#screw you I can change the crack tag

[ollimus-prime]

If it is alright, may I request a TFP (Ratchet, Optimus, or Megatron) x Royalty Cybertronian reader? Like Reader is some prince/princess.

The reader's pod recently crashed onto earth, and Characters team finds them?

(Sorry if it's confusing)

From the Sky

A/N, not important: Sorry, I changed it a bit. I wasn't entirely sure how to work this out as I think the only 'royalty' within transformers were kind of the Primes? Unless I'm completely wrong. Also extra apologies for it being a bit jagged. I'm still getting used to writing again. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Megatron imprisons you, you're a politician

Words: 995

Summary: Ratchet's, Optimus Prime's, and Megatron's reaction to a senator from before the war landing on Earth

You were a high ranking official on the High Council, part of the board that named Orion Pax the next Prime. You were there when the war started, when the Decepticons were going after everyone on the High Council and terminating them.

To save your life from the countless assassinations going on around you, you were put into a stasis pod and loaded onto a ship to be sent as far away as possible.

The ship had been blown during the war, causing your stasis pod to slip through the cracks and careen through space, eventually causing you to land on Earth.

Ratchet

He’s furious when it’s discovered who you are. Yes, gaining an ally would normally be a chance for celebration, but Ratchet is bitter about how you came to be on the Earth.

He feels you’re just a coward because you ran away from the fight brewing on Cybertron. He thinks you should have stood with Optimus Prime during the beginning of the war, even in the face of all the assassinations going on. 

Knowing you not only ran away, but actually managed to survive this long without ever engaging or helping in the fight infuriates him. He can’t imagine that you, one of the supposed ‘good’ senators, ran away and left your people to fend for themselves without ever lifting a finger to help.

He’s very sarcastic and short with you, constantly egging you on about how you ‘need protecting’ since you’re ‘such a high class bot’. He has very little respect for you and how you acted at the first signs of war. 

If you ever need help with something or make an effort to assist someone else, he makes a huge deal out of it. He’ll sarcastically ask if you need help with the most menial task, giving you as hard a time as he can without Optimus intervening.

Only starts to warm up to you when you prove yourself in a fight. 

You had saved Bumblebee on a mission, ending with you getting injured instead. When you had returned for repairs, Ratchet had been surprisingly upset, and not just about the use of resources to fix you. He fusses over you like he would any of his other teammates, scolding you for not being more careful.

It takes a while, but you’ll eventually start to grow on him if you work on proving him you can be a strong member of the team.

Optimus Prime

Upon seeing you, he immediately recognized who you were. He’s apprehensive at first, but welcomes you into the team and fills you in, making sure you’re aware of the war still going on. 

He knows you fled once before at the sight of violence, and hopes to keep you with them for the fight this time around. 

He doesn’t fully trust you at first, but tries his best to be fair in his judgement as long as you don’t show any signs of going against the team.

He’ll try his best to curve the other’s feelings towards you, not wanting the team to shut you out. However, he knows that his interference only breeds deeper resentment over time, and is insistent you make your own connections with the team.

 He wants you to feel like they have your back, and makes sure you know you need to have theirs as well.

He helps you however he can as you adapt to your new life within the war and on Earth, letting you tag along with him so you can get more used to the planet without dealing with the others.

He starts to enjoy your company after a while, with his ease around you rubbing off on the others. He enjoys seeing you meld into the team and work with the others.

Despite his growing fondness, he makes sure to remain impassive and fair when around you. He doesn’t want anyone to think he favors you, or have you feel you’re being left out either. He’ll deny any feelings he has growing for as long as possible, wanting to stay impartial to any argument or problem that may come up involving you. He doesn’t always succeed.

Megatron

Megatron’s delighted when you’re brought back to him, forced to kneel at his feet on the bridge of his own ship. He can tell who you are from your fancy plating and shiny coat, immediately clocking you as one of the only senators to escape him.

He thinks it’s a cruel twist of fate that you, a former council head, is now under his imprisonment. He laments all his past grievances to you, blaming you for all that went wrong early in his life.

Megatron likes to recount the events of the war to you, mocking you for running and abandoning your people to face their deaths. He wants you to feel as stuck as he did in the pits of Kaon.

He grows to enjoy your company in a very messed up way. He’ll taunt you and threaten your life as you sit in whatever cell he stuck you in, pacing around you and forcing you to listen to every problem he had back before the war. 

He doesn’t care if you were one of the ones vying against Zeta’s system. All he sees is a corrupt politician that denied him his view of freedom and gave it to Optimus instead.

He delights in reminding you that he’s in charge now, bragging about how close he is to winning the war and instatting everything he wanted  back when he first talked to the high council

He mocks you with your current helplessness, unable to stop reminding you of the power and privilege you used to hold.

He doesn’t let anyone else visit you of course. Oure his to torment, to mock, to taunt. He likes the captive audience you’re now forced to be, made to listen to him now after dismissing him all those years ago.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Good Boy, Mr. Officer

"What's...whaaat's happening?" the cop's previously measured words slurred as my hypnosis took effect. He had just been telling me off for tagging a government building, but I wasn't upset when he caught me with the spray paint. I was excited! "Good boy, Mr. Officer," I purr, changing the thoughts in his head, "We're becoming best friends..."

"...best...friends..." the cop repeats vacantly.

"Holy crap, dude! No way you hypnotized a cop!" one of my buddies yells as I walked down the alley.

I drag my policeman behind me like he's a little kid. "Told you I was a master hypnotist. This pig will do anything we tell him now!"

Each of my friends get closer to see the stunned officer. His eyes are kind of glazed, but otherwise he seems completely coherent and willing to be here. He's simply looking at each one of my friends with indifference, like he's cool with them if I am.

"Make him do something," one of them said, poking the stomach of my hypnotized subject.

"Do it yourself," I retort, and then turn to the cop "Mr. Officer you'll obey all these guys."

"Yes, sir," he gives me a comprehending nod.

They all gasp and excitedly chatter about what they want to make him do first. Meanwhile the policeman stands placidly in front of them, completely blank faced while they decide his fate.

"Oink!"

The cop of course begins oinking like a pig in the most lifeless of voices. Nevertheless, my friends find it absolutely hilarious. They're so entertained by the cop making a pig sound every few seconds, that it takea them awhile to stop cracking up about it.

"Let's make him rob someone for us!" my friend suddenly blurts out.

"Sounds cool," I say, playing with the pudgy rear of the cop out of my friends' view, "But first, he needs to lick my shoes clean. Go on!"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn! That idiot really will do anything we want!" they gasp as the cop dropped to his hands and knees.

He pulls off my shoes and starts meticulously cleaning them with his tongue like it's a completely normal thing to do. My friends all cringe, but I'll admit that I kind of like seeing the officer act stupid in front of us. I'm already getting more ideas for how I can make the man degrade himself in private.

"Alright, Mr. Officer," one of my buddies laughs, kicking the cop in the rear to get his attention, "Grab your gun and go steal someone's wallet. Make sure no one sees you!"

"Yes, sir," the cop pulls his tongue off my sneakers and climbs up. He calmly unholster his weapon. I watch him march out of the alleyway, intent on robbing some poor guy of his cash. All I can do was hope my hypnotized officer won't screw this up. I want to have some fun with him tonight after my friends have get bored with him.

Money is great, but entertainment is better...

[hispg]

Between royalty and vows

Pairings: Prince! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: A forced marriage, a fate set in stone, nothing could change that.

In the world of royalty, there were no choices, only obligations to fulfill. What you didn't expect was to become engaged to a renowned prince, ready to succeed the lineage.

Until that moment, you still had some hope that everything would work out, maybe it wasn't so bad. But it would be a shame if your future husband had a mistress.

Wouldn't it?

Wc:3.4k

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt/ comfort, cheating, arranged marriage, eventual smut, one-sided love, affairs, manipulative behavior from Leon, (I'll put more once things start to progress).

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

An: Sooo there is the new chapter! I was so anxious to write it and post it! In all honesty, this is the chapter that I most liked to write(so far).

I've been receiving some dms about creating a taglist, so I'll do it from the next chapter and on. If you're interested in entering the tag list, you can dm me or comment on any chapters of this fic, and I'll add you. For the ones who already talked to me, I'll put you on the list already, so you don't need to message me again!<3

Also, I'll start to crosspost this fic here and on Ao3, for the ones who prefer to read in there. Here's the link Ao3. Eventually, I'll post all chapters!

Chapter 5: Pretty lies

The heavy rain outside was no bother to the couple in bed, just as the cold was no problem that couldn't be solved with the intimacy that had just been shared under the covers.

There he was, lying with his lover, Ashley. Warming another woman's bed, offering her the warmth that his body emanated, the love that made her heart beat faster every time.

Both were nude, without the slightest concern for anything, all that mattered was what had just happened in that room. The closeness they shared, the oaths of love spoken between each kiss, between each embrace.

They had just made love, done something that was yet another symbol of the compromising union they contained.

Leon hadn't gone back to the castle as soon as he arrived back from his trip, he had gone to his beloved's house, a hidden place that only they knew where it was, only the lovebirds met there.

It was their love nest.

The same place where Ashley gave herself to him for the first time, the same sacred place where they made love whenever they could. The place where they loved each other deeply, where they didn't have to hide anything.

Ashley lay with her head on Leon's bare chest, while he had one arm wrapped around her and the other stroking her blonde hair.

The only sound in the room was the wood cracking in the fireplace and the soft breathing of both of them in that bed.

The clothes were thrown about, the silk covers hiding their shame, but if Leon was being honest, he couldn't think of a better place to be.

Because he felt at home every time he was with Ashley, even if he knew it was wrong.

And he was screwed if anyone found out.

"Are you staying?" Ashley asks in a whisper, taking the opportunity to place a soft kiss on his chest.

Leon gives her a blown smile, looking at her tenderly, "I'd love to. But you know I can't."

It was already too bold of him to come to this place to spend time with her, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't go along with her every whim.

Especially as the wedding was approaching, and he was dead if he didn't show up.

She sighed helplessly, knowing full well that this would be the answer from the start. But in all honesty, what did she expect? Despite her misfortunes, she was the mistress.

"I promise I'll try to see you more, mh? My wife won't be the problem, don't worry." Leon reassured her, kissed her on the forehead and got up, soon he would be getting ready to leave.

Although he wanted to be with her for even five more minutes, he would give all the money in the world to make it happen.

"Does she know about us?" Ashley asked, picking up the blanket and covering her bare midriff.

That was enough for Leon to clench his eyes shut, buttoning his pants as he stared at her.

"She can't even conceive of it. You know our deal." It was a good deal for both sides, not least because Leon didn't even want to imagine what Ashley's father would do to him once he found out what he and his daughter were doing behind closed doors.

Ashley then sighed, the blonde strands falling across her forehead as she thought for a moment.

"Do you think you can still see me after you're married?" She asks softly, almost embarrassed by her own question.

"I'll always find a way, don't worry." He says, the sincere smile that became the perfect proof that he was saying this from the bottom of his soul.

It was always a painful farewell, but Leon knew it was necessary for him to do it. Once he'd put all his clothes back on, he turned to Ashley, taking her in his arms and planting a gentle, passionate kiss on her lips. He also made a point of pressing his body against hers to leave his cologne on her.

It wasn't enough to have his smell on the silk sheets, he needed to leave his mark on her too.

Goodbyes aside, he knew he had to leave, the sun was rising, and if he wanted to get back to the castle before it was too late, he had to leave now.

As he took the steps to leave the small chalet in the Italian countryside, where no one suspected them, he took one last look at his beloved, giving her a broad smile as he said goodbye.

Watching Ashley go all wobbly as he walked out the front door. She sighed as her lover left, waving to him and looking dreamily out of the window.

Leon walked up to the discreet carriage that was waiting for him in front of the cottage, besides the coachman, there was Leon's faithful butler, Ausdret.

And also his worst accomplice, the butler who always covered up everything Leon did, no matter how stupid it might seem or be.

"Your Highness." Ausdret greeted, leading Leon to the carriage.

"It's good that you're here." Leon replies back, tucking himself into the small carriage.

His butler nods and sits down on the opposite seat, facing Leon. Even though Ausdret knew that no one could put a halter on Leon, he was still trying to talk some sense into his young, dim-witted head.

"Your Highness do you not think it is inappropriate to maintain this relationship?" Ausdret asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Leon scoffed, narrowing his gaze at the poor butler, acting as if he had said the worst blasphemy that could be heard.

"Come on, you're a braggart too. Don't act like you're a kind gentleman with exemplary decorum." Leon retorts, crossing his legs as he fixes the buttons on his shirt once more.

Ausdret couldn't help but sigh, trying his best to make Leon understand how problematic it would be to keep all this up.

"Prince, you have a fiancée now. This relationship is no longer suitable." The butler said once again, pausing and emphasizing his lines, it wasn't possible that this was so difficult to understand.

"Well, it'll last as long as I want it to. You know better than that." Leon says, an unparalleled coldness in his voice, it was obvious, this subject was not up for discussion for him.

Ausdret always thought that this was just a youthful romance of Leon's, in fact he never thought that it would thrive for so long, for years. Leon was a man who could have any woman he wanted, not only because of the power he possessed, but also because of his beauty.

However, what the butler couldn't have guessed was that Leon would fall in love with Lady Ashley, a princess from another place. A likely romance, but love doesn't work properly in royalty.

"But Your Highness-" Leon interrupts Ausdret before he can continue.

"I am the prince, and you collaborate with me." Leon begins, his voice becoming an authoritative, voracious whisper.

"As I'm your highness, you must agree that you didn't see anything unusual. That I was on a business trip these last few days." Leon says, his gaze narrowing once more on the servant.

What could Ausdret say? He had always supported this boy, and even with a lump forming in his throat, he wasn't going to do any different again.

The butler knew that this situation wasn't fair to you, nor to Ashley, it would only end up with broken hearts and a quarrel that couldn't be undone.

Perhaps Leon was too young to understand this, but at some point fate would catch up with him.

"So? Did you see anything?" Leon asked, almost daring him to give an answer that was the opposite of what he wanted to hear.

"No, Your Highness. I didn't see anything suspicious." Ausdret replied under his breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head in denial.

"Good." Leon grumbles back.

The journey wouldn't take long, but Ausdret already knew that the rest of the way would be filled with the ache of an inconvenient silence.

You knew you'd end up getting into trouble with your recent actions, but that still didn't stop you from going ahead with them. At that moment you were in the grassy fields on the outskirts of the castle.

It was easy to get here, you just needed the help of Chris and your maid, Evelyn. Nothing more than a silly little lie to disguise your departure.

The view was beautiful, you felt almost at home in a place like this. You were sitting on the horse while Chris guided the animal, walking through the grass carefully while also keeping an eye on you.

You couldn't tell if you were approaching Chris out of hurt ego, or because he was someone incredibly interesting and good to have around.

Perhaps you had combined the useful with the pleasant, because in all honesty, you couldn't deny that you were enjoying all this time with Chris, even feeling more at peace with yourself.

"Well, at least you escaped the tea party." Chris jokes, looking at you with a smile.

You nod, smiling back at him.

"God, I can't imagine what it would be like to spend another afternoon with Mrs. Hisltons!" You grumble, frowning as you remember all the tedious conversations the lady has put you through.

Chris couldn't help himself and laughed out loud, looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes.

"Oh, tell me about it. As soon as I got here, she gave me a good lecture on why I should get married." Chris says with a playful tone, walking slowly with you through the pastures.

You smiled a little, petting the horse as a question popped into your mind.

"But, forgive me for being impolite, but why haven't you gotten married yet?" You asked calmly, giving him the opportunity not to answer if he didn't want to.

"Nothing in particular, I just haven't found any suitors that catch my eye." He says, without much ado, getting straight to the point.

You'd think someone as cultured as him would want a woman who knew a bit more than just dresses and jewelry. Completely fair and understandable.

But you still can't help thinking that Chris was alone by choice, it wouldn't be the first time a man had preferred being alone to being married.

"I understand, but is it something you're thinking of doing? I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive." You say with a peaceful smile, trying to get to know the man you've grown so close to over the last few days.

Chris then paused and pondered, thinking of an answer that would measure up. But he couldn't think of anything more sincere than:

"Yes, I intend to." Just like that, or any other explanation.

But you saw his eyes light up a little when he looked at you for a brief moment, making you quietly gasp.

You then returned your gaze to your surroundings, the countryside that was such a contrast to the life you had. Which was far from peaceful.

Although you knew it shouldn't take you so long to get back to the castle, as they would probably notice you were gone, you could stubbornly stay here with him.

With Chris, the man who had been giving you so much comfort recently.

Chris then looked at you with a charming gaze, helping you off the horse. His hands found your waist, steadying you as you got off the animal.

Feeling his heavy, manly hands on your body made you feel something different, but you preferred not to mention it. Not least because you were being completely inappropriate for a dame.

You allowed yourself to feel the ground beneath your heels, removing the footwear from your body, feeling the grass between your toes.

The thought of returning to your new home was already distant, you could even swear that you forgot about Leon for just a moment. You forgot about the fact that he was coming back today.

And that he would be back around noon. And it was almost two in the afternoon, he was probably already at the castle by then.

But well, what would be the point of sneaking out of the castle with the Duke if not for a bit of confusion.

"You know, this is turning out to be one of the nicest afternoons I've had." Chris says, smiling and following you as you walk across the lawn.

"Oh, yes. It's nice to get out of that place for a bit." You say, looking at the sun, which is already descending.

Chris followed you, keeping an eye on every step. And you even saw out of the corner of your eye that he tried to take your hand, but hesitated to make such an intimate gesture.

You even heard the trumpets sounding in the distance, announcing the prince's arrival, but nothing that made you move from where you were.

And well, from the way Chris stood next to you as you watched the landscape of the field, he wouldn't leave until you asked him to.

At one point, you thought it would be better to leave, perhaps so as not to cause Chris any trouble. But the moment Chris's fingers touched your cheek, and he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, something in you sparked.

It was impossible to hide the red tinge that appeared on your cheeks, as well as the way you just ignored everything else. Everything seemed right.

You were surrendered, and you didn't want to leave this man's side. What on earth were you doing?

Why did you feel so torn? It couldn't end well.

"Where is she?" It was the first question Leon asked as soon as he set foot in the castle, finding it strange that his fiancée wasn't here to greet him.

"The princess isn't feeling well, Your Highness." Evelyn, the maid who helped you escape, answered.

Leon wrinkled his eyebrows, glancing at the door of your chambers, he hadn't quite believed that excuse.

"Tell her I'll come and see her. She doesn't have to leave her room." Leon says, looking at the way the maid was beginning to shudder.

"She's really not well, Your Highness-" Leon didn't care how much the maid protested, he went ahead and went to your bedroom.

He opened the door without any manners, looking around as he searched for any sign of you. But he was disappointed when he found your bed empty, the room perfectly tidy and untouched. You hadn't been in that room for a while.

Your lie was already falling apart, as they say lies don't go far.

"Where is she?" Leon asked once again, this time more coldly and authoritatively, demanding an answer.

"I don't know! She was here this morning." The maid manages to stutter, unable to face Leon.

Leon clenched his fists, frustration and irritation taking over his feelings. You were getting out of hand, it wasn't enough that you'd been so bold with Chris, now this?

Even though he was away, he knew everything that was going on in that castle, and he couldn't let it continue the way it was.

Who did you think you were?

"Have her searched all over the castle." Leon demanded, leaving your room to look for you.

As soon as Leon saw that the maid hadn't moved a muscle, he added:

"Immediately." His voice was a low grunt, capable of sending a chill down anyone's spine.

The maid moved quickly, warning the other servants about the princess's 'disappearance', and they all stood by to look for you.

Nothing. They looked for you in every corner of that castle, every room, every space you could be in. And they found nothing, not a single sign of you.

Leon was fulminating, realizing that you and the Duke weren't in that castle. And you probably weren't close.

"We haven't found her, Your Highness. The princess isn't in the castle." One of the servants dares to speak, trembling at having to address the prince.

"What do you mean she's not in the castle?" Leon muttered, looking out the windows while trying to find you somehow.

And Leon had to stop himself from gritting his teeth as he watched the scene with his own eyes. You came in through the back door, a delicate hood over your head to disguise your identity.

You were sitting on Chris's horse, smiling happily as the man led the horse inside. You seemed so close, so intimate.

Something about it made Leon go crazy, he can't say, but some strange feeling rose in his chest and made a knot form in the pit of his stomach.

What were you thinking? You were a lady, Jesus! You should behave like one.

"You are dismissed, return to your duties." Leon says to the other servants, leaving no room for questions.

Drastic situations call for drastic measures, only then will you be able to understand your place. And how you should act as a future queen.

Leon waited, right in the center of the main hall, he decided he would act as if he hadn't seen anything. He felt his breathing quicken, heard the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

He didn't know if it was anger, disappointment or something else.

You didn't realize he was there until you saw the pair of blue eyes looking you up and down, for some reason sending a shiver up your spine.

"I was worried about you." He was the first to speak, approaching you without a second thought.

"Excuse me, Your Highness. I needed some fresh air." You say, your voice smooth as silk, sweet as honey.

You needed to act as if nothing much had really happened, as if you hadn't gone off with the Duke alone, without letting anyone know.

Even more so, going out alone with a man.

Leon narrows his eyes, placing a hand on your waist, pulling you close. His touch made you gasp, your eyes widen and your breathing hitch, at the same moment you felt your breath mingle with his.

For a moment, you looked at each other, his penetrating gaze causing an incomparable flush to rise to your cheeks. His hands on your body, one holding your cheek, steadying you to do what he wanted to do.

What was he going to do? Oh, you realized it in the next second, when you saw his face coming closer to yours. His nose touching yours, and then, that's when…

He kissed you.

His lips against yours, his hand holding you firmly and preventing you from moving. It was unconscious, instinctive, you moved your lips in sync with his. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you sealed this moment with the warm intimacy of a kiss.

It wasn't sincere, it was carnal.

The world around you seemed to stop, you were focused on the warm feeling that took over your body, the way the heat of the moment enveloped you. Your body molded itself to his so well, it was so perfect.

As if it was meant to be.

It was painful to separate your lips from his, your mind in a whirlwind of emotions. Was it real? Had he reconsidered? Maybe he was going to give you both a chance?

You were a very dreamy girl perhaps, those endless dreams that you wished from the bottom of your soul were real, that you clamored for to come true at some point.

But oh, that little act, it was far from a dream.

When you regained your senses, you looked around and saw a group of high-class ladies staring at the two of you. The dreamy looks and sighs they gave when they saw the couple, the passionate couple.

In the corner, you saw the king and queen, smiling approvingly at the two of you. They were proud.

A show off.

Reality weighed heavily on your mind when you understood. It was nothing, it was a show off, an exhibition. The momentary magic wore off and gave way to the bitterness that once again fell upon you.

Whose fault was it? Yours, for having once again believed in the foolishness that was Leon's chance of seeing you beyond being a prize. Or Leon, for toying with you in such a way?

In any case, what a shame. The taste of his lips was imprinted on yours, the sensation of his lips against yours was still so vivid. So real. You felt loved in a few seconds, putting yourself in your place soon after.

With one simple action, Leon reminded you of who you belong to, legally, and also reminded you of your place. Of your obligations to him, he came out the winner once again.

Damned bastard.

[1-800-cheolie]

BECAUSE I HAD YOU ; BAKUGOU. K

tags: oneshsot, angst, no happy ending, not entirely proofread, gender-neutral, was feeling really angsty today, marriage, ex-lovers.

word count: 499 words

you're getting married.

you're getting married and it's not him. katsuki can't help the bitterness aching in his chest, his eyes watching your every movement. from the moment he saw the invitation in eijirou’s hand, he knew he should’ve fought harder—for you—for him—for the both of you.

there’s nothing worse about this than knowing he lost his chance with the love of his life.

katsuki blew it. he knows he did the second you walked out on him. like the prick he knew he was, he thought you’d come back home, apologize and pick up the pieces again.

lather. rinse. repeat.

only then, he realized you were done with him when jirou showed up at his door with a bag for your items. every day eats him alive, over and over and over again—fully aware of the consequences he brought upon himself that night.

if he could go back and change his mistake, katsuki would take anything over the sight of you walking down the aisle with another person. regret gnaws at his chest, nibble by nibble.

“hey,” he chokes out, “can we talk?” the ring on your finger shimmers underneath the sun, you’re just as beautiful as the day you left him. reluctantly, your partner lets you go as you reassure them you’ll be okay, walking off with katsuki to a quieter corner.

the lump in the back of his throat clogs his airway, chest pounding immensely with the most dizzying sensation known to mankind. he can’t make out the words he wishes, eyes shifting towards the ground.

katsuki whispers your name like a prayer, “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry” his voice cracks, streaks of blonde hair falling out of place.

“i hated you for a long time, a really long time until i felt what peace was like with them” you confess. katsuki grimaces, hating on how your ring is a reminder of his past failure to love you the way you deserved.

you retract your hand as the warmth fades away. he’s already missing you. your smile. your laugh. everything about you is so hypnotizing and katsuki knows--he knows that he'll hate himself for a life time because he hurt you. “but i forgave you long ago, katsuki. they make me really happy and i hope you can find happiness too”

it’s as if a screw tightened his adam’s apple, the words fall out like a loose bolt, “i love you. i love you and I know nothing can change the fact that you’re married—i, i just wanted you to know that i’m glad you’re in good hands”

fuck. katsuki can’t stop shaking. he feels hot; hands sweating profusely, tugging on the collar of his suit, watching the way you twirl around to face him one last time.

“thank you, katsuki.” you smile for what feels like eternity and his heart flatlines; because he had you, katsuki knows he won't be able to love another like you.

[typicalopposite]

WIP Wednesday

thank you thank you @bidisasterevankinard for the tag! 🫶🫶🫶

take me back - Tommy amnesia fic - from ch 3

Evan: Hey! Hope you have a great first day back! Be safe! 🙂

Tommy’s heart skips a beat… he said– he said their thing… Be safe / Of course. Like Bobby and Athena’s Home Safe, or Howie and Maddie’s Miss you already / Miss you most or Han and Leias I love you / I know. It floods his brain with memories of what feels like just last week; him telling Evan the same thing when he called to let Tommy know they were going on a pretty serious call. It stabs him in the chest, and tears sting at his eyes that he quickly blinks away because, no… Evan is allowing him a friendship when he doesn’t deserve one. He will not screw it up this early in because he has a giant sack of unresolved emotional baggage that he filled himself. He replies: I will be he hits send, reels at the sting of making it different, then he sends and thank you :) to balance it out.

The messages are instantly read, and Tommy waits for a moment to see if he’ll say anything else. He doesn’t, so Tommy grabs his keys and heads out the door to his truck. The engine roars to life and he turns his music up loud enough to make his ears hurt— from the volume and the fact every song reminds him of Evan— as he drives the miles to Harbor Station. 

He is actually pretty surprised at the effort his team put into their welcome back, complete with a banner and cake. (If Tommy is being honest he is just about cake’d out from his birthday… but he appreciates the gesture… Especially if— unless they changed a lot in the span of last year to now— this isn’t usual for the 217. This is more of the 118’s style of celebration. He’ll take it.) “Thanks everybody,” he says humbly. 

“Good to have you back,” his captain says, shakes his hand then excuses himself to his office. 

He is approached one by one by his other coworkers ending with Lucy. She grins widely at him, and throws her arms around his neck; a gesture he was used to from her… but things are supposedly different between them now, so it’s an unexpected surprise.  

“How’re you feeling?” she asks. Her– usually sharp, ready to give as much sass and shit as she receives among a crew of mostly men– eyes are soft and sincere. 

“Better… I– I guess,” Tommy replies. “Doc said as long as I don’t crack it open again, staples can come out next week.”

“You still don’t know how that happened?” 

Tommy pulls his lips down into a frown and shakes his head. “That garage is a mess… Evan is always– or… was always–” he stops and sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck, wondering if one day talking about Evan will stop hurting. He doubts it’ll be anytime soon. “He always said I needed to organize my stuff better– guess I should have listened.” 

She gives him a sympathetic smile, hooking an arm around his arm and leading him through the hangar. “Well at least you have plenty of paperwork to keep your mind off of… everything, until you’re cleared to get back in the sky!” 

“Oh, great…” He groans at the piles of unorganized files left for him to keep busy while he is on temporary light duty, and drops into his chair to get started. 

Or rather try to get started… except everything reminds him of Evan– of the accident– of what he lost— of how miserable he is. 

Calls where their stations worked together. Calls with people named Evan, or Tommy, or even worse Dylan. Calls involving head injuries, and memory loss, and extreme depression, and anxiety– a call involving a person giving a statement so filled with regret and despair Tommy has to stop what he’s doing and walk outside for some air. 

“You okay?” Lucy asks, sticking her head out of the helicopter she is running a safety check on. 

“Fine…” Tommy lies, still unable to suck in a deep enough breath that it will stop feeling like he’s being suffocated. 

Lucy sighs and turns the helicopter off. She hops down and walks over to him, face determined. “Seriously, Kinard… I’m not saying you have to be an open book; hell you never were, even before— But don’t start shutting everyone out again. We’re a team and if you’re going through it and your mind is not clear it’s not safe– you could get hurt… again. So we’re not going back there, okay?” Tommy slowly lifts his eyes to hers and nods. 

Lucy calls out for Melvin to finish the inspection and she tips her head towards the side of the hangar. They walk down alongside the metal wall towards the water’s edge. She picks up a rock and flicks it out onto the water; it skips three times before dipping under the surface. She glances over at Tommy, giving him the floor to start the conversation. Tommy doesn’t speak and instead repeats her action– picks up a rock and skips it across the lake. Seven skips before it disappears and Lucy scoffs, calling him a show off. 

“I don’t know why I broke up with him…” is Tommy’s reply. 

Lucy stares at him for a second, like she’s trying to formulate a response. “I– I mean… I’m sure once the amnesia–”

“It’s not because of the amnesia, Luce…” Tommy interjects. “I–” He exhales, long and deep. “I don’t know why I broke up with him because I don’t want to break up with him.” She furrows her brows and he continues before she can speak. “Lucy I woke up thinking it was our anniversary. Just a few days before I dumped him, for– for the stupidest reason!”

“Wait, you know the reason?”

“Ye– Yeah. Evan told me.”

“You spoke to Evan?!”

Tommy sighs. “That’s not the point. The point is that I don’t— or— or I didn’t… I still don’t want to not be with him. I– I was ready Lucy. Ready for the next step– granted the next step was telling him I loved him… whereas his was moving me into his loft–”

“Wait…” Lucy pushes forward from where she had been leaning against a tree and starts to pace. “He asked you to move in– into the loft?”

“He did.”

“But you have a house…”

“Yes but– dammit Lucy this is still not the point! I love him! I- I would have said yes. I s- should have said yes! I don’t–” His voice breaks, he covers his face. Then Lucy’s arms are around him, tugging him down to her level, allowing him to hide his face in her shoulder instead. 

No Pressure 🏷️ (even though I know it’s late 🫣) : @30somethingautisticteacher @sunnywithachanceofbi @nine-one-wanton @herrmannhalsteadproduction @judymarch15

@onthewaytosomewhere @lavenderleahy @bangpop91 @hyperfocusthusly @weewookinard

@beanarie @leashybebes @somethingaboutfirefly @silversky9 @bucksxkinard

@sweaters-and-silly @quintessenceofdust88 @sierrarreads @saibowtie @kinardsevan

@unhingedangstaddict @portinastorm @ladyeyrewrites @rubydaiquiri

@mmso-notlikethat @a-mel0n @rdng1230 @fenrirscarsback

(I am so sorry if I missed someone! Let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

In too deep

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 26

Rated: M

CW: Blood and injury; Mild gore; Monsters; Tentacles; Horror; Light mind control; Referenced murder; Billy Hargrove is his own warning (he's not in this, but guess "who did this"?)

Tags: Eddie Munson whump; Billy Hargrove being an asshole; Lake Monster Steve Harrington; dark Steve Harrington; possessive behavior

Notes: Continued from this microfic. (Tentacle horror for Boxing Day? In this economy? Well, I guess so!)

Eddie’s nose is still bleeding by the time he parks the car on the narrow dirt road, well out of sight between the trees. He wipes at it with the back of his hand, but his entire face explodes with pain, so he quickly stops again. He chances a look at himself in the rearview mirror and groans. 

The bruises have spread all the way from the bridge of his nose to the space under his eyes. They've also darkened to a rather impressive shade of purple. To really top things off, his left eye is swollen shut and there's a nasty crust forming on his split lip. He looks, all things considered, a bit like one of the things on his album covers. 

“Fantastic…” he mutters at his reflection. “Really fucking-” 

The Call hits him without warning, thrums through his blood, his bones, turns the dull throb behind his temples into a jackhammer of painpainpain.

“Jesus fuck!” he swears, grabbing the plastic bag from the passenger seat and hauling open the door so that he can holler into the forest. “I'm coming, your Majesty, calm your tits!” 

It's starting to turn dark, but that doesn't bother him. He's made the way through the shrubbery and to the lake so many times he's starting to lose count. What slows him down is the pain in his ribcage, the one that feels like a white-hot knife digging into his lungs with every inhale. 

Probably cracked a rib or two, some unhelpful part of him provides. He tells it to shut up. He doesn’t have time for this shit. He's got places to be, lake monsters to feed. 

“You're late.” 

Steve is lounging on one of the larger rocks near the shore, like some bored young Lord awaiting the arrival of his court jester. If bored young Lords had fangs and eyes glowing like marbles in the gloom and fucking tentacles instead of legs, that is. They twitch impatiently in the water as Eddie shrugs off his shoes and socks. 

“Yeah well, excuse me.” he sloshes over, tosses the bag at Steve, who catches it one-handed. “The butcher back in Hawkins caught on to me and put a lock on their dumpster, which means I have to drive to the surrounding towns. So unless you change your opinion on roadkill-” 

“Eddie…” Steve says. He snaps his blabbermouth shut, afraid he overstepped. “What happened to your face?”

His tone is conversational, disinterested almost. If it weren’t for the sharp, dangerous edge that Eddie is getting very good at picking up on. 

“Oh, um …” He shoves his hands in his pockets defensively. “Nothing. Don't worry ‘bout it, it won't keep me from-” 

Something shoves him from behind - something wet and cold - and he stumbles forward with a pained shout. When he blinks his eyes back open, he finds himself pressed flush against the rock - writhing tentacles wrapped all around him. Steve’s hands are cradling his cheeks, those gleaming eyes very close. Eddie tries to struggle, but the tentacles tighten and his broken ribs scream in protest. He whimpers and goes very still. 

Steve's mouth curls into a satisfied little smile. 

“Now,” he purrs, voice that low rumble that Eddie can feel in his very soul. “Who did this to you? Do not lie to me.”

Eddie screws his eyes shut. There's no getting out of it now. 

“Billy,” he rasps. “My neighbor. We had … a bit of a disagreement.” 

“Disagreement?” Steve hums. His claws scratch at Eddie’s temples, almost tenderly. 

“On whether or not he should pay for his drugs.” Eddie gulps. “It's okay, I've got it handled, you don't need to-”

“Hm,” Steve makes, a curt, displeased thing. Eddie yelps again as he is suddenly released and almost tumbles into Steve’s naked chest. “You know what? I don't feel like eating your garbage today.” 

He tosses the plastic bag into the shallow end like something vile. Eddie watches slack-jawed how it floats in the water, red clouds spreading all around it.

“You asshole! D'you have any idea how long it took me to-” 

“Silence.” Steve grabs his jaw, hard. “You've been feeding me scraps too long, and I've had it with your excuses. You will bring me this Billy.”

“Wha-?” Eddie can practically feel himself go pale. “But … how the hell am I supposed to do that? You don't know that guy, I can't just casually stroll up to him and ask him on a cute little date to Lover's Lake, he'll-” 

Steve presses a cold, membraned finger to his lips and Eddie goes silent. 

“Aw, pet,” Steve coos, voice full of fond condescension. “You'll figure it out, I know you will. You're nothing if not resourceful.” 

The finger swipes over Eddie’s lip, gathers a drop of blood. Eddie watches with hitched breath how a long, pointed tongue darts out and licks the digit clean. 

“Try to look at it from the bright side. I get to feast like a king, and you get rid of another nuisance.” Steve winks at him, almost boyish in his mirth, and one tentacle comes slithering up to caress the curve of Eddie’s ass. “There's only winners here, right?”

All my holiday drabbles

[dontcallpanic]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by a few people at this point - I'm so sorry I lost track of it all... I know @patolemus and @gege-wondering-around tagged me and I think @seaweed-water did too, once upon a time. Thank you so, so much - I am sorry literal seasons have changed while you've been waiting!

So... here y'are - Even this tiny snippet has taken so feckin long to write it's unreal!! Why is Derek's voice so hard to nail down!? I've written about 5 different drafts at this point! Dammit Sourwolf!

Anyway, This is the start to Manifesting Murder, wildly edited and then unedited, then edited again. All mistakes belong to me and my dyslexia - Mwynhau!

Stiles' fingers shake as he methodically wipes the blood off them, one by one. There's a detached calmness that's settled over him – he's in shock – and he knows what he needs to do next but he can't get his damn fingers to stop shaking. He almost drops his phone when he digs it out of his pocket. He's never been more grateful for speed dial, he thinks before holding the phone to his ear. It sounds far too loud in the oppressive silence. One. Two. Three. “Stiles?” He lets out a breath. Everything's going to be okay. "Yeah sorry to call you on your day off but I could use your help with something. Do you think you can get here anytime soon?" There's a long silence on the end of the line. "I'll be there in ten."

_______

Derek stares down at the motionless body at the foot of the stairs, a long list of expletives running through his head. One glance is all he needs to ascertain that the man is dead. Very dead. The head is cracked at an alarming angle and there’s a steadily growing pool of blood creeping across the uneven floorboards. It's an awful lot of blood for a broken neck but there are some things in the world that can walk away that. He should know, he's one of them. But this man… this man smells distinctly fucking human. Derek lifts his eyes back to Stiles who has been fidgeting restlessly the whole time, and rises one silent eyebrow. Stiles nods jerkily, grimacing as he twists a bloody cloth through his long, clever fingers. “Yeahhh… So. I – I er… need your help,” he says somewhat redundantly, gesturing towards the body. Derek's other eyebrow joins his first. Stiles waves him off, almost flinging the damn cloth with the movement. He fumbles at the last moment, hands flying out to catch hold of it before squeezes it tight between his fists. “Heh. Yeah. I know – understatement!” he laughs flatly before glancing up, eyes wild and slightly glassy. “Can you, er… help me get rid of him?” Stiles makes a shooing gesture, inadvertently wafting the scent of fear and death directly at Derek. He raises his eyebrows further and resists the urge to sneeze. He's actually somewhat relieved. He shouldn't be, he knows that. He should be calling it in. Giving forensics the heads up and letting the detectives do the rest. He should be taking pictures for evidence. He should be fucking arresting Stiles on suspicion of murder. Fuck his fucking life. Instead of doing any of this, he looks away first, using the moment to reflect on how perpetually screwed he is. He scans the body with a trained detachedness, eyebrows drawing into a frown as he takes in the height of the sweeping wooden staircase, the blood splattered on the nosing, the way it’s smeared across the treads. “He's definitely dead then,” Derek says, automatic and unguarded sarcasm falling flat even to his own ears as he leans back on old habits during these trying times. Stiles, unfortunately, thinks he is serious. “Are your eyes broken?” he yelps incredulously, flailing towards the body and sending another cocktail of scents directly up Derek’s nose. “Do you see the angle of his head?” Stiles makes an abortive motion before he shakes his head and strides up to Derek's side and gestures emphatically at the corpse. “Yes he's fucking dead! - Do you want to check for a pulse? Or do you think I need to call for a second opinion from Beacon Hills finest?” “Do you want my help or not?” Derek growls back, turning to meet Stiles' challenge as he slips into Derek's personal space. Derek bares his teeth, standing his ground and refusing to give way as he slowly folds his arms across his chest. Relief sparks in Stiles' amber eyes and Derek watches Stiles fight back a grin, tongue darting out to tease his bottom lip and he can't look away. “So you'll do it? You'll help me?” Of course Derek's going to fucking help him – is if that was ever in question. Derek is a sucker for anything that Stiles would ask of him and he fucking knows it. His features remain blank and impassive as he holds Stiles' gaze for a beat longer than is necessary, as if considering his options before he turns away and sighs loudly though his nose. “You got a plastic sheet or something?” he asks, teeth itching as the scent of blood and Stiles twists around him. He definitely shouldn’t like it as much as he does. Stiles lets out an intense sigh of relief that sounds a lot like a groan and Derek has to close his eyes for a beat. Fuck his fucking life.

_______________________

Okay... no pressure WHATSOEVER tags to the usual suspects @hellameyers @jadezdominion @gege-wondering-around @patolemus @seaweed-water

And the new suspects @teencopandthesourwolf @violetfairydust

And @oldefashioned and @cantchangemypast in case you wanted to read.

[gluion]

works in progress

thought i'd hold myself accountable by posting about my upcoming works! if you're ever interested in being part of the taglist, feel free to reply to this post or leave me an ask! please know that synopses are subject to change and that genre and tags will be updated as i write.

last updated: july 28, 2024

almost, but not quite ➵ leehan

if there’s one thing leehan didn’t understand, it’s the gross, sticky emotions he feels with you. yet, there’s an undeniable warmth that lingers—and that’s when he knows he’s screwed. (in other words, the five times leehan found himself at a crossroads and the one time he decided on what he wanted with you.)

genre/warnings ➵ friends to lovers, fluff, loser!leehan, slight mutual pining... if you can even say that, emotions are gross and sticky aka leehan is always running AWAY from them… save this guy, reader is not that oblivious but leehan never reads their signals, alcohol, ponyo plays a big role in this fic (yes, the ghibli movie), getting froyo to avoid confessing LMFAO, kissing

word count ➵ est. 8-10k words

current status ➵ first draft (5.6k words), 3 more scenes remaining

at the center of the universe ➵ leehan

you’re nothing but a speck in the universe. while everyone would argue the same thing, you knew to your core that there would never be a universe where the cosmos would revolve around you. yet, a strange man in a blue police box convinces you otherwise.

general genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, doctor who au, scifi, crack, fluff, angst, donna noble & tenth doctor dynamics, doctor who elements won't really be dived into

word count ➵ est. ??? (might be a whole universe until i decide its time to close their book)

current status ➵ universe has been roughly plotted out over discord dms... (p.s. love you @blumisiu <3)

every summertime ➵ myung jaehyun

with every summer break, your heart finds its way back to the goofball your brother is best friends with. yet, your crush on him never seems to fade away, and you don’t know if the few seconds he lingers mean something.

genre/warnings ➵ brother's best friend, fluff, light angst, slightly suggestive, summer love throughout the course of four years (16-19)

word count ➵ est. 6-8k words

current status ➵ outlining... still

prayers for a garden ➵ taesan

regardless if the world crumbles in your hands, taesan chooses to stick with you—for all he knows is you.

genre/warnings ➵ friends to lovers, royalty au, angst, devotion fic, inspired by edelgard and hubert’s relationship, mentions of violence & blood, uses fe3h names because i can’t for the life of me think of some El oh el…, very anti-monarch and pro-socialism reader if we’re going to be honest, but reader does have their downfall

word count ➵ est. 3-5k words

current status ➵ backburner... for now...

all works taglist ➵ @blumisiu @0310s @heebees

a/n ➵ always be patient as i try to write these fics! they do take a lot of care and effort, and can still be fleshed out! your words of support will always mean so much to me <3

[mysticstarlightduck]

Character Aesthetic Deep Dive Tag!

Let's go with Saoirse Richards from Scrapyard Boys for this one!!!

Rules: Make a moodboard with your character's aesthetic, a playlist that fits their vibe, "badly summarize them" (like, talk about their personality, but funnily), etc. It absolutely does not need to be super detailed!!!!!

✦ Character Aesthetic: Saoirse Richards, WIP -Scrapyard Boys

♡ Moodboard ♡

♡ Playlist ♡

Are You Satisfied? - Marina & The Diamonds

Was I meant to feel happy That my life was just about to change? One life pretending to be The cat who got the cream Oh, everybody said, "Marina is a dreamer" People like to tell you What you're gonna be is not my problem if you don't see what I see And I do not give a damn if you don't believe My problem is my problem that I never am happy It's my problem, it's my problem on how fast I will succeed Are you satisfied with an average life? Do I need to lie to make my way in life? High achiever, don't you see? Baby, nothing comes for free They say I'm a control freak Driven by a greed to succeed Nobody can stop me

Things We Lost In The Fire - Bastille

Things we lost to the flames Things we'll never see again All that we've amassed Sits before us, shattered into ash These are the things, the things we lost The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire These are the things, the things we lost The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire We sat and made a list Of all the things that we have Down the backs of table tops Ticket stubs and your diaries, I read them all one day When loneliness came and you were away Oh they told me nothing new But I love to read the words you used These are the things, the things we lost The things we lost in the fire, fire, fire

O.D.D - Hey Violet

I should never listen to another voice But my own Now I've grown up, now I know That when I'm tryna be myself it isn't so simple Anymore Some days I wake up I just wanna hide under the covers 'Cause no matter what I do I'll never be like all the others I'm a little O.D.D Most people really don't get me I'm the girl in the back of the class Blank stare, don't care, don't ask I'm a little O.D.D I see the way they look at me I can hear it when they talk that trash Saying "Any minute she gon' crack"

Mind Games - Sickick

Once I'm in there ain't no letting go, letting go Watch me turn your mind into my home Now that I'm in there's no letting go And your emptiness begins Once I grip onto your mind and soul And your brightness starts to dim Sin after sin you won't feel no more You've lost your trust again I know you wish you could let me know That you're praying for an end

Welcome to Wonderland - Anson Seabra

Welcome to Wonderland, where should we go There's a tea party along down the road Make an appearance and maybe they'll sing us a song Dancing through a dream underneath the stars Laughing 'til the morning comes Everyone that leaves has a heavy heart Oh, Wonderland I love Nothing around here is quite as it seems Not sure if anything's real or a dream And the only thing sure from the start Is the song that's inside of your heart Don't let it leave If this was a dream, then at least I've got Memories for when morning comes Now that I must leave with a heavy heart Oh, Wonderland I love

Boo Hoo - Neoni, ft. RIELL

When you start a fire and hide the matches Been down that rabbit hole Swore I would never go Back to bad habit's, I'm through Around and around we go sick of the vertigo Abracadabra, screw you White lies, red eyes, I've had enough Fake nice surprise, I've had enough White lies, red eyes, I've had enough Fake nice surprise Boo hoo, you don't like me, well That's good for you Boo hoo, say you're over it, well That makes two Throw your pity pity pity party Bring your friends, but you got nobody You, you don't like me, I don't like you Boo hoo

Numb Little Bug - Em Behold

And the world it feels too big Like a floating ball that's bound to break Snap my psyche like a twig And I just wanna see if you feel the same as me Do you ever get a little bit tired of life Like you're not really happy but you don't wanna die Like you're hanging by a thread but you gotta survive 'Cause you gotta survive Like your body's in the room but you're not really there Like you have empathy inside but you don't really care Like you're fresh outta love but it's been in the air Am I past repair A little bit tired of tryin' to care when I don't A little bit tired of quick repairs to cope A little bit tired of sinkin' There's water in my boat I'm barely breathin' Tryna stay afloat So I got these quick repairs to cope Guess I'm just broken and broke

♡ Badly Summarized OC ♡

A brilliant young telepath/telekinetic superhero fueled by coffee, candies and spite, as well as a truckload of pizza.

Puts her intellect to good use by creating the most unhinged plans and somehow making them work! Is the Gremlin Mom Friend.

Is terrified of fire because her father's business partner burned down his lab with him inside. Now doesn't know how to feel about the fact that one of her best friends controls flames.

She's probably a bit more childish and naive than the rest of the team but is sharp-witted and funny all the same. Also! Out of the starting members of the Gang, Saoirse is the only one who was born in serious wealth, though she lost it all.

If someone fused a black cat and an orange cat into one and turned them into a human being, that would be Saoirse.

Can speak a lot of languages but most of the cast doesn't know until she randomly starts spouting fluent words in foreign languages in a situation where that's required. (Cue the classic: "We didn't know you spoke [language X]!" followed by "... But you never asked?")

Gives suspiciously good relationship advice but has never dated before.

Loves a grunge style and absolutely revels in a goblin-core aesthetic, plus adores watching the chaos unfold from behind the scenes.

Has a deeper voice than one would expect, which often also sounds coarse when she's bored or focused.

Sleeps like a rock and could potentially sleep through the end of the world. Counts scientific facts instead of sheep when she can't fall asleep.

Can crawl and climb basically anywhere. This has nothing to do with her powers - she's just uncannily agile and stealthy, to the point she jumpscares her friends often lol.

Source for pictures: Pinterest

Source for music/songs: Spotify

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@the-golden-comet, @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams

@differentnighttale

@wyked-ao3 and OPEN TAG

Taglist for Scrapyard Boys below the cut 🧪

Scrapyard Boys Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3,

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri, @lyutenw @finickyfelix

@thecomfywriter, @the-letterbox-archives, @differentnighttale @wyked-ao3

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

[2bealuvr]

JEALOUSY

Xiao x reader (gender neutral)

tags: nsfw, blood, stalked, implied potential sexual violence against reader (doesn’t happen), smut, possessive behavior.

// Xiao doesn’t kill humans but when you’re in danger, he changes. And secretly, you like it.\\

••• ••• ••• ••• ••• ••• •••

Xiao tends to keep most emotions bottled up, all screwed tight and close to bursting. Still, regardless of his own awareness of the festering feelings, he thinks he does a decent job of ignoring them. He’ll push the lid down and stand atop it, wrap heavy chains, whatever he needs to do to just remain calm-

Until now.

You watch with wide, shocked eyes as the group of strangers who had been stalking you through the darker streets of Liyue scream, their voices rising to a crescendo before cutting off abruptly. They fall, one by one, within the whipping shadows.

You aren’t scared of Xiao, of course. You know he would never hurt you; but to see the wrath he warns others about unleashed, you can’t help the trip of your heart. It patters against your eardrums as blood pools beneath the bodies, how it slides along the cracks of the rocks toward your feet.

Thunder booms in the distance and you know the blood will be washed away. You aren’t sure, however, if the bodies will disappear too. Xiao doesn’t seem very concerned about it as he finally turns to you, mask glowing turquoise as the wind he’d created with his sudden appearance begins to fade.

He strides to you, his mask disappearing with an array of glittering sparks. Only when you tear your eyes away from the fallen bodies do you realize he is…hesitant. He’s close but he’s withheld, hand holding tight to his spear, mouth sharp and flat with trepidation.

“Are you alright?” He asks, quietly.

You gulp and wipe at the flecks of blood that had flown to your face. It smears and streaks on your cheek and his eyes flit to the motion. He reaches for you slowly but when you don’t move or push him away, like you’re sure he thought you would, he wipes at the blood with his own fingers. His thumb brushes the crest of your cheek before those fingers dig into your hair, curling and holding.

“Y/N?” He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye. “Are you okay?”

You lick your lips and nod, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

His brows furrow, jaw clenching. You see a dark emotion cross his face and in fear that he’ll teleport you home before disappearing entirely, you wrap your arms around his waist, tugging him close. You press your nose and lips against his throat, breathing him in like you usually do.

Wind. Almonds. Copper.

The familiar scent of him calms you.

“I’m glad you showed up.” You press a kiss against the underside of his jaw, stomach flipping when he tenses and lets out a sharp breath. “I could’ve handled it myself, you know. But I’m still glad.”

He hums, “I never doubt that you can defend yourself.”

“Right. And you’ve seen me do it before. So, why step in like this, this time?”

Xiao doesn’t immediately reply. You draw back just a tad, just in time to see that he’d been biting at his lip. It is such a human gesture that you can’t help but brush your fingers over him, soothing the irritated skin.

“I heard what they were saying…how they’d seen you at the tavern, how they wanted to talk to you.” He glances away, “How excited they were at the idea that you would go with them. How they would have taken you even if you said no.”

You frown, “I wouldn’t have let them.”

“I know that.” He presses against you, “I knew that and still, I couldn’t stop.”

You search his face, chest aching with absolute affection: adoration, love. You aren’t scared of him and you don’t blame him- if anything, you are ignited.

In an instant you are surging forward, capturing his lips with your own. He gasps against you and you revel in it, smirking a bit when the shadows rise once more. They shroud you from the world until you find yourself pressed against your bedroom wall, legs grabbed and raised to latch around his waist.

You curve, pushing yourself against him, grinding until that small noise you love so much escapes his lips. He tears at your shirt, a button popping before his sharp teeth are grazing over the hollow of your throat, the center of your chest.

You tug at his hair until he’s looking at you, eyes hooded but still so, so bright. When you kiss again, it is all tongue. You moan at the nip on your bottom lip, around the curl of his tongue, how messy it gets and how much desperation has begun to flood your senses.

Neither of you undress entirely. Your shirt is torn and his spear is on the ground, your pants falling when he lowers you and turns you around. You press your hands against the wall, head dipped and all breathless-

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” He asks.

The question isn’t demanding. It is a lapse of his tall walls, a crumbling of the façade he holds in place. He is begging for your answer, for it to be what he so desperately needs to hear. It comes from a place of fear and self-condemnation. He is scared that you will leave and he thinks that he’ll have deserved it.

“Yes.” You breathe, urging him to believe you, your stomach fluttering when you hear the undoing of his clothes.

“Say it.” He trails his mouth along the curve of your nape. He teases you open, works your body like a musician. “Please.”

“I’m yours, Alatus.”

His name on your lips is the final fracture. His defensive walls explode like impacted glass, shattering around you as he pushes in. You gasp, nails digging into the wood until he places his palms atop your hands, fingers interlocking.

The pace is heavy and fast, each thrust threatening to send you to your knees. He brings a hand to hold tight to your hip, no doubt leaving bruises, before wrapping around your waist to keep you stable. Your eyes flutter and roll at the harsh touch, at the push of himself so deep within. His groan is guttural and low when he notices the way your body tenses.

“There?” He asks, not that he doesn’t already know.

He just wants to hear you. To listen to the way your voice shakes for him.

“Yes. There, please, don’t-don’t stop.”

He pushes your legs further apart, both hands now holding you in place at your hips, his thrusts hitting that found spot repeatedly. It has you seeing stars, your mouth opening to moan his name, over and over and-

The bite on your shoulder is sudden and it hurts and you cum. You can’t hold it back, you can’t do anything but let him consume you. His hips stutter but he doesn’t stop, not until you’re returning to yourself and allowing him to pull you away from the wall.

He brings you to the bed and you fall flat, blinking in a daze up at him, gasping when he slides back in with ease. It’s not rare for this position to be the final. There is never a moment where he doesn’t enjoy watching the pleasure wash over you. His eyes flit across your features as you arch your back, hips held up while he rams into you. You dig your nails into his forearms, thighs shaking, entire body turning to a tremble until finally, finally, he pushes impossibly deep.

You feel him releasing into you, pulsing with heat. He leans down and breathes against your throat, teeth grazing with the desire to bite again and although you wouldn’t mind it, he stops himself.

Instead, he practically whimpers as you wrap your legs around him, making sure he can’t pull out until he’s drained. He holds himself up on his forearms, licking and kissing your skin, a hand settled within your hair.

Your abdomens brush as you both try to catch your breath. It’s funny, you think almost deliriously, how he can fight for so long and be undisturbed by the labor. It is only after moments like these that he is truly rattled; his body quivering, his heart beating so powerfully.

You huff a laugh and brush your fingers through his own hair, feeling him soften inside of you before finally letting him go.

He pulls out with a soft groan, cum dripping out of you in a slow trail, though neither of you are in any hurry to rise or clean up. You simply shift, glad to feel him rest his head on your chest, to have his weight settled atop you.

He brushes his hand along your ribs as the sharp sting on your shoulder returns.

“You bit me again.” You laugh.

He winces, “I’m sorry.”

“I like it.” You trail your thumb against his jawline, “I like that you can let go with me.”

He hums, roaming your skin, touching any scar or freckle or dip that he can. “I need to go. To clean up my…mess.”

You let out a heavy sigh, refusing to let this moment pass. So, before he can even question your intentions, you shift and slide until you’re straddling his hips. He stares up at you, brow raised, a gulp stuck in his throat.

It takes no time at all for him to grow hard. You feel it press against you and you take it, sliding down his length slowly, eyes fluttering at how it fills you up once more.

“Messes can wait.” You rise and drop in a slow roll, smiling at the way he can’t even protest. All he does is watch you, cheeks flushed, hands moving to grab hold of the sheets. “Everything can wait. Just, stay with me. Stay.”

And so, in the end, he does.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Hair Trigger

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Superfam, YJ98

Summary: A junior at Gotham University, Jason finds it difficult to conceal his worsening mental health from his family and his friend, Jon Lane Kent. Family secrets are revealed and boundaries are pushed as Jason and Laney struggle to navigate through school, their romantic feelings, and their trauma. Could the reintroduction of Laney Kent be more trouble than it's worth, or is it just what Jason needed to confront the demons of his past?

I will also do trigger warnings for chapters and if there is smut I have the chapter(s) tagged so you don't have to worry about nsfw in the fic if you're just here for the story itself.

Chapters: 20/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Jonathan Lane Kent, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Natalia Knight, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, Chris Kent, Bart Allen, Original Character(s)

Relationships: JayLaney, Clois, TimKon

Additional Tags: University AU, No Powers AU, Sharing A Bed, Romance, Angst, TW // Kidnapping , TW // Gun Violence

Chapter Twenty: Disjointed

Laney sat on Jason's bed as Jason picked up their dirty laundry and put it in the hamper. "Jason?" Laney whispered. Jason took the blankets off his bed and checked the plugs to make sure everything was plugged where it was supposed to be. "Jason—."

"Who is Caleb Forrester, and why do I feel like he means something to you?" Jason raised his voice slightly. Laney's shoulders tensed.

"He was my counselor when I went to boarding school... And I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just wanted to put it all behind me. Jason, he doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I'm terrified of him," Laney's voice cracked. Jason sat across from Laney on the bed. "I told you a lie about the first guy I was emotionally involved with, and I had to change details about it because I didn't know how you would see me—."

"I love you, Laney. Even if we were just friends or married or any of it... I love you in every way, and I wouldn't have judged you, but I'm sorry for being pissed. I just thought that maybe you wanted someone else," Jason whispered as he grabbed Laney's hand.

Laney kissed Jason's knuckles. "Jason, no, I don't want anybody else," Laney mumbled as tears flooded to the surface. "And I don't wanna cry... Caleb and I might've had something, but whatever that was was wrong. I just want it to be over. I want him to stop following me." Jason held Laney's hand over his mouth and kissed his palm.

"Wait, how long's he been following you?" Jason asked. Laney took Jason's hand and tried to cover his face. "Lane, please. Be serious with me."

"Since I was seventeen. Caleb showed up at a party I went to, then in Metropolis, he showed up at my dorm room, and now he's here in Gotham. I don't know," Laney whispered, "Maybe this is my fault for trusting him so much at first."

"It isn't your fault... Hey, look at me. It's not," Jason whispered. Laney looked up at Jason, and they met eyes.

Laney lay back on Jason's bed and took a deep breath. "Jason, I don't know what to do other than put down roots and hope that he will eventually go away," Laney mumbled as he pushed his hair back.

"Lane, I know you don't want to hear this, but I think you need to get a restraining order. I will go with you, and we can go out of town for a little bit. Okay?" Jason asked. Lois knocked on the door, and Jason invited her in.

"Your dad is on speaker right now," Lois whispered.

"Lane, how do you feel?" Clark asked.

"I'm okay... I mean, I'm screwed up because I knew Forrester was following me. I'm sorry," Laney mumbled.

Clark clicked his tongue. "Laney, maybe you should come home—."

"Dad, I can't come home. I came to Gotham because I thought he wouldn't follow me here. If I go home, he'll just follow me there... Jason's right. I have to make this stop. I'm gonna go down to the courthouse in a little while," Laney mumbled.

Lois leaned against Jason's nightstand, still holding the phone. "Lane, take the phone. Jason, can I talk to you?" Lois asked. Jason nodded, and Lois gave Laney her cellphone.

Jason stepped into the living room with her, and Lois plopped down on the couch. "Did you know anything about Laney's counselor?" Lois asked. Jason shook his head.

"Laney told me something about some guy from boarding school, but it wasn't true... I didn't really know anything about the counselor until this morning after breakfast," Jason answered. Lois pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I thought that maybe he said something to you about it... Maybe I should stay longer—."

"No, don't worry... I've got him. I'm gonna take him to the courthouse later on today, and—."

Laney came out of the room and grabbed his keys off of the kitchen counter. "Laney, where are you going?" Lois asked. Laney took a deep breath.

"I have to go get my laptop from my apartment. I forgot I have an assignment due at eleven... I'll be right back," Laney replied as he left the apartment. Jason went back to doing his laundry and cleaned his room before noticing something strange.

"Mrs. K.? Can you come in here for a second?" Jason asked. Lois came to the door and looked at him.

"Jason—."

"His laptop is in the bedroom," Jason pointed out. Lois cursed and slipped on her shoes, and she asked Jason to follow her downstairs. They got in the car and drove straight to Laney's building.

Jason texted Sylvia and motioned for Lois to stay out of sight while waiting for Sylvia to answer the door. Sylvia answered the door in tears, and she embraced Jason.

"Hey, Sylvie, is Lane here? We just had a weird conversation before he left, and I just wanted to come and apologize to him," Jason whispered. Sylvia burst into tears.

"I said that guy was weird, and Laney came here and left with him—."

"Sylvia, slow down," Jason whispered, "So he's not here?"

"No, Laney went with the guy, and he told me not to say anything, but he packed a bag—."

Jason cursed. "Sylvie, stay here, and I'll call you when I see him—."

"Jason, I'm so—." Jason smiled and shook his head.

"It's okay... I'll find him in a minute," Jason whispered as he left the apartment with Lois.

"What happened?" Lois asked as she rushed behind Jason.

"He left with him. Lane went with him. Sylvia said Laney packed a bag and went with him," Jason replied as he unlocked Lois's car door, and Jason's phone rang. Lois answered and put it on speaker.

"Caleb, I get why you're mad. I said a lot of crazy things last night," Laney said over the phone, "We can go to the farm, but I need you to tell me why you're still so mad at me."

"Because you said some really nasty things to me last night. Lane, you know that I adore you. You know that, but it hurts me when you run from me," Mr. Forrester replied.

"But, Caleb, listen to me. What do I have to do to prove it to you? Hm?" Laney asked.

"Come to Hershey with me. To the farm," Mr. Forrester answered.

"Caleb, baby, I said I was gonna go with you. I did. I wanna go to Pennsylvania with you. I want to, but you're scaring me. Can you please put that away?" Laney asked. "No, Caleb, please. We can do whatever you want to do. I just can't be honest with you when I'm scared like this."

"Lane, do you think I'm stupid—?"

"No! But I'm gonna be sick if you don't put the gun away!" Laney screamed. "Like I'm so upset right now because I feel like you want to hurt me, and all I want is to go away with you! Can you please pull over behind this grocery store? I feel like I'm gonna throw up!"

"Lane, okay... I'm gonna put the gun away. Just calm down," Mr. Forrester's voice softened, and the call grew near silent. They heard a smacking noise, and Jason looked at Lois and back at the road. She took the phone off speaker, and Jason wiped a few tears from his eyes.

"Jason, are you okay?" Lois asked as she held the phone to her ear.

Jason chuckled uncomfortably and shook his head. "No, no, I'm not okay. It's not that, though. It's not the kissing. It's just—."

Lois gasped and put the phone back on speaker before yelling for Laney. "Laney! Lane! Answer the phone!" Lois yelled.

"What happened?" Jason asked.

"Mom? Jason?" Laney sobbed before telling them where he was, and he hung up. Jason sped to where Laney was, and he ran into the police and the ambulance.

"Lane! Laney!" Jason screamed as he jumped out of the car, and the police stopped him and Lois from entering the scene. Laney sat in the back of an ambulance wrapped in a blanket with blood on his face and hands, and Jason and Lois ran to him and embraced him. Laney sat there in a daze.

"Cricket, look at me," Lois whispered, "Cricket, it's Mama."

Jason got on his phone and called Clark. "Hello?" Clark's voice answered on speaker, and Laney blinked hard before bursting into tears. "Jonathan?"

"Is he dead?" Laney asked. Lois looked around, and she shook her head.

"Don't worry about that. Did you talk to the police?" Lois asked. Laney nodded.

"What happened?" Clark asked.

"He pulled over, and I shot him," Laney whispered. Lois wandered off, and Jason stood with Laney.

"I'll be there tonight," Clark replied before hanging up. Laney reached for Jason, and Jason embraced him. Jason moved to kiss Laney, and Laney turned his head.

"Don't kiss me. I threw up," Laney mumbled.

"I don't care. I'll gargle," Jason whispered, and Laney let Jason kiss him. "Please don't scare me like this again. You know how scared I had to be to kiss you after you threw up?" Laney let out a little laugh.

Lois came back. "Let's go home... Okay? I talked to the police, and they said it's okay. Let's go home," Lois whispered as she took the blanket off of Laney, and Laney grabbed Jason's hand as they walked to the car. The ride to Laney's apartment was silent.

When they got back to Laney's apartment, Sylvia hugged him. "I thought you'd be hurt," she wept, "Are you okay?"

Laney didn't say anything for a moment as he looked around the apartment. "I need to take a shower and lay down. Sylvie, I'm sorry," Laney whispered before kissing the top of her head and going back to his room.

Jason waited until Laney went to the bathroom before making sure Laney's CPAP was plugged up and pulled the sheets back. He burst into tears. Lois entered the room and gave Jason a hug. "Jason, it's okay. Don't worry," Lois whispered.

"No, but it's not. I've never seen Lane like that," Jason wiped the tears from his eyes. "There's so much that I really don't know about this."

"Jason, Laney isn't guarded because he wants to be. Lane's got so many feelings about everything, and it's easier for him to push through them or lie about them than it is to just stop and feel something...

He loves you. He's just gonna need time to sort through this. This all seems sudden for us, so imagine how it was for him. I'm gonna order us something to eat," Lois whispered. Jason nodded.

"Mrs. K.?" Jason stopped her.

"Yeah?" she asked in a soft tone.

Jason stood there for a while in near-silence before whispering, "Did Laney kill him?"

Lois shook her head. "Almost," Lois whispered, "But I think it's better for Lane's conscience this way." She closed the door behind her on her way out, and Jason sat in a desk chair, waiting for Laney to return.

When Laney came back to the bedroom, he took off his shirt, climbed into bed, and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Jason opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't know what to say. "I can understand if you're mad about what you had to hear," Laney whispered. Jason rolled the chair around to Laney's bed.

"I'm not mad at you. You did what you had to," Jason whispered, "I just hate I wasn't there for you." Laney turned on his side.

"Jason, I have to tell you something," Laney whispered, "I didn't want him to die... I still don't." Jason nodded.

"That isn't a bad thing... That's just how you feel—."

"How do you feel?" Laney asked.

"I would've put him in the ground," Jason whispered. Laney looked at Jason's unflinching face before turning away. "I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but he could've killed you."

"Jason, can you sit by me?" Laney asked. Jason climbed over Laney on the bed, and Laney rolled onto his stomach and turned to look at Jason, wincing as he settled into the bed.

"Where does it hurt?" Jason asked.

"My back's been hurting ever since we got home," Laney whispered. Jason reached over Laney and went into his drawer.

"You don't have any heat cream for your back," Jason announced.

"I know. I've got a little massage oil to the back right of the drawer," Laney explained, and Jason took the small bottle of massage oil and squeezed a few drops into his hands.

Jason pressed his hands into Laney's back firmly, and Laney took in a breath just loud enough for Jason to hear. "Too much pressure?" Jason asked.

"No, you—. It just startled me," Laney murmured. Jason nodded and continued to apply pressure, loosening the muscles in Laney's back. Silence fell between the two of them, and Jason's mind drifted away as he massaged Laney's lower back. Laney clutched his mattress before letting out a faint crying noise. Jason stopped and snapped back to attention.

"Does it hurt?" Jason asked. He took Laney's shirt and wiped his back off. Laney pressed his face into his pillow and burst into tears. "Lane?"

Laney curled up and grabbed the bottom of Jason's shirt, pulling it to his face as he let out loud gasping sobs. Jason froze as Laney pulled himself up onto Jason's lap and continued to cry. "Lane, I've got you. I promise," Jason reassured him as he pulled Laney up into an embrace. Laney sobbed until he was too tired to cry anymore, and he drifted off to sleep, still holding on to Jason. Jason lay down beside Laney, watching as he slept.

As the sunset on Gotham, Jason lay still, only moving to put his arm over Laney. Jason never realized how painful silence was between them. Someone knocked on the bedroom door, and Jason sat up slowly, careful not to wake Laney from his sleep. "Come in," Jason whispered. Clark cracked the door and slipped through.

"How long has he been asleep?" Clark asked.

"Just before sunset... Maybe four o'clock, five-ish," Jason whispered. Laney made a soft noise before complaining about the cold.

"Hey, Laney... It's dad," Clark whispered. Laney perked up and opened his eyes before throwing himself into his father's arms.

"Dad!" Laney exclaimed. Clark relaxed his shoulders before giving Laney a tight hug and a kiss on top of his head. "What are you doing here?"

Jason and Clark exchanged looks before Clark answered with a gentle, "I wanted to check on you. Remember we talked on the phone?"

Laney shook his head. "No? Not today, I don't think," Laney mumbled.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" *reformatted*

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, societal issues, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, onlyfans

Summary: Bucky Barnes is young, confused, and conflicted - a real "rebel without a cause" type. His parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Author's Note: *reformatted with a few age and plot changes to adhere to Tumblr's ToS*

Part 1 - The Sex Life of the “Liberated” Omega

The screech that the alpha beneath Bucky gives off when she starts to come is high pitched and unpleasant. “Aghhngh!!!”

Bucky grunts as he loses his grasp on the last few seconds of his own tenuous climax. “No nnn …” He tries for one last, desperate second to rock harder on Heather’s knot, in hopes of salvaging something, but she’s not even that big to begin with and it’s not enough to bring him back into it. His asshole flutters weakly, like it’s mad at him for such a paltry finish. 

Meanwhile, she’s still squealing all her noises, Voicing brokenly at him to “do this” or “take that”—her best attempt at dirty talk, Bucky supposes. It’d be better if she just stopped trying and finished her own peak in silence, especially once Bucky thinks he hears the house’s garage door going up in the distance. He pauses and listens, and sure enough, it's followed by the sound of the door that leads from the garage into the house slamming closed. Faintly, he hears footsteps and voices talking downstairs.

Fuck. Bucky groans and drops his chin to his chest in defeat, body shaking with a sort of hilarity-stricken sob at the unfairness of it all. Now he’s stuck on a knot that only benefitted one person in this equation, and to top it all off, his parents are home early. 

“Buckeee!”

Jesus, she’s fucking shrill. Her Voice cracks entirely at the end, bleeding its dominance faster than Bucky lost his orgasm. Does she still think he’s coming? And even if he were, that’s supposed to do it for him? Ugh. Just stop already.

“Ughn, ughn, fuckyeah baby, guh-goodboy …”

It’s like rubbing salt in the wound of his already ruined pleasure, and it pisses Bucky the hell off. “Shhh!” He scowls down at where her dumb orgasm face is all screwed up and beet red. He slaps a hand to the front of her neck and squeezes with a dominant shake. “Hey. I said be quiet!” he hisses, because if she can’t even Voice him through an orgasm properly then she might as well just fucking shut up. “My parents are back,” he whispers.

She’s hazy-eyed and panting up at him, tapering off after those first few minutes of her climax. Annoyance starts to visibly bleed into her expression as her thought returns and she processes the way this encounter has flipped in the last few moments. Her eyes flick over Bucky’s bossy expression and his seat on top of her, his hand on her neck and up to where her own arms are bound to the headboard. “... the fuck?” She jerks underneath him, the handcuffs that Bucky slapped on her earlier rattling dully against the wooden slats of the headboard. “Hey, take these off.”

“Shut. up.” He grabs the first thing he can find, which winds up being his own discarded panties, and shoves them in her mouth. “Ugh, there,” he huffs.

“Mmpfh!” Heather’s pimply face screws up and she tries to growl at him through the makeshift gag, though it’s now blessedly muffled. “Mmm, ummf!”

“Oh, give it a rest. Quit bitching.” Bucky stretches to the side to reach for his phone and sits back up straight, mumbling under his breath, “At least you got to cum.”

He opens the camera app and proceeds to use it as a mirror as he checks his pose and his complexion, the tousled muss of his hair and the pinked flush in his cheeks. He smirks at the screen and makes a few sultry faces, angling this way and that, running his free hand through the sheen of his own ejaculate to smear it around on his belly and nipples. He might not’ve had the greatest sex ever, but at least he looks hella sexy and fucked out. He snaps a few good pictures to go along with the video that’s still recording from his setup over in the corner, chiding Heather when she growls in protest of the candids. “Don’t worry. I told you I’ll facetune you, Jeez. Nobody cares what the Alpha looks like in these things, anyway.” 

“Hmph.”

He gets one last, good shot of himself leering down at her and gripping the front of her neck in a Hold, since that’s the sort of stuff his subscribers go nuts for:

Horny O-Twink ties up Alpha Stepsister and makes her his Bottom Bitch!

(Or something like that. He’ll think of a title after he gets through all the editing.)

He sighs again and decides to go through his email while he sits there and waits for her knot to go down. His own body isn’t even locked, so it shouldn’t take too long. Should’ve gone for the twink-fucks-his-Alpha genre, he thinks ruefully. Maybe then he would’ve stood a better chance at having a good orgasm. He ponders that idea for another, future video as he deletes junk from his inbox. “How do feel about getting fucked?” he asks Heather offhandedly, to which he only receives a halfhearted grunt. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Bucky’s got an okay-sized dick for an omega, so flip fucking isn’t completely out of the question. “Could we try anal?”

Heather growls through the panties and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. Forget I said anything. Jeez.”

Just then, a text pops up on his phone screen:

📱Rancid [Sep 8, 2023 at 4:20 pm]:😒Family meeting in my office when you’re done up there, you little shit. Send your “friend” out the back so your mother doesn’t see. And don’t try to sneak out. Harlan’s men are posted outside and they’ll drag you back if I tell them to.

Shit, Bucky thinks. He cranes his neck to look out the bedroom window, and sure enough, there’s that Benoit guy standing sentinel at the curb, smoking a cigar and leaning against Bucky’s grandfather’s Rolls Royce. “Dammit.”

It can’t be good if the old man is here. Normally, Bucky only sees his “grandfather” when his mother’s trophy husband forces them to all go play family at the Thrombey mansion for Christmas or something. Bucky doesn’t know how much Harlan Thrombey is actually worth, but he knows it has to be a hell of a lot if it keeps Ransom Drysdale playing the devoted grandson act, year after year.

Bucky sighs and drops his phone onto the mattress, reaching over for the handcuff keys and wiggling his butt against Heather’s knot to try and gauge if maybe he can attempt a pull off at this point. He leans forward to undo the cuffs around her wrists.

Beneath the panties, she makes a questioning “Mmph?” sound.

Bucky twists his lips down at her. “You gotta go,” he grunts. “I’ve got a feeling that shit’s about to hit the fan.”

“Uhhn!” Steve squeezes hard as he comes—punishingly hard, trying to prevent his body from doing what it instinctively wants to do. It sort of works, his knot throbbing as it tries to swell and can’t, a dull pain that mixes with his orgasm and turns it into something sad and lacking, leaves his body wanting more. “Ugh, shit …”

For the most part he manages to contain the mess, but it’s been awhile, so there’s a lot. After it’s over he uses a tissue from his desk to mop up what he missed, scowling when he sees the stain that’s been left at the front of his slacks. “Goddammit.” He’d been planning to sleep in his office again tonight, but he only has a change of shirt and tie. Now he’s going to have to go back to the house to get fresh clothes. Can’t spend the day around a couple hundred omegas in cum-stained pants, after all.

Christ, he thinks acerbically. Can’t even jerk one off without something going wrong. He’s been avoiding home until Peggy leaves. Tomorrow’s Monday and she’s not due to leave until the evening. Steve really doesn’t want to run into her, because he’s had a good lawyer who’s done an excellent job at doing exactly what Steve pays him to do, which is keep as much of his savings as is possible firmly in his bank account until the conclusion of the divorce. Soon-to-be ex-wives aren’t very pleasant to be around when they aren’t getting your money, come to find out, and Steve’s been hoping that the next time he returns to his house will be when it’s empty. Now, because he can’t keep his hands off his dick for a day, that’s gone out the window. 

The unsatisfying orgasm hardly seems worth it in retrospect. Steve’s knot never popped, so the skin is still plumped and sensitive like it’s expecting more action. He ignores it and pulls his underwear up with an unhappy grunt. Not like a man his age can get it up twice in one hour anyways. He does the best he can to blot out the stain on his pants, but they’re a lost cause. He zips the fly and does up the button.

The anguished moans of the omega who’s getting railed onscreen are still coming from his computer. Just minutes ago it’d sounded good enough to have Steve tipping over into orgasm. Now though, it’s almost abrasive to his ears.

“Oh god … Daddy, y-yeah … ff-fuck me, mmm … please please, ohgn—”

He shuts the laptop, the video’s sound cutting off immediately. It leaves him in the quiet dark, the only remaining light in the room coming from the antique banker’s lamp that he keeps on the desk. Its Emeralite shade casts a faint green glow over the leather desktop, and where normally that would feel very comforting, it just seems lonely now. 

An intense wave of yearning comes over him, then, as he realizes his position: alone, shut up in his big, dark office and slumped in his desk chair, with nothing but his right hand and cum-stained pants, dick gone soft from an unsatisfying wank to porn of a random alpha doing exactly what Steve would like to be doing, which is giving it to some tender young omega who’s his.

God, he can just picture it when his eyes slip closed: pulling his omega close as they both collapse, Holding their small body down in a soft nest that smells like musk and sex and ownership, tugging his knot against the lock of a sweet and juicy cunt instead of his own hand.

Hell, if that were the case, he’d probably still be coming right now, he thinks grumpily. His dick would still be sheathed in all that warmth, knotted up snug in his omega’s perfect body, still being milked but winding down now from those first few exquisite minutes of a tied orgasm. He’d still be lying there with his omega, weighing them down with his bulk and scenting at their neck to keep drawing those quiet little coos and mewls of satisfaction from their lips …

“Ugh.” Steve groans and lets the fantasy go, opening his eyes back up to the lonely reality of his office. Soon his life will be emptier than it has been in over a decade—both here and back at the house. Though he supposes that’s really nobody’s fault but his own. Nobody forced him to marry Peggy, after all.

He was the one who’d gotten all sentimental and thrown caution to the wind, decided to try to make a go of it as an ambitious alpha power couple. And it had worked … until it hadn’t. For years, Peggy and he had done a great job with their work in setting up the school, turning it into the elite sort of institution where all the best families wanted to send their kids.

Problem is, Carter Academy isn’t any ordinary boarding school. It’s an elite reform school designed to serve omegas aged sixteen to twenty-four, its students all omegas on the verge of their prime breeding years, and Steve’s wants and needs had changed as he saw his thirties come and go. Come to find out, what he thought he could live with—and without—had shifted drastically over time.

Peggy is so many things: bossy and beautiful, British and brilliant, quick-witted and sharp-tongued; capable. All traits that make for an excellent business partner, but less so a romantic one. What hadn’t been a problem before became one, especially once Steve’s drive to reproduce really kicked in. 

Alpha men are naturally geared to want certain things. Steve knows this. Hell, he bases his entire pedagogy on it with how the school is run, encouraging the students to cultivate the behaviors and skills that will best serve them in their biologically-driven search for a mate. For some silly reason, he’d just silently excused himself from these expectations, thinking he could make things work with Peggy despite the facts . Even now he really can’t explain it, and he finds it privately embarrassing to a certain extent, because he’s an educated guy who should’ve known better. (“Rules for thee, but not for me,” and all that.)

He’d maintained the delusion until he couldn’t anymore. Then his fortieth birthday had crept up, the final death knell to a failing marriage that’d been over for longer than either he or Peggy really wanted to admit. He’d told her he wanted a divorce less than two weeks after their fourteen-year anniversary. He’d cried. She hadn’t.

It’s been a few months since then, with Peggy in and out of the house as she absconds to her sister’s place in Newcastle for days at a time, only speaking to Steve when it’s absolutely necessary to negotiate the terms of their settlement. Steve never really knows when she’s going to be at the house or not, so he’s been camping out at the school as much as possible. It’s just poor planning that’s left him without any fresh clothes for tomorrow. 

Sighing, he reaches for his phone so that he can shoot Peggy a quick message, warning her that he’s got to stop by that evening. I’ll be out of your hair in 20 mins, tops, he promises in his text. Her reply comes swiftly, curt and crisp just like she is.

📱Peggy [September 8, 2023 at 8:04 pm]: 👍 Let yourself in and lock up when you leave. I’ll keep to my room.

She means the master bedroom—what had, until a few months ago, been their bedroom. But those first days and weeks of the separation had been painful beyond all belief, and Steve’s been using the guest room ever since, getting up and heading out at the crack of dawn so that he doesn’t have to see her and she doesn’t have to see him. It’s better this way, he knows. Their marriage is over, and sitting around crying about it in the cottage they thought they’d grow old in together won’t do either of them any good. … Not that Peggy’s cried even once, since the split. 

Deep down, Steve knows that the disaffected behavior is just her way of shielding herself from the hurt, her way of putting on a “stiff upper lip,” as the Brits like to say. Steve’s even tried to emulate her in that, but he’s always been the more sentimental between the two of them, and he really does believe that this whole process hurts him more.

Swallowing thickly, he starts to type out an unnecessary reply text to Peggy—something to the effect of how he just needs to grab a few clothing items—but he’s interrupted by the notification tone of an incoming email. He’s not particularly intent on getting to it right away, that is until the email’s preview flashes briefly at the top of his phone screen, bearing the name of a man with whom he hasn’t spoken in some time.

📧H. Thrombey: Admissions Request

Steve abandons his text to Peggy to pull up the email. Sure enough, there at the top of his inbox is a new message from none other than Harlan Thrombey: one of Carter Academy’s biggest supporters and most generous donors—as is attested to by the over 10,000 books gracing the shelves of the school’s H. P. Thrombey Library. Steve opens the email and reads it, eyebrows climbing his forehead the longer he goes on. He’s got no clue what he was expecting Harlan to be reaching out for, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The email is in regards to someone called “James Barnes.” Steve can’t be sure of the relation, but Harlan refers to the boy as his “grandson,” and he makes it quite clear what it is that he wants: for James to receive immediate admission into Carter Academy, and for him to be transferred there “as soon as humanly possible.”  

Steve’s mouth forms a thoughtful moue as he reads through Harlan’s demands, and the reasons behind them. His grandson, he claims, desperately needs help—the sort of which Steve, amongst few others, is uniquely equipped to offer. The email’s attachments paint a pretty clear picture of just who James Barnes is.

He’s a model student, if his grades and the remarks of his teachers are anything to go by. He’s been attending his last year of high school and preparing to enter university. Academically he excels, but socially … not so much.

There’s an obvious pattern documented in the records, with multiple disciplinary infractions recounted over the span of several years, and details which reflect a concerning history of maladaptive behavior patterns. Everything from sexual promiscuity to physical altercations, to insubordination and experimentation with drugs and alcohol. 

It’s concerning but not at all surprising to Steve. These are the sort of pseudo-dominant antics that he often sees in omegas coming in from the more lenient public school system, or from the sorts of ultra-liberal private colleges that these entitled rich kids’ parents tend to shove them into; places where they’re somehow coddled and neglected at the very same time, where they get it into their heads that they can be the same as any alpha, and they’re taught that not only do they not need anybody’s help, but that they should actively avoid it.

It’s utter bullshit, and gender confusion is the only possible outcome. These are behaviors that have to then be trained out of omegas; young men and women who’ve been fundamentally confused by the conflicting demands of what their minds and bodies need, versus what modern society tells them they should be happy with. 

And as per usual, Steve’s being asked to clean up the mess. It’s not that he can’t. He’s very good at his job and happy to do it, but it does frustrate him to no end when it’s clearly a situation that could be avoided in the first place. Once again, an omega is paying the price for some pompous, overinflated academic's social equity agenda. 

Steve reviews the report cards and the incident reports and the session notes from teachers and counselors who’ve simply pawned James Barnes off to others because they don’t know what to do with him. He’s unsurprised when the behavioral infractions seem to begin just after a series of notations mentioning an on and off relationship history with a “first alpha boyfriend” at age fourteen, followed by a breakup, followed by a devolving pattern of promiscuity.

Even on paper, it’s obvious where all the issues stem from. They’ve only escalated the longer James has gone without an alpha, though nobody at his old school is politically incorrect enough to make that connection directly. All these educators fucking around with their “progressive” methods, and when it ends in disaster and disfunction they just throw up their hands and blame the student. 

Steve grits his teeth as he gets to James’ medical records and sees that there’s been an issue with cutting in the past. Tragically, this is something he encounters all too often in his neglected omega students. But is it really such a surprise? No alpha in the home, no stable heat partner, endless independence and indulgence given at school and socially. What the hell do people expect to happen to these poor kids?�� 

Forcing omegas to live independent lives and to forgo mating and children, just so that they can “break glass ceilings” or whatever other bullshit goals are peddled onto them, is exactly what’s led to this epidemic of young adult omegas like Bucky being overwhelmed by stress and anxiety and cutting themselves up when they can’t deal with it. It burns Steve up, because it’s not even a matter of opinion. Science has proven it time and time again, with MRI studies of their brains showing that omegas are wired for pleasure, not reason. They can’t emotionally regulate like other people can because their nervous systems aren’t built the same. They’re fragile and need community and care, and just because it isn’t the “fashionable” thing to admit doesn’t make it any less true. 

As Peggy always likes to say: facts “don’t give a fig” about your feelings. And the fact is that omegas need dominance in their lives. That used to be something people understood. Steve’s parents’ generation and Harlan Thrombey’s generation; they knew that omegas needed to be taken care of, and they’d had traditions set in place to protect them accordingly. A young omega like Bucky would’ve been placed under the care of an experienced omega matriarch once he hit puberty, and then given to an older alpha mate once he started having regular heats. 

The fact that he hasn’t been, has led them here: to James dicking around with a bunch of idiot alphas his own age and self-medicating with pseudo-dominance, thinking it’ll bring him satisfaction. Steve’s seen the pattern time and time again: the classic case of relationship trauma, stemming from basic gender needs being ignored and aggravated by a selfish and immature alpha partner.

Unlike omegas, who sexually mature not long after menarche, alphas don’t reach their full potential until well into adulthood. This is exactly why they used to have arranged marriages back in the day. Used to be that people took care of omegas, gave them the sorts of lives where they could be healthy and thrive.

Now society tries to shove the poor things into grad school or foist them up the corporate ladder, convincing them to eschew monogamy and put off childbearing until it’s often too late. They’re told these things will make them happy, but all it winds up doing is overtaxing their minds and bodies to the point of dysfunction, and it’s a travesty. 

Steve rubs his forehead wearily as he finishes reading through the reports. He’s tired, he realizes; tired of seeing these kids hurt. And seeing James’ pictures that are attached to the email only makes him more outraged on the boy’s behalf, because it gives him a face to put to the name.

James Barnes is a pretty young thing. At five-foot-seven and just shy of a buck fifty, his body is smooth and proportioned, with the softly fat-padded muscle definition characteristic of a young omega male entering his peak reproductive years. His cleft chin and head of charming dark curls enhance his boyish charm, while his soft jaw and pouty lips lend him an almost Botticelli-like quality. Steve finds himself staring longer than is strictly necessary, because every part of Bucky’s nude body is documented in the pictures of the medical reports. 

He is, in Steve’s opinion, a classic example of male omega beauty. Even between his legs, he’s lovely. He’s hairless and small, with a tight little sac and sweet little cocklet that’s cute as a button when soft and just over three inches when erect. Really, Bucky very much engenders everything that an omega should be, and Steve can’t deny that he likes what he sees, especially once he feels his own body beginning to respond. 

Despite coming only minutes ago, his cock is fattening up again in interest, pressing somewhat uncomfortably against the seam of his slacks. He reaches down to hurriedly adjust himself, then sets his phone aside. He opens his laptop back up, closes out the tab he’d had opened to PornHub, and navigates to his email account. He begins typing out a reply to Harlan’s inquiry.

Though it’s hardly that, is it? Thrombey isn’t playing coy. He knows exactly what a three million dollar yearly endowment gets him at a place like Carter Academy, and he isn’t asking here so much as he is telling; no doubt in his mind that Steve is going to take his grandson on as a student. Never one to mince words, Harlan has closed out his email with the blunt and concise farewell of, 

📧“Help him get turned around, Rogers. Before he ruins himself entirely for marriage, and the Thrombey name with him.”

This story is an ongoing commission for an amazing supporter who wishes to remain anonymous. If you have a story that you'd like to see custom written, send me a message on Tumblr or reach out on my Kofi. My fee is $10 per 1000 words.

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[cosmic-ships]

Chaos

Ship: Kylo x Kaden

warnings: Kaden's paranoia

words: 1,078

notes: This is something I deal with day to day and it really sucks... so because this is incredibly personal reblogs are turned OFF and NO ONE will be tagged... so if you see this and read it, thank you if you miss it, its fine... I'm scared to post this and I usually keep this stuff to myself but my paranoia has been really bad as of late and I wanted to get it out... It's frustrating because I've been talking to my therapist and we are trying to determine if its an extension of my bipolar or if I might have ppd...

The room felt too small, its walls creeping inward no matter where Kaden stood. Their breath hitched as their thoughts spiraled. Why would they say that? Was that a jab at me? Innocent conversations from earlier churned in their mind. The laughter of a friend felt sharp, like it had been aimed at them. Even Kylo’s quiet demeanor seemed laden with meaning.

He’s probably fed up with me. Who wouldn’t be?

Kaden’s hands shook as they paced, trying to untangle the web of thoughts that kept tightening. They caught a glimpse of Kylo at the far end of the room, his tall frame leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his sharp eyes fixed on them not with frustration, but with concern. That only made it worse.

“What?” Kaden snapped, their voice sharper than they intended. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Kylo didn’t flinch. He never did. His calm, steady voice cut through their spiraling thoughts. “I’m worried about you, Starlight.”

Kaden scoffed, turning away. “Sure you are. You’re probably just waiting for me to screw up again...”

Kylo pushed off the wall and took a cautious step closer. “That’s not true, and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything!” Kaden whirled around, their voice cracking. “I don’t know who I can trust, not my friends, not my family....not even you!”

Their own words burned as they escaped, but Kaden couldn’t stop. The paranoia was like a fire, consuming everything in its path.

Kylo’s face didn’t change. He didn’t argue, didn’t scoff or dismiss their feelings. Instead, he simply nodded. “That must be exhausting...” he said softly.

Kaden froze, caught off guard by the gentleness in his voice. “What?”

“Feeling like this. Carrying all of that” he said, stepping closer but still keeping some distance. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be.”

Kaden opened their mouth to snap back, but the words caught in their throat. The tension in their chest didn’t ease, but something about Kylo’s tone cut through the static. He wasn’t dismissing them. He wasn’t fighting back.

“I don’t need your pity...” they muttered, their voice quieter now.

“It’s not pity” Kylo said firmly. “It’s love. There’s a difference.”

Kaden’s chest tightened even more at that word. Love. How could he say that so easily? Didn’t he see how broken they were? Didn’t he realize how impossible they were to deal with?

“I don’t need this...” they mumbled, brushing past him and heading toward their room. “I need to be alone.”

Kylo didn’t follow. He never did when they needed space. “I’ll be here” he said simply.

Kaden slammed the door behind them and sank to the floor. The silence was deafening, their thoughts screaming in the void it left behind. You’re a burden. You’re too much. Why would he even bother? He probably regrets marrying you.

Tears stung their eyes, but they refused to let them fall. They pulled their knees to their chest, rocking slightly as the storm raged on.

It felt like hours before the weight of their own thoughts became unbearable. Kaden cracked the door open, their eyes puffy and red, and found Kylo still sitting in the same spot, waiting. He looked up immediately, his expression softening when he saw them.

“I’m sorry.. " Kaden whispered, their voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, Ben. I—” They choked on their words, the dam breaking as tears spilled freely. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m a terrible person. I’m impossible to love. I—”

Kylo was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room in a few strides. He cupped their face gently, wiping away their tears with his thumbs.

“Stop.” he said firmly, but not unkindly. “Stop doing this to yourself, Starlight.”

Kaden shook their head, their voice trembling. “It’s true. I push everyone away. I don’t trust anyone. Even you. And you’ve done nothing but love me. I’m horrible. I don’t deserve you.”

Kylo pulled them into his arms, holding them tightly. “Don’t say that..” he murmured into their hair. “Don’t you dare say that., it's not true..”

“But it is true” Kaden sobbed. “You deserve someone better. Someone normal. Someone who doesn’t doesn’t ruin everything.”

Kylo pulled back just enough to look into their eyes, his gaze intense but full of tenderness. “Kaden, listen to me. You’re not ruining anything. You’re not a bad person. And you’re definitely not impossible to love.”

Kaden tried to look away, but Kylo tilted their chin up, keeping their eyes locked. “If I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t have married you. Do you understand that? I wouldn’t have stood there and promised to love you for the rest of my life if I didn’t mean it.”

“But why?” Kaden whispered, their voice breaking. “Why would you choose someone like me?”

“Because you’re everything to me,” Kylo said simply. “You’re my world, Kaden. I don’t need or want anyone else. I love you—every part of you. Even the parts you think are hard to love...”

Kaden let out a shaky breath, their tears still falling but their chest feeling a little lighter. “You don’t know how hard it is sometimes. How hard it is to trust you, even when I know you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Kylo nodded, his hands still cradling their face. “I know it’s hard. And I don’t expect it to fix with the snap of your fingers. I don’t need you to. All I need is for you to let me be here for you. Let me help carry the weight when it gets too heavy.”

Kaden buried their face in his chest, their sobs quieter now. “I’m so sorry, Moonlight. I don’t mean to hurt you. I hate that I do.”

“You’re not hurting me...” Kylo said softly, stroking their hair. “You’re struggling, and that’s okay. I’m not going anywhere, Starlight. I’m here, always. Through thick and thin, remember? You don’t have to do this alone.”

Kaden clung to him, the warmth of his embrace grounding them in a way nothing else could. For the first time in what felt like hours, the storm in their mind began to settle. Kylo’s presence was like an anchor, keeping them from being swept away.

“I love you...” Kaden whispered, their voice muffled against his chest. “Even when I can’t show it, even when I push you away, I love you....I love you so much and I'm so scared to lose you...”

Kylo’s arms tightened around them. “I know, Starlight. You'll never lose me and I love you, too. Always.”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Wayne Jackson x Reader || Oneshot

Plot: Lyle demands that you find some nice clothes for Wayne so that he can be seen with him in public and not be embarrassed. Simultaneously, you're dealing with a particularly bad Tinder match sending you eggplants.

You help Wayne to be presentable and Wayne helps you to make a wierdo leave you alone.

Warnings: Sexual references as well as mentions of dick picks.

*I wanted to write for Greasy and Wheezy Weasel... but also Jim Bickerman... this is the natural conclusion XD

Tagging: @masqueradeball and @slxsherwriter

"Ooookay, look... " You feel like a master chef judge except theirs no cake, there's just Wayne. Disappointing. "The outfit is fine, you cant go wrong with a clean shirt and jeans." Clearing your throat, you turn promptly to the men's jackets section of T.K. Max, wondering to the medium section and giving the choices a quick overlook. "You just need a good coat- because this jean jacket and hoodie combination is not it. You're a 60 year old man not a 19 year old drug dealer, dress like it."

"Thought I was."

"No."

Giving a sigh as you look through the options, because this is absolutely not what you would like to be doing today (Though, it still beat answering the phone right now), you pick out a few of the coats and hand them over to Wayne. You choose a coat in off-white, too, but pause. You look at him and screw up your nose in a wince, considering what he does for a living. He shakes his head. No. Bad idea. Put it back.

Shame; he'd look good in white.

"Anyway, we'll also pick up a few more shirts and jeans because you cant live on a rotation of 3 to 2 ratio. No. We might get you a haircut too, and maybe- "

"God. You wanna shave me, too??" He cuts you off, and you hear the exaggerated sarcasm clear as day, but still give him a deeply unamused.

"No, the beard's sexy." You say bluntly, feeling your phone buzz in your back pocket and fighting off a frustrated sigh; knowing exactly who it was from. "-Thats your only redeeming feature right now. Don't say crazy stuff like that!, because I do not have the patience for it today."

The man gives you a sheepish shrug, but looks wholly shut up. "... jeez... You're a real ball a' joy, today."

You feel the tell-tale buzz again, and let air whisper out from between your lips in frustration. "... you have no idea."

"Great." Wayne rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed at this whole situation just like you. And you get it- if your cousin said he was embarrassed of you and demanded someone else take you out and dress you at the crack of dawn on a Saturday then you'd be pretty damn annoyed, too. You're about to offer an olive branch, ask if he wants to get something to drink before you start, but then a mischievous vulgar grin spreads across his rough-looking face and immediately you groan. Before words even come out. This goddamn man- "... Hey, I do like to hear ya think I'm sexy, though. How about that, huh?"

Without a word, you deadpan-point him towards the changing rooms.

~

Its a couple of hours later and- to be honest- you are in a better mood, now. This is definitely better then answering your Tinder messages, at least. For sure.

At first all the two of you did was argue, until you marched him out of the store to get a coffee. You found, after that, that you were both far more likeable people with a caffeinated/sugary drink in your hands. You got along a lot better, then.

After a few try-on's, you both agreed on a plain old grey long coat. not quite a trench coat, because he's creepy enough you think, but nothing fancy either, with nice deep pockets. That feature particularly made him happy, and you couldn't blame him. Pockets make you happy, too. You didn't think about what he might want to put in the pockets, though he did try to tell you. You didn't want to know.

"No- but wait, see here?? I could totally fit a- "

"Thats okay Wayne, I don't need to know."

"B- "

"No."

*Huff* "Suit yourself. ... Hm, but I might even be able to get me in here some- " This man chose to look up and wriggle his eyebrows at you, almost causing you to choke on a laugh. Almost. "You know."

Okay, you're not made of stone. At this you did snort; shaking your head. "No, I don't know."

"... you wanna?"

"Nope."

Now Wayne was just trying a few pairs of jeans (He offered to let you in so you could 'help him'... you politely turned that oh so very kind and beyond charming offer down with a 'no you're a big boy; I have the utmost faith in you that you can do it' and an encouraging pat on the shoulder), and while you sat outside the changing rooms with the coat hung over your legs and a basket half full with some more shirts in various cobalt hue's, you finally see fit to open up your phone for the first time in the day and... oh, boy.

You wince.

"Yep," You mutter, shaking your head and shifting to make sure no one was around to see. "Thats a penis."

God, what is wrong with men?

'U gotta send me some now' the guy, Brandon, texts you then seeing that you were online. 'Thats fair'. You groan. Oh no you do not.

When Wayne comes out of one of the changing rooms, tucking his shirt into his new jeans, you quickly switch off your phone and lower it into your lap. A second ago you were having a good day (A good day! With crazy Wayne of all people!), but now... aghhh, you just wanted to go home. Be alone. Lament over the fact that, at this rate, you're never going to find a man you have any kind of real chemistry with. "- that looks great." You say quickly, flashing a kind smile and getting up. "We'll get a couple of those. Its all on Lyle, anyway. Come on, lets ring up. You wanna get Taco Bell on the way back?- "

"Uh uh uh," As you're attempting to walk by Wayne and head for the registers, he grabs you by the crook of your arm and stops you right there. "What just happened here?"

Taking a deep breath, you cross you arms and face him; never mind the proximity he set. "Nothing. We've been out for hours, and I'm tired."

"You are not." He growls, then you peer and watch a sly grin spread across his face. "You cant lie to a liar, sweetheart, trust me. But hey," Suddenly he plucks your phone right out of your hand, making you yelp and go wide-eyed. Oy- "lets see for ourselves what the problem is, huh?"

"No, no, no- " You reach for the phone as soon as you see it, but he turns around.

Your phone comes to life and, holding the device just out of your reach (Well, you could move and grab it, but at this point you're frozen out of mortification), Wayne flicks to the most recently opened app. Then the photo's slide across the screen again and your nose wrinkles. "Ahhhh... " You roll your eyes deeply. You can imagine the nasty grin on the dirty old man's face without even seeing it. "... So? You gonna uhh... repay the favour, or not? Hm??" He chuckles. and you groan.

"What do you think?" You ask his back, rubbing your face.

"Well I'm sure I don't know- "

"No! The answer is no!"

"Heheh,.. " Suddenly an odd calm settles over Wayne, and you hear rather then see the phone shut off. Then there's a consoling tone in his voice that makes you nervous. "Alright, we can go. I'm all done here, after all, aren't I? Nothin for my Cuz to be embarrassed about anymore, hm? Lemme just put my old pants back on."

"Okay... thank you... ... hey, wait, gimmie back my phone, first- "

"Not just yet."

... that sure makes you nervous.

For the few moments you're waiting for him you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, worried. You just want your phone back! You want to delete. Tinder. damnit.

When Wayne's in there for a few moments too long, you awkwardly approach and knock on the door. "... Way- "

He opens the door almost as soon as your knuckles hit the surface, startling you, and hands you the phone back with a terrible, satisfied look on his face.

... you squint. "What did you do."

"Nothin'." He tells you back, noncommittally; shrugging and adjusting his pants as you open up your phone and navigate back to Tinder.

...

...

...

..

...

..- "OH." Immediately you turn off your phone all the way again and cross your arms, fighting to urge to throw it. THATS not gonna give you nightmares at all. After a moment, your eyes flick to Wayne grinning proud. "... why."

"Well he aint gonna bother you no more now, is he?"

"The concept of your penis does seem to have that effect on people." You say... but cant help it. You laugh, shaking your head; more an inappropriate cackle then a laugh, really. It feels good. "Come on lets go,.. Flaccid, and everything. Very sexy, Wayne."

"I thought so." He's still grinning with pride, and that only makes your giggles worse.

"Move it, Jackson."

~

You did end up getting lunch on the way back, opting to eat in the parking lot on the hood of the car, and you're still sipping coke when you pull into Wayne's driveway. He lives with Dale, its the only way the two of them can afford a semi-decent place with the wages that Lyle pays them, and as you slowly roll over the driveway you see Dale's motorbike in the open garage. He must be working on it today.

When Wayne pipes up from the passenger seat, you turn and watch him while chewing the paper straw in your taco bell cup. "Welll, this has been sorta fun, sweetheart. Coulda been more fun," He gives you a meaningful look and you shake your head, but grin with the straw still between your teeth. He clears his throat, opening the car door. "But, eh, not bad."

"Not bad??" You ask, teasing. "My company is just 'not bad'??"

There's a wicked look in his eye and on his face. "... yep."

"Ass."

"Never claimed to be anything else, did I now?" With that light-hearted but very true remark, Wayne turns to get out of the car- but a crazy split-second urge has you putting down your drink and stopping him.

"Wayne?- "

"Huh?- "

When your lips meet in a deep kiss with the old bastard you didn't even know you wanted until then, you feel every nerve in your body light up. Its slow and a little dirty, and you love it. You didnt know you could be kissed like this. So when you pull back you cant help the smirk that matches his.

"... well, now I think you're company's a lil better, Y/N." You snort, at that. "What? I manage t' seduce you with that photo? Hm?"

You roll your eyes and give a sigh. "Good lord- "

[poisonedace]

Inferna Academy

Inferna Academy

4098 words | Mature | Part 1/12 Author's AO3: PoisonedAce Story Link: Inferna Academy Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Summary: Blitzo refuses to fade into the background, even as his father demands he play shadow to his childhood friend Fizzarolli at Hell’s elite university. “Fizzarolli’s our ticket to the big time.” “Don’t screw up.” “You’ll never make it on your own." Everything changes when he reunites with Stolas, a Goetia prince shackled by suffocating expectations. What begins as a quiet connection blossoms into a love neither anticipated, built on stolen glances, whispered conversations, and study sessions full of laughter. But, their happiness is short-lived. Stella’s schemes threaten to tear them apart, straining their love and fracturing Blitzo’s friendship with Fizzarolli. A story of star-crossed lovers, broken trust, and fragile hope. Can Blitzo and Stolas find their way back to each other, or are they destined to remain distant souls, yearning for what could have been?

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Chapter One: Dead Weight

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Blitzo kicked the dusty trunk shut with a grunt, his tail swishing irritably behind him. The scuffed leather case, a relic of countless failed performances and hand-me-downs, wobbled precariously on the uneven floor. He glared at it as though it were personally responsible for the entire situation.

His father, Cash Buckzo, leaned lazily against the doorframe, the orange glow of his cigar tip cutting through the dim, smoky room. He exhaled a cloud of acrid smoke that hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of stale whiskey. His beady eyes followed Blitzo’s every move like a vulture sizing up its next meal.

“You’re gonna love it there,” Cash said, his voice thick with forced optimism, the kind that made Blitzo’s tail flick sharply, his spikes bristling along his back. “Inferna Academy’s the kind of place that can turn nobodies into somebodies.”

Blitzo let out a sharp snort as he shoved the trunk toward the door, the scrape of wood against wood setting his teeth on edge. “Yeah, if by ‘somebody,’ you mean Fizzarolli. I’m just the idiot tagging along to make sure he doesn’t forget his lunch.”

Cash’s sharp laugh cut through the tension like a knife. “You ain’t got the charm, kid,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “But you’ve got purpose.”

Blitzo froze, his hands tightening around the trunk's handles until his claws dug into his palm.

“Fizzarolli’s our ticket to the big time,” Cash continued, his voice smooth but cold. “And you’re gonna make damn sure nothin’ messes that up. Keep him safe, keep him focused, and for Satan’s sake, don’t embarrass the family. At least this way, you’ll finally be worth something.”

Cash’s words echoed in his mind, layered over a hundred other remarks, each one sharper than the last. Blitzo’s grip on the trunk tightened until the leather was creaking, threatening to break under his claws as his tail flicked sharply against the floor. His jaw clenched so hard it ached, his breaths coming short and fast. “You’ll never make it on your own.” His father’s voice lashed at him like a whip.

Blitzo’s claws dug into the leather, piercing it as his tail snapped against the doorway with a sharp crack. The sound echoed, cutting through the stale air like a knife.

“Why can’t you be more like Fizz?”

“A waste of talent.”

His chest tightened, the memories clawing at him like barbed wire. For a fleeting second, he felt like the kid left alone on stage, juggling with shaking hands while the audience sneered. But instead of crumbling, he straightened, his red eyes blazing.

Blitzo spun on his heel, eyes blazing as he faced his father. His tail lashed behind him like an agitated whip. “Fizz doesn’t need me to babysit him!” he snapped, his voice rising. “He’s a star all on his own. What the fuck am I going to be doing there? Carrying his bags?”

Cash shifted in the doorway, his shadow stretching long across the room. He took another drag from his cigar; the glow flared between his fingers, a flickering ember in the dim light. A thick cloud of smoke curled into the air as he exhaled, forcing Blitzo to cough and stumble back. “Exactly,” Cash said, his smirk twisting cruelly. “But you’re a Buckzo, Blitzo.” The name rolled off his tongue like an accusation, though his tone softened just enough to carry a flicker of something almost resembling pride. “Maybe you’ll surprise me for once—show ‘em you’re not just dead weight.”

Blitzo’s claws flexed against the edge of the trunk, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say: how he wasn’t dead weight, how Fizz didn’t need him, how it wasn’t fair. But he knew better than to argue— arguing only ever made things worse. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his feet to move, the weight of his father’s words heavier than the trunk in his hands.

Without another word, he began to haul his bags and trunk to the staircase, his boots thudding heavily against the worn floorboards. “Sure thing, Dad,” he muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Speak up!” Cash barked from behind him, though he didn’t bother to follow. “Quit mumbling like a damn idiot.”

Blitzo gritted his teeth, but he didn’t look back. He stomped down the stairs, his tail flicking in agitation as he whispered curses under his breath. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of the trunk matching the knot in his chest. By the time he reached the bottom, his knuckles were white from gripping the handle so tightly.

“Make myself useful,” he mocked under his breath as he shoved the trunk toward the door. “Yeah, right. As if dragging Fizz’s stuff around is gonna turn me into a somebody.”

Outside, the dull red glow of the Pride Ring’s sky painted the crumbling carnival grounds in an eerie light. The wagon was waiting near the gate, its wheels creaking under the weight of Fizz’s luggage and supplies. Blitzo straightened as he neared the dilapidated circus entrance and caught a glimpse of his father watching him from the window of their temporary, teardown home. The cigar’s ember glowing like a tiny, hateful eye, Blitzo turned away, his jaw clenched tight.

He didn’t need to hear the words to know what Cash was thinking. Don’t screw this up.

As he approached, Fizz lounged atop the wagon as if it were a royal throne, one leg crossed over the other as he tapped an idle rhythm with his robotic fingers. The luggage beneath him was piled high, threatening to tip at any moment, but Fizz didn’t seem to care. His gleaming metallic limbs caught the Hellfire glow from the sky, reflecting a brilliant flash with every movement.

“There you are!” Fizz called out as Blitzo finally got close enough to hear, doing nothing as he watched his friend struggle with his bags and trunk. “Took you long enough! What, did you stop to write an angsty monologue about how unfair life is? Nah, wait—lemme guess. You tripped over your own tail!”

Blitzo stopped dead in his tracks and shot Fizz a sharp glare. “Oh yeah, hilarious,” he snapped, throwing one hand up dramatically. “Glad to know your sparkling sense of humor’s in top shape, Fizz. Must be real easy when you’re sitting there doing jack-shit.”

Fizz just laughed, loud and theatrical. “C’mon, Blitzo, lighten up! Today’s a big day—for me and you!” He hopped down from the wagon with a whir of his robotic joints, landing with a flourish. He spread his arms wide like he was onstage, spinning once before striking a pose. “Inferna Academy! The best of the best!” He spun on his heel, throwing his arms wide. “The crème de la crème! Oh, I can already hear the applause.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes so hard he was sure they’d pop out of his skull. “Yeah, and maybe if I hang around long enough, they’ll let me scrub the floor under your statue,” he muttered, shoving his trunk onto the wagon with more force than necessary, cursing when it fell right off and nearly crushed his toes.

Leaving it laying haphazardly on the ground, Blitzo placed his hands on the side of the wagon, his claws digging into the edges, making deep gouges. He let out a sharp breath, his gaze fixed on the worn leather of the trunk. “You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “it used to feel different. Back when we were both in the ring. Before…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the memory.

Fizz smirked, oblivious—or maybe just indifferent—to Blitzo's attitude. “Aw, don’t sell yourself short, Blitzo. Somebody’s gotta carry my bags, right? You’re good at that!” He clapped him on the back, sending him stumbling forward a few steps until his hip hit the wagon.

Blitzo winced, his tail flicking so violently it nearly took the wheel off. He spun around and threw both arms up in frustration. “Right, because that’s my purpose in life, huh? To lug around your junk while you prance around like Hell’s gift to the underworld!” He started pacing in front of the wagon, his voice growing louder with every word. “I’m just the lowly pack mule! Good ol’ Blitzo, always here to make sure King Fizz doesn’t have to lift a finger!”

Fizz’s grin faltered, just for a moment. His gaze darted away, his metallic fingers fidgeting at his side. “You really think that’s all you are?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost drowned out by the distant bubbling of the molten pits.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting to the side as though searching for words. A flicker of something unguarded flashed across his face—fear, maybe, or doubt, gone so quickly it almost felt imagined. “You’ve always had a way of keeping things together, Blitzo,” he murmured, the faintest crack in his confident tone. His metallic fingers tapped a restless rhythm against his side before stopping abruptly as though the motion betrayed too much.

Fizz’s eyes flicked toward the trunk Blitzo had been struggling to haul, his metallic hand hovering for a second as if considering offering to help. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck, his sharp grin slightly dimming. “You’re more than that,” he mumbled under his breath, the words almost lost in the heavy air.

Fizz’s gaze lingered on the trunk for a moment longer. “You’ll see. We’ve got this,” he muttered, so soft it almost felt like an afterthought. The words carried a weight that didn’t match his usual bravado; a quiet reassurance meant as much for himself as for Blitzo. 

Before Blitzo could respond, the confident smirk snapped back into place, his teasing tone returning as if the moment of hesitation had never happened. He walked over to Blitzo's side and picked up the trunk with ease, shoving it into the back of the wagon.

“C’mon, Blitzo, don’t go all mopey on me now. You’re tougher than that! Y'know I was just messing with ya!” Fizz laughed, the sound as sharp and bright as his gleaming limbs. “It’ll be just like the old days, won’t it? You pulling the strings while I steal the show?” He paused, his grin softening just slightly. “Couldn’t have done half those acts without you.”

His voice dipped for a moment, the confident edge wavering as something unspoken flickered in his tone again—guilt, maybe, or just a memory of when they’d shared the stage equally. Fizz’s gaze darted away, his grin returning quickly, almost too quickly. “But hey, don’t let it go to your head!” he added with a wink, the teasing lilt back in full force as he gave Blitzo’s shoulder a playful punch. “We’re a team, remember? You keep me grounded, and I keep us flying. It’s perfect!”

Blitzo’s scowl deepened, but his mind hesitated, tripping over the word “team.” For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to think back to their early days—before the spotlight became an unrelenting glare. Back when they’d pull off wild, unpolished routines together, making the crowd roar with laughter. He could almost smell the sharp tang of sawdust in the ring, feel the cool stickiness of a pie smeared across his hand as Fizz shrieked in mock outrage.

The warm, stifling scent of greasepaint and the faint metallic tang of the trapeze wires lingered in his memory. The roaring crowd echoed in his ears, their laughter loud enough to drown out the creak of the rickety circus stands. He could see it now—Fizz grinning ear to ear as they stumbled through a messy, ridiculous act, the two of them tumbling over each other in perfect comedic harmony. For those fleeting moments, they had been equals under the big top’s glow, sharing in the chaos and applause. The cheers had been for both of them then, their chaotic synergy drawing the audience in like moths to flame.

Blitzo picked up his bag from the floor and flung it over his shoulder, his claws loosened around the strap of his bag, the sharp edge of his anger dulling. Maybe Fizz was right—maybe they were a team. But, just as quickly as the memory had surfaced, it faded, drowned out by the roar of the crowd that now only pressed around Fizz. The cheers weren’t for them anymore. They were for him. Always him.

Fizz’s voice yanked him back to the present. “Hey, do you think the professors will want autographs right away, or should I play hard to get?”

Blitzo blinked, his mouth hanging open as the words registered. “Are you fucking serious right now?!” he shouted, his arms flailing. “Do you even hear me? I’m down here having a full-blown existential meltdown, and you’re wondering if they’ll be impressed enough to kiss your stupid, shiny legs?”

Fizz finally turned back to him, his grin as wide as ever. “What can I say? Some of us are born to shine, Blitzo. And you…” He patted Blitzo on the head like he was a pet before he began to walk to the front of the wagon. “Well, you’re born to carry my bags!”

Blitzo smacked his hand away, his face flushing red with anger. “Great! Just keep walking, Mr. Perfect! Don’t mind me down here with the dirt!”

Fizz ignored him entirely, already climbing back onto the luggage pile. He stretched out dramatically, one hand resting on his chest as he sighed contentedly. “Oh, Blitzo, you’re such a buzzkill. But don’t worry—stick with me, and maybe some of my charm will rub off on you!”

Blitzo stopped mid-step and whirled around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Yeah, because that’s what I need. Not, like, a shred of respect or maybe a break from your nonstop ego-fest. Nope! Just rub me down with some of that Fizz magic!” He threw his hands up one last time and stomped toward the gate, his tail snapping behind him.

Fizz just chuckled, reclining like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Love ya too, Blitzo! Don’t work too hard down there!”

Blitzo didn’t bother responding. His gaze drifted toward the towering gates of Inferna Academy far off in the distance, the sharp iron spires twisting into cruel, jagged shapes. His chest tightened as he muttered, “This is gonna be just great.”

~o0o~

The gates of Inferna Academy loomed ahead, an imposing wall of black iron twisted into intricate, demonic designs. Hollow-eyed faces stared down at Blitzo, their leering expressions frozen in silent judgment. Fiery runes pulsated faintly along the metal, casting flickering shadows that made the jagged shapes appear alive. Beyond the gates, the campus stretched out like something from a hellish dream: gothic towers with spiked roofs clawed at the blood-red sky, fiery pits bubbled and spat in the courtyards, and floating platforms hovered ominously.

Blitzo adjusted the strap of his bag, wincing as it dug into his shoulder. The oppressive grandeur made him feel small as if the entire place had been designed to remind him that he didn’t belong. The bubbling pits exuded heat that sank into his skin, causing him to tighten his grip on the trunk he was pulling behind him.

 “Wow,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he spread his arms wide in mock celebration as he looked around at the place where, even visually, it mocked him on how far below this grandeur he stood. “Look at this! A demon’s paradise! Just what I always dreamed of! I feel so at home already.”

Ahead of him him, the wagon creaked to a halt just past the gates, its wheels groaning under the weight of luggage. Before Blitzo could walk through the gates himself, footsteps and excited chatter filled the air.

A crowd was gathering fast—students, staff, and even a professor or two—all homing in on one person.

“Fizzarolli, it’s an honor to meet you!”

“We’ve heard so much about your performances!”

“Your work with robotic prosthetics is groundbreaking!”

Fizz barely had a chance to step off the wagon before he was swallowed by eager hands and overlapping voices.

“Oh, you’re all too kind!” Fizz said, his grin sharp and dazzling as he shook hands and laughed. “I’m just happy to be here!” With a flourishing bow, he swept one metallic arm outward like he was already performing for an audience.

Blitzo's claws pressed into the leather strap of his bag as he began to drag Fizz’s trunk and bags to just inside the courtyard gates. The crowd around Fizz was a storm of noise and motion—excited voices rose, laughter echoed, and hands reached out. Sulfuric heat from the bubbling pits nearby added to the oppressive air, wrapping around Blitzo like a suffocating blanket.

Fizz spun in place, his limbs glinting brilliantly in the late afternoon sun, soaking up the attention with ease. “Oh, stop it—you’re making me blush!” he teased, winking at a group of giggling students. “But, please, keep going.”

Tightening his grip on Fizz's belongings Blitzo muttered with a roll of his eyes, “Right, because Hell definitely needed more Fizzarolli fans.”

Sweat prickled the back of his neck as he struggled through the press of bodies. A sharp elbow jabbed his arm, nearly knocking the bag from his grasp. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice cutting into the chaos, though no one so much as glanced at him. His irritation flared, but he bit it back. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered under his breath. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

Blitzo’s jaw tightened as the cheers seemed to amplify, reverberating through the courtyard like a physical force. The heat pressed against him, his head pounding in time with the chaotic din. Letting out a sharp exhale, he dropped the trunk with a thud and turned away, shoving his way free of the crowd. He needed air—cool, quiet, and away from the oppressive glow of Fizz’s spotlight.

Near the middle of the courtyard, a staff member stood stiffly, their uniform pristine. Blitzo stomped toward them, boots scuffing against the stones.

“Hey,” he called out, sharper than intended. The staff member, an imp that came up to his shoulder, glanced up, startled. “Those—” he motioned toward the pile he’d dragged off the wagon—“are Fizzarolli’s things. Take it to his dorm. Room... whatever. Asmodeus Hall.” His tail flicked irritably, dropping his own trunk to the ground. He turned, grabbing the half rotten handle before looking back sharply at the imp. “I’ll handle mine.”

The staff member hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”

Blitzo grunted a half-hearted thanks before turning away. He adjusted his grip on his trunk and trudged down the stone path, the students’ cheers and Fizz’s carefree voice trailing behind him, distant but still sharp enough to sting.

The fiery pits’ faint crackles and the occasional echo of distant chatter soon replaced the chaos. The fading sounds brought a hollow sort of relief, leaving space for his own thoughts to creep in.

Fizz’s bright voice lingered, its sharp, teasing edge cutting into the silence like an echo Blitzo couldn’t shake. He clenched the handle of his trunk tighter, each step pulling him further from the glow of Fizz’s world—and deeper into his own shadow.

For a moment, Blitzo paused. He set the trunk down, rolling his shoulder to ease the ache, and glanced back toward the crowd that he could barely see from where he stood. But he could see Fizz, who stood at the center, radiant and untouchable, surrounded by eager hands and beaming faces. Their voices blended in bursts of admiration, slicing through the quiet that had settled around Blitzo.

This world wasn’t for him—it never had been. His chest tightened, not just from bitterness but from the sting of his father’s voice echoing in his mind: "Don’t screw this up."

Blitzo tore his gaze away, his jaw clenched. Fizz could thrive here, bask in the spotlight, but Blitzo couldn't. Not yet.

The acrid scent of sulfur brought him back to the present, his claws moving to grab his trunk again as he shook his head to get rid of the memory. His place wasn’t at the center of someone else’s story. If they wouldn’t see him now, he’d make them look eventually—on his terms.

With a sharp breath, he began to pull his trunk across the uneven ground to wander through the academy’s maze-like paths, his steps heavy and uneven. The campus walls loomed high above him, jagged and cold, casting sharp-edged shadows that shifted with the flicker of distant torches. The fiery glow from the pits beyond the walls painted the stones a deep, hellish red, their uneven light reflecting faintly in his eyes.

Goetia Hall, where he would stay, loomed ahead, its elegance almost mocking in its perfection. Blitzo felt a pang in his chest—something he refused to name—at the sight. Goetias didn’t have to claw their way to recognition; they were born with it. The air here felt different, cleaner somehow, untouched by the desperation that clung to him like a second skin. Of course, Fizz would end up surrounded by this kind of luxury. It was exactly where he belonged.

Blitzo tightened his grip on his trunk, the leather creaking beneath his claws in warning. Cash’s voice echoed in his head again, “Don’t screw this up.” He shook his head sharply, trying to dispel the thought, but it clung to him like smoke.

Blitzo tore his gaze from the hall began the long trunge to the large wooden doors. The fiery pits cast long shadows over the stones, their heat licking at his heels. His boots scuffed against the uneven ground, and each step dragged with the weight of his trunk and the heavy knot in his chest.

But a tiny, stubborn ember flickered deep inside even as the bitterness threatened to swallow him whole. It wasn’t much—barely more than a spark—but it refused to go out. Prove them wrong, it whispered. Prove you’re more than this.

Blitzo stopped right outside the building and looked around him as a hazy vision of success began to take shape. He imagined a crowd—no, his crowd—chanting his name, not Fizz’s. He saw himself at the center of the stage, the Hellfire glow casting him in dramatic light. Laughter, applause, and cheers all for him. Not the shadow in someone else’s light, but the one they couldn’t look away from.

The thought sent a jolt of defiance through him, his tail flicking sharply—one way or another, he thought, his jaw set in a grim line. I’m going to make them see me.

He tightened his grip on the trunk, the weak wood breaking under his grip. He stopped and hauled it over his shoulder before he quickened his pace, each step more resolute than the last. The shadows ahead twisted and deepened, colder and darker, but Blitzo kept moving. If the world wouldn’t give him a place, he’d carve one out himself. He had no plan—not yet—but the ember of defiance in his chest flared brighter, steady, and unyielding. For now, that was enough.

Part Two

[quietwings-fics]

as we bend and break through time

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Jack & Lucifer) Additional Tags: Season/Series 05, Time Travel, Trauma, Past Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Good Older Sibling Lucifer (Supernatural), Mistaken Identity, Sharing of Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Nephil Jack Kline Wordcount: 1728 Summary:

Lucifer finds an injured angel. They’re terrified of him.

Notes:

For day 20’s prompt: Found Family, which I have taken literally. You know, as in, they are actually family and lucifer finds jack and- you get it.

Lucifer doesn���t recognize the angel he finds slumped amid the torn down trees and smoldering grass. They curl in on themselves, unconscious, two badly damaged wings barely able to cover them and keep them safe. He waits at the edge of the crater their arrival made for them to acknowledge his presence, but they don’t wake up, and he can’t keep his curiosity reined in for long. 

They have a vessel, a boy, not a child anymore or an adult yet. Lucifer kneels in the ashes beside the angel to get a closer look. His own wings rise, huge and horrifying shadows that will still serve their purpose of hiding the two of them from view. He reaches down to touch the vessel, skimming his fingers up soot-smeared clothes until he brushes the bare skin of the angel’s throat. Lucifer jolts back, hit with weak grace leaping back towards his own. 

It takes him longer than he wants to admit to brace himself for that. He hasn’t felt another angel in so long that the connection burns from disuse as his injured brother reaches for him in his sleep. Lucifer cups his brother’s dirty cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth to wipe some of the grime away. He forces himself not to yank his hand back again, no matter how overwhelming this is.

His memories are all fractured. Was it always like this with his brothers? Such a strong connection, easily fitting into the cracks of his own grace and nestling close. He shakes his head. 

“Wake up, brother,” he murmurs. The angel stirs a little. Lucifer can’t recognize him, but then, he’s not sure if he would know any of them by sight anymore. He’s been revisiting his own memories for so long with no way to know if they were even real. He’ll know Michael, no matter how long its been, but this angel is a stranger to him in every way but the most important one: he’s still Lucifer’s little brother, and he’s hurt. Lucifer scoops him up out of the dirt and up into his arms carefully, watching as his wings twitch and drag along the ground limply. “Wake up so that I can help you.” He doesn’t want to feel this angel die, but the pulse of his grace is so weak, so quiet, like it has been torn from him with barely a few dregs left to slowly bleed out.

The angel stirs as Lucifer combs his fingers through his hair. There’s a swoop to it that he finds and fixes into place, brushing free clumps of dirt. There’s blood mixed in with everything else covering the angel’s face, and he finds it sticking strands together. He licks his fingers and rubs it out as best he can.

It’s as he brushes his fingertips down the angel’s cheek again that he wakes, jolting into awareness with a hand on Lucifer's wrist. He hold still for them. The angel's grip trembles as he forces his head up and his eyes open. 

All it takes is one look at Lucifer for him to panic. 

His damaged wings immediately lash out against Lucifer’s as he tries to push himself away. Lucifer lets him go without a fight. He doesn’t even take a defensive stance, letting those wings batter against his own with barely any strength behind the blows. The angel manages to get a few feet from him before his face screws up and he changes his mind, launching himself back at Lucifer. Lucifer topples over into the dirt, sending up a cloud of ash that makes the angel cough. He wraps his hands around Lucifer’s neck, then startles like he’s surprised he can touch Lucifer at all, before tightening his grip again.

”You’re dead,” he says, his voice shaking. “You’re supposed to be dead!” Lucifer lets his wings topple open across the ground. He’s sure that doesn’t do much to ease his brother’s fear, (if Lucifer can barely look at his own wings, how terrible must they appear to another angel?) but if there’s any way Lucifer can let him know he doesn’t want to hurt him, he’ll take it.

”Is that what Michael-” Lucifer peers closely when the angel flinches at that name. He gentles his voice as much as he can. “I was never dead, little brother. Only caged.” 

The angel’s grip loosens slightly. They haven’t gone for a blade. Not that anything less than an archangel’s blade could harm Lucifer, but he’d expect one at his throat by now. 

“What did you call me?” the angel whispers. Lucifer’s heart aches. The emotions he can feel filtering from the angel’s grace into his own are getting easier to sort out. There’s so much fear and confusion and pain. 

“I may have been thrown out of Heaven, but I can still care about my family,” Lucifer says. Something wrenches through the angel’s grace so powerfully that it hurts Lucifer as well, and he sucks in a breath to steady himself. “Your grace-”

“You can’t have it,” the angel says, so fast that his words jumble together. Lucifer doesn’t know how to respond to that. He opens his mouth, fails to come up with anything, and shuts it again. The angel’s wings finally collapse against his own, unable to keep upright with how weak he is. 

“You’re hurt,” Lucifer says. “I want to help you, brother. I promise.”

”You’re a liar.” That stings Lucifer’s pride.

”What kind of horror stories are they telling about me in Heaven to scare all the little angels?” 

“Ones you earned,” he sounds sure, like Lucifer himself was the one to hurt him this badly. 

Heaven wasn't this cruel with their punishments before he was cast out. He looks over the angel’s injured grace again. That makes this his fault. He taught them how to deal with disobedience.

“If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have let you wake up at all,” he says. The angel flinches again. Lucifer raises his hands to touch his brother’s wrists. He grasps them loosely so that he could pull away from Lucifer if he wanted to. “What’s your name? I don’t remember you.” He sees the angel’s jaw tighten stubbornly. He smiles. “If you make me guess, we’ll be here for a week.”

”…Jack.” The name doesn't ring a bell. Not that Lucifer cares that much. He knows everything he needs to already. Lucifer pulls Jack's hands away from his throat. Jack can’t do anything to stop him. He looks like he’s about to pass out again, the pulse of his grace growing more sluggish with each second. Lucifer lets Jack’s hands rest against his chest instead, and he reaches up to cup the back of Jack’s head. He sways out of Lucifer reach, staring at Lucifer’s hand like he’s going to hit him. 

“I have enough grace to spare,” Lucifer tells him, following him despite Jack’s hesitancy until he’s holding him steady. Jack resists being pulled down, but Lucifer can’t let him hurt himself. He brings Jack close, bowing his head until Lucifer can brush a kiss against his forehead.

Jack shivers. Lucifer can feel how terrified he is. It weaves through his grace. Nick’s memories are always fuzzy, but one rises to the surface. A baby’s fingers wrapped around one of his own as hours of crying finally stopped. For a moment, the memory is more real than the angel Lucifer is holding close. He blinks and banishes it back into Nick's subconscious, focusing on sending his own grace into Jack to keep him alive. 

Jack takes it so easily. It’s like he was meant to have it. Lucifer frowns, but whatever that means doesn’t matter half as much as saving his brother. Jack is frozen under his touch, confusion growing thicker than fear as Lucifer feeds him more and more grace. 

“Can I touch your wings?” Lucifer asks. Jack doesn’t answer, so he jokes, “I know mine look shabby now, but I used to take much better care of them. I can fix yours.” Jack’s wings twitch again. They look painful in their current state. Lucifer extends a hand down towards one, and when Jack doesn’t move, he runs his fingers lightly over the feathers. He’ll need to groom them thoroughly later, but for now, he can heal them and it’ll be enough.

Broken feathers mend as the bones of his wing’s wrist slot back into their proper places. Whoever did this wanted him to suffer until he died. Lucifer kisses his forehead again to keep his anger at bay and focus on the angel he's taking care of, never ceasing the flow of grace that Jack is drinking from. Jack gasps as his right wing is realigned, unmarred from shoulder to tip except for the grime. Lucifer sets about fixing the other one.

Jack isn’t flinching anymore. Lucifer can feel his chest rise and fall against Lucifer’s own as he slides further down, laying on top of Lucifer. He must be exhausted. No time for rest under Heaven’s torture. With one hand, Lucifer heals his wing, and with the other, he pets Jack’s hair as his breathing slows and his fear fades away. 

He presses his face into the crook of Lucifer’s neck and sniffles. 

“See?” Lucifer says. “I’m not a monster, brother.” As he finishes with Jack’s other wing, Lucifer wraps his own around him. Instinctively, Jack snuggles into him.

It’s almost too much. His grace, the connection they’re sharing, even the touch of his skin against Lucifer’s own, it all makes Lucifer want to throw him off and keep his distance. He can’t let himself do that. Who knows if there are any other angels left who would give him a second chance? If he has Jack, then the Apocalypse won’t be such a lonely affair.

”Just rest now, little brother,” he tells Jack. “You’re safe now.”

(Jack doesn’t say a word. He can’t. He tries his best to quiet the guilt making his chest ache as he cuddles Lucifer, but it’s so nice. He’s not hurting Jack. Jack has been scared and tired and in pain for so long, and Lucifer… doesn’t even know who he is.

So Jack, with no idea how he got here or how long he’ll get to stay, presses closer and soaks up all the love he can get.)

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