ALLL NIIGGHTT LOOOOONNGG!" The two pop stars start belting out of the car as Wilford drives them to their last stop. Who would have thought that two polar opposites positions of the law would be in the same car together, let alone blasting Disney songs out of the car.

Wilford's hair whips away from his face as the SUV's top winds down.

"LIFE NEEDS A BIT OF MADNESS EH ABE?"

"HELL YEAH IT DOES"

The Afternoon sun blazes down onto their blacked-out sunglasses and the Golden Gate bridge paints a picture for the Detective that prescribes him with a carefree attitude.

Life was his to choose and he was here for it.

The SUV turns off the Highway onto Richmond Street. The Afternoon sun glowing dimmer.

Just in time.

Now reader, if you haven't read my WKM Tumblr Song series, then you won't understand this next section.

The SUV passes bountiful shrubberies and picket fences. Cherry Blossom dust drift its way into the car and Wilford starts to tear up.

"You ok Buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm ok." After all his years of interrogation, Abe knows that that answer was a lie. Yet, he didn't want to push it.

The car comes to a halt and is parked underneath a summer coated oak tree.

"Why'd we stop?"

"I want to show you something."

Abe opens the vintage door and steps out. In front of him, wildflowers and grass sway on the cliffs breeze and small pink flowers grow on its edge. Overhead, a sea glistens with sunlight rays and pink and amber hues dust the sky.

Man, this is enough to make a grown man cry.

The cars driver door can be heard shutting and a shadow walks up behind him. An intimate silence roots itself between the two men.

"You may be wondering why I brought you here."

Abe nods, still looking forward, yet intriguingly listening.

The man sighs, "I used to come here all the time as a young lad. We used to have picnics and dance until dawn. We were so free up here. Away from life, away from Duty, and she was away from Him, that was all that mattered. "

His voice breaks.

"But things change, people change and suddenly, I couldn't do that anymore.

That's why I want you to see it."

Wilford wanders over to their spot and picks up one of the pink flowers sprouting through the grass.

"You may have thought of us as the scum of the Earth Detective. But there are two sides to every story."

The Detective joins the Murderer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Wilford chuckles. The last time he was here, he was completely and utterly alone. He was like- like a freshly born fawn still trying to find his legs into this world that didn't make sense.

But now...but now things are looking a little brighter.

"If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, just name it."

"You can't do anything really, it's just the way this messed up world works."

The two friends sit down in the grass, making fresh new imprints into the cliff edge, next to two fading ones.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure" "How many people have I killed?"

...

That question lingers in the air for an uncomfortably long time. All that can be heard are the lapping of the waves below them and the occasional swallow talking in the trees.

...

"I don- don't know Wilford," Abe breaks the silence, "I should know, but I-I don't.

...

Abe looks at Wilford, his broken and tear-stained eyes manage to glance back before returning to look out at the sunset.

Abe must do something here. But what? He said himself that nothing can be done so what can he do?

He reminisces on the day they were reunited. So much anger, so much confusion. But Wil was so cheerful, not a care in the world!

Now look at him.

And it was all his fault. If only he didn't get involved...

A second flashes by and Abe does something he should have done the second Will did it.

He hugs Him.

...

"I'm sorry Will."

...

Moments cling on for seems like forever and the embrace is broken. The two tear-stained friends look up.

The afternoon sun has now gone beneath the horizon and is replaced with the all too familiar twilight scenery, which glows softly for miles and miles, each star a lantern that has been entrusted with keeping something special.

"There was another reason why I wanted to bring you here."

Wilford wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Do you see that star, the big one?"

"Yeah" "That's the Evening Star. That Star is the reason why I have hope. And now I want to share that hope with you. I know we got off the wrong foot but since we're in the same boat now, I think it's time I opened up about where I've actually been."

Abe swallows, this man is truly broken, and he can't do anything about it.

"Thank you for trusting me." "We're not done yet. It's your turn!" "What?" "Make a wish." Cautiously, the Detective slowly stands up from his permanent grassy imprint and walks towards the cliff's edge. The man looks around and sees only patches of shrubbery and wildflowers.

And his newfound friend encouraging him to proceed.

He clasps his hands together and wishes hard. His eyes scrunch together as he becomes a child once more as well. His once tight shoulders have finally become relaxed. After so many years of searching for answers, he doesn't need to worry any more.

A single tear is swept away from the Murderers face as he watches on from the patch of grass. He remembers that feeling and the dream he wished for all those years ago. Yet now, his wish is slowly changing.

Granted, he can't remember who he was but bully does he know what he wants to be. And being here for him, at this very moment, is a wonderful way to start it.

Abe's hands fall to his side and he stares out onto the ever stretching view. His feet are glued to the spot and his mind is only fixated on that one goal. Wilford slowly joins his side, already having a hunch on what he dearly wants.

"What did you wish for?" The Murderer asks.

The Detective huckles, "Now if I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

"Very true my friend."

Little did the men know that their newly found wishes were the same.

"Don't you mean, Best Friend?"

CRACK

The heartwarming moment is abruptly stopped by the sky blasting wide open and millions of sounds exploding across the cliff. The light breeze has rapidly sped up into a storm and is propelling thick gusts upon the two.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL NOW!?" Wilford yells at the hole, completely unfazed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS!?" Abe yells at his Friend.

"OF COURSE I DO, IT'S TIME FOR WORK."

"WORK!? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A JOB!?"

"WE ALL HAVE A JOB - WE'RE ACTORS! I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING IF WE DON'T GET SPLIT UP."

"IF WE DONT GET SPLIT UP!? WHERE ARE WE GOING!?" "I HAVE NO IDEA! BUT THAT'S THE FUN OF IT! AFTER THREE, WE WALK IN."

"ARE YOU CRAZY WE'RE GONNA FALL!"

"TRUST ME, WE WON'T."

Wilford grabs Abe's hand and he stares at him. Abe stares back, fear-stricken. Finally, he nods.

"TOGETHER?" "TOGETHER."

"ONE"

"TWO"

"THREE!!!!" The two Actors charge straight over the cliff and into the blinding light.

Wilford finds himself in some kind of leather chair with neon lights surrounding him. A script in one and his prop gun in his other.

No pants on, no wonder he feels too comfortable.

He scans his scene and sees his co-actor, Kathryn, running her lines on the other side of the room.

A chair sits opposite him and behind that, a red T-30 minutes until showtime sign is displayed for him.

Abe, however, isn't needed on set yet. His adventure hasn't begun.

But both of their characters will have to cross at one point or another, it's just a matter of time. Yet for a fact, no one can edit their Friendship; Their Joint Wish.

Because, as they say, Life is a road that you're travelling on, when there's one day here, and the next day gone.

#wilford warfstache #abe the detective #wkm #who killed markiplier #tumblr songs #markiplier #story #william j barnum #markiplier egos

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itslunarwritesstuff · 5 years ago

Text

City of Angels (Draft)

Word Count: 2,160

A/N: This is only a draft, barely edited so please be nice. I would appreciate the feedback and if you guys like this enough I will do a repost that is polished up and finished.

________________________________________________________________

The club life was something that she was unfamiliar with just a few months ago but after moving to this ‘city of angels’ as they call it, going out was as normal as breathing.

The back of Y/N’s neck lightly misted with sweat and the residue of the perfume and oils she put on earlier in the night, her friends were once by her side but have since migrated to different areas with different guys and girls, dancing on each other.

Having her fill of dancing by herself, for the time being, Y/N makes her way to the bar and pushes her empty glass towards the bartender and asks for water to have in between cocktails.

Sitting on the barstool she hears someone say “Hey” and when she spins around in her chair she sees an unfamiliar guy; pretty tall with obvious tattoos and a type of style that makes him serious but goofy at the same time and it worked for him. “Yes,” Y/N smiled showing him that it was okay to continue.

He looked a bit surprised by her reaction but recovered from the shock so quickly it was almost like it was never there in the first place. He pointed to her feet and said: “Just wanted to compliment you on your shoes, very flashy and I can honestly say I have never seen anything like them before.”

Y/N glanced at her the shoes of the topic, she completely forgot about her outrageous footwear.

She was wearing a 6-inch platform boot that was all decked out in rhinestones and a sharp black buckle.

“Thanks...Um, I’m sorry what is your name?” Y/N reached her hand out for him to shake.

Switching his drink to the opposite hand he takes her hand and shakes it gently,” No my bad, my names Pete” he laughs. “Probably should have led with that, And yours is..”

“Nice to meet you, Pete, my name is Y/N. How are you doing tonight” she says continuing the conversation and pointing to the seat next to her for him to take.

Y/N was hoping she wasn’t giving the guy the wrong idea, she was not looking for anything other than a good conversation since her friends were preoccupied at the moment.

“I’m doing pretty good just here with some friends. What about you?” Pete leans forward a bit so she can hear him better. “I’m actually here with some friends too,” Y/N says.

Pete looks a bit confused and says “But you have been dancing alone practically all night”

Y/N decided to joke with him a bit and say “Oh so you’ve been watching me all night” she laughed.

“Well with those shoes, honestly who couldn’t. But no actually my friend Colson actually spotted you.”

“Yeah sure, put the blame on the friend” Y/N laughed, this conversation was going smoother than she thought it would.

“Ha. Ha. Usually, that would be my cop-out but its actually true this time” Pete decided to point his friend out “There he is you can’t miss him, Redshirt and looking right at you...oh god” Pete muttered the last part under his breath, his friend being so obvious it hurt.

Colson quickly averted his gaze as someone behind him was trying to get his attention.

Stunned a bit by the exchange of eye contact Y/N could only mutter a small “Oh I see him” and quickly turned her attention back on the conversation she was having with Pete.

“Since your friends kind of vanished, do you want to come and hang with us? “ Pete asked being genuine.

“You sure they won’t mind me crashing,” Y/N asks just to make sure she isn’t intruding.

“Nah, besides Colson is actually really sweet. You’ll see” Pete grabs your wrist making sure you get through the crowd safely and not to lose you.

When the two of you make it to the section where they’re hanging out it only takes a minute for Pete to start introducing Y/N to everyone. The funny thing is Colson is the last one who comes over for introductions when he finally does meander over to her though she already has her hand outstretched for him. He kind of just stares at her hand for a moment, standing there awkwardly. So long in fact that another one of his friends, Slim hit him in the arm to snap him out of whatever daze he was in.

Colson coughed and finally took Y/N’s hand shaking it a bit longer than the others, but she didn’t stop him. Their eyes were locked and he said “I’m Colson” while she responded “Y/N”.

After letting go of each others grasp, Y/N tried to look anywhere but at him not wanting anyone to get the wrong idea, mostly herself. But to no avail, Colson’s gaze fell to Y/N’s shoes and he muttered a small “Woah”, “Hmm what was that” Y/N wasn’t quite sure what he said.

“Your shoes are so...Badass. You’re almost as tall as me and you look like you could beat the shit out of someone” and he actually smiled and in return, she did too feeling a lot better in this situation. “That’s exactly how I feel when I wear these. And frankly Shoes or not I am badass.” everyone around them laughed including Colson. “Oh trust me I can tell, can I get you a drink?” Y/N was taken aback by his question but decided it would be okay to put her guard down for the night and enjoy this time with new people. “Yeah sure. Just surprise me” usually when guys offered Y/N a drink she declined for obvious reasons, but she felt oddly at ease but full of electricity around Colson and they had only met each other moments ago. “Here you can come with me, just to make sure I’m not messing with it” obviously Colson was joking but he held his hand out for Y/N to take none the less. Hands fastened together he looks at Y/N, pulling her from their secluded corner into the ever-moving crowd and slowly make their way to bar tripping once on the way over someone’s foot. His hands steadied Y/N at her waist and it was then that she realized how pretty his eyes were. Breaking out of her trance much too soon, she had to keep her focus on the task at hand pointing at an opening in between the bodies on the dancefloor.

Colson is quick to push his way through the gap, not like it was that hard considering he was taller than most of the people there.

Getting to the bar he quickly asks “Do you like whiskey?” “Yeah” a short but true reply she had.

Motioning to the bartender Colson orders a “Casanova” but Y/N is wondering how the hell he got the bartenders’ attention so fast, and what kind of pull he had cause it usually took at least ten minutes or more to wait her turn to get a drink. “How did you do that,” Y/N asked obviously impressed and astonished. Colson looked at Y/N with the same astonished feature but confusion also set into his face.

“Wait really?” his tone was confused but not in a bad way. “What do you mean by really? It usually takes me forever to order a drink and for you it was instantaneous.” Y/N chuckled.

When he figured out she really didn’t know who he was Colson honestly felt relieved.

“Oh that, I’m a musician with my friends over there. Except for Pete, he is a comedian.”

Y/N nodded understanding but not judging or asking more questions “That makes a lot of sense now, it can be really hard to make me laugh but he had me busting up earlier.”

Waiting for the drink to be made Colson agreed “Pete is honestly the funniest and one of the best people I know. We had a rough year a few years back and we really became closer because of it and helped each other through it” Colson did not understand why he was being so honest with this girl but something about her put him at ease which was hard to come by but he still tried to pull himself together.

“You guys speak really highly about one another, I like that. I can’t wait to find a friendship like that” Y/N said a sort of sad look washing across her face. “Why what are your friends like?” he asked.

Y/N laughed a bit coldly “You want to know what my friends are like. They are conniving and self-centered; not to mention they left me by myself pretty much right when we showed up here. I mean look around” Y/N pointed to a few of them scattered around with different hookups and most of them seem to have left.

“Well, it looks like you need some new friends.” Colson jokes his hand squeezing hers gently. Only just now did they both realize their hands were still clasped together; Y/N panicked and let go of him suddenly. Colson’s mood in his face dropped and Y/N said “I’m sorry… I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. I just want to respect your space.” The light sprung back into his face and said “ If I didn’t like it, then you would know” and for the first time, he sees Y/N’s face flush pink and boy does he like it.

Their drinks are ready and it only takes Y/N a moment to start and finish hers.

Grabbing a hold of Colson’s hand again she decides to be bold considering she is most likely not going to see him again after tonight and wants to savor this feeling she has when she is around him.

Leaning up as much as she can in her shoes she asks softly in his ear “In that case want to dance with me before the night is over” Colson is silent and instead guides Y/N to the dancefloor and twirls her around by her hand and waist.

His hands are draped on her body and Y/N feels a drunk, not from the booze but just him and even though she knew how these things went down she let herself live in the moment.

After a few songs, the two of them went back to the area where all of Colson’s friends resided. Y/N had to let go of his hand, knowing that if she didn’t she wouldn’t be able to later.

Y/N stayed for a couple more hours just talking, drinking, and smoking with the group; exchanging stories about life.

Before the night came to a close Y/N’s feet were tired of these shoes so she excuses herself to the bathroom and grabs her bag from the coat check. Switching into a pair of flat sandals she makes her way back to the group of people she has spent the night getting to know.

It was close to being four in the morning and the dancefloor has thinned dramatically from when she first arrived and that’s when Y/N knows the night is ending sooner than later. Before getting back to the group Y/N looks for her friend who is supposed to be her ride; not seeing her anywhere Y/N walks back to the room where Colson, Pete, and the others reside and texts her friend.

Y/N: Where are you? Looking for you everywhere.

Friend: Got a date I’m bringing home. Figured you would be fine.

Y/N didn’t even bother answering, approaching the group with a huff she opens the Uber app.

If she knew she was going to have to take an Uber she would have brought some sort of form of protection like pepper spray.

“What’s deflated you?” Pete asks noticing her mood and lack of height from the boots.

“Yeah Literally” Colson points out.

“Oh yeah, I always bring backups for shoes like that,” Y/N says.

Pete definitely doesn’t miss that Y/N’s sandals are open-toed (with a fresh pedicure no less) and takes a second to glace at Colson and joke with him subtly.

But is brought back to the subject when Y/N groans again murmuring “Of course there are no rides available right now.”

Before Pete can ask Y/N what has her so frustrated again Colson beats him to it.

“You okay Y/N, wheres your friends”.

“They all left without me and I tried to get an Uber but there are no rides available. So now I’m going to call a cab company and hope for the best”.

“Nah you are not gonna take a cab this late” Pete says.

“Not to mention by yourself and drunk” Colson chimed in.

Y/N looked at them with a confused but understanding emotion on her face.

“I mean walking isn’t really safe but I don’t have many options” Y/N counters back.

The group seems to have a silent conversation between each other and agreeing on something.

Y/N was too buzzed to know what about though.

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly fanfiction #machine gun kelly fanfic #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #mgk #mgkedit #mgk fanfic #mgk imagine #mgk x reader #imagine #imagines #fanfiction #fandom #est19xx

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kentonramsey · 4 years ago

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Pucci, Courregès, and Gaultier Are Decades Apart… & All The Rage On TikTok. What Gives?

Putting a finger on why one thing goes viral on TikTok (here’s looking at you, frozen honey) and another doesn’t (aka everything I post) is next to impossible. But when it comes to fashion, a seemingly chaotic sphere that’s actually embedded with patterns and cycles, explanations are a little easier to come by.

A case study: ‘90s designer Jean Paul Gaultier’s mesh tops and dresses, suddenly the talk of TikTok. By July, #JeanPaulGaultier had accumulated 77.7 million views on the Gen-Z-driven platform, and 18-year-olds were shopping on 1stdibs the way my 18-year-old self once shopped at Zara. The young fashionheads of today are jumping at the chance to spend upward of £500 on a sheer tank top dress the way I once pounced on £20 slips.

Gaultier is not the only one with Gen Z in his grips. Just as quickly as the designer’s mesh garments began appearing on the wish list of every under-20-something with a ring light, a wave of new pre-owned cult items was unleashed. Cropped patent leather jackets sporting the known mark of ‘60s and ‘70s designer André Courrèges were competing for TikTok space once dominated by Gaultier’s Venus de Milo- and Birth of Venus-printed tees. The ultra-mod French designer, known as the father of go-go boots and micro mini skirts, enjoyed a posthumous spike in popularity, garnering over 308,000 views on TikTok in a matter of months.

@emimusssssssss

I’m so obsessed, I hope my daughter loves it #vintage #unboxing #ConjuringHorror #TeamUSATryout #depopfind #courreges

♬ original sound – Emí

Emilia Musacchia, a TikToker with 31,000 followers, posted a video in May, unboxing “her dream jacket”: a lemon yellow vintage Courrèges vinyl jacket. “Oh my god, I love it,” she exclaimed, giving the retro garment a tight squeeze in the process. And she wasn’t the only one. Her video was a drop in the river of TikTok content tied to the Parisian designer, with everything from history lessons and unboxings like Emilia’s popping up daily.

And let us not overlook Emilio Pucci, another seemingly lost-to-the-archives fashion brand, that now has 1.5 million views on TikTok. Dubbed the “Prince of Prints,” the Italian designer rose to fame in the 1950s, when he dressed the likes of Marilyn Monroe. He was a favourite of ‘60s fashion icons Jackie Kennedy and Sophia Loren, too. A TikToker named Soco, who has more than 32,000 followers on TikTok, called a vintage Pucci printed dress her favourite item in her wardrobe in a video with over 5,700 views. Penélope, a fashion historian on TikTok who has over 3,000 followers, delved into the brand’s comeback in a recent history lesson about Pucci.

@documoda

#emiliopucci #fashionhistory #designerbio #elvitobeats #documoda #italianfashion #pucciprint #reedcollege #harpersbazaar #bellahadid #kyliejenner

♬ Percolation – Elvitobeats

With each new vintage label spiking on the platform, the root cause for their popularity gets harder and harder to pinpoint. Gaultier, Courrèges, and Pucci all came from different eras, with their signature pieces celebrated at vastly different times. And yet they’re all rising at the exact same time. The only thing connecting the three brands is the love of Gen Z, the party responsible for catalysing their return to fashion fame.

Why are a handful of 20th century fashion stalwarts enjoying a second wind? Olivia Haroutounian, a 22-year-old vintage seller who has over 13,000 followers on Tiktok, chalks it up to the power of the platform’s data engine, which broadcasts your video to 300 to 500 users based on your video’s hashtags, among other variables, according to a LinkedIn study. Those 300 to 500 viewers are then your judge and jury, deciding whether or not your video is a bust, based on likes, comments, shares, and if they watched it until the end. “Trends spread very quickly on TikTok because of how the algorithm works,” she says. It’s true: In some cases, a user who has close to zero followers or next to zero content can grow their following by thousands — even millions — in the span of one night, only by posting a single 15-second video. If that video were to revolve around a certain brand, it could easily become a viral sensation within a matter of hours. All it needs is the right hashtag and some digital love.

@andreakapusy

anyone know where to buy this? ##MyStyle ##clothes ##jeanpaulgaultier ##aesthetic

♬ Sex Appeal – Sexy Sushi

Kristen Breakell, a content strategist at market research firm Trendalytics, puts it down to the outsize role of vintage on TikTok. “A lot of the success of these particular brands — older, more heritage designer brands like Gaultier and Pucci — could definitely be attributed to the increase in popularity of vintage shopping, which, of course, Gen Z is the leader of,” Breakell tells Refinery29. According to Breakell, TikTokers take to the inherent uniqueness that comes with archival and vintage pieces that isn’t present when you buy fast fashion or even re-issued garments. “For one, they have this kind of timeless aspect to them because they are high quality,” she says of the garments’ appeal, “but it’s also that you know that you’re not going to see somebody walking down the street in the exact same thing.”

Still, the overall popularity of vintage among Gen Zers on TikTok doesn’t explain the growing popularity of three specific brands that experienced heydays in vastly different eras. According to Breakell, that has more to do with the trends synonymous with the labels than the time frames in which they each debuted. “It so happens that these brands’ signature styles really align with the current trends,” says Breakell. Take, for example, retro futurism, a term used to describe the sartorial legacy of brands like Courrèges and Pierre Cardin, which was a huge trend on the autumn ‘21 runways (think: Marine Serre’s printed bodysuits, Paco Rabanne’s chainmail dresses, and even modern-day Courrèges’s mod minis and sets). Mesh naked dresses and vibrant, Mod prints like those designed by Gaultier and Pucci in the ‘90s and ‘60s, respectively, are also popular right now on social media, runways, and in street style. “It is a perfect storm,” Breakell says.

@socosophsoco

this may be my fave item in my wardrobe ##fyp ##vintage ##pucci ##emiliopucci ##summerstyle ##designerfinds ##springstyle ##hotgirsummer

♬ ladies and gentlemen whats new – xxtristanxo

According to the strategist, the reasoning behind their current success goes back to the trend cycle, specifically, the fact that when we talk about the current popularity of ‘90s and early aughts trends — an era when Gaultier pieces thrived — we often forget that most of them were initially inspired by trends from the ‘60s and ‘70s — when Pucci and Courrèges experienced heydays. So, despite their vast difference in starting points, all three brands still fall under the Y2K umbrella that’s so popular on TikTok today.

Hard as it may be to imagine, Gaultier, Courrèges, and Pucci won’t always be the beloved vintage designers of TikTok. Another wave will come along soon enough, only to be wiped out by another. The only way to find out which heritage brand is next — that we should purchase in bulk before resale prices skyrocket — is to do what we already do best: Log on and scroll the night away.

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

Can TikTok Save The Gap Using TikTok?

Archive Fashion Is Taking Over TikTok

On TikTok A New Kind Of Fashion Influencer Is Born

Pucci, Courregès, and Gaultier Are Decades Apart… & All The Rage On TikTok. What Gives? published first on https://mariakistler.tumblr.com/

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shihaikuroiro-vantablack · 4 years ago

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Warmth of another SpinnerDabi

So since some people ship these two, I decided to make a ship story/fanfic of Spinner and Dabi! Um don’t judge me for my bad writing, I’m not good at this kinda stuff haha. I hope you guys like the read!

Some villains have seen the worst of heroes. They've seen how the heroes would treat others that they see as 'lower' or wrong, in someway. Spinner had been judged based off his looks for all his life, and thought he was worthless for so long until he met Stain! Well... he didn't mean him, per say, he did learn about him though, and he finally decided that this was his new meaning; he was going to become the new Stain and show the world just how bad they were! The heroes that were supposed to save and protect people were often the ones that left the others all alone when they needed help the most.

Dabi knew that well. He was hurt, abused, pushed down and almost killed by his father. It made him lose his memory for a while, not that the others of the league of villains knew about that, they didn't even know his real name! Not that Dabi wanted anyone to know his real name just yet. It was going to happen, just not now. His father hurt him and left him, threw him to the side when he decided that Dabi wasn't worth the trouble of training anymore.

All the heroes think that they're the best things ever, but where were they when these people were just children who needed saving? Who needed a hero?! They were gone, away, getting fame elsewhere. Most of them only cared about money or the attention, which is why some of the villains decided they wanted to take out the symbol of peace so all the others could feel just how they felt. Lost, confused, and scared.

Course they weren't planning the fall of heroes all the time, sometimes they needed time to relax or just time to calm down after a big battle, you know? They're planning something big though! Right now? Not really. Toga was hanging out with Twice, doing each others makeups with stuff they stole a bit ago and Spinner was sitting on the couch, sharpening his sword while Shigaraki was playing a game and Spinner was watching over his shoulder "If you duck under that bridge, you can find an Easter egg" Shigaraki's eyes shoot over to look at the lizard and makes a small tsh sound, but does do it and chuckles a little at the literal egg under the bridge. Easter egg... he likes that.

Everyone else was doing their own things. Mr. Compress working on magic tricks, showing them off to Kurogiri and Magne since Spinner was pretty damn sure that Compress had a crush on them both... god damn bi icon.

Speaking of an icon. Dabi walks into the hideout, smoke raising from his arms and he reaches up rubbing his neck, yawning out. As he opened his mouth, the skin being held together by his stitches stretched, making a cold shiver go down Spinner's spine. He always hated seeing Dabi yawn, it just made him think his skin was going to break or something! Come on, that's gross. Sure, he could lick his own eyes because of his quirk but he didn't do that... often... shut up.

Dabi walks over to the second couch and falls down on it his face hidden in the pillow, his legs over the arm of the couch his boots hanging down. The faint smell of smoke and fire could be smelt on him, which sorta made sense. Oh and also the smell of burnt flesh yeah, that’s kinda gross but still made sense. Shigaraki looks over at Dabi and makes a small sound of annoyance "You stink" he says.

"So do your plans, but I don't say anything" came Dabi's quick reply, which was just a little muffled. He most likely went out and burned some people like he did often, he said it was because he liked burning trash which Spinner honestly found really cool! He was such a cool guy. Now you could ask Spinner, did you have a crush on Dabi? The answer? Yes. He also had a crush on Shigaraki but he wasn't really looking for someone at the moment plus spinner didn't even know if Shigaraki could, you know, fall for someone. He couldn't even tell if Dabi could. He was a hard person to read.

Shigaraki narrows his eyes at Dabi, tightening his grip on his game while making sure not to decay it on accident. Kurogiri looks over and sighs shaking his head, or at least that's what it looked like, and he says "You two, no fighting in the building. If I have to replace the couch again one of you two will have to pay for it this time" even though he could just open a portal but still! Shigaraki just huffs, focusing on the game again starting to press the buttons.

With that it went back to being silent other than Toga and Twice chatting, along with the three, Mr. Compress and the other two, also chatting. Spinner went back to sharpening his blades getting lost in thought looking at Dabi out of the corner of his eyes. He didn't really try to stare, he promised! It was just that Dabi was pretty cool looking with that cool jacket, the shiny staples, the cool black hair and those boots that had such a high platform part! Wait... what? He turns his head to look at Dabi looking a little confused, his sharpening coming to a still. Had he always worn boots like that? What's with that platform part? That looks like it would make him taller?

As he thought, he didn't realize he was staring until Dabi turns his head and their eyes meet as he hums "You need something lizard?" he asked, not sounding annoyed but not really calm either. He sounded mostly bored.

Spinner narrows his eyes, huffing and says "It's Spinner! I'm not a lizard, you don't see me calling you fire person or something, right?"

Dabi stares at him blinking a few seconds, silent then responds "my name means cremation, you're literally calling me burning" he stands up and starts to walk down the hallway, covering his mouth with his hand, yawning again "anyway, I'm going to my room. If you need me, don't" he then shuts the door behind him with a light slam.

Spinner grumbles turning his head down and Toga skips over "he seems in a good mood" she starts "I wonder if he saw something that made him happy? That would be great!" she puts her hands up to her mouth, giggling "I wonder if he killed some people" she hummed happily. Spinner rolls his eyes at her, but smiles anyway. He offered to sharpen her knife for her, while she sat down beside Shigaraki leaning against him watching him play the game, Twice walking over to join them leaning over the back of the couch holding his arms around Shigaraki's neck. He was just ignoring the two of them it seemed. He normally didn't like being touched but that was mostly just when he was in one of his moods.

During that time though, Spinner couldn't stop thinking about the thing he saw. Those boots... did that mean Dabi wasn't really that tall? How tall would he be? Spinner himself was 5'8 and from what he's seen, Dabi was 5'9 plus some just the same as Shigaraki. They were some of the taller people in the league, other than Mr. Compress, he’s pretty tall! With all these thoughts he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Ugh.

It seemed as though he was correct, as he was laying in his bed staring up at the roof lost in thought. Yeah, they all had their own rooms! It was awesome. What wasn't awesome was that he couldn't sleep; it was all Dabi's fault. He sighs moving his arm over his face mumbling under his breath "This isn't even fair” it wasn't the first time that he stayed awake thinking of his crush, but he didn't think he would be thinking about his height! There's no way that Dabi was shorter than himself, right? It would be nice... damn if he was the taller one, he could hug onto Dabi and just rest and warm up the thought made him hum happily. After laying there for a few more minutes, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to sleep until he found out. With a slow sigh he pushes himself up to sit on the bed, pulling his fingers through his hair which was pretty long when it wasn't styled up.

Thinking about it for a bit longer he decides, you know what? He was going to go for it. Pushing himself to stand up he starts to walk out of his bedroom slipping a hoodie on over his head. Was this going to be a mistake? Yeah, most likely. Honestly he couldn't believe that he was going to go and do this! It was going to be so weird! Plus he could end up getting killed and turned into a crisp lizard! The thought made him shutter but he shook his head to get his mind off that and walks over to Dabi's room, pressing his head against the door shutting his eyes listening for any sounds. Not all the time did Dabi stay at the hideout, most of the time he went out and said that he didn't want to stay there with people that could kill him or at least try to. He only started staying here a few weeks ago, it was a nice thing to know that Dabi was slowly starting to trust them! Welp! Time to break that trust.

Slowly Spinner pushes the door open to see a messy head of black hair under the blanket with just a little bit of hair poking out. He was under the blanket curled up, while the bundle was rising and falling slowly with the breaths Dabi was taking. The green male pauses, staring for a few seconds and slowly steps closer his eyes scanning around the room. There was a poster of Stain, a picture of Endeavor with knives in it, along with random burn marks along the walls, and a box of yarn for some reason? Whatever he didn't really care about that at the moment. Slowly he reaches out for the blanket to pull it back.

Before he could even grab the blanket though, he felt his wrist getting grabbed, and he gets pulled forward making him lose his balance falling forward onto the bed and Dabi holds up his other hand, blue flames appearing, his knee between Spinner's shoulder blades to keep him down pressed into the bed and Dabi speaks, not sounding very amused "I should burn you to a crisp right now for coming into my room Spinner. You have five seconds to explain before I do."

Ah color him horny and scared.

"One" Dabi starts to count, the blue flames lighting up the room. Spinner knew just how deadly those flames were, like a beast that could devourer everything in its path. Spinner turns his head to look at Dabi narrowing his eyes at him and squirms “You seem to always like using your quirk so much, you like holding power over people's life, huh?" He decided to ask.

Dabi's lips twitch up in a small grin, the staples straining to hold his skin together "Stain's tenets say that Spinner, now I'm about on four."

Aw come on, bringing Stain into this? He was so proud. He lies his head down on the bed thinking about how to explain "I wanted to test something" what was that? He was smarter than this. Sure, he was just some empty cosplayer, he didn't have a lot going for him but he figured he was smarter than that! Ughhhhh

Wait-

He didn't feel the weight on him anymore, he could move his arms so he opens his eyes looking up to see Dabi standing in front of him, his arms crossed not looking too impressed just like earlier but he didn’t look annoyed this time, maybe even a little amused? He was wearing baggy pants and a tank top, most likely so he could sleep without the fabric getting caught on the staples in his skin? Yeah, he was sure that would not feel good. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Spinner stands up brushing himself off and looks at where Dabi’s face normally was but slowly turned his head down since he wasn't face to face with the fire quirk user.

Oh shit... he was tiny.

Dabi stood shorter than normal, maybe at 5'5? It was hard to tell exactly, Spinner just knew that he was taller! Happy day. "you're small" came his quick voice, not thinking about what he was saying until he said it. Dabi lets out a slight hum in annoyance "Really? No idea, thank you for telling me something I could not have found out myself"

sassy little shit. Spinner thought to himself well he knew that Dabi was small... not like he could just go for the hug like he could with the others! He would hug Toga and Twice, sometimes Shigaraki if he wanted it. He would get along really well with Magne he found it funny that they both had little crushes on Dabi, though she didn't hide hers very well and he never seemed to respond to it, or he got weirded out? It was a little strange, hard to place.

Slowly he realized that he was still just standing there so he clears his throat and nods, turning quickly walking out heading back to his room holding his hand over his mouth. He was going to turn on his heating pad and just try to get rest, this was crazy.

[Time Skip]

It had been a few weeks since that day and Spinner couldn't get it out of his head. How was he so small? Why did he wear those boots? He guessed that the reason Dabi wore those was to appear taller and more threatening? Plus it was impressive that he could go and fight in those boots! God he wanted to be that cool... why was it that they were all so much cooler than him? First Stain, then Shigaraki and lastly Dabi. Eh screw it, they’re all cooler than him. Toga’s pretty great too.

It was cold out so Spinner wasn't having the most fun. He was curled up on the couch with a blanket around himself, his eyes shut breathing in and out slowly the others were on a mission, which he really wanted to go on, but he couldn't, because he would have most likely fallen asleep. Damn this place for not having heating! Ugh it was so cold. He sniffles curling up tighter but perks up when he heard the door open and shut, making him open his eyes and he looks over seeing that it was Dabi who walks in and looks over at him "Hey, they sent me back to check on you" wait really? "You look like shit" ah right when he thought Dabi would care about him.

"If you came here just to mess with me, you can get out. I'm not in the mood" Dabi rolls his eyes at the response he got and he looks down, slipping off the boots he wore and walks over, nudging Spinner "sit up" getting a small grumble in response from the lizard guy made Dabi narrows his eyes a little in annoyance and nudges him a bit harder "I said sit up"

Spinner grumbles in annoyance himself, mad that he had to get out of his ball but he did as told and slowly sits up. Dabi grabs the blanket from around him and sits down leaning against Spinner shutting his eyes and seemed to start to get warmer making Spinner perk up, staring at the other male for a few seconds who shut his eyes "say anything and I'll leave you to deal with this alone, scales" With a little huff of laughter Spinner leans against Dabi shutting his eyes, not saying anything just enjoying the warmth for now. Guess this was better than being alone.

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thewitchandtheassassin · 6 years ago

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The Youngest Stark (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Prompt: Would I be able to make a request where the reader is Tony’s little sister and is dating Wanda? No worries at all if you’re unable to write this, I absolutely love your writing and hope you have a fantastic day!

Words: 2082

Warnings: Language, the tiniest hint of violence

-X-

Being the sister of the Tony Stark had never been easy. There was so much pressure to be the perfect child – the perfect Stark – and you hated it. You hated the world’s eyes on you and you hated how they compared you to your famous brother. You were as much a genius as he was; you simply used your talents differently, trying to stay out of the limelight.

He was an Avenger, one of Earth’s mighty heroes, while you were a simple lab technician in the Compound. You worked in Tony’s lab, helping him design new armor and tech that would keep the world safe. You weren’t out there in a suit like he was and that was fine with you. You’d rather be tucked away in a lab than out there making a fool of yourself. It wasn’t that you weren’t in awe of what Tony did; you just knew you were far more helpful in his lab than you would be trying to be an Avenger.

And Tony accepted that.

What he had trouble accepting was your newfound relationship with one of the team’s newest members.

He didn’t care about the fact she was a woman. No, he had known for years that you preferred the company of the fairer sex. What bothered him was who you had chosen.

Wanda Maximoff, one of the newest Avengers and easily the most dangerous, was your girlfriend – and it drove Tony crazy. He didn’t trust her – her or her powers – and he’d never admit out loud that she genuinely scared him, but he knew that arguing with you about your relationship was a terrible idea. It would get him absolutely nowhere because you were stubborn and once you set your mind to something, nothing would change it.

So instead of commenting, he watched from a distance, silently judging and calculating every little interaction. He wanted to catch her screwing up so he could step in. He loved you more than any person on this planet – you were his little sister after all – and he didn’t want you getting hurt. So he simply waited.

She would screw up. He just knew it.

-X-

The lab was quiet – something you were appreciative of. For once, Tony and Bruce weren’t in the lab so it was just you and the tech. You adored your big brother, but sometimes he was just too much. He needed to understand that he didn’t always have to be “Tony Stark, billionaire genius”. Sometimes the only person he needed to be was Tony.

Grabbing Natasha’s batons, you set them on the table before you and started tinkering with them. They were powerful, but you had a feel you could up the voltage while decreasing the weight. They were balanced, but Natasha often grumbled about how heavy they could be. Since she wasn’t going on a mission anytime soon, you figured now would be the perfect time to test out a few theories.

Before you could inspect them, however, the lab door slid open and Wanda stepped inside, a shy smile on her face. Your relationship was still fairly new and she often worried that she was bothering you whenever she came down to visit, but your beaming smile softened her fears and she relaxed, walking over to you.

“Hello, malysh,” she greeted, her accent thicker in these private moments with you than when she was around the others. She liked – and to some extent, trusted – the Avengers, but she felt like they judged her for being different so she tried downplaying her accent. With you, however, she knew she didn’t need to. You had repeatedly told her how much you loved listening to her talk, reminding her there was nothing wrong with being unique.

She leaned down to peck your lips, her hands on your shoulders so that you didn’t tip back off the stool. You’d done that before, scaring her half to death despite the reassurances that you were totally fine.

You cupped Wanda’s cheek, dragging her into a deeper kiss that made your pulse race. Her lips were petal soft and so damn tantalizing. Humming against her lips, you smiled as you parted.

“What brings you down to my lovely hideaway this fine evening?” you asked, separating your knees so you could bring Wanda to stand between them.

Wanda’s arms encircled your neck, her eyes flickering between you and the batons on the table. “I was looking for you. It is movie night and you weren’t there.”

You sighed, pressing your head against her chest. “I know.”

Fingers played with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, soothing your raging mind. “Is there something wrong?”

Shaking your head, you leaned back a little and stared up at your worried girlfriend. “No, darling, I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot on my mind and going through some of Tony’s tech always helps me sort it out.”

“Should I go?” Wanda wondered, deflating slightly at the idea of not getting to spend time with you.

“You can stay if you want,” you replied with a smile, “I just have to warn you, I’ll probably drive you crazy with my ramblings.”

Wanda giggled, combing a hand through your hair. “I like when you ramble.”

You helped Wanda hop up onto the bench beside Natasha’s batons, pressing another kiss to her enchanting lips before resettling on your stool.

From the doorway, Tony discretely watched you chatting with Wanda. He’d come down here to find you and talk about whatever was bothering you, but instead you were with her. You were explaining in great detail how the batons worked and she seemed genuinely interested, something you’d never had before. It surprised Tony a little, if he was being honest. He hadn’t expected her to care yet here she was, sitting on your bench, listening to your explanations while also trying to help you with your rampant emotions.

Blinking, he uncrossed his arms and stepped out of the door. Maybe Wanda wasn’t so bad after all.

-X-

It wasn’t until Wanda went missing during a mission that Tony realized how much she meant to you.

It was supposed to be simple: get in, retrieve a SHIELD informant, and get out but something had gone terribly wrong and now she and Bucky were both missing. You were standing in the lab with Tony and Bruce as they suited up and prepared to leave and go find their captured friends. You were staring at the suit Tony had made you a long time ago, when he first became Iron Man. It was (F/C) and it fit you like a glove despite the fact you’d never done anything with it.

“I’m coming with you,” you announced, stalking over to the suit.

Tony balked. “What?”

“I’m coming with you,” you repeated, glaring at Tony, daring him to argue with you.

Bruce cleared his throat. “(Y/N), we don’t know what they’ve done with them. It might be too dangerous for you to…” he trailed off, his eyes widening at the fierce look that crossed your features.

“I’m. Going.”

You activated your bracelet and pointed it at the encased suit. The glass slid open and you stepped up onto the platform, pressing another button. Faster than you had anticipated, the suit was on your body and booting up, FRIDAY’s voice loud in your head.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” she greeted robotically.

It wasn’t hard for you to adjust to the suit – you helped build and maintain these things for God’s sake – and by the time Tony was dressed and ready, so were you.

The others weren’t that surprised to see you joining them. Natasha had faith you’d find your strength. She understood that you wanted to be there the moment they found Wanda and Bucky, so coming in a suit of armor made sense. You were going to help properly destroy those bastards one way or another; you were a Stark after all.

You just needed a push.

“Ready, team?” Steve asked as everyone gathered at the Quinjet.

You nodded impatiently, praying to whoever would listen that your girlfriend would be okay.

Sam clapped you on the shoulder though you barely felt it. “She’s going to be fine.”

Vision nodded. “Yes, Wanda is quite capable. I am sure she is fine.”

Rolling your eyes, you followed Steve onto the Quinjet. You knew how capable Wanda was, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurting or scared. She was the strongest woman you’d ever met yet she was still your girlfriend.

The flight wasn’t terribly long but you spent the entire time pacing. You couldn’t help it. All you could think about was HYDRA having your girlfriend – and Bucky. Two people that HYDRA definitely didn’t need to have. What if they were trying to weaponize Wanda or re-weaponize Bucky? You’d worked hard to help Wanda gain control of her powers and Steve had spent so long helping Bucky reintegrate back into society…

There would be hell to pay if all that had been undone.

The moment the Quinjet touched down, you were out with Tony right behind you. Both your face plates fell into place and Tony couldn’t help but appreciate this. The two Stark siblings, fighting together at last. Fighting for one of their loves. It was kind of poetic.

“Ready?” Tony asked.

“Let’s do this.”

You and Tony flew towards the base’s entrance while Steve and the others fought the ground forces. There weren’t many so you didn’t feel too bad leaving them there. You slammed into the door and it flew out of the doorway, knocking back into the wall on the far side of the room. It smacked a few agents, knocking them unconscious.

“Good job,” Tony praised, looking around. “I would say we should split up but Cap will be up here soon looking for Bucky so we should search for Wanda.”

Nodding, you followed Tony through the base. You left most of the fighting to him, instead deciding that you’d be the one to look through the rooms. The first floor was a bust and the second floor only led you to whatever SHIELD informant they’d originally been sent to find, but the third floor was where you finally found her.

Wanda was locked up tight in a small cell by herself, her hands bound behind her back and a blindfold over her eyes. She looked so small and young, dirt smudged on her cheeks. She didn’t cry though. She was too headstrong and determined not to show fear. You wondered what all they had done to her, but you didn’t have time to think about it.

Rushing over to the cell, you jerked at it with all your might. It slid open and Wanda’s hands clenched into fists.

“I will not tell you anything,” she spat.

You smiled, so proud of your girlfriend. Your face plate came off and you kneeled before Wanda, carefully reaching up to take off her blindfold. You watched her gorgeous green eyes blink before wearily landing on you.

“(Y/N)?” Wanda whispered, stunned. She thought she was imaging things. You’d never worn this suit before – hell, you’d never been on a mission before – so why were you here now? Was it all for her?

“We’re here to get you out, Maximoff,” Tony informed her from outside, watching the two of you curiously.

You helped Wanda to her feet and spun her around so you could untie her hands. The second she was free, she tossed her arms around you and brought you into a heavy kiss, pouring everything she had into it.

“I love you,” she murmured, her lips brushing against yours.

“I love you too,” you replied, entirely smitten with the woman in your arms.

Tony made a gagging noise but the two of you ignored her. It was creepy to see his little sister kissing her girlfriend, but the moment was sweet and he was glad to have been there. He finally understood everything. She was your Pepper Potts in a way; she was the woman you’d do anything for.

“We’ve got Bucky and the informant,” Steve announced through the comm. “Have you found Wanda?”

“Yeah, Cap, we’ve got her. We’ll see you back at the jet.” Tony gestured for you to follow him. “C’mon, kids. We’ve got places to be. Exchange saliva later,” he teased.

You flipped Tony off before slipping your face plate back into place.

Tony grinned.

Maybe, just maybe, he had been wrong after all.

#wanda maximoff #wanda imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda #mcu imagine #Avengers #avengers imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #reader #reader insert #reader imagine #tony stark

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fuckofffuckofffuckoffloveme · 4 years ago

Text

Runaway - Part Fifteen

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

Mike Denman stepped off the train at Cardiff Central railway station and headed to the Roald Dahl Plass. He smiled when he saw the TARDIS parked just in front of the huge water tower, walked up, and knocked on the door. It swung open to show a handsome man with dark hair and a confused expression. "Who the hell are you?"

"What do you mean, who the hell am I? Who the hell are you?" Mike demanded.

"Captain Jack Harkness." He flashed his signature brilliant smile. "Whatever you're selling, we're not buying."

Mike narrowed his eyes. "Get out of my way!" He pushed past Jack and into the TARDIS, making the man roll his eyes as he closed the door.

"Don't tell me. This must be the pikey you were telling me about."

The Hunter beamed down at them from a ladder, where she was fixing a light fitting on the wall. She was wearing a white t-shirt with blue skinny jeans, and ankle boots. "Here comes trouble! How're you doing, Spike?"

"It's Mike!"

Hazel rolled her eyes, sipping from a cup of hot chocolate. Judging both by this and her thick hoodie, she wasn't planning on running around much today. Maybe they'd be able to have a quiet day together for once? "Don't listen to her, she's winding you up."

"Damn right, I am," the Hunter muttered in the background, smirking.

"You look fantastic," Mike told Hazel, hugging her. Startled, she held her hot chocolate out of the way and hoped it wouldn't spill.

"Aw, sweet, look at these two," Jack sighed, leaning against the console next to the ladder. "How come I never get any of that?"

"Well, you'd have to buy me a drink first," the Hunter told him, winking.

He sighed despairingly. "You're such hard work."

"Yeah, but worth every bit of it," she smirked.

"Did you manage to find them?" Hazel asked eagerly.

"There you go," Mike smiled, handing over the fake IDs and passport. Little did he know, the IDs were in for a cathartic burning session later - it'd been Jack's idea.

Hazel grinned. "I can go anywhere now."

"I told you, you don't need a passport," the Hunter rolled her eyes, making her way down the ladder.

"It's all very well going to Platform One and Justicia and the Glass Pyramid of San Kaloon, but what if we end up in Brazil? I might need it," Hazel pointed out. "You see, I'm prepared for anything."

"Sounds like you're staying then," Mike noticed. Everybody looked at him, and he changed the subject. "So what're you doing in Cardiff? And who the hell's Jumping Jack Flash? I mean, I don't mind you hanging out with Soulless Samantha over there."

"Oi!" the Hunter exclaimed.

"Listen to yourself," Mike sneered. "But this guy, I don't know, he's kind of -"

"Handsome?" Jack suggested, grinning.

"More like cheesy," Mike corrected, clearly not impressed.

Jack looked to the Hunter. "Queenie, early twenty first century slang. Is cheesy good or bad?"

"It's bad," Mike deadpanned before she could get a word in.

"But bad means good, isn't that right?" Jack shrugged.

"Are you saying I'm not handsome?" the Hunter asked, nudging him.

"You're not handsome, you're beautiful," Jack told her, making her grin.

"We just stopped off," Hazel cut in, seeing Mike looking at them with disgust. "We need to refuel. The thing is, Cardiff's got this rift running through the middle of the city. It's invisible, but it's like an earthquake fault between different dimensions."

"The rift was healed back in 1869," the Hunter continued.

"Thanks to a girl named Gwyneth," Hazel added, "because these creatures called the Gelth, they were using the rift as a gateway, but she saved the world and closed it."

"But closing a rift always leaves a scar," Jack explained, "and that scar generates energy, harmless to the human race -"

The Hunter nodded. "But perfect for the TARDIS, so just park her here for a couple of days right on top of the scar, and -"

"Open up the engines, soak up the radiation," Jack continued.

"Like filling her up with petrol and off we go!" Hazel cheered.

"Into time!" Jack exclaimed.

"And space!" they all shouted together, high-fiving.

Mike just stared at them for a moment. "My God, have you seen yourselves? You all think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Yeah," Hazel nodded.

"Yep!" Jack agreed.

"It does seem to be the general consensus," the Hunter shrugged, leading them out onto Roald Dahl Plass and locking the door behind them. "Should take another twenty four hours, which means we've got time to kill."

"That old lady's staring," Mike noticed.

Jack smirked. "Probably wondering what four people could do inside a small wooden box."

Mike stared at him, looking horrified by the mere suggestion. "What are you captain of, the Innuendo Squad?"

"Well, actually -"

"Jack!" Hazel exclaimed, and they both burst out laughing, the Hunter watching fondly.

"Wait, the TARDIS, we can't just leave it," Mike protested as they started walking away. "Doesn't it get noticed?"

"Yeah, what's with the police box?" Jack asked. "Why does it look like that?"

"It's a cloaking device," Hazel told them.

"It's called a chameleon circuit," the Hunter explained. "The TARDIS is meant to disguise herself wherever she lands, like if this was Ancient Rome, she'd be a statue on a plinth or something. But I landed in the '60s, she disguised herself as a police box, and the circuit got stuck."

"So it copied a real thing?" Mike asked. "There actually was police boxes?"

"Yeah, on street corners," the Hunter nodded. "Phone for help before they had radios and mobiles. If they arrested someone, they could shove them inside till help came, like a little prison cell."

Jack shook his head slightly. That didn't sound too pleasant. "Why don't you just fix the circuit?"

She pouted. "I like it, don't you?"

"I love it," Hazel grinned.

"But that's what I meant," Mike said, pulling the conversation back to him. "There's no police boxes anymore, so doesn't it get noticed?"

The Hunter smiled, standing in front of him with her hands on his shoulders. Despite being an inch or so shorter, she still intimidated him, and he didn't even know the whole of what she could do. "Spike, let me tell you something about the human race. You put a mysterious blue box slap bang in the middle of town, what do they do? Walk past it. Now, stop your nagging. Let's go and explore!" They set off walking again.

"What's the plan?" Hazel asked, looping her arms through both Jack's and the Hunter's.

The Time Lady shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Cardiff, early twenty first century, and the wind's coming from the east. Trust me. Safest place in the universe."

***

They ended up in a small restaurant on the jetty, where Jack was telling them stories from his previous adventures.

"I swear, six feet tall and with big tusks!" he was saying.

"You're lying through your teeth!" the Hunter accused, laughing.

"I'd have gone bonkers!" Hazel cried, holding onto the table to keep her from falling out of her seat with laughter. "That's the word - bonkers!"

"I mean, it turns out the white things are tusks and I mean tusks!" Jack enthused. "And it's woken, and it's not happy."

"How could you not know it was there?" the Hunter demanded, her eyes wide and filled with happy tears.

"And we're standing there, fifteen of us, naked -"

"Naked?!" Hazel echoed, crying with laughter.

"And I'm like, oh, no, no, it's got nothing to do with me," Jack continued. "And then it roars, and we are running, oh my God, we are running! And Brakovitch falls, so I turn to him and I say -"

"I knew we should've turned left!" Mike cried.

"That's my line!" Jack exclaimed as Hazel burst out laughing all over again.

"I don't believe you!" she sighed, wiping her cheeks. "I don't believe a word you say ever. That is so brilliant! Did you ever get your clothes back?" The Hunter borrowed a newspaper from the next table, her good mood swiftly dissipating.

"No, I just picked him up, went right for the ship, full throttle. Didn't stop until I hit the spacelanes. I was shaking. It was unbelievable. It freaked me out, and by the time I got fifteen light years away I realised I'm like this."

The Hunter sighed disappointedly. "And I was having such a nice day." She showed them the newspaper, the front page of which showed Margaret Blaine as the new Lord Mayor of Cardiff.

***

In the foyer of the City Hall, Jack began to outline what they already knew about Margaret. "According to intelligence, the target is the last surviving member of the Slitheen family, a criminal sect from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius, masquerading as a human being, zipped inside a skin suit." He nodded. "Okay, plan of attack, we assume a basic fifty seven fifty six strategy, covering all available exits on the ground floor. Queenie, you go face to face. That'll designate Exit One. I'll cover Exit Two. Jules, you're on Exit Three. Mike, you take Exit Four. Have you got that?"

The Hunter raised her eyebrows at him pointedly. "Excuse me. Who's in charge here?"

Jack bit his lip to hide a smile. "Sorry. Awaiting orders, your Majesty."

"Right, here's the plan." She paused, smirking. "Like he said. Nice plan. Anything else?"

"Present arms," Jack ordered. Each of them pulled out a mobile phone, except for the Hunter, who was fixing a Bluetooth unit to her ear.

"Ready," she nodded.

"Ready," Hazel stated.

"Ready," Mike agreed.

"Ready," Jack smiled. "Speed dial?"

"Yep," the Hunter grinned, sonicing the device.

"Ready," Hazel seconded.

"Check," Mike nodded.

Jack flashed a brilliant smile. "See you in hell."

***

The Hunter followed the signs through to the outer area of the Lord Mayor's office, where a young man was sitting at his desk just outside the door. "Hello," she smiled warmly. "I've come to see the Lord Mayor."

"Have you got an appointment?" the young man asked politely.

"No, just an old friend passing by. Bit of a surprise," she grinned. "Can't wait to see her face."

"Well, she's just having a cup of tea," he stated.

"Just go in there and tell her the Hunter would like to see her."

"The Hunter?" he echoed.

"Yeah, it's an inside joke," the Hunter lied. "Tell her exactly that. The Hunter."

"Hang on a tick," the man smiled, and went into the office. The Hunter waited patiently, smirking when she heard a teacup smash on the floor, then smiling politely when the man came back out, looking flustered. "The Lord Mayor says thank you for popping by. She'd love to have a chat, but, er, she's up to her eyes in paperwork. Perhaps if you could make an appointment for next week?"

The Hunter looked at him pityingly. "She's climbing out of the window, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is," he admitted, sighing in relief.

"Slitheen heading north," she reported, pushing past the man, through the office and out onto the balcony.

"On my way," Hazel replied.

"Over and out," Jack agreed.

"Oh my God!" Mike wailed.

"Leave the Lord Mayor alone!" the man cried, trying to pull the Hunter back from following Margaret as she climbed down a ladder on some scaffolding on the side of the building.

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on." She telekinetically threw the man back into the office, locking the balcony behind him. "It's like you're not even trying."

Margaret reached the bottom of the ladder and took off her brooch, starting to run. When she saw Hazel running towards her, she snarled, removing her right earring. Then Jack came running from the opposite direction.

"Margaret!" the Hunter taunted, seeing she was running in the only available direction - across the front of the building. She joined Jack and Hazel at the entrance to the alleyway at the front of the building, seeing Margaret running away from them.

"Who's on Exit Four?" Jack demanded.

"That was Mike!" Hazel supplied.

"Here I am," Mike announced, running out with one foot in a bucket.

"Oh, you pikey," the Hunter scoffed.

"Be fair, she's not exactly going to outrun us, is she?" Hazel pointed out, at which point Margaret vanished.

"She's got a teleport! That's cheating!" Jack complained. "Now we're never going to get her."

"Oh, Artie's very good at teleports," Hazel assured him.

The Hunter buzzed the sonic screwdriver in the direction of Margaret's disappearance, and she reappeared, running towards them. She frowned, turned around and vanished again, but the Hunter just brought her back. The next time she was brought back, she was standing right in front of them, and panting hard. "Do you know, I could actually do this all day," the Hunter remarked conversationally, looking down at Margaret with no pity.

"This is persecution," Margaret accused. "Why can't you leave me alone? What did I ever do to you?"

"You tried to kill me, my friend Hazel here, and destroy the entire planet," the Hunter pointed out bluntly.

Margaret blinked. "Apart from that."

***

"So, you're a Slitheen, you're on Earth, you're trapped," the Hunter mused, leading them into the presentation room of the City Hall, in which the centrepiece was a model of a nuclear power station. "Your family get killed, but you teleport out just in the nick of time. You have no means of escape. What do you do? You build a nuclear power station. But what for?"

"A philanthropic gesture," Margaret shrugged airily. "I've learnt the error of my ways."

The Hunter scoffed. "And it just so happens to be right on top of the rift."

"What rift would that be?" Margaret asked innocently.

"A rift in space and time," Jack answered. "If this power station went into meltdown, the entire planet would go -" He mimed an implosion with his hands, adding the appropriate sound effects.

"This station is designed to explode the minute it reaches capacity," the Hunter stated, looking at the model.

"Didn't anyone notice?" Hazel frowned. "Isn't there someone in London checking this sort of stuff?"

"We're in Cardiff," Margaret deadpanned. "London doesn't care. The South Wales coast could fall into the sea and they wouldn't notice." She made a face. "Oh, I sound like a Welshman. God help me, I've gone native."

"But why would she do that?" Mike asked. "A great big explosion, she'd only end up killing herself."

"She's got a name, you know," Margaret pointed out icily.

"She's not even a she, she's a thing," Mike countered.

"Oh, but she's clever," the Hunter smiled. With her metal hand, she yanked the middle section from the model and turned it over to reveal circuitry. "Fantastic."

"Is that a tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator?" Jack asked excitedly.

The Hunter grinned, handing it over. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

"Ooh, genius!" Jack exclaimed. "You didn't build this."

"I have my hobbies," Margaret shrugged. "A little tinkering."

"No, no, no, no," Jack shook his head. "I mean, you really didn't build this. Way beyond you."

"I bet she stole it," Mike accused.

"It fell into my hands," Margaret said defensively.

"Is it a weapon?" Hazel inquired.

"It's transport," Jack told her, grinning. "You see, if the reactor blows, the rift opens. Phenomenal cosmic disaster. But this thing shrouds you in a forcefield. You have this energy bubble, so you're safe." He put the extrapolator on the ground. "Then you feed it co-ordinates, stand on top, and ride the concussion all the way out of the solar system." He stood on top demonstratively.

"It's a surfboard," Mickey realised.

"A pan-dimensional surfboard, yeah," Jack nodded.

"And it would've worked," Margaret grumbled. "I'd have surfed away from this dead end dump and back to civilisation."

Hazel frowned. "Isn't there supposed to be something about meddling kids in there?"

"You'd blow up a whole planet just to get a lift?" Mike asked, wondering why the others weren't too shocked.

"Like stepping on an anthill," Margaret smirked.

"How'd you think of the name?" the Hunter asked. She was looking at one of the banners with an expression of concern.

"What, Blaidd Drwg?" Margaret shrugged. "It's Welsh."

The Hunter rolled her eyes. "I know, but how did you think of it?"

"I chose it at random, that's all. I don't know, it just sounded good. Does it matter?"

"Blaidd Drwg," the Hunter mused, frowning.

"What's it mean?" Hazel asked.

"Bad Wolf," the Time Lady replied.

Hazel flinched, and Jack put his arm around her shoulder's - much to Mike's annoyance. "But I've heard that before. Bad Wolf. I've heard that lots of times."

"Everywhere we go," the Hunter narrowed her eyes. "Two words following us. Bad Wolf."

"How can they be following us?" Hazel whispered.

The Hunter shared a look with Jack, both of them clocking how scared Hazel actually was. "Nah, just a coincidence. Like hearing a word on the radio then hearing it all day. Never mind. Things to do. Margaret, we're going to take you home."

Jack blinked. "Hold on, isn't that the easy option, like letting her go?"

"I don't believe it!" Hazel exclaimed. "We actually get to go to Raxa - wait a minute. Raxacor -"

"Raxacoricofallapatorius," the Hunter told her in amusement.

"Raxacorico -"

"- fallapatorius."

"Raxacoricofallapatorius." Hazel's eyes widened. "That's it! I did it!" She and the Hunter hugged in celebration.

"They have the death penalty," Margaret cut in, ruining the ambience. "The family Slitheen was tried in its absence many years ago, and found guilty with no chance of appeal. According to the statutes of government, the moment I return, I am to be executed. What do you make of that, Hunter? Take me home and you take me to my death."

The Hunter regarded her coldly with those steely blue eyes. "That sounds like a not me problem."

***

Night had fallen by the time they got Margaret to the TARDIS.

"This ship is impossible," she exclaimed as Hazel shut the door behind them. "It's superb. How do you get the outside around the inside?"

"Like I'd give you the secret," the Hunter scoffed.

"I almost feel better about being defeated," Margaret admitted. "I never stood a chance. This is the technology of the gods."

The Hunter smirked. "Well, now you mention it..." She turned her attention to the extrapolator. "Jack, how's it going?"

"This extrapolator's top of the range," he told her, glancing up at Margaret. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Some airlock sale?"

"Must have been a great big heist," Jack translated. "It's stacked with power."

"But we can use it for fuel?" the Hunter asked.

"It's not compatible, but it should knock off about twelve hours," Jack nodded. "We'll be ready to go by morning."

She sighed, but nodded. "Then we're stuck here overnight."

"I'm in no hurry," Margaret piped up.

Hazel smirked, sitting cross-legged on the jump seat. "We've got a prisoner. The police box really is a police box."

"You're not just police, though," Margaret pointed out. "Since you're taking me to my death, that makes you my executioners. Each and every one of you."

"Well, you deserve it," Mike shrugged.

"You're very quick to say so," Margaret noticed. "You're very quick to soak your hands in my blood, which makes you better than me how, exactly? Long night ahead. Let's see who can look me in the eye."

Mickey looked away before she even met his eyes, and neither Hazel nor Jack held her gaze for more than a few seconds. When she looked to the Hunter, though, she gasped, seeing the woman casually making several paperweights float about her head with her metal arm.

"You're a -!"

"A what?" the Hunter asked, smirking. "A mutant Time Lord? Now, now, Maggie, don't be a bitch. You're hardly my first dead body. How's about you sit down and shut up?" Stunned, Margaret did so.

***

"It's freezing out here," Hazel complained as she joined Mike outside the TARDIS, keeping her hands cosy in her hoodie pocket.

"Better than in there," Mike huffed. "She does deserve it. She's a Slitheen. I don't care. It's just weird in that box."

"I didn't really need the passport," Hazel confessed. "Or the IDs."

Mike smiled. "I've been thinking, you know, we could go have a drink. Have a pizza or something. Just you and me."

"I guess," Hazel shrugged. He was still her friend, she just didn't want to deal with the awkward 'are you staying' crap.

"And I mean, if the TARDIS can't leave until morning, we could go to a hotel, spend the night." Hazel raised her eyebrows incredulously, and he backtracked. "I mean, if you want to. I've got some money."

"Mike, can I ask you a question?" Hazel bit her lip.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Are you seriously still labouring under the impression that I'm straight?" Mike blinked, and she laughed. "Oh, come on! How many times have I told you? It's been four years!"

"Oh, shut up!" he complained, not meeting her eyes. "Of course I knew. I just... You never know."

She narrowed her eyes. "What part of not attracted to men are you not getting?"

"Well, you know, I'm different," he shrugged. "I'm your mate."

"Yeah, and I'm gay," she stressed, raising her eyebrows.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. There's a couple bars around here. We should give them a go, you know, before we go for pizza." He saw her glance back at the TARDIS. "Do you have to go and tell her?"

She shook her head. "She knows."

***

Inside the TARDIS, the Hunter shook her head, watching them walk away on the monitor.

"What?" Jack asked, coming to see.

"He's trying so hard to get in there," she told him, snorting. "It's pitiful."

"Does he know she's gay?" Jack frowned.

"Oh, yeah," the Hunter nodded. "She says she's been telling him for four years."

"What a dick," Jack muttered.

"I gather it's not always like this, having to wait. I bet you're always the first to leave, Hunter. Never mind the consequences, off you go. You butchered my family and then ran for the stars, am I right? But not this time," Margaret smirked. "At last you have consequences. How does it feel?"

The Hunter scoffed. "I didn't butcher them."

"Don't answer back," Jack complained. "You know that's what she wants."

"Well, I didn't," she shrugged, before turning back to Margaret. "What about you? You had an emergency teleport. You didn't zap them to safety, did you?"

"It only carries one," Margaret explained. "I had to fly without co-ordinates. I ended up on a skip in the Isle of Dogs." Jack and the Hunter snorted. "It wasn't funny!"

"Sorry," the Hunter apologised, then snickered. "It is a bit funny."

Margaret rolled her eyes tiresomely. "Do I get a last request?"

"Depends what it is," the Hunter shrugged.

"I grew quite fond of my little human life," Margaret admitted. "All those rituals. The brushing of the teeth, and the complicated way they cook things. There's a little restaurant just round the Bay. It became quite a favourite of mine."

The Hunter frowned. "Is that was you want, a last meal?"

"Don't I have rights?" she pleaded.

Jack scoffed. "Oh, like she's not going to try to escape."

"Except I can never escape the Hunter, so where's the danger?" Margaret shot back, before looking to the Hunter. "I wonder if you could do it? To sit with a creature you're about to kill and take supper. How strong is your stomach?"

"Strong enough," the Hunter assured her.

"I wonder," Margaret mused. "I've seen you fight your enemies, now dine with them."

The Time Lady snorted. "You won't change my mind."

"Prove it," the Raxacoricofallapatorian snarled.

"There are people out there," the Hunter pointed out. And Hazel. "If you slip away just for one second, they'll be in danger."

"Except I've got these," Jack stated, holding up two bangles. "You both wear one. If she moves more than ten feet away, she gets zapped by ten thousand volts."

The Hunter eyed them. "Do I even want to know?"

"Not in the slightest," Jack promised, smirking.

She rolled her eyes, smiling, then turned to their captive. "Margaret, would you like to come out to dinner? My treat."

Margaret smirked. "Dinner in bondage. Works for me."

***

"Here we are, out on a date, and you haven't even asked my proper name," Margaret sighed as they settled in their chairs, the Hunter grabbing a menu.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not a date. What's your name?"

"Blon," Margaret replied. "I am Blon Fel Fotch Pasameer-Day Slitheen. That's what it'll say on my death certificate."

The Hunter smiled politely. "Nice to meet you, Blon."

"I'm sure." Margaret pointed towards the window. "Look, that's where I was living as Margaret. nice little flat, over there, on the top. Next to the one with the light on." The Hunter turned to look, and Margaret emptied powder from her ring into her wine glass. "Two bedrooms, bayside view. I was rather content. Don't suppose I'll see it again."

The Hunter turned back around, eyed Margaret, then swapped the glasses. "Suppose not."

"Thank you."

"Pleasure."

"Tell me then, Hunter. What do you know of our species?" Margaret wondered.

"Only what I've seen," the Time Lady replied, looking at the menu.

"Did you know, for example, in extreme cases, when her life is in danger, a female Raxacoricofallapatorian can manufacture a poison dart within her own finger?" She shot the dart, and the Hunter crushed it between metal fingers without looking up.

"Yes, I did."

"Just checking." Margaret leaned forwards. "And one more thing. Between you and me." The Hunter leaned forwards too. "As a final resort, the excess poison can be exhaled through the lungs." Margaret made to exhale, but the Hunter spritzed a breath freshener in her mouth.

"That's better," she grinned, before going back to her menu. "Now then, what do you think? Mmm, steak looks nice. Steak and chips."

***

Hazel and Mike had been to a few of the bars and were now leaning against the railings on Mermaid Quay. "The Hunter took me to this planet a while back," Hazel was saying. "It was much colder than this. They called it Woman Wept. The planet was actually called Woman Wept, because if you looked at it, right, from above, there's like this huge continent, all curved round. It sort of looked like a woman, you know, lamenting. Oh my God, and we went to this beach, right. No people, no buildings, just this beach like a thousand miles across. And something had happened, something to do with the sun, I don't know, but the sea had just frozen. In a split second, in the middle of a storm, right, waves and foam, just frozen, all the way out to the horizon. Midnight, right, we walk underneath these waves a hundred feet tall, made of ice." She smiled at the memory.

"I'm going out with Trisha Delaney," Mike blurted.

"Right," Hazel said, blinking. "Okay. That's nice. Trisha from the shop?"

"Yeah, Rob Delaney's sister," Mike clarified.

"Well, she's nice," Hazel nodded. "I thought you said you'd never date her."

"She lost weight," he shrugged. "You've been away."

"Well, good for you. She's nice," Hazel smiled.

"So tell us a bit more about this planet, then," he requested.

She shook her head, blowing out a breath. "That was it, really." No way was she telling him the stuff the Hunter had confided in her that day.

***

"Public execution's a slow death," Margaret stated conversationally as their steaks arrived. "They prepare a thin acetic acid, lower me into the cauldron and boil me. The acidity is perfectly gauged to strip away the skin. Internal organs fall out into the liquid, and I become soup. And still alive, still screaming."

"I don't make the law," the Hunter shrugged, stabbing a chip with her fork.

"But you deliver it," Margaret pointed out. "Will you stay to watch?"

The Hunter sighed. "What else can I do?"

"The Slitheen family's huge. There's a lot more of us, all scattered off-world. Take me to them," Margaret pleaded. "Take me somewhere safe."

"Yeah, and you'll just start again," the Hunter deadpanned.

"I promise I won't," Margaret stated hopefully.

The Hunter shook her head, scoffing. "You've been in that skin suit too long. You've forgotten. There used to be a real Margaret Blaine. You killed her and stripped her and used the skin. You're pleading for mercy out of a dead woman's lips."

"Perhaps I have got used to it," Margaret sighed. "A human life, an ordinary life. That's all I'm asking. Give me a chance, Hunter. I can change."

"I don't believe you," the Hunter stated, cutting into her steak.

***

"So, what do you want to do now?" Mike asked.

Hazel shrugged. "Don't mind."

"We could ask about hotels," he suggested.

"I'm just as gay as I was an hour ago," she rolled her eyes. "'Sides, what would Trisha Delaney say?"

"Suppose," Mike sighed. "There's a bar down there with a Spanish name or something -"

"You're not dating Trisha Delaney!" Hazel interrupted.

"Oh, is that right?" Mike scowled. "What the hell do you know?"

"I saw her three days ago cradling her firstborn child!" Hazel shot back, remembering when she'd got takeaway for herself, the Hunter, and Jack. "So who the hell do you think you're kidding?"

"At least I know where she is!" Mike shouted.

Hazel scoffed, shaking her head. "There we are, then. It's got nothing to do with Trisha. This is about me again, isn't it -?"

"You left me!" Mike cut her off. "We were nice, we were happy. And then what? You run off with her and you make me feel like nothing, Hazel. I was nothing. I can't even go out with a stupid girl from a shop because you pick up the phone and I come running. I mean, is that what I am, Hazel, standby? Am I just supposed to sit here for the rest of my life, waiting for you? Because I will."

Hazel stepped back, her eyes wide. "I'm... sorry?"

***

"I promise you I've changed since we last met, Hunter," Margaret implored. "There was this girl, just today. A young thing, something of a danger. She was getting too close. I felt the bloodlust rising, just as the family taught me. I was going to kill her without a thought. And then I stopped. She's alive somewhere right now. She's walking around this city because I can change. I did change. I know I can't prove it -"

"I believe you," the Hunter cut her off.

"Then you know I'm capable of better."

She shook her head. "It doesn't mean anything."

"I spared her life!" Margaret protested.

"You let one of them go, but that's nothing new," the Hunter shrugged. "Every now and then, a little victim's spared because she smiled, because he's got freckles, because they begged. And that's how you live with yourself. That's how you slaughter millions. Because once in a while, on a whim, if the wind's in the right direction, you happen to be kind."

"Only a killer would know that," Margaret accused, making the Hunter roll her eyes. "Is that right? From what I've seen, your funny little happy go lucky life leaves devastation in its wake. Always moving on because you dare not look back. Playing with so many people's lives, you might as well be a god. And you're right, Hunter. You're absolutely right. Sometimes you let one go. Let me go," she pleaded.

***

"I'm not asking you to leave her, because I know that's not fair," Mike said. "But I just need something, yeah? Some sort of promise that when you do come back, you're coming back for me."

There was a deep rumble in the distance, and Hazel looked up, frowning. "Is that thunder?"

"Does it matter?" Mike huffed, exasperated.

"That's not thunder," Hazel realised, hearing it again.

***

"In the family Slitheen, we had no choice," Margaret explained. "I was made to carry out my first kill at thirteen. If I'd refused, my father would have fed me to the Venom Grubs. If I'm a killer, it's because I was born to kill. It's all I know." She huffed impatiently as the Hunter looked around, frowning.

"Can you hear that?"

"I'm begging for my life, you could at least pretend to listen," Margaret complained.

"No, listen, shush," the Hunter muttered, pointing to her empty wine glass, which was vibrating. Suddenly the windows shattered, and the customers started screaming.

***

People outside ran cover as windows and street lights exploded. Hazel made a decision, running towards Roald Dahl Plass.

"Oh go on then, run! It's her again, isn't it? It's the Hunter! It's always the Hunter! It's always going to be the Hunter! It's never me!" Mike shouted bitterly.

Hazel turned on him. "Yeah, because she and Jack, they're more my family than you ever were. You call me when you've decided you're going to accept us." Then she turned her back on him and ran for the TARDIS.

***

Margaret wheezed as they ran across Roald Dahl Plass, tugging on the Hunter's arm. "The handcuffs!"

She rolled her eyes and took them off, depositing them in her back pocket. "Don't think you're running away."

"Oh, I'm sticking with you," Margaret assured her. "Some date this turned out to be!"

The Hunter's eyes widened when she saw the blue energy streaming up from the TARDIS into the sky. "It's the rift. The rift's opening." She ran in, Margaret close on her heels. "What's happening?" she demanded, seeing things sparking and almost exploding on the console.

"She just went crazy!" Jack called from under the grating, poking his head up from where he was working.

"It's the rift," she told him, trying to stop the explosions from the console. "Time and space are ripping apart. The whole city's going to disappear!"

"It's the extrapolator!" Jack exclaimed, climbing up to her level. "I've disconnected it, but it's still feeding off the engine. It's using the TARDIS. I can't stop it!"

"Never mind Cardiff," the Hunter bit her lip, her eyes wide. "It's going to rip open the planet!"

"What is it?" Hazel questioned as she ran in. "What's happening?"

"Oh, just little me," Margaret smirked, ripping the arm of her suit so she could grab Hazel around the neck with one of her talons. "One wrong move and she snaps like a promise."

The Hunter scowled. "I might've known."

"I've had you bleating all night, poor baby, now shut it," Margaret snapped. "You, fly boy, put the extrapolator at my feet." She tightened her grip on Hazel's neck, making the girl gasp. The Hunter nodded, her eyes on Hazel, and Jack did as ordered. "Thank you. Just as I planned."

"I thought you needed to blow up the nuclear power station," Hazel croaked.

"Failing that, if I were to be arrested, then anyone capable of tracking me down would have considerable technology of their own. Therefore, they would be captivated by the extrapolator. Especially a magpie mind like yours, Hunter," Margaret smirked. "So, the extrapolator was programmed to go to plan B, to lock onto the nearest alien power source and open the rift. And what a power source it found. I'm back on schedule, thanks to you."

"The rift's going to convulse," Jack realised. "You'll destroy the whole planet."

"And you with it!" Margaret cackled, stepping onto the extrapolator. "While I ride this board over the crest of the inferno all the way to freedom. Stand back. Surf's up."

The TARDIS console cracked open, and a bright light hit Margaret and Hazel, making the girl screw her eyes tightly shut.

"Of course, opening the rift means you'll pull this ship apart," the Hunter pointed out, leaning against one of the coral structures.

"So sue me," Margaret snapped.

"She's not just any old power source. She's the TARDIS. My TARDIS. The best ship in the universe," the Hunter said proudly.

"It'll make wonderful scrap."

"What's that light?" Hazel asked, wincing.

"The heart of the TARDIS," the Hunter replied. "This ship's alive. You've opened her soul. And she really has got a soft spot for our Hazel."

"It's so bright," Margaret whispered.

"Look at it, Margaret," the Hunter encouraged.

"Beautiful..."

"Look inside, Blon Fel Fotch. Look at the light."

Margaret relaxed, allowing Hazel to get free, rushing to Jack's side. "Thank you," Margaret smiled, then disappeared into the light, her bodysuit crumpling atop the extrapolator.

The Hunter moved immediately. "Don't look. Stay there. Close your eyes!" She closed the console up. "Now, Jack, come on, shut it all down. Shut down! Haze, that panel over there, turn all the switches to the right." The turbulence and the sparks stopped as the TARDIS settled, and she sighed in relief. "Nicely done. Thanks."

"What happened to Margaret?" Hazel wondered.

"Must've got burnt up," Jack guessed. "Carried out her own death sentence."

"No, I don't think she's dead," the Hunter shook her head.

Hazel frowned, rubbing her neck and wincing. "Then where'd she go?"

"She looked into the heart of the TARDIS. Even I don't know how strong that is. And the ship's telepathic, like I told you, Haze." The Hunter glanced over at her, flashing a smile. "Gets inside your head. Translates alien languages. Maybe the raw energy can translate all sorts of thoughts." She knelt by the skin suit and pulled out a large egg with dreadlocks. "Here she is."

"She's an egg?" Hazel frowned.

"Regressed to her childhood," the Hunter nodded.

"She's an egg?" Jack echoed.

"She can start again," the Hunter pointed out. "Live her life from scratch. If we take her home, give her to a different family, tell them to bring her up properly, she might be all right!"

"Or she might be worse," Jack suggested.

"That's her choice, Mr Pessimism."

"She's an egg," Hazel repeated.

"She's an egg," the Hunter agreed, smiling.

"Oh my God, Mike!" Hazel realised, getting to her feet and sprinting out the door.

***

The Hunter and Jack shared a look when she returned not five minutes later, looking dejected. "We're all powered up," the Hunter told her, making her look up. "We can leave. Opening the rift filled us up with energy. We can go, if that's all right."

"Yeah, fine," she nodded.

"How's Mike?" the Hunter asked carefully.

"He's okay. He's gone," Hazel muttered.

"Do you want to go and find him?" the Hunter offered. "We'll wait."

Hazel took a deep breath, then smiled, shaking her head. "No need."

"Off we go, then. Always moving on."

"Next stop, Raxacoricofallapatorius," Jack smiled, then nudged Hazel. "Now you don't often get to say that."

"We'll just stop by and pop her in the hatchery," the Hunter said, setting about flying them there. "Margaret the Slitheen can live her life again. A second chance."

Hazel smiled sadly, gripping the railings as they set off. "That'd be nice."

~~~

If you enjoyed, please like and/or reblog and consider donating to my Kofi to help keep me afloat! Thanks for reading :)

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #captain jack harkness #tardis #series #oc insert #gxg #lgbt #slow burn #thedoctorcried

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aries-writingblog · 4 years ago

Text

Atlas (6)

Summary: After years of being imprisoned on the Raft, Tony negotiates freedom for his sister Tessa. When she’s free- so is her past, and it will never stop hunting her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC(Stark)

Chapter Word count: 1813

Warnings: PTSD (subtle ish), trauma, torture (in later parts), suicidal behaviors and thoughts, mentions of death, character death, injury, violence, angst, and a lil bit of fluff in there

Disclaimer: Atlas is my own, original work with characters belonging to Marvel (except Tessa and Dr. Clifton). Plagiarism is not cool kids.

A/N: this is my first work I'm posting to this platform and I’m really excited and nervous about it. Hope you enjoy- constructive criticism is always helpful as well!!

Bucky’s eyes felt heavy. His whole body felt heavy. He groaned, rolling over and gagging at the taste in his mouth. What the hell happened? As he pushed himself up, his foot hit something and another groan rang into the air. Bucky froze before he scrambled to his knees, whipping around. He let out a breath he didn’t know he held when he saw Tessa moving. Sure it was a slow movement but it was movement nonetheless.

“Tess-“ his voice was groggy and raspy. He shook her shoulder, causing her to groan again and pry her eyes open. Bucky looked like an angel to her- fluorescent lights behind his head in a halo, blue eyes staring down at her with loving concern.

“Buck?” Her tongue felt like sandpaper, her mouth dry. She rolled over and her stomach catapulted. She didn’t vomit, her stomach cramping up from the dry heaving she did though. Bucky’s hand was warm against her back as she breathed heavily. Finally, she shoved it back down and slumped back against the wall. Bucky sat in front of her.

“You okay?” He asked, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. She nodded and squinted at him.

“You?” She asked, her throat raw and sore. Bucky gave a quick nod in return before leaning back against the wall in front of her. They sat, the toes of their boots touching as they took in their surroundings. They were in a block cell, a small cramped one. The door was metal, assumably fire proof. Tessa knew Clifton wasn’t an idiot. He was self absorbed and crazed but he was smart. “What now?” Bucky was silent, his response already heavy in the air before even speaking.

“I don’t know.” He replied. They could only wait. Both ex- soldiers were aware. It was a waiting game. They would have to take an opportunity when it was presented. For now... they could only sit.

Tessa exhaled through her nose, leaning her forearms on her knees and bowing her head. Part of her knew it was only a matter of time before Clifton decided he wanted her back. He needed more research on a subject that was already a success. Albeit, an accidental success but if he wanted more like her... she was the only blueprint. And after Operation Brimstone... things escalated quickly after that. She should’ve warned them- instead of freezing up when the intel was decoded, she should’ve taken the time to explain. She swallowed harshly, remembering how she’d burned the papers before swiftly exiting the room. She didn’t have to be so harsh- why did she close everyone out like that?

Part of her knew that if she told the truth to her new team, they’d send her back to the Raft. Even her brother would look at her differently. They would see her as what she truly was... dangerous. Unstable. Of course, it was partly her fault she was like that. Fire was a peculiar thing, in of itself. Even with Clifton attempting to train her, she never grasped it fully before being shoved into the field. Then with being locked away, doused of power and control, she never got the chance to be successful. She had been doomed from the beginning.

The other part of her knew she would die in here. She was never going to make it off Clifton’s table of he got his hands on her again. He would dissect and test and poke and prod until she bled out. And a pang of guilt shot through her whole body. She would die and no one would know the truth. She couldn’t let everyone believe in a woman who murdered her team.

But then... there was him. Opening her eyes, she saw Bucky sitting before her. Her heart told her he wouldn’t judge. He would accept what she told him. He would understand her. Her mind told her that he wouldn’t. He would think of her as unstable. He wasn’t given a choice. You were- and you chose this curse.

But then his eyes met hers and- sweet heavens above. That blue could melt her heart into a puddle. His eyes crinkled around the edges, smile lines appearing as he gave her a grin.

“What?” He asked. When he’d turned back to look at her, she was wearing this goofy expression, drifted off into dreamland. Her eyes focused on him. And he liked it- anything to keep her attention. Even in this life threatening situation. There was a moment of silence... every thought that had been jumbled in Tessa’s brain seemed to snap into alignment as she looked at him. She took a deep breath through her nose.

“When I was in the army... my team was the best. We carried missions out to perfection, our casualty number was low, success rate high. Our team never faltered... but even the Titanic sank.” Her voice cracked and she dipped her head, her gaze lowering to his chest. Bucky stayed quiet, allowing her to work through her thoughts. “Then, I was chosen for Project Maelstrom. I went through the tests and the experiment and I wasn’t turned into a super soldier... I was... this.” She gestured lazily to her body. “It wasn’t intended. And I was thrown into the field too early- I didn’t have the proper training.” She shook her head.

“The first mission, there were only a few mishaps- it gave the generals confidence in me. Too much, too fast. We were sent on a second. It went over well... when we were being transported back to camp, our MRAP was blown sky high by a land mine. I don’t know how long we were there- the whole event is still hazy, even now when I try to look back.” Tessa pursed her lips, biting down on her trembling bottom one. Bucky reached over and took her hand, tangling his fingers with hers. “The next thing I can remember is coming to in some sort of... building or cave- something. My whole team was chained... tortured. I... I thought I could help... I thought that maybe I was given the enhancement for that reason. So, when the men came in, I started a fire...”

Bucky saw her swallow again, tears building up in her eyes. She clenched her jaw and squeezed his hand, trying to gather her nerve. She sniffled before letting out a shaky breath.

“But it got out of control- I couldn’t control it and it began crumbling the place. There was a kid on the team- fresh out of high school... Duncan Brooks. He enrolled to pay for college. Said his ma worked three jobs to put food on the table. It worried her to death, he said, but it was worth it to him.” She used her free hand to wipe at her face. “My chains snapped and I was able to get free. I was about to start working on his when the ceiling fell. A chunk fell right on top of us... but I was able to catch it before it completely flattened us... I managed to hold it up, kneeling over him. I didn’t even know if he was still alive at that point, just trying to keep myself together.”

Her shoulders sagged and Bucky could tell she could still feel that weight. The weight of a collapsing ceiling on her shoulders. The weight of starting that fire... the weight of her team’s lives on her hands.

“Finally, another team found us... they pulled us from the rubble. We had been there at least nine hours- that’s the best estimate they could figure.” She glanced to the door before continuing. “The two men that found me began calling me Atlas- I’d held the ceiling up for that long on my shoulders. People thought I was a hero, but I knew better. I didn’t admit it though... I lied to them. To everyone. I was ashamed and guilty... then the truth came out. The generals and Dr. Clifton figure out the origin of the fire was me- I had killed my team, all but Duncan, who survived by an act of God...”

She shook her head, trying to stifle the sobs ripping from her throat. Her chest heaved and she was shaking. Bucky was quick to shift over to her side and wrap her in his arms. She buried herself down into his chest, hiccuping and sobbing. He rocked her gently, trying to soothe her.

“It’s okay...” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head. Tessa sniffled and leaned where her voice was audible.

“It never got out to the rest of the camp... the generals just told everyone I had PTSD from the experience and they were retiring me. In truth, they locked me in the Raft. Clifton was allowed access for two months to gather data but then he was denied access when I was declared unstable and violent.” Tessa’s forehead leaned against Bucky’s neck, the warmth of her skin felt soothing to his nerves. Bucky’s metal hand moved up and down her arm, his other brushing tears off her face. He made sure his eyes met hers when he spoke.

“It wasn’t fair of them to throw you into something so fast. You had no training, you didn’t know what you were doing... it isn’t your fault.” He explained, his voice low and comforting. “And you were a hero... you saved someone’s life- you held a chunk of ceiling up for nine hours, Tess. All to save one man’s life when you could’ve saved yourself. That’s heroic behavior in my book.”

Tessa didn’t answer, she just leaned into his touch more, feeling the warmth of his touch. The cool metal of his fingers trailing down her arm. Her chest felt tight and her eyes stung. She knew it would never make up for the facts. And she hated that she’d used Bucky in that moment- trying to ease her conscience. He thought she was trusting him. In a way she was but, she knew it was the end of the line for her. But someone had to know; someone had to bring the truth to light. The army would only cover it up, blotting out their mistake, the mistake that burned her team alive.

“Thank you for telling me...” Bucky whispered into her hair. He squeezed her arm as she lay there, almost catatonic. “I promise, everything is gonna be okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a loud clang of metal from behind them, startling Tessa into sitting up, placing herself between the door and Bucky. She wouldn’t let him get caught in her mess. Dr. Clifton rounded the door, his hands clasped behind his back. The smile that pulled at his lips was one of true lunacy.

“Well, my dear- it’s time to begin...”

#james barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x oc

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