#not exactly sure where I felt this should be in your timeline

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

[wellzofyouth]

That one post of my mine predictably aged like fine wine. Never let somebody on comic twitter in the writer's room😭😭😭 Like imagine a 1 to 1 adaptation of literally any event?? -1b at the box office. "Who are these people???"

[sinning-23]

Backseat Pillow Princess

Hey y'all! I like to call this game, "Guess what I saw and cant stop fucking thinking about?" Take this because I need them both carnally and I'm sure you do too!

Enjoy :D

Warnings: violence, blood, swearing, the reader is annoying and Logan pretends to hate it in a way that seems like he actually does, they should have fucked but uhhh they didn't, lots of tension, pt.2 coming soon hopefully?

PT.2 UP NOW

"Bae i love youuu, you my everythinggg~"

"Can she shut the fuck up"

"I'm your main bitchhhh, fuck a wedding ringggg~"

"Only if you ask her nicely,"

"Nah, I like when he's mean."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me"

The nonstop back-and-forth bickering had been going on for about 2 and a half hours now and the man the myth the legend, Wolverine was getting dangerously tired of it, unfortunately. Your shitty renditions of Sexyy Red matched with Deadpools incessant yapping was becoming too much to bear.

But little did he know, that was exactly your plan.

"Are we there yetttt" You whine from the backseat, sprawled out with your arm over your face.

It had been what felt like days (despite it only being a couple hours as previously mentioned) you'd been driving and the fact that you were in a small space filled with touch-starved testosterone(Wade and Logan) wasn't helping your case.

"If you shut up it'll go faster," Logan grumbles, Wade's chatting only worsening.

"No, it won't, you're just being mean! What's a sexy, super talented, immortal.. sorta, girl like myself supposed to do?" You whine again, an idea soon popping into your head.

If there was anything you loved more than seeing how far you could push this crotchety son of a bitch, it was stirring the pot.

Knowing the idiot riding passenger, a slip-up was inevitable and all it would take was the right pressure applied from yours truly.

"Hey Wade, wanna ask Wolvie what he's gonna do when he gets back? To his own timeline that is." You hum, resting your elbows on the middle console and your chin in your palms.

Ah yes, the fantasy your sick little brain conjured up was almost to fruition. All they needed were a few nudges and you'd all be at each other's throats with as much violent, sexual tension you could dream of.

"Yeah, what will you do if the TVA can fix your timeline?"

Bingo

You lean back, preparing for the absolute bloodbath that's bound to take place as the tension skyrockets.

Now up until this point, you'd be trying your damndest to get into Wolverine's pants, call it 'something you needed to scratch off your bucket list'. Anyway, from the "Mad Max"(as Wade put it) esque part of the void all the way here, you made your fair share of passes.

Unfortunately, all were shot down with a snark comment, the unsheathing of those gorgeous adamantium claws, or a growl...all of which only further fueled your desire. What could you say you liked a challenge?

"What did you say?"

You lean forward, making eye contact with Wade, his head shaking as if to say "No don't don't don't" but you were never good with social cues.

"He said 'IF' sweetheart." You retort, practically kicking your feet as the look in Logan's eyes grows wild, that growl barely bubbling in his throat as he and Wade converse back and forth.

"You shut the fuck up." He seethes, though directed at you his eyes stay focused on Wade.

You fight the urge to say 'make me" but you soon become quiet when Logan really starts to read your buddy in red. Oh, this fucker was definitely projecting...

"And you," He's got an accusatory, gloved finger pointing at the center of your face.

"You got some unresolved daddy issues or something? I don't know what hole or holes you're trying to fill but I can sure as shit tell you the harder you try to get under my skin the more it makes me wanna rip yours off that pretty-looking face." He growls, your heart practically beating out of your chest.

"Now I suggest each of you shut your goddamn mouths until we are where we need to be."

It's silent for a second again and you can feel the bridge about to break...anyyy second now.

"I'm gonna fight you now."

Three...

Logan chuckles, amused at the fact that Wade would even suggest he could getaway with something like that

Two..

And mid-sentence, Wade's fists make contact with Logan's nose.

One.

You scoot back, the car shaking as Wades head makes contact with hr car door and then the radio, each smack of his skull changing the station.

“Omg nooo don’t kill each other you’re both so hot and sexy and cool, nooo.” You yelp, your false concerned pleas falling on deaf ears.

And once the blood from each blow splatters against your face, you feel a bit opted to join in. Besides, he hurt your feelings, he deserved a little ass-kicking.

Question, when three seemingly frustrated and regenerative assholes get into a car fight with tensions, sexual or otherwise, that have been building for about 2 days now, what happens?

You slip past the pair of claws that just barely nick your side as you shove the driver's seat forward, effectively trapping Logan for a moment.

"You did this on purpose! You honry fuck!" Wade shouts, using his elbow to crack your skull and shoved you right back into your spot behind them before you can respond. Logan pushed the seat back again, now trapping you as his claws stabbed through the cushion, impalling you through the back of the seat.

"FUCK! This isn't how this was supposed to pan out in my head!" You yelp, gasping when the claws leave you feeling the worst kind of empty.

"I didn't even do anything he's the one that lied!" You seethe, using the heel of your boot to kick Wade's side in, the crack of bones bringing you much satisfaction.

"IT WAS AN EDUCATED WISH!" He defends, unloading about 3 bullets into your sternum before kicking Logan out the winsheild, glass falling inside and out.

You take a gulp of air, digging the bullet out before locking your arm around Wade's neck and the passenger seat headrest.

"You red-clad cunt! I was supposed to rizz him up, fuck him, and ride off into the sunset with my rugged fucking mountain of a man and you RUINED IT!" You shout, releasing Wade when six separate knives dig right back into you.

Taking the chance, you throw the back of your head at his face before pulling his claws from out your sides and kicking Wade's chest in. Looks like legs were your strong suit today!

"You said you didn't wanna fill any holes, yet here we are!" You growl in frustration, turning back around to shove your boot heel into this man's rock-hard chest.

He only grabs your ankle, pulling you forward, once again skewered by his claws. Your position is less than ideal, any other angle would for sure look l like you were on the receiving end of some damn good strokes.

And there it is, that stupid bloodied grin he gives while he watches your eyes squeeze shut and your head tilt back. A light, yet pained swear left your bloodied lips and the gasp that leaves your lungs when his claws retracted was just as erotic as you'd imagine.

"Would've been better off fucking at this point huh?" You joke, seeing Wade creep up behind the backseat door.

"Maybe." He responds a bit coy, the tension only dying down for a fraction of a second before you're at each other's throats again.

With your help, Wade is right back in the car, and the three of you are now waiting for the next move. Logan's up against the dash, Wade is heaving against the backseat by your side, the two of you manspreading with a dangerously hungry look directed at the man in yellow.

"This is pointless. We're gonna be here for hours regenerating and fucking each other up, but damn if it isn't fun." you chuckle, letting your head lull back against the completely destroyed headrest.

"So what do you suggest, 'sweetheart'," Logan growls, using your little pet name from earlier.

"Oh I think you know very well what I suggest, but I'm starting to believe you just can get it up can you peepaw?" You insult, Logan's face contorting in a sneer.

There's another silence, your gaze locked with Logan's as you both teeter on the edge of regular frustration and the urge to rip each other's clothes off. This fuckers love language was definitely acts of playful violence...if playful meant an absolute bloodbath in this stupid-ass honda odyssey.

"I feel like there's some underlying tension here that I definitely wanna be a part of.

"You shut the fuck up" You speak simultaneously, Wade doing just that.

"So what'll it be, bub. Fuck me or fight me?" You mock, seeing that smile right back on his face.

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

You would like to say that the remainder of the day, into the night, all the way into the wee hours of the morning were spent furiously love-making in the bloody and battered Honda, but that would only be half the truth.

The moonlight had shone so brightly down on the three of you, each movement calculated, as you continued to punch, stab, pick and damn near fuck each other in the enclosed space.

At one point your hands were pinned to the dented dashboard, Logan slotted between your legs, Wade right behind your oddly bent body....accept Wade's gun was at the small of your back and Logan had his hand wrapped tightly around your throat as your legs squeezed as tight as possible.

And at another, you'd been hovering above Logan, hands at his chest while Wade had a fistful of your hair, his grip lethal... a-although your hands were only at his chest cause you were double-fisting two knives that you had wedged to the hilt into each to his pectorals...and Wade was also pulling your hair to get a better angle at your chest since he deemed it was "only fair" considering you were going the same to the man beneath you.

It had only gotten worse, your comments ranging from rude to just plain nasty, and the farther along you went in the night....strangely enough, the better everything felt. The slight accidental/intentional grind of your hips against Logans, or the way you just so happened to fall back into Wade's chest, your bodies pressed so close together you could feel each breath you both took.

"Oh you just don't know when to quit, do you honey?" Logan grumbles, throwing you off him, your positions quickly switch.

"Not in my vocabulary sweetheart." You shoot back, gasping when Wade grips your hair again.

"Yeah, thought you were seeing the pattern ready peanut, she's hard to break." He chuckles, a filthy smile making its way over your bloodied face.

You were practically sandwiched, Wade behind you, his chest to your back, and your legs just barely make room for Logan who was kneeling one leg on the backseat, the other slightly off the edge.

"This is a little unfair don't you think? Feels like I'm about to get tag-teamed." You joke, the moonlight illuminating the current position just enough.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You're sick." Logan scoffs, only feeding into your slight delusions.

"Yeah, I might be sick but you're a hypocrite, You want it too, don't you? I know for sure Wade does, 'cause that's definitely not his gun on my ass." You shoot back, body and brain stirring from the hours of activities.

He doesn't say anything, just tightens he grip he has on your hips.

“Cmonnn, we had our nice,” you glance over at the destroyed radio, your hopes of trying to get the time seemingly crushed.

“We’ll say 9 hours give or take, we’ve already been fighting and none of us are really satisfied.”

You can feel Wade adjust, his hands now secure at your shoulders, massaging the small of your neck with his thumbs.

“We all know what’s gonna solve that and we can put this whole debacle behind us.” You coax, your hips rolling a bit to meet his and he turn his head, jaw working as if he was seriously considering the offer.

And with a finally huff what really sounded more like a growl of last restrained, he’s on you.

——————————————————————-

YES IM MAKING A PART TWO YES THERE WILL BE SMUT BECAUSE WTF YALL. UHHH HOPE YOU ENJOY LMK IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED I. THE NEXT PART!

[redflagshipwriter]

Fast Car Four (of four)

masterpost

Jason swallowed down hysterical laughter. “No, I don't.” 

Major understatement. Jason did not want Danny to talk to Batman. There were a couple reasons! 

Most crucial to his mission was that he was pretty sure Danny would make him seem a lot less dangerous and intimidating. He needed Batman to think the Red Hood was a coldly calculating threat, not a nice guy who tipped well. Danny was weirdly blithe about hanging out with a man who was over the national news for mass murder and taking over a drug market. Now that he was mostly over the shock of Danny’s attempt to throttle him for endangering his academic ambitions, he kind of desperately wanted Danny to like him. But again, that was not conducive to the impression he needed to make on Gotham..

But also, Jason wasn't made of stone. Danny was wrong about being in danger from Batman. Whatever he was, he clearly wasn't a criminal. He was some kind of persecuted minority. The highest Batman-related-risk he had was adoption.

‘Pretty goddamn terrible risk,’ Jason thought, remembering Dickie's screaming fights with Bruce and his own catastrophic blowout. 

Alright. How to make this work in the context of his plan? 

“Lemme think for a bit,” Jason said aloud, just so that Danny would steam less. “Obviously, he isn't going to forget about you. He knows your name, where you live, alla that. The best way to get him off your ass is to make you irrelevant as a lead.” 

Emotionally compromising him really wouldn't hurt, either. It was really goddamn hard to make Batman sloppy. But Jason knew how to press his buttons. He thought it over and wordlessly led Danny into the safehouse to offer him bottled water from the fridge. 

“He's not going to find you here, by the way,” Jason absently reassured. “Do you have to go to class today?” 

Danny grimaced. “I can miss a day.” He cracked open the water bottle. “One day.” 

Jason suppressed a cackle. He had one day to do something that got Danny off of Batman's sonar. He loved a generous king. “Thanks, honey,” he said. And then he flatlined. 

They looked at each other. 

Neither one of them spoke. The air was very tense with… something.

Jason looked back at his phone and pretended to be very busy. 

‘I wish I wasn't a dumbass,’ he mourned. Jason took a moment to be wistful for a better world. ‘Fuck. I need to solve this. How do I- would dramatically escalating my timeline work? If I skip all the chess moves and just confront Bruce…’

He cleared his throat. “What are, uh, your thoughts on using your powers to commit a major crime for me just once, so that I can get the Batman off your case?” 

Danny's lips thinned. “I'll hear you out.” 

Jason's mind raced. “So, uh, you stay here today, where he definitely can't see you. I have to go out for an errand or two, but you can just camp out here.” He frowned. “Actually, Batman won't go out in the day.” Bruce had work. “You can go to your classes. You probably should. School is important.”

“And Batman isn't going to like, track my car by traffic cameras and see that I came from here?” Danny raised an eyebrow.

‘He is going to do exactly that to see that you came here, and it’ll take him all day.’

He felt a vindictive spark of joy over how Bruce’s old man neck was going to hurt after hours spent squinting at his monitors. He’d used to microwave rice packs and hand them over periodically so the big dope didn’t wind up laid up in bed the next day.

‘Wonder if the new kid does that.’

Jason snorted and hopped up on the kitchen counter. “No, he's definitely going to do that. But it'll take him a while and I'll burn this location anyway…” He trailed off as an idea hit. “D’you know anything about cars?” 

It turned out that Danny knew enough. 

So Jason made them breakfast, sent Danny off to school, and then went out to intimidate the minions he'd had for literally one friggin day.

That turned out to be completely unnecessary. Apparently the Joker got the news channel in Arkham and he was pissy about someone making a major news story under his old alias. 

In another world, Jason would have flipped off the TV and hunkered down, let this chance pass him by because the stars were not aligned. But right here and now, there was a hot boy depending on him. So Jason was just going to make it work. 

Danny came back to the safehouse after classes. “Are you sure Batman is gonna come here?” Jason watched with eagle eyes as Danny absently picked at the pot roast he'd had going all day. Danny liked potatoes. Noted. 

“Yeah, for sure.” He cleared his throat. “And he’ll follow me if he hears word I’m out.”

“Leaving me to actually do this.” Danny looked kind of disgruntled about it.

Jason opened his mouth to point out that drawing Batman away on foot was a lot more demanding than what he wanted from Danny, but then he made eye contact and felt a chill up his spine. Danny’s stare looked positively dangerous. He was gripping his eating utensils with what was obviously way too much force and leaning ever so slightly towards Jason.

‘I think he’ll attack me with his spoon if I say that,’ Jason thought with admiration. ‘This man feels no fucking fear.’

“I’m sure that you can pull it off,” he said instead. “It won’t take too long with density shifting.”

Danny made a sound deep in the back of his throat that conveyed a deep and enduring skepticism. Jason took a big bite of his own food to move the interaction along. 

There was a huge sigh.

Some latent instinct cued Jason in that eye contact was required. He put down his food and focused on Danny. He conveyed his full attention as much as he possibly could while wearing a mask. He momentarily wondered if he should take it off but no, that was nuts. 

“Tell me that you’re sure this will work,” Danny said. He blinked at Jason, looking weary. “Personally, I think that this sounds like it will just piss him off beyond belief and it’ll point to me. I can see the benefit in sabotaging his transportation, don’t get me wrong, it’ll slow him down. But why this? Are you sure that I wouldn’t be better off just going to him and telling him I don’t really know you and I ran because I was afraid of him?”

Jason swallowed. “Danny.” He radiated his sincerity, willing Danny to feel it. “You don’t have to open up to him. Taking three tires off of his car is going to be psychological warfare because I did that to him when I was a kid. It’s going to make him think of me and put him way off balance. When I confront him, he will not be thinking about a gig driver.”

Danny nodded slowly through that bit of personal information. He licked his lips. Jason tried not to imagine that he was doing the licking.

He cleared his throat but his voice still came out hoarse. “I know you don’t know me very well.” Fuck it, it was clearly time for a big swing. Jason unpeeled the domino and did his level best not to let on that it hurt like a fucking BITCH to remove without using the right solution. 

It was the right move. Danny was riveted at the show of trust, gaze darting over his exposed features before blinking and settling into intense eye contact. “I have your back. Okay?” He pulled his hand under the table to hide that it was trembling. “If Batman doesn’t put me in jail tonight, I will do whatever it takes to keep you off the radar. Alright?”

There was a nonzero chance that he was going off to die. Jason fervently hoped that his shitty fucking father pulled through for once in his miserable life and shot the Joker in his evil head. If he tried to find some clever solution, Jason was going to have to kill the fucker himself and then try to avoid getting the shit beaten out of him by his dad.

He felt a moment of painful regret that he was doing this. But he had to. It was his whole reason for being. He had to give Bruce this one last chance to show that he cared Jason had suffered and died.

It was like Danny looked right into his soul. “Alright.” Danny nodded slowly and then his face underwent a whole transformation. He didn’t look like a tired college kid. He looked capable and determined. Jason felt his chest seize. “I believe you. And-” he hesitated before barrelling on. “If Batman tosses you in jail, I guess I’ll get you out. I owe you dinner.” He indicated the table.

Jason felt himself smile. “Yeah,” he echoed. “Yeah, dinner.” 

He probably should have wondered how Danny thought he’d pull that off. But in that moment, he had no doubt. They were going to go out, at least once, and see if they could be something.

He was going to come back and he was going to take Danny out to a real dinner. He felt it in his bones.

They finished eating in silence. Then Danny silently watched Jason get ready for war, putting on his armor and rechecking his equipment. At the door, Danny handed him his gloves. It felt like a benediction. It felt like he was sending Jason off to battle with his favor.

“Four hours,” Danny said. There was no arguing with him. He reached out and wrapped his cool hand around Jason’s wrist. Maybe he was feeling Jason’s pulse. “I’ll find you if you don’t come back.”

Jason reversed the grip. He brought Danny’s hand up slowly enough that there was plenty of time for him to pull away. Instead of a rejection, he saw Danny’s pupils dilate. He pressed a kiss to the back of Danny’s hand. “Four hours,” he agreed. Then he put on his helmet and went out to face the night.

[azsazz]

Might Bite Back

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: "how do you think vamp az would react it he lost control of his blood thirst and accidentally hurt reader?" and "OMG a fic where Vamp!Az loses control and accidentally hurts reader and then he realises what hes done!! I LIVE for those fics, we need more vamp az!!!!!!!"

Warnings: Biting, blood, vampire things.

Word Count: 2,544

Notes: This belongs on the vampire Azriel timeline.

_________________________________________

Something startles you awake.

It isn’t a noise, it’s the lack thereof that startles you awake. 

There’s an eerie silence to the black consuming the room. You curse yourself for falling asleep when you’ve been so desperately aware of the fact that he lurks at night, watching, waiting.

Your body is rigid, heart stuttering loudly in your chest, and the only part of you that moves is your eyelids as you blink wearily, sleep still clinging to your body, your mind searching through a hundred scenarios, trying to pinpoint what is going on. 

This is different from the silence you’ve slowly become accustomed to, when you were taken in the dead of night by the undead. His fangs had gleamed in the moonlight and you’d screamed so loudly that the trees surrounding the secluded home shook. Crows cawed in warning, flocking from trees and night creatures startled from the woods. Your blood wooshed in your ears like the wind pulling your hair from your nape, carrying your sickly sweet scent to his parted, hungry lips.

Your heart pounds in your chest exactly like that night. When you had felt like nothing more than prey.

Turning your head slowly, as if the slightest movement might make the darkness snap, you look towards the door. The chair you’d stuffed beneath the knob is still in place, and though you know the flimsy construction of wood would not withstand an ounce of his force, it serves as a piece to make noise should it shift, in case you’ve fallen asleep, much like you had tonight.

You force your rampant heart to calm, ears straining over the waves of blood rushing through them as you listen for the silent entity sharing the home with you. You’ve picked up on the noises that you could, trained your ear to hear the signs of the vampire that has locked you in this gothic tower. The whisper of fabric on cold skin, since his silent steps are impossible to pick up. The shifting of the air in the rooms as he moves, growing colder with his menacing presence. The rustle of his wings when he stretches them in frustration. The shivers crawling up your spine whenever he’s near.

But right now, there’s nothing. 

“Azriel?” you ask into the darkness, and you sound nothing more than a terrified child. There are no monsters lying beneath your bed, waiting to snatch you up by your ankles. No, this monster roams the large home freely, sharp teeth on display so that you know exactly what he can do. The only time you’re even a smidge safe is when the sun blinds through curtains you force open daily, but even the sweltering rays are not here to help you now. You are petrified beyond all belief, despite the softer instances you’ve seen of the slightly unhinged vampire who’s trapped you in what you know will be your grave.

There is no answer to your call, but you don’t expect one. He’s a predator first and foremost, and he thrives off of the quickening pace of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your body, the shuddering of your bones as you tremble. You catch him sometimes, when you quiver before him, how he licks his lips, fangs pressing into the soft skin of his unfairly luscious lips.

Your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to get up and find out what’s awoken you and has you feeling this unease. Surely, Azriel cannot be in danger. He is the danger. 

No one has tried to breach your room, the chair hooked up against the door, and you wince at the scrape it makes when you pull it away and turn the knob.

The door gives easily, almost swooping in on a phantom wind. It’s not him. Your body is too accustomed to his presence by now. And the lack thereof a darkness that rattles you so deeply it makes your thighs clench, you know he is not near.

The hall is long and dark, freezing cold. So much so that you can see your breath puffing before your face. Azriel doesn’t understand that you need heat to survive in your inferior human body, and you won’t tell him. Maybe it will become so cold at night that you’ll fall into a peaceful slumber, each shallow breath icing over until your heart freezes in your chest. Then, you won’t be trapped anymore.

But there’s a part of you that’s driven down the hall, seeking him out. A part of you that you shove away when you wonder if he’s alright. A part of you that likes knowing that he’s there, watching you when you’re doing the most mundane things to keep yourself from getting bored to death in this hell. When you read in front of the window, or cook yourself something in the kitchen. When you put on a particularly expensive dress for what? For…for him.

Your footsteps are silent against the carpets but to him you know you sound as if you’re stomping around the corridor, making as much noise as possible. It’s normally your tactic during the days, wanting him to know your displeasure for this place. The thought of him being able to hear your soft steps, your hardly there breaths makes you quake in both fear and excitement, knowing how he always knows your location, and can seek you out no matter where you run.

“Azriel?” you call again, softly. It’s hardly a whisper at all, and there is no response.

Your fingers tremble where they’re pressed to the wall, following the darkened corridor. They brush over the frames of artwork curling at the edges, paint dusty and faded with time. You caress the wooden railing, following it down the staircase, ignoring the nagging in your mind that’s telling you to run.

A fire crackles in the hearth and you pause, confused. All this time Azriel has never kept a fire going, not even per your request with chattering teeth and bluish fingers. He doesn’t like them, and you don’t ask why. You don’t care why. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t know what possesses you to move closer to it when the popping of logs is a clear warning sign.

Pausing on the last step, foot hovering before the floor, the hair at the nape of your neck prickles. It winds down your spine like an icy rope, settling into the very marrow of your bones. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

Before you can whirl around, race back up the staircase to your room, a voice sounds softly in your ear. “You smell impeccable, crow.”

You whirl, a scream tearing from your lips as you tumble from the stair. You catch yourself on frozen toes, staring up at Azriel with wide eyes, who is shrouded in shadow. He’s standing with preternatural stillness, spine tall. His wings are tucked tightly behind his back, and the talons stick high above his head like horns. 

“Azriel?” you ask, taking a step back. Two.

He doesn’t answer, he follows. Azriel takes one step forward for every one you move away, towards the sitting room with the fire. Orange light bathes him, and you can feel it roaring hot at your back.

As the firelight washes over his stoic face, your stomach roils in horror. This is not the Azriel who had stolen you away, who had given you dresses and your own space, who tried to make you feel less like you were robbed of your former life and more like this had been a choice.

But none of it has been a choice. And you are reminded just what he is capable of at the sight of red-rimmed eyes, the lack of color, the baring of sharp fangs that call your name. 

Bloodlust.

His pupils have swallowed the stroke of hazel completely. You watch as his fingers curl and his nostrils flare when your heart triples in pace. His unfocused gaze sharpens on the column of your throat where your pulse pushes through your skin. 

“Please,” you beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. Azriel is no longer there, instead, the very beast that lurks inside of him has taken control and is thirsty for blood.

Azriel lunges and you scream, pivoting on your heel. If you can make it to the iron poker by the fire you may be able to slow him down, stun him as you claw at the front door to try and get away. It’s no ashwood, which would kill the vampire who is much too fast for you to even take a step, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest.

You thrash, screaming, but your efforts are futile. No one can hear you in the depths of these woods. Your strength is no match for him.

Azriel must be in there somewhere, as he is not crushing your body into dust. No, he wants you otherwise unharmed except for holes in your neck. That, he doesn’t mind seeing, tasting. It’s exactly what he’s taken you for, isn’t it? Just when you’d begun thinking that he might not be as bad as the stories you were told when you were young, tales of bloodthirsty creatures who would tear your throat out to taste your pretty blood.

Now is your time.

His grip is strong around your wrists. You kick back with your leg but can hardly reach him. He is immune to your weak hits. You can feel him leaning over you, closer and closer until his fangs are a whisper against your skin, a tease pinpricking right over your thrumming pulse.

“Devine,” he whispers, and the sensuality of it rips through your body like a lance. As you part your lips to exhale another beg, he bites. You scream.

You tremble in his iron hold. His fingers feel like icepicks as they dig into your flesh. Your scream melts into something long as heat courses through your body, the adrenaline and sting of his teeth burning you to your core. It feels…good. 

It feels like you’re walking on flames, yet they aren’t burning you. They’re caressing you in the best way, holding you, cradling you like a babe. For the first time since you’ve arrived at this horrible place, you feel warm. Like Azriel is embracing you, and he is, because you’ve stopped fighting. His hands are around your waist, holding you tightly, and yours are buried in his thick hair. Heat courses through your bones, pooling between your thighs. Your mind whirls with pleasure as he suckles, the hot press of his tongue lapping your skin, mirrored in the pulse of your throbbing clit.

You relish in the feeling. His body pressed tightly to yours, the strain of his cock through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the way his muscles loosen the longer he leeches from your neck. 

And you enjoy it until you become woozy, when the euphoria seeps from your blood back into his mouth. When his grip feels like each individual finger is imprinted on your bones. Your neck throbs painfully, and your vision is blackening with shadows in the corners. Your head lolls a little, unable to keep it up.

“Azriel,” you choke, but it’s hard to get your lips to form the words. It’s difficult to do anything except lean into him, to let him take his fill. But you have to try, because this is not how you want it all to end. “You’re…” you huff a painful exhale, “You’re hurting me.”

He goes still, bones popping with the effort. His hold on your falters and you sway, and as badly as he wants to pull away, to run and hide in a whisper of darkness, he catches you, because he’s harmed you and the bloodlust has been wiped away by your words alone. Words he swore he’d never pull from you. Words that will haunt him for centuries.

You’re hurting me.

His vision clears, goes sharp, staring right at the two holes in your neck, thick, red blood still dribbling from the punctures. The beast in him rages to lean down and lick you, keep sucking at the marks until your already slowing heart stops completely. He wants to feel the last beat of your heart beneath his hands, his lips, but he forces himself to do the one thing he hadn’t been able to do tonight: focus.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in horror, when his mind catches up to what he’s looking at. You, looking so broken and fragile in his arms, pale. Your head rests against his chest, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open. Your mouth parts but no words come out. 

Azriel wants so badly to drop you, to get away from you, because he’s so stupidly allowed his bloodlust to consume him. He selfishly thought that he would be okay for a few more days, that he wouldn’t have to hunt in the aftermath of a brutal storm because all of the animals would be hidden away. He’s been stupid to think that, and the worst has happened.

He shoves the couch closer to the fire with a shove of his boot. The logs pop and he winces, hating the sound. He’d started the fire as a way to lure you down, the warmth calling to you. It was as much of a present for you as it was a distraction for him. A warning he was giving himself, not to enter the room with the fire roaring in the hearth. He hates the way the flames taunt him. You hadn’t made it to the room before your scent had stuck in his throat and his beast caught a whiff. 

Your body looks frail when he sits you down. Your eyes have closed and your lips have lost color. Azriel knows that if his heart was capable of pulsing, it would be a pounding drum in his chest, beating with worry. He races to your rooms, ripping your blankets from your mattress and is back by your side in a matter of seconds. He tucks you in tight, worrying over you as if you are a sick babe. But you’re not, you’re a pretty little thing that he’d taken in the dead of night for his own selfish reasons. For company, for your heart. But never for your blood. 

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Azriel’s mind races with thought. The wounds on your neck have stopped leaking, and they’ll close up quicker if he just licks over it one more time but he can’t force himself, not when he’d violated you like this, hurt you. He needs to leave. He needs to get as far away from you as he can. 

The lethargic beating of your heart tells him that you’re going to be okay. You will be wobbly for a few days, throat in pain, but you’ll live. He didn’t go too far tonight. He didn’t drink you dry.

So Azriel does the only thing that he can. The only thing that he’s ever been good at. 

He leaves.

[autocrats-in-love]

Hi! I love your writing style. Can you maybe write a fic about a villain who falls in love with a civilian, and the civilian getting over their initial fear of the villain?

Warming Up To You

Be Warned: Kidnapping

“So, what exactly are you trying to get from this?”

“Would you shut up?”

The civilian’s mouth snapped closed. They were handcuffed to the wall of, all things considered, a pretty nice evil lair. The villain was a few feet in front of them, staring at multiple computer screens as they typed something furiously. A part of the civilian was very scared of the villain.

A bigger part of them was extremely curious.

“It’s just,” the civilian said precariously. “Whoever your hero is, I promise you they don’t know me.”

“Your brother,” the villain said absently.

“What?” the civilian said incredulously. “There’s no way. When would he even have the time? I barely see him anymore--he’s always working.” 

The villain didn’t respond. The civilian was too far away to see the text scrolling on their screens.

“So. . .how long has he been fighting you? Like, I always knew he kept secrets, but this? How could he keep this from me? I can keep secrets.” the civilian said.

The villain let out a frustrated huff and took their fingers off the keyboard. 

“If I answer your questions, will you be quiet?” the villain said. 

“Sure. I mean, I’m also pretty hungry.” the civilian said.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“I’ve been here for hours!” 

The villain approached the civilian, crouched down to where they were sitting, and glowered at them.

“I could always gag you and throw you in a dark room. That’ll shut you up.” they said dangerously. 

The civilian swallowed nervously. But then they took a deep breath and grinned.

“I’m good. So, does my brother have any powers?”

The villain frowned. This person was no fun. With a sigh of resignation, The villain sat down.

“Your brother can stop time--so can I. That’s why he fights me, so he can stop me messing up the timeline. It’s really frustrating.” 

The civilian raised an eyebrow. The villain huffed.

“Fine. We’ve been fighting for five years. I’m sure you can piece together how he finds the time with his powers. I’m sure he didn’t tell you to protect you. But it doesn’t matter, I found you anyway because I’m good at my job.”

“Hmm.” the civilian said, leaning against the wall. “Interesting."

“Now, leave me alone.” 

The villain got up and started walking away.

“Wait.”

The villain turned around. The civilian saw them up close above them and knew how afraid they should be. The villain looked strong, imposing, and ready to fight. But being afraid wouldn’t help the civilian. 

“Thanks. This is probably my favourite of all the hostage situations I’ve been in.”

The villain stared at the civilian, puzzled. 

“What?” the civilian asked.

“. . .none of my hostages have ever thanked me before.” the villain said. 

“Wait, other hostages? Who?”

The villain pointedly turned on their heel and kept walking. But the civilian was sure they saw a smile on their captor’s face. It was cute. The civilian felt themselves blush.

[farmhandler]

Ahhhh pls do Logan & cable attempting to bond, maybe over Wade??

There was supposed to be more bonding sjhskjhsa it's truly "there was an attempt" here

---

"You smoke?" Logan asked. He didn't know why he did, only that Wade's constant chatter about his latest job with Cable had involved several long monologues about the two of them "getting along".

He and Cable got along just fine.

"No," Cable said. He took the cigar Logan was holding and examined the label. "Expensive habit. Where I'm from, we don't make it a habit."

His tone said, you're all fucking idiots in this timeline.

They didn't not get along.

"Beats drinking myself to sleep," Logan said. "Can't exactly get cancer. But fine, just thought I'd offer. Where's Wade?"

"He told me he was going to find you."

Logan thought about how Wade had told him that exact same thing and shook his head. They were outside the X-Force base of operations, after hours, so he lit up.

"He'll find us when he gets bored of being an asspain," Logan said around his cigar. He pulled out his phone and tapped on it.

where the fuck are you, he texted Wade.

“What have I done to deserve your ire?” Cable said, which was exactly the kind of thing that earned said ire. Fucking prick.

Cable looked at him like he'd heard it. Logan forgot he was one of the telepaths around here that had zero qualms about abusing his powers to get what he wanted.

"You murdered Wade lately?" Logan said evenly. He pulled his cigar away and met Cable's eyes.

“Is that it? I see no point in stating the obvious, but since it seems you forgot, I will. We've both killed Wade. Multiple times.”

"You're awfully fucking comfortable making use of his inability to die." He took another puff and shifted to face Cable. "I read the mission reports shared by the X-Men."

"We make tactical, strategy-based decisions." Cable paused; probably reading Logan's fucking mind again. "No one under my command is thrown into unnecessary danger." He breathed out through his nose. "I don't need to explain myself to you. This is pointless."

"Wade can take it," Logan said. "Doesn't mean he should."

"What can I take?" Wade asked, popping up from seemingly nowhere. His mask was rolled up, and when he walked over, he laid an exaggerated, smeary kiss across Logan's cheek.

Then, probably because he wanted to piss Logan off, he tried to do the same to Cable. Logan was sure Cable would do their usual routine where he shoved him away, but he just sat there while Wade kissed his cheek.

Logan took a very, very long puff of his cigar while it happened.

"Well now it feels like cheating," Wade said, frowning. "You were supposed to stop me."

"I don't see why I should, considering that evidently I don't make any attempts to stop you from doing what you want, whenever you want."

"Of fucking course," Logan muttered.

"This no longer feels like it's about me," Wade said. "Are you two talking about the mission from the other day? I told Cable I could handle it, and I did. Everyone in the building fucking died!"

"Including you," Cable said. He sounded pissed. "I gave you very clear instructions. Orders."

"Which you knew I wouldn't follow," Wade said blithely. "We have an understanding. You try to do things by your annoying little book and I ignore you. It works every time."

Meeting Cable's eyes, Logan felt maybe a little chastened hearing that. Domino walked out calling Wade's name, and Wade skipped towards her.

"Be right back!" he called. "Don't fight over me until I am!"

"I don’t need to read your thoughts to hear how often you assume the worst of me,” Cable said to Logan.

"You're...yeah, you're fucking right," Logan admitted. "Sorry."

Cable looked at him for a while and then sighed.

"I don't make much of an effort either." He crossed his arms and pulled from his pack, of all things, lip balm. "I don't go out of my way to get Wade hurt. But in many ways, his skills are unmatched."

"I know. And I know you care about him. Same way I care about him," Logan said. He thought back to Wade's kiss on his cheek. He chuckled. "Maybe not the same way."

Cable's lips lifted into the closest thing to a smile Logan had possibly ever seen on him.

[ayabeanworks]

Title: No Repeats

Synopsis: Suguru & Satoru are sent to an alternate timeline around 10 years into the future, where their older counterparts tell them the story of you, on the anniversary of your death.

Character: SaShiSu x reader

Series: Let's Meet in the Spring (SaShiSu x reader)

Notes: Mentions of death & suicide, some angst, some fluff, some pining, bittersweet. Alternate timelines AU. AU where Geto doesn't defect.

Somewhat of a sequel to this AU.

"Suguru, we're in Tokyo, right?" Satoru questioned, tilting his head slightly as he peered his surroundings. He thought he was tripping, but he really had to blurt it out since things were different. It sounded like a stupid question, but it really wasn't.

A brief pause from Suguru confirmed Satoru's own thoughts - it was strange, it was Tokyo, yet it wasn't the Tokyo they knew.

"Everything seems newer, there are more people, and it seems...more developed?" Satoru paused for a moment, feeling remnants of his own cursed energy loitering around. "It's my own cursed energy but I don't remember doing anything down here."

Suguru had his own thoughts about this, and it was quite similar to Satoru's. It was strange - what had happened? They were on a mission together and somehow they ended up in Shibuya?

Was this an illusion by a curse?

No, this is too real to be an illusion, Satoru locked eyes with Suguru, who held the same thoughts.

"I can't feel the curse we were fighting before," Suguru took another look around, just seeing the people pass them by.

With a frown, Satoru shrugged and started walking towards Jujutsu High, "Let's just go see the school. If anything's changed, that place would have too."

Suguru placed his hands in his pockets as he followed Satoru, wondering why everything still felt out of place even though he knew it to be the Shibuya he often frequented.

Something was odd, and he didn't like it.

When the teens arrived at the steps inside Tengen's barrier leading to the school, they were stopped by 2 taller individuals, both of whom they recognised with their cursed energy.

After all, they had the very same cursed energy in their own bodies.

"Suguru, is this what I looked like back in high school?" A taller man with a bed of white hair and a black blindfold pointed at Satoru, eyes switching between teen Suguru and older Suguru. Their younger counterparts had expressions of surprise, not even sure such a phenomena could happen. In what type of world would they be able to talk and converse with themselves but at different ages?

"Satoru," Geto sighed, "Pointing is rude."

"Hey, we can hear you, you know!" Satoru made a face, an irritated expression at the older version of himself.

He knew it immediately before he could even see the two who stood in front of them - they were him and Suguru, but older than they were now, possibly by 10 years?

But why were there 2 of each of them? Did he and Suguru skip timelines or something?

Because there can't be 2 six eyes users in the world at the same time, and Satoru was sure his eyes weren't working as they should have. The reason being, he could only feel the cursed energy of the older two, he couldn't see it like he normally could. It was even harder to see out of the pitch black glasses he normally wore, so he just placed them on his head since his eyes weren't working as they should.

Gojo laughed, grinning at the two youngsters in front of him. It really did remind him of his youth, and everything that happened 7-9 years ago.

They weren't exactly 100% pleasant memories, but they were precious to him in many ways.

"How's Shoko?" He placed a hand on his hip, probing him for information. If the teen him and Geto were here right now, most likely it was the doing of a curse. But he wanted to know around what time it was from their original timeline that they came here.

Geto gave Gojo a look, but knew exactly what he was doing nonetheless, chipping in himself, "And [name], how are they?"

Satoru and Suguru exchanged glances, raising a brow each. They knew they could trust their future selves so they were pliant with giving any information.

"Shoko is fine, she's in the morgue taking care of [name]. [Name] recently exhausted their cursed energy." said Satoru, lightly sighing, remembering the last time they were there to see them.

"[Name] exhausting their cursed energy?" Gojo turned to Geto, "Isn't this when they were on a mission with you?"

Geto only smiled, but it wasn't an incredibly happy smile, it was a strained one from remembering that time. "Yeah...[name] will be fine, don't worry." He turned to his younger self, "Make sure you tell them you're happy to see them healthy and happy."

Suguru's eyes widened at his older version's words, wondering what type of message he wanted to deliver. He sounded sad, like they were words he himself wanted to convey to [name]. But why?

"Why don't you just tell them that now?" Suguru, being as sharp as he was, questioned directly. He had an inkling of a feeling there was bad news to be said.

Geto exhaled, shaking his head. He met Gojo's eyes, silently wondering if he should tell them. Gojo nodded in silent agreement. Even if they were from another timeline, he didn't wish for them to experience what they did. It would be wrong to put them through such a time when they themselves knew the pain they'd gone through.

"Why aren't you answering?" Satoru pressed, leaning forward and taking another step up on the stairs.

"Today is the anniversary of their death."

"What the fuck happened for them to die?"

Gojo and Geto watched their younger selves as they stared at the grave in which [name] was in. It was a makeshift one on the outskirts of Jujutsu High, away from the prying eyes of others. There was a stick in the middle of a mound to indicate it was a grave.

"It's an empty grave." Geto took a step forward to lay down some flowers. "Their body went missing after their death, then some stuff happened and an imposter took over their body and became a curse user with their abilities."

"What the fuck?" Satoru couldn't believe their words. More like, he didn't want to believe their words. There was no way you would die, you were healthy, happy and doing what you did best back in their original timeline!

But here we have someone - their older versions, to be exact - saying the opposite. If it was true, what conspired to make that happen? Isn't that just speculation?

"How and why did [name] die?" Suguru grabbed Satoru on the shoulder to tell him to calm down, but he also wanted answers on whatever the hell was going on. If what they were saying was true, then something similar was going to happen if they didn't get to the root cause.

Geto studied Suguru's face. Seeing the young version of him was entertaining to say the least; the emotions, feelings and turbulent thoughts under those calm eyes and facade made him want to reminiscent the past.

"They killed an elder and became a curse user," He started. He could see Suguru's expression break for a moment, but he prompted his older self to continue, "They killed several elders, all pre-planned and on separate occasions, before they went on to massacre more of them during an important meeting here. They managed to do so or fatally injured them, before committing suicide."

Hearing the details from Geto, Gojo could only press his lips together and push his hands into his pockets, remembering the feel of your body dying in his arms. The warmth from your body disappearing at an alarming rate, the scent of your blood, your touch on his skin, your tears and even the last smile you gave them. All those sensations and feelings were seared into his brain whether or not he wanted them to, and on occasion it would give him nightmares. It left a deep ache in his heart, but he would cover it with laughter, frivolity and work.

However, Gojo didn't want to forget anything about you - so he experienced everything his mind and body conjured up, and went with it.

Geto gave their younger versions the super short version of what happened, but he wanted to gauge the reactions of their younger versions before continuining.

Satoru and Suguru's mouths were dry, as if they were parched. It was unbelievable what their older versions had said, and it was even more unbelievable since it was you. Yes, you had trouble with the elders, but they didn't think you were the type of person to do something drastic. There was a root cause to this!

"You're not telling the full story." This time, it was Satoru who spoke up. For this kind of information drop, he was normally more hot headed and reacted like so, but since all of it was hyperthetical and might possibly not happen, he wanted to get to the bottom of it and had questions.

Even if it was hyperthetical.

To Satoru, he knew you, and he knew you to be someone who didn't and wouldn't do such a thing. But if someone else was telling him, much less his older version, that it was something that could happen, that set off alarm bells in his head.

Gojo let his lips curl up into a small smile. He was well aware of how he himself thought, and hearing his younger self want to know more, was a step forward in the direction he would rather they be in.

It was still him, after all.

Geto smiled, but there was no happiness or positive emotion behind it. It was merely affirming Satoru's suspicions.

"I'm not." Geto turned to your grave, "[name] made the first move. The elder they're butting heads with now, [name] will eventually kill him. They got sick of him and his corrupted ways, and didn't want it to happen to other sorcerers. [name] was at their breaking point."

"After they killed the elder, [name] went into hiding. We saw them before that, and the next time we saw [name], they were dying in our arms." Gojo's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Reminiscing about an old friend now scorned by the world wasn't a good feeling, precisely because he knew how good of a person [name] was inside, just that they made the wrong choices. Or more precisely, the most unlawful choice by society's standards.

To be honest, Gojo did not care whether it was unlawful or not, he was just devastated to have lost you.

Even if your opinions were different, it was still something that could have been talked about and communicated through with them. After all, all of your goals were the same: reformation of the Jujutsu society. But could a different opinion really be called wrong when it follows one's convictions for a revamped reality?

"Did you have to fight [name]?" The question was at the tip of Suguru's tongue since Geto mentioned it. How could [name] die in their arms unless they were close enough? They took their own life after all.

And the [name] they knew now, was only going to begin to understand how their cursed energy worked, after getting it unblocked through a dangerous mission.

"We did," Geto shook his head even though his words confirmed his question. "But [name] didn't want to fight us. So when we caught up with them after the massacre, they tried to not engage with us in battle."

"[name] was strong. But they couldn't - no, wouldn't - fight us. It might have been because we were the strongest and it would be difficult to win, but I'd like to think it was because we shared a strong bond."

Gojo wondered if his younger self would cry if he saw the letter [name] had left for him before they decided to become a curse user. Would he cry his eyes out? Or would he rip it up and decide it was bullshit?

After all, Gojo knew when he was a teenager, [name] was more precious to him than he realised, and he would be in denial about their little soft spot for them. It was probably the same as it was now for the teen in front of him. The only difference being that the younger Gojo had you alive in their timeline, whereas for his own, you were a distant memory.

"And that's why they killed themselves?" Suguru breathed out, his voice almost in a whisper. He was trying to solve the complex problem that was you - it was the last thing he would think of you doing, and he wondered if there were already telltale signs in your behaviour back home.

Geto hummed in confirmation. "[name]'s body went missing during the cremation process, and wasn't found until years later. But by that time, an imposter had taken over their body, and they were treated as more of a cursed user than before."

Gojo's hands clenched in his pockets, remembering the anger he felt when he realised it was an imposter in [name]'s body. He was absolutely furious someone or something had the audacity to do such a thing to you.

How dare they use your body, your voice, your expressions, your memories to try and trick them? That was not the [name] he knew, and God forbid him from destroying the entity using your identity.

"This time, they died by our hands, and their body was retrieved and cremated." Geto spoke those words sadly, his own body remembering your second death; but since it wasn't you, it was more of laying you to rest, to finally be at peace.

He could not mention that it was an uphill battle because they just couldn't find it in themselves to kill you since it was still your body. To have you die in their arms again and experience your second death was too much. They didn't want to have to experience killing you, because they understood how you didn't want them to kill you and that's the reason why you did it yourself. But the pain of having experienced you killing yourself and then also having to kill you whether an imposter was in your body or not, was enough to have them waking up in a cold sweat at night.

Satoru and Suguru could feel their older selves and how much they cherished you. It could be said they themselves also felt that, but it was different, since the two older versions of them had experienced much more and they knew the depth of their feelings towards their dead best friend.

Suguru let out an exhale, his mind going crazy at the information given to him. It might be a figment of their imagination from a curse, but there may be some truth to it.

"You don't believe me?" Geto could only laugh lightly at the expressions on their younger selves. He knew it sounded impossible, but for him, it was the truth. For them, it may seem like a distant future, or even a sad, made up story.

"Why don't we show them the letter they left for us and Shoko?" Gojo gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Letter?" The two younger males echoed.

"The ones [name] left before they became a cursed user." Geto and Gojo had a mutual agreement,and set off to find the letters, with their younger versions in tow.

Once they got the letters, Gojo and Geto left them in the teacher's staffroom and stood outside, giving them some privacy. They'd need it.

It was a couple of minutes later that they came back in, only to be met with the expected expressions from the teens.

"So? How was it?" Gojo cooed teasingly, plucking the letter out of Satoru's hands. The expression on his younger self was something he saw rarely, and only in events which affected him on a more personal level. Even now, he was like that.

Satoru lips were pressed into a thin line, his teeth clenching together to try and prevent any form of tears. Gojo could see, his eyes were glossy behind the blackout sunglasses he wore, which were coincidentally covering his eyes instead of sitting on top of his head.

I knew it, thought Gojo. If he was so emotional as an adult after reading the letter (even though he hid it), there was no way his younger self wouldn't be.

If he had to guess, his younger self would be rethinking everything that happened, and trying to figure out whatever the hell was going on to cause what happened in the current timeline following the older versions.

Gojo glanced at Suguru, who had placed his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward to cover his eyes with his hand. Geto didn't make any effort to take the letter away, knowing full well how his younger self would feel.

Since Suguru was in denial with his budding feelings, it was going to make him rethink many things, and it would be painful. Geto himself had already come to terms with it, but at the same time he held a hope, no matter how small it may be, on meeting you again no matter where, to convey the words he's always wanted to say.

"It's [name]'s handwriting, right? If you think it's a joke, it really isn't." Gojo spoke in a lighthearted tone, trying to make the atmosphere lighter, but to no avail. It was still heavy, and their younger versions sat on their chairs, silent as they digested the information.

His eyes took a look at the photo by his rarely used desk, one which had a photo of the four of them - Gojo, Geto, Shoko and you. It was the same one as the one in the safe, and he had copies made of it to make sure he wouldn't forget you, ever.

He ignored the sting in his heart every single time he looked at the photo until it numbed him. There were many things he wanted to say when he saw you, but he'll cross that bridge once he's on it. There just isn't any plan at all, and he'd much prefer it that way.

A bittersweet smile curled his lips slightly when he turned his attention back to his younger self. He had a slight frown on his lips as he looked at anything but their older versions.

"Suguru, a word of advice. If you have anything you want to say, just say it. Especially to [name]." Geto placed a larger hand on top of his younger self's head, ruffling it slightly in an affectionate manner.

Suguru let out a half cry half hum, not wanting to talk in case his voice betrayed him further. He was glad he wasn't bawling his eyes out now that he's realised his true feeligs.

Gojo, on the other hand, flicked his younger self's forehead, "They say sorcerers don't die without regrets. Spoil them as much as you want. This one next to you, too." He cheekily pointed to Suguru.

Satoru made a funny sound, something between a grunt and a hum of agreement. His eyes were yet again elsewhere, but landed on Suguru to see the state he was in.

Satisfied by his answer, Gojo clapped his hands together, "Now, shall we exterminate that curse that's caused you to come to the future, or an alternate timeline?"

Geto sighed at his best friend's antics, "You mean exorcise, Satoru."

"And that's done!" Gojo had one-handedly just killed off the curse guarding the door back to Satoru and Suguru's original timeline. "After you go through here, you'll be back to your own realities."

"Remember, everything you heard here is just a possibility that can happen. We told you this to make sure you two get a happier ending." Geto placed a hand on each of their younger selve's shoulders, giving them a couple of light taps before pushing them gently towards the door.

"What is this, Doraemon?" Satoru muttered, staring at the door.

Suguru, on the other hand, turned to his older self and Satoru's older self, giving them a slight bow, "Thank you for letting us know."

"You were such a nice boy back then, Suguru!" Gojo gasped in faux shock, giving Suguru a thumbs up.

Geto rolled his eyes at Gojo's poor attempt to ellicit a reaction out of him, ignoring him instead to give his younger self a grin.

Satoru and Suguru left through the door, waving at their older selves, prompted by an excited older Gojo and calmer Geto, as they said goodbye and left the timeline to return to their original one.

"No injuries, no head trauma or anything?" Shoko questioned, checking up on her classmates. She was currently still in the morgue, same place as always, making sure [name] was alright as they came in for a check up after a mission.

Suguru and Satoru had to pinch each other's cheeks to make sure they weren't dreaming, and they really were back in their own timeline.

Satoru was even more sure it was the correct one since his six eyes were working again.

"Don't think so." Satoru responded, leaning over your face as he examined your features. They were calmer now that you'd had some time to heal, and from Shoko's excellent RCT and healing techniques.

"Nothing for me either." Suguru followed. He placed a hand on your forehead gently, feeling your temperature and hoping you weren't running a fever. You didn't look like you were, but he had to make sure.

After hearing those words from his older version in another timeline, his words struck a chord in his heart. Reading the letter solidified that, and it really brought Suguru back to a reality that something horrible could happen in the not-so-distant future.

"Wake up soon, [name]," murmured Suguru, tapping your nose.

He probably wouldn't know what he'd do or what he'd think if he lost you. It was something he didn't have in his mind until the recent timeline-skip, one that made him well aware of what he could've done to help you, and by extension, himself and others he deemed close or best friends.

"They'll be fine." Shoko raised a brow at the new point of affection, "They've gotten through the toughest stages, so they'll wake up soon."

Suguru turned to Satoru, who already had a grin on his face from the news, celebrating it with a cute little dance to express his happiness.

He stopped after a moment, going back to his usual self as he sat down on another table, crossing his legs and leaning back. "Shoko, you probably won't believe us if we told you that we met our older selves when the curse pushed us into an alternate reality or timeline." He leaned on one arm, waiting for her to give a retort at how fake it sounds, but to his surprise, all Shoko did was let out a long hum.

"Really?" She took the lollipop out between her lips and pointed it to both him and Suguru, "So, what were you two doing however many years from now?"

Shoko didn't really care whether or not it was real. It was something done by a curse, so there's no telling whether it was fake or if it was indeed real. But from Satoru's tone and Suguru's expression that followed, it didn't seem like it was fake. And, she knew the boys wouldn't lie about something that serious. If they did, their demeanour would've already been broken.

Either that, or they believed it since it was so real even though it was fake. Shoko didn't quite know which one it was, so she entertained the idea.

"We were teachers here." Gojo and Geto spoke simultaneously, "And you were a doctor here, too. But we didn't see you, they just spoke about you."

"Oh?" It was no surprise, since that was what she aimed to go for after she finished high school. "By 'they', you mean your teacher versions?"

"Yeah."

"So, what about your older versions did you want to tell me?"

The two males exchanged glances at each other, then looked at [name], then Shoko.

The hesitant looks they gave each other made Shoko wonder what happened over in the alternate timeline they've jumped to (provided it was true) and why they were like this.

"Spit it out."

"[name] was dead in that timeline." Satoru's fist clenched until his knuckles were white. He could remember his own older version's face, Suguru and his older version's as well, and his own from the information given in the alternate timeline.

He didn't like it one bit.

"[name]? Dead?" Shoko's spoke with mild surprise, not really believing his words. She still entertained him, though.

"Yeah. We thought it was fake too, Shoko, but they gave us all the evidence needed, and what happened in that world." Suguru spoke this time, his voice gentle and soft.

This time it was up to Shoko to narrow her eyes, suspicious. "Ok, so tell me what happened and why [name] is dead in that timeline."

It was a while until Suguru and Satoru filled her in on the details. They gave her longer answers than usual since they needed to set the scene, as well as tell them more about the context surrounding a world in the future.

"What the fuck." Shoko couldn't hold her shock at the turn of events. She didn't think you had it in you to do all that, especially if it was a possibility going into the future.

"I know right." Satoru sighed, laying on his back. "And whatever they've said about this time, we already know."

"It could be a curse messing with our memories." Geto pointed out an obvious possible fault in everything they've said, but Gojo shook his head.

"If it was fake, then why did my six eyes not work? The other me had his working just fine." Satoru mumbled, a bit annoyed yet slightly intrigued that his own powerful technique got overwritten in another world, much less by the same person as himself albeit older.

"You make a good point..." Shoko hummed, crossing her legs. "So then, if this was all true, and you read [name]'s letters to you, did it have any pointers in there?"

Geto nodded, "Apparently I was the one who figured out something was going on. But I don't know what. It didn't say."

Gojo added, "There was nothing on mine. Just them professing their love for me." He tried to break the ice a little since the atmosphere had become too heavy, but the comment made Geto slap him on the shoulder.

"[name] professed their love to everyone here, so you're not special." Geto rolled his eyes, a childish side of his coming out.

Gojo whined, sitting up and staring at your face with his arms crossed. "Well if they like us so much they should express it."

"They already do that. Don't tell me, you've fallen for them?" Shoko couldn't hide her smugness about the matter, wanting to tease him further. He was irritating, but sometimes it was easy to get a read on him.

Gojo shook his head, vehemently denying it with his whole being, similar to how a wet dog or cat would shake all the water off them when wet.

I didn't mean it in a serious way...Shoko took a look at Geto, who stared straight back, his thoughts written all over his face.

"Ok, ok, how about you're just very fond of them?" Shoko wanted to laugh at how Gojo acted, but the laughter died slowly in her throat as she realised she was also in the same boat as Gojo.

Shit, I need a cigarette. Or alcohol. Shoko couldn't do this sober.

Geto, realising everything going on, let out a genuine laugh, the first one of the evening. He knew his best friends like the back of his hand, and he knew their thoughts at this very moment, or at least a majority of it.

"Since we don't want the future we saw, let's do what we can." Geto took a step forward, resisting the urge to bump his forehead against yours. Instead, he opted for another boop on your nose.

"Yeah, I don't want to have to visit their grave on their death anniversary ever again." Gojo muttered somewhat spitefully.

He recalled the sad smile his older self had when he watched Suguru's older self place the flowers onto the makeshift grave. Heck, since you were treated as a curse user in that timeline, you didn't get a proper grave and instead was treated like shit after you died.

Like hell that is going to happen here, Satoru hoped his words and actions later down the track could help, but he was unsure how much he could.

Should I just get rid of the elders? Or should I convince [name] education is the way to go? His mind went through many possibilities in less than a second, and he was brought back to reality by Shoko sighing and agreeing all the same.

"I wasn't there, but I don't want to see [name] die so tragically. Nor do I want to see you two fight them." She threw her finished lollipop into the bin and stood up, "Gonna go for a smoke."

And she left.

Geto and Gojo sat in silence for what seemed like a long time, but was in reality just 2 minutes, before Geto started up conversation.

"It seemed like there was a lot [name] didn't tell us." He sounded lost and regretful.

"Makes me wonder if they trusted us at all." Gojo mumbled. "Or did they already say it, but no one listened?" He didn't mean any of the words in a spiteful nor mean way, it was more of an observation from what had already happened in an alternate timeline.

Geto paused for a moment, turning to Gojo as if he was a genius, "You're right. It took them a long time to hit breaking point, didn't it?" He remembered their older versions and the extra information they gave them. "Don't you think it was that elder who started everything?"

Gojo thought for a moment, "You mean he already started it."

"You're right. It's already starting to happen. [name] complains to me about the elder after they have a fight." A pause, "Do you remember when they said [name] killed him?"

"...3rd year. 3 days after a short holiday." Gojo recalled his older version's words.

"Ok, that makes probably around a year and three quarters left." Geto breathed out, "We have time." There was hope in his voice, and he was ready to do whatever it took to make sure you stayed with them.

Satoru grinned, standing up. "Yeah. We have time."

He turned to face your unconscious state, "Listen here [name]. There's no way we're leaving you behind. We've got lots to talk about, so you better be ready. We're not letting you go that easily." It almost sounded like a threat, but the way Gojo smiled genuinely through the whole one-sided interaction spoke volumes. He was serious about it, and it was almost like a promise he made with Suguru as a witness.

There were many things Gojo wanted to say, but he had no idea how to say it in the most Gojo way possible, otherwise that's just not him. But that'll be a problem for another day.

Suguru laughed at his best friend's antics, but agreed nonetheless. "Let's not hide anything, alright?" His words were softer, but it was also a promise to himself that he, too, needed to be more upfront with his thoughts and feelings.

"Make sure to tell us everything, ok?" Shoko gave your forehead a couple of taps, having come back from her smoke break quickly. She had stood by the door to listen just as Geto and Gojo had started talking about when [name] killed the elder in the alternate timeline, to see where they can go from there and how much time they had left until disaster struck.

"Shoko, that was fast." Geto and Gojo spoke in unison, watching her plop down back onto her seat.

"Had to make sure I came back down before [name] wakes up from how loud you guys are being." She teased.

"Oi!"

The three stayed like that and chattered away, filling the room with their joyous voices as they moved onto happier topics. Sometimes, it would veer into topics on how to make sure you stayed with them, but others, would be hopes for the future and what it will bring, should they change the trajectory in comparison to the alternate one.

There were many things for them to change, but the main thing was that they were never going to let you become their regret. Not in this timeline, never.

A/N: This one is somewhat of a sequel of this fic, and initially there wasn't going to be any, but I wanted to expand on some extra information about what reader/[name] has done, and what better way to do it but in an AU where another timeline comes into the original?

[misc-obeyme]

OKAY So I've had an idea that could be either funny, angsty, or smutty depending on your mood. So imagine Mammon and MC had sex before Mammon became invested in them back when he was kind of a shit to them (I'm imagining the in original Obey Me timeline, not NB). Mammon didn't care much abt them so he was pretty selfish and it was kind of shit for MC... but imagine if it was MC's first time!

It could be funny if later they don't hold it against them and use it to tease him, could be angsty if they're upset abt it or it just kinda leads to them being uninterested in him, or could be smutty if they tell him he can have a second chance :D)

I just like to imagine all the ways this scenario could go lmao

NSFW MDNI

I feel like my response to this depends on whether or not Mammon knew it was MC's first time. Like to be fair, I'm pretty sure most first times aren't exactly a transcendent experience, but if he was aware of it and still didn't care, that's pretty bad. I could only go with angst for that scenario because any MC who would forgive him for that is a bigger person than I lol.

BUT I think the other two options could work if Mammon found out it was MC's first time later. Like he didn't know at the time, but then MC tells him in order to tease him and then also possibly elicit a second try? I think Mammon can be kind of oblivious in general, so it makes sense to me that he wouldn't even be aware of the fact that it was MC's first time. Uh oh. I actually like that idea. Oh what have you done, anon? Fine, fine, here's a drabble. I had to work really hard to keep it under 500 words and it's only missing that number by two.

It was a quiet night in the House of Lamentation while you watched Mammon counting the Grimm he had earned from his latest modeling gig. You were sitting next to him on the couch in his room and he seemed to almost forget that you were there. This gave you the chance to observe him, to watch how serious he became as he calculated his finances. A look that said he was focused only on his task.

It was a look you wished he had given you back then, when you found yourself beneath him.

You smirked, nudging him. "Hey. Remember that time we had sex?"

Mammon froze for a moment as a blush exploded across his face. He frowned and put down the Grimm he'd been counting.

"'Course I remember," he said, not looking at you.

You leaned toward him. "Did you know you're my first man in more ways than one?"

Mammon's eyes snapped to you. "W-what-? MC!"

You laughed at his dumbfounded expression.

"Why didn't ya tell me?!" he demanded, covering his face with his hands. "Damn it, I was such a jerk. How can ya even stand to be around me?"

You pulled his hands away from his face. "Don't say stuff like that. You sound like Levi."

Mammon still wouldn't look at you.

You turned his face so he would meet your eyes. "How about I give you a second chance?"

His expression became determined and he grabbed your hand in both of his. "You'd let me make it up to ya?"

You answered him with a kiss.

Mammon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap, his hands already beneath your shirt.

The kiss became hot and heavy so fast your head began to spin. You pulled away with a gasp and Mammon's lips fell to your neck. Then you felt yourself being lifted. He carried you over to his bed where he wasted no time removing your clothes and his.

Here you were again, beneath the Avatar of Greed. You looked up at him and your heart swelled when you saw that look of concentration, the glimmer of feeling in his eyes. You saw a demon who wanted nothing more than to take care of you, to do what he should have done back then.

That night, Mammon fucked you gentle and slow, taking his time and savoring every moment. You would never forget the sound of his moans mingled with yours, the way he listened to whatever you asked for, how he couldn't stop saying your name.

When you woke up in his arms, Mammon was watching your sleeping face. You blushed a little at the memory of the night you spent together.

"I'm sorry about back then, MC," he said quietly. "Did I… did I make it up to ya?"

You smiled at him. "Don't worry. I don't regret that you were my first man."

Mammon blushed furiously and then tried to hide it by kissing you.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[oliversrarebooks]

Rayan is from @sowhumpshaped's story Stray. I can't resist a sad wet cat man who thinks he knows best. This is set in the timeline where Rayan gets caught and tested to be a pet.

tw: dehumanization, conditioning, drugging, memory loss, facility/institution

"Did you -- did you actually say --" 

"That your results show that you're a pet, yes," the nurse affirmed with a big, cheerful smile. "You're very lucky we caught you for this silly little mistake before things ended up worse."

Rayan's heart dropped into his shoes. "Are you sure?" he blurted out before thinking. "I know the test is accurate, but -- there's never any mistakes? There have to be mistakes sometimes, right?"

The expression on her face was friendly but firm. "No, there are no mistakes. You know that."

"I know that..." He stared numbly at his hands. The test was accurate, of course. Everyone knew that. If it weren't, they'd have to worry about accidentally treating people as pets, which would be horrible. 

The test was accurate. Everyone knew that.

He felt sick.

"It's all right, poor dear. I know this must be a shock," she said. "You must have been struggling so much, weren't you?"

He didn't answer, still trying to process it all. A pet...

"Haven't you ever wondered if you might be a pet? When you see happy pets in the park, didn't you feel a longing inside?"

"I -- I did, but I thought that was because I wanted a pet for myself -- "

"That feeling was because a part of you deep down knew where you belonged," she said. "And now we've found you, and everything will be okay, you'll see. You won't have to struggle like that any more. You won't need to worry about big, scary people concerns like jobs and money and education. You'll be so much happier."

Rayan swallowed the lump in his throat. He had, secretly, sometimes felt that life would be easier as a pet, with no worries beyond pleasing his owner. He'd never vocalized these thoughts, worried that someone would think he was a strange deviant, like those people who pretended to be pets --

But if he was a pet all along, those thoughts would be normal, wouldn't they?

"What's going to happen to me now?"

"Well, dear, you've been trying so hard to be a person for so many years that you've picked up a lot of bad habits," she said. "That's not your fault, of course, you can't be blamed for trying your best. But now we have to train you out of all those nasty bad habits, do you see? It's not healthy for a pet to think it's a person."

That was exactly what he'd told 13, wasn't it? And he was just the same. No wonder he'd been so sympathetic.

He was bunching the hospital gown with both hands. "Will the training be hard?"

"For a sweet pet like you? No, I don't think it will be. I think you'll find the training to be very easy, much easier than pretending to be a person. It's going to be a big weight lifted from you. You'll see."

"And -- my memories --"

The nurse sighed. "That's an important part of the process, as I'm sure you know. Happy pets can't have those awful, distressing memories of trying to be a person. This is what's best for you."

It was what was best for pets, he knew that. So it must be what's best for him. But still, he didn't want to...

"It will be painless," she said reassuringly. "We're just going to give you some nice medicine for pets with bad habits and scary memories. It'll make you feel a little funny and sleepy, and in just a few days, you'll start to feel so much better."

He nodded, still feeling miserable inside. It felt like this should be happening to someone else, that it was a dream. That he'd wake up in his own apartment any minute now.

"Come with me, now. We have a treatment room all ready just for you. You won't have to worry about a single thing."

Rayan didn't argue or struggle as she gently ushered him forward and out of the room. His hands felt cold and his legs felt shaky. 

It was for the best, he reassured himself. If the test said he was a pet, he must be a pet. And if he was a pet, the treatment would make him feel better. The only reason he felt so bad was because he hadn't gotten the proper treatments for a pet. He'd always worried something had been wrong with him, and now he knew what the problem was, and was going to get it fixed.

He was going to be trained. He wouldn't have to worry about holding down a job or disappointing his parents any more than he already had by turning out to be a pet. He'd make some owner very happy.

...He was going to forget his family, his friends, the shelter, everything that made him happy...

It was for the best. It had to be. If it wasn't, if the test could be wrong, if the treatments weren't appropriate, then the whole pet system was monstrous. All of his friends at the shelter and all of the pet owners he knew weren't monsters. They were kind people, and they loved their pets and knew what was best for them.

What was best for him.

He'd feel a lot better about it all when he was treated.

The nurse guided him into an elevator, and they went down to a basement level, exiting out into a brightly lit corridor filled with doctors and nurses bustling about, but no pets that he could see. They walked down a hall and turned left, Rayan fighting his anxiety every step of the way, until the nurse pushed open a door and beckoned him inside.

It was a bit like a hospital room, with three walls in stark white and the fourth painted with a childish mural of a blue sky. The medical bed was lower to the ground than normal, and there was a low counter with a sink in it. There was a metal pet bowl and metal water bottle on the counter, a leash tacked onto the wall, and a crate of brightly colored toys in the corner.

"Here we are!" the nurse chirped. "Now you can just get comfortable and your new handler will be in shortly."

"...Okay." Rayan awkwardly situated himself on the bed and watched the nurse leave, and he was left alone with his own conflicted thoughts.

He couldn't help but wonder what they'd tell his parents. Would they be disappointed? Angry? Would they miss him? He hoped they would understand. Would his friends at the shelter find out? Did they ever suspect? Would they notice when he didn't turn up to --

The door opened, and a young person with hair cropped short and a white coat walked in. They were carrying a small paper cup in one hand and a basket containing a blanket and a few other things. "Hello there. I'm Kay, and I'll be your handler for your treatment," they said with a smile, setting down her things on the table. "Oh, you poor thing. You just found out that you're a pet, I've been told. You must be so scared and confused."

Rayan could only nod, embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. A handler for new pets, the sort of job he had been hoping for.

"You have nothing to worry about. I can already tell that you're going to be such a good boy." They reached out their hand to pet Rayan's hair, and he didn't shy away from it. The gentle touch as they ruffled his hair felt... nice. Comforting. He was leaning into it before he could stop himself.

"Oh, do you like that?" Kay cooed. "Aww, such a good boy, yes you are."

The embarrassment in his face grew more intense as he accepted the petting. He did like it, and that meant... that meant he really must be a pet, didn't it? A person wouldn't enjoy being patted and soothed like this. Anyone would consider that deviant behavior for a person, but it was expected behavior for a pet. Desired, even. 

So it was true, wasn't it? His struggle to hold down a job, to live independently, to accomplish the things everyone else seemed to do with so little effort, it was all because he was a pet. This was really happening. His eyes grew watery and a tear slid down his cheek.

"Oh dear, oh dear. It's okay," said Kay, producing a tissue from their pocket and wiping at Rayan's eyes. "It's okay to be sad. We'll get you all fixed up."

"May I ask a question, please?" 

"Yes, dear."

"What are they going to tell my family?"

"Our staff is already preparing to deliver the message. They're trained in supporting families during this difficult time. They'll be in good hands, I promise. You won't need to worry about them."

"...All right." That was the best he could hope for, wasn't it?

"Here, let's get you your medication." Kay handed him the paper cup, which was three-quarters full of a thick red liquid that smelled like artificial cherries. "You'll need medication three times a day at the beginning of your treatment, and then we'll taper it off to a lower dose."

Rayan couldn't help but hesitate before drinking it. This must be the medicine that all pets took, the one that would erase his memories, his ability to read and write, all the things he learned as an adult. As a person.

But if he wasn't a person, then he shouldn't have those memories in the first place. The medicine would fix him, wouldn't it?

"Go on, drink it up. You need your medicine, dear."

He closed his eyes and drank. It was cloyingly sweet with a sickly aftertaste. 

"Very good!" Kay reached into the basket and pulled out a flimsy plastic collar with a printed label on it. "This is your temporary collar until you get a real one. You're number 25."

"Twenty-five..." he repeated in a daze. That's right. He wouldn't be "Rayan" any more, not ever again.

"You'll get a much better name when you're adopted," they said, clipping the collar around his neck. It felt cold as he ran his fingers along it. They pulled out a metallic cuff that locked around his wrist. "And this is so we don't lose you, dear."

"...Okay."

"There are only a few rules in the facility. You must not leave this room without permission. You must follow all of the instructions the handlers give you. You must not harm any handlers or any of the other pets. There will be punishments if you fail to follow the rules -- they're for your own good, and the good of the staff and the pets, of course."

"Right." 

They showed Rayan -- no, he was 25 now, wasn't he? -- a remote with one big round button on it. "If you need help, just press this button! But don't abuse it, or we'll have to take it away, do you understand?"

He nodded. "Uh -- uh-huh." It was getting hard to focus on what Kay was saying, even though he knew it was important. 

"Tomorrow we'll be giving you a medical evaluation and start the first steps of your treatment. You'll be -- and then we'll --"

25 rubbed at his eyes. His head felt foggy, and everything seemed so far away.

"Oh, dear." Kay's voice echoed through his mind. "That must be the medicine kicking in. Why don't you settle in for a nice nap, then? We can talk about these things in the morning."

He nodded. That sounded perfect.

"Just lay down on the bed and we'll get you all tucked in."

As 25 curled up onto the bed, Kay spread the warm and weighty blanket over him. patting his head again. "Good night, dear. Sleep well, and have pleasant dreams." They turned off the light and shut the door behind them with a click.

25 stared out into the darkness. So much had happened since he'd found 13. While he'd sometimes imagined what it would be like to be a pet, thoughts he never shared with anyone, he never seriously thought he'd be here in a facility. And now he'd never see his parents or his own apartment ever again. Despite how drowsy he was, there was no way he was getting to sleep, not with the anxious knot in his stomach.

But after a few minutes, he felt the anxiety start to dissolve away, leaving a sensation of dull calm. It must be the medicine, he figured, as his eyelids began to droop and his thoughts scatter.

He was feeling better already, just like they'd said. They really did know what was best for him.

[descendantsramblings]

I have a little idea for Male!Reader x james Hook and morgie

-

Male reader (son of Rapunzel maybe?) Went back in time with Red and Chloe, Hook and Morgie took a certain interest in him cause the boy is a stubborn little thing with a big mouth.

The Reader is mostly annoyed/amused with Hooks flirting and finds Morgies teasing Interesting. Reader is interested in morgie (sorry hook) but the Reader knows he cant put a move on morgie even if he wants to cause that could cause problems with the timeline and the future

Its all just a mess for the reader but he may or may not become weak at one point cause lets be honest- who can resist a Dork that acts like a golden retriever.

Having the Morgie boys be some of the main people in my inbox is literally my favorite thing. I love him so much, this is wonderful.

In Another Life

Morgie le Fay x Time traveling!Reader/James Hook x Time Traveling!Reader

Pronouns Used: He/Him/His

Summary: When Rapunzel’s son is dragged back in time by his childhood best friend he finds himself the object of two villains’ affections.

Warnings: suggestive comments, crying technically, minor swearing, a few words in German, bad ending, mentions of death, the reader is kinda mean to Chloe in the first paragraph

Word Count: 2.9K

Translations (I don't speak German so I hope this is correct)

hau rein - "see ya", mein sonnenschein - "My sunshine"

    “How was I supposed to know that I’d get us sent to the past when I grabbed you? You have to forgive me at some point!” The blue-haired girl looks nearly animated in her movements as the argues with him. Chloe had managed to get him thrown into every single negative situation she’d gone through the entire time they’d known each other. But this? This takes the cake. “I can’t believe you! How dare you act like this is just a little spill, we’re stuck here Chloe. Stuck, no going home until some Wonderland kid we just met decides we can. This is not something I’ll just ‘forgive you eventually’ for! I should be at home with my family, not here in a point of time where our country doesn’t even exist yet!” His arms move wildly in the air around him as he yells. The last day with his parents until family day and now he had to spend it with someone else? And he was supposed to, what? Trust a kid who just convicted his best friend’s mother of treason? This was ridiculous. Everyone should know not to trust the person who got your mother sentenced to death to help save their mother. “What about my family? If we didn’t come back then my mom would for sure die.” “No Chloe, not we. If you and Red didn’t. This doesn’t involve me. I don’t want to be here!” “And you think I do?” 

    He turns on his heel, storming off towards the woods behind him. “(Y/n) Fitzherbert! You don’t even know where you’re going!” The boy huffs, waving a hand at her as if to brush her off “Well, guess I’ll just have to get lost!” Normally he wouldn’t be so huffy. But normally normal things were happening to him. Being the first person to experience time travel was not part of his bucket list, he could promise you that. He just needed to clear his head, regroup. That would fix him, surely it would.  The woods felt no different to the ones in his own part of the timeline, though then again, how could they be? They were just woods, just trees and grass and morning dew. It smelt fresher though, as if the air was cleaner somehow. Perhaps it was, the past couple decades had the time to affect the air, would they not? (Y/n) would never tell his friends about where exactly he went when he was alone in the woods, they all assumed he spent his time at the enchanted lake, and he  assumed it was better that way. Some things should get to be secrets, if not he’d never be alone again. He deserved to have his secrets. Everyone did, didn’t they? 

      And there it was, the old shell of a hideout that looked newer now, nicer. Not that it looked nice per say but it wasn’t what he was used to back home. The boy slowly makes his way to the side of the lagoon, jumping from rock to rock as he approached his slice of solitude. It felt like he was where he was supposed to be for the first time in the four hours he’d been stuck in the past. Listening to the familiar thump of his converse on the large flat pieces of stone put him at peace. Maybe for only a few minutes he could be at home, that’s all he wanted. Home, god Red better be able to get them back there. He just needed his taste of it, then he’d go put on a pretty face for Chloe and Red and apologize to his best friend for yelling at her. Of course he would, he always did.

   At home, he was pretty much the only person who even knew about the black lagoon, no one else was ever there. So why would he expect someone now? The two boys sitting in the hideout were a shock to him. How had he never thought about who would have used the place before him? He was smarter than that, surely he was. Had the boys been facing away from him, he would’ve just left. Actually gone to the Enchanted Lake or maybe just turned back to Chloe. That wasn’t his luck though, instead they stared at him nearly challenging him.  Silently but visibly questioning what made him think he was allowed to be in their space.

      “What have we here?” The boy with the darker hair steps towards him, hook swinging towards him in a manner that almost felt playful. “We don’t get many Princes around here. What a surprise,” he slides the dull end of the golden hook down the boy’s cheek, smirking at him, “Come here looking for something, did you?” The seductive tone of the pirate was so thick you’d have to be a fool to miss it. Something similar to how he’d spoken to Chloe earlier when she was more than ready to fight him. No doubt the pirate was just like that. His eyes go over the boy, giving him the up and down twice before scoffing, “Not for you.” Hook drops his arm, stepping back slightly with a brow quirked. “Oh really?” The other boy comes up behind him now, hands resting on Hook’s shoulders as he peers over him at the Prince. “So you’re here for me then?” His lip slots between his teeth as he looks at the boy. Something about the teasing tone Morgie used had his stomach flipping. The smirk on his face was softer, an almost hopeful twinkle in his eyes.  “Come on, Darling, we both saw how you were looking at us back in the courtyard. Who’d you come to see?” Hook crosses his arms as he speaks, shamelessly checking out the Prince. 

    “Actually,” (Y/n) steps away, heading over to that old seashell chair he  adored and falling in it, “I was hoping the place was empty. Shouldn’t you two be in class?” Morgie’s brows furrow, that was his seat, why would he take his seat? “Shouldn’t you be in class, Darling?” Eyes roll back in their sockets as he runs his hand down the fabric of the chair. It was so much nicer right now, going back to the way it was in the future was going to suck now that he knew its potential. “You don’t need to worry about where I should be.”  “Oh no,” Morgie waltzes to his side, perching on the chair beside him, so close their thighs brush as he sits, “Well, you’re in our space and my seat. So I think we do get to worry about where you’re supposed to be.” Morgie's seat, huh? He hums, a smirk on his lips, “If you say so.” “I do,” Morgie lets his eyes shamelessly linger on his mouth, taking in the smirk that seemed to tease him back. This was the closest he’d ever been to a royal without actively harassing them. He thought the stranger would pull away, maybe move from his chair all together, but he didn’t. He simply adjusted in the seat, their legs getting closer as he did, now pressed to each other, solidifying his stance on moving. “Listen boys, you can pretend I’m not here, I don’t really care. I just need a piece of home and this is as close as I can get.”  

     Hook and Morgie share a look, seeming to communicate through their eyes. This exchange student didn’t fear them in the slightest. It was new, almost a rush for the both of them. And in that moment they seemed to silently agree on something. This was going to be their new little game it seemed. Who could get the new boy’s affections first? May the odds be ever in your favor. 

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      Pretending he didn’t know exactly where they were going while walking with Red and Chloe to the Black Lagoon was harder than he thought. Surely if he was too obvious they’d get suspicious. And he couldn’t imagine how they’d react if they knew he’d spent a whole class period with two boys who would help lead to the mess they’d been facing back home. Not that he’d meant to spend time with them, of course not. Why would he? They were villains, or at least they were supposed to be. He wasn’t so sure he could call them that though, not after the way he saw them. How would those two boys, the ones who were teases as best, go on to end up on the Isle of the Lost? How would Morgie end up there at all? Surely it would have to be similar to how the VKs from his part of the timeline did, wouldn’t it? Just a victim to his family line, nothing more. Not that he knew him. Of course one afternoon wasn’t enough to know a person, but the way he spoke, the innocence in his eyes when (Y/n) had confused him a few times, that seemed a little hard to fake. 

     He lags behind the girls as they walk away from the Lagoon, lost in his own mind. Not that they’d notice, too wrapped up in talking about the prank that was meant to be pulled in two days. Chloe being a touch too distracted by the red lipstick painting the other princess’ lips. He took a mental note to tease her for that later, some point where they could all laugh about all this. He could feel eyes on him from behind, pausing to put more space between the girls before him and himself. Whoever was trailing them didn’t need to bother the princesses, he could handle them alone for sure. Left hand reaching for the sword on his hip as two bodies collide with his back. Chests to his shoulders. “Are you following us now, Darling?” “Miss us that much already?” (Y/n) turns to look over his left shoulder first, smiling at Morgie and sending him a teasing wink before turning the other way to look at Hook. Hand falling away from his sword, he wouldn't need it against them. “It seems to me you’re following me, Captain. Considering you ran into my back when I stopped walking and all.” “Touché,” he smirks, putting his hook under the boy’s chin with a smile, “Can you blame me? Watching you walk away is quite the view.” 

   He laughs, stepping away from the pirate and slightly running into Morgie. “You pirates are all so shameless. Ego’s bigger than your ship isn’t it?” “Oh wouldn’t you like to know? You should come ride it some time.” He winks at the Prince, words obviously holding a double meaning that should've brought a blush to his cheeks. (Y/n) laughs, taking notice of the gentle hand that had found its way onto his shoulder from behind. “Oh, I’ve seen the Jolly Roger, she’s not that impressive.” Hook raises a brow, “Oh you have? How haven’t I seen you before, then?” Shit, he hadn’t seen the Jolly Roger while Hook was the Captain. He shouldn’t have let that slip. “I’ve visited Neverland a time or two, guess you just aren’t that observant.” Hopefully it was convincing enough, he turns to the sorcerer behind him, the boy looking down at him. “You would’ve noticed me, wouldn’t you?” He hoped it would help make his earlier words more convincing or at least serve as a good distraction from them. If it hadn’t been so dark, the boy would’ve seen the pink hue drawn to Morgie’s cheeks and ears. The villain silently thanking Uliana for wanting to wait until dark to discuss their plans for revenge, had they done this earlier he would’ve been caught for sure. “Of course I would. Look at you.” It wasn’t as smooth as he’d hoped for, nothing like the line delivery he’d had in the daylight but he could still see a smile play across the Prince’s face, teeth and eyes sparkling in the pale moonlight. 

    “I’d hope so, I like the attention.” He knew better than to play with him like that. Who knew how they’d be changing the future just from a small interaction. Though it seemed that Chloe and Red hadn’t, (Y/n) did learn a thing or two about the Butterfly Effect. He could only hope to all things good that he wouldn’t ruin his own future by just being between the two boys. If he was stronger, maybe he'd move. It was hard not to linger there though, with that sweet look on Morgie’s face and the burning feeling of the pirate’s eyes on him. Boys back home never looked at him like this .Never stared at his lips the way Morgie did, it felt good. And if he wasn’t so scared of changing things, he might have just given in to those half lidded eyes that were locked on his lips and leaned up. Were they as soft as they looked? It was like the other boy could read his thoughts, Hook turning him to face away from Morgie with a teasing smirk playing on his lips,  “If it’s attention you’re looking for, I know a great source.” (Y/n) laughs, shaking his head as he pulls away from both of them. “You don’t know when to quit, do you, Captain? Well, hau rein boys, have a good night.” 

     Morgie hates to admit to how hard he was staring as he watched the prince walk away from him. Eyes locked on the royal strut, he knew Hook’s would be too. It was nearly impossible to look away from him. “What language was that?” He spares Hook a look when the darkness swallows the boy’s receding form, brows raised in confusion. “I,” Hook stops, turning to look at his friend with an equally confused face, “I’m not sure.” 

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    Two days in the past shouldn’t have this effect on him. It’s embarrassing, how did he let a boy he just met get him so wrapped up like this. A boy he couldn’t even have, and yet he was begging for an extra thirty minutes in the past to just say goodbye. Running through the halls of Merlin academy just hoping to see a flash of black and green. He had to say goodbye, he just, he had something he had to do. For himself. Where would a sorcerer whose friends all just got frozen by a magic cookbook be hiding? Where would he be if Chloe had just been frozen? 

    Looking for whoever did it to her. Without a second thought he’d be looking for whoever hurt her. And if Morgie was anything like him, that's what he'd be doing too. So that means, he needed to retrace his steps from the office to Red’s dorm. Running back towards the dorm and straight past it he ends up slamming into a solid chest. Two strong hands grabbing his arms and stabilizing him as the impact almost sends him falling backwards. He looks up to see a pair of hazel eyes that had plagued him for the past two days. He assumes they’ll be haunting him for the rest of his life now. The boy being forever unattainable.  The thought was nauseating.

    “Hey! Careful there, you almost wiped out,” Morgie’s hands slide down his arms, ghosting over the bewildered look on his face, “You okay, (Y/n)?” He didn’t know the boy well, Morgie couldn’t deny that. But he could feel in his heart of hearts that the way the boy laughed at his question was out of character. “I was looking for you actually, lucky me that you were,” he looks at those pretty eyes again, letting out a shaky breath, “Right here.” A pale pink lip slides between his teeth, disrupting the smile that was trying to spread across his face, “Lucky I was, someone had to catch you.” (Y/n) shakes his head, breaking eye contact, “People don’t tend to catch me very often.”It makes Morgie place a single knuckle under his chin, tilting his face back up so he has to look him in the eyes again. “I’d catch you every time. I actually was looking for you too. I needed to ask you something.” 

     The sorcerer had that hopeful look back in his eyes, the one he'd had back in the hide out. It made (Y/n)’s chest hurt. “You did?” He nods, smile stretched across his face as he pulls his hands back to himself, fiddling with his fingers as he speaks. “Listen, I know that it’s super late, considering it’s tomorrow and all, but I was wondering if you’d go to Castlecoming with me? I know we just met and all but there’s no better time to get to know each other right?” He knew from the way the Prince’s face fell that there was no way he’d get the answer he wanted. If he was smarter, maybe he would've run away. 

     “Oh, Morgie, in another life I’d be able to answer that the way I want to.” He frowns, brows furrowing, “Well, why can’t you?” He lets his palm rest on Morgie’s cheek, and despite the fact that the boy’s heart was visibly breaking, he nuzzles against his hand. “You could never understand how us being together would effect where I’m from,” it’s shaky, a slow breath following his words. His voice was weaker than he wanted it to be. “Is it,” he takes a shaky breath, eyes growing a little blurry as he looks at the prince. He thought he was different, that maybe his family wouldn’t matter to him, how silly he was to believe that. “Is it because I’m a villain?” (Y/n) knew better when he leaned forward, he knew better than placing his lips on those pretty pale pink ones. It was a kiss he’d compare to every one that followed. Soft, sweet and sad, a poetic moment that would only ever get to be a memory. He knew he’d regret it when he went home and nothing felt like the lips of the second generation sorcerer. Forehead resting on the other boy’s as he lets out a sigh, eyes still closed because he knew he couldn't look at the boy and get his words out. The way he caught feelings for the first person to show him attention was embarrassing. “Mein sonnenschein, I didn’t get to know you well, but I know you are no villain. In another life I’d be your happily ever after.” Morgie frowns, pulling away from him, “I wish it could be this one.” Eyes opening at the loss of contact, (Y/n) looks up at the boy, his words were doing more harm than good. He knew he should turn away, he needed to get back to Red - to his home-, but tearing his eyes away from the boy would hurt. “Yeah,” he wipes a tear he didn’t mean to let slip, “Yeah, I do too.”

Yeah, there was no way he'd just "forgive Chloe at some point" over this one. No one is supposed to break their own heart.

Find Part 2 Here

[double-vandammage]

Title: Unexpected

Word count: 2,404

Rating: 18+

Ship: Bret Hart x Shawn Michaels

Tags/Warnings: Shawn POV, Drinking, Fighting (mentioned), Blood and Injury, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Quickie, Hand Jobs, Making out

Also posted to my a03: aa_beatrix

This is what happened when they buried the hatchet right? Right? 🙀

Timeline is 2010.

My sister @taydaq and I decided to do an Art Trade and her only request was Shawn and Bret on a counter top. I decided to write older Hartbreak and this was the result! I hope both her and you guys like it. I certainly had fun typing this out. 😜 It's mostly Bret telling Shawn to STFU.

I used the prompt: "do right people with wrong timing get a second chance?" from nightprompts. I really liked it and was going to use it for another fic I have in the works, but it ended up here. 😏

Tysm for reading as always! 💕

Fuck, he was too old for this shit. Bar fights were a younger man’s game. He wasn’t twenty something anymore. Shawn had taken his fair share of beatings inside and outside of the ring, but he couldn’t afford to take risks these days. Two guys had gotten into a heated argument and in a millisecond the first fist was thrown. In Shawn’s infinite wisdom, he thought he could break it up. Now he was left rummaging around his kitchen trying to locate bandages, an ice pack, and quite possibly another beer. He opened one of the drawers and felt around, pushing various junk aside. “Oh for Christ sake.” he muttered. Unexpectedly his cell rang. “Yeah?” he answered without a glance at the screen to see who was calling.

“Did you forget?” the voice on the other end asked. Shawn stopped shuffling through the drawer, squinting at the nearby calendar. “What?” He hadn’t a clue what he was supposed to do tonight. It was likely the blow to his head earlier. “Dammit Shawn, I waited for your skinny ass.” he barked through the phone. “Oh shit. Was that today?” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re the one who asked to meet Shawn. Are you home? I’m outside.” Shawn looked toward his front door, “You are? Um, okay yeah. I’ll be right there.” He hung up, abandoning his search for the bandaids. He walked to the door, smoothing his disheveled clothes and hair. He had no idea the current state of his appearance, but it would have to do.

He opened the door where Bret stood at the bottom of the steps, clearly irritated. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, pocketing his own phone. “Heh, you should see the other guy.” he laughed, trying to play it cool. He hadn’t seen or talked to Bret much in the last few years. He wanted more than anything to be on good terms again and this was his chance to maybe repair the damage. Bret still had that same swagger and ruggedly handsome face. His hair had begun to show silver, but he managed to keep it long. “Oh don’t give me that. What really happened Shawn?” he demanded. “Alright, alright why don’t you start by coming in.” Shawn stood to the side of the doorway, motioning for Bret to enter.

Shawn led Bret to the kitchen, “I was trying to find something to patch myself up with and a nice cold beverage. Do you want one?” he asked, opening the fridge. “Sure.” Bret said, taking the offered beer. Shawn popped the caps off their drinks before hopping up to sit on his counter. He took a long swig of his beer, “How have you been Hitman?”. Bret stared at him puzzled. “Aren’t you a little old to be doing that?” he pointed. Shawn scanned his surroundings, “Doing what?” knowing exactly what Bret was referring to and began kicking his legs back and forth. “Jesus.” Bret muttered before taking a sip of his drink. “Don’t you want to take care of your face first?” he asked. “I can’t find the damn first aid kit.” he groaned. Bret wandered out of the kitchen, “Where’s the bathroom you idiot?” Bret said, setting down his beer and already starting down the hallway. “First door on your left.” Shawn shouted.

After a few minutes, Bret came back toting his first aid kit. “Most people keep these in their bathroom.” he stated. Shawn rolled his eyes. Bret placed the kit beside Shawn, opening it up. He surveyed Shawn’s face, taking in every cut and scrape. “Whoever did this sure banged you up.” he observed. “So what really happened?” Bret began taking out various supplies. Shawn watched as Bret meticulously sorted out different ointments and materials. “Well, not much to tell. Two dumb guys got into it and I tried to break it up.” Shawn shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I kinda forgot my age.” he smirked. Bret didn’t meet his gaze, but chuckled as he ripped open a packet of gauze and q-tips.

He poured some disinfectant on a gauze piece and moved into the space between Shawn’s legs. Shawn shifted nervously at the sudden proximity. Bret started at Shawn’s eyebrow, wiping gently at the open wound. Shawn sucked in his breath at the slight sting. “Sorry.” Bret said before moving down to his cheek. Shawn tried his best not to make eye contact as he helped to clean him up. How long had it been since he experienced a friendly touch from The Hitman? Bret then dabbed cautiously at Shawn’s split lip. When did it get so hot in here? Something in his stomach fluttered. It was a feeling he hadn’t remembered until now.

Bret threw the gauze into the trash bin and picked up a q-tip. He coated the q-tip with some of the ointment he had procured and delicately spread it across the cut on his eyebrow. He then carefully positioned a small bandaid over the cut before moving on to do the same to his battered cheek. “Ouch.” Shawn winced. He was definitely going to be sore tomorrow. “It’s already beginning to bruise, you got a plastic bag?” Bret asked as he opened the freezer door, pulling out an ice tray. “Yeah, bottom drawer.” Shawn replied, gesturing with his chin in the direction of the drawer. Bret filled the plastic baggie with ice and tied the end off to secure it. Shawn extended a hand to take it, but Bret was already back in his space to lightly press the cool plastic to the skin of his cheek.

Shawn tensed, his eyes meeting Bret’s. He wanted to say something witty or maybe just an asinine joke, but he was drawing a blank. Bret always had such an intense stare, but tonight he could see something soften in his eyes. “Feel okay?” Bret asked. Did he feel okay? Hell no. His face throbbed like a son of a bitch and for some reason Bret Hart was situated between his thighs icing his boo-boos. What the fuck was Bret doing here again? Shawn took in a deep breath, “Um, yeah, yeah I feel fine.” he answered, taking hold of the ice pack. Bret placed his fingers beneath Shawn’s chin, tilting his face upward to take one last observation. “Yep, you’re gonna be fine Michaels.” he decided confidently. “Thanks Doctor Hart.” Shawn teased. “Shut the fuck up.” Bret countered, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face.

For a minute they giggled like two kids, forgetting they barely tolerated each other. Bret composed himself first, his eyes falling to Shawn’s mouth. His hand was still under Shawn’s chin, his thumb tenderly caressing the split on his lower lip. Shawn felt his chest tighten and heartbeat quicken. The fluttering in his stomach returned with full force. There were times during their careers where Shawn felt similar knots in his heart toward Bret. These moments were triggered by a passing glance, a handshake, a hug after winning a tag match, and even during their most heated segments.

Shawn dropped the ice pack to the floor as he threw his arms around Bret, dragging him roughly into a kiss. The plastic bag unfurled, ice cubes scattering around the kitchen floor. Shawn’s lip stung as their mouths clashed together. Bret’s hands braced against the edge of the countertop in response to Shawn’s sudden advance. Shawn was entirely prepared for Bret to pull away and dismiss him altogether, instead Bret’s hands found their way to his waist and kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm. Shawn gasped as the slit on his bottom lip reopened, tasting beer mixed with the metallic flavor of his blood. “Sorry.” Bret mumbled against Shawn’s mouth.

Bret moved his hands down to grip Shawn’s thighs, tugging his body closer to ease him off the counter. Shawn held onto his shoulders as he slid off the countertop, pressing in closer to Bret. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” Shawn confessed as he tried to catch his breath between kisses. Bret pressed his forehead to Shawn’s, “Shit, me too. What the fuck?” he asked before meeting his lips again. Neither of them wanted to waste time and began to lower themselves to the kitchen floor. It wasn’t graceful by any means, Bret had a bad knee and Shawn’s back was basically shot. Bret fumbled backwards in order to catch Shawn before they both crashed onto the hard floor. Shawn struggled on top of Bret, straddling him to regain his composure. He leaned forward to bury his face in Bret’s chest, attempting to muffle the cackle threatening to escape.

Bret covered his own mouth as he tried his best not to completely lose it. “So the thing about our age…” he said. “Old fucks.” Shawn laughed into the fabric of Bret’s shirt. He rose up, to look at his long time rival. “I think I forgot why I called you here.” Bret’s hands returned to Shawn’s thighs, his thumbs lightly rubbing at his jeans. “You forgot, period.” he said, reminding him. Shawn really didn’t want to talk now that he had The Excellence of Execution under him, kissing him was much more ideal. He took a risk, kissing Bret’s forehead before running his lips down to the side of his neck. He felt Bret softly grip at his ponytail. Bret’s eyes closed, relaxing as Shawn sucked at the exposed skin of his throat.

How much time had they wasted being angry with each other when they could have been making out on a kitchen floor instead? Shawn moved back to Bret’s lips which parted slightly allowing his tongue to slip inside. He let his mind wander to when they were both at the height of their careers, Bret wearing his pink singlet and black tights. Tanned skin glistening with sweat after a match, the water in his hair drying and beginning to fluff wildly around his head. God damn he was sexy and at almost sixty years, he still was. He could feel his erection already straining his jeans, his hips grinding into Bret. Bret’s hands had roamed to cup at his ass, following the rhythm of Shawn rocking on top of him. Shawn grabbed at his hands, forcing them off him and pinning them above Bret’s head.

Bret didn’t seem to mind his taking control. In fact he appeared to welcome it, Bret’s own hard on trying to gain some friction against him. Shawn reached between them, undoing Bret’s belt and pants with practiced fingers. He wriggled his hand deftly inside, grasping Bret’s slick cock. Bret moaned into Shawn’s mouth at the touch. He kept one hand steady on Bret’s wrists, securing them above his head. “That’s it Hitman, that’s it.” Shawn coaxed, breaking apart from Bret’s lips. He stroked Bret briskly, low whines emitting from him. Shawn kissed Bret’s cheek before nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Bret tilted his head back, his hips rutting madly into Shawn’s palm. He lasted only a few seconds before he released a mangled cry as he came.

“Still so sensitive at this age, huh?” Shawn mewed, kissing Bret's ear and letting go of his wrists. Bret covered his flushed face with one hand, “Oh shut the fuck up Michaels.” he said, breaking into a smile. Shawn brought their mouths together again and Bret wrapped his arms around Shawn’s neck, deepening the kiss. Eventually they lost track of just how long they had spent rolling around on the floor playing tonsil tennis. Reluctantly they had managed to tear themselves away from each other and sat with their backs to the kitchen cupboards. Bret reached up to the counter and grabbed his now lukewarm beer, taking a long gulp. “I was not expecting that. Hell, I almost didn’t come.” he said. Shawn raised his eyebrows, “I beg to differ.” he snorted. “Once again, shut the fuck up Michaels.” Bret grinned.

They sat side by side, quietly finishing the rest of their beers. Shawn didn’t know where to begin. He wanted so badly to apologize for everything and anything, even stuff he wasn’t guilty of. “I’ve missed you.” he blurted instead. Bret set his now empty beer bottle down, glancing at Shawn. “Honestly…me too,” he admitted. Shawn felt his cheeks redden. He envisioned their reunion countless times, but he truly hadn’t anticipated Bret had missed him, not even a little bit. Shawn had always been reaching for Bret’s validation, but it always slipped through his fingers. “I never meant to push you away, but a part of me- a big part of me doesn’t regret a single thing. I also know in the last 12 years, a lot has changed. We’ve changed.” he said. Bret sighed heavily, nodding his head in agreement.

“We don’t need a lengthy drawn out conversation Bret. I know you want to bury the hatchet as much as I do.” Shawn said. He extended a hand out to Bret, waiting for a handshake. “Are you ready?” he asked. Bret appeared hesitant, but only for a second before joining their hands together. “Okay Shawn…okay.” Bret said. “Consider this matter closed, no takesies backsies.” Shawn said gleefully, dropping Bret’s hand. “You can’t be serious for a fucking minute can you?” Bret sneered, leaning over to shove his shoulder into Shawn’s. They remained seated on the kitchen floor cracking up all over again. “Stay in touch will ya?” Shawn said, tapping Bret’s shoe with his own. “I will.” Bret said.

They were both silent as Shawn walked Bret to the front door. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but knew he had to go. This was possibly the beginning of something new. It was also entirely likely they wouldn’t see each other again after tonight, maybe a call here and there. It happened all the time. Shawn opened the door, the cool air wafting inside. “Thanks again…for this…” he said, motioning to his face. “Yeah, no problem.” Bret said, bringing his hand up to faintly run his thumb along the cut on Shawn’s bottom lip again. “Take care of yourself.” Bret turned to go, hastily stepping out into the night. Shawn watched as Bret took off, that pesky pull in his chest emerging once more.

He closed the door gently and wondered if the right people with the wrong timing got a second chance.

[cosmerelists]

Support Groups that are Needed in the Cosmere

[Spoilers throughout!]

Sure, Kaladin has invented therapy, but where are the highly specific, timeline-blind, Cosmere-spanning support groups that our heroes desperately need? Support groups like...

1. "My Parental Figure Tried to Murder Me and all I Got was this Stupid Trauma."

Vin: You grow up thinking your mom tried to kill you, but it turns out she was just spiking you to be controlled for an evil god. Vin: Not better. Charlie: Oh man, that's horrible! My dad just sent me to an evil sorceress he thought would kill me because I was just that embarrassing to him. Wax: My uncle, who raised me, tried to blow me up with my own butler! And that was just, like, the first murder attempt. Shallan (sweating): I really thought there'd be more "and I killed them back" by now.

2. "Kin-Killers Club Support Group"

Wax: Kin-Killer's...Club? Shallan: I thinks someone thought the alliteration would be jolly before realizing that this group probably shouldn't be. Raboniel: Some would claim that "kin-killing" must be specifically a blood relative, like a daughter, rather than a spouse. Dalinar: ...should I go? Wax: No, no, I think wives definitely count as family! Vin: How do we feel about in-laws? Father-in-law? Brother-in-law? Shallan: Hey, it's all trauma. Kaladin: What if you didn't kill your brother exactly but you feel like it's definitely your fault and the guilt eats you alive? Wax: Yeah, nixing the jolly alliteration was definitely a good idea.

3. "I Did Not Enjoy Being Enslaved"

Kaladin: I think, for me, the worst part was that by the time I had fallen that low, I kinda felt like I deserved it. For not protecting people. Kaladin: I think that's why I kept my slave brands for so long. Rlain: I never thought I deserved it. None of my people did. Crow: Hey, why is this group's name in the past tense? Some of us are STILL enslaved to the big stupid dragon, you know!

4. "Dead Brother Gang"

Kaladin: Uh, Shallan? Is it awkward to have me here? Shallan: Eh, it's okay. Narratively, I got over you killing my brother really quickly! Shallan: Sorry he killed, like, all of your friends. Kaladin: I think that's trauma for a different support group. Shallan: Ha ha yeah! I've been to so many it's hard to keep track. Jasnah: If the two of you are finished, perhaps the rest of us could also talk about our deceased brothers now? Llarimar: Uh, is it okay if our brother died but then later came back to life? His death was still, like, very sad. Marsh: Of course. Even brothers who don't remain dead can be grieved. Marsh: ...Sometimes they manage to annoy you more.

5. "Horses Suck So Much--Why Doesn't Anyone Else See It?"

Kaladin: ... Vin: ... Kaladin: Vin: ... Kaladin: I really thought we'd get more people. Vin: Me too!

6. "Killed Off For Another Character's Development"

Evi: I know my death gave my husband such a powerful backstory but...it would have been nice to be in the main narrative. Vin's mom: Hey, at least you got a name. Parlin: It sucks, but it must be nice that you were grieved, at least! Parlin: People are like, why was Parlin even a character? Kelsier: (sighs) Yeah, our deaths may help the main character grow...but at what cost? Evi (low voice): Are we sure he qualifies?

7. "I Really Thought That Guy Was Cool and then He Almost Murdered Me and I Felt Kind of Stupid"

Vivenna: Turns out you CAN'T trust mercenaries, even if they seem jolly. Shallan: Some men who bring you jam and bread are...bad. Siri: Even nerds can be evil. Hrathen: Sometimes the crazed, violence-prone, deeply unstable underling you think you can control for your own purposes turns out to be crazy, violent, unstable, and murderous. Vivenna: ... Shallan: ... Siri: ... Hrathen: What?

7. "Wronged By Hoid"

Kelsier: Ugh, that jerk. Punched me in the face. Sigzil: Abandoned me in the Bridge Crew. Not to mention that I have to run forever now, thanks to him. Jasnah: "Wronged" is perhaps strong, but I will say that he is not the ideal boyfriend. Riina: That son-of-bitch kicked me off of a perfectly fine planet! Amarem: He was quite rude to me, once. Or many times. Hoid: It's all so true. I get myself into SO much trouble sometimes. Hoid: Is there any greater victim of Hoid...than Hoid himself? Kelsier: YOU CAN'T BE HERE

[natslildove]

gif not mine

Bring you back

natasha romanoff x reader

summary: since vormir, you haven’t been in touch with any avenger, you went missing. no one knew where you were or if you were even still alive. until one day, you hear a knock on the door and a familiar face awakes something inside of you, you thought was long gone. hope.

warnings: swearing, panic attack

authors note: sorry it took me like 2 weeks.. i kind of forgot what the story was supposed to be lol. anyways !!!! hope you enjoy it ! <3

you can find the previous chapter here.

11:07 AM

You’ve been in the compound for less than an hour and you’re at Tony and Bruce’s lab, being overwhelmed with theories of how and why they think they can bring Natasha back.

But the thing is, they only have about 2 days. To be precise, 56 hours. Natasha died at 7:13 PM. That’s why is always so hard to sleep when every night around that time, your mind goes back to Vormir.

“We think that, if we find a way to get to Vormir in time, we might have a chance to stop her”, Tony said.

“Stop her? Won’t that reverse the whole ‘saving the world’ thing?”, you say while looking at the place. It’s a mess. Natasha would’ve hated.

“No, you see, time doesn’t work that way. We can’t go back in time and undo something. It would just create a different timeline, but not change ours. If we go back in time and kill Thanos, everything he’s done will still be done but, the second we kill him, another string of time would be created.”

“Says who?”

“Someone who knows about this stuff, trust me”, Bruce tries to convince you without revealing his source. You look at Tony who just makes a gesture suggesting you to ignore this part.

“So you’re saying that, basically, all we have to do is… Go to Vormir?”

“At the right time, yes”, Stark seems hopeful.

“And why don’t you just get a quinjet or something and go?”

“Because, and that’s the problem, Vormir is about 15.000 light years… We can’t get there.”

You knew it. All of this was just bullshit and suddenly you hated yourself even more for believing there might actually be a way of bringing her back. You try processing what Bruce just said and it’s like the whole universe is laughing at you for being so stupid. How could you. You were fine. Or at least you tried to believe you were. She’s dead. She is dead. Natasha is dead. Your girlfriend is dead. Girlfriend. God, you couldn’t even propose to her, the ring long forgotten somewhere in the locked room. This is all so stupid. You’re so stupid and your girlfriend is dead and you never even get to call her your fiancé or wife or nothing. Nothing. She was nothing now. You’re not even a widow, you’re just nothing. You’re no one and you have no one. You’re alone. It should’ve been you. Not her. She was perfect, she deserved to live. She deserved to win. She should be here.

“Woah, hey! Y/N! Hey, what happened?” Tony is holding your face between his hands and you just now realize you were crying. Bawling. You heart was beating so fast you felt like throwing up.

Fucking panic attacks.

You couldn’t speak, your eyes going back and forth but never really looking at the man in front of you. You shake your head and dries your tears with the back of your hands with a certain strength. You whole face is red and Tony and Bruce are giving you pitiful looks.

God, you hated this. So much.

“I’m fine, it’s fine” you take a deep breath, “Just keep going… How- Is there a way to get there or not?”

“Are you sure you’re okay? We can-“

“I’m fine!”, you cut Bruce, “I’m fine, okay? Just answer me”

“Uhm, there might be a way”

“Stop with this might this might that. Just fucking say it already”

“You know Carol? Captain Marvel, Space chick, blonde and tall?”

“I know of her”

“She got her powers from the Tesseract”, Tony continues, “And now, she can fly trough galaxies like, super fast!“

“So we need her?”

“Not exactly”, this time, Bruce says, “Carol is really, really far away, not even with all her powers she could get there in time. We can’t even reach her”, the scientist looks at you, “We need the Tesseract”

“To create a machine?”

“To hit someone with it”, Tony says while cleaning his throat. You barely even listened.

“What? Are you- Are you serious?”

“It could work”

“It could kill someone! This Carol chick only survived because she was half Kratos or something!”

“Kree, and yeah, maybe, but”, the sortear guy keeps trying to convince you, “It worked! All we need is someone willing to do it. Without risk tests and all the regular procedures we are legally required to do”

Oh. A lab rat. They needed a lab rat dumb enough to sacrifice their life’s for a maybe.

Maybe the person will die. Maybe the whole compound would explode. Maybe it wouldn’t even do nothing.

Maybe they’d get Natasha back.

“I’ll do it”

“Yeah, we know Romeo”, Tony smiles. Bruce walks fast to a closet, opening and grabbing a suit.

“We made from your old measures but…”, Banner looks at you up and down and you feel embarrassed and exposed, “We might need to tighten a little bit”

Ouch, what a way to call you malnourished.

12:33 - 55 hours and 20 minutes until Vormir

Bruce was still measuring you in the lab and it was quiet. You knew he had questions but you were grateful he didn’t asked them.

Yelena enters the place holding a bag os chips and a bottle of water. She doesn’t say anything just gives it to you.

“Eat. And drink it”

“I’m not really hungry”

“I literally did not asked anything”, she opens the bag while still in your hands and grabs some chips, “Natasha will hate to see you like this”, she smiles, “I can picture her complaining about your habits”’ now she laughs, “I mean, when she sees your house she will freak out! You killed all her plants! The place is a mess”

“You’ve only seen the outside”

“Sure”

“What do you mean, ‘sure’?”

“I mean…”, she steals more chips, “Sure”

You get this weird feeling that she’s been visiting you without you realizing it. It says a lot about you.

When Yelena stops rambling about her sister, that’s when you realize you’ve eaten some chips. Basically the whole bag, per se.

“You talk as if you’re sure this will work”, now you’re drinking the water. Yelena is smiling not only because of the conversation.

“Someone has to, right?”

Yeah. Someone has to.

1049 words.

taglist: @fxckmiup @janashstorm @smromanoff @natsxwife @makkaroni221 @marvelogic @thelonewriter247 @lizzeolsenismommy @g-athenaathens ( tumblr just won’t let me tag u idk why i’m sorry :(( )

[maemaemania]

rushing water

little short story about pidge that takes place in the same timeline as my main pidge fic just a bit beforehand. i hc that pidge couldnt swim when they all first went up in space and they figured it wouldnt be any problem,,,, until it was.

CW drowning

---

Pidge hated nature. 

Ok hate was a strong word. They really really didn't like it. Sure they were the paladin of the green lion guardian of the forest and blah blah blah but that doesn't mean they had to like trees or dirt or mud or water. Especially mud and water. Mud was sticky and wet and itchy. It would get inside their armor and they felt like they were losing it whenever it touched their skin. Then the water. If it isn't in the shower, pidge hates getting wet. It makes their clothes heavy and cling to them and weigh them down then all the water in space isn't exactly clean and some of it makes them itchy when it touches their skin. They had sensory issues and mud and water were their biggest enemies because of it. They didn't understand why Keith never had this problem after all he was autistic too why didn't it affect him? It's not like they wanted their teammate to be uncomfortable too but it would make them feel better knowing they were not the only one. So as the team trudged through an uninhabited planet full of thick forests and layers of mud lets just say pidge was not having a good time. At least the air was breathable and they didn't need their helmets.

“This sucks,” they said as they swatted another giant leaf away from their face only for it to swing right back around and knock them over which earned a giggle from the team.

“Aren't you supposed to be in tune with nature and all that jazz?” Lance asked as he helped the younger paladin up off the ground, “I mean this should be your element.”

Pidge fished their glasses out of the mud with a huff and gave them a good shake to get the mud off before putting them back on, “this is not my element. My element is space and science and computers not nature. Nature can suck my di-”

“Pidge!” Shiro interrupted before they could finish, “language.”

Pidge threw their arms up in mock defeat, “I don't even have one of those, how am i not allowed to even say it?” they asked and Lance snorted while Keith rolled his eyes at the two of them. 

“No you can't,” Shiro told her. “Where did you get such a pottymouth?”

Pidge chuckled at that. “Potty mouth?”

“Shiro nobody has said that in like years.”

“Except for old people.”

“Yeah I gotta agree with them on that one shiro.”

“I don't need you to agree with me.”

“Oh shut up lance.”

“You shut up, mullet!”

“Guys!” Pidge yelled to get their attention, “as much as i find entertainment in Lance and Keith’s useless gay pining-”

“That's not-”

“What we're looking for should be just over there.” they pointed past a valley to the other side where a large patch of trees filled to the brim with fruits stood.

“Perfect. Good work pidge.” Shiro ruffled their hair which Pidge pretends to be annoyed by but internally they’re beaming at the praise. Shiro did remind them of Matt afterall so it was the closest they could get to their brother’s praise in space.

“Thanks shiro! Though I still don't think any of this was worth it for some alien fruit.” They said as they rubbed at the collar of their suit where some mud slipped in, “I've got mud in places mud should not be and desperately need a shower.”

“Wow you're actually willingly taking a shower? We’ve prayed for days like this.” hunk said as he made his way down the hill side with the others. Pidge would have thrown something at him if it wouldn't cause him to fall. If he had his helmet on they would have. Instead they followed the rest of their team down and felt better seeing it was dry dirt at the bottom of the valley instead of more mud.

“Weird,” they commented as they bent down to look closer at the ground, “everything else is covered in mud and water but this part is bone dry. Feels kinda hollow too." Pidge stood back up and as if on cue a loud crack went through the ground beneath them and they froze as the others turned to them at the sound.

Lance, who was the closest to them, reached out first. “Walk over to me and go slow,” he said as he held a hand out to them while the others kept a close eye on the ground ready to grab their fellow paladin if need be. 

Pidge took a deep breath then made the first step. There weren't any cracks so that was a good sign. They took two more and the ground still made no move to give away anymore so they figured they could move a little quicker. That was a mistake. They were nearly about to grab Lance's hand when the ground finally gave way beneath their feet and they felt themselves falling and heard someone yelling their name.

Pidge could hear the sound of the water before they hit it, loud and rushing fast. An underground river. Just great. The main reason pidge hated water was because they couldn’t swim. Yes it was embarrassing a paladin of voltron and former garrison cadet couldn't swim but they just never saw the point. They explore space not the ocean in fact they majorly prefer vastness of space over, as they would put it, the horrors of the ocean or any body of water for that matter. The family had tried to teach the youngest Holt to swim plenty of times when they were little but nothing ever stuck. Not to mention little katie would cling to their brother and refuse to let go even in pools. He would always just laugh and tell them that they were safe with him and he wouldn't let them go. They wished he was here now as the water dragged them down and forced its way into their lungs when they could no longer hold their breath anymore. It burned. It burned down their nose and throat and exploded in their chest. Is this what drowning feels like? They thought. God it's awful. It hurts so bad. I can't breathe. Then it all went dark.

•••

It was like it happened in slow motion watching the ground give way beneath pidge’s feet then seeing them disappear below the surface. Lance tried to reach out for them but it was too late. They were gone.

“PIDGE!” he yelled as he peered over the edge and watched their body disappear into the water. “Shit! They can't swim!” He looked up to the others and already saw Hunk taking out the spare rope he brought.

“Lance you're the second lightest-” Shiro started but Lance was already tying the rope around himself and getting his helmet on. 

“I'll get them back.” he said before jumping down the hole after them.

Lance hit the water far more gracefully than Pidge did and turned on his light looking for that familiar hint of green. Finally he saw them floating in the water and swam over. The closer he got the more panic set in when he noticed they weren’t moving besides the small spasms their body gave to show the water was already filling their lungs. He wasted no time in grabbing them and heading towards the surface, making sure they got up first. When he got back above water he tugged on the rope and held onto pidge tight as they both started getting lifted out the water and back up to the hole. They still hung limp in his arms. 

They got back up and Lance handed Pidge off to Keith while Shiro and Hunk helped him out. Keith quickly took pidge to a more stable part of the ground and laid them down.

“They're not breathing,” he said, taking their chest piece of their armor off to start CPR. The rest of the team gathered and watched as Keith did compressions on a body that was way too small to no longer be moving. “Come on, pidge. Come on,” Keith muttered under his breath as he continued to try and revive the kids he's come to know as a little sister. Their face was pale and their lips blue and cold but Keith was not stopping for anything. They heard a loud, mechanical roar in the distance, no doubt the green lion wondering what the problem was with her paladin and that only aided Keith to keep going. If the green lion was still going then Pidge was alive. Finally their eyes shot open and their chest shook as they started to cough up the water that had once invaded their lungs. Keith and Shiro were helping them sit up and Shiro gave their back a firm pat so the rest of the water would come back up too. When it was all finally gone they took a gasping breath and slumped onto Keith's shoulder. Shiro continued to rub their back.

“Easy there Katie,” he spoke softly. “Deep breaths just like that.” 

Pidge tried to do as he said and take deep slow breaths until finally their breathing evened out. Their nose and throat still burned but at least they were alive. Suddenly their body lunged forward and they threw up a mix of water and mud onto the ground. Tears threatened to spill over just from the pain alone but pidge refused to let them fall. They didn't like crying. A hand touched their cheek and gently tilted their head up so the others could see them.

“You with us Pidge?”

Pidge blinked a few times and squinted in an attempt to see who was talking to them. Finally they realized it was Lance and gave a small smile. “I'm ok. My lungs burn and I can't see for shit but I'm ok.” They were slowly helped up off the ground and braced from the side when their legs nearly gave out on them. They tried to shake it off knowing they just needed a few minutes to recuperate.

“We should get them back to the ship and into a cryopod.” Hunk tried to whisper it so Pidge wouldn't hear but they did.

“No. No cryopods. I hate them. Theyre cold and disorienting. I'm not going on one.” as much as Pidge admired Altean technology they hated those pods. How could they be capable of healing the body from injuries yet absolutely suck to be in? Granted Pidge just wasn't a fan of the cold seeing as they were anemic but still. They didn't like things messing with their head and they always came out of the cryopods confused and their brain would feel fuzzy for a bit after. Coran and Allura always assured them that it was just an after effect of them waking up out of a deep sleep but Pidge still didn't like it. Trying to get them into a pod was a fight every time and Hunk had the bite marks on his arms to prove it.

No one said anything in response so Pidge took that as a win (it wasn't) and was sure that meant they wouldn't get put in a pod (they will). They did let Keith give them a piggy back ride back to the castle. Sometimes they did like to enjoy just being a kid.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Uhm hi, my Name is lea and i really liked your jason teague Story.. soo i thought can i request a jason x female reader where she is the loser in highschool, but he seems to be interested in her and Shows her in a sweet cuze way that he isnt using her or messing with her?

Have a great day🥰

Promposal Dilemma

masterlist

paring: jason teague x female reader

rating: PG-13

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none really, language, zero smallville spoilers

timeline: set before the events of season 4

pairing note: jason and reader are seniors (age 18) in highschool

author’s note: i love love love jason and was so excited getting this request omg! thank you lea!! 😚🫂🩵🩵

gif source

Senior Prom would be in two months, and tickets had gone on sale today. You didn’t plan on going, maybe just with a couple friends if you did.

Meanwhile Jason knew exactly who he was planning to ask—you.

He’d been talking to you in history class this past year and he really wanted to go out with you. You liked him, sure, but you didn’t think he saw you that way.

“Y/n,” Jason said quietly, drawing your attention away from the lecturing teacher. “Who’re you going to prom with?”

“Oh, I’m not going,” you told him, matching his tone.

“Like…you don’t have someone to go with? Or you just don’t want to go?”

You shrugged. “Don’t really wanna go. Why?” you asked. “Do you want help asking someone?”

“Uh…no.”

“Really? I thought you’d be one of those guys to go all out when you ask someone; signs, flowers, maybe the marching band backing you up,” you laughed a little.

“Is that something girls like?”

“Depends on the girl, who’re you asking?”

“Y/n, is there something you and Jason would like to share with the class?” the teacher interrupted your quiet conversation.

“No,” you replied.

“Sorry, Mr. Bernard,” Jason added, feeling guilty for you being scolded. “Won’t happen again.”

You both knew Jason was lying, he loved distracting you from taking notes and would definitely continue to do so.

**

It was lunch time and you were eating quietly in the cafeteria when Jason came over and took the empty seat across from you.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, a smirk on his face.

“Cartwheels,” you replied sarcastically before taking another bite of the sandwich you were working on.

“Were you serious in class today?” he asked, ignoring your sarcasm. “Do you think if I asked someone with a sign and flowers and music that she’d, you know…say yes?”

“Depends on the girl, Jason.” You shrugged a little. “Who’re you asking?”

“I don’t want to say,” he said, you narrowed your eyes a little. “I don’t want her to feel pressured into saying ‘yes’ so I’m not telling anyone who I’m asking.”

“That’s surprisingly really sweet.” You smiled a little.

“So, do you think I should make a big deal about asking? Or just be super casual about it?”

“I think most of the girls here like the big promposals. You know; big sign standing outside her window with a boombox, or in front of her friends with a bouquet of flowers, stuff like that. But, again, it really depends on the girl; some girls might say ‘no’ because you asked them publicly.”

“Uh, huh.” Jason nodded a little, biting the inside of his cheek. “Thanks, Y/n.”

He started eating the food on his tray, and you furrowed your brows a little.

“Do you need today’s notes or something?” you asked, a slight laugh in your voice.

“From History class?” he asked, his cheeks full. You nodded. “No, why?”

“Jason, you never eat lunch with me,” you scoffed a little. “The last time you sat with me at lunch was the week leading up to our mid-term and you wanted help studying.”

“I just felt like hanging out with you,” he shrugged a little, “but…do you want me to go?” he asked hesitantly.

“No, I was just a little confused is all.” You took another bite, Jason furrowing his brows but continuing to eat.

There was a couple minutes of semi-awkward silence until you broke it.

“Your football buddies are coming over,” you mumbled. “I’m gonna head to class early, I’ll see you later Jason.” You stood up and took your tray with you to the trash; dumping the remains of your sandwich and leaving the tray on top of the can.

Jason watched as you left the cafeteria, not really listening to what his teammates were saying as they crowded around the table and took their seats.

**

For the next week-or-so Jason kept asking you for advice about the promposal he was planning. You kept telling him it depends on the girl he’s asking and he should be talking to her. (You really could be completely oblivious at times.)

You were walking out to your car when you noticed the crowd of people surrounding the front of the school.

“Y/n!” Jason said over a megaphone.

“Oh fuck no,” you groaned. You walked closer and saw what everyone was looking at. Jason was standing in the center with a few football players; each holding a sign with a word that together made up ‘Y/n will you go to prom with me?’ in all caps. You smiled at the sight, Jason’s smile growing when he saw you.

“So, do you wanna go to prom with me?” he asked, no longer speaking into the device in his hand.

You looked around at the people now staring at you. The smile on your face slowly faded as what was happening really sank in. You walked over to Jason.

“Jason, you’re really sweet,” you started, his smile fading, “but this? This is not something that would make me want to go out with you? And the fact you did all this even after all I said about knowing the girl you’re asking just proves you don’t actually know me! I’m sorry, but no. Ask someone you actually know and not someone you pity and you think would be an easy lay.”

You didn’t wait for his response, you just walked away.

“Damn it,” he mumbled.

Thank god there would be two whole days before you’d have to face Jason and the embarrassment of what just happened.

**

“Y/n, wake up!” your mom called from your bedroom door.

“It’s Saturday!” you grumbled.

“There’s a boy at the door and I think you should maybe go talk to him before your dad scares him off.”

That sure woke you up. You hurried out of bed and got dressed in the first presentable outfit you could find. You checked the mirror, thankful that your hair didn’t look too bad and went downstairs.

“Hey, Jason.” You smiled a little when you saw him. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers and was clearly scared of your dad.

“You know this guy?” your dad asked, you nodded.

“Yeah, he’s in my class at school,” you replied.

“Mh, hm.” He narrowed his gaze at Jason before leaving and letting you talk.

“What uh, what are you doing here?” you asked him.

“For the record, I originally planned to ask you when it was just the two of us. I was gonna bring you flowers,” he held them up, “and just ask if you wanted to go to prom with me. But, after talking to you this past week I got really scared about it and thought maybe you were hinting you wanted a big ‘promposal’ as you called it.”

“Jason-”

“I have like a whole speech planned so before you reject me, at least let me finish,” he stopped you from interrupting him. “I don’t pity you. This isn’t an act of pity. And I did not for one fucking second think you were a quote easy lay unquote. I think you’re really cool and fun to talk to and be around and yeah, you being gorgeous is definitely a plus but that’s not the main reason I like you.” That made you giggle a little. “If you don’t want to go to prom, I get it. But, could I please take you out to dinner?”

“Jason, I would love to go out with you.” You smiled.

“Really?” His face lit up.

“Yeah, really. I really like you and talking to you is like the highlight of my life. You being adorable is definitely a plus but you’re also ridiculously sweet so, yes I’d like to go out with you.”

“You think I’m adorable?” he asked, his smile growing and his tounge barely peeking out between his teeth.

“Shut up!” You rolled your eyes, still smiling widely.

There was a comfortable silence for a moment as you looked at each other.

“Oh, these are for you, obviously” he handed you the bouquet he was holding. “I remember you saying you really liked these kinds of flowers so…”

“My god these are beautiful!” you said when you took them from him. “Thank you, Jason.”

“You are very welcome.” He beamed. “So when can I take you out?’

“I’m free tonight?”

“Perfect!” He bent down and kissed your cheek. “I will be back here to pick you up at…five?” You nodded, indicating that time worked for you. “Great! I’ll see you tonight then!” He turned to leave.

“Jason,” you called and he turned back to look at you, “don’t overthink it, nothing fancy, okay? I’m happy just spending time with you.”

“You just made my job that much easier sweetheart.” He smiled back.