#ignore the hole ive dug again

[warryboy3148]

OH MY GOD I SCROLLED UPON THIS JUST AS THIS LYRICS OF THIS SONG KICKED IN

[honksnoo]

haldern is so fucking devastating oh my GOD.

[gardener-of-vengeance]

Inspired by Dethalbum IV - Gardener of Vengeance

Something quick for day 9 of Kloktober! Just Nathan enjoying the sights and sounds of gardening, in the least brutal way possible.

This was an effort from both mods Dragon, and Fish who drew a little piece for the prompt, enjoy!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Being dragged outside, on a horribly beautiful day, was not on Nathan’s schedule. Gloves were handed out by a groundskeeper klokateer, and from their own gloved hands came a quick flash of an ‘I’m watching you’ look to every member of the band.

There’s no way they’re getting out of this without someone pissing in a bush at least once.

It had started easily enough, everyone had ooohhhed and ahhhhhed at bone meal, then out came blood meal, Nathan itched to reach for his notebook to scribble down putting bodies in the dirt, something something plants devouring them all, Pickles would know what he meant.

Instead of lyrics and melodies, he was given a barrel of sharp bushes, and a bunch of empty dirt in front of him with holes already dug. Groaning, he grabbed one of the bushes without looking and flung it across the grounds when it sunk barbs into his hand, hitting another random klokateer, making them absolutely beef it into a pile of manure.

“Whoops.” Acting casual, Nathan let his eyes drift over to the rest of his band. Toki was happily digging his small shovel into the dirt to put? Balls? In them, Skwisgaar is digging holes in the opposite direction, they’re going to hit each other at this rate and Nathan rolls his eyes. It’s Charles' responsibility this time, no way is Nathan stepping in, and Pickles is tapped out somewhere in the greenhouses. Murderface is, uh.

Nathan blinks, hard, making sure he was seeing this right.

Murderface was mashing up plants in a bucket, grabbing anything in sight and stuffing it in while he stirred another small plastic shovel in the bucket. Instinct has Nathan looking over to stare disbelieving at Pickles, and when he didn’t find his drummer he grumbled, glaring back at the wheel barrel of plants.

Looking back just in time to witness Toki and Skwisgaar collide, Nathan could only sigh, deep and regretful, finally kneeling into the hardest dirt he’s ever felt. Scowling, he hacked at the dirt a little, just flinging shit everywhere until he had a divot approved by the groundskeeper.

Toki and Skwisgaar were yelling now, there was a dull thunk and a yelp from Skwisgaar as Toki loudly exclaimed “Whoopsie! Must have been the winds.”

Ignoring the sounds of dramatic violence, Nathan sunk his hands into the soft dirt and roots of hands down one of the most brutal bushes he’s ever seen, flowers dark red and gnarly looking sprouted from the top, killer thorns covered each branch from the flowers down to nearly the roots, the gloves he wore barely kept them back-

Son of a bitch that’s the fourth time he’s been stabbed. “This fucking sucks, these plants are bullshit, why are we doing this again?” Stupid Thorny Crowns or whatever they were called. Pickles cackled, appearing out of nowhere, lounging in the shade of the greenhouse and smoking one of the loudest blunts Nathan has ever smelled. Definitely from their personal collection, the bastard probably had someone hand deliver it to him.

From across the grounds Charles spoke firmly over squabbling from their guitarists, they were rolling in the dirt and pulling hair now. “Because your Therapist said so Nathan, and uh, we’re keeping your best interests in mind.”

Snarling he scooped the plant this time, turning back to the dirt and grumbling. Has the therapy helped with the panic attacks, and nightmares, and constant anxiety? Sure, he has no goddamn clue what this was going to accomplish.

Pickles had slid closer while Nathan was grouching, flopped on the ground face first, rolled over and sighed, running his hands through the grass with his eyes closed.

Glaring over at his drummer he shoved another shrub into the ground, barely shoving dirt around the plant before moving over a little, grumbling when his knees cracked loudly. Pickles blearily looked over at Nathan, before his eyes slid away to the distracting sounds of Charles breaking up a fight, and scolding Murderface for whatever the hell he was doing.

Finally tucking in the last damn bush and carefully pushing soft dirt around the base after the Groundskeeper glared at him, Nathan stood, throwing the gloves wherever the fuck. he ambles his way over to Pickles. Flopping down next to him and staring into the sky, lyrics swimming in his brain about being brutally ripped apart by thorns.

From the sound of things Charles has given up breaking apart their guitarists, and instead is focusing on medical attention for Murderface. Whatever, it was their therapists idea anyways. He prefers hanging out without so much dirt thanks. He could feel the way dirt clung to his arms and his fresh nail polish was absolutely chipped, bullshit.

Feeling a nudge from Pickles, Nathan looked over long enough for him to exhale a cloud of smoke between them. Nathan could feel his scowl getting deeper, not because of the blast of smoke but because of Pickles nasty breath.

Giving him a shit-eating grin, Pickles offered the unlit end of the joint to Nathan. Never losing the scowl he plucked it from Pickle's hand and took his own deep breath, relishing the burn and letting the breath linger in his lungs. Pickles had already taken the joint back before Nathan could complain. How he was coherent enough to continue taking hits Nathan had no idea.

Looking up into the clouds of Mourdhouse, Nathan let all of the sounds fade in the background, even the throbbing in his hands took a backseat as he let himself get lost in brutal lyrics of someone being thrown into a plant made of knives.

[definitelynotshouting]

(Unimportant trivia babbling, feel free to ignore for any reason, it is 2am and thus my restraint is currently AWOL.)

You mentioned Grian and Impulse in s10e01, and I assume you were talking about how Grian got Impulse to die. This pinged the Trivia part of my brain, and it's 2am so the part of my brain which goes "no don't bug people" is currently off. So here goes:

In the OG Demise in s6, Grian thought people weren't starting to die off fast enough (after about 1 or 2 irl weeks, iirc) and so he set up "Demise Dares", where he paid people a ton of diamonds to do extremely risky minigames. He basically created the first two members of the Dead Team with it. (The Dead Team stuff worked differently in s6 Demise - instead of Boogeyman-like "one kill then you're free", all of the dead were basically like red lives except with no PVP.) (Grian also got the final kill in Demise - he made a trap that killed Doc immediately when he logged in.)

In the same season, he made a minigame called "Dig Straight Down." Kinda similar idea to vertical mining in s10, but not naturally generated. Grian made specific holes for people to dig down into with diamonds and other ores scattered in them, as well as lava. The idea was you dug straight down as much as you dared, but if you went to far, you died and lost all the stuff you dug up.

So yeah. Yet again Grian was the first one to cause a Demise death, and he did it in a similar way to a different minigame he made in s6.

WAIT THIS IS SUCH COOL TRIVIA I DIDNT KNOW HE GOT BOTH THE FIRST AND LAST KILLS IN DEMISE DURING S6...... OHHHH MAN THAT SOUNDS SO FUCKING FUN TO WATCH (and also has such insane tie-ins to hunger au oh my gods)

Also yeah i was talking specifically about the fact that Grian got that first kill...... on Impulse........ like ive got plans for their relationship in hunger au okay, i dont wanna spoil it bc we're VERY close to getting back on hermitcraft within the narrative but MY GODS THAT DID SOME COCOMELON SHIT TO MY HEAD WHEN I SAW IT GO DOWN

[zimwy]

only when he's sure the puncture wound has sealed on this end does bucky retract his metal digit, wet with a thin sheen of barton's blood. it'll mix in with all the rest, whispers an insidious voice inside him, don't worry, soldier. his jaw tenses minutely, and he strikes the flint again, bringing the flame to swallow the tip of the fine compounds. again, barnes waits until the vibranium-adamantium mix warms to a red glow, wishing he had a blow torch or something as equally concentrated.

in the war, that's what toro did to aid their allies--none of them were impervious, but barnes perhaps least of all. he remembers his hot-fleshed friend erupting into flame, gripping a butter knife someone had found in a shelled kitchen (they only took what they needed--cutlery was sorely lacking in the pack of an average soldier) until the blunt end was nearly scorching, and dipping it with the same kind of care bucky employs now into an open wound. he misses thomas, thinks clint would've liked to annoy him the way he does bucky--toro was always shy around obnoxious loud mouths.

be nice. it's steve's voice this time, identifiably his. bucky is half tempted to ignore him. this time, when he caps the lighter, he tucks it into one of clint's pockets, devoid of his own. it was a memento he did not want to retain.

bucky lays his natal hand against clint's shoulder to keep him still, thumb pressing near the trench of bloody cloth that had neatly ripped around the tread of the bullet. he can virtually see it's path, and thinks, clint is lucky it went through. a shoulder wound with a trapped bullet was always worse, posed the risk of migrating through the tendon and into the organs, and had to be dug out. and he can just imagine how much worse that'd be.

his students were taught to brave pain with steel, to show as little as possible, but it still hurt. bucky knew that well enough; he'd taken his share of beatings.

there is no count this time. the quicker, the better. bucky is deft, careful not to singe skin that didn't need to be heated over, finding the deepest part of the hole as smoothly as he can. if there was anyone else out there (he hopes to god not), they'd surely be giving away their position now. the scent of heat and tightening flesh under the duress of hot metal does nothing good for him, but it doesn't take bucky out of the game; he's smelled, and viewed, a hell of a lot worse. at least clint wouldn't bleed out.

he knows a few people who'd be upset if he did.

and you among them, barnes.

bucky exhales, retracting his pinky when he's sure the wounds are staunched. the heat has rapidly exfiltrated his prosthetic, though the plates whir noisily. he uses his palm to brace hawkeye, anticipating the blood loss and pain might inspire flashes of unconsciousness. ' come on. you've been through worse. few days on the mend, IV fluids, shoulder won't even twinge when you pull a bow. you need me to carry you? '

It was a trial to keep himself from passing out, but soon the anesthetic was kicking in, and his pain dulled but wasn't completely gone. Sweat poured down his face staining his chest and shirt, soaking it wet. They were almost in the clear and Clint was damn sure he wasn't going to be a liability in this situation. He couldn't bear the idea of Bucky having to carry him out like a rag doll.

Come on, Barton, you are good enough for this!!

The blonde was using his bow to keep himself from falling, using his good hand to hold on to it for leverage. He was panting, struggling to catch his breath and keep from looking at the wound lest he fall into shock, and then it would be all over then.

Clint glanced up upon Bucky's return, covered in some poor fool's blood who got in his way. The archer noticed the lighter and knew what Bucky's intentions were. It was going to be rough and painful but he knew it had to be done to stop the bleeding. He quickly yanked the poorly wrapped scrap of t-shirt and bit down on it. Even with the magic needle, Clint knew it might hurt, and it didn't hurt to prepare. He focused on Bucky's voice as he began to count.

Bet that bastard is going to do it on the count of one.

....and he was correct. It was shocking, but the pain was dulled enough that it felt like a little burn, but it felt strange. He began to count in his head the seconds. Then he realized how much he fucked up because he just notice the wound on his back.

That's where the bullet ran through you, dummy.

He never put the needle there. So this was going to be painful. Clint bit down hard on the torn cloth in his mouth. He took several deep breaths as to prepare himself for the worst. He moved both hands onto his bow and gripped it tightly.

Never let it be known that Clint couldn't handle his punches.

He glanced at Bucky and nodded as to say he was ready for the worst. Sweat continued to run down his face, making his short blonde hair stick to the side of his head. He closed his eyes, ready to bear the pain that came to closing wounds. He wasn't a stranger and it wasn't the first time he had to do something like this.

It just never gets easier.

[akunya]

“you’d make a good pet.”

pairings: fulgur ovid x m!reader x uki violeta

summary: psyborg takes matters into their own hands to cheer you up. you enjoy it more than you thought.

tw: DOUBLE PENETRATION, DIRTY TALK, threesome, degrading + praise. dubcon, mindbreak, size difference, reader has small dick (LOL). psyborg, PETPLAY, fingering.

notes: ive had this idea on my mind ever since i read a vox fic that’s somewhat similar. this is.. dirty. LOL.

when fulgur had noticed you were feeling a bit under the weather, he felt his heart thump with worry. lately, you had lost the shine in your eyes - the smile that he and uki adored. you were an odd trio, and while your two friends were dating each other, they never made you feel ostracized or out of place. the cyborg and psychic always looked out for you and made you feel comfortable.

what better way to lift your spirits than by making you feel good?

“that’s right, look at you. such a pretty boy. do you like how uki’s mouth feels?” fulgur practically purred in your ear, broken sobs leaving your lips as uki laid between your legs. the psychics mouth felt nearly too good, making you shiver and drool. fulgur let your top half lay against his own body, the cool metal of his fingers playing with your nipples. it was all too overwhelming, making your head spin with pleasure.

fulgur’s hands were the only thing keeping you grounded, squirming like a bitch in heat. before you could properly respond using your words, uki had pulled off your cock with a lewd 'pop'. he looked up at you, licking his lips. he looked so calm and collected while you looked like an utter wreck. “he won’t stop shaking and bucking into my mouth. he likes it.” the low moan that left your lips was pathetic. the way he talked about you as if you were a mere pet made you shiver at your core.

fulgur chuckled, fingers threading themselves in your hair as uki went back to sucking you off. “you’re doing so well, y/n. are you enjoying yourself?” you whined, mumbling out a yes. the gentleness that fulgur had given you compared to uki’s roughness was too much to handle — and yet, you didn’t want it to stop. he was purposefully holding himself back, preferring to take things slow. your cute little moans really pushed his limits though. watching you squirm and moan like a slut just from a blowjob made the hard-on in his boxers harder to ignore. the couple was enjoying themselves much more than they thought they would.

when uki had noticed how you tensed up, he pulled off of your cock again, licking his lips clean of your precum. “sorry, y/n, but i can’t let you cum just yet. it would be no fun if you tapped out now, silly boy.” he smirked, getting up to sit on his knees. you gulped, frustrated but finding yourself nodding anyways. how could you say no when uki looked at you as if you were his next meal?

too many hands to count were on you, spreading your legs to show off your little hole. your cock was still painfully hard, leaking and throbbing as uki circled your ass with the tip of his lubed finger. it pushed in with ease, fulgur groaning at how pliant and obedient you were. his fingers dug into the softness of your inner thighs, keeping them open so both he and uki could ogle at your body.

"fuck, what a good boy you are. let uki stretch out that little hole of yours good, okay? i wanna be inside you.." even the psychic felt his ears go red at that comment, both of you speechless and more turned on than ever. uki had a slick tongue of his own, sure, but fulgur sometimes spoke so .. raunchy, that the man had to give himself a moment to speak. it was much different than vox. fulgur noticed this, chuckling as he let his hands wander again. his eyes locked onto ukis, winking devilishly. "don't get too excited now, uki. ill reward you some other time." the psychic gulped, hating how flustered the comment made him, taking his anger out by thrusting his fingers faster inside of you. you cursed under your breath, groaning as your cock twitched at the rough treatment.

fulgur shushed you, metal hand turning your jaw to face him as he leaned in for a kiss. you didn’t bother fighting back and let him dominate your mouth completely while his tongue danced against your own. the room felt filled to the brim with wet, naughty noises — if you weren’t so dizzy from the attention, they’d almost be comical. after stretching you out with four of his fingers, uki began squirting more lube on his cock instead. you could barely pay attention, panting from fulgurs deep kiss.

“god y/n, you’re so tight..” uki hissed, sighing in relief as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. you couldn’t help but moan at the feeling. it was a miracle you hadn’t cum yet, mind feeling incredibly dumb as fulgur held your legs open. “you like being filled, pretty boy?” the cyborg licked the shell of your ear, tears threatening to fall from your eyes when uki started to roughly pound into you.

what did you do to deserve this? the couple put all of their attention on you, making sure every part of your body was engulfed in pleasure. all you could do was nod, afraid that if you spoke up you would really begin to sound slutty.

meanwhile, uki had no problem indulging in himself. the psychic slammed his hips into yours, deep languid thrusts in and out of your hole making you both go crazy. he had leaned right next to your neck, kissing and biting as he fucked you. it almost made fulgur jealous. almost, that is, until he had a brilliant idea of his own.

“uki, can you pull out a bit? leave just the tip inside.” you blinked through your tears, confused. did fulgur want to stop? his boyfriend was having sex with you after all. maybe he had realized how weird the situation was and wanted out. you wouldn’t be surprised, but couldn’t hide the disappointment you’d feel. “give me the lube, too.”

fulgur kissed your cheek, hands lifting up your hips and positioning you better so that his own cock could teasingly press against your hole. “b-but, ukis still inside—!”

“and?” he chuckled, uki holding your hips so you wouldn’t fall as the silver haired man tried to squeeze himself inside. “relax, y/n. it’ll feel good. we’ll take care of you.” uki commented, smiling softly and rubbing little circles onto your hip with his thumb. you swallowed thickly, trying your hardest to relax and loosen up.

before you knew it, fulgur had finally slid his cock inside, causing all three of you to moan at the feeling. he was much thicker than uki, your hole feeling especially full even though he was only halfway in. uki took the opportunity to kiss you this time. his lips hungrily moved against yours, however, he was still softer than fulgur. you laid there like a good pet, sandwiched inbetween the couple as they slowly started to move their cocks in and out.

fulgur was surprisingly the most vocal, groaning and whining in your ear the entire time. “i didn’t take you for such a slut, y/n. your ass is practically milking my cock. how long have you wanted this for?” his deep voice made you shiver, playing with your own chest as he moved against you. “im not a slut..—“

it was ukis turn to giggle, squeezing a copious amount of lube onto your hole to help with the friction. “you’re still painfully hard, y/n. you didn’t even cum once. only a slut would still be turned on after this.” his tongue darted out to wet his lips, pushing your legs back so he could fuck you deeper. “you remind me of a dog. it’s cute.”

“a dog? i like the sound of that.” you couldn’t see it, but you knew fulgur was grinning like the sly little fuck he was, accentuated by a hard thrust into your ass which made you cry out. “what do you think, y/n? do you want to be our puppy?”

you hated how horny that made you. you wish you could’ve covered your face in shame, but being practically split open by two bigger men didn’t allow such leeway. “we’d give you all the attention you want, yknow. you’d be the prettiest puppy.” one of ukis hands wrapped around your cock, jerking you. you groaned from the overstimulation. it was so, so much. uki and fulgur didn’t bother slowing down their pace, the sheer size making a small bulge in your tummy as they rearranged your insides.

fulgur noticed how your hole tightened around his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you began to squirm even more. “the puppy is close, uki. if you keep that up he’s gonna cum.” uki laughed at that, squeezing your cock and watching you sob even louder. the three of you were alone in the house, but with the sound of skin against skin and your cries, he was sure the entire neighborhood knew what was going on. “well? do you want to cum, puppy?”

you nodded vigorously, pouting as your body only grew hotter and hotter. fulgur muttered praises in your ear, his strong hands reminding you of just how overpowered you were. uki smirked, eyes narrowing mischievously. “ if you want to cum, then you’re going to have to bark like a good boy.”

fulgur laughed at that, taking note of how your body responded positively. your abdomen was sticky with all of the precum you had leaked out, whining and crying as they didn’t stop. “you heard him, y/n. bark for us.”

it felt like forever, your throat feeling dry as you mustered up the courage to speak. it felt dehumanizing. humiliating. and yet.. you couldn’t help but enjoy it, playing with the fantasy of being your best friend’s little pet to fuck whenever they felt like it. your mind felt beyond broken, the fullness from their cocks making your brain into mush as you licked your lips. “w-woof..?”

your voice was meek. it was rough from all the screaming and moaning the two men had made you do, but their eyes lit up all the same. uki looked down at you with nothing but adoration, gasping in delight before starting to breed your slutty little hole properly. fulgur didn’t trail too far behind, the premise of having a cockslut at his feet whenever he wanted spurring him on, putting his fat dick to use in your ass. uki and him created a fast but deep sync, drooling as you greedily spread your legs open. it wasn’t long before your own cock spurted out thick, white ropes of cum onto your sweaty chest. the two other men didn’t bother stopping, wanting to orgasm too.

“that’s right, take it puppy, take it all in.” fulgur groaned, chasing his own release and cumming deep inside of you, shortly after uki spilled. the loads felt massive, and you were sure your stomach bulged from how much they came in your ass. the couple didn’t bother pulling out, however, peppering you in kisses. their lips felt so soft and refreshing after an intense session, making you mewl and sigh softly.

when they had kissed every inch of your skin they could reach, uki giggled and leaned in to give fulgur a kiss. they didn’t bother hiding it either, sloppily making out right in front of you as if you weren’t there. their tongues pushed against another obscenely, fulgurs moans making uki excited again. you gasped in surprise when you felt uki buck his hips, cock already hard and ready for another round. fulgur didn’t even bother asking you, starting to slowly fuck you again in tune with the psychic.

you were going to be here for a very long night.

[p0is0nvalz]

I hope you are still doing requests! I love your writings!! can I request where the reader is Dustin's sister and is secretly dating Eddie and there are hints ( ie someone comments you smell like weed, Dustin telling him my sister has that same shirt, saw it on her floor the other day he had hid when he knocked, Dustin seeing you with a Hickey at school "youndidnt have that this morning " Eddie showing up with a matching spot) the rest of hellfire pick up on and is pointed out to Dustin. sorry it's a bit long

Requests are open!! And yes this is so cute omg i love this

Warnings: allusions of depression, sexual content, reader is super un-motivated,poor dustin is too cute for his own good😔, this somehow is a slight self-insert. Im sorry if this isnt what you wanted!

it started off with a one-night, no strings attached sex, but he kept coming back for more. He couldnt get the taste of you off his tongue.

Having eddie munson at your doorstep wasnt what you were expecting on a friday night all alone “munson.. dustin isnt here-“ “i didnt come here for him- fuck, i cant stop thinking about you” there was practically blisters on his lip from the continuous biting.

that had led to countless nights of sex with your brothers idol behind his back, slowly gaining feelings untill you finally started to date.

“hi dusty, how was your day?” He had just gotten back from school, you bringing him into a very warm embrace ‘she must have been in bed all day again’ dustin thought your daily “routine” wasnt healthy. Staying in your room in bed all day listening to the smiths and drawing whatever is on your mind, only getting up when taking showers, going to the bathroom or greeting him. If only he knew.

He hugged you back, ready to be filled with the strong scent of your scent “it sucked. Jas-“ he pulled away, sniffing you “y/n… why do you smell like weed?” His eyebrows were furrowed in worry “oh.. i was out with my friend” you tensed up which went un-noticed by him “really?” He smiled slightly. He was glad you were pushing people away less and less. ‘Isolating only furthers the hole you dug for yourself’ he’d always remind you.

“eddie..” you moaned out as you slid yourself onto his dick, eyes squeezing shut and bouncing up and down. That apparently wasnt enough for eddie as he held up your ass making you fall slightly and pounded up into you as fast as he could.

You were both face-to-face as he tilted his head, getting more access to your neck.

he was sucking and biting at your neck as you didnt notice, too mixed up in pleasure to think about it.

the next day, you were at home when you noticed. Dustin forgot his hat. You sighed and got up from the couch, deciding to be a good sister and delivering his hat.

Once you got there, you checked the time, figuring you would have to go into one of his classes. But no. It was lunch (you did a little cheer in your mind)

On the way there, you saw your friend val. You checked up on her while she just responded with the widest eyes she could, mumbling ‘dude i got pussy from chrissy goddamn cunningham’

“dusty. You absolute meanie, you made me drag my own ass into a car and to your school. Hey mike” you approached their table, ignoring the way eddie cat-called you jokingly “y/n you life saver!” His hair looked terrible, you tried to muffle your giggled by slapping a mouth over your hand and turning your head to the side “is that a hickey!? Y/n fucking henderson. Who the hell gave you a hickey!?!?” You dashed out of the cafeteria, running back to your car still giggling at your brother, hearing a faint “why do you have one too, eddie!?”

You were napping in eddies room when you suddenly heard the voice of your little brother. Your eyes shot up and you tried your best to listen to the conversation

“dude! My sister had that same shirt! She was wearing it today too! What a coincidence!” Dustin laughed as eddie laughed akwardly with wide eyes. “Whats in your room? Ive never seen it before?” Eddie sprinted to his door, covering it with his arms and legs “you.. you dont wanna go in there” eddie shook his head vigorously. Dustin was trying to find a was to get in there, eddies protests only making him more curious “you wont like whats in there!” Dustin finally shimmied into the room, scanning the room untill his eyes stopped. There you were, sitting up on eddies bed in a new shirt, eyes as wide as his.

“what the fuck.”

“Oh this isnt my room! Haha, silly me! What am i doing here?”

[keilemlucent]

Oh Salem, the panicked Keigo idea just speaks to my mean little gremlin heart. I want to see the guy trained to keep calm and cool lose his shit over losing his s/o. RIP his handlers if they try to slow him down. I want to see the relief when he finds them and the reckoning for the people dumb enough to try. This. This is my bedtime snack.

so this is less of reckoning, more relief. soft. ive been thinking about this a LOT and i feel like <3 poor keigo would be ruined:

heres a wittle drabble for your thoughts 

warnings: kidnapped reader, descriptions that may trigger claustrophobia (light, just a cave setting), insults in a not fun way, hurt/comfort baby

You were so cold.

The ‘cell’ you were in was more of a hovel, a small hole dug into the elaborate cave system you found yourself trapped in.

You weren’t sure for how long. There was no sun, only a guard that came and went with your meager meals and stale bottle of water. He and the other villains that had captured you spit vitriol and profanity like it was their duty to grind their verbal heels against your fragile psyche.

You tried to block them out, curling up in a tight ball against the rough back wall of your cell. Ignorance was better than hearing their profanities. 

The worst part was that you weren’t really sure what was going on. Other than that it had something to do with Keigo, considering you were exclusively referred to as “the number 2′s brain-rotted whore”.

Once again, you tried not to listen. 

...

You awoke to the sounds of chaos. 

Shouting, crashes, explosions--

The walls of your prison shook as you scramble to stand, smashing your head into the low ceiling as you did.

Your vision spun as your staggered to the rusty bars, bracing yourself and hopelessly tugging as you had so many times before.

There was a crash particularly close, bits of debris falling from stone tunnels, frail support beams falling.

No. 

Your blood ran so cold, you couldn’t move. Your body went completely still at the bars as you switched between panic and rage. It wasn’t fair, none of it was, you didn’t even get to say fucking goodbye to him. No last words, you’d been plucked from the street on your commute however long ago.

Keigo had left early that morning too, letting you sleep in with a kiss to the forehead instead of his normal heapings of sleepy, dawn-time affections. You’d been clinging to those sleepy, half-memories as anchor over the days in the cramped caves.

And, in the end, that was all you would have. Cloudy recollections of Keigo’s raspy morning voice as the caves around you began to shift and crumble.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you tugged at the bars, trying fruitlessly to get past them. Frustration made your hands sweat and fear made them shake as they became littered with small cuts. 

With the next crash, just as close, a vibrant blur of red whizzed past your cell. The shock and gust from its speed sent you jolting back, a hand clasping over your heart.

“... Keigo?” 

You hadn’t even realized you said it aloud. 

Not until the blur, feathers, a bundle of a maybe thirty returned, hovered and spun in front of the bars.

“Keigo?”

The feathers shuddered.

It felt like you were dreaming.

“KEIGO!” 

You practically screamed, jolting against the bars. Though it wasn’t him, not really, he’d hear you through the feathers. One of them spilled through the bars, pressing to your chest and pushing you away as the rest of the warm sharpened and began to beat on the thick padlock.

Something about your bodily state must’ve changed, as the feather at your face moved to under your chin, sweeping over your jaw in a small motions. 

...

Even from afar, Keigo was trying to comfort you.

When he’d felt you on the end of one of the feather swarms he’d sent into the caves, he thought he’d imagined it. The quiet hesitance with which you practically gasped his name was so fucking soft, he almost missed it.

But, he didn’t, thank fucking god.

The villains had been smart, corralling their captives (beyond just you, unsurprisingly. The string of disappearances over the weeks prior had all been linked. There were at least a dozen other lovers and family members of heroes tucked away into the mountain side with you.) 

Hence, it was a whole operation to retrieve you all, with some of the most pissed off, downright enraged heroes leading the charge and preceding investigation.

And Keigo?

He’d been at the front of it. 

HIs PA had to convince him to get a few solid hours of sleep every few days, in an actual bed, rather than on the floor of his office, or one of the many conference rooms the rescue team was occupying. 

He’d been wasting away, quietly, but he hardly noticed. Food was secondary, drinking was a burden, and his other bodily needs were just holding him back. He had a singular goal--

To find you.

He’d torn up the skies and the earth for just a trace of you, after you’d been taken. And finally, he found it, in the side of a fucking mountain, and an operation was launched to get all of the taken back.

Problem was it was a fucking mountain. A cobbled together base for the villains made of old mine tunnels and shafts, and organic caves.

And infuriatingly, Keigo and his wings were too damn big to properly navigate them. So, even if you were found, he wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t be there to tell you that everything was okay.

He couldn’t guarantee your safety by his own hands, and it fucking hurt. 

That being said, his feathers had done a good enough job. 

He could feel your heart hammering as you neared the entrance.

And then Keigo saw you.

...

You stumbled from the blown out opening, a flurry of feathers on either side. The brawl was somewhere else in the cave, shut out from your mind as you followed the tugs and touches of the plumes.

And as you felt the rays of setting sun hit your cheeks, you caught sight of Keigo.

Before you could even open your mouth, and breath the sigh of relief you needed to, or cried his name like you wanted to, Keigo was on you, scooping you up and away from the shuddering caves. 

His grip was so tight, it hurt, but neither of you cared. Your arms had looped behind his head, burying themselves in his greasy hair as you hid your face in his neck. Keigo’s hands were shaking as they held you close to him, not wavering even when you returned to the stable, safe ground below. It teemed with heroes and medics, but no one dared to interrupt or get between the two of you.

They’d all seen how wrecked Hawks had become in pursuit of finding his partner.

Keigo lowered the two of you to the ground, all feathers returning and making his feathers thick and broad once more. They rose and curled around the two of you, sealing the world away.

Your mouth felt too dry as you tried to sit up, but Keigo wouldn’t let you. He kept a firm hand on your hip as he tore off one of his gloves with his teeth, keeping you in place in front him. 

When you tried to shift, he gathered you by your waist and crushed you to him. HIs chest shuddered and his shoulders quaked with the force he was wrapping you, and you returned it all, as much as you could.

“P-please,” Keigo’s voice broke. “I just gotta hold you for awhile, o-okay, Dove? You’re s-safe now. I’ve got you.”

And he did.

You pressed your cracked lips to his cheeks, lungs going tight as you wrestled for one of his clammy hands to hold.

“I-I know,” You sniffled, tears squished between your cheeks. You pressed your interlocked fingers to your lips, choking on a sob of pure relief. Whatever kisses you had planned to grace his knuckles with were swallowed elsewhere.

Keigo pulled your face to his, hands and mouth hungry as he desperately kissed you, finally, nothing like the fleeting ones you both clung to while cruelly apart. It was messy, sloppy, but ringing with sweetness as Keigo sputtered and nipped at your lips.

“’M sorry,” He breathed, barely pulling away before slotting your lips together once more. 

As much as you wanted to reply, remind him that this wasn’t his fault, you words were too gummy and jumbled for anything meaningful.

So, you both settled for touch.

You stroked over each other’s sunken in eyes and dark circles. Keigo nipped at your dry lips, while you tasted the staleness of his breath. His bare hands braced against your back from just under the hem of your shirt,  feeling the deep chill in your skin and the residual dirt and grime.

You finally mustered up some words, the mix of so many needs and desires that needed sating.

“K-Keigo?” You lingered as close as you could, craving the heat and mingling of your breaths. “I-I want to go home.”

His breath caught and his grip got tighter still.

“Can we go home?” You asked, soft and breaking as you fell into the safety of his arms.

“Y-yeah,” Keigo pressed his teary cheeks to the top of your head, letting out a final shaking breath of relief. Keeping his words firm as firm as his touch, he put every ounce of ease that he could offer into his words:

“Let’s go home, dove.” 

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Fugitives

Somehow inspired by @chicken0mcnugget and her sister and my sister's more than lovely camping adventure. Somehow, I don't know how. Maybe part 2 if I write it (no promises) will match up to my wild imagination's interpretation of a camping trip. Perhaps, it is a possibility.

Warnings: collapse, passing out, field medicine, blood, gunshot wounds, screaming, gagging roughly for own good, intensive description of possibly gorey wound care, betrayal, some language, going into shock, IV and needles.

~

"Stop," Villain wheezed, sinking to his shaking knees. "I-i need-" cough, "I need help."

Hero stopped running and looked over her shoulder to see Villain half-collapsed on the ground, holding his abdomen.

"We both need help, Villain. Now get up and run. They'll be here soon," Hero trotted back to her nemesis.

"Mmnh," Villain gurgled, his face an eerie shade of pale yellow. He swayed from his kneeling position, keeling sideways, eyes rolling back-

"Oh my gosh," Hero caught Villain as he fell limp into her arms.

"Wake up!" Hero patted Villain's burning cheek repeatedly. "Damn it Villain," she groaned when he didn't wake.

Hero felt at loss. They were running away from authorities in the middle of the woods, exhausted and sore, with no shelter, water, and food in sight.

And now she had an unconscious villain to deal with.

Hero removed the hands placed so precariously on his stomach to reveal a spot of bloodstained fabric. Hero silently cursed to herself and rolled up his shirt.

The sight made her stomach drop. He had not one, but two bullet wounds in his stomach. One was quite deep and bleeding profoundly whereas the other still had the champagne bullet casing, blocking the precious crimson plasma's flow.

He was shot, Hero stressed to herself, trying to figure out what to do. She vaguely remebered a series of gunshots, but Villain promised that he was okay.

And now...

Hero stopped her thoughts suddenly and stood up, cradling Villain tenderly. He was bigger, without a doubt, but between her fitness and touch of super strength, she succeeded.

"I got you," she whispered to the sleeping villain before taking off at a lopsided jog.

"Villain what are you doing here?" Hero asked, approaching the tall, leather-cladden figure.

"Saving you," Villain replied, running to close the distance and grabbing Hero's arm. "Your team, they set you up. We need to go!"

"What are you talking about?" Hero chuckled, easily shaking Villain's hand off.

"They are-"

A click.

A scuffle of feet.

"Well this, my friends, is a win-win," an all too familiar chortle sounded.

Villain spun around, stepping back to stand parallel to Hero's shoulder. His breaths were hitched, proof of his nervous anticipation.

Hero, on the other hand, was mystified by the scene. Her hands trembled as beads of sweat started to form around her amber hair line. Realization flooded into every vein and all she wanted to do was sink to the ground and give up.

They betrayed her.

Her team betrayed her.

Leader stepped into the single light spot in the warehouse. Even though it was mid-day, the shadows made it look like it was night.

"We have our darling Hero here, and her nemesis. Arrest them," Leader ordered.

Villain lunged at Leader, going for his neck. More scuffles of feet determined that there were more heroes to fight off, but injuring, or killing, Leader would slow them down.

Villain and Leader fell to the ground with a grunt, punching, and hitting, and lashing until Villain was able to smack the golden boy's head against the concrete floor.

Villain discarded his prey and hurried to assist Hero in taking down two muscular, lithe heroes. They were twins, evident in their matching black ponytails.

"You know the pay for your head," one sneered, licking her bloodied lip. "Is more than what I had to pay for my house."

"Hmm," the other laughed. "Not only that, but you are on every 'wanted' billboard in the city."

Hero said nothing, just kept striking punch after punch- most of the time missing.

Then, as if on impulse, Villain grabbed Hero's shoulder and led her to a window. "Hang onto me," He said and closed his eyes.

Then there was a shot... then two... a brief hiss and then they were in the forest...

"Villain are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I promise."

Hero stumbled across an abandoned cabin. A moldy door guarded the entrance and windows were bashed in, but it supplied the dire need for shelter.

Inside, cupboards hung lazily on rusted hinges, creaking as they swayed with the cool draft. A rat-infested couch was hidden in a damp corner with moss growing at the bottom. The only somewhat useful piece of furniture was the metal table in the center.

It was odd to be accompanied by such a modern implement when the rest of the trashy building looked like it belonged in a landfill. Either way, Hero sat on the table, testing its strength. When it passed the test, Hero laid Villain upon it softly and began to inpect the bullet wounds again. The bad one stopped bleeding, but it still looked increasingly painful even though Villain was still unconscious.

Satisfied that Villain wouldn't die, yet, Hero started to search the minimally stocked cupboards. She found a handful of bungee cords, tiny nails as if the former homeowners were into hobby crafts, a mason jar, a metal rod, a various collection a thread, some sort of hemp material, and expired medicines.

She grabbed the nails and thread and walked back to Villain. It was far from ideal to use the nails to stitch, but it was all she had and would have to make do.

Hero tied the thread right under the head, praying that Villain wouldn't get tetanus from the rust particles, and started to sew the larger wound together.

As by some misdeed sent from hell, Villain awoke, screaming like a hungry baby bird. Hero left the nail half-dangling in his flesh and dug her hand into Villain's mouth.

"Shhhh," she cooed. "Someone could be out there. We are apparently fugitives now, remember? Remember the fight?"

It seemed to drain all of Villain's energy, but he nodded. Yet, the second Hero let go of his mouth, he started to curl into himself, whimpering.

"Knock that off," Hero chided and stretched Villain back out. "I need to access that wound."

Villain mewled, but didn't move.

"Okay..." Hero breathed and with a quivering hand, pushed the needle into the ruin skin. Villain hissed, abs flexing, but didn't holler until the head started to pull through Villain's skin.

Oh boy, did he scream. It was like a dying cougar, wild and ragged. Hero, ignoring the wordless pleas for mercy, laced the nail through. It made a small puncture wound, but it had to be done.

"I'm sorry!" Hero rushed over to Villain's head, gathering it into nervously shaking arms that were fueled by adrenaline. Villain's eyes started to glaze over and slip above his eyelids.

She couldn't keep doing this. Every pass, partnered with a screech, and then rushing to comfort Villain would take too much precious time.

Time that could be spent getting as far away as they could from the ravaging heroes.

Thinking briskly, Hero grabbed the metal rod with the tiniest bungee she could find, and appeared again at Villain's head.

"I'm so sorry about this," Hero apologized, and forced the rod into Villain's limply hanging mouth. The villain's eye widened and darted frantically around, searching for the cause of his discomfort.

Hero ignored the obvious signals of distress and pulled Villain's head up. She looped the center of the bungee to one side and then took one strand to do the same on the other. She then attached the hooks together and laid Villain's head down.

A pillow would also be more than ideal. The inevitable thrashing of the head would more likely than not cause some sort of head injury- whether substantial or not.

But Villain would have to do without.

Hero went back to the gaping wound on his stomach and resumed her threading... in... out... in... out...

Everytime, the nail head would have to be roughly pulled through, and everytime more tender skin would rip. Villain thrashed, smacking his head against the unrelenting metal and kicking out with his legs. Hero tried to get by with just sitting on his legs, but the flailing arms also proved to be a problem. She got up, once again leaving the needle haphazardly in the villain's wound, and returned with the hemp fabric.

She tied each wrist and each ankle with the scratchy material, snug. Villain who was resisting the friendly torture immediately fell back into his newfound restraints, sniffing pitifully.

"I'm sorry," Hero tried to reason, but her delirious and exhausted ward was beyond negotiations.

Hero sighed and continued to tend to Villain's wound. Villain pulled back as much as the taut restraints allowed; he bit down against the metal gag until his mouth begun to bleed. Hero winced, concerned that he broke a tooth.

When the first hole was completely stitched up, Hero cut the azure colored thread and strung some more out. She retied it to the nail and set them down against the table.

Hero noticed that the table was beginning to get slick with blood and sweat.

She then examined the bullet. The other one must've fell out when Villain teleported the pair. The dark beige color shone compared to the deep mahogany blood. Hero took two nails out and placed them on both sides of the bullet like chopsticks and tried to use the leverage to launch it.

She succeeded and the bullet just barely brushed against her ear, but the wound began to bleed heavily. Hero groaned and shoved her hand into the bleeding waterfall to staunch it.

Her ears started to ring as her heart pumped faster. Villain's body slumped against the table, his face going pale. Hero gasped for breathing, the wires in her brain not connecting. She didn't know what to do.

She messed things up, now Villain was bleeding out again.

Hero removed one hand and tried to tear a piece of the hunter green shirt she was wearing off; but she couldn't, the cotton material was stubborn.

"Shit," Hero gasped, walls of anxiety closing in around her. The air suddenly felt so heavy as if a furnace was just installed. Her hands trembled, not knowing what to do.

"Think Hero, think," Hero muttered outloud. If she released pressure, Villain would surely bleed out.

Hero leaned all her weight onto the wound. Villain gasped, trying to crawl away. His skin was clammy and unnaturally pale- even more blanch than before. His eyes kept rolling up into his skull before returning to a more neutral place.

His chest heaved in irregular breaths as his stomach convulsed...

He was going into shock.

Hero groaned and grabbed the end of her shirt and brought it to her mouth. She bit it and ripped it all the way to her ribcage. She replaced her sticky hands with the cloth and stuffed it into the wound. It slowed down on bleeding, and the shirt was thick enough to give Hero some time to help with the shock.

She ran to the cupboards and found a bucket. Bringing that over to Villain, she elevated his legs. He was gasping for air now and didn't seem entirely conscious.

She then took off his jeans and laid them over his legs. She remembered learning about shock in her early heroic classes- keep the victim warm and remove restrictive clothing.

She left his rolled up shirt and leather jacket on.

His pulse was insanely weak and too fast as if he was intoxicated. Hero pursed her lips and gently tapped Villain awake.

"Stay awake," she pleaded. "I know it's hard."

Villain lips quivered and he coughed up some thick, starchy liquid.

Blood.

Hero turned Villain to his side and allowed him to spill the scarlet color. All the while, she kept a close eye on the wound. The shirt was nearly drenched.

I could tie a tourniquet, Hero realized and gathered some of the hemp. She deftly wrapped it around Villain's mid torso and pulled it taut.

Stepping back from her work, Hero knew that she had to call someone. A hospital was a no, even with Villain in shock. She could give him a blood transfusion...

If there was adequate IV lines.

Hero rushed to the cupboards once again. It was a long shot, but it was the only thing she could do.

Find an IV line, She told herself- the request was weak though, no one could find an IV in an abandoned cabin.

Find an IV.

And that she did.

Not even wondering what use the prior homeowners had for an IV, Hero inserted the needle in her vein, immediately filled with gratitude for her O type blood and attached the other end into Villain's elbow.

She gave him enough blood until some of his color returned and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Hero finished stitching the wound. Villain remained sleeping the whole time. She then removed the rod from his mouth and stuffed some more of her shirt on both sides of his mouth where the blood origin was.

Finally, when all the work was done, Hero laid next to Villain and wrapped an arm around his chest. He melted into the comfort, whimpering silently. Hero smiled and closed her eyes, asleep immediately.

She didn't notice the security camera in the corner of the building. The one with the blinking red light.

[buffaloborgine]

Of Zack Fair, Genesis Rhapsodos and the strange narrative POV of FFVII-Crisis Core (Part IV conclusion)

Part I: https://buffaloborgine.tumblr.com/post/650462647672766464/of-zack-fair-genesis-rhapsodos-and-the-strange

Part IVb: https://buffaloborgine.tumblr.com/post/657521891798614016/of-zack-fair-genesis-rhapsodos-and-the-strange

_______________________________________

Warning: As always, I copy paste this warning over and over just in case you ignore it and keep reading down.

“This series is very controversial, it may not fit with what you know or remember about Crisis Core. So please, read the former parts (I did put the link to Part I in case you are new reader) before putting your foot further down below.”

Also, as a new issue rising with this part, I emphasize this again READ THE OTHER PARTS. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, I put that phrase like two times in just this warning.

P/s: I welcome all kind of discussion. I love discussion. But this subject is an OBJECTIVE subject, please make sure to keep your bias and prejudice out of discussion, also, I don’t welcome character dissing or using fallacies in arguments, thank you.

_______________________________________

Summary of part IVa and IVb:

- Zack’s POV has a lot of misleading aspect, it makes you deliberately choose to look away from the bigger problem and focus on the smaller but more appealing problem to your eyes.

- Sephiroth, whether he really makes an astounding achievement in the Wutai War or not, is still used as a propaganda by Shinra to lure in new recruits for the war. This process was repeating over and over, and since Shinra treat SOLDIER members with inequality, there is not a single other SOLDIER gets the privilege to be hailed as “Hero” like Sephiroth.

- Genesis, Angeal, Sephiroth, Lazard, and of course the whole SOLDIER department along with President Shinra know about this unfair working ethic circling around. But they developed different reactions towards the situations, resulting in Genesis leading a large group of 2nd and 3rd to go rebelling against Shinra (with the secret help of Lazard) while the others stay loyal to Shinra (like Sephiroth), or eventually coming up to their own demises through paradoxical ideology (like Angeal).

So the final problem of this part is: Why are most of us feeling alright with all of these above?

Please take this into account when you think about this problem: Crisis Core was the last release of the Compilation, I mean, the team released three games (FFVII Original, Before Crisis and Dirge of Cerberus), one movie (Advent Children), two novels (On the Way to a Smile and The Children are Alright) ahead of Crisis Core. Even if you don’t have access to the novels and Before Crisis, you would have at least playing through OG/DoC or watched Advent Children, right? Then the team of writers/directors have established “Shinra is an evil company” in your head. This fact was repeated over and over throughout all the Compilation.

But then…

You came to Crisis Core.

And you became like a new player.

You suddenly, abruptly forgot that “Shinra is an evil company”.

Without you recognizing it, you felt that working for Shinra may be fine…

You have become Zack.

But, halt there for a second. If you have read all through this theory, and I thank you for doing so, you would be having two types of reaction:

- You feel like “Yeah, I did suspect that. I mean, it doesn’t feel right as I played through the game.”

- You feel like “Why didn’t I notice this before?”

And you would be surprised that the more you think you know about FFVII before you reach Crisis Core, you have higher chance to fall to the second option. New players, who only entered the fandom for a short while, or played Crisis Core as their very first game to get on with FFVII will fall for the first option.

This is a result of an effect called as “Dunning-Kruger effect”.

Dunning-Kruger effect is a hypothetical cognitive bias stating that people with low ability at a task overestimate their ability. Notably, the bias results from an internal illusion in people of low ability and from an external misperception in people of high ability; that is, “the miscalibration of the incompetent stems from an error about the self, whereas the miscalibration of the highly competent stems from an error about others”.

With players who have had a lot of time with the franchise before Crisis Core, Dunning-Kruger effect happened when they spent time with other parts and thought that they have understood most of what are represented in FFVII, thus, they came to Crisis Core, thinking confidently that “Yeah, I know the basic set up of the story, I know this, I know that, so nothing can really surprised me.” This thinking eventually leading to them not paying enough attention at the details hidden in plain sight, like, yeah, you know Shinra is evil, and Zack was still thinking that working for Shinra is right, and then you think that whoever opposed Zack must be bad, while you didn’t recognize that you are also saying whoever opposing Shinra is bad. Just thinking like the writers/directors dug a very big hole right in front of your eyes with all stuff released before Crisis Core, you saw them doing so, but yet you still step into that hole.

With players who came to Crisis Core after they go through Remake, well, then they literally have very little knowledge about FFVII. They came to Crisis Core to gain more knowledge, but, problem is, they already have the bias from Remake. I mean, who really don’t get any info from the fandom? In example, with that “Sephiroth is just a victim, him burning down Nibelheim is just a tantrum” circling around the fandom, they easily get the prejudice that “Sephiroth was just a victim, he is not guilty of anything”, while in fact, Sephiroth burning down Nibelheim was because he thinks he is the last surviving Cetra, he was superior over humans and the he was destined to ruled over the Planet, and to be fair, you can’t say that “burning the whole town and murdering the people there just because of believing oneself to be superior than the others” is not guilty. The misconception echoing throughout the fandom, or fanon, usually got to the new players faster than the canon itself. Therefore, without a proper checking, these new players suffered the Dunning-Kruger effect, they tend to believe in what they read/hear from other people in the fandom with too much confidence that they don’t even check it for themselves, resulting in the misunderstanding of Crisis Core’s problem.

However, if you are an old fans or a recently new player who just played Remake and came to Crisis Core, and still feel that the narrative here is a bit weird, then congratulation, you have dodged the Dunning-Kruger effect. Yay!

After all, I can’t claim that my writing in this whole theory thing is right. It’s all just my speculation, and I won’t force you to accept my speculation. I wrote this all out is for discussion.

And yet, there are more to discuss about the narrative of Crisis Core, although, if you read up to this point of this theory, you have to admit that the writers/directors of Crisis Core played you like a fiddle. They know how you would look upon the game, and they actually wrote it in a way to fool you.

_______________________________________

Thanks for coming to my Ted-Talk. I will see you next time, with a different problem to discuss.

Part Va: https://buffaloborgine.tumblr.com/post/658885243477032960/of-zack-fair-genesis-rhapsodos-and-the-strange

[youraveragebtsstan]

A Buddie FanFic: "The Things We Never Could Say" (A Season 4, Episode 13 Epilogue)

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Buck x Eddie (Buddie), Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley & Edmundo ‘Eddie’ Diaz

Word Count: 2.3k (2,266)

Summary: Buck knew he would have to face his feelings sooner or later, but he never thought he might not get the chance. As his best friend lies in the hospital suffering from the wounds of a sniper, Buck struggles with the idea of losing the love of his life, without the possibility of saying the things he’s always wanted to say. (Events of this Fic take place after the final scene of Season 4, Episode 13. As of writing/posting this Fic, Episode 14 has not yet aired.)

AO3 (Archive Of Our Own) Link: Click Here

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

Night had come in a blur.

The sun had faded, smearing itself in the sky, until there was nothing left; not even the moon. The sky was simply dark. There was no need for Buck to look up just to know he was alone. Though, it was nothing more than a feeling… He knew.

For the past few hours, time swayed by drunkenly. Buck swore he was still standing under the sun. He breathed in the daylight, exhaling something of content when the first shot was fired. He didn’t recall hearing anything. Not the sound of the bullet rattling through the barrel nor the screams of those that cried out in a panic as they fled around him. His focus was occupied by more important things.

The look of confusion on Eddie’s face burned, etched in his mind. As his body jerked at the push, he fell limp. A fearful stare gleamed in his eyes as he laid on the ground; the hand that reached out as his blood pooled around him… his blood. Buck could still feel the warmth of Eddie’s blood as it splattered on the side of his face; soaking into his hair, it melted onto his shirt. The stains had already dried, cracking on his skin.

Blinking into reality, the sounds of the faucet drew him in. His head hung low in the bathroom mirror. Leaning against the sink, he watched the water flow down the drain for what seemed like an eternity.

How did he get here?

All Buck could remember was climbing in the ambulance, sitting by Eddie’s side. He remembered holding onto the gurney as they rushed him through the hospital doors. Chaos ensued as doctors and nurses shouted to each other, carting in other victims one by one. He remembered sitting in the waiting room, eventually pacing the halls as his adrenaline struggled to catch up with his surroundings. As he tried to trek through the mess that was his thoughts, he began to get overwhelmed. When did he leave the hospital? He was too afraid to leave; afraid he would miss something important. No, he wouldn’t have left on his own accord. He couldn’t have. Did someone bring him home? He couldn’t imagine driving himself, not in his condition. He was disoriented and absent-minded. Had he told anyone about Eddie being shot? Did Maddie know? Chim? What about Christopher?

Right, he still had to tell Christopher… He remembered calling Carla shortly after arriving at the hospital; blood smearing on his screen as he swiped to find her number. Thankfully, she and Christopher spent the day together, visiting the park and an ice cream parlor or two. Buck breathed a little easier, knowing Christopher had a few more hours of joy remaining. Carla, being the kind woman she was, assured Buck she would stay by the younger’s side until he went home to clean himself up and pack a bag for the next few nights.

Right, he needed to get moving.

Taking a shallow breath, he glanced toward the shower, eyeing the handle. Buck struggled as he tried to get his feet to move. Glued to the ground, he moved not a single inch. All he needed to do was turn the handle. He had done this countless times, hell he somehow managed to turn the sink on, so why was now so hard? Rolling his neck in frustration, he caught a glimpse of his reflection; he nearly jumped out of his skin. His hair was matted, shirt drenched in sweat and blood. His skin was dirtied in debris; eyes red and glossy, sunken into their sockets. He looked nothing like himself. In fact, he had made up his mind the man before him was a mirage. The pit in his stomach gaped deeper.

Pushing off the sink, he made his way up to his room. He threw open the closet doors, yanking a couple shirts form their hangers. Tossing them in a bag along with a few pairs of boxers and socks he plucked from his drawers, he left his room in disarray. Like a tornado let loose upon his home, nothing was done with care. He felt as if time were slipping through his fingers. Dropping the bag to the floor, he fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. He couldn’t wait to get this thing off his body. He found it hard to move with it on. It weighed heavy on his chest. Unclasping the final button, he crumpled it in his hands, throwing it in the trash can next to his bed. His breath trembled as he breathed in. Though the shackles had been removed, he still trapped; the metal rattling in his lungs. The dried blood on his skin cracked as it crawled along his face.

Buck tried to shake the feeling. It wasn’t real, how could it be?

Trotting down the stairs, he raced to the sink, wanting to drown the sensation in the water. With each step, it’s grip around his throat grew tighter.

Plunging his head under the bathroom faucet, he gasped for air. Cupping his hands, he scrubbed his face, mashing his nose and cheeks in abstract circles. It burned the blood away like acid. His lashes were heavy as they dripped, water falling from his hair, down his nose and back. Small puddles could be found along the floor. Buck braced himself on the edge of the sink. Blowing water past his lips, his breathing lay labored. He gripped the sink tighter; fingers turning a muted shade of white.

Soon, a cry burst from his lips. Through gritted teeth, it resembled a groan of agony. Shaking uncontrollably, tears breached their waterlines. Falling against the wall, he slid to the floor, curling his knees to his chest. He had been sleepwalking. Numb for the remainder of the day, his body functioned purely on autopilot. Finally, his emotions gave in; exhausted and overwhelmed, he cried.

There was no one around to comfort him. No one he could call to ease his racing mind. The one person he needed the most, was the one who left him here alone. He needed Eddie. After all, Eddie was supposed to be there. He promised to have his back, just as Buck swore to have his. He tried to think of Eddie. In a different moment other than today, he played any memory he could think of. Something that would save him from himself. As Buck laid his head against the wall, he stared mindlessly into the faucet.

Funny enough, his thoughts dragged him to another heartbreak. He remembered how he felt the night of the tsunami, ringing and twisting the bands of Christopher’s glasses in his hands. He had spent hours wandering various medical tents, calling out the boy’s name to the point of  blistered feet and a scratchy throat. Tears overflowed his eyes as he fought to look Eddie in his… those brown eyes he adored so much. His heart exploded with relief the moment he saw Christopher back in Eddie’s arms safe and sound; knees buckling underneath him. Wrapped in Eddie’s arms is where things seemed the safest.

He remembered how angry Eddie was when he filed the lawsuit against the department. How Eddie saw red that day in the grocery store. The hurt in his voice masked by rage, as he clenched his fists by his side- Buck swore he was going to hit him… He wouldn’t have mind. The rattle of a fist against his jaw would have felt better than the hole in his heart. The hole Eddie dug deeper the more he ignored him; declining his calls and leaving his texts on read. Though he never admitted it, he cried on occasion. While everyone else ran off on calls, Buck often locked himself in the showers, stood with his back against the door as tears streamed down his face. Drawing a wedge between him and his best friend, he hated his pride that led him to isolation. He hated being alone…

So when Eddie was there for him after his world came crashing down, it was no wonder he couldn’t find the words to describe his appreciation. After 12 years of deceit finally coming to light, Buck found himself in a screaming match with his parents. He felt like a child again. Betrayed and neglected, Buck rambled on and on for what seemed like days at a time- Eddie was there to listen. He made him feel heard. Listening to his various monologues through FaceTime, even as Buck began to blame himself, doubling back on his words and dismissing his own feelings, Eddie always made him feel valid.

Eddie was always there… except now. Why couldn’t he be there now?

Why was he laying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life with IVs and monitors taped to him? It seemed so minute, a shot to the shoulder. If only they had rushed Eddie out of there like he begged, like he pleaded, he would have been fine. There would have been no need for him to pack a bag preparing to spend countless nights between a couch and the hospital. He wouldn’t need to tell Christopher his father’s not coming home tonight, if he came home at all. If only they let him pull Eddie to safety, things would have been fine… But instead first responders hid behind their cars, piling on top of each other, holding him down while Eddie laid in the middle of the street bleeding.

God, he had lost so much blood… Why did they waste so much time?

Time… Buck began to think rationally for a moment, his hopes growing high. Maybe if he showered quick enough, he could go back to the hospital and sit for a while- not for hours like he had before, but maybe an hour or two before Carla went home for the night. Though, he would be wasting away in the hallway; knee bouncing, rattling the chairs next to him. He probably would have worn his nails down to nubs before the doctor came back with any news. Buck pulled his thumb from his mouth at the thought; an old nervous habit rearing its ugly head. He clawed at his jeans, finding other use for his hands. Another the image of Eddie came to mind. Reaching out his hand as he laid on his side, Buck reached further, hoping he could feel his touch only feeling the rough touch of denim.

If only this once, he could hold Eddie’s hand.

He wanted to be by his side, waiting until he woke up… He wanted to be the first thing Eddie would see- not just in the hospital, but all the time. On the weekends, when they were both rarely off from work, he wanted to wake up next to Eddie; seeing him roll over in the sheets, sun shining in his face. On lazy afternoons, when Eddie sometimes napped at the fire station, Buck wanted to see that moment again. The man curled up on the couch, arms crossed over his chest, face plastered in bliss. He wanted to wrap his arms around Eddie as he cooked; with music playing in the background, dancing as he often did when he made dinner. Buck wanted to hold him in his arms, his head laying on his shoulder. That would be his own piece of peace.

The more Buck thought, the more he realized the two men had created a special type of love. Sure it was undefined, maybe even unconventional, but it was love nonetheless. As the wise words of a man he once met ran in his ears, Buck found himself laughing. Tears dried on his cheeks, nose no longer running, he remained laying against the wall, his laugh deep and therapeutic. He used to long for a love like this. Hoping for the day he would stumble upon it, unaware such a sacred love could only be made, molded with one’s own two hands- and By God, they had done it! He loved everything that ever was about Eddie Diaz. He had known for quite some time, the feeling of being in love. Constantly hiding his true feelings and for what reason? It was times like this, he wished he hadn’t. If only he had told him before…

That’s it, he thought to himself. As the light bulb flickered on above his head, he wiped the tears from his cheeks. He cleared his throat with a start. Standing, he flipped the handle on his shower wall, water spitting from the head as a result. Staring in the mirror, reminisce of himself began to reappear. He raised his chin, breathing deep. You got this. There was no need in holding himself down, torturing himself with a nonsensical life without Eddie. He didn’t have time to marvel over ‘what ifs’ or hypotheticals. Reality was now; a breath of fresh air compared to the sadness he had been drowning himself in. From that moment on, he would only allow himself to think fact, for fiction was too painful.

Fact, Eddie was going to be fine. The surgery would go well, and he would return home in no time.

Fact, Eddie would tuck Christopher into bed again. He would once again read his son his favorite stories as he drifted off to sleep in his arms.

Fact, when Eddie did open his eyes, Buck was going to be there… Sitting by his bedside, he would be holding his hand, ready to say the things he never could say.

Completed On: May. 23th 2021

Written By: Carmen Feaster (YourAverageBTSStan)

Feel Free To Reblog- Just Give Credit

[juno-eclipsee]

Moonbeam - Poe Dameron x reader

A/n: It’s currently 3:58 am when I’m posting this so I literally don’t know if this is any good. I wrote it in like an hour and a half after getting inspiration from who knows what. Also this is my first comfort fic any criticism is welcome. 

Rating: G

Warnings: None really, a palm get cut but that’s really it

Word count: 1.4k (I’m trying to teach myself to write smaller fics)

Summary: Poe finds his mechanic crying her eyes out in the middle of the night. He can’t just do nothing.       Poe Dameron never slept well the night before a mission. Too many possibilities flying around in his head. Tonight was no different, and he could only stare at the ceiling of his room for so long before he started to get stir crazy. 

     Which is why he found himself aimlessly wandering the tarmac, looking for something to hold his attention for more than a few seconds. It was an overcast night so he couldn’t even look out to the stars. It was strange to see the base so dead, it would be the perfect time for an attack. Poe quickly shook that idea out of his head, the last thing he needs before a mission is being afraid of something happening while he isn’t there. He’s had enough nightmares about that alone for it to invade his waking hours.

      However, there was one singular light left on, probably by a mechanic who forgot to turn it off before turning in for the night. The light shot across the tarmac like a moonbeam. A stark contrast to the overwhelming darkness that surrounded it.

     He was completely in his own head until a noise snapped him out of it. He couldn’t even identify it. It was sort of rhythmic, it kept happening in short bursts… Was someone crying?

     He followed the noise around for a moment, finding that it led him to his X-wing and the light. He hid behind a stack of crates and peeked around the corner, his field agent instincts kicking in for some reason. It was his mechanic, Y/n, quietly sobbing into her hands. The sight alone shattered Poe’s heart. To see someone so strong, the moonbeam of the Resistance who always punched a hole through the darkness, so upset was devastating. Poe’s stomach dropped, something really bad must have happened for her to be in such a state. 

     He hid back behind the crates, trying to think of a way to go about the situation in front of him. He felt an unnatural wave of anxiety roll over him, he wanted to help her but didn’t know if he would like what he would be told. He shook his head. Fuck it, he thought. His friend was in need and he’d be damned if he doesn’t do something about it. 

“Y/n?” He called out as he rounded the crates, finally coming into view of the scene before him. Tools littered the ground and a panel was missing from the belly of his ship. At the sound of her name, Y/n jumped out of her skin and started frantically wiping away tears, as if her red face wouldn’t give it away. 

     “Hi,” She said, voice tight and shaky. “What are you doing up so late?” She asked with a sniffle. If Poe’s heart could break any more, it definitely did. 

     “I think the real question is what’s going on with you?” He asked before sitting down next to her on an overturned crate. His question just made her sob more, he didn’t know why, but he rubbed her back and waited patiently for her to calm down. Poe pulled her head to rest on his shoulder, his cheek resting on the crown of her head. “It’s alright.” He whispered. “Why are you crying, doll? I can’t stand to see you like this.” 

     “It’s a long story,” She swallowed hard before continuing. “It’s really stupid.” Poe squeezed her shoulder, making her melt even more into his embrace. 

      “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve done something stupider.” She scoffed at this, making Poe feel just a bit better. She took a second, staring at the ground. Poe pulled his head back and could see the gears turning in hers. 

     “I think I’ve just been really stressed out lately. So many X-wings are coming in and the mechanics are so understaffed to the point where I can’t even remember the last time I slept for more than maybe two hours.” She had to compose herself again, silently cursing herself out for this long explanation Poe probably wasn’t even asking for. She always rambled when her Commander was near, he seems to just have that effect on people. And the massive crush she’d had on him for a modest two years certainly didn’t help. “So I was just trying to check on one of your S-foils because you said it was being annoying last time and I went to put the panel back when I was done and the corner cut my hand and,” Oh, gods, the tears are back, she thought. 

     “And that was what broke the dam?” She nodded. He reached for her hands, pointing the palms towards the light. Sure enough, an ugly gash stretched about an inch up her palm. It looked painful. 

     “And the stupidest part is that it doesn’t even hurt that bad.” She said, trying to laugh, but a fresh stream of tears said otherwise. Poe was quick to wipe them away. 

     “Tell you what,” His hands held her chin gently and tilted it towards him. It was the first time Y/n was brave enough to look him in the eye. His eyes were glassy, too. It hurt like a knife to see someone so close to him in so much pain, physical or emotional. “How about you come back to my room, I’ll fix up your hands, and we’ll see if you can get a good night’s sleep that’s more than two hours, okay?” His offer was tempting, and her eyelids were getting heavy from crying them out. 

     “But what about your ship?” She whispered, her throat still so tight she couldn’t control her voice. 

     “Don’t even worry about it. I’m no mechanic but I think I can handle one panel all by myself.” She smiled at that, and Poe’s heart soared. The annoying little voice in the back of his head told him to kiss her then and there, but he quickly ignored it. “So what do you say?” Her hand tightened around his. 

     “I’d really like that.” He raised her uninjured hand to his lips and placed a kiss on it. He tried to ignore the voice, but he’s only human. 

     “Perfect.” He stood up, Y/n following in suit. He turned the light illuminating his ship off, the only moonbeam that mattered to him was right in his hand. 

      The walk back to his room was quick, it was definitely bigger than hers. Perks of being a higher up, she guessed. They sat on his bed with a med kit open in between them. Poe’s hands moved with finesse, he’d hurt himself on accident enough times to know what to do. When her hand was wrapped in a bandage, Poe dug around his dresser for an old shirt she could wear. He finally found one of some band from Yavin IV she’d never heard of. He must have loved the shirt because of how soft the fabric was on Y/n’s skin. 

     “I hope you don’t mind sharing the bed.” He said, pulling back the covers. “You don’t, right?” He asked with a sudden urgency. 

     “No, I figured this was the plan anyway.” She said, her face a little red from the idea of being in his bed when he doesn’t have a shirt on and her whole legs were out on display. 

     “Good, come here.” He said as he climbed into bed and beckoned her to follow, which she did happily. It took a bit of shifting around to find a position comfortable for the both of them, but they  were content with Y/n’s head resting on Poe’s chest with his arms wrapped around her shoulders. His heartbeat and the rising and falling of his chest was almost enough to rock her to sleep.

     “If you ever have to talk about stuff like that again, come find me, okay. It isn’t healthy to keep it all bottled in.” He said, fingers carding through her hair. 

     “Even if it’s stupid?” She asked, only partly joking.

    “Even if it’s stupid, if it’s serious, if it’s everything in between. You can tell me anything. I want you to know that.”

     “Thank you.” She whispered into his chest. Poe responded by planting a kiss to the top of her head before turning off the overhead light. This must be what bliss feels like, he thought. Holding close the woman he loves, not that he’d ever admit it was love because he was a stubborn bastard and he knew it. But still, it felt pretty good. 

     Even though he had his mission tomorrow, and she had a long line of ships to fix in the morning, they slept better than they had in years.

[whumpywhumper]

Here to Help

I’ve been waiting to post this section for forever. 

Recently updated master post: Here

Follows: Aftermath

Edit for Masterpost

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @0idril0 @captivity-whump @whumpitywhumpwhump @walkingchemicalfire @comfy-whumpee @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump2 @untilthepainstarts 

`

Markus woke up abruptly, jerking into consciousness with pain spreading through his chest as he gasped a full breath into his battered lungs, his back arching as his muscles rebelled at the unexpected agony. His eyes snapped open, and he whined as his nerve endings fully registered the deep, penetrating ache that dug into every crevice of his body. The sharp, consuming wounds in his stomach and chest. 

His esophagus was raw from where the tubes had been removed from his throat, and it felt like he was breathing through razor blades. The breathing mask over his face pumped humid, tepid air into his mouth and nose, but it did nothing to soothe his abraded airways. The curtained area they’d moved him into was dark, the machines he was still connected to whirring and blinking, their small lights unable to completely light up the area. 

He felt his eyebrows furrow in slight confusion, even at night, the curtained area hadn’t been this dark. The constant fluorescents had peaked underneath the floor length fabric, the air flow creating a dance of lights in the closed area. Picking his head up slightly, his throat rebelled at the new angle, lungs contracting viciously.

His barking, choked off cough was snuffed out by pain that drowned him. Smothering and opaque, the pain blocked everything out as it swallowed him whole. He went down. 

Down. 

. . . down. 

Only to catch himself on the precipice, a sense of dread and fear keeping him from giving in to the tidal wave that threatened him. Something’s out there. 

He crawled his way back to consciousness, prying his eyelids open as he sought what put his senses on edge. A brief, staccato popping followed by a demonic screeching in the distance made him wince, a cold sweat enveloping him as his stomach sank. What is that?  

Markus felt his heart speed even through his drugged, feverish haze, his mind moving sluggishly as it tried to put two and two together. He startled as the blood pressure cuff around his bicep tightened, a lance of pain jolting through him with the unexpected movement. He moaned quietly, shuddering as the surge of adrenaline washed over him. Left him feeling so tired. He wanted to move, get off of the bed and hide, at least pull the blankets over his head. Feel safe. But that desire was futile. 

He was still restrained, the soft cuffs around his wrists keeping him from pulling on the tubes and wires that framed his torso. The “nurses” hadn’t taken them off since he had ripped the chest tube out, had instead replaced them with buckled restraints that clicked in place underneath the bed. Stretching his drugged senses, he tried to hear anything that would give him an idea of what was going on, but quickly gave up. He was was surrounded by quietly whirring machinery, the bubbles of the replaced chest tube filling his ears. And he didn’t have the energy to care anymore. 

Sinking into the pillow, Markus tried to ignore the pain in his body, letting his eyes fall closed. 

Sleep hadn’t quite claimed him when the sound of muted voices entered his ears.  

“Go, go, go.” 

The heavy tramp of boots and jangle of tactical gear made Markus blink his eyes open, an odd clacking on the tile tickling his memory; so out of place in the vampire nest. But a heavy, anchoring fear made him freeze, hold stock still as his brain went offline. He bit his tongue against a distressed whimper caught in his throat. Cutting his eyes to the side, he saw the jumping, jerking flash of lights under the curtain that surrounded him. 

Another soft voice, “clear,” followed the clink and slide of curtain rings in a metal track. He wanted to call out, but fear strangled him, made it feel like there was a fist clutched around his trachea. He was taking short, choppy, staccato breaths; the oxygen mask filming with condensation. 

He stopped breathing altogether when the curtain around his bed was thrown open, black clad figures drowning him in the excruciating light of their halogen flashlights. He flinched, hard, his arms tugging on the cuffs in a pointless attempt at covering his eyes. 

Markus could feel the gun barrels pointed at him, the deadly projectiles a hair pin trigger away from boring large, painful holes in him. He squeezed his eyes closed, turning his face away from the lights, and opened his palms on the blankets in surrender. Please, please just do it quick. 

“Non-hostile, sending in Delta.”

It was impossible for the weakened witch to go anywhere when the heavy tread of footsteps came closer, the clack on the tiles sounding through the room again, but he tried to sink deeper into the mattress. Shaking uncontrollably, pain and fear stealing his faculties. The heart monitor he was hooked up to started to beep in warning.  

A whimper forced its way out when a heavy weight bounced onto the bed near his knee, and he shrank away when something cold touched his hand. But the touch came back more insistent, the snuffling push and pull of air moving up his arm. The weight repositioned itself, pressing into the mattress by his ribs, away from the tubes and wires. Markus’s eyes fluttered open when he felt the tell-tale touch of a wet tongue against his cheek. 

A dog?

Markus turned his head, still shaking and feeling weaker and weaker the longer he held onto consciousness, and was greeted by the serious gaze of a German shepherd as the animal retreated and lowered itself to lay against his side. Its heavy head rested comfortingly on his good hip. 

Moving as far as his restraints allowed, he buried one hand in the dog’s soft fur, feeling the cold slide of tears down his temple. 

The soft voice from before made Markus’s gaze slide to the black clad men. “Non-hostile is not infected, Ben and Kincaid, prep for evac.” 

Two figures stayed behind as the rest of the platoon peeled off. The dog, Delta, jumped off of the bed as her handler fell back into his position. The retreating flashlights illuminated the rest of the room, and the pulled curtains partitioning the space into empty squares. 

Markus immediately missed the warmth of the dog next to him, feeling bereft and vulnerable again. A renewed, hollow ache in his chest feeling a little more ripped open. He was supremely conscious of the trilling of the monitors beside him. The way the oxygen mask stuck to his face with a wet seal from the condensation his uneasy breathing caused. 

Blackness was playing with the edges of his vision. It spread further when one of the men lowered his rifle, the shoulder strap making the gun swing to his back, and stepped toward him. He unclipped a small lantern from his belt, which he clicked on to illuminate the area surrounding Markus’s bed, hooking it to an abandoned IV pole from the neighboring cubicle. As soon as his hand was empty, he held it out to Markus while the other went to the balaclava covering the lower part of his face. 

He revealed a handsome face with a square jaw and a hint of black beard. The guy’s smile was strained, but his voice was gentle. “Hey man, we’re going to get you home, okay? My name is Kincaid and this is Ben—“ he gestured to the other man—“he’s gonna make sure you’re okay to move, alright? How does he look, Ben?”

The other black clad figure also lowered his mask, adjusting his gun so that it was on his back, out of his way. “Vitals are a little strained, cupcake,” he said to Kincaid, “but I think we need to know more about what’s going on first, huh?”  Ben’s smile was conspiratorial as he looked toward Markus, their flashlights and the lantern revealing the crinkle of his eyes as he stepped up to grab the chart from the end of his bed. 

As he approached, Markus couldn’t help drawing away, inexplicably terrified of this new person invading his space. He’s just trying to help, fuck. His hands fisted loosely in the hospital blanket, his fingers still trembling, and he felt a bombardment of pain through his torso as he tensed. Sucking in quick breaths, Markus felt like he was breathing through a straw, and the machine next to him gave an obnoxious, shrill screech. 

Kincaid’s eyes snapped over, and he opened both hands toward him. “We’re gonna move slow and easy, okay? I’m gonna tell you everything we’re going to do before we do it, and I promise that we’re gonna do our best to make this as painless as possible, okay? Can you nod if you understand me?” 

Markus could feel the steady stream of tears leaking from his eyes, fuck, he was so scared. But he gave a tiny, slow nod, locking eyes with Kincaid’s honeyed hazel ones.  

Kincaid smiled, keeping his open stance as Ben, in his hazy periphery, backed away to look at his chart. “Good, good job, is it okay if I come over there and take those restraints off?”  Another tiny nod. “Okay, I know I wouldn’t want to be strapped down like that, so let’s get those off.” He stepped forward, and Markus shuddered, swallowing roughly against the short whine in his throat. He stared at Kincaid’s square hands as they came closer, feeling his heart galloping in his chest. “Hey, sweet guy, look at me, look at my eyes.” The hands paused, and Markus drug his eyes up to the other man’s face. “Just keep looking at my eyes, I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” 

Blinking away tears, he nodded, taking a gasping breath. Kincaid didn’t touch him as he handled the restraints, clever fingers making quick work of the cuff even as he kept his eyes trained on Markus. The witch kept his hand buried in the blanket as the other man worked, too tired to even pretend to help. He couldn’t stop his sob when the cuff was drawn away, the bandaged scabs on his barely healed wrist aching.

“Okay, now for the other one, alright?” Markus nodded again, holding perfectly still as Kincaid leaned over him to reach the other cuff. He could feel his warmth through the blankets, and it was so fucking human that it made his heart clench. This time, when he was free, Markus turned his hand to grab the other’s, desperate fingers latching on to warm, human skin. Kincaid startled, and they both gasped as a spark of magic traveled between them. 

A wave of relief washed over Markus, and he felt the tension in his body release even as tears still coursed from his eyes. A witch.  

The other man closed his eyes tight as he gently squeezed Markus’s fingers, lips compressing into a thin line while he drew in a deep, shaking breath through his nose. 

“Kincaid?” Ben had shuffled forward, looking at them over Markus’s chart, worry clear in his expression. 

“We might’ve found who put that message out, Ben. . . “  His voice was strained, holding something that the barely conscious witch couldn’t identify. 

Markus couldn’t make himself move his eyes from Kincaid’s face to see Ben’s reaction, but his voice held a shred of surprise when he answered. “Okay, that’s good to know, think it will affect anything on my end?” 

Kincaid shook his head, opening his eyes with a sigh as he met Markus’s bleary gaze. His smile was even more strained than before, but Markus couldn’t find it in himself to worry anymore. Another witch wouldn’t leave him here. “No, it shouldn’t affect anything right now. Might help some things actually.” His other hand wrapped around Markus’s, warming the aching bones. His thumb rubbed a soft, comforting rhythm over his skin, interrupted by the bandages wrapped around his hand. He met Markus’s unwavering gaze, the sheen of professionalism worn away, “We’re going to get you out of here, okay?”  

He nodded, no more than a tiny inclination of his head, and felt his eyelids start to droop as his body took advantage of the relief he was feeling. The shrill beeping of the monitors quieted as Markus drifted. He was safe. 

“Kincaid, come here for a second.” 

With a final brush of his fingers against Markus’s, he tried to lower his hand back to the bed, but Markus whimpered. His eyelids flickered as his fingers tried to hold on to him. Don’t go, please. Kincaid hummed at him, “Okay, I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

Boots scuffed the floor, and Ben cleared his throat before whispering to Kincaid. “This chart is fucked, babe. I want a closer look before we move him, but right off the bat, we’re going to have to keep a pretty close eye on his airway. He’s got a chest tube, multiple broken ribs, and he’s apparently been recovering from a recurring bout of pneumonia—that’s on top of being stabbed and beaten. Even from here, I can tell his lungs sound like shit.” He growled through his teeth, “I’m not sure what kind of idiot took him off of the vent so soon, but I can see why they’re not actually practicing in a hospital.” 

He sighed, “I’m going to need one of the e-vac gurneys, and a transport cart, but we’re going to have to wait until the area’s been completely cleared. I don’t want to run into any of the vamps while moving, and this bed won’t fit into the elevator. I’m pretty fucking sure none of the other captives we came across were this bad off, so we’ll have first pick of the ambulance, at least.” 

Kincaid cut in, his fingers still wrapped around Markus’s hand, “What’s his name?” 

“Hm?” 

“His name, does it say what his name is?” 

“Oh, uh, no. It just has some initials—“ there was the shuffle of movement, and Markus’s eyes slid open as a hand was placed on his arm. Ben hovered over him, on the opposite side of the bed from Kincaid, and lifted the corners of his mouth in a small smile when he saw Markus looking at him. “Hey there, honey, can you tell me your name?” 

Markus drew in a raspy breath, and tried to push the syllables out of his mouth. “Ma—“, but as soon as the soundless roll of the “R” hit his palette, his lungs objected. A violent, barking cough made his frail frame shake in the bed, harsh, wheezing breaths sucked in through the oxygen mask. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to relax his body against the pain of his ribs, unconscious, inaudible whimpers falling from his mouth with every strained exhale. He was drowning again, circling down, a numb darkness cloaking his brain. 

From a distance, Ben’s voice registered as he tried to breathe. “Shit, okay, O2 sats pretty low there. Try and breathe with me, honey. In. Out.”  He stroked his arm in time with his over exaggerated breaths, Markus doing his best to hold on as the pain morphed, centralizing to an area in the right of his rib cage. His head lolled to the side as oxygen finally made its way back into his body.

He didn’t even try and open his eyes again, let alone talk, laying limply in the bed as if pure exhaustion had bulldozed him. “Okay, don’t try that again, that vital crash was pretty dangerous.” The medic’s voice was detached as he spoke over Markus, no longer trying to draw his attention. 

“I need to see how bad this nest fucked him up. Can you go get that rolling gurney we passed in the hallway? Faster we get him loaded, the faster we can leave when we get the clear.” 

“Yeah.”

It sounded as if Kincaid stepped away, and Markus realized he’d lost physical contact with the witch in his coughing fit, his hand laying abandoned on the mattress. He couldn’t summon the energy to feel afraid, the lingering feeling of sparking magic calming him. The unexpected sound of ripping velcro, though, made him flinch, and he groaned. 

“Okay, honey, I’m going to listen to you with this stethoscope and try and get a feel for some of these other injuries.” Ben’s fingers started to peel back the blanket, and Markus didn’t offer any resistance as the medic pressed the cool circle of the tool to his chest, the bite of the metal dulled by his gown. He maneuvered the blanket out of his way as he listened at each new spot, making sure to keep Markus mostly covered and warm. 

Ben muttered under his breath as he worked, hissing profanities. “Fucking hell, honey, what did they do to you? They tore you the fuck up, is what they did. God, fuck these assholes, your lungs sound like shit.” Markus tensed when he felt bare fingers worm their way under the top of his hospital gown. His weak hand automatically went up to the guy’s arm, grabbing hold, eyelids fluttering. Ben’s voice followed, gently soothing as he pried off Markus’s hand and pressed it back to the bed. “I need to see these tubes and what we have under some of these bandages, so don’t fight, okay? We’re taking care of you, I promise.” 

The snaps of the hospital gown clicked open readily to the medic’s hands, and he concentrated on breathing through the harpoon in his ribs. Ben checked the placement of leads, his fingers clinically probing his chest as he methodically worked his patient over. Markus whimpered when that gentle probing turned painful, the medic’s fingers pausing as he found the insistent grinding in his side. “Fucking hell,” he growled, vehemently. Ben moved on quickly, loosening the sticky tape covering the bandages over his stomach to see his other incisions and stitches. 

Boots and the metallic clink of rolling wheels announced the return of Kincaid, “How’s he look, Ben?” 

He sighed, voice hard as he answered, “Like shit, how do you think? Come here, we need to get him loaded up.” 

The air shifted as the gurney rolled up next to him, and Markus heard Kincaid give a sharp inhale as Ben lifted the bandage over his stomach. “God damnit, Ben, you’re not joking.” 

“No, I’m not.” The tips of his calloused fingers nudged along his incision sites, and Markus flinched at how he prodded at the bruised and tender skin. 

A spark of magic traveled through him as Kincaid put a hand on the crown of his head, fingers brushing against his hair in a soothing, comforting rhythm. He forced his eyes open, and looked up at the other witch, his fatigued eyesight turning him into a hovering blur. 

“Alright, we’re as good to go as we’re going to be,” Ben pressed the bandages back in place before continuing, “just need to be careful of his breathing, like I said earlier. Help me keep an eye on that O2 sat, if it gets below 90%, we need to get him more oxygen.” 

The blur that was Kincaid moved to his side, helping Ben re-snap the hospital gown, before they tucked him into the blanket. The warm material was drawn up to his shoulders, trapping his arms against his sides. Markus swallowed heavily at the change, feeling the weak trickle of fear in his stomach from not being able to move. But Markus was too worn out to put any fight against being held down again. At least these guys are kind.

“Okay, sweet guy,” Kincaid murmured, thumbing away the tear track from under Markus’s eye, “let’s get you out of here.” 

He followed the other witch with his hazy gaze as long as he could, Ben taking care of the medical equipment as Kincaid prepped the gurney, before his heavy eyelids slid closed. Plunging him back into darkness. The coughing and physical exam—even as gentle as it was—had caused an inexorable wave of exhaustion to roll through him. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to rest. 

“Delta Team: Sparrow and Juniper, you are clear to move. Support headed up with rolling gurney now.” 

The breaking crackle of the radio through the quiet room didn’t rouse him, didn’t make the others stop their quick efficient movements other than to reply a terse, “Heard, no support needed,” with the accompanying click of hard buttons. 

Warmth wrapped around him, making his tired body relax, the slow meandering of his thoughts like molasses in winter. Markus sunk under, letting the sounds of their work roll over him. His awareness shrank to the feeling of blankets and bandages, the slow drag of air through parted lips, how his chest grated with the interspersed movement. 

He drifted, and sounds translated into images as the clinks of plastic buckles against metal brought him the vision of ghosts knocking their chains on pipes as they sought for anyone to hear them. Moving down a hallway, in that sluggish, dazed way only dreams can conjure, searching for the dark figures that the two forms around him had turned into, rustling and shifting like birds in the treetops, or wolves in underbrush. 

Something reached from the shadows, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him, Ben’s voice bubbling from the darkness—his gentle tone a stark juxtaposition to the macabre dreamscape. “Hey, honey, can you open your eyes for me?” 

Markus’s eyes were open, he was searching for him, where did he go? 

A warmth crept into his hand, and Markus found himself unable to look down and see what it was even as his stressed mind sought answers in the darkness. It squeezed around his hand, shaking it, voice louder than the other. “Wake up, sweet guy, open your eyes.” 

Markus didn’t understand—he was awake—he tried to move himself through the sludge that coated him and find the other witch. He felt as if he was trying to move his very soul from the depths of his body, but it was like he had become detached. He couldn’t even move his body, let alone search for the guy in the nothingness around him. He could feel Kincaid’s magic, that spark sending a light through his hazy vision but it was a light twenty feet below water—shimmering and dim—completely out of reach. 

A sharp pain lanced through his finger, and a moan hummed through his paralyzed vocal cords. His hand moved on its own, weakly pulling away from the spear through it. Help, please don’t. 

“Fuck, babe, we gotta move.” Markus could feel his body being lowered backward, how each pull of oxygen into his lungs stuttered as he fought for a deeper breath. “On three. One. Two. Three.” A weak, little cry of pain cracked his mouth open through his fugue as his body was lifted through the air. The talons of a huge bird were in his chest, digging through his torso as it carried him away before dropping him and tearing away all of his air as it burst from his lungs on impact.

“O2 is at 89%, Ben.” 

“Get his head up, grab that lever.” His head twirled with vertigo as the ground beneath him shifted, but air, plasticky and humid slid down his throat, and the fight to breathe wasn’t so overwhelming. “There you go, honey, O2 is already going back up. Hand me that strap, babe.” 

“He’s secure, go go go.” The ground rumbled and shook, trapping Markus with waving tree roots as he slid back into his dreams. 

[too-gay-for-marvel]

broken

a/n: listen. i had fun writing this one, and i enjoyed it, but i am so done with it. this was the most writers block ive had in so long. i promise im not dead, im just busy being as unproductive as i possibly can

Word Count: 1855

Warnings: none

Pairing: Carol x Reader

“This sucks.”

Carol turned from her spot at the counter to see you throw your book against the wall. It had been a long three days, and you still had a lot of time left before you could go on another mission. She almost felt sorry for you. But then she remembered what you had done to get in this position in the first place, and she didn’t feel so bad anymore.

“Shouldn’t have been so careless,” she shrugged even though she knew you weren’t looking at her.

“It was Sam’s fault,” you mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

If she were a good girlfriend, she would have gone and sat with you. Maybe she would have pulled your head into her lap and offered some snacks or a movie or a game. A kiss or two on the forehead to show she was with you until the end.

But no one ever said she was a good girlfriend.

“Sam wasn’t even on the mission.”

“He told me to do it!” You shouted back, and Carol could see you throw your arms into the air in indignation. It was pretty cute.

“If your friends told you to-”

“-Without question.”

“You didn’t even let me finish,” Carol complained as she finally fully turned around to face you.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrugged. “I take no convincing to make bad decisions.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she mumbled to herself.

You both went quiet and Carol could partially see the look on your face from over the back of the couch. She knew that glazed look in your eyes and the way you were zoned out at the ceiling. And even though she wanted you to know she wasn’t happy with you, she knew she needed to have mercy. Only for a little bit.

She slid off the counter stool and made her way to the couch where she could just stare down at you. You didn’t move, though, instead still staring at the ceiling. Carol could only imagine how infuriating this probably was, and even though it was absolutely your fault, she felt for you.

“Move over,” Carol said a little harsher than intended. When you still hadn’t moved, she nudged your unbroken leg with her knee, and when you looked at her she raised her brow.

“Fine,” you sighed before lifting your legs enough for her to sit down.

“Your leg is heavy,” Carol complained when you set your legs back down.

“It’s a cast, Carol,” you huffed, “it’s gonna be heavy.”

“You know what would have fixed this problem?”

“’Don’t break your leg,’” you mocked, “yeah yeah, fuck off.”

You sighed and threw an arm over your eyes before you both went silent. That was exactly what Carol had been about to say, and she had to hand it to you; you knew her better than most. But you went quiet, so she decided to instead just run her fingers over the new markings on your cast.

It seemed everyone had signed it in some way or another. Rhodey, Nat, and Bruce had signed it like normal people. There was a flower on your knee that Steve had drawn. Sam and Bucky had written a mini argument down your calf. Clint had, of course, drawn a dick (and a poorly drawn one at that).  Tony had written the number for an escort service on the top of your thigh “so you can always see it.” Even Hulk had managed to scribble out his name.

“When did this happen?” Carol asked as she looked back up to your face.

“Couple days ago, I guess,” you shrugged without looking down from the hole you were staring into the ceiling.

“Where was I?” Carol chuckled nervously to herself. But she knew the answer.

“Away,” you confirmed with a small voice. And it broke her heart.

You knew going into this that Carol would have to be gone for unknown amounts of time. She loved being home, but she had a responsibility to keep everyone safe, and that meant a lot of distance at the worst of times. And in her defense, as soon as she had gotten word that you’d gotten hurt she had rushed home.

And then had to leave again for almost two weeks.

“Let me up,” Carol said softly with a pat to your good leg. You finally looked down and raised a brow at her, but raised your legs anyway so she could stand.

She ignored the look she could feel you sending her way and continued walking to the kitchen. It took a little longer than she had thought, but she eventually found the junk drawer and dug around. There were scissors, matches, random batteries… and an orange marker. Why orange? She had no idea, but it would work.

Instead of sitting under your legs again, Carol kneeled in front of the couch. She took the cap off with her mouth and started drawing, up on your thigh. It wasn’t going to be pretty. Okay, it was going to be borderline hideous. But that wasn’t the point.

“What are you doing?”

Carol’s hand stopped when she noticed you had raised yourself up onto your elbows. Your frustration seemed to have melted away - even if temporarily - to be replaced with curiosity. Which was understandable because she may have been ruining your cast, but honestly? She didn’t care.

“Leaving my mark,” Carol answered as she went back to drawing.

“You don’t have to,” you said quickly.

“I know I don’t, I want to.”

“No, really, it’s okay.”

“Baby, just let me finish-”

“-I don’t even know what that is,” you whined as you gestured toward the beautiful new drawing on your thigh.

“What do you mean you don’t know what it is?” Carol asked. She had finally finished and was now focused on you. And the almost terrified look on your face.

“It’s a mess!”

“It’s Goose!”

“If that’s Goose, then I’m a Skrull.”

“Wait, are you?”

“Carol,” you warned.

A silence fell over the both of you as you stared each other down, daring the other to make the first move. Carol stared into your eyes and searched for something, she didn’t know what. The tension was so thick it was almost hard to breathe. But when the corner of your mouth slowly tilted up, she couldn’t stop her own smile and the tension devolved into laughter.

It was so nice to get to see that smile on your face once again. You hadn’t smiled or laughed since the accident, and even though Carol couldn’t blame you, she had missed it. She had missed hearing you laugh at the team or smile to yourself when Goose came over to lay on you.

She had missed you.

“If someone makes fun of me, I’m blaming you,” you managed to choke out around your laughter.

“Now you’ll always think of me,” Carol retorted, completely ignoring your threat.

“For better or worse,” you shot back with a smirk that quickly turned into a wide-mouthed yawn.

Carol’s eyes flitted to the clock on the wall and noted that it was far too late to still be awake. Even though the both of you were homebound for a while, she knew how grumpy you could be if you didn’t get enough sleep. Okay, maybe she got a bit grumpy too, but that wasn’t the point. She was going to pretend it was all for you.

“Let’s get to bed,” Carol said softly, but she still didn’t get up from her spot on the floor.

“I can’t walk.”

“I’ll get your crutches,” Carol shrugged.

“They’re not… here,” you mumbled, and she noticed you desperately trying to avoid her eyes.

“Where are they?”

Yet again you avoided her gaze, and Carol couldn’t help glaring at you. She knew you could still see her, and she hoped you just caved. You needed those crutches for when no one was around, so where could they possibly be? She would understand if Tony had taken them, or if Clint had tried to use them and lost them.

But you looked guilty.

“Y/N?” Carol tried again, and you looked at her out of the corner of your eye. “Where are your crutches?”

“I… can neither confirm nor deny the location of my crutches,” you stated, sounding an awful lot like Tony when he was trying to get away with something. “But they may have been thrown out the window.”

And the truth comes out.

“How did you expect to get around?” Carol asked as she stood up and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I…,” you paused and, with a sigh, dropped your head. “I didn’t think that far.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Carol sighed. She should have been more disappointed but, knowing you as well as she did, it wasn’t really a surprise.

She knew what she had to do.

“Come here,” Carol said far softer than she had intended. Not that she wanted to be harsh, but she was going to have a talk with you later about not throwing things out of windows.

You squinted your eyes at her until she held her arms out, and you quickly relaxed again. She bent down and slid her arms under your back and your knees, being careful not to jostle your cast too much. When she stood up you quickly wrapped your arms around her neck and let her start carrying you.

“This is so romantic,” you whispered as you buried your head in her neck. The feel of your breath on her skin tickled.

“Don’t get used to it,” Carol shot back, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling when you shook with hushed giggles.

When she reached your shared room, she was about to just toss you onto the bed until she remembered your leg. So instead she walked over and set you on your side of the bed, helping you arrange yourself so you could get settled. Since you were already in pyjamas - and had been since you got out of the medical wing - she only had to get herself changed and turned the lights off before climbing into bed.

“Carol?” You whispered after a few minutes of hearing nothing but the fan.

“What?”

“My cast is itchy.”

“You’ll just have to get over it,” she sighed. She didn’t even open her eyes; it was too dark to see anyway.

“But it itches really bad.”

“Where?” She conceded.

“My knee.”

“Baby, you can’t even reach your knee,” Carol explained even though you knew that already. “You’re just going to have to ride it out.”

You groaned, but otherwise went silent again. And Carol thought that would be the end of it for the night. She would get some sleep, you would get some sleep, and you could both relax tomorrow. You both needed it, and maybe you could both talk a few things out. Something you both needed.

“Carol?” You whispered again, interrupting her train of thought. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah, baby,” Carol mumbled.

“I have to pee.”

Carol sighed. This was going to be a very long night.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Pulse IV

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Alan Tracy, Scott Tracy, Virgil Tracy, Kayo Kyrano, John Tracy, Gordon Tracy, EOS

Part 4 of my entry for @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday: Touch. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Okay, so before the pitchforks (and candy cannons) come my way, I would just like to inform you that this is @mythicalviper-fr‘s fault, because I hadn’t even considered doing this until they mentioned it.  Once the idea was planted, however, it was just too good not to use.

“What do you mean, you can’t find them?”

Alan winced as the furious words spat out from his comm.  Not that it wasn’t good to hear Virgil’s voice again – of course he was delighted that one of Gordon’s designated lifesigns had turned out to be one of their missing siblings, even if Virgil was injured and having to sit the rest of the rescue out with bad grace – but the loud and sudden outburst as either John or Gordon filled him in on the entire situation just served as a reminder that there were still two of their family missing.

“Virgil don’t you dare get out of that seat,” John said.  No doubt the family bear was at that very moment preparing to dive back into the rescue, broken arm or not.  “Your comms and telemetry are damaged; I can’t guide you around the danger zone and I refuse to have you off my radar again.”

It was going to take far more than that to keep Virgil in one place, but Alan left his older brothers to their argument over who was needed where as his Mole Pod once again did what it did best – dug a hole towards people in need.

“There is one lifesign at reference point eight five six one,” EOS informed him.  “The optimum angle of approach would be twenty eight point three degrees from your current course.”

“F.A.B.,” he acknowledged, and made the shift.  It felt weird having EOS in his ear now, when it had been John the entire rescue so far, but John was needed to wrangle Virgil – as best the middle child could be wrangled mid-mission when family was in danger and the rescue wasn’t over – and they couldn’t afford to wait until Virgil was pacified.

Alan knew his brother well enough to know that he wouldn’t be pacified until all five of them were on board Thunderbird Two and being subjected to full medical checks prior to flying home.  Honestly, Alan didn’t think he’d stop shaking until then, either.  The advantage of having a full-cover uniform designed for primary use in space meant that anyone would have to be looking really closely to see the tremors wracking his body.

He was scared.  John was scared, Gordon was scared, and now Virgil was scared, and that made Alan more scared, because his big brothers were supposed to be the steady ones.  But his biggest brother was missing, and Kayo, too, and until the teenager he tried to put aside during missions had given Scott a big hug and punched Kayo’s shoulder (and got a harder one in return), he was going to be scared.

The Mole Pod lurched and he tightened his grip on the wheel, gritting his teeth and lowering the speed. Focus, Tracy.  One lifesign ahead.  One alive person who needs you to hold it together.

The one person was a little girl, clutching a battered old teddy with tears pouring down her cheeks and nasty scrapes all down her arms.

“Hey there,” he soothed, cautiously picking her up and settling her in the passenger seat of his pod. “My name’s Alan and I’ll get you out of here, okay?”

She sniffled at him, said something intelligible that Alan thought might have been “I want my Mommy,” and closed her eyes for the journey back.

“Okay then,” he said, mostly to himself as he set the pod into reverse and hit the comms, injecting himself into the still-going debate between Virgil and John.  It sounded rather like John had remotely locked Virgil inside Thunderbird Two, and was overriding the overrides Virgil was throwing at him to escape.  “Virgil, I’ve got an injured girl here, she’s maybe six or seven.  Think you can bandage her up and find her family?”

There was silence for a moment, as the medic in Virgil presumably warred with the brother.  Injured girl.  Missing siblings.

The medic won out, as Alan had hoped it would.

“I’ll take her,” he agreed with a loud sigh.  “If John stops turning my ‘bird against me.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” John said, thoroughly unrepentant.  “I’m simply preventing you from doing the sort of reckless activity you scold Scott for and going into danger with no back-up.”

“But what about Scott and Kayo?” Virgil demanded.  “You can’t expect me to do nothing.”

“No, I expect you to do your job as a medic and trust the uninjured members of the team to continue their jobs.”  John sounded all but scathing, and Alan suspected he was getting tired of the debate.

“They’re not just your siblings, remember?” Gordon chipped in suddenly as daylight filtered through the pod windows and Alan surfaced, turning the nose cone towards Thunderbird Two and medical aid for Virgil.  “We’re all worried, and Alan and I won’t stop until we find them, okay?”

The large module door lowered as Alan approached and Virgil stepped out.  Helmetless, and with one arm in a sling, he certainly didn’t look like he should be going anywhere near the danger zone, in Alan’s opinion.  Still, it wasn’t until the little girl and her teddy were being carefully lifted out by Alan that he stopped frowning.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he heard his big brother say as he headed back to the pile of once-a-group-of-buildings under EOS’ directions.  “My name’s Virgil, what’s yours?”

“There are two lifesigns together at reference point eight five six two,” EOS informed him, cutting off the world above as he once again dug his way in, following his previous path for most of the way.  The two were just a little further on, a little deeper down, and as soon as his headlights illuminated their silhouettes he knew what he was looking at.

“John!  I’ve found them!”

He didn’t wait for any acknowledgement before he was leaping out of the pod and scrambling the rest of the way through the low pocket of space towards them.  Kayo didn’t look too terrible – her helmet was missing, and her face and hands seemed to be bloody – but her face was pale.

“Alan!”

Forget responsible member of International Rescue.  Forget being an adult.  Alan hugged her tightly, and was relieved when she embraced him back, just as tight.

“Al..?”

Immediately, Alan knew something was wrong.  Scott’s voice sounded tight, like he was in pain, and when he pulled back from Kayo he saw that Scott hadn’t moved at all.  He was still lying down, despite not being pinned by any rubble.

“Scott?” he asked. His big brother was also missing his helmet – knowing Scott he’d taken it off for some stupid reason, but Alan was going to leave chewing him out over that to Virgil or John.  Or both.

“Hey, kid.”  He still didn’t move, even though he had pulled his face into what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile.  Alan had learnt to see through his fake ones years ago.

“Stay here with him,” Kayo said, dragging herself around and facing his abandoned pod.  “We’ll need Virgil and a stretcher.”

“Virgil’s- Kayo what happened to your ankle?”  Her boot was gone, as was her sock, and in the light from the pod he could see some bruising and swelling.  It looked pretty bad.

“It’s nothing,” she shrugged, hauling herself into the driver’s seat.  “You can’t take us both at the same time and we can’t leave Scott by himself.”

“Yes, but-”

And she was gone, leaving them with just the light from Alan’s helmet.

“Kayo!”  Predictably, she didn’t reply.  “Thunderbird Two?”

“Alan!  John said you found Scott and Kayo?”

“Scott’s right here,” Alan confirmed.  “Virgil, Kayo’s coming back to you with the Mole Pod.  I think she’s busted her ankle, but that didn’t stop her from hijacking my pod. I’m still down here with Scott.”

“Injuries?”

“Too dark to see, but he’s awake.  Kayo says we need a stretcher, though.”  And you, he didn’t say, assuming that she’d change her mind when she saw he was injured, too.

“I’ll have one ready by the time she surfaces,” Virgil promised.

“F.A.B.,” Alan acknowledged, before turning his attention back to his eldest brother.  Scott was too slow to hide the look of fear with another fake grin, and Alan scrambled even closer.  “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Alan,” Scott tried to tell him, but Alan didn’t believe him for a second.

“Scott?  What’s wrong?”

“Seriously, Alan, it’s nothing.”  But it wasn’t, Alan could see that, could tell from the fear Scott wasn’t hiding as well as he thought, from the way he hadn’t moved at all since he’d arrived.

“Scott!” he snapped, and if there was water in his eyes he was ignoring it.  “Don’t lie to me.  We’ve got to get you out of here so if there’s anything that’s going to affect that, I need to know.”  Scott opened his mouth to protest but Alan steamrolled right over him.  “You don’t get to treat me like a kid right now, Scott. I’m a member of International Rescue, and like it or not, you need rescuing right now so let me do my job, dammit!”

“Language,” Scott scolded weakly, but Alan was having exactly none of it.

“If you, my big brother, don’t trust me to rescue you, who will?  You let me join the team because you thought I was ready.  You don’t get to take that back the moment it’s you I’m saving!”

For a moment there was silence, punctuated only by Alan’s own ragged breathing, loud to his ears. Then Scott sighed.

“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Alan.  To be honest…”  He trailed off, pausing for so long Alan wondered if he’d even continue.  “I can’t move.  There’s some pain in my back, I think it twisted badly when I got knocked over, and-”

Alan wanted to cry, wanted to pretend he didn’t have to deal with this.  This wasn’t fair.  Why?  Why?

“-and I can’t feel my legs.”

Part 5

[thebiasrekkers]

No Words -interlude iv-

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Type: Interlude [Flashback]

Genre: Idol, Poly, Interracial, Tall Female, Smut, Angst, Fluff [if you squint]

Warning: Smut. Holy Water Req. Possessive Tae. Bossy Tae. OC gets pretzel action. Growling [ Did I say possessive?]. Handjob, sorta.

A/N - One more flashback, after this, then back to the present. Is this considered pining? I feel like I can’t emotion - ha! Thank you for enjoying this mess, as usual.

Words:  2049

--

The whites of her eyes were visible as they widened. Taehyung’s head tilted as he pushed into her, his hand wrapped around her waist to tug her forward. The motion caused a gasp; that small part between her lips was an invitation he couldn’t ignore.

The rough surface of his tongue brushed against hers - and it was stupid. It was absurd that moan that slipped out of her. It was so crazy the way he pulled her leg up against his waist. It was absolute insanity as sudden desperation grew between the tangle of their lips. It was madness as his fingers slid under her hoodie. It drove her crazy the way his nails raked against her skin.

It was positively out of the question when his fingers toyed with the waistband of her sweats. Her eyes rolled open as he kissed along her jaw. His fingers flexed against her skin. His lips suctioned to that thin skin behind her ear, causing her body to rock into his.

Wait, when did they get to her bedroom?

“You’re beautiful,” He growled along her skin. Their lips tangled again as buttons, jackets, and hoodie went flying into various directions. His shirt hung open as he crushed her body to his. He hummed as his fingers sank into that wealth of soft curls - and tugged. That sound that came from her made his blood boil. Her body arched backward as if she tried to escape. All it did was give him more skin to explore. He scraped his teeth along her collarbone to the top of a breast, threatening to spill from its confines.

His long fingers wrapped around the back of her neck. Damn, he had a big mouth!? She grunts as it seemed he was able to take in twice as much surface than she’d ever experienced. Another few minutes of mindless kissing, her bra was gone, and she was sprawled on her bed. He pulled the scrunchie from her hair, staring down at the goosebumps prickling on the chocolate of her skin. His chest heaved as he finally discarded his shirt, a thumb flicking at the button of jeans that were too tight for his liking.

Their pupils mirrored dark and lust-blown. She looked like she was thinking too hard. He reached down to snag her by the hips. Her ass hung off the end of the bed as he let his lips slide against her calf. Before she could think any harder? Her sweatpants went flying, and they both had a look of shock - because she decided not to put any undies back on.

So he was met with the glistening slick sticking to her thighs.

Shit! Shit! This was getting heavy, this was too intense. Again, as if he caught her delving in that logical brain? He pulled her hips up against the rigid outline testing the hold of his zipper. Her eyes rolled again as he thrust that clothed erection against her. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.” His voice dropped lower, and she swore she gushed. He let her settle on the end of the bed, his fingers sliding against the outline in his jeans.

He licked his fingers, dropping to his knees, her legs tossed over his shoulders. Braced on her elbows, she watched with bated breath as his lips moved from the side of her knee. He lapped at the sticky residue on her thighs, both of them. Breathing across her glistening sex with each pass. Her chest heaved ragged breaths as she waited for him to end her torment.

Long fingers dug into the meat of her thighs as he lifted that molten gaze to her own. He placed a chaste kiss on that inner corner of her leg. The one so close to her sex, he could probably see her clenching. “You’re beautiful.” He inhaled that slightly sweet essence of…coconut? The more heat she radiated, the more the smell seemed to permeate his olfactory.

The first tentative flick of his tongue made her thighs tremble. She was seeping arousal by the time he went in for a full lick. “Ohmygo-V!” She gasped, falling on the bed, fingers knotting into her blanket. He lifted her ass while feasting on her. He growled as he wrapped his lips around her clit. His tongue running flat and extended from the opening to the underside of that sensitive nub. She dug her feet into his shoulders, half trying to escape and half trying to push her hips into his mouth.

“So good,” He rumbled against her. Taehyung’s fingers were white with the force of trying to hold her still. She kept trying to run, and he chased her. His lips pursed in a perfect kiss around her clit, she moaned his name. No, she whined that other name.

“Say my name..” Incoherent sounds as he circled that throbbing nub with his tongue. A finger teased the entrance, and he felt her clench down on it. He licked his lips, swirling his finger. “Come on, you can do it.”

Her face was twisted in desire as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. She had her hands on her breasts as ragged breaths shook her. “T-Taehyung! Tae, please…” He moaned as two long fingers filled that empty space. Her body invited him..to stay. Snapping down on his fingers as he reached in, twisted to flick that mushy spot in the depths of her body.

He pistoned those fingers to a symphony of muffled moans and squelching noises. She tried to be quiet, pulling the pillow over her face. He could hear her losing her sanity. Taehyung’s gaze grew dark as he yanked the pillow from her face. “We’re going to play a game, Noona. It’s called Be Quiet.” She had enough resolve left to give him an incredulous look as he stood. She saw the angry red, shiny tip of his cock over the top of his jeans.

He pushed a knee between her legs scooting her up the bed surface. “I’ll kill you.” She growled as he lifted her by her hip, and he kicked furiously out of his jeans. This was really happening? He leaned against her leg, straddling the other. They both registered complete and total nudity. The echo of their ragged breathing ate the ambient noise around them.

Taehyung tilted his head, that arrogant tilt, that had him brushing his tongue across his bottom lip. “Not before I kill you first.” He pistoned his fingers, causing her to gasp for every molecule of air she could. He leaned into her until her knee hit her shoulder. Their eyes locked, their lips followed as she fisted her hands through his hair.

He growled into her mouth as her teeth set into his top lip. “Tae, s-stop. You…ha-have to…oh my fuck, s-t-stop. Gonna..come, fuck..” Her voice was a hoarse plea against his mouth.

“Give it to me. It’s mine. I want it.” He growled as he kept taping that spongy area with his thumb circling her clit. “Do it.” The sound was like holding your hand against a faucet as you turned it on. It was like a sputter as she felt the pressure build in her gut.

“N-no, Tae! W-wait, you don’t under-fuckme-stand. God, I…I can’t hold iiittt…” She keened softly.

“Did you hear what I said? Give me what’s mine!” There was a ripple against his fingers, he could feel her trembling from the inside out. He leaned down near her ear. Utilizing the depth of his voice, he pitched down to a purr vibrating bass. “Come for me.” Her eyes rolled into her head, her fingers dug into his shoulders. His free hand wrapped around her throat just enough pressure to cause a momentary cease in oxygen.

And she exploded.

Her nostrils flared a fight for air as she pulsed, pulled, and pushed his fingers with orgasmic force. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she came in a spray against his abdomen. Taehyung looked at the liquid dripping down his skin. She whimpered as her body finally relaxed with a thump against the bed. The tears flowed from the side of her eyes, he could see the faintest crimson flush under skin. He licked his fingers as her breathing regulated.

His fingers dug into her hips as he stroked himself, using her juices as a lubricant. Her eyes felt like marbles rolling around in her skull. Clutching the sheets for dear life, she tried to escape his hold. “Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere.” He flipped her flat on her back, dragging the throbbing veiny length of his cock against her folds.

Sensitive, she bucked against the intrusion. “Look at me, Noona.” Her eyes were wide as she got a good look at him. He looked ready to burst, those long fingers pushed her legs together. He slid between that tight space created by her thighs; a look of pure bliss painted his features. He kept her legs together, his hands grasping at her breasts. He fucked that space, sliding between her folds against her clit. She clenched, watching him, her hands moved down to create a tighter hole. The head of his cock pushed between her thumb and pointer finger. “You’re beautiful.” He panted against her calf.

“Don’t let anyone tell you other-w-wise, god, fucking…” His teeth set into her leg. “…I couldn’t..can’t stop thinking about you.” He gasped as his heart stuttered. They both knew that this was way out of line. They both knew that this could change things drastically.

They both didn’t care.

“God, I want you all to myself. A-ah, f-fuck, fuck, tighter, tighter…” He growled with each thrust. She squeezed him as he pushed through her fingers.

“T-tae, I’m gonna cum again.” She could feel the thundering pulsation in her stomach. “Oh, my, god…Taehyung, I’m g-gonna..” Immediately she reached for the blanket as her body bucked against the slide of his dick between her folds. She could feel the rippling sensation as her pussy clenched, seeking something as her legs trembled against his ribs.

“M-me t-too, fuck, fuck,” Taehyung sounded like he was in respiratory failure the way he gulped the air. His fingers dug bruising possession into her hips. “Give it to me. Come for me..” Taehyung had enough, and he slipped inside of her.

One long, deep, shuddering stroke, and he bottomed out. He sank into her full to the hilt, and he saw stars. There was that liquid squelch as she came in a rush all around him. Her body grabbing and molding to the throbbing bit of meat inside of her.

“Yesss, yes, that’s it. That’s. What. I. Fucking. Want.” He fucked her through that bliss, tumbling her over a second edge. He leaned down, trapping those rapturous sounds into his mouth. He swallowed them, locked them away to keep forever.

She said his name, and he suddenly heard white noise. She spoke his name like a prayer to god’s long dead. His thrusts were focused as she chanted his name. Spoke it like it would deliver absolution for her sins or her battered soul.

She pulled him down and spoke against his ear, moaning, “Give it to me. It’s mine.”

“I’m …gonna…can I? Please? Can I?” The tears welled up in his eyes as he felt the pull in his testicles.

She fisted her hands in his hair. “I want it. With me, Tae, gonna …again, with me..” He spread her legs, and she wrapped them around his waist. Heels digging into his ass to push him deeper. They rocked entangled limbs and lips.

The desperation mellowed to something else, slower, sweeter? Soothing. As if on cue, in unison, their eyes rolled shut as they stilled. The faintest tremor rippling their flesh. They cursed together as the orgasm snatched both their sanity away.

Both biting their lips to keep the jubilant cry of release at bay. He could feel her coating and gripping him. She could hear the animalistic grunts as his hips went shallow and the strong spurt of his cum inside of her. Their bodies were tense for minutes before they relaxed.

He felt right on top of her - he knew it.

Oh no.

And now?

So did she.