#i just know that man was achin having to watch his love leave him AGAIN so she can return to him in the past UGH UGH GYAH

[punnifullife]

Everyone else was looking crusty dusty and they had this man looking so fine for no apparent reason like realistically they should’ve been at most in their mid 30s they had them all looking like they were in their 60s 💀

LMAAO it'S SO TRUEEE. like shitt poor bb.

but ig thats your 30s for ya. some people age better than others

[lilsocksiswriting]

Osamu(s)

Fandom: Haikyuu

Paring: Osamu X fem!reader X Future!Osamu 

Summary: On a stormy night, your boyfriend shows up at your door with his future self in two.

Warnings: No beta, Post time skip spoilers, minors DNI

Tags: dirty talk, masturbation, thigh fucking, voyeurism, overstimulation, crempires

Word Count: 4366

There was just something about tonight that made things feel amiss. it was smack dab in the middle of midterms week. Everyone was either studying, out at the bats drinking aways their dread, or like you trying to finish midterm papers. This makes the apartment complex you lived in quieter than usual which you don't mind at all. You can hear the heavy downpour of rain more clearly because of it too. You look up from the screen of your laptop to outside the window and at the street lamps below.  the rain dampens the street lights, limiting their reach,  and making them seem more like fairly glowing orbs. They add to the mysterious ambiance of the night.

A ding draws your attention back to your phone's screen has lit up with a banner of Osamu's name surrounded by grey hearts and stars

Osamu: babe?

Y/N: Hey bubs

Osamu: something weird happened

Y/N: Are you ok?

Osamu: yea. I was just getting in my head again.

Y/N: Oh no

Osamu: I know I'm sorry.

Y/N: you don't have to apologize. I'm not mad, it happens. I'm happy that you aren't keeping it to yourself this time.

Osamu: right, well as I was thinking was when the weird thing happened.

Y/N: and what is this weird thing?

Osamu: we're coming over

Y/N: what?

Osamu: is are coming over?

Y/N: what? Osamu what are you trying to say?

since Osamu only lived a floor above you in a studio apartment much like your own it didn't take long after his text for you to hear a knock on your door. When you open it you realize that 'is' wasn't a typo at all. 'is'  was Osamu's attempt at making a plural of I.

Standing in the doorway was the Osamu who knew and loved.  Board look slumped shoulders with hands stuffed in the pocket of the sweats he taken to wearing more often. Beside him was another man, more specifically another him. This Osamu was smirking in the same way Osamu still did from time to time, smug and relaxed, and stood a little straighter. Maybe even a little taller?  He dressed in black sort and jeans, like a uniform of some sort, that is close not his broads body.

"Well, aren't ya goin' to invite in sweetheart?" the other Osamu asks and you move aside.

When the door clicks shut it also clicks for you who exactly this Osamu is. who he has to be. You follow behind the present Osama down the small hallway that opens up into the rest of your apartment.  Older Osamu makes a b-line to your window to close the blinds while the other plops himself down on your couch making himself right at home leaning back and spreading his legs. if this was any other situation would have taken that as an open invitation to crawl onto his lap. Taking notice of the you-sized spot between his legs you also notice how the pair of sweats he wore were looking quite dingy. You wonder if he was heading into one of those weeks again where he barely slept, barely took care of himself, and stressed ate all your snacks. mid-terms week was definitely the kind of week where it would happen.

You give him that soft look but don't ask if he's been taking care of himself instead you ask, "He's for the future isn't he?"

Osamu nods seeming to not catch on the look or choosing to ignore it. "That's the weird thing that happened. He just sort of appeared."

The amazement that time travel existed and proof of that had now walk back over to stand in front of you right in front of you didn't cross your mind at first. What was crossing your mind was a series of questions.  It takes the rest of your body a minute to catch up to these racing questions and actually speak one out.

"We're still together right?"

Older Osamu's  laugh answers your question but he tells you anyway," I wouldn't be here if we weren't."

"And how exactly do we get you to from here back to where you belong, in the future."

"Tryin' to get rid of me already?" he cocks his head to the side teasing you. You look between present and future Osamu and find that neither seems bothered by the timeline consequences the older being here has. but hey guess that's anxiety for you.

"No, but why are you here? How are you here? How do we get you back so we don't fuck up the timeline?" you blurt out one question after the other to older Osamu and he just stands in front of you, thick arms crossing over his broad chest letting you get them all out.

The fact that neither of them seems to fully grasp the gravity of the situation infuriates you. "How are you two not freaking out about this?"

"Because one way or another he goes back after what happens tonight.”

you give the present version a questionable look. They definitely knew something that you didn't and weren't talking about it yet. "you two know something. What happens tonight?"

Instead of the present Osamu explaining, his older self tells you. "I don't really know how I get back but I do because he's still here," he points to himself," and I'm still for the future, a better version because of what happens tonight."

You don't miss the way his voice drops or how you notice him towering over you. You just try to focus on what they aren't telling you.

"What happens tonight?"  you repeat the question.

"I show my past self how much better he can be," The older Osamu explains but it still leaves out the answer you looking for.

The order Osamu goes on," You know I was at a pretty low point at this time in my life. I didn't think that I was ever goin' to amount to anything. I would always be a stick in my twin's shadow, I'd be the less attractive twin, I'd always be dealin' with some bad patch of acne or my clothes were never goin' fit right,  I'd always be sad like this. I never deserve you-"

"Ok," you cut him off. "Ok, I get it."

"He's not wrong ya know," you look over at the couch.

"I know... it's just hard to hear," you admit feeling guilty and ashamed for doing so. You want to be here for Osamu. You knew what he was going through since his twin got scouted for a pro team and you knew that you \ but that didn't make hearing how Osamu thought about himself anymore easy to hear. You were human. You loved Osamu. And sometimes it was hard to hear about problems of his that you didn't know how to make better.

"But that changes tonight. After tonight I get help, start seein’ a therapist.  I start plannin’ for a future instead of being convinced that I don’t have one. I start to rub the amazing relationship I have with you in my twin's face. I start to learn to stop hatin’ my body for changing," The order supplies.

you frown. "But what happens tonight?"

Older Osamu leaned in closer to you, very close. So close that you can feel his breath rolls off your skin as he tells you, "Tonight I show my younger self how good he's gonna  be able to fuck you in the near future ."

Well, damn. You weren’t expecting that. Mabey something a little closer to a heartfelt talk that would help Osamu out at this point of his life. This wasn’t to say that you were opposed to the idea. In fact, taking another look at the older version of your boyfriend, you were very ok with letting him rail you while the other watched. But someone about it felt wrong? More specifically it made you feel like it was something wrong.

The way the idea settles in your gut makes you turn your head slightly to look at the present version who’s still seated at the couch but sitting up a little straighter now.  Anxiously and hopefully waiting for your answer.

“Are you sure?”

He nods then adds, “But only if you want to.”

You very much want to, it’s just….” Would this even count as cheating or like being with someone else?”

The older Osamu chuckles putting his knuckles under your chin and guiding your face back to his. “Darlin’ we’re the same person.”

That seems to settle your nerves and you nod. “Ok then. Show us.”

A smile breaks out across the order’s face. His other arms loops around your waist pulling you fully into his broad frame. “That’s my girl.”

The older Osamu tastes just the same as the present. The only difference is that he’s a lot less shy about using his tongue. Hell, he’s a lot less shy about using his whole body, and you honestly love it. The more that older Osamu explores your mouth with his, the harder you can feel him getting in his pants. Pulled so tightly against him means that you can feel every little twitch his cock gives in reaction to every little noise you’re able to make. Eventually, you two have to pull away for air. Dizzy with lips swollen you rest your cheek against the order’s heaving chest and look at to the younger who is staring at you like he’s start stuck. It’s cute.

“See,” The older tells his younger self. “Look how dizzy you can make her when you aren’t second-guessing everything.”

If the older was going to be bold, then so were you. You smooth a hand down his stomach, past his belt buckle and grip and the budge below it.  All the while not taking your eyes off the present version of your boyfriend. This earns you a sharp intake of air from the older that comes out on a pleased exhale. “And don’t think for a minute that she doesn’t want all of you. Right darlin'? Look at you already tryin' to get at my cock.”

“You’re already hard.”

He nods. “And all for you.  All’ve ya done is be your pretty little self and I’m already achin’ for ya.”

You squeeze your thighs together. You love to be dotted on by Osamu. You had realized early on that you definitely had a praise kink but only when it came to Osamu.  With gentle hands, Osamu turns to the body so that you’re facing the present version.  A firm hold on your arms holds you in place as a hot mouth leaves sloppy kisses along your neck in just the right spots to keep you feeling light-headed. Those hands eventually move. Snaking up too to grope at your titis through your sweatshirt.  You go to squeeze your thighs together again, but suddenly there’s one less hand on your breast and a hand forcing your thighs apart.

“When she does that, squeeze her thighs together like that,  it means she’s getting riled up,” The older explains while pressing fingers into your clothes clit and rubbing at it causing you to squirm slightly. “Why don’t we show him how wet you are darlin’?”

You simply nod because you want to see too. You can feel how arousal that's collected between your folds, but you've never gotten wet so fast before. Osamu gives you a little kiss on the cheek and helps you slip out of your legging and underwear leaving you bare from the waist down.  You shiver both from your heated skin being exposed to the cool air of your apartment and the way that Osamu is staring from his spot on the couch/ The intensity of that look never fails to go straight to your groin.

One of older Osamu's hands dips between your spread thigh pushing through your folds. His fingers are a little rougher and that small difference feels so good. His fingers rub back and forth a few times, collecting your wetness as they go, before pulling them easy much to your dismay.

The older Osamu holds them up so that both you and his present self can see the strings of slick at connecting one digital to the other.

"Fuck," You both breathe.

Beyond the fingers, you can see Osamu relaxing into the couch and palming the crotch of his sweats

"'Samu, "You wine at both the older for him to touch you more and at the sight of the present touching himself.

"Aww,  you want me to keep touching you down there darlin'?" the older coos into your year.

"Please," You ask nicely not feeling the least bit ashamed since both you and the present Osamu seem to want exactly that.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head darlin',"  you feel warm hands slip up your sweatshirt.  "I'm gonna touch you plenty.  I can barely keep my hands off ya as is, but I wanna give my younger self a good view of how we make your body feel. So come off with the sweatshirt."

You do exactly as you told and strip out of your sweatshirt. You'd do anything to feel his fingers again. Osamu goes back to massaging your tits again, this time playfully rubbing your perk nippled between his fingers. Either Osamu wasn't telling you now you or at some point in the future, he loves playing with your boobs. You're only complaint was that he wasn't paying enough attention to the rest, more needing, parts of your body.

"Osamu, please~" you beg.

"See how easy it is to get her so needy?'

"Yea," the present Osamu nods his head stuffing a hand down his sweats.

"She just loves our touch that much. Right now if you were to ask she'd beg you to touch her, to fuck her, to do anything really, as long as it's us doing it,"  The older Osamu nudged your cheek with his nose making you crane your neck so that your lips are almost touching. " She's such a slutty little girl, " he says lower, "but she's our slutty girl, and we fucking love it."

Osamu's mouth is on yours again and there are fingers that aren't just rubbing your clit but now slipping inside. You moan into the older's mouth and buck your hips grinding against his hands.  You hear a low curse from the present Osamu.

"Well, shit you look like your dick's about to explode there. You're about to cum but you're trying to make it last because you can't last very long  after the first time can't ya."

A frustrated groan escapes the present Osamu's lips. He has the waistband of his sweats pulled down past his hips and his hand gripping the base of his flushed cock.  He looked just about as lost in pleasure as you but had retained some sense of himself to pay attention so that he can learn how to make you feel this good in the future.

"Don't fret though because you're going to be able to go for rounds. Y/N can barely keep up in the future. I usually leave her so fucked out by the end of the night, but I make sure to take good care of her. Treat her to a nice bath and some home-cooked food in bed after I wreck her cunt. "

"O-Osamu," the name tumbles out as your breath quickens, everything that hen man was doing and describing to his younger self was so fucking hot and heavenly sounding.

"Holy fuck."

"Right? See what you can do when you start the impossible is possible? " he then addresses you. "You want more darlin'?"

"Please~"

"holy fuck Y/N," the present Osamu moans slowly stroking  himself, "you sound so fucking good right now darlin'."

"That's what we love to hear," the older Osamu purrs. His hands leave your body but only for a moment to he unbuckles his pants and pull his dick free giving it a few pumps.  Then they're on you again, grabbing your hips and lifting you up just enough that you stand on your tippy-toes.

"Now I'm gonna need to you stay just like that and keep squeezing those pretty thighs together. Can ya do that for us, darlin'?"

when he uses that nickname in that pitch of voice? It was a power that the present Osamu didn't realize he had yet, and god helps you the day that he did because you would do just about anything when he say's 'darlin' like that. you nod your yea with a little 'yes' and you feel the older's hands move to a firm grip on your elbows.

When he roughly pulls you into him your eyes go wild. This was new. The older Osamu's thick cock slips in and out from between your thigh, each thrust making your whole body jolt.  Each time his hips meet the blunt head of his dick slips slang you slit and bumps against your slit making you see stars. All the while the present Osamu watches completely enthralled by the sight of his older self fucking your thighs. The way you titis are bouncing with every thrust, the way his older self is handing you like some treasured fuck toy, and those breathless moans you don't hold back, that's what he wants. He wants to be able to fuck you like that. He wants to be the only one to be able to make you feel the way you feeling right now. He just never thought he could until now. 

"Does it feel good darlin'?  The tip of my fat cock rubbing you like this?"

"y-yes!", answer as he paces quickens.

"Are you gonna cum like this? From me fucking your thighs while my younger self watches?"

you nod vigorously, the feeling of orgasm quickly building in your gut each time the tip of his dick meets your clit. You squeeze your thighs tighter your head lulls back when it finally washes over you.  

"Shit," Osamu curses in your ear as his hips sputter and he spills his cum between your thighs, "Shit, that's it darlin' keep squeezin' round me like that. Don't she look so cute?"

"You haven't even fucked her yet," the present Osamu comments making the older chuckles

"You ready to watch that?”

"God yes," Osamu breaths out looking so desperate to watch you get railed by his older self that it's downright adorable.

The older Osamu chuckles. He handles you like you don't weigh a thing to him lifting you up and laying you back down at the end of the bed. The way the couch is facing the present Osamu has a perfect side view of the two of you. You set yourself up on your elbows when the older steps away. He doesn't bother stripping, he simply pulled his tee-shirt over his head and pushed his jeans down a little more.

"Oh god," You moan because holy fuck you have never wanted Osamu as bad as you wanted him now. He stands to at the foot of your had hands on his hips and a lopsided smirk letting you admire him in what wasn't even his full glory.

This thing that really gets you is how much Osamu hasn't, or in this cane won't change. His body was mostly the same. There's some muscles mass you could see in his forearm, chest, and the way that he manhandles you. His tits are still nice and supple, just begging for you to leave hickies on, and a faint patch of hair grows along his sternum. Your eyes roam across his soft tummy that has the faintest outline of abs the closer you look. Following his thicker trail of hair below his navel leads to his erect cock standing tall and as proud as he is that’s glistening under the soft light in your wetness.

"See," he glances at his younger self and his voice softens. "She really does love us and our body. Every last bit of it. Even on the day when we don't."

He then turns back to you," Now are you ready for me to fuck you darlin'?"

"Yes," you answer and spread your legs that are dangling off the foot of your bed a little wider to accommodate him.

When Osamu pushes into you there's a familiar burn of yourself stretching around him. The older takes things slowly so that you feel every inch of him entering you. Once he's bottom out in you Osamu takes your legs and wraps that around his waist. 

Osamu's pace starts out slow and deep but doesn't stay this way for long. Soon your small apparent is filled with all sorts of lewd sounds. The loudest of which was the dull slaps of skin and squelching every time he thrusts back into you. They barely cover your breathless moans and high pitch whimpers. Both Osamu's are also being quite vocal. The present Osamu is cursing again as he bucks his hip and cums into his closed fist. Meanwhile, the older Osamu is grunting, jacking hammering into you.  You can barely keep up with the brutal pace the older's set. All that you can really do at this point is grab and claw at his shoulders for something to hang on to for dear life too.

"Oh fuck. Oh, fuck Dalrin' you're gonna make me cum. Yer just suckin' me in a like that- shit! cummin'! I'm cummin' Y/N," Osamu moans burying himself as deep as he can inside you and flooding you with his release. 

 Feeling yourself being filled with Osamu's cum pushes you over the edge.  Your walls flutters around his dick and thighs shake around his hips as you cum.

The order barely gives you time to catch your breath before he's calling for his younger self to switch places with him. The present Osamu is on his feet in an instant stripping out of his clothes on his way to you.  The other Osamu moves aside, setting down on the couch and relaxing his arms across the back of it.  He doesn't even bother to tuck his flaccid  cock back into his jeans or fix his shirt. He smiles at the scene before him.

Osamu is hunched over you so you can wrap your arms around his neck and pull him that much closer to you as he fucks you. Like his older self, the pace is fast and deep. You can try and buck your hips but they aren't in sync with his thrusts. The mess, the disorganized movements of the two of you make things hotter, more intense. You're cumming again with a pleasured sob and Osamu continues to fuck you through it reaching his own high.

And he doesn't stop. Your present boyfriend keeps his feet planted on the floor and keeps fucking into even when his cum is being to seep out of your stuffed hole. He pulls away just enough so that he can see your flushed and sweaty face that he cups in his hands. 

"One more yea"

your jaw trembles and the only words you can get out are incoherent so you nod. 

 A tired smile breaks out across his face. "That's my girl. Gonna make you f-feel so good. I'm going to make sure you always feel this good.  gonna stuff you so full of my cum~"

You cum right along with Osamu, letting out a silent scream to fucked to do anything else. You can feel his whole body shudder as he pulls out of you. You immediately feel a mixture of you, him, and maybe even his future self leak out of your spent cunt.  You feel him move you up the bed so that you can catch your breath while fully laying in your own bed with Osamu cuddled up next to you.

"Darlin'."

"Hmmm?" you hum eyes still closed.

"He's gone."

You peak an eye open and sure enough, the couch was empty now. You were too tired to really think about where the older Osamsua had gone but somewhere in your mind was the assumption that he went back to his own timeline in the future.

"Too tired and icky to care."

You feel fingers thread themself through you and massage your scalp. you lean into Osamu's touch and you're fully content to just lay here in the mess the two of them had made of you for the rest of the night.

"How about I run you a nice bath and we get cleaned up hmm? We can go back to my place and worry about your sheets tomorrow. "

"Will you cook for me?"

"Whatever ya want darlin'." 

 A few years down the road Osamu bursts into the apartment that you two share scaring the living hell out of you. "Fuck! Don't burst in like that."

"Sorry," he apologizes kicking off his shoes. "But it happened It finally happened."

"What happened?"

He strides over to the couch where you had been working on to laptop but set it aside and pulls you into his lap. He nuzzles his face into your neck and you can feel his wide smile on your skin. "That night during Junior year."

"We had lots of nights Junior.  Give me more than that." you request already thinking of your favorite nights spent with Osamu rather it was making an all-night drive just to watch the sunrise, nights where you went out in a group of friends and went home wearing his shoes or being carried on his back,  nights spent in eating his cooking, nights spent with his dick plugged into you...

"I made love to you while I watch."

"Ah that night," you smile, "The details are a little fuzzy, Mabey you can help job my memory after dinner with the team tonight?"

His arms tightened around your waist, "Oh, gladly darlin'."

more  my Haijyuu fics can be found here: Haikyuu collection

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Concept: RED Spy is down, his watch damaged and the knife blasted from his hand by a clever strike from a BLU. His ribs ache from the force of being hurled bodily into the unforgiving soil of Teufort’s rocky ground, and he grits his teeth into a snarl. 

He can fight without his knife, he lived this long as a Spy prior to this whole mess of a contract... but it would not be easy. His ankle feels damaged, twisting as he rolled and Spy curses at the misfortune; still, his arms were hale enough to enact a chokehold when the opportunity arose. 

The sun disappears as looming shadows block the light, and hearty chuckles linger in the air, the malice behind the sound sending a shudder through the espionage agent. He understood, this was... well, it was personal to a degree, if he had a downed BLU then of course he would think nothing of enacting some quick revenge for a past death/insult.

But it was also their job. He hoped to take at least one down with him, if possible... but it would not be the end of the world to die here and now, later he could hunt them down and delight in the gurgled screams as his butterfly knife pierced their spinal columns. 

Blood dribbled slowly from the shallow indentations in his bottom lip wheren a few teeth had pierced accidentally during the heavy impact. Spy’s tongue darted out automatically to catch it, equally thrilled and revolted by the taste of the coppery substance... 

He grunts as a heavy Texan boot digs into his side, and two voices laugh uproariously as if the world’s wittiest joke had just been exchanged. They would pay for tha-...

His vision flashes sharply a second later, pain radiating through his face like an explosion as a steel-capped boot makes contact; without even consciously registering it, Spy knows his nose is broken. That was a sensation he had become all too familiar with in the past. 

He cries out as something heavy crunches down on his legs, efectively trapping him. 

“Aw, don’t be such a wuss Spah, I manage to carry that around when it’s full all’a the time!” the BLU engineer coos, his expression worryingly unhinged, though not unfamiliar... the RED Engineer had made the same face a truly disconcerting number of times in the past. 

Indeed, the toolbox weighed more than one would suspect, and if his ankle had not been shattered before, it certainly was now. There was only one solution, if he could but find it... where was his-...? 

“Oh laddie, don’t go looking for your pretty little pistol... our spook went and knicked that when ye blacked out for a second, like the delicate little crossaint ye are.” BLU Demo taunted, crouching down over the RED. 

Spy did not recall blacking out, but that’s not generally a good sign...

“You are, as ever, outclassed here, mon frier.” came a smug voice so like his own that it irritated to no end, as the BLU Spy faded into visibility.

If this had been the first death of the day, or even the twelfth, then perhaps he would not have stopped trying to find a solution. Beady blue eyes darting subtly around until some ingenious escape plan came to light and he could be freed from this mess...

But it wasn’t, and he was so, so very tired. Between the Pyro, Sniper and a number of rather lucky swipes from the BLU Medic, Spy had been dying all day long. He would love for this to end quickly... but given the location, and the unlikelihood of help arriving in time to curb the enthusiasm of the currently losing team surrounding him... Spy felt that things were not in his favour this day.

Hovering gently across the room, the intel gleamed innocuously, cruelly. A beacon that lured them all to their deaths day in, day out on these damn capture the flag campaigns; a beloved sight for both the teams’ benefactors. 

And so they died, day after day, for nothing more than a glowing briefcase with an ever-changing array of useless paper inside. Why, last week there had been a recipe for some fried chicken with eleven herbs and spices... useless, though Engineer had been eager to try it, as had another fried chicken afficiando on the team. 

The week before? A number of magazines, a short story about some science fiction show he was certain may have been written by one of the Pyros, and a crudely drawn map to different households that Spy could not make heads or tails of...

A slap snapped him back to reality, sending fresh waves of sizzling pain through his face as the damage to his nose once again took his full focus. 

“Looks as if he’s back with us again.” BLU Spy said, radiating smugness from every pore as he flicked out his knife with unnecessary flourishes. “Good evening Monsieur, seeing as you will be staying with us for some time, I would hope you will be an obbliging guest... and not miss out on the festivities. Such as,” he said, pointing the blade directly at a blue pupil, “when I remove your eye from its socket, hmmm?”

“Hey, I called dibs on ‘im first boyo.” BLU Demo exclaims, swatting at the blade-wielding hand, and trying not to look too pleased as it scored a deep groove across Spy’s face. Spy hisses at him through clenched teeth, loathing the man. “He needs those eyes to see what ol’ eyelander and I are gonna do tae him, aye?” 

“Just don’t go hogging him, I’ve had to rebuild a dozen sentries today because of him. Not to mention my back’s achin’ somethin’ fierce from all the damn backstabbing the little red weasel’s gotten away with.” BLU Engie interjected, groaning as he stretched, fingers and spine making awful audible pops. The man flexed his gloved hand and the mechanical whirring sent chill straight down the Spy’s spine. “Now see, I’m thinkin’ that fair’s fair only if’n I get to pull yours right on out of that body of yours. Whatcha think about that, you filthy RED?”

It would technically fall under ‘fair’, but not anything Spy particularly wanted to experience. Before he could open his mouth in his own defence, with a smooth ‘Gentlemen, please...’ the mechanical fist slammed in from the side. Bile rose automatically in his throat at the sensation of a tooth dislodging and blood filling his mouth. The BLUs seemed wildly unhinged today, beyond their normal bloodlust... but they had lost all week long, so they may be getting sanctions and penalties from the Administrator.

His head whirled. When was the last time he’d had more than a few hours sleep this week? The last time he drank some actual water or ate something substantial? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d not insisted on skipping the team lunch during ceasefire, in order to do some covert surveillance in the enemy intel. 

Consciousness flickered. 

There were delighted but angry voices jabbering back and forth about ‘waiting their turn’, and ‘going a little easy to start because the french fry had to last’...

And then, there was screaming.

It was almost like a bad horror movie, with the sounds of screaming, crunching and swearing flickering in and out. Little snippets of a full scene that he could not comprehend as his battered head swam...

In the sudden silence, loud and grotesque for the heaviness of it, all that could be heard was a sharp, angry series of breaths.

Spy blinked frantically, trying to ascertain what had happened, trying to cling to the here and now when all his body & mind wished for was to give in to the swirling darkness. 

A figure coalesced before him, eyes seeming to glow with a feral light, body and bat completely splattered with blood and gore, expression half in shadow. 

“S-Sco-...?” Spy tried to get the word out around damaged molars and a outhful of blood. Everything throbbed, but the silence was a symphony of hope to his ears.

“Don’t worry, they won’t fuckin’ touch you again, Spy. I got ‘em.” growled an unusually serious Scout, his fist shaking around the bat’s handle. He seemed frozen, a figure in a portrait surrounded by the broken corpses of the BLUs, uncertain what to do next.

A wheezey exhalation from Spy seemed to snap the runner out of it, and he knelt to shove against the toolbox pinioning the espionage agent to the ground. It clunked to the ground with a heavy metallic finality, and Spy sighed at the sudden freedom. 

“Ya look like shit, Spook, so we gotta get ya out of here before those guys fall outta respawn lookin’ for revenge.”Scout says, mouth running while his eyes dart over the mess that the normally immaculate espionage agent made. He slips an arm under Spy and they slowly work the man into a sititng position.

Ankle’s definitely shattered, Spy notes with a true lack of enthusiasm.

“Scout... just prop me against the wall there and take the intel. Once it is secured, they cannot touch me anyway, as the humiliation round will keep me safe.” 

“And just who the fuck do you think you are ordering me about like that?” Scout objects, eyes never once leaving Spy’s face. 

“Someone who wants to win as much as I do?” Spy hazards.

Scout leans back on his haunces, crouched by Spy. He tilts his head, “Ya a real bastard, ya know that? I don’t care about the intel, we gotta get you outta here. But if it means that much to ya...”

In a frankly ridiculously fluid movement, Scout is up, across the room and back again before Spy could blink. The intel snapped to his back like a magnet.

Spy is hauled to his feet with minimal protestations, an arm over Scout’s shoulders and the runner’s other one about his waist. The majority of his bodyweight was resting on the runner, and Spy felt rather despondent about their chances of surviving like this.

He said so.

“The others are coming, don’t worry about it.” Scout grinned. 

Heavy machinegun fire could be heard above near the BLU spawn, along with delighted maniacal laughter. The REDs were here, and judging by the beeping of a sentry, they were spawncamping like no tomorrow.

“See? We got this. So don’t worry about it.” Scout shrugs as they begin the slow ascent up the corridor and hiopefully towards a dispenser. Spy lurching along and trying to think of other things as each jostling movement created little discomforts. 

In a momentary pause, he looks to the runner. “Merci, mon... fils.” 

The words felt too big for such a narrow corridor to hold all at once.

Scout laughed, half in delight and half from awkward nervousness. “Yeah, yeah, you better thank me. I saved ya butt in there!”

They continued hobbling towards the rest of RED for a long moment, before Scout said, looking anywhere but at Spy. “Don’t worry about it... Dad... I got ya.”

Spy could not help but smile through a mouth of bloody, broken teeth. Suddenly, the world felt a little brighter... 

The End

[the-writer-ofthe-fandoms]

Petals (Pt2) (Lucifer Morningstar)

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader (Hanahaki Disease AU) Words: 1k+ Warning(s): some angst, tooth achin fluff A/N: Here we are, part 2 of Petals. I originally wasn’t going to write a second part bc sometimes i am a sucker for angst but this was fun to write :) Part One: Petals

--------

Your eyelods felt extremely heavy as you slowly came to. You couldn't quite open them; only just enough to react to the little light you saw. You heard a consistent and incessant beeping to your right, making you groan in annoyance...

"(Y/N)...?" You heard your name spoken softly to your right. "Are-Are you awake?" They sounded familiar... You let your head roll to the left and opened your eyes more. You could make out a silhouette but you blurry vision thankfully cleared away as you tried your hardest to see who you was with you.

Lucifer Morningstar.

Light filtered in around him, making him seem almost angelic. How humourous.

"Lucifer..." You mumbled gaining more of your vision back. You saw his dark eyes look at you with concern as he leaned closer to you.

"I am right here darling." His voice was uncommonly gentle. "I am right here."

"What happened?"

Lucifer opened his mouth to reply but there was a knock at the door that interrupted him. A doctor came in and stood to the side opposite of Lucifer.

"Glad to see you are awake, I am Dr. Maar." He smiled and flipped through the paper on his clipboard. "I am sure you are aware of Hanahaki Disease?"

You nodded, but Lucifer spoke up "I'm not. Can you explain this disease?" Your eyes widened at the fact Lucifer will learn about the key cause of the flower growing inside you.

"Well Mr. Morningstar, it is a case of one-sided love. It causes a plant to grow thoughout the chest cavity unless cured or removed. (Y/N) here was lucky enough to get here in time when they did. The flower was at the point of killing them. And your friend Ella made sure to let the paramedics know about your wishes."

"Well there is a cure right? Or a removal processes?" Lucifer asked with a worry tone.

"Luci-" You gasped and coughed up a few petals.

"Well, theres the removal and the cure is simple: the person they love returns their feelings." Your doctor looked to his pager. "I need to leave, a nurse needs me. Please don't be hesitant to ask for help." The man smiled and promptly left the room.

It was silent in the room, a heavy silence. You weren't sure what to say now that Lucifer fully knows the extent of the sickness you have. You were sure he was going to ask who it was, you felt your heart clutch with anxiety.

"Why don't you have it removed?" Lucifer asked gently.

"Because I don't want to." Your voice was scratchy and it felt rough to speak.

"If it can save your life-"

"If I get it removed then it takes away emotions, all of them. I don't want that."

"Then confess to the person. You're a lovely human, I am sure they return your feelings."

You stayed silent.

"Please, (Y/N). I- I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to die-"

You moved your hand towards his, wrapping your fingers around his hand. You stared at him, hoping he would get what you were implying. You feel your eyes start to burn as tears filled them up.

"(Y/N)...." He simply muttered your name. The tears began to leak out of your glossy (e/c) eyes. You felt your body jerk as sobs escaped your lips. You knew he wouldn't reciprocate. You knew you would be dying alone.

Suddenly, Lucifers soft lips were pressed against yours. You cried harder into the kiss, squeezing his hand tight as you reciprocated. He placed his free hand on your jaw, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away your tears. He parted away from you slowly, his eyes slowly opening to look at you.

"Is this what you wanted to say at the police department before you collapsed?"

"... Yes." You gulped, your throat feeling better than it did moments before. "I didn't expect you to return the same sentiment to be honest. You are so close with Chloe and always talking about her I thought..."

"Because she makes me mortal dear. I am in the process of figuring it out but her presence intrigues me in a purely platonic way." He lightly squeezes your hand, his free hand was resting on your thigh. "I... I'm not good with processing and admitting my feelings, well that's what Linda says, but you are very dear to me, (Y/N). And I am sorry it took this," He then picked up the petals you coughed up earlier, "this flower to make me fully realize that I love you."

"I love you too." You pulled him close, he enveloped you into a warm, safe hug. You felt your body began to slowly heal itself. Your once raw throat started to feel soothed, the thorns poking at your organs and muscles seemed to slowly draw back. The plant was dying, and your love was returned...

-----

Seeing that Lucifer reciprocated you feelings, the deadly plant started to wither. You weren't going to be 100% back to normal but you were healing, and you had Lucifer Mornigstar by your side. The hospital released you that afternoon after seeing the improvements to your health. Lucifer insisted he take you home and insisted he stay with you for awhile; not that you didn't mind.

He had yours and his arms linked as you made your way to your apartment,  worried that you would suddenly collapse again. You reached your door and you were about to unlock it but Luci somehow had your keys in his hand

"I can walk fine you know." You rolled your eyes with a smile.

"I know but just in case. It also gives me an excuse to keep you close." He smirked devishly, unlocking your door.You both walked in, although he stayed at the now closed door.  You watched as he scanned your apartment, taking in every detail he could.

"It isn't a penthouse about an infamous nightclub, I know but-"

"It feels like you. I like it." He approached you slowly, placing his hands on your waist. "You are amazing and don't think for a second you aren't."

"You are too, Lucifer. I love you so much that it grew a stupid plant inside me. You are so much more than what your Father tried to define you as."

He then smiled, a smile of pure relief and happiness. He leaned forward and gave you a purely loving kiss, one that he or you would ever forget.

[stilldani24]

You Are Here 📍 -  A Bucky x Reader Fanfiction - 38 Planes/Blankets and Bedding/28 Hours/Wherever We Are

Description: On September 11th, 2001, the world changed forever. During the horrors in New York City, planes all over the world bound for the United States were promptly landed at the nearest airport. For a small town of nine thousand in Newfoundland, Canada, thirty-eight planes were grounded at the Gander Airport. As a Gander native, you were going about your normal day. For Bucky Barnes, a Brooklyn native, landing in this backwater Canadian town while terror was happening back home was a whole new adventure in it of itself. While this will be based on Come From Away, it is also a completely true story.

Warnings: This fic deals with the events surrounding September 11th, 2001. 

Word Count: 1815

A/N: Hope (not van Dyne) is based on @captainscanadian​

PROLOGUE//MASTERLIST//

10:02 AM, Tuesday, September 11th, 2001 

“How many planes are there now?” you asked as you approached the town’s constable, Clint Barton, while looking at the tarmac. The planes had been touching down all morning, constantly and at an eerie schedule. Every twenty minutes or so, the roar of a 747 erupted over the town as another plane came in for landing.

“Seventeen,” Clint replied, running his fingers through his hair with a heavy sigh. “Most of them are jumbos, eh. They have two, three hundred people on the average each. Holy shit.”

You look both ways across Airport Boulevard, the main road through town and leading up to the seemingly abandoned airport. Lined up, both ways, are cars. The cars of everyone in town, surrounding towns, and even news vans. They were backed up all the way to the Shoppers, crowding around the McDonald’s, and the only other constable was routing traffic as to leave room for when the plane people would be evacuated from the planes. No one knew how soon that would be, if at all, but the town was at a standstill. Stores were closed, kids were sent home from school, and nearly everyone was watching either the news or the planes touching down.

“Wanda’s getting the school ready with Hope and Maria,” you then told him, interrupted by the roar of another plane touched down. Eighteen. “Natasha Romanoff from the news is wanting to interview you about the planes in about fifteen minutes and Tony is announcing a state of emergency soon, too.”

Clint chuckled now, shaking his head as he turned his back to the airport. “How the hell did you get yourself into this? I assumed you were gonna be helpin’ at the school there, eh?”

You shrugged, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “I needed to do something other than watchin’ the news. Hope has the tubes at the school with different news channels and I needed to stop lookin’ at those images. Can’t even imagine what they’re going through right now.”

Clint clapped you on the shoulder, giving you a welcoming smile. “We don’t have time to worry about it, kiddo. We have nearly four thousand people on those planes achin’ to get off and we can’t let them until we’re ready. Go around town and ask what different people need and if locals are willin’ to take some guests.”

You did just that, first heading back to the school to help with cots and getting the cafeteria set up for a day full of cooking, then ran down to the Baptist church to ask what they needed, then down to the Lions Club. Every public space that wasn’t a store was being converted into a shelter. The Shoppers Drug Mart was willing to give anything off the shelves, Dr. O’Brian from another pharmacy down the road was ready to fill any emergency prescriptions as needed, and the town school buses were willing to end their strike for the time being to transport passengers from the planes to the shelters when the time came. After a couple hours, you returned to the airport to see Natasha interviewing different locals. Pepper Potts, who ran the SPCA and wife to the mayor, was giving an interview as you ran up.

“On a normal day, we get half a dozen flights. Now, we already got three times as many landing in such little time…that’s a lot of noise. You can smell the fuel,” she was saying as yet another plane touched down. Clint was looking at the tarmac yet again, counting up the planes. The lights in the control tower had gone out now, the air control not in the tower, signifying that no more planes were to be coming in.

Clint’s eyes widened now, dropping his hands to his sides where they once rested on his hips. “Jesus…we got thirty-eight planes. With two hundred people on the average…”

“Christ,” you cursed, running up to Natasha now as she was too just staring at the tarmac. “Nat, c’mon. You have to make an emergency broadcast, people all over town need things if we’re gonna play host to these come from away’s, yeah? Clint, go down to the Shoppers and help clearing out those shelves. Tony’s there loading up trucks to take to the school. We need to get going.”

Clint nodded, running back to his cruiser and heading down Airport Boulevard to get to the Shoppers. The road had narrowed so only one car was allowed through, since cars were lined up on either side to watch the planes, so it was a sight to see. You then handed Natasha a list of what different people needed to be able to operate as a shelter, and she quickly turned back to the camera man.

“11:53 AM, Tuesday, September 11th, 2001. Live from the Gander Airport. Any available community buildings will be converted into shelters. With thousands of passengers arriving at any minute, the town is asking for help with…well, anything you can do,” she spoke to the camera before reading from your list. “The Baptist church needs help movin’ their pews, Dr. O’Brian down at the pharmacy is ready to fill any prescriptions, oh, and the Lions Club is looking for some toilet paper, if you have any extra.”

Locals were quick to act. In under an hour, anything that could ever be donated was. Medicine, toothpaste, underwear, aspirin. Even jackets women’s kids grew out of last summer. Since the Rogers News station was the one to put out the call, that’s where all the donations were being dropped off. Except for the toilet paper, and truckloads were arriving at the Lions Club by the minute. At 1:17 PM, Natasha had to give another request.

“For the love of God, stop bringin’ toilet paper to the Lions Club!”

9:26 PM, Tuesday, September 11th, 2001

The mood on the planes was vastly different than what was happening outside. People were cranky, tired, and sore from sitting on the planes. Some people, from the beginning of their flight and the accumulated time sitting on the tarmac, were on the planes for twenty-eight hours. Bucky’s flight, from Paris and bound for NYC, touched down six hours after they took off. They were let out of their seats, but not off the plane. Something about the town they were in needing to get ready and the airport they were at not actually being a real international airport. No one even knew what was happening. The pilot wouldn’t tell them, and neither would the attendants. The phones on the backs of the seats weren’t working, so they couldn’t call loved ones, and those with cellphones only had limited service or battery life. Those who did get through weren’t getting any information either, just talking to their loved ones and assuring them they were okay. Bucky had no one to contact, as the one person he would have called in this situation was sitting next to him.

“How much longer?” one guy from the back of the plane shouted up to the front, irritated. The pilot had announced that the minibar the plane held was free, and people passed around the mini bottles of liquor. People got drunk fast, and while some people got friendlier, others got much more irritated. “We’ve been sitting here for twelve hours!”

Bucky shook his head, needing to get some fresh air. Many of the planes had their doors open to let some in, but it was still so stuffy and hot in there. He nudged Steve, nodding towards the door to let him know where he was going before getting up. He walked to the door, where a couple of women were sitting on the edge with their feet dangling from the plane. He stood behind them, looking out at the long line of cars along the road while the sun was setting behind them. It was almost insane. All he knew about the town that it was small, much smaller than he was used to, and seeing that many cars made him think that the entire town came out to watch him. While most people remained in their cars, he saw a small group of people standing in the middle of the road. One woman was a redhead, in a white button-down shirt with some sort of logo. She appeared to be a news reporter, since she was speaking to a camera and held a microphone while gearing to interview someone else. A man stood next to her, but off to the side in the grass of the ditch. He was obviously the police officer, as Bucky could see the gleam of his badge despite the distance between them. Finally, there was another woman. She stood at average height, with [Y/H/C] and dressed kind of like a stereotypical school teacher but with messy hair and a clipboard in her hands. From what he could see from his spot on the plane, she appeared to be the one in charge down there. He couldn’t help but give a smile, as seeing a woman take control of such a huge situation was surprisingly a turn on for him. He, however, turned back to the interior of the plane when the pilot made announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please quiet down,” she had spoken. “Please listen to this broadcast from the President about the situation that had occurred today.”

After a few moments of silence, the sound of George W. Bush’s voice began to play over the PA system, but a bit fuzzy. It was being relayed through a handheld radio. Bucky turned back to watch the people in the road, who had stopped what they had been doing to listen to the broadcast from the officer’s car.

“…I ask the American people to join me in saying thanks…for all the folks who’ve been fighting hard to rescue our fellow citizens and to join me in saying a prayer for the victims and their families. The resolve of our great nation is being tested but make no mistake. We will show the world that we will pass this test. God bless.”

Bucky sighed as he watched the people in the road look at each other as the broadcast ended, the officer getting in his cruiser with the woman and driving onto the tarmac.

“Attention, plane people!” A loud voice then boomed from the tarmac, the officer turning on the lights and obviously using his cruiser’s intercom system. Every plane had their doors open so thankfully, they could all hear in the area the cruiser was in. “You are going to be the first group to deplane! We’re not sure how long that will take, so please keep your patience. Thank you for your cooperation.”

After a moment, the intercom crackled to let someone else talk. A woman’s voice then spoke up through the system, making Bucky smile.

“Welcome to Gander!”

Permanent Taglist: @buckysmischief​ @captainscanadian​ @thingsthatkeepmeawakeeveryday​ @this-kitten-is-smitten​ @wtfisachoncexx​ @jllngls02​ @abrilkatz123​ @writeturnlove​ @buckysgirls-stuff​ @tomhollandenthusiast​ @sebastian-i-stan​ @imma-new-soul​ @lumar014​ 

You Are Here 📍 Taglist: @anastea​

[kusunogatari]

                                                           [ @uchiha-madara ]                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩

It had been his fate, really, to fall in love with the sea.

It wasn’t enough that he was born and raised in the coastal city, home to their land’s busiest port. Or that his father, and his father’s father, had all sailed in the royal navy. Some claimed the Uchiha had saltwater in their veins rather than blood, so tied were they to the ocean. Since the founding of the country they sailed for, and the crowning of the Senju line, the Uchiha have been right beside them: their closest friends and allies. The military might to the divine right to rule.

Madara Uchiha was born a scant two months after the next crown prince, Hashirama...during the night of a battering winter squall. The sea had been boiling in the ports, thunder rumbling and lightning reaching across the pitch-black sky. His father Tajima liked to say that the sea knew its next king was born that night: the eldest of the five Uchiha sons. He who would conquer the waves and tame the winds.

For while the Senju were rulers of the land...it was the Uchiha who held dominion over the waters.

Madara grew fast, and every minute spared was spent learning his place. Be it playing on the beaches with his brothers, or accompanying his father on short sailing routes when only a boy, he was never far from the sea. He could climb rigging soon after he could walk. Talking was mastered only to learn to bark orders. Everywhere he turned, he was called, “lil cap’n”, as he felt was only right. He became the youngest ever to enroll in the naval academy...and the youngest to graduate with full honors. When he was scarcely sixteen, he was appointed to his first ship.

By twenty, he’d take his late father’s place as admiral of the entire royal navy. Over six hundred ships, and over forty thousand men were at the command of a genius - and admittedly ruthless - mind. For five brilliant and bloody years, Madara led the charge to expand not only the Senju-ruled kingdom’s trade routes, but its territories, colonies, and influence over the continent and beyond. Wars were waged and won. In his half decade at the helm, he claimed more victories and spoils than his father in the entirety of his career.

And his accomplishments did not go unnoticed.

...but nor did his methods.

There was no denying that the heir of the Uchiha was an unmatched tactician: not only armed, supplied, and populated beyond his enemies, but managing to plan and outwit as to minimize his own losses.

But the losses of the other sides were, as time went on, found to be too steep. Too cruel. Hashirama spoke to him on many an occasion, begging he rein in his bloodlust.

“What’s the purpose in conquering a people if there are no people left?!”

“We’ve people of our own. Send them out, make new colonies! You tasked me with expanding our borders, and I have done so. Better than any man before me!”

“You salt these new lands with hatred and disdain for our flag! If you continue to take beyond what is necessary, you’ll only incite uprisings.”

“Uprisings I will have little trouble crushing.”

“We cannot rule by fear and force alone, Madara.”

“That’s your lot, Hashirama. Not mine. Mine is to fight, and to win. By whatever means necessary.”

“That is my point - you go above and beyond what is necessary! From critical to cruel! If you cannot make these judgments more fairly, then I must -”

“Must what?” He turned to his childhood friend - the boy and man he’d grown alongside, planning their futures to be won together. Dark eyes seemed to burn with challenge. “You think you can remove me…? I have earned my place, with blood and with sweat. I’ll not be upended so easily, Hashirama. Those men are my men.”

“No, Madara…” Hashirama’s gaze was somber with realization...but also steely with resolve. “...they are mine.”

If there was one fault within him...it was Madara’s temper. When it burned, it blazed, and rational thought would fall to cinders in its wake. So, Hashirama thought he could take all he’d built?  Been born and bred for? No...this navy, this armada, was his and his alone.

...or so he thought.

That night, he gathered his highest ranking officers. Spun a tale of spurn and betrayal. Invited them to rise up against the Senju who dared try to yoke them.

But for many...his rousing speech fell on deaf ears.

Most - even Uchiha among them - turned their backs on him in favor of their king.

They say it was then he finally snapped.

Embittered, he’d taken what few remained - enough for a crew - and boarded his helmship: a beautiful frigate of lacquered granadillo wood. A stunning red in color with dark hickory accents, it was peerless. Strong but swift, loaded with thirty cannons, a heavy battering ram, and midnight sails, it had been a symbol of death and bloodshed at the fore of his armada since his ascension to admiral.

And now...it would be so on its own.

In the dead of night, with a favorable wind Madara claimed was divine, they left the ports behind, knowing full well their treachery would earn them a new name.

Pirates.

It was with a heavy heart Hashirama watched the ship abandon the harbor from his castle windows. “...I’ll give you this night,” he murmured to no one. “But come daylight, Madara...all you’ve left behind will be reclaimed. Your ties are cut. Cling to your ocean...for the lands you’ve forsaken will no longer house you.

“Step again on my shores...and you’ll be brought to make amends for your crimes. Your barbarity...and your betrayal.”

And so, Madara migrated from the most renowned commander of the royal navy...to the most feared and ruthless pirate on the seas. The trade routes he’d fought to clean of those now his kin were retaken: plundered at every opportunity. Should a ship bear his country’s banner, he’d pursue it to the horizon until it was looted and sunk. Some might call such actions petty...but for Madara, they were simple repayment for all Hashirama had robbed him of. If the ships of the Senju port were no longer his to command...they were his to take.

He’d make Hashirama regret his decision...and there would be no recompense. No amends. The Senju king had made his bed, and now he could lie in it.

One did not cross Madara Uchiha without begetting a grudge that could - and would - outlast empires.

And that was exactly what he planned to do.

...but the fates have other ideas.

Standing at the wheel, feeling a warm breeze at his back, Madara looks out over the decks. His crew - nearly two hundred and fifty men - are all in sound shape. They’ve only just left a pirate-held port, fresh from a two week reprieve from the sea. Their supplies are restocked, their spirits high, and their goals on the horizon.

He’s gotten word of a large convoy of Hashirama’s ships heading through...but taking what they believe will be a less noticeable route.

Hashirama, however, underestimates Madara’s mastery of the area. There’s not a cove or a beach he doesn’t know. If they think they can outsmart him...they’re very much mistaken.

And now, it will cost his old friend dearly.

...there’s only one thing standing in his way.

As they approach the series of islands the Senju ships are rumored to try hiding amongst, dark clouds gather at the fore. His plan - to lie low in an inlet before streaking in from behind - might get a bit...wet.

“Cap’n,” his first mate murmurs, stepping up with a bowed head of respect. “Perhaps t’ain’t my place t’say, but...I’ve no love for those clouds. They bring a rattlin’ in me bones that warns a’trouble.”

“This ship’s handled its fair number of squalls,” is Madara’s rumbling rebuke, hold steady on the wheel. “I’d gladly stand a bit of rain and wind for whatever lies in the hulls of those ships.”

“A-and I agree, cap’n! T’ain’t no better vessel than yers,” his companion admits, bobbing in apologetic bows. “But the achin’ in me joints tells me this storm’s a leap above t’rest. Perhaps we can...chart a course t’intercept the Senju convoy further down the line…? Out a’ the path o’the storm?”

Dark eyes give a cool glance, earning a flinch. “These islands serve as good cover, and the tide is favorable. Those fat ships won’t have our maneuverability, loaded with their cargo. We’ll dance circles around them until they run themselves aground. Then, they’ll be ripe for the taking. We’ll barely have to lift a finger.”

“...aye, cap’n.”

Looking back to his route, a haughty grin curls the former admiral’s lips. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this...and what’s a plundering without a bit of boiling in the ocean? Surely she’ll be glad to be fed all the fools he’ll throw overboard. Then she’ll calm.

She always does.

On they sail, weaving their way between the group of islands until finding the cove Madara’s had in mind. Dropping anchor, they face out toward the route their informant described. Here they’ll bide their time.

Not long after they tuck away, the wind begins to pick up, fat drops of rain shattering atop the decks and soaking the sails.

Ever patient when he needs to be...Madara waits.

It’s just dusk when a ship’s prow passes their hiding place. By now, the wind’s are whipping, swirling and knocking the rain any direction it feels.

“Steady,” Madara commands to those awaiting to lift the anchor. “Steady…”

A dozen ships pass by, utterly unaware. Half are the galleons carrying the cargo, two small gunships, and four brigs.

Child’s play.

Only once he’s sure they’re all past does Madara signal for the anchor to be raised. The tide’s lowering, leaving the narrow strips of sea between the isles shallow. One wrong move, and those swollen ships will be run ashore until it raises again.

Plenty of time to board and loot them. And with so little space to maneuver, their protection won’t have a chance to turn around to defend.

“NOW!”

With the anchor aweigh, the winds swiftly carry them from the cove, sails taut as they quickly build momentum. Below on the gun deck, canons await to be fired. Streaking out past the rear gunboat, they cut in front, dropping lit barrels of powder. As soon as the hull connects, the barrels explode, wreaking havoc and letting seawater through a gaping hole in the hull.

Alarms then sound as the convoy becomes aware, but there’s little to be done. Trapped between the isles, there’s nowhere to go but forward.

Gaining on one of the brigs, Madara commands they fire, cannonballs tearing through the broadside. The return fire is delayed, the enemy ship unprepared for combat. As his own crew reloads, Madara makes to cut to the other brig. A few of its cannons, loaded quickly, fire prematurely, skirting before the bow. Disorder in the chaos only works to his advantage. Cutting cleanly between the ships, another round is shot, this time from both sides, nailing both rear defense vessels.

The former begins to lag, heavily damaged. The latter, however, is hit with a shot to their powder room. A huge portion of the ship blows out, and water quickly begins to claim the ship. That’s two of the brigs down, and the rest are out in front. That leaves the large cargo ships exposed between Madara and any hope of defense. While they might have a few canons, most will have been spared to allow more weight in their holds.

A feral grin overtakes Madara’s face. This...this is what he lives for!

Out beyond, one brig attempts to turn between two islands, clearly trying to circle back around to come up behind them. But they misjudge the tide, running atop a sandbar and beaching as the high winds carry them far along the shelf.

They won’t be going anywhere for a good while.

In the same breath, two of the cargo vessels simply give in, beaching themselves against a left hand isle. The other four keep going, but it’s clear that with their limited canons, and only one remaining brig to defend them beyond the tiny gunboat at the helm, there’s little chance of outwitting or outgunning a ship like Madara’s.

“Hold on, lads!”

Streaking up to the galleons, Madara orders high fire. Masts crumple as cannonballs shatter the wood, leaving the huge ships stagnant in the water without a way to propel. Three of them he cripples before moving to the last brig. The final cargo vessel attempts to get ahead, and he leaves it for now.

Fire exchanges between them, Madara’s larger cannon volleys making quick work of his enemy. The gunboat, realizing it’s outmatched, simply beaches to the right.

But the last cargo ship is determined.

Leaving the rest of its armada behind, it attempts to make it out into open sea.

“Oh no you don’t -!” the Uchiha growls.

“Cap’n! Should we not return and loot what we’ve got? It’s a clear cut now!” the first mate calls over the squalls.

“I’ll be damned before I let one of Hashirama’s ships get away from me!” is the shouted reply. There’s a red glint of fervid revenge in Madara’s eyes. It’s all or nothing...anything less, and he might as well have attained no victory at all.

His pride won’t stand for it.

Forward they plunge through the growing waves, the storm nearly fully upon them. The wheel fights his grip every moment, the tides tearing at the rudder. Rain so thick he can hardly see the ship before him is mopped from his face, drenched into his hair and clothes until he feels he’s gained his weight over.

“Cap’n! The storm, it’s too much!”

“To Hell with the storm!” He’ll not come this far and give up. He’d rather die…!

They make it out of the cluster of islands, and then the weather truly hits them full force. Waves several stories tall, no longer inhibited by the land masses, toss them about like a leaf. Again and again they crest over the deck, sweeping anything not hammered down about and overboard.

He can hear the cries of his men, but they go unacknowledged. The hunt is on, he’s in too deep - there’s nothing beyond death stopping him now -!

Buffeted by a wave, the ship suddenly janks to one side. Thrown from the wheel, Madara lands with a heavy thump against the railing. Both gravity and water pin him down, the whole ship tilting as it’s swept up another wave. He can’t quite regain his feet…!

Reaching the apex, the crest crashes down atop the decks. Pinned to the railing, his body screams in protest at the weight of the water, unable to breathe, and then -

The wood gives out, and he plummets off the side, smashing into the sea with a clap. The weight of his garments drags him all the further, limbs fighting to break the surface. As he does, he sees the ship streaking forward, still propelled by its sails through the gusts.

In a matter of moments, it’s left him far behind.

Around him, debris from the deck either floats or sinks, and he manages to cling to a bobbing barrel. By now, they’re miles from the islands, and he hardly has a hope to swim back...especially not with the storm dogging him.

For the first time in his life...Madara fears the sea.

The waves batter and bruise him, throwing him about before parting him from his float. Struggling to find something, anything to hold on to, he finds a slat of wood. It dips under his weight, but once maneuvered, manages to hold him. Fingers make a white-knuckle grip along its edges, and Madara tucks his face against it from the pounding rain.

Eventually, the exertion is too much...and everything goes black.

When next he wakes, Madara feels a groggy confusion, but...why?

...then it hits him. He’s no longer swaying and sweeping atop water. He’s still.

Cracking open his eyes, he stares up into...leaves? What…?

Beneath him is something soft. Movement earns a rustle, and he sits up with great effort and a grunt. He’s in...some kind of strange hut. Perhaps ten paces across, circular, and with a sandy floor, it’s simply open along one side, giving a view out toward a beach.

Where...where is he?

It’s then he notices he’s been...redressed? His own garments hang nearby, drying, and he’s instead in simple trousers and a shirt, both dry. Likely the only reason he hasn’t caught his death. Feet bare, he swings them over the edge of his cot and looks around. A myriad of chests litter the hut, all overstuffed with seemingly random belongings.

His legs wobble as he stands, but he fights through it, stepping to the doorless doorway. Out beyond is a large fire pit, rigged for cooking. The whole thing sits back in a small inlet of trees and large rocks, protected from the wind. Surely the only way such a structure survived the storm.

The storm…!

All over again, Madara’s knees go weak. His ship...did the crew survive? Did they regain control? Or was all lost? And where the devil is he? Can he even begin to return?

...is there anything for him to return to…?

Without a ship, he’s a captain no more. Sure, he has his stash of gold and trinkets, but no way to retrieve them. And he can’t know if any of his crew - the only people he trusts - have survived.

A hand drags down his face, taking a deep breath. No...he can’t panic. He’s alive. Start there.

And someone clearly rescued him. He hardly hauled himself out of the depths and into a bed. Even if he washed up on shore, he has no memory of making his way here.

Someone else is here...but where?

The beach is too muddled to look for tracks, and he’s unfamiliar with the place - he hardly wants to get lost. Stepping out a few paces, he gives the view a once-over before he just so happens to find what he’s looking for.

Someone’s walking back down the beach toward him. A woman in a flowing skirt and strange, twisted top that encircles her chest, midriff bare. Against her hip is a wide basket. Like him, she wears no shoes.

But most shocking is the wild white waves of her hair - like a tangle of seafoam along her scalp, carried askew by the breeze.

Noticing him, there’s a pause in her strides before closing the cap. “...you’re awake,” is her soft offering, barely above a whisper.

“...aye,” he replies. “Are you...did I…?”

“Come, sit. I will explain.”

In her woven basket is a plethora of fruits, several fish, and greens. As Madara sits atop a stone near the firepit, she goes about sorting and preparing it.

“I found you in the waters just offshore,” she begins, skewering the fish with practiced ease. “Dragged you here...you’re quite heavy.”

The comment earns an amused snort, but no reply.

“You were soaked through, so I stripped you. You’d have gotten ill otherwise...I’m surprised you didn’t. A bit of a fever was all - you slept three days.”

Three days…? No wonder he feels so...off.

“And now...here you are.” Flint sparks dry vegetation, gradually fed wood. Finally glancing up to him, she shows mirror-like silvers, framed by white brows and lashes. He’s never seen anyone with such an appearance.

“Was...was there anyone else?”

“No...only you. You were in the storm…?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate - Madara’s not in the mood to tell such a story.

“...I see.”

“Where are we?”

“A small isle with no name...it is among the cluster here in the south sea. No one comes here...there’s nothing to be gained.”

“You live here…?”

“...when I must.”

Dark brows furrow. What does that mean…?

“Hungry?”

“...starved,” he admits. Already the smells of the fruits she’s cutting are making his stomach do eager circles. “...may I have your name?”

“Ryū,” she replies without hesitation. He’ll take that as a truth, then. “You?”

“...Madara. Madara Uchiha.”

Despite his notoriety, there’s no recognition at his offer. She just keeps going, handing him a crude bowl with the fruit. Then back to peeling and whittling she goes with a strange-looking knife, hands quick and clean.

As starving as he is, Madara makes himself take his time. “...do you have a...boat, or a ship?”

“No.”

The blunt reply earns a blink. “Does...someone come ‘round?”

“No.”

“...then how do you ever leave? You said you only live here when you must. How do you…?”

“I swim.”

“You swim…?”

Checking the fish, Ryū turns them before looking to him again, studying his face. “...you want to leave?”

“Of course. I’ve a life to return to. I have to see if my ship…” He fades out, not wanting to address the possibility of it being lost.

“...you rest first. Then I’ll take you.”

“You just said you have no ship.”

“I don’t need a ship. I told you...I swim.”

“That’s not -” He’s silenced as she holds out a skewer, snatching it and looking to her suspiciously. “...what are you…?”

At his question, she stops mid-bite, considering him before giving him a smile.

Her teeth are...are…!

“You never know what you’ll find lurking in the ocean,” she replies airily before finally taking her bite of fish.

Staring, Madara completely forgets his own. No...that can’t be...but…?

“...mermaid…?” he dares to whisper.

“Mm,” she hums in affirmative reply. “Hence only being here when I have to be. You’d be surprised how many humans end up lost in these waters. So...I haul them out. Bring them here. Then let them go.” Another bite. “I stay until they’re strong again. Then I head back out into the waters.”

“How...how has no one -?”

“Found me? Told of me? Anyone who’s been washed up is already believed to be mad from the sea. No one believes a washed-up man’s tales about a mermaid saving his life.”

“...why do you do it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A pause, considering his food. A few bites pass before he asks, “Are there others?”

“Yes. But I stay alone. Most of my kind are not...fond of your kind. But I find you curious. None have tried to hurt me yet.” A pause. “...though I don’t fully trust you.”

“Probably wise,” Madara replies dryly. Lost in his thoughts, he finishes his food in silence.

“Here.”

Looking up, he sees her offer a waterskin. It’s then he realized how long it’s been since he’s had fresh water. “...so, how long before I can leave?”

“A few days. You were quite weak - you’ll have to build up some strength, first. Then I’ll take you to the next island. There’s a town there - you can find your way from the port.”

“Ah...that might not be wise.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know who holds this port?”

The mermaid blinks. “...no. Why?”

“Well...I’m rather notorious among humans. I might not be welcomed.”

Something lights her eyes for a moment - understanding, perhaps? “Then...where do you wish to go?”

“Do you know the port of Isla Verde? I’d be safe there.”

She thinks. “...that...is a great many miles from here. It would take many, many days to get there.”

“But...you could take me?”

“Mm...maybe. But what would you give me in return?”

“I have gold. Lots of it. Just need a way back to it.”

A hand waves. “I care not for gold. All I need, I have in the sea. Besides, I collect many things from it you humans lose. Where do you think I got your garments?”

“Then what could you want, if you have all you need?”

A thoughtful hum. “...I shall choose when we arrive. For now, I must think.”

“All right, fair enough.”

“And you must rest. Regain your strength. Here we’ll stay a few days more. Now...I must go hunt.”

“We just ate.”

“And hunting takes time. Stay, rest, eat. I’ll be back.”

Watching her go, Madara sees her step into the tide. Up to her waist she walks, stopping at an outcropping of stone. She pulls aside her garment, tying the fabric in place before sinking.

She disappears.

But then, with a leap, she breaches the surface, hopping out before diving into deeper waters. Rather than like a fish, from her hips extends a tail more like a dolphin’s: white, like her locks.

He just stares, still wondering if he’s actually dead, and this is all just some strange purgatory dream.

After a time, he grows restless, walking along the beach in one direction. The island is, indeed, rather small - it takes him all of an hour to come back around. Sand encircles the entire perimeter, a large rocky outcropping jutting from the center. Palms and other fruit-bearing trees pepper the isle, grasses and ferns growing more densely the further in you wander. A spring bubbles from a clearing, running clear and smooth. Taking a break to drink, Madara reclines under a palm tree, staring up through the leaves.

It’s like a tiny little paradise.

Were he a simpler man, he might entertain the idea of just...staying. There’s water, shelter, food...and the island itself is rather gorgeous.

Though it also hosts rather...strange company.

He’s not sure what to make of his savior. She seems pleasant enough. But to think that such a creature is truly real. Not just some fable of the sea.

It makes him wonder what else is possibly lurking in the dark depths of the waters he loves so ardently.

But, either way, he can’t stay. Not with the stirring that still pulls at his soul. That which longs for conquest and adventure, excitement and experiences! If he knows anything about himself, it’s that he’ll quickly grow bored of this place. Beautiful it may be, but...stagnant. Unchanging.

Too...peaceful. Peace is to be idle.

And to be idle is to go mad.

Returning to the inlet of the hut, he realizes that his companion has returned. Still transformed, she lies on her belly atop the rock, propped atop her elbows and staring out into the horizon. Idly the fin of her tail flicks up water over the smooth skin, sun reflecting off the pale white flesh.

Stepping up into the water to his ankles, Madara makes to call to her, but...stops as he hears something.

...singing…?

In a haunting minor key, without words, the mermaid croons into the breeze. Parts are reminiscent of shanties he knows, but...sadder. More mournful than cheery as meant to keep up the spirits of the crew.

It sounds...incredibly lonely.

“I stay alone. Most of my kind are not...fond of your kind. But I find you curious.”

Is that the whole truth? Or is there something she’s not told him?

Wading out a bit deeper, the sea lapping at the hems of his trousers, he waits for a lull in the song. “Serenading the gulls?”

Over her shoulder she glances to him. Her tie-on skirt is still hanging along the rocks, her strange top drying around her chest. Beside her, a net of crustaceans and fish is tied in the tide. “I like to sing. A pleasant way to pass the time.”

“Why don’t you just go home?”

“...home?”

“Back to...wherever you came from?”

Something shifts in her expression. “...I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I am...not welcome.”

That earns a frown. “Whyever not?”

“I’m a danger.”

Madara can’t help a scoff. “You? Dangerous?”

“...my color is a threat. Wherever I go, I’m easily spotted. If I stay with the others...I bring them attention. Put them in danger. So...no, I can’t go back where I came from.” Her gaze returns to the sea. “...I was cast out. For the good of the others.”

He’s...not sure what to say to that. It makes sense. Something so brightly-colored - so different than the tones of the ocean - would stand out. “...is that why you approach humans? Because you’re alone?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. “...you always leave, in the end.”

“You could come with me.”

Again she turns to him, expression sharp, as though both troubled - and yet intrigued - by his offer. “...why?”

“If you’re tired of people leaving, find people you can stay with. True, this isle is amazing. A little utopia among the waves. But few are so content to remain in one place too long. Keep a man someplace he cannot leave of his own will, and no matter how you cater it to him...it will be a prison all the same.”

Something in her expression falls. “I...did not see it that way. I have the freedom of the sea...I never thought…”

“So, come with me.”

“I cannot stay with humans. The sea always calls to me. I cannot stay away forever.”

“You don’t have to. I sail! I’m rarely far from the water. We stop and explore isles, conquer other ships, visit harbors...”

“But you don’t know if your ship still sails. If your crew still lives.”

“I told you, I’ve gold. I just need to get to it. Another ship can be bought. Another crew can be found.”

“...why do you insist I go with you?”

“You saved my life. Perhaps I could change yours.” His arms open in a gesture of offering. “...maybe that could be my payment to you.”

The mermaid considers him, expression unreadable. “...I will...consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask. Besides...you may be right. I need more time to rest. Then...we can hit the open waters. Make up our minds.”

Her lips lift just a hair. “...you travel far? On your...ship?”

“Wherever I please. There’s much of the ocean to explore, and I’ve seen a great many places already. I answer to no man but myself. We could go anywhere you wanted.”

A wistful look colors her eyes. “...perhaps that would be...pleasant.”

“There’s nothing like it.”

A more genuine smile curls her mouth before looking to the horizon. “...we’ll see what we feel in a few days. You may yet change your mind.”

“And so may you.”

The conversation trails to silence, so Madara retreats up the beach and back to the hut. In truth, he’s still exhausted. His limbs feel heavy, and his mind slow. Nearly drowning, as it so happens, leaves one a bit tuckered. So, for now, he heaves himself back upon the cot, plans and what-ifs soon melding into dreams.

                                                          .oOo.

     AHHH IT’S FINALLY HERE! I’ve been prepping for this event for weeks xD Really hoping it does well!      Anywho, I’ve written a pirate!verse MadaRyū before...but that was with a human!Ryū. Madara’s pretty much the same in both stories, as is the verse background, but I decided to make Ryū a mermaid for this one, cuz...why not? Especially since I technically wrote it in May...Mermay, right? lol      For anyone unfamiliar, I’ve written this ship (mostly in canon and modern verses) with Phoenix for a good long while now! I love their dynamic no matter what universe we write them in. And given I had that random fic of this verse before, I thought they’d fit best in it again!      Phoenix, if you see this (which golly I hope you do lol), thank you for writing all your beans with me, and letting bonds grow between our muses. It’s always a pleasure writing with you, and I hope to again soon, no matter what verse we end up in! <3      Anyway, I don’t want to carry on for too long - happy OC x Canon ship week, everybody!

[whirlybirbs]

girl can you write some bittercoffee amazingness about the reader finding out it’s Bucky’s bday?

— BIRTHDAY BOY!

a little #bittercoffee realted drabble about the reader & bucky celebrating his birthday. this is tooth rotting fluff. i love bucky barnes so much. wtf.

You’d figured out the date in passing – Steve had mentioned it, talked about how old Bucky was when he joined the 107th, how old Steve himself had been. You’d made a quick note to write it down, to mark it in your phone, which had sparked a big grin on Steve’s part. 

“You really care about him, huh?”

“Duh,” you chided, “Don’t you?”

Steve had nodded, and when Bucky entered the room, the conversation shifted.

That was weeks ago, and now your personal planner was displaying a happy little red blip on the 10th of March – the reminder reads ‘Bucky’s Birthday!’ and you keep it on the down-low. Between classes and work at the Tower, you sneak off to the grocery store to get necessary dinner and cake ingredients. 

You don’t see him much that week; he leaves for a mission Monday and comes home tired and bruised on Wednesday. You’re happy to see him for a bit between nightly rounds on Thursday evening and he promises he’ll see you this weekend. 

You make plans for Saturday, suggesting a lowkey night – Bucky jumps at the idea, making a comment about how his back is starting to kill him from carrying his ‘people personality’ around. He likes being himself; he doesn’t have to worry about being too quiet or too standoffish with you. You get it. Tony doesn’t – Tony tells him to smile more.

Bucky hates it.

Saturday evening rolls around and you swear you never want to cook again.

You’d managed to make sarmale and mici and even a beef tripe soup that Bucky had raved about once when you asked him about food his mom used to cook – the Romanian dishes were no easy feat seeing as you were the type to live off leftovers and take-out for majority of the week. It only took you the whole day. Marissa, your flat-mate, had helped set the dinner table, insisting that it would be her contribution to his birthday before she skirted out, giving you both a little privacy. 

The cake was iced, albeit poorly, and was sitting on the bottom shelf of your fridge, waiting to be cut and served.

You felt pretty good about all of it. 

Bucky knocks on your apartment door, wringing cold fingers as his breath curls around his nose. It’s cold for March – he never remembers it being this cold.

He hates it. 

He knows the second you pull the door open that something is up.

You have this big grin on your face, eyes bright, and you – you smell like… cabbage? And… beef. Bucky takes a deep inhale, stomach growling at the fleeting memory of a small Brooklyn dinner table full of food, his sisters crammed around it. 

“You did not,” he starts, eyes narrowed, “You didn’t cook.”

“Oh, I cooked,” you grin as he steps through the door, “I mean, maybe not well, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Bucky’s face softens when he sees the small dinner table set for two. The tension in his shoulders nearly melts away as he peels off his jacket and ball cap. He bends down and kisses you firmly on the cheek, fingers pressing into your jaw as he does. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“But I did,” you say, “Anything for the Birthday Boy.”

Bucky’s face splits, eyes creasing in the corners and dimples digging in – he laughs and it’s a bark from his chest. He crams his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight from socked foot to foot. It’s bashful. His nose is rosy.

“Who told you?”

“Steve,” you shrug, hands finding his abdomen as you blink up at him, “He mentioned it while ago. I made a note in my phone – I’ve been trying to get this ready all week, so let’s hope I didn’t fuck up the recipes.”

He leans again, nose bumping yours as he steals a gentle kiss. It lingers. You don’t complain.

He loves it.

Bucky moves across the room, peaking into the pans on the stove before he groans in appreciation. A small blurb of Romanian spills from his lips and you grin – he sounds excited. It’s enough for you. 

“Go ahead,” you chide, swatting his behind with an oven mit, “Sit down.”

He does as he’s told and as the courses are plopped onto his plate, his smile grows. He looks boyish, even with his hair tugged back in a bun, jaw darkened with a trimmed beard. He’s 101 years old. His smile shaves about 90 years off him.

You grab wine and settle in across from him.

“The last time I had this,” he says, mouthful of miri and brows creased in contemplation, “I musta been fifteen years old.”

You spend the rest of dinner sunning yourself in his bright-eyed expressions, his stories and his everything. You forget how much you love him sometimes – then he burps, pardons himself, and smiles. It’s an easy reminder. He’s a dork. Half way through dinner, you grin into your wine glass and bat an eyelash.

“I have that Cosmos show queued up on my laptop,” you hum, “I thought after cake we could settle in and watch it. It’s the one –”

“– The space one?”

You grin. His excitement is palpable. “Mhm, the space one.”

He chews his food and beams with delight.

Sure enough, once you’re both feeling pretty heavy with cabbage rolls and beef rolls and beef soup, you settle on plopping candles into his cake. Bucky makes quick work of the dishes and is sure to pack up the leftovers, insisting this stuff is probably still good for another week and that he is definitely stopping by to snack at night. 

Once the dishwasher is running – it always takes him a few minutes to remember how to work it again – his hands slip around your waist and his lips drop to the curve of your shoulder. He kisses you there and noses against the fabric of your sweater.

“Happy 101st Birthday, Bucky,” he reads, “Sounds right. I feel that old most days.”

“Is it the disconnect from modern technology,” you jest, “or the ache in your bones?”

“Both,” he chuckles, “But mostly my achin’ bones.”

You laugh, fingers finding his and giving them a squeeze. 

“So am I going to sing to you? Or do you wanna make a wish, blow these candles out, eat some cake and open your present?” you say, “Because I might kill you with my singing.”

Bucky’s face goes a little soft and his smile gets a little quiet. Less like the sun, more like a warm breeze.

“I have everything I could ever wish for, you know. You’re the whole package.”

The words settle in your chest and you pout. Bucky’s hands skirt your jaw. He kisses your temple. “Stop that, you’re gunna make a girl cry.”

“No,” he sways you, “No crying – not at this party.”

“Hey, it’s my party –”

“– And you’ll cry if you want to?”

You grin, a little proud he gets the reference. He’s learning. 

You don’t sing to him, but he blows out the candles (after wishing for you and him to get married someday) and you hand him a gift wrapped in recycled Christmas wrap. Bucky likes the dogs on it and he laughs at the antlers taped to their heads. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“But I did.”

He tears open the package and nearly falls over at gift inside – his eyes are wide and mouth upturned with happiness. Inside the box is a set of new socks, a much needed gift from a man who’s socks frequently look like hobo socks, and a small book. The front says THOUGHTS and inside list prompts. You wrote him a nice note on the front cover, imploring him to write – he’s good at it, you read his war journal after all – and expressing your gratitude for him being in your life.

He reads it and gets misty eyed.

He loves you.

He spends the rest of the night curled around you in bed, half pay attention to Neil deGrasse Tyson’s narration, half paying attention to the way you lean into the touch of his hand as his fingers ghost through your hair. Bucky think that maybe turning 101 years old isn’t so bad if it means he can spend it with you – after all you don’t treat him like he’s some ancient supersoldier. You kiss him like he’s normal, you laugh at his jokes. You kiss his metal fingertips like they’re flesh. You love him for who he is – he’s not perfect, you know that.

Stubble tickles the back of your neck and you hum, eyes squeezing shut as he buries his face there. He breathes softly, fingers tightening in your hair for a moment as he cradles you and listens to your heartbeat. Bucky has to remind himself you’re real sometimes, and not just some fever dream he’ll wake up from. 

Your fingers find his. You roll a little, blinking back at him.

The kiss you share is lazy and lovely.

“Happy Birthday, Buck.”

He kisses you again, settling on enjoying the best gift he’s ever been given: you.

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[turtle-steverogers]

Departed Chap 7 Pt 1

Ships: Slow burn Sprace

Warnings: None in this part

Spot took a container of leftover spaghetti bolognese out of the fridge and transferred a portion to a bowl to heat up. Race was currently at the dance studio with Romeo and Albert, so Spot had a few hours of solitude to relax without having to worry about anyone else. He took the now warm bowl of pasta out of the microwave and began to cut the spaghetti into smaller strands.

“What the hell are you doin’ to my pasta?” Race’s horrified voice sounded from the entrance to the kitchen.

“What are you doin’ back?” Spot asked, stirring his spaghetti.

“Albert got a migraine so we decided to call it a day- no, don’t change the subject, you bitch,” Race said, jabbing a finger at Spot, “You cut your fuckin’ spaghetti?”

Spot shrugged and took a bite, “Always have. Guess I never thought twice about it, it’s jus’ how I eat pasta.”

Race narrowed his eyes, “You sicken me.”

“Okay, buddy, calm down,” Spot smirked, “How was dance?”

“It was good,” Race said, pulling a bowl out of one of the cabinets and warming up some bolognese for himself, “Romeo taught Al and I some choreo for ‘Jackie and Wilson’ that he and Specs had come up with.”

“Y’all are really on that Hozier grind, ain’t ya?”

“What? He’s got good bops!” Race said, a defensive tone leaking into his words.

“Don’t say bops,” Spot said, “Like, ever again.”

“Hozier’s bops give me life!” Race exclaimed, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“Shut the fuck up,” Spot deadpanned, “You’re so cringey.”

“Yeah, but ya love me,” Race said, mouth full of spaghetti.

Spot’s stomach did a flip and he blushed, turning away to put his dishes in the dishwasher, “Yeah, yeah don’t push it.”

“Hey, so I was thinkin’-“

“That’s never good,” Spot cut Race off, earning a glare from the latter, “M’sorry, continue.”

“As I was sayin’, I was thinkin’ we could go into the city a ‘lil later today. The Met’s got that Tintoretto exhibit I been wantin’ ta go to.”

“The what exhibit?”

“Tintoretto. He’s my favorite Italian artist. Does portraits and shit.”

“Oh, cool. Yeah, I’m down,” Spot agreed.

Race’s eyes lit up and he grinned, “Hell yeah! I been achin’ ta see it for ages, but Melissa never agreed ta go.”

“Well, I’m agreein’. Get showered, we’ll go in like an hour ish?”

“Okay, wanna see if Jack and Kath wanna come, too? I know Jack has like an art analysis assignment for some art class or somethin’.”

“Sure, yeah. Go ahead and ask ‘em, I gotta take the trash down.”

Race pulled out his phone and picked up his dance bag to deposit into Spot’s room. Spot took a yard bag and began dropping all the smaller trash bags into it. Race walked past him into the bathroom, carrying a change of clothes.

“Wait,” He called, “Pass me the trash bag in there!”

The door to the bathroom reopened and Race held out the trash bag.

Spot took it, “Thanks.” He heard the shower turn on as he left the apartment.

XXX

Spot parked his car down the street from the Met and he and Race made the ten minute walk through the bitter cold to the front entrance. Jack and Katherine were already waiting inside by a heater.

“Hey, guys,” Katherine greeted, walking over to meet them, “We already paid our admission.”

“Aight,” Spot pulled out his wallet, “I’ll go pay our’s real fast.” He wove through the mob of people in front of the admissions desk, leaving Race with Jack and Katherine.

“What do you hafta do for your art project thing?” Race asked Jack, shrugging his winter jacket off and stuffing it into his bag.

“I gotta pick a piece of artwork and analyze the artist’s technique in like a paper, then I gotta recreate my own piece based offa those techniques,” Jack answered, then held up his sketchbook, “M’prolly gonna like sketch ideas as we go.”

“Cool, cool, yeah Tintoretto does like bold portraits. He was supposedly pretty innovative for his time,” Race said, as Spot walked back over to their little group.

“Why d’you know about this guy, again?” Spot asked, taking Race’s bag from him and putting his own jacket inside.

“My mom and grandma liked him and brought me to his exhibit last time they had him in here. So, I dunno, good memories attached to him?” Race shrugged.

“That’s fair,” Katherine said, reaching down and interlacing her fingers with Jack’s, “Shall we head in?”

The four of them walked towards the exhibit on the other side of the museum and entered the sectioned off area. They were immediately met with a dim hallway. The walls were lined with portraits and dark depictions of various religious events.

“Dude, your mom brought you to one of his exhibits when you were a kid?” Jack whispered, “his works are depressing as hell.”

Race’s eyes skimmed from painting to painting, drinking in the details, “Art is art, man,” he murmured.

“That you are right about,” Jack said, taking his hand out of Katherine’s and reaching into his back pocket to pull out a sketching pencil, “And I’ll be damned if this man didn’t know his shit when it came to brush technique- I mean just look at those bold strokes.” His eyes glinted and he stuck his tongue out as he started to draw in his sketchpad, capturing, in essence, Tintoretto’s style.

Katherine laughs fondly and rubs his arm, “You’re such a dork, sweetie.”

Jack squawked indignantly, “Okay, you are not one to talk, miss technical designer.”

Katherine considered for a moment before leaning into Jack’s side and kissing his neck, “Can’t argue with that.”

Jack kissed her head, then turned his focus back to his sketchbook.

Spot watched them with an un-amused expression, “Gross.”

“Awe, let ‘em be gross, Spottie,” Race said, grabbing Spot’s elbow and pulling him further into the exhibit. They strolled past the paintings slowly, Race commenting every so often about one of the portraits. At one point, Race’s hand had found Spot’s, but neither of them mentioned it. The end of the exhibit came suddenly and they were spilled into the adjoined gift shop.

“We lost Jack and Kath,” Spot stated, glancing around them.

“They’ll find their way sooner or later,” Race said, “C’mon, let’s go look at the Egyptian art.”

“Are you sure we should separate ourselves further from-“

“They’ll find us,” Race pulled out his phone,”I’ll let ‘em know where we went.”

Race led them across the museum to the Egyptian room. As they passed various sarcophagi, Spot clenched his jaw, unease flaring in his gut.

“You alright?” Race asked, squeezing his hand to get his attention.

“Yeah,” Spot said, absently, “S’just ever since I saw that one young Sherlock Holmes movie- ya know the one where they’d mummify people and burn ‘em alive- sarcophoguses, sarcophagi? Whatever the plural is, they freak me out.”

Race threw his head back in laughter, “Ah, m’sorry, dude. We can leave if ya want?”

Spot shook his head, “Nah, I know how much ya like ancient Egyptian stuff.”

“Okay, fair, but we can get outta this room at least,” They entered the main room and Race immediately rushed to enter the Temple of Dendur.

“Spottie, look at the hieroglyphics,” Race said, impulsively reaching out the hand not holding Spot’s to touch them.

Spot gently pulled his hand back, “Don’t touch it, Racer. Ever sit through one of Jack’s ‘don’t touch the art’ lectures?”

Race hummed in annoyance and reached into his bag to pull out his fidget cube.

Spot chuckled, “Ya really are a child.”

“Shut up,” Race said with no real malice behind his words. They continued on through the temple in silence, save for the clicking of Race’s fidget cube. Spot watched Race drink in the details of the ruin, eyes glinting with curiosity and wonder. The longer Spot looked at Race, the more he noticed. Like the way his nose would scrunch up periodically-a tic no doubt- or the way he’d squint his eyes ever so slightly when observing one of the symbols in higher depth. The freckles that usually blended into his complexion were more visible in the bright lighting of the room and his eyes shone brightly behind his glasses. His blonde curls were getting longer, but were carefully mussed to create a careless, yet put together look. He was beautiful, and Spot realized in that moment that he was screwed. He was absolutely screwed.

TAG LIST: @bencookisagod @we-dont-sell-papes @suddenly-im-respecsable @aw-jus-let-em-spook @well-the-kids-do-too @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @thatpoorguysheadisspinning @newsies-of-nyc @andthewoildwillknow

[greenflamedwriter]

Vampire with a soul AU

(Ignore this)

Next scene.

Minions fury.

Lance lay at the throne of Kurons entire Clan, it was another repression episode ladies and gents. Lance realised that if Shiro had something he needed to do vampire ways and didn't do it Kuron would come out to fix his mess. Shiro was too soft for certain things and couldn't do what Kuron was doing now. Which was staking a claim on the ley lines and challenging other clan members. He was strong and the name of his clan was raked though the mud he had to settle order and bring back his clan to the prestige it used to be.

Why was Lance sitting on the floor by Kurons feet, may you ask?

Honestly he himself had no idea.

But he had a feeling it was making a claim to tell all of the minions to back the fuck off.

Lance knew he wasn't uch to look at, crows feet at his eyes too sharp angles in his body an old libarian at 31 sure he looked good for his age but Kuron...Shiro they could do better.

Lance loved them both individually the same, Kuron was Shiro and Shiro was Kuron. it was that simple.

Lance is sitting at Shiro's feet, Shiro tells him he has to claim Lance in front of the minions. Lance layed his head on Shiro's thigh.

Shiro was expecting Lance to throw a tantrum.

"I understand, I'm a human if I sat beside you like an equel that would say a human was stronger than you no matter how you slice it, it would ake you look weak." These were vampire rules, Shiro's human side was at the forefront for so long but in the demon world his vampire has to be ruthless and to any human what Shiro was asking was cruel.

To a vampire it was a kindness.

"It protects me and shows your authortiy, right?" Lance peered up at him. and the demon growled in approval. His boy was a smart one.

"It's just," Here Lance bit his lip "What do you mean by staiking a claim?" Shiro's eyes darkned his lips tilting upwards "I will take you here and now in front of the whole court, as a claim that you belong to me, your soft skin, your body, your blood everything on display." Shiro purred his hand sliding over Lance's face aware of his terrified heartbeat.

Lance balked, okay that was...no.

Shiro saw his face, his amused smile fell "I don't want to force you, but I don't need your consent." Shiro's hand slipped through Lance's hair and Lance shivered.

He could understand the double meaning, Shiro didn't want to- but the minions and even this claiming was something out of his control.

Okay think- wait

"You don't have to ask, you know that." Lance tried to keep himself calm, he knew Shiro was probably just as stuck as him.

"But I don't want them to see me like that, it's for your eyes only." He saw the flash of possesive streak.

"They shouldn't get to see me, only you." Shiro couldn't very well kiss Lance here or take him away, he wanted him now especially when he was saying things like that.

He coveyed this by stroking Lance's face hoping to convey his emotions through that touch.

Lance must of heard when he relaxed leaning into it.

"Then what do you suppose."

Well being naked and submissive was a no go- but, he wasn't opposed to the idea of being watched.

"Well I..." he swallowed his eyes flickering up

[Lance says he;ll take Shiro in his outh," Shiro doesn't like that as he'll be the one being shown up, Lance says he won't just hold it there, keep it warm and Shiro felt his pupils dilate. That would be...

Lance groaned this was a mistake, he felt the others watching and gulped his jaw achine no way- no way-no way-

Suddenly Shiro's hands glided through his hair scratching his scalp soothingly and Lance felt himself slowly relax his breathing returning to normal, just him and Shiro.

Lance used his tongue to slowly lick SHiro gratefully before relaxing holding his hands behind his back.

It was becoming intense. He grasped himself and Shiro's eyes flashed "Don't you dare touch yourself."

Lance whimpered holding his arms behind his back.

The thought of the others, the minions and their blank stares watching him Lance shivered.

Shiro purred "You're so good for e pet, loyal, stupidly brave and kind." Lance couldn't take that- not shiro's voice on top.

"So good for me, taking my cock like that ...

Lance moaned and felt Shiro slowly grind his hips lazily, he kept talking and Lance gasped clutching his crotch.

"What did I tell you?"

Lance whimpered removing his mouth his eyes pleading. "I- I don't want to cum not- not until you say so."

His demon was screaming in joy.

Shiro did not show this however, and noticed Lance trying to stop himself with pain unlike before.

"Lance put your hands behind your back, and put your mouth where it belongs." Lance blinked looking unsure before doing as he was told.

He was killing him, Lance was making it so fucking hard not to be fucked right here in front of all the minions.

"I want you to cum by my voice alone, think you can anage that?" Lance looked alarmed his pupils dilating.

And Shiro preened.

His demon rumbled his approval, he choose a fine mate.

Shiro grabbed Lance pressing him flush against his lap and bit his neck. Lance cried out surprised and earned every single pair of eyes from the minions.

"What-Why?"

"I'm claiming you."

"But...wait claiming but you said-"

Shiro licked his neck slowly "I was only teasing. I would've done this instead." Lance's eyes flashed.

"You bastard!" He hissed when Shiro nipped the skin "I'm not the one who went all the way, keeping your cock warm." He mocked and Lance dug his hand deep into his thigh and heard Shiro's whine "Ow~"

"You bastard." Lance tried to sound stern instead it came out as a fond huff, as he leaned against Shiro feeling sluggish.

And suddenly he was lifted Lance blinked surprised and Shiro turned to the minions with a hiss "IF I'm distrubed in the next hour I will stake the lot of you."

The minions glanced away while Shiro skulked off with his prize.

"What what is it-hmm!?" Lance grasped as Shiro kissed him halting anymore words Lance leaned into it then yelped when he was tossed on the bed "Hey!"

Okay he could play the weak submissive human for Shiro's precious minions. But not now he isn't.

"Shiro, I will inject you with holy water if you don't stop fucking around." Shiro stripped off his shirt "Kinky." He tossed it to the side and climbed on the bed.

"You get me all hot and bothered, fighting for my hounour in the name of our court, prove that you are a strong worthy consort-" Shiro kissed him again and Lance was addictive to it his chest arched as he tried to lean up into the kiss.

"Now who's the fucking tease?" Shiro growled playfully.

Keith growled "So what, you're siding with demons now? I always knew you were a fucking groupie Lance."

"Hey!" Lance yelled out and stood up, Shiro looked at him warnining as Lance placed a hand on Keiths shoulder "We're all family here. Remember Keith and there's really only two options. Die or join us it's really simple." Lance turned his back to Shiro and gazed at them imploringly and mouth please.

Keith's eyes frowned unsure what Lance was up to but found he still trusted the old libarian.

"Fine. I don't like it but I'm not stupid."

_________________________________________________________________________

Then shiro realises his demon self isnt gone entierely it comes out through his instincts. befire his human was in control now the demon can slip out at any time.

“So…its like bruce banner, with the hulk?” Shiros gaping mouth closed then opened again.

“Thats one way to put it”

“I’m going with you!” Lance already had a baseball bat on his shoulder the others averted their eyes as Shiro twitched.

“Lance, you’re not a demon you have no powers so to speak you’ll only get hurt.”

He saw Lances eye twitch “Hey fuck you, it took a small army initiative to prison a bunch of demons so not all humans are weak!”

“They were trained in the military! Youre just an old man and you’ll get hurt out there.” Lance faltered and Shiro froze horrified at what he said he wanted to apologise until he felt his demon take control.

“You are staying put Lance and thats final.” Lance regained homself and raised his chin defiently.

“Make me.”

Shiro grabbed him and easily avoided the baseball bat and managed to tie Lances hands in rope ignoring the kicking in his shins and plomped lance onto a chair and proceded to tie the whole thing up.

“Shiro! Shiro untie me-I swear to god I’ll kill you!” Shiro ignored him and turned to pidge”He doesnt leave until we get back seal the building up so he cant escape and no demon gets in.” Pidge nodded and started her wards.

“Shiro! Shiro!”

“Thats going to get attention.” Shiro hummed and saw the duct tape on the side.

Lance clocked it then his eyes narrowed into slits.

“Dont you fuckin dare.”

Shiro pressed the tape to his mouth and smirked “Bye honey, dont wait up.”

Lance was yelling through the type probably cursing him in spanish.

Lance growled through the duct tape as the others came in he was still tied up on the chair and started screaming out them.

Shiro recreats a court sitting on a throne woth lance at his feet.

Lance asks questions about the minions his place how him being on the floor makes sense if lance was equel it would say that the human was stronger than the vampre whoch would reflect badly ot also doubles as a look but dont touch beingobviously devoted keeps the minions away.

Kuron preened at such knoledge and lack of resistence he would hate to put lance in his place in feont of his court.

Lance kills some minions and then the others come in realise shiro is kuron because shiro needed to sort out the other vampire courts because hos demon is restless and power himgry either way he is declaring himself as the champion and is staking his claim on the ley lines.

“They need to submit to me and know there place and I need to staike a claim on you.”

Lance intelligent blue eyes blinked “What do you mean by that?”

“I will take you here in feont of the entire court, they would all see how beautiful you are your smooth golden skin, addicting blood and how it belongs to me.”

“I’d like your consent but I dont need it anyway.”

Lance tried to think of skmethimg- anything.

“They shouldnt have to see me, pnly you you shojld see me.”

That had shiro preening.

But what to so? These were vampire rules.

When he followed shiros logic something went wrong because vampires act and think differently.

Any other man he would be cruel.

But to a vampire he was kind.

__________________________________________________________________________

Once Lance led them to their rooms...bitching about it all the way "Honestly, Lance take them to their rooms, like I'm a maid. Ashole is getting too cocky I could ram a stake right up his ass see if he'll like it then."

"Lance why even put up with it?"

Keith wanted to know but Lance ignored him glancing everywhere.

"And here's your room." Lance pushed him through and shut the door behind him.

"Really Keith I don't know why you're so worried about this place." Lance wasn't talking to him and Keith watched confused as Lance reached into his top and pulled out some paper and started to write as he kept talking.

"Shiro has control of the courts and most demons, he's about to challenge them including Lotor Hagger for the seat as the God-Demon, kinda like the God-father y'know." He passed the paper over and pointed at it as he started walking around the room.

I have a plan

The card read and Keiths eyes widened glancing at Lance who gestured to keep reading as he kept talking "You'll love it here, we have a pool. A libary oh good so much juicy demon gossip at my fingertips."

Minions, everywhere. Don't speak outloud.

Keith scowled as he kept reading. Then heard a screech and turned in time as a minion was dusted, then another as Lance threw a small blade - where the hell did he have that?

"God all I wanted was some privacy." Keith opened his mouth but Lance shook his head looking at the cards.

Keith rolled his eyes and kept reading.

Shiro's soul is trapped, Kuron keeps taking over. We need a court or territory to stake a claim on the ley line. Kuron wants to go bigger, bitting off more than he can handle.

Shiro doesn't want to fight and Kuron wants to end the world. I think I know how to combine the two.

Keith looked up. He wasn't stupid, Shiro may be the champion and saved lives but Demons had hives...nests organisations that messed with the law they've gotten bigger and stronger. But if you take out a clan it could cause a power vacum. It's why Keith allowed Lance and Shiro to go this far. But Shiro no Kuron was forgetting the big picture maybe his sire instincts was acting up with a minion army and Lance at his every beck and call maybe he feels as if he could take much more on.

And without Shiro to be used as caution. Keith was getting a headache it was something that was bound to happen.

I know a spell that could make the two inhibit the body together, like a fusion it will make him weak, I need you to stop him from getting staked in the process.

That was the last of the cards.

Lance moved over and Keith wavered "And what would you be doing?"

Lance placed a hands over his lips "Inferno." The paper turned to ash and vanished.

"This conversation never took place. Keith Shiro needs you, he is your sire and the more family he has the more...grounded he'll be."

Oh, now he understood. Lance needed back-up.

"You love him. Kuron." Keith asked, he had to make sure.

Lance nodded "And I love Shiro. I'lve played enough for now. Now I'm kinda sick of being the meek little human that needs rescuing."

Shiro was tied out and the others gaped.

"Is this punishment for that time we left Lance in the libary?" Hunk asked and Pidge snickered "Maybe."

Kuron looked resigned "I'm still here, Lance." He spoke softly "You know the rules here, the olde magics, I don't leave unless whatever issue has been resolved. Shiro has let the courts run amok and I've organsided them put them in line isn't that what the good guys do."

Kuron had no idea, he was just trying to appease to Lance's every whim. Until his back was turned.

And Shiro would feel guilty and blame himself.

"Yes, until you use that same court as an army and challenge the worst demons and invite hell and armageddon on our doorstep. Think of that dingbat?" Lance loved the double nickname Kuron however did not appreciate it.

Shiro wobbled falling to his knees as the spell ended.

"Shiro you okay?"

Shiro couldn't look at him and Lance worried retracting his hand until Shiro grabbed it.

"I- I can still feel- I'm fucking mad at you right now." Shiro growled his eyes dark still looking like Kuron, but then he gave a resigned sigh and his tired eyes resembled Shiro "But I know why you did it. I lost control."

"Oh defiently not, I mean the Galra? Fuck em. You had the right idea honey, just not all at once okay?" Lance tried rubbing Shiro's shoulder.

"We only defend when they come to our doorstep we never invite them in." Shiro laughed. And looked up at Lance.

Shiro was centeries years old. And yet Lance was wiser than him yet.

"Also, we need to get rid of those minions. They suck." at that Keith snorted "What good is an army if their dust? Quantity over Qaulity Shiro?"

His sire groaned covering his face with his hands "We needed Kuron his vampic instincts is what saved our Clan but his instincts took over."

"So now we try to get people we trust and make a proper court, we have all the information we need, maybe some minions can stay who actually did their fucking jobs other than that. The rest are dead weight."

"Wow Lance, they were people once y'know."

"Well they're dead now."

Initiative.

Shiro turned to him slowly "You...what?"

Lance blinked "I was part of the initiative. SOldiers who kidnapped demons, vampires....they tried to look for a weakness and dispose of them silent heroes in the night. This was before we knew what a slayer was."

"Hostile Five. Do you know anything about Hostile Five?" Shiro sounded...distressed and it made Lance pause.

"Um, I was a field Agent."

"And?" Shiro almost sounded like...

Suddenly feeling tesne Lance turned towards him "I only fought the demons who attacked people. Hostile's were in the basement and I didn't know what they were doing until..."

"Until?"

Lance took a breath "My sister, Veronica? Was a witch. She told me, she trusted me with that knoledge and I told the initiative. I mean we killed demons sure but she was human with abilities I thought they would recruit her. She vanished. Something happened -an experiment went wrong blew up half the basement. And I saw her, she was strapped to a chair half her hair shaved off. They did that because she was different. The other demons were the same there...there was children and others that looked human and- I recognised some I captured and knew the injuries they had was from us. The initiative wanted to gather intel on the monsters killing humans not become them- no worse than them so I took Veronica and left."

"That doesn't answer my question." Shiro said looking thunderous, Shiro couldn't give a shit, he was too enraged to see Lance just a soldier that hurt his family.

Lance blinked "Shiro what's going on?"

"When was this?"

"What?" "When. did. you. leave?"

What if Lance was lying? A spy for the army to reel him in, wrap him around his finger.

Lance turned and reached for his trousers pockets and pulled out his wallet. The action confused Shiro a moment until Lance took out a piece of paper.

"They terminated my contract in 2007." Shiro took the paper and froze at the date. The paper was worn no way Lance could fake this.

And the date-

"I went into a bar, and gave them everything I knew, blueprints, codes, details and attacked the base the next day with them. Veronica helped she raised it to hell."

"Keith was in there."

Now Lance looked shocked "What?"

"Keith was Hostile five. They took him, tortured him used any sick techniques they could use to hurt him for no reason just because they could. I tried..." His voice cracked and Lance felt himself seize in horror at the implications.

"God...I tried months to get him out I could feel his pain everytime they hurt him. He got out that day. Because of you."

Lance was stunned "Shiro I swear I didn't know- I had no idea-"

"No it's...Sorry I thought, I thought you were..." Lance nodded and gave a weak smile "It's why I became a libarian, I wanted to learn and protect I realised what the initiative did was wrong and I never wanted to be like that. I wanted to help people Shiro."

And Shiro couldn't believe he doubted him, Lance was always ready to fight, to jump into battles without a second care. Dove in front of his family and scared his back and Shiro placed his hand on Lances cheek and felt the other relax like his strings were cut- he was crying.

"Oh Lance," Shiro spoke softly drawing him closer "shh, It's okay"

"I thought you hated me- I almost ruined everything," Lance felt his throat constrict "I shouldn't have said anything-"

"No! You should've told me, and it;s okay, We all make shitty mistakes in our life."

Lance sniffed "But this was the mistake, Shiro. I can understand if you hate me-"

"I don't hate you." I never will, Shiro thought. He could never hate Lance.

"I work for someone else now, the watchers they, they stationed me here to watch out for what was happening and reported back."

Shiro tensed "And what did you say?"

"Nothing," Lance answered truthfully, Shiro could detect it in his heartbeat. He was speaking the truth.

"I've learned my lesson, I've never reported anything unless it's apocolptic stuff, they told me to watch over Allura as the slayer and I've only told them of her reports." Shiro relaxed "You never spoke of me or Keith."

"No, not even the time you vamped out." SHiro grimaced "I do regret that-"

"It's fine. You're a vampire I havn't forgotten about that a witch just heightened that part of you. And you never hurt me so it's fine."