#the filter fucks up the quality sobs

[alecz-obssesionz]

a little question about the modern AU:

is Monomon the actual teacher there? and what about my favourite of favourites baby Quirrel?🥺 i wonder if he's still oldie here and can work with Monomon or he's her student

◇ Monomon is a researcher and owner of her library [the teacher archives], does seminars at diferent types of academies

The main Jellyfish enemies are her employees [Oomas, Uumuu] + Quirrel <3

Quirrel is a student of more than one career he already completed [science leaning haven't decided which ones yet] and is a really close friend of his boss as they even do investigations together

+ ORIGINAL PIC NO FILTER [hd?]

[captainfern]

Heart-Shaped Box

Captain John Price x fem!reader

[“Heart-Shaped Box” by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - price gets injured during a mission. you help him feel better lol. • rating - 18+ [mdni] • wordcount - 3.7k • warnings - fem!reader, a bit of sub!price, unprotected piv, praise kink [price is called a good boy], oral [m!receiving], orgasm denial? idk probably, riding, mentions of threesome, strong language, a bit of violence/blood

that gif makes me fucking feral

i want him and his silly hat

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The taskforce had been separated, having each pursued completely different targets. Comms were down and that left you hauntingly alone.

You had hunted down your target. Piece of cake. But now, leaving his body submerged in a flooded ditch, you walked aimlessly though the long grass of a sprawling paddock.

Every few minutes, you tapped at the communication collar around your throat. You called to your comrades— Ghost, Soap, Gaz— but no one responded. Static filled your ears.

With an angry huff, you switched the device on and off again, before giving up entirely. The sun would set in a couple of hours, and you did not want to be stranded alone in unknown countryside.

Up ahead, a woodland. It was shadowed, tall trees brushing the dusky blue sky. There were no houses in sight, and you were beginning to grow tired.

When you reached the tree line of the woodland, your comms erupted in a burst of static that made you flinch. A patchy voice filtered into your ear, and you clawed desperately at the buttons on your collar in a poor attempt to improve the quality.

“Sergeant? You copy?”

It was Price. Well thank fuck for that.

You felt like you wanted to sob, throat stinging as the deep vibrato of his voice soothed something within you.

“Copy,” you breathed a sigh of relief. “Where are you?”

“At one of the safe houses. Are the boys with you?”

“No, no, it’s just me.”

You heard Price curse, then: “So you’re alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Alright, tell me where you are. Describe your surroundings for me.”

You did as you were told. The sun was setting in front of you. There was a darkening woods in front of you too, with rolling green paddocks stretching to your left and right. Behind you was a desolate dirt track, complete with a flooded ditch, and a dead insurgent.

“Head towards the sun, straight through the woods,” Price instructed. “Cross the stream and keep walking. You’ll see the house.”

Ever the loyal soldier, you did exactly as you were told.

•°•

As the sun began to set, you stumbled through the front door of a small farmhouse, evidently falling apart at the edges. The brick exterior was encrusted thick with lichen, and the wooden window frames were weathered and crumbling.

Price had made himself comfortable inside; lounging on a dusty old couch in front of a raw brick fireplace. He hadn’t lit it, but judging by the smoke, he settled for puffing on a cigar.

It hung loosely from his lips as he turned his head to face you, a newspaper folded across his lap.

“You killed the insurgent?” Was the first thing he said.

You ripped off your comms collar angrily, spitting out a bitter yes before dropping your pack and walking into the kitchen. You got yourself a glass of water and gulped it down, placing the glass into the sink before walking into the main room of the farmhouse.

You slumped onto the other end of the couch. Price watched you, one arm stretched out along the backrest; the other moving to hold his cigar aloft as he puffed out a cloud of greyish smoke.

“I heard from the boys about twenty minutes ago,” Price said, thumbing the waxy paper of his cigar. “They’re an hour east. Together. We’ll regroup in the morning.”

You nodded, eyes drifting closed. The mission adrenaline had run out, and exhaustion was creeping into your bones.

You heard Price chuckle. “Tired?”

“Mhm.”

“Get some rest,” he said, tossing the remains of his cigar into the empty fireplace. “You deserve it.”

•°•

It was very, very early when you woke up with a start. It was still pitch black outside, constellations twinkling overhead. You blinked through the darkness of the room you were in, straining your ears as you listened to rummaging somewhere down the hall.

You got out of bed, snatching your pistol from off the nightstand, creeping out the door and down the hall. A flickering light was on in the main room of the farmhouse, and you poked your head warily around the corner.

Price was awake, sitting on the couch. He was sitting in just his work pants; his chest bare and, you realised, smeared with blood. You entered the room and put your pistol on the kitchen countertop as you passed it.

Grunting in pain beneath his breath, Price was attempting to wrap a wound on his shoulder. Dark rivers of blood flowed from his bruised flesh, down his pec and along the soft lines of his stomach.

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.” You said, approaching him.

“Didn’t think it mattered.” He replied, not looking at you.

You sighed, sitting next to him on the couch. He finally looked at you, complexion pale in the flickering light.

“Can I help you?” You nodded at the wound and, with a small grunt, Price angled his body towards you.

It was a stab wound. Not too big, not too deep, but still enough that blood was oozing continuously. You picked up from where he left it: wrapping fresh gauze around the wound as tight as possible without cutting circulation.

“How does that feel?” You asked, running your fingers gently over the gauze.

He huffed, a breath of cigar smoke and mint. “Good, love. Good.”

You ignored the term of endearment, but suddenly became hyper-aware of how close you were to sitting on your captain’s lap: legs brushing, chest just inches from his. His breathing fluttered the baby hairs near your forehead.

You cleared your throat. “Did you want some pain relief? I can check my pack. I should have some morphine somewhere, or maybe ketamine—”

He shook his head with a grimace. “I’m alright. Just… just sit with me for a bit.”

“Oh…” You blinked up at him. “Okay. Yeah.”

He exhaled through his nose, reclining in the chair and closing his eyes. You watched the way his chest rose and fell, strong abdomen moving up and down. It was still streaked with blood, so an idea came to mind.

You pattered into the kitchen, grabbed a cloth and wet it, entering the main room once more. You then began to clean Price’s blood away. Price jolted when the wet cloth hit his bare skin.

“What are—?”

“Just cleaning you up.”

“You don’t have—”

“It’s fine, captain. I really want to help.”

His eyes darkened, but he said nothing else. He just watched you clean the blood out of his skin. Once you disposed of the cloth, you retook your place on the couch beside him. He was appraising you with a curious look. One that made you suddenly shy.

“Is… is there anything else I can do to help you?” You asked, voice quiet.

There were several things you wanted to do for him. Things you had thought about for months. But, he was your boss, your captain, and you should be ashamed to ever think—

“A kiss better would be nice.”

Excuse me.

You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh and reveal that, haha, it was a joke. Hilarious!

…But he didn’t.

He peered down at you through long lashes, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of his lips. You met his gaze, confused. But you could feel your cheeks growing embarrassingly hot.

“You…? Are you joking?” You whispered, dumbfounded and at a loss for any other words to express yourself.

He shook his head gently. “No, this is a serious matter, sergeant. I do believe a kiss would make me feel a lot better.”

You bit your lip, and Price followed the movement with dilated pupils. “Just… okay, just a kiss?” You uttered, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Just a kiss.” He whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe what the fuck he was saying.

Steeling your nerves, you leaned in and cupped his face, placing your lips gently to his. He hummed, satisfied, as he kissed you back. After a few thumping beats of your heart, you pulled away. He pressed his forehead to yours and you both breathed hard.

You stared at each other, consumed by each other’s space, presence. You could feel how warm he was. How safe he was.

“I think I might need a bit more than that to really make sure I’m feeling better.” Price quipped, before slamming his mouth back onto yours.

He dragged his tongue along the seam of your lips and you parted them: allowing him access. He deepened the kiss and lifted his good arm, resting a large hand on the back of your head. His not-so-good arm found a gentle place on your hip.

“We shouldn’t…” You gasped.

“You want to stop?”

“No.”

He smiled against your mouth, tongue smoothing against yours. “Didn’t think so.”

You whined into the kiss, and he groaned out in response. Everything about him was warm: his mouth, his tongue, his hands. You were heating up at the way he held you to him. Your mind was hazy, dizzy with lust.

“Shit—” Price pulled back to growl, shifting his injured shoulder away. You flinched, suddenly remembering that he was, in fact, still injured.

“Captain, oh my god, I am so sorry—”

“Wasn’t you, love,” he grimaced, leaning his back against the couch. He took a deep breath. “Just stings a bit.”

“I offered you pain relief—”

“And I refused.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stubborn bastard.”

He chuckled darkly. “Is that any way to talk to your captain?” He then gestured to his lap, urging you to sit. You looked at him challengingly. You were suddenly in the mood to challenge your captain. Great idea, sergeant.

“What do you want?” You asked, faux innocence in your tone. “You’ve got to tell me, captain.”

You expected a snide reply. A witty comeback that would get you all hot and flustered. But instead, he groaned, low in his throat.

“Want you.”

It took a few seconds for you to comprehend his tone. The need in his voice. The whine. You fought a smile from your face.

“Want me? Want me to do what?” You slid closer, a hand on his thigh. “Come on, Price. You’re my captain for a reason. Give me proper orders.”

He was breathing heavily. Panting as he stared at you. His cock was hard, tenting his pants. When he responded, his voice was hoarse, strained with pleasure and tobacco smoke. “Want you to suck my cock.”

You smiled, slipping off the couch and onto your knees in front of him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You mused, shuffling between his spread legs and beginning to unzip his pants. His hips bucked involuntarily, and you used the motion to slip his pants further down his legs.

You leaned closer, running your fingers along the waistband of his boxers, just skimming the solid imprint of his cock. He huffed above you, breathing erratically as he watched you.

“Please, love. Come on.”

You hummed, dipping your hand into his boxers and pulling his cock free. When your fingers enclosed around him, Price let out a low moan, shooting his good hand down to grip your hair.

“Fuck sake—” He choked as you pressed a kiss to his tip, flushed red and already leaking.

You smiled to yourself. He was warm and throbbing in your hand and you realised that you did that. You made your captain like this.

“Use that pretty mouth, love, come on.” Price breathed, pushing your head gently. Your lips nudged his tip again and he sighed. “Want your mouth.”

You obliged, wrapping your lips around him and dragging them downwards. He groaned deeply, fingers tight in your hair as you took his cock deeper into the heat of your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat and you resisted the urge to gag, tears appearing in your waterline.

“So good, so good…” Price was mumbling as you began a comfortable pace; bobbing up and down with his hand in your hair. He wasn’t altering your pace in any way. His hand simply remained a firm comfort.

You felt his thighs flex beside your head, hips twitching as you sucked. Saliva pooled past your lips, down the length of him. You used a hand to smear it around the base. He cursed at that, sending a throb of arousal to your cunt.

“So good, love,” he repeated, pupils blown as he looked down at you. “Better than I imagined. Fucked my fist to the thought of your mouth so many times, jus’ thinking about your pretty lips wrapped all nice around my cock.”

You blinked tears away from your eyes and he moved his injured arm to your face. He wiped the tears with his thumb. He then pressed his thumb to the seam of your lips, feeling where his cock was essentially choking you. You whined up at him, and he smiled back.

“Such a good sergeant, sucking her captain’s cock.” He said, retracting his hand.

He had gained a bit of cockiness, noted. But you smiled internally. That wouldn’t last.

You quickened your pace, swirling your tongue around his cock until you felt it twitching in your mouth. He had gone quiet now— words replaced by airy grunts and groans as he held your head, bucking his hips. He was close, judging by the way his tip flooded pre along your tongue, and how his fingers began to tighten in your hair.

“Love, gonna—”

You pulled away, gripping his cock firmly at the base. He let out a soft gasp, wrenching his eyes open to look down at you. You licked your lips, saliva dripping down your chin. You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

He frowned at you. “What—?”

“Consider that punishment for not telling me you were hurt.” You battered your eyelashes at him as you crawled onto his lap, still holding his cock.

It was wet with your saliva, the tip flushed red. It was hot in your hand, twitching against your palm as both of you looked down at it. Price rested his forehead against yours, breath coming in pants as you lazily started stroking him. Your soft touch, your warmth, your perfume. You were going to be the death of him.

“Need you love, please.” He whispered, shifting his forehead to rest in the crook of your neck. He kissed the skin above your shirt, sucking a hickey onto the sensitive flesh.

You withheld a moan. “Need what? Need me to do what? You’ve gotta tell me, captain. Come on.”

He whined into your neck. Your cunt throbbed at that. Skimming his teeth along your neck, he pulled back, lips flushed and eyes glassy as he looked up at you. He had both his hands on the small of your back, pushing you closer to him.

“Need your cunt,” he whined, low. “Need that tight fucking cunt around my cock. Need to feel it, love, please.”

Who were you to deny your captain of his request?

You slowly, tantalisingly brought your shirt over your head. With no bra, your tits fell freely in front of his face and you saw his eyes light up like a teenage boy. His mouth was immediately on them, sucking bruising marks around your nipples.

You let a groan slip past your lips as you worked your pants off, struggling but eventually managing to slide them onto the floor while still situated on Price’s lap. When you had done that, he was finishing his hickeys on your other breast, chest moving rapidly against you.

“Perfect,” He whispered as he pulled away, moving his hands to cup your tits. “You’re absolutely perfect, aren’t you, sergeant?”

“Only for you, captain.” You took his good hand and guided it down to your underwear. You pushed his fingers against your clothed core, leaning towards him and moaning softly in his ear.

“Feel how wet you make me,” you purred. “I’ve fucked myself so many times thinking about you, your fingers, your cock. Wanted you for so long.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he grit his teeth, rubbing your wet core through the cotton of your underwear. He then moved them to the side, rubbing a finger along your slit with a groan. “You’re soaked, love. Want my cock that bad, huh? What would the boys think if they saw how needy you were for their captain? Ghost would be beside himself.”

You smiled, biting back a moan. Your hands were around his neck, careful of his shoulder, and you steadied yourself, rocking gently in his lap. He watched you with a calculating gaze, and he tutted gently at you, still stroking your cunt with a thick finger.

“You naughty girl. You want the boys to know? Want Ghost to know?” He mused, angling his hips so your clothed cunt rubbed against his cock. “Want him to fuck you, too?”

You moaned.

He took that as your answer.

“Yeah? Want your lieutenant to fuck your tight cunt as well?” He ripped your underwear off your body, causing you to gasp, the impact stinging the sides of your thighs. “Want us both? Want Ghost and me? Naughty fucking girl, eh?”

You moaned, your plan to challenge your captain slipping away. But you were desperate to hold onto it. So, with one last shaky breath, you dragged his hand away from your throbbing cunt and turned the tables.

“You’d love it,” you said, sucking his finger into your mouth. “You’d love to watch Ghost fuck me, wouldn’t you? Love to see me come apart on his cock while you fuck my mouth. You’d love it, wouldn’t you, captain?”

You got him again.

He groaned, tossing his head back and bucking his hips to try and bring friction to his cock. But you lifted your hips, your dripping cunt just out of his reach. He moved his finger from your mouth and settled both hands on your hips.

He kissed you, and you let him. His tongue brushed against yours, claiming. His taste was intoxicating.

“Let me take care of you.” You said softly as you pulled away.

He nodded, resting comfortably on the couch with his hands on your hips. You positioned yourself with your entrance above his cock. Gripping him, you ran his tip through your wet folds, causing him to release a noise, a mix between a sigh and a growl.

“Be a good boy, captain, and let me take care of you.” You whispered as you sank down on his cock.

The noise that elicited from his mouth was jaw-dropping. He released a breathy moan, followed by a series of deep pants as you slowly, slowly dragged yourself back up, and then slammed yourself back onto him. He screwed his eyes shut, head tossed over the back of the couch as you moved against him. He was puffing out small moans, deep from his throat.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that—” he whined, gripping your hips harder. “Just like that, love. Fuck, feels so good on my cock. Taking me so— ha—fuck— good, love.”

You were making him a whiny mess beneath you. Mission successful, you smiled as you fucked yourself on his cock. The blunt head of it slammed repeatedly into the spot inside you that made you moan and soak him even more. Butterflies flew around your insides. The insides of your belly were growing hot.

Price opened his eyes, looking down at where his cock entered you again and again. “Taking my cock so well, love. Look at you. So good for me. So good for your captain.”

Your cunt ached around his cock, clit pulsing with its own heartbeat. You were sensitive and needy and really wanted to cum. The sensations inside you were building, but you wanted to try something again—

“You’re my good boy, aren’t you, Price?” You squeezed his cock tighter. “Such a good boy, fucking me so good. Isn’t that right?”

A beat passed and you wondered if you’d crossed a line. But—

He let out a loud, breathy whine: something that did not sound like it belonged to him. He stuffed his face into the crook of your neck again, moaning into your skin, whimpering softly as he rutted into you harder.

“Yeah, love. I’m your good boy.” It was quiet, almost inaudible, but it was there.

Enough so that your orgasm hit you out of nowhere and you came with a moan of his name. You burst around his cock, cum splattering through his pubic hair and up the line of hair on his abdomen.

He groaned into your neck, thrusts sloppy and erratic and desperate. He dragged his teeth along your skin.

“Gonna cum, love. Please— ha, shit— let me cum inside you— hngh— please.” He mumbled against your neck.

Becoming slightly overstimulated— he was fucking you hard, after all— you nodded feverishly. “Cum inside me, Price. Wanna feel you.”

With one last dragged-out moan, he came, your name on his lips.

Ropes of warmth filled you, flooding around his cock as he breathed frantically against your neck. It spilled out onto his lap, making the backs of your thighs all sticky.

Gently, you rubbed his back with one hand, massaging his scalp with the other. He groaned lowly, still attached to your neck, lazily sucking another bruise there.

“Feel better?” You asked, holding him close to you as his hands moved from your hips, circling around your middle to push your body against his.

“Much better,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“S’all right. What kind of sergeant would I be if I didn’t look after my captain?”

He finally looked up, giving you a stern look. But you couldn’t take him seriously when his face was all flushed, eyes glossy and lips rouged. You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

A few quiet moments passed, basking in each other’s presence, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Then, Price cleared his throat. “So, you want Ghost to fuck you?”

“You like being called a good boy?”

He went quiet.

You laughed. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He pressed his head back into the slope of your neck. “Deal.”

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[kingkatsuki]

— when he catches you crying

Masterlist.

Warnings: none (although not proofread soz.)

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.8k.

There were some days where being Dynamight’s secretary weren’t always perfect. Thousands of people online wished they could be where you are right now, a position that had you working closely with the number two hero, and of course you were thankful. But some days you just wished time would speed up and you could go home and climb into bed. Daydreaming about having some sort of time-changing quirk so you wouldn’t have to put up with those terrible work days, and instead speed through them.

Being the number two hero meant that he was constantly in demand. Whether it was companies trying to get ahold of him for collaborations, agencies hoping to get Dynamight to team up on missions, brand ambassadors trying to send him a slew of freebies from clothing to charcuterie boards or the media hoping to get the first scoop the phone was constantly ringing off the hook.

Luckily for you most of these calls were intercepted lower down, the Dynamight PR team were always quick to filter out the quality calls and give courteous, personalised responses each time. But that didn’t mean the ones that finally managed to reach your floor, his floor, were any kinder. Having a timed appointment call with the Pro didn’t actually mean you’d manage to get him on the line, as most people in the industry had now leaned Dynamight worked on his schedule, no one else’s. And most of the time callers were sympathetic to you, but not always.

You’d had to apologise to a brand for Dynamight being unavailable at the appointed time, a last minute meeting with Pro-Hero Hawks meant that he was now stuck inside his office for the foreseeable. Something that you knew irked Bakugou to no end, knowing he’d probably rather take this mundane call than spend more than five minutes alone with the feathered hero. But work was work, and while he was being supposedly tortured inside, you were now subject to a slew of insults on the phone with the head of the company.

Usually you’d just hang up at this point, the insults you faced not worth whatever price they were willing to pay for Dynamight’s face on their posters. But you were already having a bad day, and the words came hard and fast. No matter how polite you tried to be, they cut deep. Feeling your throat begin to tighten as pearly tears clung to your lash line, threatening to spill down your cheeks. You slammed the phone down in irritation as you pushed the chair back from your desk, leaving without another thought as you went to compose yourself in the bathroom.

It wasn’t long after that Bakugou stepped out of his office, noticing the disappointed look on Hawks face when he’d moved directly towards your desk to bid you a farewell (and probably flirt with you for the next fifteen minutes, Bakugou supposed), and noticed you were no longer there.

The phone sat ringing unanswered and you always told him when you were going on lunch or leaving the floor, even if it was just a sweet little email. Rolling his eyes at Hawks teasing when he noticed Bakugou’s expression diminish slightly too as he stepped into the elevator.

“That’s a shame, I was hoping to take her to lunch after our little meeting,” Hawks grinned, “Tell her I said goodbye, yeah?”

Fucking prick. Bakugou seethed as he went towards the end of the hall to ask one of your co-workers where you’d gone, hearing that you’d had a pretty shitty phone call and you’d made your way to the women’s bathrooms on the floor below.

Ignoring his schedule, he made his way towards the stairs. Retracing your footsteps as he found the door to the ladies restrooms and ignored the writing on the front as he shoved it open to step inside. Thankful that it seemed to be empty, aside from the muffled sobs coming from one of the stalls. A sound that seemingly quietened as the door opened, clearly trying to hide yourself away from anyone listening to you.

“Hey,” Bakugou knocked on the door lightly as he leaned against the door, his signature boots visible to you beneath as your eyes widened in surprise that your boss had found you like this, in the women’s bathroom no less.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” You sniffled, dabbing the paper tissue against your wet cheeks, “It’s the womens—”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ know.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended, the sound had fresh tears welling in your eyes as you thought you’d upset him even more by leaving your desk unmanned.

“I’ll be back up in a sec, I’m sorry for leaving the phone ringing I’ll—” Your throat was hoarse as you rambled your apologies to him, the guilt swirling in your abdomen as you tried to blink back the pearly wet tears.

“Stop it, that ain’t why I’m here.” He scoffed, “Just open the door.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes, I’ll see you back in the office.” You were certain you probably looked awful. Your mascara was definitely lined down your cheeks if the darkened tissue was anything to go by, and your eyes were surely red.

“Open the door, sweetheart.” He continued, “I just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine.” You mumbled.

“Don’t lie to me,” He whispered, “I wanna know what’s got my secretary sobbin’ in the toilet before midday.”

“It’s nothing, honestly.” You didn’t even know how to tell him that a random stranger on the phone made you cry, especially when you should’ve been thicker skinned working below the number two.

“I could get forty grievances against me for this, you know. Dynamight in the fuckin’ ladies.” Bakugou smiled slightly as you couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh on the other side, “So I think you can tell me what’s wrong.”

You were silent inside the stall as Bakugou lay the side of his head against the door, trying to listen to you as he tried one final time to get you to come out.

“Was it me?” He mumbled, and you felt your stomach drop that he could even think it was something he’d done.

“No!” You retorted swiftly.

“So what was it?” He continued.

You weren’t even sure what to tell him, you’d cried over a stupid clothing brand, or whatever it was he was trying to sell. You should be stronger as Dynamight’s secretary, have thicker skin, not cry over any random stranger that’s mean to you on the phone.

“Come on, sweetheart. Please?” He murmured gruffly, “I know people think I’m a fuckin’ asshole but I ain’t about to leave without checkin’ on you. Let me see that you’re alright and I’ll leave you alone, yeah?”

You hated the way your body reacted to him, even like this he had your heart pounding against your ribcage as you sniffled, wiping your cheeks a final time as you moved to open the door.

Bakugou was leaning against the doorframe casually as worried crimson eyes looked down at you, his brows were still furrowed deeply as though he was irritated at you and this made fresh tears well in your eyes as you tried to look to the ground.

“‘m sorry.” Your bottom lip trembled as you felt the hot tears begin to stream down your face again, but what happened next shocked you even more.

“C’mere, shitty woman.” Bakugou’s forearm reached up to circle around your neck, bringing your entire frame against his as he pressed your face into his chest. The comforting touch had your tears freely flowing as you soaked the soft, probably expensive, fabric of his shirt. But he didn’t seem to care, his other hand still buried inside his pants pocket as he held you steady against him, eventually resting his chin on the top of your head as he let you cry.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He hummed, “Let it all out.”

Bakugou knew what it was like to cry alone, the isolation and the ache it caused as his chest heaved and throat tightened. The sheer number of times he’d wished someone was there for him, to pat his back and tell him it would be okay, and seeing the woman he was so desperately in love with the same way, hurt.

And you let yourself cry, the tears immediately soaking into him as the damp material of his shirt stuck to your cheeks, the scent of him comforting as you sniffed to try and inhale every part of it. Letting yourself melt into him as he swayed slightly while you cried into his chest in the bathroom.

Once the tears stopped falling you pulled back with bleary eyes, your head throbbing slightly from the length of time you’d been crying as he gave you a lazy, close lipped smile.

“There she is,” He murmured, resisting the urge to reach up with calloused thumbs and wipe the final few tears away, “Can’t believe you got me in the girls bathroom.”

You felt guilty at that, knowing that he was supposed to be taking a phonecall from Pro-Hero Deku right now before he went into his afternoon patrol.

“Take the rest of the day,” He cut you off before you’d even had a moment to utter your first objection, your mouth still agape as you readied to speak, “I ain’t taking no for an answer, grab your shit and get out.”

He sounded harsh, but you could hear the softness to his voice as he stepped away from you, grimacing when you noticed your makeup staining his shirt as he moved to leave the bathrooms.

“And you get me personally if that fucker ever calls back again, yeah?”

What he’d really wanted to say was, he’d take every single grievance he got for this just to make sure that you were okay, because you were more important than any of that.

“Thanks, Dynamight.” You mumbled, watching him leave the ladies restroom as you stepped towards the sinks to clean your face. Grimacing when you caught sight of just how awful you looked when you met your reflection in the mirror.

What you didn’t know was that same afternoon, Bakugou got a call from the same company that had berated you and made you cry. Leaning back in his chair as he listened to the man ramble on the phone about how excited they’d be to work with a Hero such as Dynamight, and the plans they had in mind. But Bakugou told them he’d never work for them, and he would ensure every hero in the top twenty would do the same. Because no amount of money was worth it after he’d seen you cry.

[mylittleredgirl]

while we’re having the endless debate about sorting by kudos or not on ao3, i have to stump for my personal favorite way to find fics:

i basically always go straight to the “bookmarks” page for whatever pairing/tag i’m reading rather than the “works” page, and i literally just realized why: it lights up the same parts of my tumblr gremin brain as my dash does.

content hand-selected by people who are bookmarking shit for their own reasons entirely unknowable to me, so it’s a mix of quality peer review and user xyz’s to-read list

if you keep going back to it there’s a repetition over time as new people bookmark old fics. as a tumblr girlie my brain enjoys seeing Thing I Recognize

brand new fics often show up there if they’re good!! (equivalent: new posts tagged “investing at 5 notes”)

a lot of the top kudos fics keep showing up too because so many people sort the works page that way (equivalent: heritage post)

but so much random stuff shows up too that i would otherwise never find, thanks to the hardworking folks out there sobbing into the bottom of the tag at 4 am (equivalent: those posts with 56 notes from 2011 that somehow?? end up on your dash like bestie how did you even find that)

sometimes there are 30 bookmarks in a row by the same person who has a new hyperfixation and you get to think “good for them”

sometimes you get to recognize a username as someone having good or seriously bad taste

sometimes i see my own fics in the mix!! and get that little hit of positive attention (or neutral attention i guess, when people add a bookmarker tag like “it’s about [my fave character] but it’s ok”)

yeah! people can add bookmarker tags and their own notes! so sometimes people rec fics or add marginalia and their own sortable tags (but most people don’t)

there’s always that one fucking harry potter crossover fic with 194 tags in the mix (equivalent: manscaped ads you can’t escape). not saying this is a plus, but scrolling past the same long post you hate for the dozenth time is also an essential part of the tumblr experience.

re: that last bullet point, the one downside of the bookmarks page is that the filtering isn’t quite as robust as on the works page. you do have all the usual include/exclude filter options, but the very last section of filtering (crossovers, WIPs, word count, date range) is not available. (@ ao3 coders please i’m begging 🥺🙏)

anyway i’m sure the bookmarking economy is different across fandoms, but this will give you a semi-randomized feed of the tag, weighted toward new and popular fics (and, for better or worse, unfinished multi-chapter works and megafandom crossovers). it’s probably a good place to start for people who long for an algorithm, but unlike the usual user-targeted panopticon experience it’s more like the chance to rummage through strangers’ junk drawers for fic. tumblr vibes. you get me.

[sansxfuckyou]

Camera Film (blurry and faded)

Summary: The last one alive, the only survivor of the wretched killing game- but, he wishes he was dead with the rest of them.

Warnings: major character death, body horror, mourning, machine gore (sort of???), check tags for further warnings.

Authors Note: @sobredunia THIRD KENIKARI FIC, FEATURING, UNFILTERED DETAH ANGST BECAUSE THAT'S HOW WE ROLL! *clears throat* I've been thinking about how much fucking guilt and trauma the survivor is gonna be left with, this is like, really short though compared to how much I usually write. Anyways, this fic is brought to you by waking up and Dunia showing me some quality Detah art and then I sort of, wrote this, and its completely unrelated to the art at that. If you read it please consider leaving a reblog as they really help with my motivation!

"No!"

His voice was raw as he screamed, desperately reaching for Lares hand but missing. She fell back first into the vat of acid, her clothing sizzled just as fast as her skin melted. He couldn't bring himself to look away as her form distorted, her cries came out garbled and broken, syllables slurred into each other. Only when she was entirely melted did he look away, slumping backwards onto solid ground.

"Congratulations!" The Mastermind cheered, a green screen lowering down from the roof. A tangle of wires and mechanical tentacles helped lower down her disembodied screen. The smugness she wore and the confetti on her screen meant nothing to Detah who couldn't bring himself to look up from the ground.

Detah choked back sobs.

"You're the last one alive, you should be cheering! You should be happy!" The Mastermind exclaimed, the screen lowered to pivot itself to be at Detahs side.

"I'm the last one," He barely managed to get it out, he shrunk against the red fabric a little bit more. Razor sharp teeth ground together as he stifled back tears threatening to spill.

The sound of metal doors opening rung out, moonlight filtered in, "And there's your way out; but don't worry!" She laughed maliciously as she spoke, "I'll make sure to get their graveyards location to you for later!"

Detah stood up, brushed himself off, and punched a hole directly through the green screen. He pulled back his hand and shook off the small shards of glass clinging to his skin, a couple punctures were made. Then he did it again, cords came out this time and what remained of the picture was crackling and blacking out.

"Fuck you," He spat the words with enough venom to counter the Geographic Cone Snail, if The Mastermind could still hear him he hoped she was cowering in his boots. He tossed the handful of torn and frayed copper wires into the vat of acid, "Just, fuck you, I would tell ya to suck my dick but you're too scummy for that honor."

He would've kept disemboweling the machine but the bitterness in his throat and the shake that threatened to render him motionless came out on top. He did tear the screen from it's mechanical tentacles and stomp it, spiked boots tearing through glass and machinery like a hot knife through butter. He gave it a reluctant shove into the acid, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

How is he supposed to live?

He was friends with them, and then he watched them die- he helped them die.

And now he just, has to go on?

Yeah, he'll manage, he'll live with or without them, he still has a sister to take care of at home. He can get a job, he could be a crime detective, he knows what bodies look like under all sorts of death scenarios. He would be great at it! He'll just do that until his sister can sustain herself on her own and then he'll figure something else out.

That doesn't stop his steps from staggering as he steps ever closer to the door. It doesn't stop his mind from going blurry as he edges ever closer to those metal slabs. It doesn't stop the tears from finally spilling over as he breaches the the gate, basked in moonlight and a chilling breeze.

He can't do this.

He turns to step back but the entrance is gone.

He's stuck out here now.

Detah took a heavy breath as he stared at the tombstones all laid out in front of him, he clutched the bouquet in hand a little bit tighter.

He laid one of each at every grave, he never found out their favorite flowers so he went on instinct. But his gut feeling about them has faded over time, it's been so long since he was given a chance to properly mourn and look over what they were like. It's been so long since he's last seen them, years at this point, it hasn't treated him well.

He places a sprig of blueberries on Blues tombstone, he can't quite recall much more than her name.

He drops a mangled strand of lavender on Murasakis, he remembers that he was an asshole.

He puts a white lily on Chuyos tombstone, white petals, a chilly feeling, he always wore snow gear.

He puts a small bundle of wildflowers on Makos, chaotic like what he remembers of her.

He places a blossom of a chestnut tree on Alexs, he knows that the Brit was regal.

He places bee bomb on Bees, she was too quiet for him to garner what else about her asides from names.

He places hyacynths on Uzomis, they stand out from the rest just like she did.

Lastly, he places a jar of moths on Lares, it isn't a flower, but he owes all of his moth knowledge to her.

He takes a seat by her tombstone and gives a heavy sigh, "I miss you guys."

He pops the cap off the jar of moths and urges them to crawl from their confines, they latch onto the rock making up the tombstone. A couple fly off, a purplish hue casts across the sky and reflects to the ground below.

"I could've saved you, one of you! But I didn't," He gives another deep breath and slow exhale, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't know why it still stings when he's greeted with silence despite the fact he knows he'll never hear them again.

[onrainynights]

my situation would probably be helped by me just speaking up but unfortunately I am absolutely petrified by the concept of asking another unfamiliar adult to change their behavior for any reason because I am so conflict avoidant that I put myself into increasingly worse situations to please others except when I don't fucking know what others WANT from me I just. try my best until I inevitably break down due to my best not being good enough for those people and only THEN, when I am a sobbing mess and can no longer control my filter, will I actually be able to communicate what I need or want to someone I see as an "authority figure", which is literally any adult who is not my sibling or friend. and I fucking hate myself for this it is my worst quality but I literally cannot get the words out in any other situation

[seita]

— live now: redlove | eijirou kirishima (m.)

pairing: eijirou kirishima/reader ft. katsuki bakugou.

genre: fluff, smut, pwp

wordcount: 𝟷𝟼𝟹𝟽

cw: cam couple!au, prohero!bakugou, established relationship

tags: voyeurism (bakugou’s pov), dirty talk, masturbation, humilation/degredation, begging, light praise, rough sex, doggy style, choking, hair pulling, light spanking, baku has a crush

note: i have no excuses for this lmao. i was originally gonna make this into a fic where bakugou joins u nd kiri but,,,i kind of want to make this like a series or something????

—  bakugou enjoys porn. especially live cam porn. he discovers the cam couple redlove and is immediately smitten.

blog navigation.

 next. the lottery: redlove ⇨

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.    

Bakugou watched porn. Just like every other guy on the planet. He enjoyed it, especially since as a pro-hero, he didn’t have the opportunity to get into sustainable relationships. He was the #2 hero so finding himself someone who wanted him because he was Katsuki Bakugou and not Ground Zero was near impossible. 

So, he turned to porn. Sounds sad now that he thought about it but truthfully, he never thought twice about it. It was just the way things were. 

More specifically, he had an interest in cam porn. The live stream kind. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why that was ― there was just something alluring about watching porn live. 

Usually, he stuck to solo girl content, every once in a while he’d venture to the male side. It was only recently, however, that he discovered the booming community of couples cams. 

Watching couples have sex live was even more enticing than watching men and woman masturbate or watching amateur porn. It seemed so intimate, watching these couples together. Almost forbidden. 

And he was sure that was exactly what made him cum so hard every single time. He liked watching these couples have sex, feeling like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Many times, he’d stroke his cock to the idea of being humiliated by a couple as he watched them together. Filthy thoughts and words filtered into his mind, his eyes closed as he panted to the idea. They’d call him disgusting, a pig for getting hard watching ―  how only a slut would act as lewd as he did. Maybe they’d shame him; #2 pro hero Ground Zero a pathetic whore. 

It wasn’t until one night, he laid in bed browsing the couple’s livestreams on his favorite website, he discovered one couple that immediately caught his eye. The thumbnail showed a redheaded guy with spiky hair sitting on the edge of the bed with a pretty girl with marvelously smooth skin sat behind him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. The young man’s hair color must have been the inspiration behind their channel name: redlove. He could only assume they had just started the stream and were looking at comments when the picture set. 

The stream was titled “We had a long day”. Bakugou couldn’t help but scoff at such a title, it was hardly enticing. Most streams had things like ‘watch me squirt until i cry!!!’ or “he makes my pussy hurt so good” or some other cringy shit. He would have been tempted to scroll past but he couldn’t deny just how attractive the couple was. Not to say there weren’t attractive people doing cam porn, no he’d seen his fair share of beautiful women and handsome men. 

But redlove were stunning together. They looked like a perfect match, he could tell just by how you were holding him that just oozed affection for the redhead. 

Another thing that caught the blonde’s eye was the view count: most cammers had in the double digits ― 20 or 30 viewers. Every once in a while he’d catch a particularly popular cammer and see a few hundred but it had never exceeded 200. So the live view count, the number of people watching them at that exact moment, was currently displayed on redlove’s stream link had him baffled.

Edging on 800 viewers. Sitting at 782.

It was clear the two of you were immensely popular. There had to be a good reason. 

Curious and thoroughly intrigued, he tapped the screen of his phone to get into their stream. 

It took a moment to buffer, all the activity with the chat making it lag a bit. When it finally finished loading, Bakugou felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His cock was immediately hard, straining against his boxers.

It was clear the two of you had been streaming for a while, judging by the fucked out blissful look on your face. Sweat glistened on your skin in the illuminating light of your bedroom.

You were on your hands and knees, your redheaded boyfriend on his knees behind you on a messed up bed, a pillow nearby that Bakugou assumed had been used to prop your hips up at one point. Your hair was wrapped tightly in his fist, using it for leverage as he hammered his cock into what Bakugou could only imagine was an absolutely dripping wet cunt. 

The sounds you made were downright sinful, your lips swollen from no doubt kissing and biting. The redhead grunted suddenly, jerking you up onto your knees so your back was pressed against his chest. Bakugou couldn’t resist reaching down to palm his aching cock, throbbing and painful from neglect. 

Your boyfriend groaned, glancing at the camera, “Everyone’s got a good view of your little cunt now, huh?” he growled moving his grip from your hair to your throat, “You like that, I can feel you squeezing me at the thought of all these people watching your pussy stretch on my cock. You’re stuffed so fuckin’ full you can barely stand it, isn’t that right?”

Bakugou couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. The4 dominance the redhead exuded rivaled his own and the way you so easily fell submissively to him was beautiful. There was so much trust in you ― knowing your boyfriend would take good care of you. Bakugou’s heart ached ever so slightly at the idea ― it was clear your relationship was a good one. It was something the pro hero would never hope to have himself.

You didn’t respond, your eyes rolling back in your head before closing. Your mouth was open, no sounds escaping due to the tight grip the redhead had on your throat. Your head rolled back to rest on his shoulder, legs spread to let him fuck your hole with everything he had. Your weight was braced completely on him, your partner dutifully supporting your body as you let him have his way.

With his free hand, he palmed your breast, pinching your nipple harshly to make you keen. Bakugou felt his cock throb at the sound. It was so whiny, pathetic. You were so completely submissive and at the mercy of your boyfriend. And you were loving every second of it. 

Bakugou couldn’t deny he enjoyed witnessing it himself.

Your cunt was stretched wide, the HD camera giving spectacular quality to the way your juices dripped down the length plunging into your body. It dripped off of his balls and down your thighs. So fucking messy. 

The redhead’s cock was big, something Bakugou himself could even feel envious of despite his own well-endowed size. Your cunt was tight, no doubt requiring a good amount of preparation to take him. He wondered if you enjoyed the stinging burn of pain when you took the cock. The blonde made a mental note to check out your part streams later.

“Gonna...gonna cum,” you gasped, warning your boyfriend. 

He scoffed, sounding annoyed, “Do it then. I don’t give a shit.”

“Please, can’t!” you sobbed, finally opening your eyes to look up at him. He wore a cocky grin, knowing your pleasure laid in his hands. 

“Why?” he teased, abandoning his hold on your breast to travel down the soft skin of your stomach, pausing right above where you needed him, “You need me to touch your little clit, hm? Is that what it is?” 

You nodded desperately, grinding your hips down every time he sunk his cock into you, hoping to get more than you were being given, “Please!”

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss against your temple. The gesture was oddly soft and intimate in comparison to the harsh, punishing pace of his cock, “You had a long day. I’ll be nice. You better thank me for making this greedy little cunt cum.”

Finally, his fingers reached your swollen clit. A couple practiced circles over the bud had you tumbling over the edge. Bakugou gripped his cock through the material of his boxers as he watched you tremble and moan as the redhead fucked you through the high. 

Letting out a sob at the overstimulation when your boyfriend still didn’t stop when you came down, you choked out, “Th-Thank you!”

“Good girl,” your boyfriend grinned, letting you fall back into your original position with your face buried in the blankets. The redhead tossed his head back, gripping your hips as he fucked into you, chasing his own orgasm. He laid a few harsh slaps against your ass, making you whimper, flinching at the impact but not running from it. Bakugou could hear the sharp sound of his hand making contact with your skin. Now that you had cum, the redhead let himself go. 

And he did. Your boyfriend let out a groan of pleasure, announcing his release. He didn’t pull out, pouring his hot cum into your overstimulated cunt.

Bakugou’s cock throbbed once, twice before he was spilling a load of hot cum into his boxers. The white cum oozed through the fibers as his thighs trembled.

When he came back to himself, he looked at the screen to find you had curled up on your side with a dreamy smile aimed at your boyfriend, Bakugou couldn’t help but smile at the screen at how cute you looked. He moved towards the camera with a grin, having already pulled out.

“Thanks for watchin’!” that was all he said before the screen went dark and bold white letters flashed over the screen that said ‘this stream has ended.’

Bakugou’s attention moved to the chat, checking to see what was being talked about. 

The comment that caught his eye was, “Eijirou and ______ are literally the power couple of porn.”

Bakugou sighed. Eijirou and ______. 

The names of his new favorite cam couple. 

[thisissirius]

my version of the “ok but in the finale eddie gets shot, right?” fic

to touch the sky [ao3 link] eddie/buck, finale speculation. major injuries. mentions throwing up. 

Eddie can see the sky. 

Is he supposed to see the sky? His ears are ringing and there’s a hazy quality to all the noise, like it’s coming from a long way off. 

Move, Eddie tells himself. 

There’s a dull ache beneath Eddie’s breastbone, a tingling in his fingers, and he’s finding it hard to breathe. Something about that should scare him, but it’s too hard to focus. He grunts, remembers his training; pinpoint one noise, one feeling. 

Sirens. Eddie winces, wants desperately to cough but can’t. 

A voice. Buck.

Choosing Buck’s voice is easy; Eddie focuses everything on it, on trying to move his head, but he doesn’t need to. The sound of something scraping and then Buck’s head appears above him, eyes wide, panic in his expression.

“Eddie,” Buck says, but it sounds murky. Eddie blinks, licks his bottom lip as he tries to solidify Buck’s face. Instead, his eyes drift down his body and he notices that Buck’s not wearing his uniform. Why? It’s something Eddie should know and he’s frustrated that he doesn’t. What’s happening? “Eddie.” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie tries to say; but it comes out a gurgled mess. There’s blood on Buck’s hands when he touches Eddie’s face. He looks scared. Eddie hates it when he looks scared. “Shit.” 

“Don’t swear,” Eddie tries. Again, it doesn’t make sense even to him. He can’t focus on why that is, just the terror in Bucks eyes. 

Buck is still touching him, hands wet and red, and he’s shaking. “You hold on for me, okay?” 

Can do. Not that he knows why he needs to. Eddie’s done it before. Thinks if Buck asks, he’d hold on forever. That sparks something in him; he is waiting for Buck. He’s been waiting, but about what drifts just out of reach. He wants to—

Pain explodes in Eddie’s chest and he makes a noise, one that makes Buck’s face screw up. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Eddie tries. Some of it must slur out because Buck’s gaze sharpens, a little hope. “You’re bloody.” 

Something crumples in Bucks face. Eddie thinks it’s the worst thing he’s ever seen. 

“It’s yours,” Buck says, his voice high. “Eddie, it’s yours.” 

Oh. That doesn’t sound good.

Drifting for a while, Eddie stares up at the blue, blue sky. It’s bright, sunny, and it’s a nice day. The park. Eddie’s supposed to be taking Chris to the park tomorrow, his day off. Alone, because someone else, someone who comes with them somtimes, isn’t there anymore, but the name drifts away, just the image of a smile, a name he doesn’t like. 

“Eddie?” 

It’s a lot of effort to move his head but Eddie does. Buck’s crying and Eddie wants to reach out, wipe the tears away. His fingers are still tingling and all he can manage is a weird jerk of his fingers. 

“Stay with me, alright? I need to get you on the basket so it’s gonna hurt.”

“Nothing hurts,” Eddie tells him, but for some reason that makes Buck close his eyes, take a few breaths. “Okay?” 

A laugh, sad. “Yeah, Eddie, I’m okay.” 

Eddie groans when pain shoots through his chest. He ignores Buck’s muttered apologies, focus on the way the sky tilts, his eyes taking in a building, the side of another. 

“You got him?” Chimney. Chim’s here? 

“We at work?” Eddie asks. Buck doesn’t answer for a moment. “Buck?” 

Eddie can’t help the way his tone banks into panic. 

“Easy,” Buck says immediately, and his face reappears. “I just had to get the harness on, Eddie, alright? I’m still here.” 

Eddie stares at him. Harness? Nothing about this makes sense. When whatever he’s laying on sways, he feels sick. “M’gonna throw up.” 

“Shit,” Buck says. “Alright, Eddie, do what you gotta do, okay?” 

“M’kay.” Eddie blinks. “Glad you’re here.” 

Buck laughs and again, it sounds funny. “You and me both, buddy.”

There’s a lot more swaying, and nausea bubbles up until it’s overwhelming. “M’sorry,” he mutters as he throws up, chest flaring with pain until it’s all he can focus on. 

“Hey,” Buck says, his voice cutting through whatever’s whining. “Eddie, listen to me, Eddie, you need to focus, okay—HOLD THE FUCKING WINCH—sorry, I know that was loud.”

Eddie closes his eyes, embarrassed, but there’s a hand in his hair. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, his voice gentle, and the swaying is less. 

“Buck,” Eddie manages, and the whining’s stopped at least. “Feel funny.”

A pause. When Eddie opens one eye, he can see Buck hovering over him. He’s wearing a helmet, blood on his forehead, his shirt, but he’s there. He touches Eddie’s face. “I know. We’ll be at the hospital real soon.”

Hospital. For Eddie?

“Yeah, for you,” Buck says, voice cracking. 

“’kay,” Eddie mumbles, and closes his eyes. He can feel the rocking, the noises filtering back in, but Buck’s hand is on his forehead the whole time. 

“Don’t sleep,” Buck says more than once.

Eddie tries. He tries so hard. “Just a little—”

“Eddie,” but Eddie can feel the tug of sleep taking him over. 

-----

Buck’s hands are shaking. 

“Hey,” Hen says, resting a hand on his thigh. “You need a coffee?”

“No,” Buck says immediately. He’s staring down at his sneakers. They’re covered in blood. Eddie’s blood. Like his hands—he’s tried cleaning them—like his shirt, his everything. “How long—”

Buck’s phone cuts through the silence, Chris’ familiar ringtone drifting out of his pocket. A couple of people glare at him, but Buck ignores them, grits his teeth as he answers. “Hey, buddy.”

“Buck,” Chris says, sounding scared. “Abuela said Daddy—”

“He’s hurt,” Buck says, not wanting to scare Chris more than he has to, but he’s not lying. “I’m in the hospital right now, okay?”

A pause. “Can you come home?”

Buck closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Home, like he lives there. Like there’s not been a steady distance building between him and them for weeks. “I need to be here for your dad, alright? As soon as I know anything, I promise I’ll FaceTime, okay?”

“Okay,” Chris says quickly, which means he knew. “You’ll hold his hand?”

Ana will, Buck thinks viciously. Out loud he says, “Both of them. For me and you.”

Chris doesn’t stay much longer; Isabel takes the phone. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck starts. 

“Don’t be silly,” Isabel says, in the way only she can. “Eddie is strong. He will come back to his family.”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes. 

Isabel makes a frustrated noise. “To you.”

“I don’t think,” Buck starts. 

“To you,” Isabel says again and hangs up. 

Staring at his phone, Buck wonders if Isabel knows about Ana. She must? Eddie’s not the kind of guy to not tell his family and he’s met Ana, so surely—

“Buck,” Hen says, tapping his leg. 

He looks up, sees the doctor walking towards them and abruptly realises they need someone here, Isabel or Pepa, he should have kept them on the phone. He realises, with growing dread, that Ana might be Eddie’s emergency contact. 

“Is there a Mr. Buckley here?”

Buck startles, almost drops his phone. Hen and Bobby share a look. “I’m Buck. Uh, Mr. Buckley.”

The doctor nods, approaches. “Is it okay to have a private word, Mr. Buckley?”

“You can,” Buck starts, frowns, doesn’t know what to say. He looks pleadingly at Bobby. 

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says, with a sense of urgency and patience that Buck doesn’t think he could ever master. “You are Mr. Diaz’s agent, are you not?”

Buck almost says no, but he’s too surprised, too shocked to do anything but stare. Hen pinches his thigh and he nods in reaction, says, “yeah.”

“Good,” the doctor says. “We’re about to take Mr. Diaz into surgery to treat the pericardial tamponade. I need to confirm whether there’s a DNR in place?”

Buck doesn’t know. 

“I,” Buck starts. He thinks, tries to recall Eddie ever saying—

"I don’t have a DNR,” Buck says. “Do you?”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie snorts, nods at Chris. “Neither of us is allowed to go anywhere, Buckley.”

—“No,” Buck says. “Please, he doesn’t wanna die.”

“Alright,” the doctor says. He says something else, something Hen and Bobby are listening too, squeezes Buck’s arm and disappears.

“What’s a pericardial tamponade?” Buck asks, he knows, but he needs them to say it. 

Hen doesn’t look at him. 

“Compression of the heart,” Bobby says instead, approaches slowly. 

Buck’s glad of that a moment later when his legs almost give out.

“Easy,” Bobby says, lowering him into a chair. “Breathe, Buck.”

“Why am I,” he gasps out. “He made me his POA, and I can’t—”

“Of course you,” Bobby says carefully. He squeezes Buck’s hand and Buck squeezes back, probably too hard, but he needs something to ground him. Eddie’s got a fucking heart compression and Buck knows that’s bad, so bad, but he can’t—

“Bobby.”

“Listen to me,” Bobby says. “Of course it’s you. That man loves you—”

“Don’t,” Buck says. “Please. I know you mean well, but Ana.”

There’s a silence Buck can’t explain. 

Hen sits down next to him, looking concerned. “Buck, Eddie broke up with Ana this morning. He didn’t tell you he was going to?”

“No,” Buck says, unable to comprehend. They didn’t speak that morning because Buck’s phone went off and he was with Taylor and they’d gone for coffee. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Someone moves something close and Buck throws up, feels guilt and horror well up in his stomach. Eddie’s in surgery, a doctor asking about resuscitation, and Buck didn’t know he’d broken up with Ana because he was celebrating Taylor’s promotion. 

_____

Numb.

There’s a steady beeping in his ear (hospital) and a rustle of sheets (his own?)

He tries to open his eyes. Nothing. Making a noise of frustration, he tries again. 

“Hey,” someone says in his ear. “Eddie, you can do it.”

Something is clogging his throat and he can’t speak, it hurts, something thick and it hurts. 

Someone says something, but his chest is tight, his panic palpable and then nothing.

When he next wakes, his throat hurts but he can breathe. He wants to sob with relief. This time, he can open his eyes. The lights are too much and he abruptly shuts them, makes a noise in the back of his throat, and shifts. 

“They’re off,” someone says quietly, and he feels a hand in his hair. “You wanna open them again for me?”

Eddie wants to say no but his mouth won’t cooperate so he makes a noise. 

“Please?”

The voice is trembling. Afraid? Eddie doesn’t want anyone to be afraid. He cracks open his eyes, grateful when the lights are off. He turns, ignoring the floaty feeling in his head, his body. 

Buck. 

“Buck,” Eddie croaks. His throat hurts. Buck must realise, because he holds out an ice chip. Eddie takes it, sucks on it gratefully, but can’t look away from Buck. He looks exhausted, a cut on his forehead, and his clothes look rumpled and bloodstained. “Okay?”

“Fuck,” Buck mutters, letting out a watery laugh. “Of course you’re asking if I’m okay.”

Eddie doesn’t know what that means. “Awake before,” he manages, before Buck’s shoving another ice chip at him. 

“Slowly,” Buck admonishes. “I need to alert the doctor.”

“Stay,” Eddie says, sudddenly panicked. 

Buck abruptly moves, puts his hand in Eddie’s hair. “I’m not leaving. Just pushing a button, okay?” Eddie nods and Buck does so, but he doesn’t move away. “God, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says. Then, “woke up before.”

“I know,” Buck winces. “They intubated but didn’t know you were gonna wake up so soon. They had knock you out so they could take out the tube.”

Eddie tries to focus on that, but the words drift away like smoke.

“You had a cardiac tamponade,” Buck continues, as if he can’t see Eddie’s confusion. “They weren’t sure you’d be safe to consciously handle—”

The doctor interrupts him, striding in and taking over.

Eddie tries to focus, to pay attention to what the doctor’s saying, doing, but he just clings to Buck, hopes Buck’s paying attention. 

“I got it,” Buck whispers in his ear. “You can rest if you need to, okay?”

“Stay?” Eddie says, scared.

Buck leans down, kisses Eddie’s forehead. “I’m never leaving you.”

Eddie falls asleep with those comforting words in his ear. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Vincent Shield: Mistake

@whumpmasinjuly Day 6: Mistake

CW: Injured whumpee, referenced mouth gore/mouth whump, bruises, blood, referenced intimate whumper, referenced drugging, vague noncon references, captivity

Vince swims out of sleep to the faint sounds of traffic somewhere down below Owen’s place, filtering in through a window just barely cracked open across the room. 

It’s funny - even days later, it takes a second for him to realize where and when he is. Part of him still wants to believe this is a nightmare, and he’ll wake up on Owen’s couch like always, that they’re still just long-time best friends. That he doesn’t know, now, that Owen’s been nursing the want for something more. That he doesn’t know what Owen is willing to do - and destroy - to get it.

But then reality filters in, along with the pain he can barely stand.

His eyes feel gummy, stuck together, and he has to fight to open them, wincing as the little bit of light sends a lance of white-hot ache straight through his skull. He hears a soft, weak whimper, and only belatedly realizes it’s coming from his own throat.

One of his eyes doesn’t quite open all the way, giving his vision a weird half-there half-blind quality that makes it hard to focus on anything at all. Black eye? Or is the damage bad enough he’s going to lose it?

Doesn’t matter. He’ll be dead soon anyway.

A horn honks. Someone down on the street, floors below, yells something he can’t quite understand. The unmistakable chatter of someone on the phone, maybe on their way to work, it just barely audible to him. He can’t hear what she’s saying - only the sound of her voice.

He thinks he’s screamed, sometimes, but Owen always had the window closed for that. No one could hear him - or if they could, maybe they just think Owen gets up to some weird shit in the bedroom. Which isn’t untrue, but...

Fuck. He can’t think straight. 

Someone yells about hot dogs. 

Vince listens - he’s not sure how long he listens for - but realizes, as the seconds pass, that he can listen, he can hear it. He’s not foggy-headed and numb, he’s not passed out cold. 

He’s not drugged, and there’s no one here with a glass of water with a cloudy bottom, there’s no sound of Owen talking to himself as he moves around the apartment. There’s no sound of the movies he and Owen starred in together playing nonstop on the television in the living room before Owen comes in, flushed and eyes overbright, to on the bed and-

No. Don’t think about that.

“O-Owen?” He can’t really speak above a whisper. 

No answer.

His throat throbs, pressure-filled pain that means he can almost still feel Owen’s hands around his neck. He had been so angry last night when Vince had tried to say there was just no way, he couldn’t, it wasn’t that he didn’t care about Owen, it was just-

Well.

Owen never did like hearing the word no, did he? Vince has seen him throw fucking tantrums at studio people and craft services and everyone their entire time working together, but... but he’d never even imagined it would end like this.

“Are... are you here?” He’s a little louder this time, fighting the pain in his throat, trying to look around the room. 

Still nothing.

Is this a trick, or... or is it possible Owen has actually left? It could be a trick. He could be waiting to see what Vince does, to leap right out, maybe with a knife in hand, maybe it’s the last thing he’ll do, surprise Vince with his own murder.

Stop it. Fucking stop it. Jesus, I need a drink.

Vince carefully shifts in the bed. Everything from the waist down is one giant wound, but so much of him hurts that it’s all beginning to run together and he sets his jaw, moving with slow, careful shifts until he’s seated, his hands cuffed to the headboard on either side of his head.

He looks down at himself, and there’s blood on the bed, dried into the sheets. The room smells like copper and Vince’s stomach turns, realizing that the smell is because of him, because of his blood, because...

He fights back a sob. It’s not worth crying, not anymore. 

“Please, are you-... are you home? I’m thirsty-”

No sound. Just the traffic below. He hears a peal of laughter, shrill and barking, and shudders, wondering what amused the person on the street. He has a strange, surreal sense that it’s him. That they can hear his whispered words downstairs on the street, somehow. That they’re laughing at him.

Still no answer, and no sound either. Vince swallows painfully, feeling a click in his throat, and tries to think. He could scream for help, but he’s not sure he can scream. No one would hear it. 

No one’s heard him yet, anyway.

Owen hasn’t ever left him alone before without him being so drugged into oblivion he slept until he returned. There wasn’t anything in the water he’d been given before Owen choked him last night, couldn’t have been. Vince is sober for the first time since this nightmare began, since Owen had brought him a drink and said we need to talk about us.

Owen made a mistake.

Vince’s heart starts to race as the realization settles in.

He has no idea how many days it’s been, but Owen has made a mistake for the first time, and Vince has to figure out how to use it. 

He tells himself not to panic, not to hurry. To take his time and think it through. It’s fairly early - maybe Owen has meetings all day, maybe there will be enough time. There has to be enough time.

He looks around the room, wondering if maybe Owen will be even dumber and leave a key out on the dresser or something, the key to his handcuffs, but... no. Nothing. 

Vince slowly looks to his left, at the cuff buckled tightly around his wrist, so tightly that it cuts and digs in and bleeds down his arm and onto the pillow Owen so thoughtfully places behind his head before his hands close over Vince’s throat.

His stomach flips in sick panic as he remembers last night, Owen’s mouth against his ear, the tearing pain inside him and the black spots dancing in his vision while Owen’s hands tightened to cut off his air. He’d whispered, they feel just like a collar, right? Just like you’re mine, mine forever, I could kill you right now and no one would ever know I did it...

No.

Focus. He needs to focus.

Vince takes in a breath - holds it for a count of three - slowly exhales. He grits his teeth, but that only reminds him that four of them are gone now, one knocked right down his throat, the others on Owen’s dresser, fucking keepsakes, he wants to keep them like a fucking serial killer’s trophies, like the guy in the movie Owen and Vince had filmed a couple years ago and oh god, what if that’s where he got the idea, how long has he been planning this-

God damn it, Vince, no. Focus.

One breath, and then another. Vince looks to his right, which is when he sees Owen’s other mistake. 

The right handcuff isn’t quite closed all the way. It’s loose around his wrist, and he stares at it, hardly able to believe his luck. It takes some work, and seconds tick by to the pounding of Vince’s heart as he carefully works his wrist and hand free of the cuff, pulling his arm fully down, rolling his shoulder to try and work out the muscle knot and ache.

That’s one. His other wrist is tightly locked in like always, there’s no way to easily get it out of there. But... well. Everything already hurts, right? What’s one more broken thing in a broken man?

If you don’t get out of here, he’s going to kill you, Vince. 

He knows it, deep down. Every day has been worse, Owen’s pushed a little farther, and Vince can’t act well enough to pretend to love a man who choked him into unconsciousness, again and again, whispering adoration into his ear when he wakes back up only to bury himself deeper inside and do it again.

He won’t survive much longer. 

There’s too much blood on the bed, and there’s only going to be more. How much can he afford to keep losing?

Vince looks over at the window, and thinks about the sounds of the people down below. They can’t hear him scream, but if he gets downstairs... 

No. I can’t say Owen did this. He’ll just hunt me back down. I have to... to tell people something, just until I get to the hospital, just until I’m safe. Say I got mugged, buy me time, buy... buy some time.

Okay, Vince. This is going to hurt.

But what doesn’t, now?

He inhales - holds for three - and slowly exhales as he begins to try and twist his hand out of the handcuff, closing his eyes against the new pain as his bones and skin protest his attempt. 

The whimpers start again, tears burning his eyes, dripping down his face to wet the dried blood on his cheek.

It doesn’t matter.

It’s just more pain, and he has to get out of here alive. 

He has to.

Skin tears and blood slicks up the metal as his hand starts to slide free. Vince opens his mouth in a silent scream.

He’s going to get out of here alive.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @orchidscript @silvercrystalwhump @raigash @cubeswhump @oops-its-whump @greatandquestionablecontent @doveotions​ @astrobly​ @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @wildfaewhump

[dreamsclock]

now w,, the idea of c!wilbur n c!dream unhealthy friendship all i can think abt is them dancing to "tonight you belong to me,,"

--> and the specific line,, "in the dawwn. When yoou will be goone..." referring to wilbur dying and blowing up l'manburg.

- 🕯

this is a KILLER idea, candle, holy shit, i love it so much ,, any excuse to write wilbur and dream’s fucked up friendship :D

warnings: manic emotions, emotional distress, suicidal implications / discussions, death — if you need anything else tagged, let me know !!

“The last night.” Wilbur claps his hands, eyes alight with the usual kind of madness Dream has come to associate with TNT and villainy and a man so torn apart that he insists on tearing the rest of the world apart too. “It’s here.”

Dream reclines in the tree, studying Wilbur with something akin to curiosity. “Are you scared?” He asks, because he’s terrified, and Wilbur grins up at him. 

“No. Are you?”

It’s hard to lie to any version of Wilbur, impossible to lie to this version. Dream’s silence gives him away as guilty, and Wilbur takes delight in this, fiddling with an old tape record and laughing gaily. 

“I didn’t think you were one to be scared of anything, Dream. I suppose this proves me wrong.” He fixes him with a fond look. “You’ve never been good at surprising me before. I always said this is how you’d end up.”

Dream finds himself bristling, always too emotional, never able to sever himself from his feelings. “I’m not ending,” he says, stubborn as always, “I’m just beginning.”

Wilbur chuckles. “There’s the Dream I know.” 

For some reason, this stings. Dream stiffens, fidgets with a branch, avoids looking in Wilbur’s direction.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a surprise when music begins filtering out of the little tape record, grainy and low quality, but unmistakably music. Head lifting in alarm, Dream has a second’s warning before he’s pulled from the tree by Wilbur’s hands. He pulls back, flighty, but Wilbur looks at him with wolfish eyes and a hungry smile. He wants something.

What else can I give you? Dream wants to howl at him. What else do you want to take from me that I haven’t already given?

“Dance with me,” Wilbur says lazily, “it’s my last night.”

“...I don’t know how to dance.” A lie. He remembers dancing with Puffy as a toothy grinning toddler, with Sapnap as awkward, gangly teenagers, remembers, with a pang, dancing with George in the Community House the first night after it had been constructed. A happier tune, a happier time. Dream doesn’t know if he can tarnish those memories too; doesn’t know if he can give them up. “I don’t want to.”

“Come on,” Wilbur cajoles, “honour a dying man’s last wish, would you, Dream?”

And what is he going to say to that?

Swallowing convulsively, Dream steps forwards, lets Wilbur push him into a more amenable position, lets himself dance to Wilbur’s tune. It’s funny, because he’s doing the same for Wilbur’s symphony - funny, because Wilbur’s symphony will be forever unfinished after tomorrow, and this song won’t.

They dance until the song ends, and, though it repeats, Dream can’t bring himself to continue. He pulls away, adjusting the mask on his face to avoid looking at Wilbur, whose face is pale and whose hands are shaking and whose eyes are shining with terror, no matter how much he insists otherwise. Instead of letting him go, though, Wilbur pulls him down with him, until they’re kneeling on the ground, Dream’s wrists in Wilbur’s loose grip, and Wilbur is sobbing.

And then he’s laughing, the sound bubbly and merry and so close to freedom Dream almost believes it.

“It’s a good song,” Wilbur giggles breathlessly, staring at Dream through red-rimmed, exhausted, frightened eyes, “tonight is our last night, after all. The last night either of us belong to each other.”

Dream twitches. “I don’t... belong to you. And you don’t belong to me either.”

“Sure, sure.” Shaking his head, amused, miserable, Wilbur lets himself slump against Dream, manic energy leaving him just as quickly as it had come upon him. “If we don’t belong to each other, who do we belong to, then?”

Grimacing, Dream wraps his arm around Wilbur, supporting him, steadying him. TNT litters his mind; it’s everywhere, and tomorrow, it will take Wilbur too. “I think we belong to the story,” he says, quietly, “or to fate. We have to play our roles, after all.”

Wilbur shivers in his arms, but there’s a smile in his voice, along with an aching sort of wistfulness Dream can’t place. “You’ve changed your tune,” he replies.

“And you finish yours tomorrow.” Swallowing, Dream pulls Wilbur to his feet; Wilbur allows it wordlessly. “Come on. You have to rest in preparation. Get ready to say your goodbyes to- to people.”

Tommy is who he means, but when Wilbur meets his eyes, there’s startling sincerity there, and an odd regret.

“Goodbye, Dream,” Wilbur says softly, “you’ve been a right bastard.”

“Likewise,” Dream returns, to watch Wilbur’s smile return.

It doesn’t feel real, saying goodbye to someone solid, living, breathing. Dream leads Wilbur back to Pogtopia, watches him weave a path back to Tommy, and hides in the tree to watch the sun rise. He doesn’t have anything better to do. Eyes aching with tiredness, Dream thinks of Wilbur and his tape recorder. 

And then his eyes begin to sting, and he thinks maybe that has less to do with exhaustion, and more to do with Wilbur Soot.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Man’s Best Friend.”

Try not to bee too mad at me guys :) Sorry about the angst. 

It is a more than well known anomaly that humans will social bond with any species. This is not barring their danger levels, or factors of perceived cuteness; no matter the cost, humans will pack bond with any animal. They have even been known to bond with inanimate objects and houseplants. However, one of the greatest bonds man has ever created, is their bond with dogs. Thousands of years ago a man shared his food and his fire with a wolf: another social pack species. After years and years of careful breeding selection manipulated by humans, they ‘created’ an animal that protects loyally, forgives quickly, and loves unconditionally.

In my study of humans, I have found that the emotional bond with a dog can run deeper than an emotional bond with humans.  I am not entirely sure why a human would find it more displeasing to watch a movie where a dog dies than to watch a movie where a human dies, but I have some suspicion that it has to do with the innocence and unconditional friendship that dog has given man, a quality that man has never given himself.

***

Waffles: a 75lb 34kilo german shepherd shoved her head into an alien bush nose working furiously as she pawed through the strange purple plant. She came back up a moment later and sneezed violently sending up a cloud of delicate yellow polin.

Admiral Vir laughed and whistled, and turning on her heel she bounded back to him over open ground her ears straight up, her tail wagging furiously. She ran up to him and touched her nose to his hand as if tagging base before bounding off again to sniff the path before them.

Krill and Sunny walked with him, Krill staring at the brightly colored alien landscape with buzzing antenna.

Waffles leaped through another patch of wild blue grass sending up more white spores into the air, stopping only to sneeze again before continuing.

Sunny went up to walk beside the Admiral, “She looks happy.”

Adam nodded, “Yeah, I like bringing her down on occasion to get some fresh air. I know she does pretty well on the ship, but I feel bad keeping her cooped up so much.”

With another bound Waffles plowed through a shallow stream sending up droplets of water.

This planet was one the GA had been studying for some time, and, as it seemed, it was a relatively nice, habitable planet that they were readying for colonization for the Finnari, or perhaps, humans, or even both permitting everything went well.

Krill watched the dog as she plowed through the grass, rolling in the  weeds like she was having the time of her life.

Predators used to scare him, but the dog had proven herself to be docile at the Admiral’s command, and he could at least tolerate her if not like her…. Just a little.

Adam Grinned at his dog’s antics and charged into the grass after her.

The dog dropped her front paws, but and tail sticking up in the air, a nonverbal invitation for her master to play with her. He didn’t reject her offer and raced forward to play chasing her around the field, their legs swishing over the grass. She barked happily as they did.

Adam had now ran far ahead of the others towards another nearby forest path. Waffles was behind him just a little ways as he pulled to a halt panting.

It was then that he heard it, a sudden rustling of foliage turning into a swirling thunder of air.

He turned on the spot eyes wide in shock and surprise.

Surprise at the ravening beast charging directly towards him, its purple fur and white tusks glittering in the sun. he leapt out of the way, but the beast was quick, about waist height and angry. He was so startled he couldn't even scream his only reaction to try to kick at the creature and keep it back.

It squared off against him, and he tried backing away, but it charged again.

There was a sudden snarling noise, and waffles charged into the fight snarling and snapping.

She bit the creature hard on it’s back leg.

“WAFFLES!” Adam shouted 

The creature turned violently and whipped it’s tusks at waffles, who didn’t heed them as she charged in again, snapping at its face and throat forcing herself between Adam and his attacker.

It thrashed and she yelped in pain, but charged forward again, grabbing it by the leg and holding on for dear life as  it trampled into the bush dragging her along with it.

Another yelp came from the forest, high pitched and painful.

“WAFFLES!” It didn’t take a moment before Adam was chagrin into the bush after them pulling his sidearm as he did. He followed the sound just in time to see the creature whip it’s head around and catch waffles hard in the side picking her up and tossing her to the ground. Blood drenched her fur, while green icor drenched her muzzle.

He screamed in anger instead of fear this time as he leveled his sidearm and emptied his magazine at the creature. He wasn’t sure how many hit, but the creature was tough enough that it staggered off itne bush yowling. He ignored it for the time and ran, throwing himself to his knees at the side of waffles, who was lying on the ground breathing shallowly.

Sunny roared into the clearing just behind them, her spear raised, but the creature was already gone.

Adam reached out his hands which were trembling so badly he could barely function, “Waffles, waffles no no no no.”

He rested a hand on her side and she whimpered in pain, her muzzle resting on the ground her eyes half hooded.

A choked sob broke from his throat, “No. no…. You’re g-gonna be o-ok.” 

His hands fluttered uselessly over her body, covered in blood.

“KRILL! PLEASE Someone… h-help.”

Sunny stood back in shock and fear as Adam clawed at his hair, tears rolling down his face in uncontrolled streams.

Krill scuttled in not far after.

Adam turned to look at him his face twisted into a snarl, “Help her!” His voice cracked on demand and he turned back hands still shaking not knowing what to do. Being a doctor krill was well aware that the human’s anger was displaced and did not take it personally as he moved forward and took a look at the injured animal.

He lifted her front paw, and she whimpered piteously.

Off to the side Adam was still inconsolable, his hands in his hair threatening to rip out fistfulls with his clutching fingers. His agitations was actually getting in the way of Krill working.

“Adam, Adam just hold her head ok, help her stay calm.”

He nodded following orders stiffly, crawling over the ground to sit her head in his lap and tell her she was such a good girl and that she was going to be ok. Streams of continual tears rolled down his cheeks and onto her fur. Waffles licked his hand lethargically.

Sunny knelt next to him, hand on his shaking shoulder powerless as for what to do.

She had never seen him like this, ever.

Not that Adam was one to conceal his emotions completely, but he generally subscribed to silent tears if there were any at all. This, this was different, no holds barred uncontrollably sobbing, the kind where the human loses all functioning, eyes, nose, mouth and racking sobs that shook the body in aggressive, violent spasms.

Krill rolled waffles a little further onto her side spotting a deep gash from her chest and abdomen. He couldn't tell how deep it was, and didn’t want to look in this sort of environment.

“Sunny, call the shuttle!”

The urgency in his voice only served to secure Adam’s worst fears, “No… no, ou’re going to be o.”

“Adam, give me your jacket.”

He did without hesitation, ripping it off his body and offering it to krill as if it was the thing that was going to save her life.

Krill got Adam to help lift her onto the jacket and wrap her up, while he used some thing from his medical kit to staunch the bleeding. Waffles was still conscious, through her eyes were half lidded.

“Please be ok.” Adam begged, and despite all her injuries, her tail thudded against the ground at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand. This only started his tears flowing even harder.

Overhead the sound of engines whirred, and touched down on the grass not far away.

“Ok, lift her gently.”

He did as ordered hugging her to his chest and practically racing towards the shuttle as it descended.

When the doors opened he practically bowled past the waiting marine who looked on in shock.

He gently lay Waffles on one of the seats all but yellin at one of the marines to make sure she stayed there before racing to the ront of the craft.

“Admiral are you sure…” The copilot began.

“Get out o my fucking way!” he snarled, and the ire in his voice was so that the man quickly leaped from his seat as Adam slid into the pilot’s seat. Krill was worried that the human was going to kill them all trying to pilot in that state, but what he witnessed next was a feat of pure talent and skill as he maneuvered them up through the clouds faster and steadier than krill would have thought possible.

Waffles whimpered softly in the background, held tight in Sunny’s arms now.

Their copilot sent out a medial call as soon as was feasible and very prudent.

By the time they made it inside, a crew was waiting with a stretcher.

Didn’t matter that it was waffles, but they treated her as they might any human with krill tagging long beside.

Adam ran after them until the doors to the med bay shut in his face and he was told to stay outside.

***

Sunny made her way quietly down the hall footsteps no more than a whisper over the metal floor. It was dark on the ship, the lights having been dimmed for the night. Up ahead she could see light filtering out into the hallway, and the rim lighting of a figure sitting in the dark.

She moved forward, and the mass of shadow coalesced from the darkness. Adam sat on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, head in his hands. Three pairs of bright yellow eyes looked up at her from the darkness. And Sunny tilted her head in surprise to see three Finnari curled up around Adam. One leaned against his left side, one leaned against his right side, and one rested against his legs.

The others raised their heads, though Adam remained curled up with his head in his hands.

Sunny nodded to them, “I can take it from here.” She said quietly

The Finnari looked between each other and then waddled to their feet. One of them patted Adam’s hair before joining the group and waddling off down the hall. Sunny knelt and then slowly sat next to Adam resting a hand on his back.They sat in the dark in silence for a long while before he looked up at her.

His cheeks were still wet, and she had no idea how he was still producing any, sure he would have dehydrated hours ago.

In response, she pulled the human closer using all four of her arms until he was curled up against her head resting against her chest.

“I….I can’t l-lose her s-sunny…. I I don’t know what I-I’d do.”

She rubbed his back gently with one of her lower hands, feeling as his body continued to spasm rhythmically with the beat of his grief. He covered his eyes with his right hand turning into her chest as if trying to hide his face. His teeth were gritted against quiet sobs.

But despite his attempts to stay quiet, he couldn’t.

It killed Sunny to watch.

He was completely debilitated. She had seen a human like this maybe once before under different circumstances. Neither war, nor kidnapping, or injury in the time she had known him had ever brought this man to his knees, and if it had it had been silently and alone where he dealt with it himself.

This was different.

He had snapped, broken right in half.

It surprised her almost how fragile humans were, after everything he could have gone through, and after everything he did, this is what hurt him.

His grief came in waves, one moment she thought he had finally calmed down, and then the next moment he was escalating again just as bad as before. It was exhausting to watch, and she had no idea what to do other than keep him company in the dimness of the hallway.

They were there for hours.

And then the door hissed open.

Adam shot to his feet as krill stepped out into the hall.

His hair was disheveled -- even more so than usual-- his face was red and puffy, his eyes were ringed in bright red. The collar of his shirt was damp. 

Sunny rose to her feat as well.

“Is she-” he couldn't finish, choking up again.

“She’s alright, we were just waiting for her to wake up to make sure. But she’s going to be ok.”

This time the sound he made was a sob of relief rather than grief, “Can I see her?”

Krill paused but then nodded, motioning him back. He hurried after into the med bay.

At the end of the room, waffles lay curled up on one of the beds.

She was wrapped in bandages and an IV was held into her right front leg with pink gauze. Someone had managed to fashion a makeshift cone out of plastic shielding.

Adam rushed over.

Waffles blinked slowly at him, too tired to lift her head, but her tail began to whap happily against the covers of the bed. He smiled rubbing his hands through the soft fur of her face and ears, “Good girl…. You’re such a good girl.” tears were leaking down his face again, but he was smiling.

With great effort, waffles lifted her head, licking at his face with her long pink tongue, whipping the tears from his face the only way she knew how.

Krill walked over and paused by them, “She should be up and about by tomorrow, but she definitely needs to rest and recover.”

Adam looked up at Krill, “Can I stay here…. With her?”

Krill looked at him unsure, but the look on the human’s face was one the little alien certainly couldn't say no to , and he sighed, “Alright, you can stay.”

When Sunny left the room Adam was curled up on the bed with the dog resting with her back to his chest, the two of them fast asleep.

Thank the spirits Waffles was ok.

***

Ask a human, the vast majority of them find the sadness of grief or pain of a dog to be more poignant than that of a human -- unless the human is one they know--. This is why movies often employ dogs for emotional factors. Perhaps you cannot get an audience to cry for the pain of a human, but if you get a dog to wait at its owner's owners grave than you can have an entire audience in tears. As I said earlier. It's hard to watch the pain of someone who doesn't deserve that pain and never will.

Dogs are a reflection of the best parts of man 

[captain-barnes-writes]

Someone Like You [5/6]

Summary: In which Sebastian tries to win you back a year and a half after your relationship’s rupture, but only because there’s a new man in your life. [Part 5]

(Mini-series)

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Latina

Warning: Angst (LOTS) , language, 18+. 

NOT PROOFREAD so watch out for lots of errors.

Word count: 4.5k

You’d avoided thinking of Sebastian for a good portion of the morning, but he was creeping back into your head forbidding you from forgetting what had happened just last night. Upon arriving at your hotel room the night before, you had turned into a weeping mess while still clad in your beautiful satin dress, a huge contrast to the ugly emotions that were seeping out of you. Sobs had wracked through your body to the point it had become hard to breathe.

The strong smell of him lingered on your body as if taunting you that he still owned every part of your being. Despite everything, despite the many months apart and despite the very reason why things had not worked out he still had an effect on you. Even after you’d jumped into the shower to wash the night away, especially to rid of his scent and the smell of sex that had followed you, you could still feel his lingering hands on you, the wet trail his lips would leave on your skin. As if taunting you, his scent was still present even in your room. You couldn’t escape him.

He still managed to pull at your every heartstring. It was the silky locks, the azure eyes with the crinkles on each end and that toothy grin of his. It was the way a single glance your way and you were a puddle at his feet, melting for him. But whatever happened last night had been a mistake, he was a part of your past and had to stay there. Yet you still found yourself pondering over how after so much time he could hold such a part of you, tight and permanent. The fluttering sensation in your belly, and pressure on your chest weighing heavy and electric that he induced with just one glance let you know that he was still very much a part of you. And when he looked at you, kissed you, let alone put his hands anywhere on you? It was a magnetic force so strong it left you breathless.

With a heavy chest and an even heavier heart, you thought of how you’d become pathetic and submissive all over again with just a mere touch of his. So puddy in his hands, holding onto every word that fell from his lips. His hands had been so greedy, wanting to hold you and kiss you all at once. He’d been everywhere, placed his large hands on every single part of your body. And you couldn’t lie to yourself, couldn’t deny the deep attraction that was clearly still present.

The magnetic pull, the sexual tension and desperation that had surrounded both your glistening bodies the night before was an engraved image in your head; pinned to your mind not letting you forget how he’d felt inside you. How he took you with such force, kissed you as if your lips were his only mean of survival.  It was memorable what you’d both shared. Raw and emotional and in its wake left a gaping hole in your heart.

Despite how good it had felt while it happened, once it ended everything felt as if it had come crashing down. Like shattering glass around you, falling, breaking and so very loud, your mind had woken you from the bliss that had been shared in that stuffy closet. Like an alarm that rang and rang and the only way of shutting it off was the very act of leaving. Again. And so you did, you ran off once again from the man who’d held your heart almost two years ago and had refused to care for it. Refused to hold only you and you alone. He’d been valiant enough to corner you and take you again with such confidence, then you were valiant enough of walking away too.

But this time it felt different. Horribly different because there was pain growing inside, building up and tormenting you. You had been unfaithful. It didn’t matter that the relationship with Romeo was not yet serious or that he was away in a different country at the moment, none of that mattered because your desire for Sebastian shouldn’t have clouded what reality was in the first place. Nothing should have made you forget your morals and had you commit such a sinful act. It felt as if the guilt was diminishing you if you didn’t come clean or at least put pause on the budding relationship.

As if he had an extra sense, your phone rang next to you breaking you from the torturous thoughts that had been clawing at you. Romeo’s name appeared on the screen, his contact picture blank. Swallowing loudly with tears already brimming your eyes, you took a hold of your phone with shaky hands. God, what the hell were you going to say?

“Hi.” Was all you managed to choke out when you finally answered. Voice low and dull, nothing compared to the usual silkiness and cheerfulness that laced it.

“What is going on, Y/N?” Romeo’s boomed through the phone. The background noise was distracting, loud chattering in Spanish could be heard.

“What?” You felt slightly shaken at the tone of his voice, he didn’t sound like the sweet Romeo you’d grown used to hearing. He sounded different and, dare say, impolite without even a simple greeting to start the conversation off.

“I’m not a fool, Y/N. What the fuck happened yesterday? What are all these pictures of you and that damn actor from those Marvel movies?” He paused, the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard and the background noise was slowly disappearing. “They’re circulating everywhere to the point that people keep tagging me on that shit.”

You shouldn’t have, but a wave of relief washed through you. He was referring to Chris and at the mention of him you wanted to laugh. Even he thought the same as the media and besides the relief, you also felt upset.

“Oh, that...I got really anxious during the red carpet and he was nice enough to help me out. Walked me inside the venue and all. After the awards, we were just chatting.”

“You’re making me look like a fool. My whole team thinks so too.” It was apparent that he was only concerned about his image and the way people perceived him. It was disappointing to hear the roughness of his voice, accusatory and unkind. Though deep inside you were telling yourself that you deserved this type of treatment. You deserved it because even though he was upset about something that had not even happened, there was still something to be upset about. He just didn’t know what.

“I can’t befriend people because it makes you look bad? That makes no sense.” The words had flown past your lips before you could even think. You wanted to take the accusations, forgive them because you’d done something awful, but you weren’t that type of person anymore. You didn’t let men walk all over you.

“That looked more than friendly to me.”

“Yes, to you. My line of job has me meeting people constantly, as does yours, so either you get used to it or you don’t.” You had no filter. The words were just coming out without much thought. You wanted to be calm and let him continue accusing you using the harsh edge in his voice because you deserved it. You felt like he had every right to treat you this way, to denounce your behavior because he was right it had been more than friendly. It had become more than friendly just not with Chris, but with a different man he didn’t even know about.

“¿Qué estás diciendo? Se clara conmigo.” What are you saying? Be clear with me.

“You heard me. I’m not going to sit here and let you accuse me of anything. ” You responded, voice somewhat shaky. You were pleading with yourself to let you be firm and to keep an even voice, but your eyes were already welling up with tears for the second time in less than a day.

“Don’t embarrass me anymore,  that’s all I’m asking.” He couldn’t be serious, you thought. The world didn’t revolve around him.

“Vete a la verga.” Go to hell.

And you hung up the phone. You didn’t know what had come over you. You wanted so badly to take the treatment and the accusations because you were worthy of them. Despite Romeo’s true colors that were coming to light, you had still done him wrong. You’d slept with another man and now you had probably just ended a relationship not even over that, but because of another man whom you had nothing to do with. You were an awful person.

Although you were an emotional mess and felt like one too your mind drifted to what Romeo had said about being tagged in certain pictures. You became curious and despite the state of being you were in, curiosity always overrode anything.

Grabbing your phone again you did the one thing you were advised to never do, google yourself. Upon typing your name in the search bar and hitting the search button, instead of it being about you it was about none other than Chris Evans. High quality pictures had surfaced the web the moment your anxiety fiasco happened last evening and it had become an even bigger deal today.

Y/N flirts with Chris Evans.

Romeo who? Y/N cuddles up to Chris Evans.

You pressed your face back into the pillow and groaned loudly. The sound echoed in the empty room as the city of Angels boomed below you. You were upset that even the sweet interaction such as yours and Chris could be taken so out of context. The man was no doubt an Adonis, you weren’t blind and you’d be a liar if you said your heart hadn’t beat faster at the sight of him yesterday. But it had all been so innocent and his gentlemanly actions had been genuine and with no underlying intentions. It was nothing but friendly.  He’d been gallant, extending his arm so you could hook yours through it to get you out of the dramatic disaster that had been your red carpet experience. That was it. People were insatiable with their yearning for new information on people’s personal lives, wanting every little detail.

You’d taken pictures with other people at the after party and those pictures were out there too, but the media had clawed at those images that included Chris and ran with them. Of course, he was single and any woman who crossed his path was apparently dating him. You hated that now you were rumored to be one of them.

You were now a fuse of different emotions. Sadness because your relationship had just ended through a phone call, guilt because you’d been unfaithful and a flare of anger because you couldn’t believe your interaction with Chris had been taken as otherwise.

You saved one of the images to your camera roll. You were upset because many things in your life had come tumbling down in a matter of hours, but you knew that only you could discredit rumors that had no foundation. You didn’t want to become a victim of the media and knew just how to fix this.

Just letting y’all know that @ChrisEvans noticed me become extremely anxious in the middle of the red carpet & was kind enough to walk me the rest of the way. That is all. Please don’t believe these dating rumors, men and women CAN be friends🙄

You typed on twitter and attached a picture of him being the perfect gentleman, your arm hooked to his, bearded face smiling while he led you down the carpet. The real fixture of the picture was the clearly agitated face expression you wore. Lips formed into a nervous smile, anxious with knitted brows, forehead creased.

Pleased with the words and image, you pressed send to your tweet and dropped your phone back onto the bed. It bounced on the very edge of the very edge of the bed, any sudden movements and it would fall to the floor but you didn’t care.

Your cheeks were still wet with tears. Eyes dull, saddened and you felt exhausted. Chest so heavy it felt as if a weight was on top of it. Crawling under the covers you decided that the only way to forget about everything at least for a few hours was to doze off into a deep sleep.

-------

When you arrived back in New York a few days later after having concluded with a packed schedule, the weather had significantly dropped. You noticed the way the trees were still continuing to change in colors and drop their foliage on the wet floor. The holiday season was commencing and the vibrant colors of lights and many christmas decorations were already up throughout the city. It was such a divine sight and provided a serene feeling throughout your body. It felt like such a contrast from the way life had been playing out for you the last few days. Everything had changed in such a short time.

Your apartment was exactly as you’d left it and because the temperature had dropped even being in the comfort of it you felt as if you were freezing so you’d turned on the heater. You’d spent the last few hours trying to forget what the reality of your personal life was by taking the christmas decorations from storage and beginning the process of decorating that you loved so much. The holiday season was one of your favorites and despite the emotional state you were in, bits of happiness had oozed into your aura.

Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon was rudely interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. You hadn’t contacted anybody in the last few days so nobody knew you were back in New York so you felt a little puzzled as to who it could be. You looked down at yourself in a haste noting that you were decent enough with your cozy oversized clothing. With a huff, you opened the door.

“Sebastian.” You sputtered out at the sight of the disheveled man. Like you, he was clad in comfortable clothing. Black sweats and a large jacket. With a shocked expression you noted how he looked so tired with dark undereye circles and he looked awfully cold standing in the hallway of your apartment complex.

“Hey.” Was all he said. His hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

He remained quiet for a few seconds, his teeth biting the plushiness of his bottom lip. Sebastian was just standing there looking at you as if you were the one standing in his apartment. As if you’d been the one to show up to his place unannounced.

“I know you probably don’t want to see me, Y/N. But I really have to talk to you. Can I please come inside?” His azure eyes were almost pleading, gazing at you. Even in the situation you found yourself in you couldn’t help but take notice of how blue his eyes were in the light, gleaming and so pretty. It was inappropriate to even be thinking of him this way when he’d just asked you a question and you seemed to be stalling.

“Uh. I don’t know, Sebastian.” You were unsure if to let him in. You’d been so weak for him at a venue filled with hundreds of people that you didn’t trust yourself to be alone with him in your apartment.

“I just really have to talk to you. Please.” He was begging and looked so desperate for you to say yes. He looked so cold just standing there in the freezing hallway that his lips seemed chapped too. You were pitying him despite everything and thought how this was the exact reason why sometimes you were taken advantage of. You were too kind.

Regardless of how much internal battle was taking place within you, you nodded and pushed the door ajar to let him in. He walked into your living room, taking a seat on the love seat opposite you when you did too.  The atmosphere felt a little awkward.

“I can’t stop thinking about that night, Y/N. I know I shouldn’t have initiated it, but it felt so right at the time. And even now, it still feels right.” Sebastian started.

“That night wasn’t supposed to happen, Sebastian. I did something awful to someone I was in a relationship with by being unfaithful. And guess what?” You paused, slightly chucking at yourself and the way life seemed to be playing with you. “Not even a day after I cheated and we broke up. Not even because of us, by the way, but because of something completely unrelated. And now here you are in my living room almost a week after we had sex and I’m...lost.”

Sebastian’s gaze was glued on you, he looked desperate. But you didn’t know what he was desperate for. You were confused as to why he was in your apartment in the first place.

“I’m sorry about your relationship.”

“No you’re not.” Was your response. He wasn’t sorry at all, why would he be?

“My relationship just recently ended too. But this was a little bit before the awards show.” God, what did he want from you. You wanted to know why he was at your apartment but he was beating around the bush.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry about that.” You unconsciously took your lip in between your teeth while looking down at your clasped hands. Your apartment was warmer now with the heater having been on for a few hours and you made a mental note to turn it off soon.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And this has been going on for a long time, Y/N. It’s not a recent thing. I think what triggered it even more was when I saw those music videos of you and...Well I felt extremely jealous. And I felt so angry with myself at having let you go and not treated you the way you deserved.” Sebastian stopped himself as he broke his gaze from you to look down at his hands. “And God, he just couldn’t even keep his hands off you...fuck, it was like you were a piece of meat to him and you just let him touch you like that.” His blue eyes were wide, mouth slightly ajar while he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He had no right to be telling you off like this, especially not when you were witness to his many escapades with other women after you called it quits with him. No matter how hard you tried to avoid any news on him, it always came up somehow. It had been a nightmare.

“Who do you think you are, Sebastian?” You retorted, loud enough to alert him but not loud enough for your neighbors to hear. You didn’t let him answer as you continued spewing your rage. “So what’s it to you now? It seems like you suddenly want me again only because you saw me with another man. Was it because it wasn’t you?” You spat, doe eyes furious. Even with the gushing hot anger pulsing through you, this whole scenario was somewhat satisfying to you. After so long, he was the one in a jealous fit.

“Because that should be me. I feel like it’ll always be me.” His face had perked up at your questions, face still red with anger but slightly softening his hardened expression. He’d gotten to his feet, rounded the coffee table and started walking to you in a slow manner, careful not to push you away. You were on your feet then too, watching his movements and not at all knowing what to expect next from him.

“I don’t belong to you, Sebastian.” He hated the way his name seethed out of your mouth because you used to call him adoring names or whenever his name flew past your lips it wasn’t out of anger.

“Did you think I was going to sit around and wait for you? You refused to commit to me. I mean we weren’t even in a relationship according to you. You didn’t have time for one, didn’t have the type of commitment it took to be in one. Even the thought of being in that type of situation again makes me sick now.” Your voice was wavering, but your newfound confidence had not. He was going to hear what you had to say and he was going to hear it loud and clear. “You never did much for me. We were always holed up in my apartment because it seemed as if you didn’t want to be seen with me.”

“No, that was not it at all. Don’t think I was ashamed of you because that’s not it.” Sebastian was grabbing at his hair again, and this time he was pacing your living room back and forth. He couldn’t believe you thought he’d been ashamed of you.

“I was stupid. I was a fucking idiot who didn’t appreciate you and had commitment issues. That’s it, but I was never ashamed of you. I don’t want you to think that.” He exclaimed, eyes meeting your teary ones. He didn’t want to make you cry, and the sight of your pretty face with fresh tears falling down your cheeks was eating him alive.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” You cried out, hands wailing in the air in exasperation.

“To be with you.” Sebastian choked out. He was coming to terms with his feelings again, he’d pushed them aside for too long.

“Fuck, that’s all I want baby. To be with you. A chance to make it right by you and treat you the way I should have done before. I’m sorry for not appreciating you before and for taking you for granted. I’m sorry for being a blind asshole. I’m sorry for everything. You deserve the whole world and I’m willing to do anything to give you just that.” He was walking closer to you, hands stretched in front of him to grab hold of your arms. Your heart was beating erratically and eyes searched your living room, looking everywhere but him.

“Look me at me, doll.” He whispered as he stood in front of you now. He was so close. Too close that you could feel his breath fanning down at your face. He was taller than you and your eyes peered up at him through long dark lashes .

“I can’t, Seb…” Your voice was wavering, the confidence it oozed earlier was diminishing. You were internally screaming at the fact that he still had an effect on you. A heavy deep seated effect that pulled waves of electricity through you as his hand traveled up to caress your tense jaw.

“Fuck, yes you can. We can. Don’t you feel this?” He was inching ever closer if it was possible. His body plush against yours.

“No. ” You said, eyes breaking contact with his and hands pushing at his chest to move him away. He slightly stumbled backwards, not expecting the harsh refusal from your part.

“And you need to leave right now.” You pointed at the door. His shoulders had dropped at the sound of your words and he felt so dejected at your refusal to be with him now. He knew exactly how he had made you feel now because he felt devastated. Chest tight and his breathing uneven. You were tearing him apart.

“Is that really what you want?” His voice was low, eyes downcast as his hand slipped from your arm.

“Yes.” You whispered, your eyes looking forward trying so hard to focus on the tan lamp at the far end of the room. Even though it tore him apart, he walked his way back to the front door. He turned again just to take a quick glance at you as if expecting you to change your mind. When you didn’t even budge, didn’t even offer a single look at him, his demeanor faltered and he sauntered past the door managing to shut it behind him.

A sudden pang of excessive emotion allocated itself in your chest. So heavy it almost had you gasping. Cheeks wet with fresh tears and lips quivering, you were in such disarray not even a minute after he’d walked out the door. Even after so long, this is what you’d wanted. Him finally confessing how he felt about you, showing you the very emotions you so deeply felt for him.

You were unable to move as if glued to the spot near the sofa staring into space as cries wracked through your body. The man you thought you had stopped loving and had seemingly forgotten had just left and instead of feeling relief or a gust of calmness, you felt desolate. You were being forced to face the very reality that you didn’t just desire Sebastian, you were undoubtedly still in love with him. It didn’t matter that you’d been apart for so long, none of that mattered because what you felt for him was otherworldly.

And maybe you were the most ludicrous person in the world and maybe you deserved to get your heart broken many times again, but your feet dashed to the front door. You swiftly pulled it open, expecting to find the hallway empty. But Sebastian was still cemented there, back against the wall of the narrow hallway, with teary eyes. He pushed himself off the wall as your figure planted itself in front of him.

“Y/N.” He gently whispered your name. Frantic eyes meeting, both swollen and red, and his hands had moved to touch you in a desperate manner but they moved back as if scared you’d stalk back inside your apartment and leave him.

“When you walked out, I felt—I felt everything was closing in on me and this sudden rush of sadness washed over me. I don’t know why I feel this way about you, Sebastian. You know, maybe I’ll never be able to understand why after everything that’s happened between us we still have this strong connection. And I’m probably stupid for even contemplating this…”

Sebastian was holding onto every word you were uttering. Waiting for you to say the words he wanted to hear the most. He watched you pause, trying to gather your thoughts with your lip between your teeth.

“You get one chance, Sebastian. One chance and you better not fuck it up.”  You finally finished. Sebastian’s mouth had fallen agape first before a large smile began to form on his handsome face. He immediately moved his body to reach out to yours, but you backed away.

“Not so fast. We’re going to do things differently this time.” You pursed your lips. He was still beaming at you and you tried so hard to fight off the same expression from your face.

“I’m going to take you on a date. That’s the first thing I’m going to do.”

“What?”

“I’m going to do things differently this time, Y/N.” Sebastian was looking at you with gleaming eyes as if they were reserved just for you. His smile hadn’t faded away. 

“Tomorrow we’re going on our first date.”

----------

Good god this took me so long to write lol I feel like this is a horrible chapter! Next chapter will be the final one. Lee Bodecker is next on my list🥴

Thanks for reading y’all ♥️ 

@jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

[artificialqueens]

Things That Were (Branjie) - pureCAMP

A/N - … Hi.

I won’t get into it, I don’t think I need to. But here’s a return no one expected, at least.

I wrote this based on some Feelings I have and also Jinkx’s song The Auld Lang Syne Song from… Christmas Queens 3? It has this beautiful sad, wistful, nostalgic kind of feel and it made me nostalgic for love and that strange time between Christmas and New Years. Largely sad, mostly bittersweet. Dedicated to my love Ortega, and in part for the nostalgia fic challenge.

I appreciate any and all support I’ve been given over these past months.

You have a new memory from (1) years ago!

Brooke swipes across absent-mindedly. She doesn’t think much about it, they pop up all the time in the holiday season. There’s a little loading screen, decorated with animated tinsel, that flashes in her face before every ounce of breath is knocked out of her body.

This is what dying feels like. Brooke wonders if there’s a loading screen before entrance into the afterlife. She supposes it would allow the dead some time to adjust, at least.

It’s a perfect, filtered picture. The Christmas tree looks beautiful, even as the pine dies, all decked in shades of red and gold, glittering twists and lights that twinkle gently enough to lull you to sleep. It stands tall in the background of the photo, illuminating everything with a cosy glow. At the forefront of the image, Brooke is that kind of happy, sleepy, warm drunk. Full of Baileys, probably, and little mini mince pies and leftover chocolate from boxes opened and half-finished. There’s a glass of red wine behind her, slightly visible on the table. She’s cradling Henry to her chest, kissing the top of his head.

Vanessa is next to her. The remnants of plum lipstick still on her lips, grinning, Apollo in her arms. She’s beautiful. She looks and feels like how Christmas is supposed to - welcoming, kind, gentle, sweet. And Brooke knows that she’s drunk too, and right after this she burst into laughter and her foghorn voice shattered the cosiness and it was so right and so them. And she knows how her stomach had twisted horribly after they took it.

It’s perfect. She won’t share this one. It will stay in her archives. It’s really been a year, huh.

The cats look at her accusingly, as if they know. They probably do know. They know everything about Brooke. Every flaw, every fault. If they could speak, she knows they’d ask for Vanessa instead of her. Well, tough. Vanessa’s gone, Brooke thinks, almost aggressively as if she’s trying to telepathically tell them so. Vanessa’s been gone for a year.

Or has she? Vanessa isn’t the one who left. Vanessa isn’t the one who walked out without warning, who pretended the bliss was as blissful as it looked and then ran from it all. No, no, that was Brooke.

She shuts off her phone, clicks the button to make the picture fade to black. The switch from warm and bright to black is jarring. It’s probably how Vanessa felt, waking up to an empty bed.

“Brookieeeeee,” Vanessa sings. She’s grinning, cheesing so hard that her eyes have disappeared, nothing but the flicker of a fake eyelash visible from them. “Brooklyn Briiiiiidge…”

Brooke turns, laughing, and waves away the whistles and teasing mumbles from their friends. “Vanjie?”

She pushes her lips together and makes kissy noises, wordlessly begging. Brooke gently holds her chin, lifts her head, kisses. She tastes like cinnamon and nutmeg and chocolate, a festive concoction of things that Brooke usually hates but loves on her. Vanessa looks amazing in gold and she’s an Oscar from head to toe, sparkling, beautiful.

Akeria makes pointed eye contact with Brooke, then mimes gagging herself with two fingers.

Vanessa rolls her eyes, the fondness on her face so evident that it could light up the entire bar. “I love you.”

And Brooke kisses her. The kiss says what it needs to.

Christmas a whole year ago. Brooke made a series of decisions. Stupid ones, maybe. Definitely. She doesn’t know who she’s kidding.

Funny how she finds it so hard to kid herself. Apparently, she had no issue kidding Vanessa.

A little while after Silky comments that Brooke really shouldn’t still be living in the shithole apartment she rented at 20, she realises that as rude and bluntly honest it had seemed at the time, she’s right. She resolves not to mention this to Silky, in case her ego inflates too far and she flies away like Aunt Marge (she thinks this with love), and starts looking online. And it’s impossible.

So out comes the phone, because there’s only one person to go to for this. For anything. Because she’s always there and she’s always willing and she only ever wants some quality time as payment.

B: Vanjie [8.22pm]

B: Vanjerella….. [8.22pm]

B: Vanessaaaaaa [8.23pm]

V: brooke lynn hytes [8.24pm]

B: Not the full name… am I in trouble? [8.24pm]

V: do u wanna be? ;) [8.24pm]

B: Hmm… I’ll think about it… [8.24pm]

B: Anyway I need your heeeeeelp [8.24pm]

V: i gotchu boo [8.25pm]

V: what u need baby [8.25pm]

B: Cutie [8.25pm]

B: I’m going apartment hunting, help me look? Idk what to even look for [8.25pm]

V: exciting!!!!!! [8.26pm]

V: babyyyyy this is so exciting for u omg!!! I love moving [8.26pm]

V: i hope i can help!! im usually terrible at this but i think we’ll have fun!! [8.26pm]

V: although i gotta wonder what made u ask me instead of somebody smart like nina [8.27pm]

B: Ah shit, great point nvm I’ll ask her [8.28pm]

B: Jk. Asked u because ur always here visiting, may as well find something u like as well <3 [8.28pm]

V: u bout to make a bitch cry [8.29pm]

Vanessa was over in maybe ten minutes tops, Brooke remembers. It was like she could read Brooke’s mind, and she’d brought coffee for them both to keep them going and even a little bag of kitty treats from the place she’d stopped at (“a guy was sellin’ them outside and I felt a little sorry for him in the cold so I bought ‘em. They’re good, the ones you usually get!”). They were up for hours scrolling, and then searching in person just so that she could act as a second opinion.

Brooke stands up from the couch and walks slowly, heavily, towards the window. Her Christmas tree is silver this year, silver and purple, and as pretty and icy as it had seemed when she decorated it, it feels cold and desolate now. It reflects on the glass and for a moment it’s hard to focus on the world outside when the world inside is so disturbed, but she manages. Dark as it is, the lights of the city are never gone, and she has a beautiful view of a metropolitan paradise laid out beneath her.

Vanessa loved the view. She picked it, in a way. Brooke was unsure about the viewing, and Vanessa wheedled, tugging her arm and telling her she’d love it.

She did love the view. But it was Vanessa’s view, that she saw first, that she loved first. Now it just makes Brooke feel sick. Sick at herself. Like it’s not hers to look at, and she shouldn’t.

She looks away.

A change of scenery helps to calm the mind, Brooke thinks. Nina told her that once, she vaguely recalls, as she sobbed helplessly into the arms of the only one who would listen. The only one who didn’t think of her as a raging evil bitch, and more of a hopeless coward instead. It’s not much better, but it’s a small comfort given how much she hates herself for it. She’s more inclined to go with what the rest of them all thought after it happened.

It’s late, anyway. Maybe it really is time to read a book and push down the thoughts and try to sleep away the regret.

“Oh god, oh god. Vane- fuck,” She breathes.

Waves of pleasure shoot through her, beginning deep in her belly and sending shockwaves all up Brooke’s back. Her hands grasp at the sheets around her head, desperate, clinging, her mind and body totally incognizant of each other. Her body is on fire, and her mind isn’t even functioning correctly.

Vanessa’s mouth is hot and fast and her tongue is skilled, and every time she grazes over her clit with the swift, feather-light touches Brooke thinks she’s going to pass out. Her fists grab tighter and her toes curl and a gasp floats from her lips, accidental, unstoppable. She manages to tear one hand away and threads it into Vanessa’s dark hair, urging her to keep going.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck…” She manages.

The goddess between her legs doesn’t stop, not until long after the inaudible mumblings have stopped falling from Brooke’s lips and her breaths are finally starting to slow, and she wonders how Heaven is meant to be above them when she feels herself sinking into it right now. Brooke thinks absent that maybe Heaven is here and everything else is Hell because nothing feels like being with Vanessa feels, and when they’re naked and intertwined and breathless and warm maybe they’re closer to God than they’ll ever be.

She catches herself before three words make their way out.

“God, this fucking mattress…” Is what she ends up producing. It’s digging into her back, lumpy and old. She’s only just noticed, in truth.

Vanessa’s head lifts, her makeup smudged in a way that feels beyond sinful to look at. She licks her lips coyly, sucks off her finger, and offers a lazy, heady sort of smile.

“The mattress? That’s all you got, boo?”

She’s laughing, happy, delirious. Brooke laughs too. “I don’t have to say anything about you. Isn’t the state of me enough?”

It is. On her back, chest peppered with bruises not yet formed, chest rising and falling beyond her control, legs still twitching slightly. Brooke’s completely spent, blissed out, exhausted. Vanessa’s still worn out from hers and yet her tongue is musical and the melodies were handcrafted by all the muses of the ancient world.

Still smiling, Vanessa shifts so she’s hovering on top of Brooke and then leans down to kiss her, their bodies colliding, Brooke tasting herself on the lips of her lover. It’s nights like these that make her feel like the world is a good place to be. That everything is fixable, everything is brilliant.

“We should get you a new mattress, baby,” Vanessa tells her when they break apart. “And I’ll probably never leave.”

Brooke forces a laugh, but the idea isn’t laughable. Vanessa and Forever go hand in hand, somehow.

And they do go shopping for a mattress for Brooke’s place. They wander through stores and discuss mattress firmness and size and height and flop down until they feel as though they’re ready to drop, and then Vanessa lands on one and yells “BROOKIE!” so loud that her voice - that goddamn voice - almost shatters the glass. She’s laying down with a beam on her face like nothing Brooke’s ever seen, pure sunshine, and she clearly has the best taste in mattresses because when she buys it, Brooke’s never slept so good in her life.

The bed is cold. Brooke deserves a cold bed. She left Vanessa in one, so it’s the least she can deal with it.

They weren’t always at Brooke’s - sometimes it was Vanessa’s too, for the sake of variety. Looking back on those memories makes Brooke feel like the biggest idiot in the world. Which she is, of course, and she knows it. But even here, the mini Christmas tree is cold and isolated, and Vanessa gave it to her as an early gift last Christmas, and Vanessa chose the mattress, and Vanessa picked the view. Brooke stares at everything that Vanessa has touched in her life and wonders why in the world she let herself ruin something so good. It’s selfish and stupid and self-sabotaging and that angel of a woman deserves so much more.

She thinks about sharing the picture. She could caption it with that song, ‘Now I’m in the house you chose and the bed you bought to face your perfect view’, and that could be her apology. Because she knows all too well she’s too much of a blind coward to say it properly. And Vanessa won’t see it even if she does share, because they’re not friends anymore. Someone will get it to her - probably Silky - but that’s not worth it.

Brooke opens her phone again, and swipes away from the picture before she does something stupid. Then she opens her texts.

B: Are you busy? [10.11pm]

B: Oh shit sorry, just saw Yvie’s insta, u guys are out tonight. Ignore this x [10.13pm]

N: No no! They’re out, I’m home because I was working all day and I was too tired :( [10.19pm]

N: What do you need hun? <3 [10.20pm]

B: If ur tired it’s okay, I’ll talk to u another time x [10.20pm]

N: Shut up. I’m here [10.21pm]

N: I think I know what’s going on. Right time of year [10.21pm]

B: I’m just an idiot, idk [10.22pm]

N: Nope. Stay where you are, I’m coming over. [10.22pm]

N: Did she text you? [10.24pm]

B: She’s not that stupid lmao why would she [10.24pm]

Nina is the only one who bothered to ask what the hell was going on when it happened. It’s not like Brooke can blame the others, and she doesn’t either. If someone did that to her best friends, she would be the same. And she is the same - she hates herself passionately for it. But Nina has this untraceable kindness to her, this unfathomable tenderness that seems to have no beginnings, no ends, no limits. It flows so freely from her, like a gift.

She has no idea how much time passes by crying and looking blankly at her phone, or even any idea when she started crying, but the doorbell rings and Brooke answers it already in tears and Nina sweeps her into a hug like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and maybe it is. To love your friends is easy and natural, like taking a breath in clean air.

To love someone special is like inhaling in water, drowning, getting lost. And you have to be content with the helplessness in order to survive it, or at least strong enough to swim and keep it going. You can’t just sink. Brooke couldn’t handle drowning.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” She weeps into Nina’s arms, once her choking sobs settle into streaming tears. It’s not better, just different. “I wanted to be with her forever and that was so fucking scary.”

Nina rubs her back. “Breathe, breathe. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Is- is she okay?”

Stupid question. Brooke isn’t sure she even wants to know.

The hug finishes; they’re on the couch again. Nina pulls out her phone, frowning, and pauses like she’s thinking. She looks guilty, which is unusual.

“I would never normally show a friend’s text, y’know? It’s private, I don’t do all that betraying trust stuff. But I know she’ll delete these tomorrow morning and I think you should see them before she does.”

V: so its been a ear then hasnr it [10.56pm]

V: a year of fwithout brook [10.56pm]

V: honestly fuck her yknw what i man [10.56pm]

V: she fuckin broke mt heart man why did she do that [10.56pm]

V: i miss her an the stupid vats so muhc [10.57pm]

V: tha sonf auld lang syne plaed earlier in the bar bef4 eht club [10.57pm]

V: very apropaotye hahahahksjkdh [10.57pm]

V: may rhe acwanriance be forgot forever and fuckung ever [10.57pm]

V: is okay i can lobe w the bitternness [10.57pm]

V: i just kisd girls unt il it dont hurt [10.57pm]

Brooke sobs. Again, loud, shaking, broken. Because Vanessa is hurting so much even a year after it happened and everything feels so raw and it’s entirely her own fault for crushing the dream they were building.

“I miss her so fucking much, I don’t know why- I don’t know why I walked out,” She babbles, helpless and hopeless and hurt. “I’m fucking lying, Nina, I know why, I know why I did it. Why did I fucking-”

She knows all too well. Because Vanessa helped her pick an apartment and Vanessa picked her bed and Vanessa loved her cats. Because Brooke could imagine them getting married and growing old and it had barely been four months by the time Christmas and New Years were rolling around and everything seemed so serious and so intense, and that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun but it was scary in the same breath because speed was terrifying.

Brooke is bitter, but only at herself.

New Years Day. January 1st, a brand new year, a bright new start. The frost glistens freshly on the undisturbed morning, and all across the city, singles and couples sleep through the dawn, hungover or still passed out drunk, party hats akimbo, party blowers still suspended in smudged lipsticky mouths.

It’s early, enough that the daylight is blinding but pale and faded. Vanessa’s bedroom has the huge window that she never covers, and she sleeps through it like the dead. Brooke wakes up and looks around.

She looks at everything but Vanessa, but eventually her gentle snuffling is too much to ignore and she looks down at her beautiful sleeping form. She’s a disaster, hair everywhere and glitter still all over her face, and she’s the most breathtaking woman in the entire wide world. Something heavy and all encompassing sweeps into Brooke’s chest, and she can identify it by name. It’s only four letters, but it strikes a fear in her like an old god from a lost world. She needs to vomit. She needs to run. She needs an escape.

Before she even knows who she is again, any of the things that ended up staying half their time at Vanessa’s are stuffed into a couple of carrier bags and she’s in her dress from the party and out of the door into the cold winter air, panicked, unable to breathe.

It’s a heart attack, she thinks. Or a panic attack. It’s an attack that feels like it’s going to kill her, and she runs away, and she runs all the way home and barricades the door shut, dropping her belongings on the floor, numb and confused and cold. It’s the start of the new year and she begins it alone, hyperventilating.

Within a couple of days the worried texts subside and the angry vengeful ones start flooding in, and just like that Brooke’s lost the best thing that ever happened to her and all of her friends along with it. Because she got up on new year’s day and abandoned Vanessa fast asleep and that was the end.

It’s ugly and chilling, how much she cries into Nina’s gentleness. The only thing that stops her is, ironically, the thing that makes her feel worse, the characteristic ‘ping!’ of Nina’s phone, undoubtedly more drunk texts.

V: i hoper he fucjibg bubble bursts this tie of year [11.23pm]

V: every jhanduary first for the rest of hersitnkin life [11.23pm]

“I deserve it,” Brooke whispers hoarsely, “But she doesn’t. She never did.”

“Neither of you do,” Nina tells her sadly. “They don’t all hate you, they hate what you did the way friends always do when breakups happen. You both deserve to be happy. And both of you have been dreading New Year’s for this exact reason.”

It hurts to hear, and Brooke wishes she doesn’t have to listen, but her friend is so goddamn wise it feels stupid not to.

“Two days until it’s officially New Year.” Nina kisses her hand. “Can you keep living like this, Brooke?”

It’s not like she even has to say it for Brooke to understand. “She hates me.”

Nina shakes her head. “No she doesn’t. She loves you.”

“That’s worse.”

“You love her.”

“I know.”

“You got scared.”

“I still am.”

“Face your fears.” Nina holds her at arm’s length, forcing her to look right into her face. “This hurts more than what blundering through it would, surely? Fire doesn’t always mean you get burned, sweetie. Sometimes it just warms you.”

She makes no fucking sense.

“I can’t play with Vanessa like that again.” Brooke swears. “I can’t.

The transitional period between Christmas and New Year doesn’t feel like real time. It’s just liminal space, a waiting room of chronology, a suspension in space. If she’s honest, trying now causes no harm, because it’s like it didn’t even happen. Maybe she should, maybe she will.

Eventually Nina leaves, pressing a kiss to her forehead and promising that somehow everything is going to be okay. She’s like a fairy godmother, Brooke thinks to herself. Always knowing, always positive, and total magic to behold.

She’s awake all night long just staring at the time on the top of her phone, lying in bed sideways and wondering if she’ll do it. It has to be right. It can’t be when she’ll still be awake and drunk and angry. But it can’t be on the anniversary of her biggest fuck up, because that just feels like some kind of sick joke and that’s not what she wants.

The entire night passes. At six am, her finger hovers over the send button for a full three minutes. She counts the seconds.

B: I fucked up. If u’ll have me, I’ll never mess u around again. I didn’t know I could love someone so much and then u came along and everything sped up and I wasn’t fast enough. I shouldn’t have thrown away what we had when it was as close to perfect as anything can get. This message is all me me me I I I but if ur okay with it, I think new year should begin right this time. I’ll hold u and I won’t let go, and u don’t even have to hold me as long as ur here. Everything is up to u. I’ll learn to live with what I did if u say no. Because I totally get why u should hate me. I hate me too, kinda. U did nothing wrong. U were and will always be perfect. [6.03am]

B: Full disclosure is I was scared of how much and how quick I loved u. But it didn’t go away even when I hurt u. I was stupid to do that, and I don’t wanna do another year in the shadow of that massive mistake. [6.05am]

B: I won’t say it here, because thats cheap for u. But I’ll say it when I see u again. I promise, and I want to [6.13am]

She falls asleep with her phone in her hand after being awake all night long.

She wakes up four hours later.

V: ur dumb [9.51am]

V: theres a party at yvies for new years yknow [9.52am]

V: im not saying ill kiss u at midnight but [9.52am]

V: fuck around and find out [9.52am]

(tags: purecamp, branjie, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, lesbian au, things that were, fic challenge, nostalgia challenge, nina west)

[zayray030]

I love you because you're human.

Summary: Dick overhears Barbara, Roy, Jason, Tim and Stephanie talk about his ass and he starts to question the things around him. At least until Kori defends him and reminds her boyfriend that she loves him. Dickkori. Mild Barbra Bashing.

“So what was the best part about dating Dick?” asked Stephanie.

“Oh, definitely his ass. God it was glorious.” sighed Barbara, pretending to swoon. All but one stated laughing at her dramatics.

“Must have made it for his far less lovable qualities?” joked Jason.

“Oh absolutely. As long as I got to stare at it I would forget about his stupidity. Hell even before we started going out I thought his ass was enough for me to ignore him.” sighed Barbara.

Another round of laughter went around the group.

“So you got free access to the Grayson ass. Must have been amazing, eh?” joked Roy.

“Sometimes I wish we could still be dating, just so I could have free access to it. But alas, there's so much a nice ass can get you.” joked Barbara.

“Fair enough. Surprised its prettiness managed to last that long.” muttered Tim, over his fifth cup of coffee.

“Hey, Timmy. That amazing could get him away with anything.”

As they all continued to joke around about Dick, they never realised that said owner of such an amazing ass had his comm on and was listening to every little thing. Hurt and betrayed he threw his comm across the room, forgetting to switch it off.

Honestly, Dick didn't know why he was so upset. He knew that he had a pretty ass and it was part of the reason why so many people dated him, but it still hurt when his own siblings and his exes talked about him as if he was a piece of meat instead of human being with emotions and feelings.

Then he started to wonder if what they were was true. Did people only let him get away with things because he had a nice ass and not a nice personality.

He collapsed on the floor, tears falling out of his eyes as he thought, am I worth anything except a quick fuck?

~With the others~

“So did you actually like him, or did you just find him physically appealing?” asked Kori. With anyone else it might have sounded inquisitive, teasing even, but on Kori it sounded threatening. However everyone was too drunk to take notice of the alien princess's tone.

“I mean partially. The guy is nice and all and super intelligent but at times he's just so frustrating that you have to focus on the pretty part of him to make sure you remember why you dated him.” said Barbara dismissively, not realising that she had just opened up a beast.

“So, instead of talking it out like a normal couple, you sexualised him and didn't take his feelings for account?” asked Kori again, more instantly.

“I mean kinda. It isn't like the guy doesn't spend most of his time showing his ass of to everyone else.” she answered, the alcohol making her brain to mouth filter non existent.

“And he can't just be walking normally without being sexualised by everyone, can't he?” Kori asked sarcastically. By now Roy and Jason were starting to notice something bad was going to happen but they decided to stay out of it. They learned their mistake of getting the princess angry once, they weren't going to do it again.

“Not my fault he's pretty.” snapped Barbara defensively.

“Ladies, ladies. Let's not fight.” Stephanie says, trying to play the peacemaker but she immediately collapsed on the floor. Must have had one too many drinks. They heard another thud and they turned to see Tim passed out in front of his computer. Must have had an hour less sleep.

“What does his physical appearance have anything to do apart from the fact that you can't trust the man!?” snapped Kori, her eyes showing anger.

“That anyone would want a piece of him!”

“He's not everybody's type you know!” snapped Kori. Barbara just scoffed and then they heard another two thuds and turned to see Roy and Jason passed out with bruises on their faces.

They must have punched themselves unconscious to stay out of this fight. Pathetic.

“Oh yeah? You dated him princess! You can't exactly say you didn't like him for his ass either!” challenged Barbara.

“Actually I liked him because when I landed on earth he didn't try to take advantage of me! He made sure I was protected and safe! He gave me a home! He never degraded me!” yelled Kori at the other red head. Her hands were starting to heat up and if Barbara didn't know how to keep her mouth quiet then Kori wasn't going to be responsible for her actions.

“What-” before she could continue she collapsed in a thud. Kori rolled her eyes at her before quickly placing everyone in comfortable positions while also cursing them in every swear she knows.

She might be pissed but that didn't mean she was going to let them wake up with a stiff neck and a sore back.

However, while cleaning up she saw Jason's comm and found it open.

“Hello?” she called onto it.

“H-h-hey Kori.” came Dick’s voice after a beat of silence when Kori thought that whoever was there was gone.

“Dick, how much did you hear?” she asked worriedly.

“Enough.” he said, his voice scratchy.

“Where are you?” she asked, already heading out to the balcony of the safehouse.

“My apartment.”

“Wait. I'm coming over.” and before he could protest she threw the comm away and flew out.

~Dick’s apartment~

Dick sat nervously on his couch as he awaited for Kori to come over.

What was he supposed to say? “Hey thank you for sticking up for me against my ex and siblings.”? Like hell.

Dick jumped when he heard a knock on his window and he saw Kory flying there. He quickly scrambled up and opened it up.

“What were you thinking? Do you want people to know I'm a vigilante?” he hissed.

“Or people could think that your amazing girlfriend had decided to come over and see her clearly distraught boyfriend? Take your pick Dick.” she said sarcastically as she lounged down on his couch.

“KORI! I am not distraught!” he snapped, crossing his arms to make a point.

“Of course you aren't Dick. Just do me a favour and sit here.” she said patting her lap. Dick blushed bright red but did as she said, albeit with some insecurity in his movements.

“Did you mean what you said, earlier?”he asked nervously, looking up into his girlfriend's green eyes, full of warmth.

“Of course I did Dick. I won't deny it, you have a nice ass.” Dick looked down at that but Kori placed her hand under his chin and tilted his face up. “But I didn't fall for your body. I fell for you because even though you didn't know who I was you still decided to save me. I love you because despite all your faults you still try and push through. I love you because you care about me and my feelings. I love you because you're human and not a piece of meat.”

With every word she said Dick’s eyes grew wetter and wetter to the point where tears were just streaming down his face. Eventually he collapsed into his taller girlfriends chest and started sobbing. Kori just rubbed her hands up and down his back in a soothing gesture.

Eventually when he was done sobbing he looked up, a light blush on his cheeks. “I love you Kori.” he said shyly.

She smiled softly back and kissed his lips briefly.

“As I love you. Now let me show you just how much I love you.” she whispered seductively before picking Dick up and carrying him to the bedroom.

Dick squealed slightly before wrapping his legs around Kori’s waist.

It was going to be a very good night indeed.

[mystic-kitten-writer]

(1/3) Bruh I just binge read Limerence (again) and I wondered how many words it has in total so I pulled out my calculator and I added the words from all of the chapters together because what else would I do with my life and theeeen I googled how many words a book has on average and 👀 "Most adult books are about 90,000 words, and no longer than 100,000 words" alright so Chapters 1-18 has 88.400 words so that would already be a freaking book.

(2/3) Chapters 19-30 has 93.700 words and 31-33 has 62.800 words. In total it has 244.900 words... You literally wrote 2.5 books for us which is insane and it's for fucking free? I mean you actually graced us with 2.5 books. And I know it's a fanfic but whatever it has the length of two books and quite frankly the quality of them too. And people binge read 2.5 books which is also crazy. I mean have you ever considered becoming a "real" author? Cause you got your first customer right here🙋‍♀️😉

(3/3) Also you seem like such a cool fucking person I want to be friends with you soo bad *sobs* but in all honesty you really are a gift to the fandom for actually having written an outstanding atla fanfic? With the characters being believable?? They are all in-character?? And the plot makes sense? And it's not super freaking cringy? And girl you have so many people hooked. Anyway I think I shouldn't bother you anymore. Have a wonderful day!❤️ -🐋

🐋 ANON 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I swear I’ve gotten your asks and I’m not ignoring you, my inbox is just flooded lol. Also, how are you? I hope you’re doing alright, babe - I never got a chance to ask, I’m sorry 🤧

First off, the fact that you actually did research and calculated this makes me want to hug you tons because I have the attention span of a two-year-old 😂

So, funny thing (and you may kill me when I tell you this) - the word counts from I think chapters 4-8 are messed up. Meaning, there are more words than what I wrote down 👀👀 Also, because I’m going through my older chapters, and re-editing to better suit my writing (because I was so nervous about writing and posting that my writing was stiff) the chapters have actually gotten longer.

Like I can’t believe I wrote 244.900 words.

You telling me that’s 2.5 books is scary and exciting because I never thought I wrote that much. Like this whole time, I just wrote to write and when you put into perspective like that it’s like holy shit what monster have I created 😮

But I could only wish of becoming an author.

I always enjoyed writing and research, which is why I got into philosophy - but creative writing and storytelling is like another unknown joy of mine that I really got to explore with Limerence! 

I think my biggest dream (and I say dream because this will in no way happen), is Yue coming to life in ATLA.

Seeing a full comic strip of her and Zuko seeing each other for the first time and their romance unfolding would make me asjdsdkskadjkasdj - my heartuu. Like the image of Zuko and Yue cuddling in bed that @cloudsong25 drew makes me FEEL DAMNIT.

A few people also mention it, and I always get all giddy thinking about the thought of what would happen if Limerence was canon, and Yue and Zuko ended up together. Like sometimes when my friends and I talk, we forget that Ying Yue isn’t apart of the ATLA universe, and get so sad. I actually broke my friends' ultimate pairing of Maiko and I felt terrible 🙈

And babe, at this point we are friends - I consider all you guys my friends 😂 I have no filter at this point, shit-post all the time and you guys always join in and I love it. 

Take care, sweetie, I’ll be answering those others asks soon~! 🥰🥰

[ferociousqueak]

Daffodil or Iris for Dess, pretty please?

So, this one is Iris, though I do plan to do one for Daffodil too. But I’ve thought a lot about how the Vallum Blast would affect Dess, being from Vallum herself. Thank you for the prompt and enjoy :D

You can also read it on AO3!

valor: (n) strength of mind or spirit that enables a person to encounter danger with firmness: personal bravery

***

News of the Vallum Blast was on a constant loop on every station. Everywhere she looked, Dess found another reminder, another devastating image that left her cold and nauseated.

She hadn’t been home since . . . well, home was too strong a word, but Vallum had been her family’s hearth since the city’s founding, long before even the Unification War. She could’ve had her arm amputated and it would hurt less than seeing a crater of rubble and ruin in the place where she grew up, the place where her family . . .

Within hours of the news, Executor Chellick issued carte blanche leave to anyone in C-Sec with ties to Taetrus. To grieve. To search for loved ones. To fight.

A transport carrying volunteers would leave in two hours. With priority traffic clearance and a relay already on the edge of the Mactare system, Dess could be there inside a day.

“You’re going?” Han asked. Anyone else might’ve missed the strained note of panic kept in check in her voice, but for Dess it rang like an alarm bell.

Grabbing an old footlocker—dusty from disuse, kept all these years from nostalgia rather than out of some expected need—from the hall closet was a convenient excuse for Dess to avoid looking at Han. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” Han said, her voice hardening from panic to defiance. “The Hierarchy has plenty of soldiers they can throw into that meat grinder. You don’t have to be one of them.”

Dess moved into the bedroom and started gathering her clothes to fold compactly into her bag. A couple decades might have passed since she’d served, but old habits died hard. “It’s not like that,” she said. “As a volunteer, I’ll be behind the frontline most of the time and—”

“What frontline, Odessus!” Han wasn’t one to raise her voice, and the sound of it made Dess grow still. “They flew a goddamn spaceship at the whole fucking planet!”

“I know.” Dess’s heart pounded hard against her chest, but she kept her eyes on the task in front of her.

“People were already dead before the fucking thing even made impact!”

“I know.” Dad . . . Mom . . . Hadrian?

“They can do it again, and you wouldn’t even—”

“I know, Hannah!” Dess snapped, a high keen threatening in her throat. Finally, she turned her full attention on Han, anger and grief tearing at her voice. “I know they can do it again. Right now, it’s my family who’s gone, and tomorrow it could be someone else’s. I can’t just do nothing and let that happen. Again.”

“And if you go, I’ll lose my family!” Tears streamed from Han’s eyes, but she still held onto her defiance. “I can’t do that again. Not after Alli. Not you. I can’t—”

All the anger went out of Dess, and she reached for Han, pulling her close until Dess could press her brow to Han’s. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise. But I need to do this. My family, my parents, everyone, they’re—”

Her voice finally broke and her shoulders trembled under the weight of her grief. She could feel Han sob, something she hoped she’d never have to feel again after the news of . . . of Alchera had reached them.

Han put her arms around Dess. “I know,” she said, her voice watery. “But I’m going to hold you to that promise. If you die over there, I’ll kill you.”

Dess huffed a short laugh. Her subvocals vibrated all on their own, even without her prompting. I love you, too.

#

The impact crater—centered on where the Radiatum, the main parliamentary building, had stood—was five kilometers in diameter, but the devastation rippled so much farther. Evidence of the destruction saturated the landscape.

Turians of all ages were wrapped in bloodied gauze and hooked to IV cocktails to clot internal bleeding, fight infection, and replace fluids they’d lost—and they’d been the lucky ones on the outskirts of the city, hit by the shockwave rather than the blast itself.

The streets, or what was left of them, were lit by twisted, still-glowing metal rather than streetlamps.

What had been proud, tall buildings were now jagged, hollowed-out skeletons.

Vehicles lay on the street crumpled to a fraction of their original size.

A jaundiced, apocalyptic glow from the fallout hung over the city day and night.

The acrid malodor of burned flesh, drying blood, and still-living bodies turning sceptic was a constant companion, even with the protective equipment she lugged from one pile of rubble to the next.

Ash and wisps of curling smoke threatened to claw down her throat should she even consider removing her air filter.

She’d gotten straight to work when she arrived. From the moment her boots hit the tarmac of the landing pad, she’d had her assignment and her chain of command. Search and rescue. Lieutenant Araxus. Bunk 347, shift 2.

There’d been only enough time to kick her footlocker into place before she joined a squad of six to take on their section of the grid. After nine hours, they’d cleared two square kilometers and not a single living body. She’d had enough energy to wait for her bunkmate to rouse and vacate the cot before falling down, every muscle and tendon finally failing her.

As her eyes closed and she tried to ignore the instinct to reach for a soft, warm body beside her, the day’s work floated into her mind like sewage water from a blocked pipe. The unrecognizable bodies. The pieces of bodies. The places where bodies had clearly been but nothing salvageable remained. They’d taken genetic samples where they could—she wondered just how many people were too obliterated even for that—so their families could have some closure and might find rest in knowing what happened.

Ravaka didn’t.

#

After a week, the search and rescue operations were reclassified as search and recovery. If there had been any survivors, the chances of them still being alive were vanishingly slim. While a part of Ravaka was gutted to think there was no one left to help, another part of her whispered relief.

No more hope meant more no more disappointment.

No more ticking clock meant no more exhausting pace.

No more lives to save meant no more families to fail.

Finally free to turn off her emotions altogether, Ravaka spent her days picking through rubble, documenting the bodies she found in quiet numbness. She knew it would need to be addressed eventually, but for the moment at least, the levees holding back her own grief and trauma were tall and strong and doubly reinforced.

#

“You must have some kind of leave, right?” Dess could hear the strain in Han’s voice, however much she was clearly trying to suppress it. “You’re a volunteer, they can’t keep you forever.”

Dess scratched her mandible, considering how to respond. “I . . . don’t think we have the same understanding of volunteering. My job here isn’t done yet.”

Han let out a long sigh, cut short by an audible swallow and small hitch in her voice. “I know. I just worry. I miss you.”

When they disconnected, she lay back and scrubbed her hands over her face. Somewhere in the barracks, someone was taken by a coughing fit. Dess wondered idly how she would hide it from Han during their calls when she eventually began coughing too. It wasn’t an unexpected risk working in a disaster zone like this one. Even with the air filters and the decontamination chambers at the entrance of the prefab barracks, the particulates in the air were very fine and tenacious. Things would get worse for everyone for some time before they got better for anyone.

She closed her eyes, hoping to get some rest, possibly some shallow sleep before she would have to relinquish her bunk to one of its other occupants. Her mind had only begun to drift when a sudden uproar outside snapped her back to attention.

As others rose from their bunks around her, she knew she hadn’t imagined it. The sound swelled when someone opened the door to the outside. Grabbing her mask, Ravaka hurried toward the commotion.

The crowd seemed to swarm toward the camp’s medical center. As the sound turned to cheers, Ravaka’s heart thumped hard against her chest. Was it . . .

Her wrist buzzed with a priority message. A low orange glow lit the crowd around her as others checked the same alert.

BREAKING: Survivor of Vallum Blast recovered after 10 days beneath the rubble. This is a developing story. Check back for more details later.

A grainy, low-quality video showed a crew of turian volunteers in a chain pulling a juvenile, who couldn’t have been more than eight years old, from the debris field and placing her on the ground to check her vitals before transferring her to a gurney. She was clearly emaciated—her plates, still soft with youth, hung loose against her hide, her remaining down was matted and gray, and she didn’t have the strength to hold her mandibles against her jaws—but she was alive and responsive.

Despite the swirling ash and smoke, despite the air filled with death and despair, Dess felt herself breathe easy for the first time since she’d heard the news of the blast.

Things might still get worse, but they’d found someone. Alive. There was hope.