#stop this at once (never stop) my poor battered heart

[msbyslilbimbo]

wolf!shidou who curls his teeth into the biggest smirk ever as bunny!reader and bunny!sae go at it.

he sees your little tail twitch while sae has you bouncing on his lap, his hands on your hips while you bounce up and down on his length. nails dig into the meat of your muscle while your hands rest on sae’s shoulders, grounding yourself in midst of your pleasure. your ears are down, completely indulging in the cock inside of you and the man giving it to you.

so naturally, when shidou lets out a whistle, your ears shoot up in panic and your head whips over your shoulder to look at him. you look terrified, you always do when shidou is around, and it makes his dick twitch; the way your eyes turn glassy and pretty as you peer at him is exhilarating. he can practically hear your heart pound in your heaving chest.

he can smell your arousal from the doorway.

“well what do i have here?” ryusei smirks. you whimper in fear of the wolf, but sae merely smacks your ass with a soft ‘didn’t say to stop, runt.’ “two needy little bunnies who couldn’t wait for me to give permission hm?”

“we don’t need your permission to hump, mutt,” sae grumbles, and you immediately tense up as shidou’s nose draws up your neck, licking a broad stripe in his wake. you quiver, and he slaps a massive palm down onto your tummy, making you jump and clench around sae’s cock. he jerks and his nose twitches, “she’s my girl first, your precious meat second. certainly aren’t going to ask for your permission to fuck her.”

his claws dig into the squishy meat of your belly, and you whine and lay your smaller hands on top of his for mercy, making shidou smirk. “what’re you doing to the poor girl, hmm? she’s absolutely trembling.” beefy hands trail up from your tummy and gently cupping your breasts, thumb stroking over your nipple and making you moan softly. “gotta be gentle with a little thing like her.”

“gentle?” sae snickers. “brat’s just terrified of you. you should hear how loud she squeals when my cocks fucking her nice and rough.”

you hear shidou chuckle and lean close to your ear, hot breath puffing against the shell. you shiver, tail twitching, and he sets up behind you, monstrous hands wandering up your sides and tits and belly while his hips rut against the squishiness of your ass, nudging your tail. you squeal in fear and your clit thumps, demanding attention from the big, bad wolf behind you.

"terrified? why, i'd never hurt a fly," he whispers, voice hushed and making you gasp. fingers trail to gently tug at the fluff of your tail, and you cry out in pain, the other hand caressing you darting between your legs to circle your clit hidden between sticky pussy lips. "i only want to make her feel good, ain't that right, angel?"

"you clench around me like that again, im gonna let him fuck that little ass of yours," sae threatens, digging his nails into your hips. "watch yourself. remember who you obey, little bunny."

the hand tormenting your little cotton tail shoots up to wrap around your throat and crane your head back, forcing you to look at shidou. "remember who can just gobble you up, little bunny," he snarls, teeth gritted close and once again, dangerously close to your face. the hand busy between your leg uses its nails to prod your clit, and you cry out in delighted fright.

he grins. sae bucks his hips up to slam into the spongy wall inside of you, pulling a moan out of your mouth and causing your eyes to cross.

"pretty bunny's close," shidou hums, pressing his lips to your cheek while he rubs your clit furiously. "i hear that little heart rate spiking. I feel that pretty tail twitching against my cock."

"if you cum now, im not protecting you from shidou."

"if you don't cum now, i'll tear you apart."

the signals in your brain cross as you cry out helplessly, body now being completely battered between two forces.

and if it weren't for the excitement brewing between your legs, you'd almost be convinced you were scared for their threats.

[awritesthings1]

Gone with the Leaves

Pairing: Tommy Shelby / Wife Reader

Summary: Despite your happy marriage to Tommy, you feel an undeniable jealousy towards Lizzie. Perhaps a day in the forest will do you some good.

ao3 link

A/N: I'm starting a tag list, comment if you want to be added :)

-

“You write like you’re running out of time,” mused Lizzie Stark, former prostitute, now Tommy’s secretary. “They have typewriters for those types of things, y’know?”

You saw the volley of cannonballs that launched and subsequently landed on Tommy’s desk as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t that you expected more of poor old plain Lizzie, but you thought that the time she had spent lying on her back staring past the shoulder of a customer at the ceiling would have taught her to read a room. Nevertheless, she stood there, quite amused with herself, smiling stupidly at your husband.

Tommy, who had been sitting at his desk all afternoon attending to letters, the ledger, and god knows what else, peered up from the paper. “What did you say?”

This time, it was your turn to be amused. He pointed accusingly at Lizzie, who by then had realised her impetuous mistake. Her wide eyes fluttered to you desperately, like a bee that had indulged itself in so much pollen that it became stuck in its own honey. No, that was putting it lightly. She looked to you like a frightened child who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were in.

You made sure you looked the other way.

“It was only a silly joke,” came her spluttering apology.

Tommy squinted, and his mouth curled into a frown. Smoke chased the deep exhale from the cigarette hanging between his lips. Your husband carried this terrifying look to him that many feared. Without the peaky cap to cover his striking blue eyes, you saw his glare cut away the cords in Lizzie’s throat with just one look. How could poor Lizzie defend herself from eyes that had witnessed nightmarish things?

“I’m not clear. Is it funny that I sign my letters by hand, or are you above using ink now that you have graduated from the bed to the desk?”

Lizzie’s mouth wormed into a thin line, yet she still looked to you for help. Of what help she thought you would possibly spare, you weren’t sure. For once, Lizzie used initiative and showed herself out.

Your heels clacked across the wooden threshold of your husband’s office. Now that no one was there to disturb you both, you sat down on Tommy’s lap. By then, he was leaning back on his chair, work abandoned for the time being until he could wash the sour sight of Lizzie Stark from his eyes.

“You know I don’t like her,” you said plainly.

There was no need for fake smiles or lies with Tommy. You knew him, and he knew you.

Tommy exhaled loudly, stubbing out the last of his cigarette on his ashtray and taking a swig of whiskey before his calloused hand found your waist.

He clears his throat. “It’s only business with her.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I like her any less.”

Tommy loved you, not Lizzie Stark, yet you couldn’t stomach the undeniable jealousy that arose with her presence. Perhaps it was a natural inclination women had toward their lovers. Lizzie had never done anything outwardly wrong to you. So, what was it then that turned your plain teeth into hissing fangs?

Everyone knew that Tommy was one of her paying customers before you met him, but so were all of Small Heath. You never felt insecure in your relationship with Tommy; there was no need to feel threatened by a prostitute. Yet that wouldn’t stop the catty feline that emerged from its slumber when Lizzie’s wandering eyes battered at your husband.

No. Lizzie Stark would never know what it felt like to be loved by a man like Tommy. What you held in your hands each night was a transcendental, unconditional type of love—one that surpassed the heart and soul, which drew two beings together in the most unconventional yet fitting way. The way that covers kept you warm at night, Tommy watched over your hearth and kept the fire burning, even if he were on the other side of the country.

You closed your eyes, leaning into the valley between Tommy’s neck and shoulder as you listened for the bah-dum-bah-dum of his heart. They sat together in silence, cherishing each other’s presence, while Tommy rested his cheek on your head. Outside, the world waited, barking at their front door and scratching at the delicately carved wood. Even the rain lashed at the windowpanes, playing together like one elemental orchestra.

The hand not resting on your waist rose to gently stroke up and down your arm. You shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold.

“I think you have some work to attend to in the bedroom,” you mumbled into his neck.

Your nose searched for the spot where he applied his aftershave.

“Eh?” Came his gruff response.

Your hand wandered down his suit in answer.

-

The sheets were bundled around Tommy’s naked waist when you sauntered back over to the bed with his case of cigarettes in hand. Gratefully, he took the case from your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you into the warmth of his chest. Then he began the usual routine. He fished out a cigarette to offer, but you shook your head no, so he slid it once, then twice, across his bottom lip. On the bedside table, he grabbed the half-empty matchbox to light the cigarette.

Tommy was the resident chain smoker in your house. With an appetite for tobacco and whiskey, you often wondered just how he sustained himself throughout the day. Of course, there were the home-cooked meals at Arrow House waiting for his return, although that didn’t stop you from worrying any less. It was pathetic, really, sitting all alone in his study, twiddling your fingers, and sitting beneath his portrait like you were praying to him. Tommy was no god, no matter how much he tried to convince everyone else. Yet whenever headlights passed the window and lit up the office momentarily, you would stand up and peer out, hoping to spot your husband exiting the car.

He cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. You loved watching the way the cigarette shifted between his lips when he spoke, even more when his hooded eyes looked over at you. Tommy was a man of few words, simply because he didn’t need language to communicate. His body spoke for him in tongues for all his enemies to understand. And more importantly, in a way your body understood.

Your hand abandoned his tattoo to stroke a thumb across his full bottom lip. Lust swelled there, eager to chase the rest of the night away into a haze of pleasure until the sun rose. As tempting as it was, you sighed at the thought. You would rather spend this time taking in your husband, remembering the fine details across his face and body, from the scar in the hollow of his cheek to the rough texture beneath his shoulder blade where a bullet was once lodged. You wanted to trace the sockets of his eyes the way a blind person would, treasuring each valley, mountain, and cut of skin as if it were to disappear the second you stopped touching him.

“You’re beautiful,” you decided, bathed in candlelight, tangled up between the sheets and Tommy’s arms.

Tommy’s brows furrowed, and the cigarette hung dangerously loose from where his lips curled into a frown. He grunted, clearly dissatisfied with your words. Tommy wasn’t beautiful. He was hard, ambitious, and unmovable force.

Beautiful was a conventional word savored for the finest women. To you? It meant so much more. Crafted in a way that would cause people to stare, sure, but there was also a poetic sense to the word. The type of beauty you would use to describe a well-written novel or heart-wrenching poem. Thomas Shelby stood for something, and that was beautiful.

“Then what are you, eh?”

A lazy smile floated onto your face, so much so that you had to bite your lip to refrain from looking devastatingly pleased at his answer.

A woman, a dreamer, a friend, a reader, an achiever. “A wife.”

He huffed, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Why was it that most women felt like they could only fit the frame of one? With Tommy, you were never limited to the endless possibilities. You treasured being a wife the same way you treasured your other roles. Marriage wasn’t the end all be all. Perhaps that’s another lie men spun—that perfectly capable women stopped existing as soon as a diamond ring slid onto their finger. How sad, you thought, to waste away all that potential when men were still free to pursue stupid ideas like war and dog fights.

Tommy was unbothered by traditional ideas like that. Change powered his ambition; he had no time for parallel lines. You could be his wife, a writer, a singer, or a mother—whatever you wanted—and he wouldn’t think of you any less.

You hummed, chasing that cigarette from his lips and stubbing it out in the ash tray by his bedside table. Tommy didn’t seem too heartbroken about it. In fact, there was some mirth in his gaze. His hands traced up your naked spine, pulling your body further into his until you could smell the smoke in his breath.

“Yes,” he breathed in loudly through his nose, “my wife.”

-

The following day, you were invited to the Basnett's hunting party. You would’ve been more enthusiastic to write about your excitement to attend if the whole ordeal hadn’t been so troublesome. Because a few days prior, when you were visiting your husband’s office, you had caught sight of the letter on Lizzie’s desk, a letter that was supposed to reach you days earlier.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Lizzie had said, too occupied with filing her nails while on the clock.

You kept your composure for the sake of keeping the peace. You didn’t wish to disturb Tommy if he were to walk by.

“This is a letter addressed to me,” you pressed.

“Oh.” She stopped for a moment, then leaned over to read the letter you had pulled from the messy pile. “No, it’s addressed to Tommy.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Shelby,” you hissed quietly, with emphasis on the missus.

“Hm, I didn’t notice.”

“You are paid to notice.” You fought the urge to comment that she was paid for other things not long ago. “How long has this been sitting here?”

Lizzie tapped her cigarette ash into the tray. “The post boy dropped that lot off yesterday.”

Even if it was only two days late to reach your hand, by society’s standards, that may have well been taken as you snubbing the invitation. Frustratingly, you had to cancel your plans that day and personally deliver your letter to the Basnett’s door, citing some excuse of it having been lost in the post.

“That woman is up to no good.” You said glumly that night into Tommy’s chest.

“I’ll speak to her,” he promised in that stoic tone of his.

Whether he had been true to his words, you weren’t sure because Lizzie made an effort to avoid you when possible.

“Oh! Mrs. Shelby! How wonderful for you to join us! Come in, come in. The men are readying their rifles for the hunt outside. How exciting!” Gushed Lady Basnett, shooing you into the atrium of her lavish mansion.

Your riding boots clacked across the floor before being muffled by an intricately woven rug. You stared up at the chandelier, childishly wondering if it would hit you if it were to fall at that moment.

“Right this way, Mrs. Shelby!” Lady Basnett ushered excitably.

You debated if all her energy was for show—to please her husband and be the good wife he expected of her. After she showed you through to the veranda and down to the circle of wives who had gathered under the trees while their husbands readied for the hunt, you decided that no, she must truly enjoy planning social occasions like this, as evidenced by the way she kissed Sarah’s cheek in greeting with a wide grin.

It pleased you to know that Lady Basnett found joy in something. Ever since her eldest died in the war, she has been known to be a bit of a recluse.

“Oh, what a beautiful ring! May we see it?” Doe-eyed Catherine asked.

She was one of the younger wives, like yourself. Catherine married an older man, twice her senior. Many of the wives here faulted her for it behind her back, but not you. You saw more of yourself in her than you did in any of the other women. Because, despite the age gap, the girl seemed to be utterly head-over-heels in love with a man society deemed old-fashioned for her. And how could you blame her when you swore an oath to a gangster of all people?

You obliged and let the wives twist and turn your hand to better inspect the diamonds on your ring finger.

“It’s perfect!”

“How many carats?”

“My Mary would be so jealous!”

After dutifully showing your wedding ring, you noticed the men beginning to mount their horses.

Catherine hooked her arm around yours. “Come on, we are going to be left behind!”

She jovially pulled you along the stone tiles at a speed that made you grateful for wearing riding boots. The backyard was grand in the sense that the acres they owned stretched vastly into the nearby forest. Although there were impressive features, like the hedge they had grown into a maze and the trees that were shaped into birds.

“Lady Basnett owned an aviary of budgies. Dear little things they were, she was devastated when they all escaped one night after the groundskeeper forgot to close the door,” Catherine commented, having noticed the way your head was turned.

You laughed, because you could precisely picture Lady Basnett as the type to fawn over little budgies.

Catherine led you to the horses, where some of the wives were already perched, waiting for the party to leave. None of them carried rifles, but rather wicker baskets strapped to the saddle for the picnic they planned to have at the top of the hill while they waited for their husbands to finish hunting.

Together, you set off, having mounted the back of Catherine’s mare. Deeper into the forest you went, the black mare trotting over loose dirt and rocks. Both of you remained at the end of the pack, preferring to keep to yourselves in light conversation.

Then it all happened so suddenly. One of the rifles went off up ahead, and a flock of birds rushed at you from the break in the foliage, startling your mare. You gasped in shock and reached for Catherine’s jacket to hold on, but only skimmed her. She went face first into the dirt while you were swept into the air like a leaf and fell with the grace of a rock. The ground thundered as the mare galloped into the distance.

“Fuck!” Catherine spat.

(On her fall she had taken a mouthful of soil and leaves.)

“They’ll come back,” you tried to reassure her.

-

Hours later, the two of you still had not been found.

“I was a prostitute before George found me, y’know.”

No, you didn’t know.

“That’s why I’m so young and he so old,” she smiled fondly, laughing as if it were the most normal thing.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to dislike her because of her circumstances. She was your friend, and a true one at that.

What was it that Tommy said? The past is the past.

-

The sun began to set when one of the men from the hunting party found you both huddled together under a tree. Kindly, he let the two of you ride the rest of the way back despite your hesitance to mount another horse.

When you returned to Lady Basnett’s, with Catherine in arm, the sun had been set for at least two hours. You hadn’t realized what trouble you had gotten yourself into until you noticed Tommy’s Bentley parked in the crowded driveway of the mansion. Men stood at the gate, armed and waiting. Catherine opened her mouth to remark how ridiculous it was, but you kept your lips sealed after recognizing the guards to be Peaky Blinders.

Tommy had to be beside himself.

A young boy who was playing between the cars popped his head out when the gates squealed open. His ears perked up, and he ran inside, clutching his peaky cap, to probably inform the adults inside of your arrival. People pooled out onto the front steps, the women covering their hearts and sighing with relief, and the men holding their hats to their chests. But when your husband, Tommy, came storming out, they parted like the red sea.

He stalked across the gravel like a predator, his eyes trained on you with an unblinking stare.

“Are you hurt?” He ignored Catherine, cupping your face and frantically looking between both your eyes as if you would disappear.

Upon further inspection, his eyes were bloodshot, and the white sleeves of his blouse were bundled into the golden garters. Your hands itched to muse his disheveled hair into place, but with all the curious onlookers, you thought better of it.

“No.”

George, Catherine’s husband, was quick to whisk her away inside. You heard Lady Basnett’s voice trailing after them: “Oh my, what a terrible thing. Come now, let me pour you some tea.”

Unfortunately, tea wouldn’t make up for any lost ground with Tommy.

“We’re going.”

You knew better to open your mouth to disagree. This was Tommy being afraid and carrying on. He retreated into himself. It didn’t look pretty or like he cared, but he cared; you knew he cared. It was only that no one else was allowed to know that the great Thomas Shelby felt any emotion.

At Arrow House, he swallowed two glasses of whiskey before saying a word. You were pulling at the hem of the overcoat that Tommy had shook off his shoulders to give you for the ride home. Your fingers just couldn’t stand the anxious silence that rang throughout the room.

“What the fuck happened?”

He stood in front of you, stoic as a soldier but cracking around the exterior thanks to his hand, which itched for the cigarette case inside his pocket. (A nervous tick of his.) You grab his hand between your own before he can fish out the case.

“The horse got spooked. It bucked Catherine and me off, but we’re fine.”

His thumb rubs across your knuckles as he looks past your shoulder out the window.

“Do you know where I was when I got the call? Eh? I was handling some business when Lizzie came in and told me some posh old woman was on the line, saying you were missing.”

He exhaled sharply, dropping his gaze to you, where you noticed his eyes soften.

“I thought…” He broke off.

His chin dropped, and he went to itch his nose with his other hand.

“What did you think happened? Is there something I should know about?” Concern leaked into your voice.

“No,” he huffed, clearing his throat. “It doesn’t matter. You’re home, and you’re safe.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from saying anything that might push him over the edge. He was fragile in a state like this in the sense that he pushed the stronger, more vivid feelings to the side because you were his wife, not a Peaky Blinder. No, you would never be, even though you married one.

Often, you would wish you could turn into the leaves that swept off the pavement and into the air. Imagine then how much easier life would be for you both—to forget the animosity of life and rise above it all, breathe in that crystal air, and then finally exclaim the truth because up there no one could hear them or cared enough to try anyway.

Cautiously, you let go of his hand and traced your fingertips up to knead away the tension in his jaw.

“Thomas… Do you remember what you asked of me? To help you with the whole fucking thing—”

“From now on—”

“Thomas—”

“From now on, let me know where you are going. I will organize a guard to watch over you.”

‘You write like you’re running out of time,’ Lizzie’s poorly placed joke from the start of the week reverberated in your skull.

Was he?

“I need you,” he breathed, the smell of whiskey fanning over your senses.

You nodded, pressing up on your toes to kiss him. A soft breath escaped him when you pulled away.

“You have me.”

[loveinhawkins]

For a few weeks, Claudia thinks that she’s collecting her son from the hospital after he’s visited Max Mayfield.

Then she finds out that’s only partly the truth.

Usually Dustin’s already waiting in the parking lot for her, Steve by his side. They chat, Steve insisting that he could drive Dustin home, it’s no trouble, and Claudia thanks him for the offer, kindly refuses; the poor boy looks run ragged these days.

One day neither of them are there, so she heads inside. There’s still a long line at reception, the aftermath of the earthquake, so she finds a nurse in a corridor, describes Dustin—my boy, about this high, curly hair (smiles like the sun, she wants to add)—and the nurse smiles, says, “Follow me, ma’am.”

She has a passing thought that this isn’t the direction to Max’s room, but reasons that she must’ve been moved. The nurse leaves her at the door before being called away.

Claudia opens the door quietly.

It’s not Max who’s in the bed.

She recognises him from the posters—his eyes first, then his long hair. He’s holding a battered copy of The Hobbit, the spine broken, and he’s reading so softly that she can’t quite make out the words.

And there, lying so peacefully against Eddie Munson’s shoulder, is Dustin. He’s fast asleep.

Eddie’s got an arm around him, and he’s slowly running his fingers through Dustin’s hair the way she used to when he was little, to help him drift off.

He looks up from his book at the sound of her entering the room, and his face goes as white as the bedsheets.

She takes one step forward.

Eddie inhales, breath stuttering, and it’s a fragile, heartbreaking sound.

Dustin stirs. “Hmm? Wha’s wrong?” He lifts his head up from Eddie’s shoulder, and his eyes meet Claudia’s, and he’s suddenly wide awake, scrabbling upright. “Mom.”

Eddie’s mouth keeps moving, like he’s desperately searching for words. “I-I’m not—” His breathing catches again, eyes wide; Claudia realises, with a heavy heart, that he’s deeply afraid of her. “It’s just a stupid board game, I swear.”

“Mom,” Dustin says again. Pleading.

And of course, Claudia never once believed the frenzied cries about Satanic rituals. Still, throughout that awful Spring Break, knowing that her son was lying to her, all she could think was that she was once a teenager, too—remembered how easy it could be to get caught up in something scary, something beyond your control.

She looks into Eddie Munson’s eyes, and knows deep in her bones that she has nothing to fear from him.

She beckons Dustin over, hands him the car keys.

“There’s a pillow on your seat, hon,” she says softly, because there’s a sleepy haze returning to his eyes despite his obvious concern for Eddie.

Dustin blinks, so unsure.

She smiles reassuringly. It’s okay. I promise.

“Okay,” Dustin says slowly, and he looks back at Eddie, raising his eyebrows like he wants to convince him of something. “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, but doesn’t speak.

He lifts his hand in a weak wave as Dustin leaves. It’s shaking. Claudia sits down by the bed. Puts her hand in his.

Eddie stares at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t—” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Claudia shakes her head, too, slowly—prays that he can really hear this. “No, no, please. Listen to me. I’m so sorry.”

It would be an easy thing to say, that the town of Hawkins wronged Eddie Munson. But that would make it sound so impersonal: like it was inevitable, just one of these tragic things that happened, nothing to be done about it. Like earthquakes.

But that wasn’t true. People were behind this, and Claudia knows that they are all the town, every single one of them. And what did it say about them, that the fear and mistrust and cruelty spread like wildfire? That not one adult in the town hall stood up, begged people to stop, to think again?

“Th-thank you,” Eddie says. It sounds so uncertain, almost like a question.

Claudia squeezes his hand. “You were with Dustin, weren’t you?” she asks. “When the earthquake…”

His hand is shaking again.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I-I’m sorry, I—” He swallows. “I didn’t want a-anything to happen to him.”

“Oh, honey.” She reaches out cautiously, and when he doesn’t freeze up, she cups his cheek; her heart breaks at the rough indent of a scar beneath her palm. “You’re not God.”

Eddie reaches up, pressing her hand further against his cheek. He’s crying.

Claudia wipes his tears away as much as she can. She keeps up a steady murmur: “Shh, shh. I know you kept him as safe as you could. I know, I know. Shh.”

When he starts to calm, she thanks him again, but for something lighter.

“Dusty… he was so nervous, starting high school. But his first day, when I picked him up, all he could talk about was getting invited to have lunch with… well, a club.” Claudia smiles. “Oh, he was talking a mile a minute, I could hardly keep up. But I… oh, Eddie, I understand now. That was you.”

Eddie grins back. His cheeks are still wet.

“I didn’t do much,” he says. “You’ve…” For a moment, his eyes fill up again, but they look like happy tears. “You’ve got some kid, Mrs Henderson. He’s—he’s a real gem.”

She laughs. “Oh, I know.”

It’s one of the many things she loves about Dustin: that he’s always been so unashamedly, so joyously himself.

And Eddie had clearly seen that in him, had taken him in and nurtured everything that made him so.

The door abruptly slams open.

Steve’s in the doorway; he must’ve been running, is still gasping for breath as he says, panicked, “Claudia, I can—”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, and that’s all.

But it’s clearly enough, because Steve’s shoulders drop in relief, and then he’s shutting the door, coming to Eddie’s bedside like he belongs there, and Eddie’s smiling at him, so tenderly…

And oh, she was young, once. She knows what she’s looking at.

Of course, she doesn’t mention it, can still sense some residual anxiety radiating from them.

Instead she looks around the room, spots a pile of laundry in the corner. It’s been stuffed into a bag; she recognises that as belonging to Steve, but there’s some shirts in there that are definitely Eddie’s, entwined with Steve’s things.

She stands, but before she can even pick up the bag, it seems like Steve’s read her mind, because he’s stepping forward, stopping her with a touch to her forearm.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’m taking care of it, Claudia.”

She pats his cheek, lingers there until he smiles. “I know, sweetheart. But… would you let me? It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie reaches up from the bed, squeezes Steve’s elbow. Steve sighs, briefly leaning into him.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s… thank you.”

“As long as you do one thing for me.”

“Of course,” Steve says immediately. “Anything.”

Claudia brings out a notepad and pen from her bag. “Write me a list? Anything you’d like, I’ll be shopping anyway.” She looks Steve in the eyes, adds firmly but with a smile, “It’s no trouble.”

Steve takes the notepad, twirls the pen hesitantly.

“Anything you’d like,” Claudia repeats. She glances at Eddie, says, “You know, if you want a different shampoo than what they have here, things like that, or—”

“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Eddie says quickly. “Whatever’s on sale is—”

“I know, honey,” Claudia says patiently, “but what would you actually like?”

The last extended hospital stay she’d had was fifteen years ago; Dustin had been a preemie, and one of the few things that kept her calm was the familiar: scents, food, people…

Steve chuckles. “I’ve got it.” He writes on the notepad, and Eddie must be able to read it, because he suddenly turns a little pink.

“How did you know that?”

Steve shrugs, smiles. “I notice things.” He writes down just a couple more things, then hands the list back. “Thank you so much, Claudia.”

“Any time, sweetie, I mean it.” She hugs Steve goodbye, then reaches one last time for Eddie’s hand on the bedspread. “It was lovely to meet you, Eddie. Hope you can go home soon.”

“Yeah, me—me too. Thank you, Mrs Hend—” Steve squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie stops. Smiles. “Thank you, Claudia.”

She looks back once to shut the door behind her. Steve’s pulling up a chair, as close as he can get, and as the door closes, she hears him tut softly, gently swiping at the remaining trail of tears on Eddie’s face: “Hey, what—?”

They look like they belong together. Dustin’s boys.

Dustin’s asleep in the car, pillow pressed against the window. Claudia puts the bag of laundry in the trunk before quietly slipping into her seat.

Dustin wakes anyway as they drive out of the parking lot. “Eddie… okay?”

“He is, honey. Steve’s with him.”

“Mm… good.” There’s a pause, and Claudia thinks he’s fallen asleep again, but then he says, tentative, “Mom?”

“Yes, Dusty?”

“If I tell you something… d’you promise to keep it private?”

“As long as it’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s not,” Dustin says firmly. “Um. Steve and Eddie, I think… I think they’re…”

Claudia smiles, nods encouragingly. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

Dustin hums in agreement. “They’ve not told me. Did I… do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Claudia feels a lump in her throat. “You’re a good friend.”

Dustin makes an uncertain noise.

“You are, baby. They love you very much, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Dustin sighs. “I know.” His eyes are closing.

“Sorry, baby, just before you sleep—are there any candies Steve and Eddie like?”

Dustin nods. “Eddie likes anything sweet. An’ Steve…” He yawns. “Anything w’peanut butter.”

“Great. Thank you, honey.”

Dustin’s already asleep.

Claudia knows that even with what she’s learned today, she still only has half a story, if that. That there’s something more to Dustin’s exhaustion, to just how Eddie ended up in a hospital bed.

Today, she’ll do all she can. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Laundry and shopping, reading the brand of shampoo Steve wrote with a careful eye. She’ll fill her cart up with treats, things that won’t solve anything; they might make staying in that hospital room just a little easier, though. Make it feel a little warmer, a little more like home.

But first, she’ll take her boy home; she’ll park the car as close to the front door as she can get, and when he doesn’t stir, she’ll run a hand through his hair, gently put him to bed.

[oceaneyesinla]

I just watched the demon slayer and I can't stop thinking about my favorite character. Sanemi, unfortunately, there are very few scenarios and posts about it. Please, it doesn't matter to me what you write, just write to me from him, please😭

Hi! Thank you for being my very first request! <3 Requests OPEN (see link for details)

I hope you've been enjoying Demon Slayer! My heart is breaking for Sanemi and Genya this season so lets call this fix it fic. If this wasn't what you were looking for, let me know (i am always happy to write for Sanemi <3)

CW: implications of domestic violence (not between Sanemi and reader)

Spoilers for the new season of Demon Slayer, and for Sanemi and Genya's backstory

Divider by @/cafekitsune

You knew something had happened. Sanemi was making a valiant effort to hide the pain clawing at his heart, but you knew him too well for that. You could see the frown that slipped onto his face whenever he thought you weren't looking, and you never failed to notice when he slipped out of your shared futon in the middle of the night. He tried to slink away unnoticed, but you stirred every time the warmth of his body pulled away from yours.

For a few days, you allowed it - you continued your usual routine; sharing a tender kiss before he left for training as the sun rose, and welcoming him home with a freshly cooked meal once he finally returned from his extra training with Iguro and Tokito. You feigned sleep as he carefully extricated himself from your hold and left your side.

After a week, you couldn’t stand it any longer. Your husband was hurting, and you knew he would never willingly confide in you. Not because he didn’t trust you, never that, but because he would never think of burdening you with the monsters of his past and the darkness that came with life as a Demon Slayer. He treated you like the only star in a moonless sky and while you loved to be his guiding light, you wanted nothing more than to descend from the heavens he held you in and cradle his battered, bruised heart in your hands.

Which is why, on that seventh night, when you woke to him escaping your grasp, you reached out and wrapped a hand around his wrist, blinking sleep out of your eyes as you stared up at him. What you found there made you more alert in an instant - wetness, shimmering on his skin in the moonlight through the window. Your Sanemi, usually the picture of composure, was … crying.

He must have noted your concern, some shift in your expression, because he used the hand not grasped in yours to roughly wipe at his cheeks, as if he could wipe away your memory of this at the same time as the tears.

“Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.” His voice was rough, and even if you had been planning to do as he said before he opened his mouth, you would have changed your mind upon hearing him.

Instead, you sat up, gently tugging him closer to you, encouraging him to sit by your side. Slowly, he complied, never meeting your eye as he did so but also never pulling his hand out of your weak hold. You cradled his hand in both of yours, stroking gentle trails across his palm and down his thick forearm, taking extra care over the scars littering his skin. You didn’t ask - he would talk in time.

A deep sigh left him, as did another couple of tears making silent trails down his cheek. You just kept up your loving affection, and eventually, he spoke again, soft even in the quiet of the night, “I … had a nightmare.”

Your poor Sanemi. His life had been full of tragedy, and as much as he claimed that your love was his saving grace, you wished there was more you could do to soothe the deep scars in his heart and mind. You wondered what had haunted him tonight - was it the memory of pure terror as his mother mindlessly attacked her precious children, or was it the crippling grief of returning to an empty home, greeted only by the lifeless bodies of his beloved little siblings?

“There’s something I never told you, about my family.” He looked up to meet your eye, finally, and you hated the haunted look behind the deep purple you loved so much, “One of my siblings survived.”

What? He had revealed everything about the tragedy that tore his family apart and left him alone in the world to you. He stumbled over the words under the cover of darkness, on a night not unlike this one, not long after you began courting. He had told you all about the way he wrestled his mother away from his siblings, and the way he hit her with all his strength, focusing only on protecting his family. He broke down as he confessed that he felt just like his father as his hands connected with his mother’s body, knowing that he had no other choice.

In hindsight, you remembered how he hesitated to explain the moments between dragging his mother into the street and returning to his home once the sun rose and her body crumbled away. At the time, you never questioned it - he was just a child when all this happened, and he was recounting the most traumatic experience of his life. Now, you know that hesitation was because he was editing the story as he told it.

“Genya, the eldest. He was holding little Koto … Ma only managed to catch across his nose.” Your heart ached as you imagined that poor boy - left clutching his baby brother, surrounded by the corpses of the siblings he had made a pact to protect. What had happened between them, to lead to them being so distant that Sanemi never mentioned that he lived?

“This nightmare was about him?” You lifted Sanemi’s hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He looked far younger than his twenty one years as he stared at you, as if he had been expecting words of anger instead of your gentle gesture.

The innocent surprise quickly turned to something far darker as guilt lined his face. He tried to pull his hand out of your hold but you wouldn’t allow it, tangling your fingers together instead. A little huff escaped him at your stubborn act and it reassured you, if only a little. There was the Sanemi you recognised.

“He tried following me into the Corps, but he can’t even use a Breathing Style! The idiot will never stand a chance.” Sanemi sounded frustrated, but you knew him well enough to hear what he wasn’t saying.

“You’re scared you’ll lose him too. It doesn’t matter if he hates you, as long as he’s alive.” Your voice was soft, but Sanemi still looked at you like you slapped him. Another couple of tears welled up on his lash line and broke free, rolling down his cheeks.

“I told him I don’t have a brother. I attacked him. I nearly -” His voice broke, and so did your heart. For both of them. For Sanemi, trying desperately to protect his little brother in the only way he knew, and for Genya, who you couldn’t help but imagine as a little boy with Sanemi’s eyes and a scar across his face.

You were putting the pieces together, and everything seemed clearer, “This happened last week, didn’t it? I knew something was wrong. I wish you said something sooner, love.” He just blinked at you, watching your face as if he thought you would suddenly turn on him and declare his actions unforgivable. You refused to play into his self loathing. The way he treated his brother, his only remaining family, was harsh, but you knew your husband. The front he showed the world was just that - a front. You knew the man underneath that harsh exterior. This was the man who helped you with chores even when he had been awake all night fighting demons, and this was the man who held you like the most delicate flower and looked at you like the finest artwork in the land.

“Did that work? Did he give up on being a Demon Slayer?”

Sanemi shook his head, scowl on his face, “Nah. He’s at Himejima’s now, for Hashira training.”

“You should bring him here.” At your suggestion, Sanemi went to shake his head but you carried on before he could shoot you down, “I want to meet him, and it might be time for a different approach.” You reached up to cradle Sanemi’s cheek, hoping to soften the blow of your next words, “Something big is coming, my love - even I can feel it, and I’m not a member of the Corps. You should make amends. You would never forgive yourself if he died thinking you hate him.”

Sanemi flinched at the mere mention of his brother dying, but his gaze never left yours. His expression was still guarded, as if waiting for your judgement. You brought your other hand up to hold his face between your palms as you spoke, “Stop looking at me like you expect me to berate you. You wanted to protect Genya. That doesn’t make you a monster.”

His face crumpled, “I laid hands on him. I nearly blinded him. I will never deserve his forgiveness.”

“Genya is the only one who can decide that, love.” Your thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin under his eyes, wiping away the remnants of his tears as a soft smile tugged at your lips, “You’re a good man, Sanemi.”

As soon as those words settled in his ears, he was moving - surging forwards to clutch you against him, face pressed into the juncture of your neck. With some effort, you manoeuvred you both into laying down - his hands never leaving you. You let him hold you close, running  a hand through his soft, white hair. The path to reconciliation between the two brothers would almost certainly be difficult, but you would be by his side through whatever may come. Your husband deserved to have peace, and he deserved to be a big brother again.

[artiststarme]

The Gift of Not Dying Part 14

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

It's been awhile but hopefully this will get me back in the groove of things. I hope you like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~ Steve watched as the dazzling smile on Eddie’s face dropped to reveal absolute, unadulterated horror. He clearly wasn’t expecting his best friend/tomorrow’s date/future boyfriend to show up at fuck past two in the morning with a bruised face and blood covered sailor’s uniform. Steve could only imagine how he would respond if Eddie had shown up to Hopper's cabin looking like death the way Steve must right now.

“Oh my god, Steve?! What the fuck happened? Are you alright?” Eddie ushered him into the trailer and gently pushed him to a seat on the couch. 

Steve didn't know how to respond to him. On the one hand, he didn't want Eddie to worry. On the other hand, nothing would ever be alright again. Hop was dead, his body still stuck in the Russian base under Starcourt where he himself had died multiple times. Steve could feel the throbbing of his broken heart's beats pulsating in his face still. He definitely had a concussion if the double vision and underwater hearing were indicative of anything. Worst of all, it was all Steve's fault. This entire situation never would have happened had he not tempted the universe. He was too happy, he knew everything would fall into catastrophe eventually and he hadn't warned anyone.

So instead of answering his best friend, he pulled at Eddie's shoulders until the man got the message and wrapped him in a warm embrace that smelled of Honeybunches, motor oil, and marijuana. All of Steve's favorite smells that usually calmed him down. But not this time.

He sobbed into Eddie's chest, tears and blood mixing together on his face and soaking into the thin black fabric of Eddie's shirt. Steve just couldn't stop. He cried for the pain he'd gone through in the Russian base and the incessant battery he'd endured at the hands of sadists. He cried for the loss of Robin's normal life and the fact that she would probably hate him now since he'd dragged her into the absolute shit-show that was his life. Most of all though, he cried for Hopper. He cried for his dad that adopted him into his little family and gave him a little sister, the dad that dropped everything to help Steve whenever he needed it.

Poor Eddie just hugged him through it all. He didn't know why Steve had woken him up from a dead sleep at an ungodly hour in the morning only to unveil a face more recognizable as ground beef. He didn't know who had beaten him up or why Hopper wasn't behind him in his truck ready to drag him back to the overprotected cabin in the woods. He didn't need to understand because his best friend was in need of help and a good hug which Eddie could provide.

After what felt like hours of crying, Steve rasped, “Eds, Hop is gone. He died tonight.”

Eddie’s hands stopped their soothing circles on his back and he pulled back to look him in the eyes. There was no joking there, just complete and utter dread and hopelessness in the eye that wasn't swollen shut.

“Chief Hopper died tonight? Are you okay, where are you going to go?” He backtracked for a moment and pulled Steve’s battered body to his gently once more. “I’m sorry for your loss, man. I know the Chief was like a father to you. What’s going to happen now?”

Steve wanted to cry, to scream at the world for being so unfair as to take one of the only people that had ever cared for him. But his eyes were dry and his heart was bone tired after such an arduous night. So instead of sobbing some more or breaking down, Steve shrugged. “I’m going to have to go back to my parent’s house. I can’t stay in Hop’s cabin without him there. And El is going to live with Mrs. Byers. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Eddie shook his head and placed a weary hand on Steve's face. He wanted to give him comfort but with all the blood and bruises on his face, he didn't know where to touch without causing more pain. “You can stay here. Wayne won’t mind as long as we don’t mess with his mug or cap collections. He’s got a habit for taking in strays. Hell, just look at me. You’ll always have a place here.”

Steve couldn’t move in though. Everywhere he went, misfortune followed. He was like a plague, sucking the life out of everything he touched. It started with his parents and he sucked the joy right out of their lives leaving nothing but bitterness and sorrow, certainly not enough love for the disappointment he became. It broke Nancy by killing her best friend and tainting their relationship. Steve should’ve kept his distance from Hop and El but his selfishness won out in the end. And now Hopper was gone. Steve’s plague had struck once again and had stolen his happiness with it. He couldn’t do that to Eddie and Wayne, they’d been through far too much already. They didn’t deserve to deal with him on top of it all. 

“Thanks but I don’t want you guys to get sick of me. I’ll just stay at my parent’s house and crash here when they come home. If that’s okay with you and Wayne.”

Eddie shook his head before entwining his fingers with Steve’s. “Of course it is. We’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, let’s deal with your face. Did you go to the hospital? I can literally see the bruises swelling in front of my eyes. There’s no way you don’t have a concussion right now, why would they let you drive like this?”

“They didn’t, I walked,” Steve corrected distractedly. His mind was reeling over grief and pain, too distracted to abide by the story he was supposed to use. 

“Walked from where?”

“Starcourt,” his mouth just kept talking despite his eyes seeing the alarm on Eddie’s face. “The Russians stole my car keys so I couldn’t drive. It’s fine though, I have an extra set in the kitchen of my parent’s house. It was only four miles or so, not too bad in the grand scheme of things. I’ve had worse.”

Eddie just looked at him blankly, too indecisive to decide on concern, horror, or anger at whoever had done this to his friend. He was pretty positive he loved this weirdo, who the fuck had the audacity to keep beating him to a pulp? Couldn't these monsters see how lovable he was?!

“Um, I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m getting my keys and we’re going to the hospital. I don’t need to know what happened, especially since I’m pretty positive that you’re concussed and not making sense. I just need to know you’re okay so we’re going to the ER. Let me just call Wayne and we can go.” Eddie motioned with both hands for Steve to stay still and he did. Even when he heard crashing in Eddie’s room while he looked for his keys and panicked whispers when he finally reached Wayne on the phone, Steve remained in his seat on the old couch.  

He knew he didn’t have to go to the hospital, the worst that could happen already had, but he couldn’t reveal that to Eddie. So, he’d bite his tongue and go through the motions. That was his specialty after all. For now, he’d let Eddie take care of him. He would ignore the grief that blackened his soul and the pain that accompanied the thought of his found family breaking apart. He'd deal with the trauma of loss and pain and death sometime later when he could handle a breakdown alone. At this very moment, Steve would hold himself together and lie to his friend and the doctors he was forced to see to keep the Party's secret. He had already dragged Robin into this mess and had probably lost her in the process, he didn't think he could survive losing Eddie too.

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[delimeful]

let my mind reset (6)

warnings: angst, brainwashing, torture, psychological conditioning, references to injury/gore/death, harmful surgical implants, they are really going through it now, lmk if i missed any

-

Where the hours had passed slowly before, now they seemed to slip by all too fast. Every spare moment Roman had was spent in anxious anticipation of the next session and all that came with it.

He had never seen something like the haze used on a person before. Crav’n were invulnerable to it, and he’d only ever witnessed his aunt use it briefly on one of the local fauna once, a harmless and finicky tree-dwelling species about the size of his hand.

(Roman remembered the way Marta had compelled the little creature to pace back and forth, from place to place, wearing its will away until there wasn’t any hesitation between order and action. Then, she’d sent it walking into the nearby pond.

He remembered the way its survival instinct had set in late, the way it began to thrash, and still Marta didn’t call it back. He remembered feeling relieved when his mother stepped in and put a stop to the demonstration, scooping the poor beast from its fate with disapproval etched firmly in the set of her shoulders.

He didn’t remember if the creature had lived through the withdrawal, afterwards.)

Virgil was far from a simple animal, though, and despite Roman’s half-formed nightmares, he didn’t mindlessly succumb to the influence of the drug the first time it was forced on him, nor the second or the third.

In fact, every time the other Humans entered his cell with that unsettling green canister, he seemed just as panicked as Roman, if not more, putting up as much of a fight as he could with a battered body and a wrung out mind. No matter how they tutted or scolded, the other Humans still couldn’t get the mask on him until Roux had him forcibly subdued, which was a tiny victory in itself.

That didn’t stop the drug from taking its toll each and every time.

As horrible as it sounded, the worst part was that the effects weren't painful or malicious in nature. At least that would have been easier to fight against; a logical, instinctive response to being hurt.

No, it was far more insidious than that. The haze dulled pain. First, the physical: it eased away the stiffness of sore muscles and the burning of shocked nerves, leaving only a pleasant numbness behind. Then, the mental: it stalled the production of stressful chemical compounds, replacing them with whatever was needed to trick the victim’s mind into believing they were happy, relaxed, pliable.

Roman had never seen Virgil so unwound, so carefree, and he hated how unnatural the behavior seemed on the Human. It was a miserable experience, finally seeing him without the hunted slant to his posture, and feeling sickened by the sight.

What was worse was watching it wear off.

As though a switch had been thrown in reverse, Virgil would be plagued by a creeping, unrelenting sense of panic and dread, pacing around his cell frantically until a sudden hypersensitivity to touch left him crumpled in one spot, breathing harsh and pained.

Time after time, he was shown exactly how painful withdrawal from even a few doses was, until he was left bracing for it well before the next session had even begun.

“The last guys who had me would have killed for something like this,” Virgil said, nearly panting as he laid out on his back. He had his fingers pressed against his neck, feeling his pulse. His heart was racing so hard that Roman could see the veins pulsing eerily under the skin. A heavy spike of adrenaline, unprompted by anything tangible. “Bet she has at least a few people stashed away just to drain for easy cash.”

He spoke more, like this. Out of turn, about topics that were morbid and pessimistic, as though the thoughts were tumbling free of his mind without his permission. Roman never let his negative reactions to the more grim topics go beyond his ears flickering back; it wasn’t like he had the room or right to judge. They didn’t have very many reasons to be optimistic. Besides, he’d realized early on that the more worked up Roman got, the worse Virgil got in turn.

He still didn’t know the exact details of how Dren harvesting worked, and he was fairly sure he was better off for it. The very idea of setting an entire person aside for something like that was reprehensible, and therefore entirely possible for Marta.

“She said she… she gets rid of Humans that don’t break,” he replied after a moment, the words tumbling freely from him for once. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to turn a profit from it.”

He’d been trying to match the distant, dry tone Virgil had used, but he must have missed the mark, because the Human stiffened, and drew his hand back from Roman’s grasp to press it harshly against his eyes.

Belatedly, Roman realized what he’d just implied. Virgil was one of those Humans trying not to break, was at this very moment barely clinging to his composure, and he’d just been informed he was stuck between two horrific fates worse than death. “I didn’t mean—,”

“‘S alright,” Virgil interrupted, voice rough with exhaustion. “It’s not like I didn’t know. It makes me feel a little better, honestly.”

Roman stared at him, bewildered and still slightly aghast at his own stupidity, and Virgil shifted a few fingers to peer back with one eye.

“At least some Humans didn’t fall for it, y’know? At least some of them got out in their own way,” he continued, a thin thread of hopelessness tangled up in the words. “I was starting to wonder if the rest of space was right. If we were all just destined to be monsters with the right motivation.”

Roman should have been more alarmed at the implication that Virgil felt close to succumbing, that he was nearer than he’d ever wanted to be to a Human on the brink of falling under someone else’s blatantly malignant control, but all he could feel was a painful sympathy.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, and then, more firmly— “Humans aren’t monsters.”

Virgil’s eye widened slightly, gaze intent in a way that would have made Roman bristle in the past.

“They’re just people. They can do good or bad, just like anyone else. And sure, these guys are— they’re not doing good.” A pause, and Roman forced himself to meet Virgil’s stare. “But you have. You saved Patton, and you tried to save me, and you’re— you’re not a monster. You’re a good friend.”

Virgil buried his face back in his elbow and was quiet for a long moment.

“…You’re not so bad yourself.”

—

Roman hadn’t expected Marta to show up in person, not with how much she had delegated to her brainwashed underlings thus far, but arrive she did.

“Don’t fret, ghiva’al,” she crooned to him, passing by his cell with the lightest clink of her claws dragged against the bars. “I’m here to meet your little pet, not you.”

“Don’t—,” call me that, call him that, he wanted to snarl, but his throat closed up so sharply that it sounded a little like he’d choked.

Marta made her stilted croaking laugh, sparing him a glance that might have been pitying if it had bothered to reach her cold, empty eyes. “You always did struggle with words when emotional, didn’t you? Not nearly as well spoken as your mother. What a shame to see that hasn’t changed.”

There was a sharp clacking as an aggressive shudder ran through Roman’s scales, but he still couldn’t find his voice. Not even when Marta moved on to grip the bars of Virgil’s cell, her attention shifting to the Human where he stood warily in the center of the cage.

Roman had learned more than he’d ever thought he would about Human body language over the past few weeks. He knew from the slight sway to Virgil’s every shift that the Human was drained, likely barely keeping his feet.

Still, he was upright to face Marta, his height advantage allowing him to look down at her, and that was better than being crumpled on the ground at her feet. Little victories were all they had now, and they clung to each and every one.

Roux wasn’t there, Roman realized with a jolt, and the knowledge was enough to drag his mind into overdrive, a sudden double-edged hope springing to life in his chest.

Virgil must have already realized, because the way he held himself shifted into something taut and coiled, like he was preparing to lunge forward at the first opportunity, weak or not.

“Back of the cell,” Marta commanded, voice turned brisk and blunt in a way it hadn’t been with Roman. Like she was speaking to a beast instead of a person.

Virgil didn’t move, barely deigned to acknowledge the words beyond a brief flicker of his pupils upwards.

Marta waited, letting the silence stretch for a brief moment, and then clicked her teeth together in a mild reprimand. “The hard way, then.”

Despite her apparent annoyance, the words held a sort of anticipatory delight, and Roman felt the thick tar of dread slide under his scales as he watched her slide a small, triangular remote from a pouch at her side.

When she pressed the button in the center of it, she was looking at Roman.

It was Virgil who went rigid and fell.

Despite knowing it would undercut every lie he’d tried to sell about how little he cared, despite the fact that he was playing right into her claws, Roman couldn’t help but rush to the bars separating them, a shout of horror catching in his chest.

The Human hit the ground hard but stayed chillingly frozen, with every muscle locked into hard lines. He didn’t make a sound until Marta shifted her thumb away from the button, the motion somehow allowing him to finally go limp like a puppet with strings cut.

“Virgil!” Roman managed, though the sound of it was nearly lost in the sudden loudness of the Human’s gasping breaths. He hadn’t been breathing before, Roman realized with a terrified shock.

Whatever Marta was doing, it hadn’t countered Virgil’s natural stubbornness, and he climbed back to his feet with less staggering than Roman would have expected.

His gaze caught on the tremor to Virgil’s hands, the shuddering of his pulse, and he understood. Adrenaline.

The fight or flight instinct, Virgil had called it while talking with Patton. Roman had seen him choose to fight once, at their very first meeting, but even that couldn’t compare to the speed and ferocity of the way the Human lunged now.

Marta didn’t flinch back when he made loud, skull-rattling contact with the bars, but she didn’t blink, either, keeping her eyes firmly locked on Virgil as she pressed the button once more.

Instead of letting him drop, however, she reached out and seized him by the face, claws digging in on either cheek and holding tightly.

Virgil couldn’t so much as flinch away from the pain, and Roman slammed his arm against the door of his own cell with force, furious at his own helplessness.

Marta released the trigger again, and this time, every gasping inhale Virgil took was dosed with her haze. He tried to jerk back, but it was far faster acting straight from the source, and he had barely a moment before his expression dropped to something hollow and smooth, his desperate strength wavering and then extinguishing like a flame with nothing left to burn.

“Down,” Marta commanded, releasing her grip, and Virgil stood in place for a few long heartbeats before his legs collapsed underneath him.

She waved a hand absently down at him, still scattering her haze thick in the air. “There you go. It feels so much better when you listen, doesn’t it?”

Virgil twitched, a ripple of discontent crossing his face, but didn’t respond. He was shaking relentlessly now, his entire body trembling in a way that had Roman deeply concerned.

“You’re safe with me,” Marta lied, reaching down to glide the palm of her hand over the side of Virgil’s face. “You’re only safe with me. Everyone else wants to hurt you, but I’ll make the pain go away. Always do as I say, okay?”

Virgil didn’t move away, even as her rough skin caught on the wounds her claws had left only moments ago. His breathing grew wispier, slower, until he appeared almost calm, his eyes dazed and distant.

“Let’s try this again,” Marta straightened, and when her hand left Virgil’s cheek, he strained after it for a handful of seconds. “Back of the cell.”

Virgil climbed back to his feet, and Roman closed his eyes as the Human quietly began shuffling across his stretch of cell. He felt all of six winters old again, watching his aunt lead something fuzzy and helpless back and forth, closer and closer to the water’s edge.

“Good. Now, heel.” More shuffling, wordless as a corpse.

How long did he have before Virgil took his own plunge?

—

It took longer than before for Virgil to regain coherence, afterwards.

Roman knew the moment he’d come back to himself, because the soft grip around his hand had instantly vanished, yanked away so sharply that he’d barely registered the movement before Virgil was up on his feet and backing away.

“Virgil,” he tried, and the Human shook his head, the motion harsh, his hands lifting up to grip roughly at his hair in a distressed motion Roman had only ever caught glimpses of back on the ship.

He’d continued to retreat until he hit the furthest corner of the cell, where he slid down and curled in on himself, utterly unreceptive to any of Roman’s stilted calls. Roman caught his expression crumpling into a miserable grimace before he buried his face in his knees and hid that away too.

The silence stretched.

If there were some right words to say here, Roman couldn’t find them. Even if he did, he undoubtedly wouldn’t be able to say them. The helplessness sheared against his scales like rough sand, but how could he allow himself to wallow in it when he at least still had his mind, his existence still unarguably his own?

Freshly taunted by the knowledge that he didn’t have even that much, Virgil remained still and taut and quiet in the furthest reaches of his cell for what felt like a very long time.

When he did finally stir, Roman was appalled to see the faint streaks on his face where his tears had washed away the sweat and grime.

Patton had described Human weeping as arrhythmic vocalizations, much like Ampens, but with a physical manifestation as well. Roman hadn’t known that Humans could cry silently, like a pup gone still and quiet in the face of danger, with only the barest hitching of breath to indicate distress.

The expression on Virgil now was creased into firm lines, but it didn’t seem agonized or crumbling at the edges. Rather, as he climbed to his face, he seemed to hold the same bitter resolution Roman had seen in him a few times before: during the tail end of their first meeting, and after the fight with the raiders, both times when he’d thought he was about to be left alone again.

“Roman,” he started, and then worked his jaw tersely, once, twice. Rather than continue, he held out a hand, palm-up in silent offering.

Things had changed a lot over the course of their captivity, Roman reflected as he reached out and set his own hand in the Human’s grasp with barely a shred of hesitation. It felt like second nature by now, to reach out and cling on whenever his stomach was roiling with stress.

Virgil watched him for a moment longer, and then wrapped his fingers around Roman’s hand and drew closer, slowly pulling his arm up until he had positioned Roman’s claws just above the skin of his neck.

“This,” Virgil said, each word resolute, “is the best place to sever if you want to kill a Human quickly.”

The words took a dull, ringing moment to sink in, but once they did, Roman jerked back sharply. “Virgil, what—?”

For the first time, Virgil held on, keeping his hand pinned in place with ease even as he had to grip the bars with his other hand to remain upright. Roman could see the way the Human’s pulse fluttered under the skin, a heartbeat racing visibly exactly where Virgil had indicated.

“It’s important. You need to know,” Virgil insisted, and lifted their joined hands higher, to his temple. “Head wounds bleed a lot. Gashes up here are valuable because the blood runs down and drips into their eyes, which will work pretty well as a distraction—,”

“Stop it!” Roman demanded, yanking harder as his panic increased. “I’m not going to— stop talking like that! I don’t need to know how to hurt you!”

At the start of their voyage, Roman would have done just about anything for information like this, anything to feel safe on his own ship again. So why was he learning it only now, when each word and accompanying gesture made him feel ill and rotted down to the tip of his tail?

“It’s not— Roman, it’s not about me,” Virgil said, frustration seeping into his voice. He let Roman drag his hand away from his face, but still didn’t let go. “It’s about them.”

Roman wasn’t sure he believed that. “I don’t need to kill anyone. They’re brainwashed, this is Marta’s fault! I know the truth, now.”

Virgil shook his head, ghosted the fingers of his free hand over his implant scar with a distant, sickened expression. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want guilt to be the reason— Look. If it’s them or you, I want it to be you. I want you to make sure it’s you.”

And what if it's me or you? Roman thought, but the words lodged firmly in his chest until he could barely breathe around them.

“They all made their choice,” Virgil continued once it became clear that Roman wouldn’t respond. “They’ve kept making that choice, every time. You have to want to survive, too, okay?”

Mutely, Roman nodded, trying to ignore the creeping sense of horror. He pulled Virgil’s hand back towards himself, fumbled for speech for a long moment before finding the words and hoping they didn’t feel like a betrayal when spoken aloud.

“The underbelly,” he started, and Virgil’s expression— shut down. Every hint of body language went flat like stone, and just as unyielding.

“No.” The word was final, a sentence all its own, and Roman scowled mulishly.

“But—!”

“Roman.” Virgil lifted his other arm over so that he was clasping Roman’s hand between both of his own. “You’re the only one left, right? You told me that.”

The thought was still a wound-like pang in his chest, even after all this time. “Yes,” he admitted. “But, even still—,”

“No way. I don’t want to hear it, man. There’s nobody I would be willing to use it on, anyhow.” Virgil kept his gaze locked firmly on a point past Roman’s shoulder, but his shoulders were set, his voice steadfast.

There was no point arguing. Not now, when the both of them were one wrong move from collapse.

“Okay,” Roman finally said, and forced himself not to protest when Virgil reclaimed the position of lecturer. It was a struggle not to wince away with each gory anecdote, a full guide on the quickest ways to make the Human body stop functioning or even turn on itself.

“Gut wounds are slow to kill, but they can be painful enough to debilitate. There are vulnerable organs here, below the rib cage, and damage to them is difficult to treat without surgery if the wound is severe enough…”

Still, he held himself at attention, did his best to memorize every word.

If Virgil wouldn’t accept knowledge about Roman’s own vulnerabilities as a gift of equal exchange, Roman would simply have to treasure this information with the same dedication that he applied to the rest of their small crew.

After all, knowing all the individual weak points of a Human would make it that much easier for him to protect each and every single part of Virgil.

Virgil wasn’t going to die. Not here, and certainly not by Roman’s own claws. Not if Roman had anything to say about it.

[dreamerlucifer]

Soooooo, shall we talk about why My Lucifer was late to Save his so VERY, PAINFULLY, and OBVIOUSLY loved daughter, Charlie Morningstar?

Well let me point out, that in his song to charlie, he may have given a discount to help her that day to get a deal with heaven... But it was not something he was contractually allowed to do by heaven....

By getting his beloved Char char a meeting, he had to allow her in that moment, to grow up, and take control of her own destiny, as he knew that heaven wouldn't answer... And that this was his one true moment he could reach out... be there for his beloved daughter.... BECAUSE, heaven would never allow him to uprise... Not without..... The SACRIFICIAL LAMB needed to close the deal......

He waited... Sweating profusely he asked himself over, and over.... Over again, and yet again... can she do it.. Can she convince ALL OF HEAVEN ITSELF... where HE, the king of hell HIMSELF, had finally given up???

He watched desperately through his window.. gazing upon the massacre that started before him... His heart... IT WAS GOING TO EXPLOAD.......... But what could he do... With the thick, GOLDEN collar... it's 6 chains going off to the few Seraphim's left behind....

Lucifer, hearing the first few pleas from a distance.... Hearing the defeats... one by one... Was Alastor, the dick deer taken down so easily by the golden boy....??!! He couldn't have been... ^_^;;;; he tried to trick himself, saying,

she WILL survive it.... They can NOT take her... Not Charlie, daddy's little char char....

"We have a solid deal, a contract... Right Sera??"

He asked to thin air, knowing she could very well hear his prayers.... BUT, With full control over Lucifer's deepest thoughts and desires of love, equality, and friendship.... They still did not intend to honor Lucifer's wishes...

Realizing immediately, once he could feel the radio demon's presence fading, that there were no more walls of protection for her... He shuddered, starting to PULL, TWIST, WREATHE in emotional PAIN, SUFFERING.... within his taught golden chains.... he thought he had been defeated...... His Beloved daughter now as Vulnerable as ever....

But--- IT HIT TO HIS VERY CORE.... The contract... had been opened, it's deal in the boldest of letters!!!

Never expected to raise so very many tears once others than Charlie herself, were cut down to size during the fight... But to take the life of Razzle..... ---

SUDDENLY-- IT WAS OVER!! ALL OVER!!!! --

Lucifer felt the lock and heavy chains of heaven break as if they had been made of nothing more than the mist from the gutter outside-- BUT HE FELT IT--- Every single power of hell came to his aid at that mere moment in time....

The innocent lamb had been sacrificed in His honor-- The pain overtook his poor, bleeding heart as his thoughts of poor, lonely Dazzle worked up his great anger... ----

BUT THERE WAS NO TIME FOR THAT!!! And with a wave of his staff and the power of a pentagram, A Wap Bam Boom, and there I AM !!! HE RUSHED OUT THE DOOR AT THE SPEED OF THE BRIGHTEST LIGHT ACROSS THE COSMOS?????? ... TO SHEILD HER at least..... TO BE THERE IN THE FINAL MOMENTS.....

BUT HE ARRIVED IN TIME!!!!!! without mere seconds to spare, he caught his poor, battered girl, comforted... AND FINALLY, UNLEASHED, UNBOUND....... WOULD KILL FOR HER IF THAT WERE THE CASE...

But she stopped him... he came back to himself... Granted the mercy to his dear old friend.... Just for----

[sinisterexaggerator]

Tech and Hondo Ohnaka (Part 4)

Rated: Teen and up (a rare general audiences fic on my part.)

Warning: Pain mention.

Fic Summary: Tech is plummeting toward death, yet he is spared, all thanks to a Weequay pirate who was simply in the wrong place at the right time, depending.

Word count: 1.9k

Notes: This is a kind of crack / AU scenario. I like the idea of Hondo being the one to encounter Tech after his fall. The idea was definitely inspired by Phee's line at the end of season 2: "Well, don't go running off with any pirates or smugglers while you're gone,." :) Don't take this too seriously, though at the same time I tried to make it plausible. The main point of this was to have fun with Tech and Hondo ribbing each other in their own way. I love both of these characters, and I am excited to see what you guys think.

*This is a shorter chapter, but it sets things up for what will happen next, and it felt right to stop where I did.

Chapter 1, 2, 3 | Read on Ao3

“Nu good, ensufferable know-et-all! Lousy carbon copy! A bold-faced liar, tinking he can hide de truth from me! Hondo!”

The Weequay ranted and raved as he made his way through Eriadu’s foilage, once more employing the use of his vibrocutlass. He hacked at those bits and pieces of plants that dared to hinder his forward march, having left the clone no more than thirty minutes prior. Hondo had nearly traversed a quarter kilometer before he stopped, allowing himself to cool off and for a clearer head to prevail. He was better than this, he mused, though it was about the principle; how dare this so-called soldier take him for a fool!

“He should have told me from de outset,” he muttered, his chest rising and falling more slowly as he caught his breath. With eyes asquint, the pirate gazed around himself, noting that it was nearly dark, and that he was all alone out here, minus one bruised and battered brainiac.

“Ugh, now de creepy crawlies will come out,” he grumbled, missing his desert home more and more each and every minute of each and every hour of each and every day, wanting only a stiff drink back at his beloved base on Florrum—too bad that would never happen now, left to roam the galaxy with the remainder of those men that were loyal to him.

Hondo was not stupid; he knew that they were growing restless; this job was meant to be a way for them to recoup that which was lost thanks to the Empire, only now it appeared he would be lucky to escape with his life—a feeling that clone must also be experiencing—the pirate sighed a deeply exaggerated sigh.

“What tu du, what tu du…” It was a rhetorical question, one he often asked himself, even if he already knew the answer, that pesky sense of honor returning to him at a most inconvenient time.

“He es dead weight, liable tu get me killed. Et would be easier tu steal a ship witout de extra baggage…” The pirate began to pace, aware that he was talking to himself, bits of dirt and dried leaves becoming displaced as he walked to and fro, his blade bouncing lightly against his shoulder.

“Ah, but he has a family—and let us not forget de reward!” Hondo reminded himself, suddenly finding it in his heart to be of help once more.

“Hopefully he es … still alive, unlike my men,” he offered to the forest, turning about face. Sheathing his sword, he felt he did not need it, having already cleared a path his first time through. “Ef not, wellll, one cannot say I ded not try.”

---

Though he felt destined for an unfavorable outcome, Tech had the heart of a soldier, and the ability to give up was not something within his wheelhouse. Trundling onward, it was easy to track the Weequay, for he was doing a poor job of hiding his trail. Tech doubted he was even attempting to, so angry had he been from the moment he left camp. He supposed he had every right to be, as he had not been completely forthright.

This had been his fear—to be left behind should the pirate learn the entirety of the truth—wondering if anything would be different had he come clean in the beginning. Transparency, of course, brought trust, yet he had taken quite a risk in keeping quiet. In other words, he should have known better—he did know better—but getting off Eriadu was more important, and so he carried on, even when his body was on the verge of failing him.

With the planet’s sun giving off its last rays, darkness fell, leaving Tech bathed in glimmers of moonlight. Peering out into the darkness through his cracked heads-up display, he stiffened at the sound of footsteps from somewhere ahead, wondering if it might be some kind of animal, or worse—more TK troopers that were out to capture him.

Taking cover, the commando stilled, curtailing his arrhythmic breathing the best he could. He waited for his enemy to show itself, thankful that he still had the element of surprise.

When at last a figure appeared on his infrared scanner, Tech took aim, firing off two shots in the direction of this would-be adversary. He was only able to make out the heat signature of the individual, though he wore what appeared to be a helmet—a possible lone TK who would undoubtedly call for backup if he had the chance.

“You imbecile, you shot me! Me! I thought you said you were smart!” the voice of the aggrieved called out from between the trees. “You are lucky dat Weequay have blaster resistant skin, you ex-republic dog, but you can rest assured you will be paying for de damages tu my very expensive, very valuable, Wroonian coat!”

Tech immediately holstered his blasters, though it was too little, too late. He had not expected to ever see the pirate again, trusting he had been left for dead. He was glad to be wrong, if only just this once, presently standing in an awkward manner as he attempted to regain his equanimity. “I thought you to be an enemy,” he stated plainly.

“Nu, just de idiot who has come tu rescue you. Again,” Hondo gruffly complained, dusting off his lapel. There was an obvious singe mark across it, and another along his right sleeve.

“I must admit that this is a surprise.”

“Tu you and me both,” Hondo replied snidely.

Tech had nothing to say, simply waiting for the pirate’s next move. If he had learned anything in their short time together, it was that he had a flare for theatrics and was sure to take over the conversation as he saw fit; he was correct in that assumption.

“But unfortunately for me, and fortunately for you, I have a heart.” The pirate felt deceived by his own shortcomings, wafting a hand dismissively for him to follow. “Now come, hurry, I was nearly tu de lommite mine when I had tu turn around and fetch you. Et es already dark, however dis may be en our favor.”

“Obviously, the cover of darkness is a boon in this situation,” Tech agreed.

“Dat es what I just said,” Hondo snapped, though the clone remained quiet, refusing to buy into what would quickly become a game of tit for tat. He felt exchanging quips, in this case, was not worth the effort, and that it would only prolong the rogue’s sour mood. He was not, after all, one of his brothers, and he was unsure what future repercussions might await him should he continue to engage.

“I am ready when you are.”

“I am ready now,” Hondo shot back, turning on the heel of his boot. He hastened his departure, leaving Tech to keep up as quickly as his legs would allow.

---

Without Hondo, and due to the failure of his equipment, Tech would not have known just how close the lommite mine truly was or its precise location. Soon, they reached the safety of rolling hills that spread into mountains, a large structure built into the mass of rock looming straight ahead.

From their refuge beneath a stone projection, they could observe that beyond a set of open hydraulic doors was a spacious bay, loaded with an assortment of mining equipment. There were bucket excavators; hauler trucks; rock dusters, and crushing machines, all serving a distinct purpose. More importantly, there were cargo ships, ground cars with treads, and speeder bikes most likely belonging to the Empire—or the employees of the facility itself—though Tech could hardly make out anything but nebulous lines.

“Just dere, you see? Eriadu Mining and Shipping. Dey have large industrial transport ships dat leave every hour on de hour, and a rotating staff of nearly one hundred men, not tu mention droids! Of course, dat does not account for de Imperial personnel lurking about … Just our luck, ah?”

“Indeed,” was the only answer the clone afforded him, having been distracted by the heat signatures of two sentient beings that were out of bounds. They were skulking about just as they were, though much closer to the entrance of the mine. “I believe we are not the only ones here.”

“Yes, yes! Dere are many people! Are you suuuure you are de genius you say you are?” Hondo probed.

“Unsurprisingly, you misunderstand,” Tech informed him. “There are two individuals lurking nearby the entrance. It appears they are planning to sneak inside.”

“What? Where!” Hondo asked, raising his voice. Realizing his own mistake, he lowered it to an excitable whisper. “I du not see anyon—more troopers?” he asked, spotting two white dots amid the darkness.

Tech attempted to zoom in with his heads-up display, though the screen temporarily blacked out; the clone held his breath until it came back online. “No.”

Though unable to clearly see the pair below, they were not behaving like Imperial soldiers, and Tech was sure of at least one thing—they were not wearing buckets on their heads.

"I was sure they had escaped off-world," Tech said, more to himself, noting that Saw was down one man. There had been several Partisans in total, though now he only spotted two lifeforms below.

“And of whom are you speaking?” The pirate was becoming increasingly annoyed.

“Saw Guerra. I mentioned him when discussing the events that transpired at Raven’s Peak.”

“De man wit de most beautiful sister…” Hondo trailed off, reminiscing on what he knew of him and his family; he remembered delivering weapons to them at Skywalker’s behest, having been paid handsomely for his services. “Dis es an interesting development! Perhaps he may offer us a distraction while we find a ride out of dis place, ah? Or maybe he would be willing tu work tugether. Four heads are better dan two, nu matter ef one of dose heads es presumably smarter.”

Tech ignored the comment about Saw's sibling, having never known him to have a sister. "Saw will help himself and his cause, disregarding even the soundest advice if it interferes with his own plans," Tech declared with confidence; he knew this to be true based on his most recent experience. While presenting a logical counterargument against the destruction of the Imperial base, Saw stated it was, "for the greater good," even after being told that the lives of clones were at stake. It was safe to say he had lost some, if not all, of Tech's respect.

“Dat es terrible news…” Hondo stroked the length of his frills, contemplating the situation. “Dough ef we are lucky—and I am lucky—I will be able tu change his mind.”

“I highly doubt—” Tech ended his thought to begin another as the scoundrel rose, worried that the Weequay would also disregard him. “Wait, we should formulate a plan. It is unwise to—”

“—blah blah blah,” Hondo interjected, beginning to make his way downhill. “Are you coming, or du you prefer tu stay here, for I am leaving wit or witout you.”

Tech sighed heavily, standing unsteadily to his feet. Though it was against his better judgement and defied all common sense, he made slow work of following the pirate, unable to shake the feeling they were headed for disaster.

[writeroutoftime]

please love me

pairing: steve harrington x reader (requested by: anon)

summary: based on the prompt "after all...I'm just a girl, standing in front of boy, asking him to love her." - Notting Hill

words: 0.5k

a/n: another late response to my valentine's blurb challenge, but now it's my love is in the air for spring blurbs lol. anyway, steve harrington is the love of my life and this was so fun to write!

oOoOo

What a mess you had made of it all. The look of hurt and betrayal on Steve's face was ingrained into your memory. You never meant for things to get this far. If someone would have told you in one week your best friend (and secret crush) Steve would confess his feelings to you and you would be the one to accidentally break his heart, you would have called them crazy.

For years Steve had been one of your closest friends, but in the past twelve months you longed for more. His pretty eyes and floppy hair had pulled you in and you never wanted to be far from him. The only thing that held you back was the paralyzing fear of losing Steve completely from his confession.

So, imagine your surprise when Steve was the first to confess his feelings during your weekly movie night. The words sent you into shock and all you could do was stare at the poor boy who sat in front of you. In fact, you stayed frozen for so long, Steve took it as a rejection, mumbled some half-assed excuse, and booked it back to his own place. As soon as the door slammed behind him, you groaned and ran your hands down your face in frustration.

The next day, you were determined to make amends with Steve and return his feelings by catching him as he got off of work. Unfortunately, you never got the chance because before you could get inside, you were stopped by your ex who happened to be walking by.

He came up to you and stepped so close you could feel his breath on your skin. It made you want to recoil. No matter how much you told him so, he wouldn't take the hint that the two of you would never be together again. However, he crossed the line when he grabbed your face and pressed his lips to yours. Immediately, you pushed away from him disgusted by his actions. But what hurt even more was seeing Steve's broken face as he watched the interaction from afar before running to his car.

oOoOo

Trying again the next day, your knuckles rapped against his door gently, as though it was Steve you were touching. The wait between your last knock and the opening of the door felt like a lifetime, and you sighed in relief when you saw Steve standing in front of you. His eyes were dimmer than normal, and his clothes looked rumpled, but he was still your Steve.

"Hi." you began rather lamely, not sure where to start.

Steve did not seem to be in the mood for small talk. "What do you want, y/n?" he deadpanned.

"I'm sorry for what happened, but you have to know what you saw is a completely misunderstanding." you began and rushed to continue as you watched Steve silently scoff at your words. "I didn't want him to be there, to be that close to me, or to even talk to me. I told him that all we're exes and that's all it's going to ever be. I'm so sorry that I hurt you, Steve."

"Yeah, well why should I believe you? I don't wanna be anyone's second choice."

His words hit hard in your chest. It was no secret how vulnerable Steve could be and for good reasons. You never wanted to be the person to cause him to doubt his worth. "Well, I'm here aren't I? After all, I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love you." you confessed, waiting with battered breath.

It took a moment, but Steve seemed to visibly soften at your words and let his guard down once more. "Y-you mean that? You love me?"

"Of course, I love you, Steve. I've been wanting to tell you for months, but I was always too scared. But I'm done being scared now."

He just laughed and pulled you in for a hug reveling in the warmth of your body. He looked at you lovingly and couldn't help but finally take the chance to wrap his arms around you and kiss you. Just like you said, he too was done being scared and it definitely paid off.

[takingchences]

𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏𝟐

Where the descendant of a legendary quirk longs to rewrite history by becoming a hero. But in order to fulfill her dream, she must first face off against ghosts from her past and a growing attraction for the insufferable Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x OP!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language

series masterlist + my masterlist

Today's going to be a great day.

The day of the world famous Sports Festival had finally arrived. The class of 1-A was tucked in a room below the stadium, waiting for the opening ceremony to begin. Some sat and fidgeted nervously, while others joked and laughed like it was any other day. Sana was somewhere in the middle. She was nervous, yes, but not about the competition. She was more confident in her abilities than ever after the intense training regimen she made with Bakugou. The Sun was out, and there wasn't a cloud in sight, so she didn't have to worry about conserving her energy.

No, she was worried about something else.

Her father.

Umi had stopped her on her way out that morning to inform her that Yoichi would be attending the event. It wasn't a surprise, really, only an inconvenience for them both. Her father droned on and on about how heroes were nothing more than attention seekers and how her dreams were meaningless and a waste of time and resources, but he had to keep up the appearance of doting father for everyone watching.

Just like someone else she knew.

Her eyes flickered over to Shoto, who looked even more self-isolated than usual. She was sure it had to do with the fact that Endeavor would also be making an appearance. The Pro had a knack for making his children as miserable as possible and special days like today were no exception. If anything, he'll probably be more irritating and overbearing than usual. Yippee.

She longed to embrace Shoto, squeeze his hand and assure him that everything would be fine, that they would get through this day together. But she had a feeling that if she tried to approach him now, given the stressful situation and tension still between them, it would only worsen the half-and-half boy's already foul mood.

She feared that if she upset him further, he'd say something he could never take back. Something that would end their friendship for good and shatter her already battered heart.

Sana felt someone watching her.

She forced herself to look away from her former friend, only to lock eyes with Bakugou. He was leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.  He looked like he'd just downed a bag of lemons, though she wasn't sure what she'd done to piss him off this time. She hadn't even spoken to him since the day before, when he'd made a surprise appearance at her house.

She arched her brow in question.

He huffed, his expression unreadable as he turned away. Boys, she sighed with a shake of her head. Why do they have to be so complicated?

"Midoriya." The familiar voice pulled her attention back to Shoto once more. The greenette looked startled as he turned to face the dual-haired boy. The room fell silent, all eyes now on the two boys.

"Todoroki," he squeaked. Sana hoped Shoto wouldn't be too hard on the poor boy. He was practically trembling under the taller boy's predatory gaze, and the Festival hadn't even started yet. "What is it?"

The dual-haired boy before them was angry. So angry, in fact, that he'd almost appear indifferent to anyone who didn't know him. His expression was apathetic and as harsh as an Arctic tundra, but she knew from personal experience that a raging fire was currently rampaging through his body.

"Looking at things objectively, I think I'm stronger than you."

"Huh?" The freckled boy rubbed his neck, clearly unsure of how to respond to such a bold statement. "Uh, yeah..."

Sana frowned at the unlikely pair. She knew it was petty and selfish of her to think, but if the red-and-white haired boy was going to address anyone in the room right now... shouldn't it be her? His best friend? His confidante? She knew exactly how he was feeling right now. She was in the same boat with her father present. Except, unlike him, she wasn't lashing out under the burden of her fear and anxiey.

Was he challenging him? If so, why not challenge her as well? They'd been rivals their entire lives! In the training exercise at the start of the term, he'd criticized her for not being on his level. But hadn't she proved herself more than capable that same day? She'd shown him just how far she'd come without him. Was she wrong to think that he would notice or care?

Sana clenched her fists, feeling her palms heating up. Her jaw clenched painfully as her eyes burned with the ferocity of a thousand Suns.

It was so frustrating. Why couldn't he call a truce in their cold war for one day? Surely they were mature enough to put their differences aside for a few hours to come together and hold each other up? Why couldn't they just talk and work through whatever was bothering him?

What made Midoriya so special?

She hated thinking that way, but a part of her didn't care anymore. She'd been vying for Shoto's attention for a year now, bending over backwards to try and win her friend back. As far as she knew, she hadn't done anything wrong in the first place, but she'd apologize until she was blue in the face for whatever wrongs she'd apparently committed. They'd gone through too much together, meant too much to each other, to throw their friendship away over... what? She didn't even know!

But she was done crying over him. She was done crawling after him and pleading for mercy.

The dual-haired boy continued. "But... All Might has his eye on you, doesn't he?" Sana raised a brow at that. She'd noticed the hero's interest in her classmate, but had assumed like most of her classmates that it was simply because they both had strength quirks and dismissed the thought. Did Shoto know something the rest of them didn't?

Midoriya certainly looked spooked. Maybe he's on to something after all... "I'm not trying to pry about that," Todoroki stated, Midoriya too shocked to respond. I am, Sana argued.

"But I am going to beat you."

Kaminari, trying to lighten the mood, inserted himself in their public, yet somewhat private, conversation.

"Oh?" He wiggled his eyebrows, throwing a loose arm around each of their shoulders. "Is the best in class making a declaration of war?" He laughed. Shoto shrugged him off roughly, his heterochromic eyes laser-focused on Midoriya.

"Hey, hey, hey! Why are you picking a fight all of a sudden?" Kirishima stepped in, ever the peacemaker. He put some space between the two boys, hoping to break up the tension.

However, Shoto was in a worse mood than she'd thought.

"We're not here to play at being friends." She felt his slice her like a knife. A rush of air left her lips as he finally looked at her for the first time since that day in the infirmary. He might as well have been looking through her. "So what does it matter?"

Her throat tightened, feeling the unwelcome prick of tears she'd never allow to fall. But she held her head high, meeting his gaze head on. She refused to shed another tear over him. If he wanted to be angry, that's fine.

She can be angry, too.

Midoriya stepped forward. "Todoroki, I don't know what you're thinking when you say you'll beat me, but of course you're better than me." He shrugged helplessly. "I think you're more capable than most people." The greenette's meek voice slowly gained confidence as he spoke of the other courses and how everyone would be aiming for the top, himself included.

The class fell into silence once more, not even Mina or Denki daring to say anything. Thankfully, it wasn't long after that they were told it was time to line up outside.

As Sana moved to leave the waiting room, a calloused hand gripped the back of her shirt and held her back. The sweet scent of caramel and woodsy cologne washed over her.

"Yes?" She asked, not bothering to turn around. Bakugou, never one to be ignored, spun her to face him.

"You're acting weirder than usual." He pointed out with narrowed eyes. "Is it your shitty quirk?" Sana wondered if he was genuinely concerned and hiding it, or just worried that she wouldn't give it her all in the tournament. Either way, she appreciated the sentiment. It meant that on some level, he actually cared.

The strawberry blonde sighed, her entire body feeling weighed down as though her bones had turned to lead. Bakugou's hold on her collar was probably the only thing keeping her upright in that moment. She'd trained so hard... but she hadn't anticipated the emotional strain of today. Not only did she have to deal with a pissed off Todoroki and her own fucked up feelings, but now their fathers have thrown themselves into the mix. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Not this time." She didn't elaborate, and for once, the ash blonde didn't push her for a better answer. Smart boy.

"What?" He cocked his head, a half smirk on his face. "You mad Icy Hot didn't challenge you?"

"If I recall correctly," she smiled sardonically. "He didn't challenge you either." His eye twitched in annoyance, his mouth twisting into a snarl.

"What you said yesterday... did you mean it?" He almost sounded normal, which was incredibly rare for Bakugou. So, in true Sana fashion, she had to tease him about it. She figured they both could use a sense of normalcy before all Hell broke loose in the stadium.

She tilted her head to the side to appear clueless, tapping her chin.

"I dunno. What did I say yesterday?" The blonde grit his teeth, his pale eyebrows nearly touching from how furrowed they were. But all the peach-haired girl could focus on was the color quickly rising in his cheeks. From rage or being flustered, she didn't really know or care, so long as she was the reason for it.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!"

Bright and early that morning, Umi rushed to answer the door before whoever was on the other side splintered the wood under their booming fists. The front door opened to reveal a scowling ash blonde dressed head to toe in black. He clenched a bouquet of flowers in one hand, the other hanging in the air between them, ready to beat the door into submission. His scowl darkened at the sight of the older woman, his bright eyes narrowing into slits.

"Who the hell are you?"

Umi plastered on the polite smile she saved for unsavory guests at dinner parties or for Yoichi Sakano on the rare occasion he was home. "I could ask you the same, young man."

The blonde clicked his tongue. "The name's Bakugou. Where's Flashlight?" Umi was convinced the blonde had a few screws loose and opened her mouth to run him off when-

"Who the hell is pounding on the door so early?" Sana whined, rubbing her sleepy eyes as she shuffled down the stairs. She nearly missed a step after spotting the figure in her doorway. The strawberry blonde paled, suddenly aware of how underdressed she was. She was wearing a silky blue pajama set decorated with white bunnies, matching fuzzy blue slippers, and her hair hadn't been brushed yet.

Oh, shit.

She quickly ran her fingers through her messy locks, trying to style it as she hastily descended down the stairs. She slipped past Umi to join the blonde on the porch, pulling the door closed behind them... but not before catching the confused and curious eye of her housekeeper. She would hear about this later. There was no doubt about that.

"What are you doing here?"

Bakugou glanced away, the veins in his neck straining. He practically threw the roses at her. She rushed to catch the bouquet before it fell to the ground. "Geez."

"For last night," he mumbled, shoving his now free hands into his pockets. "I was an asshole."

"...only last night?" Sana jested, lips curling into her usual Chessire grin. His own mouth softened into a lopsided smirk, his sharp canine poking out.

Out of all the impressively exaggerated facial expressions he was capable of making, this was by far her favorite: relaxed and carefree. Bakugou allowing himself to openly express his feelings (the positive kind, not just anger and hostility) was a rare and beautiful thing to witness.

"Shut up, freak." He said without his usual bite.

She giggled, bringing the stargazer lilies up to her nose and inhaling deeply. They were her favorite flower... not that he could've possibly known that. They were wonderfully vibrant, the various shades of pink and orange highlights reminding her of her own unique coloring. Even the ribbon wrapped around the stems was nearly identical to the one she used to tie her hair back in training. The thought made butterflies erupt in her stomach. He had to have noticed, too. Bakugou is annoyingly detailed. He doesn't miss a thing.

"The hell are you wearing?" Bakugou's brows furrowed as he finally took in her appearance. The sight of her kid pajamas nearly made him snort.

"Shut up!" Sana shrieked, her face glowing in embarrassment. "Your loud ass interrupted my beauty sleep." He barked out a laugh. It was gruff and incredibly attractive. The low sound didn't help the warmth in her cheeks. She had to clear her throat before attempting to speak again. "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful."

He shrugged nonchalantly, but his satisfaction was evident in the way his chest puffed out, his terrible posture straightening up.

"Are you ready for the Festival tomorrow?"

She already knew his answer. He'd been boasting about his inevitable win since the Festival had been announced. But she wasn't quite ready to let him go just yet. Not after everything he'd said last night, so she'd listen to him brag for as long as he wanted so long as he stayed with her a while longer.

"I'm gonna beat your ass into the ground." Sana went to make a sly remark but he interrupted her before she could. "Fuck off." She laughed.

"You're that confident, huh?" She shook her head in amusement. "Care to make things a little more interesting, Katsuki?"

"The hell are you yapping about now?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It was her turn to shrug. His words from the previous night had haunted her mind on a continuous loop. He'd all but admitted to having feelings for her, she was sure of it. But when she'd pushed him for an answer, he ran off, disappearing into the night. She'd tossed and turned all night, unable to relax with all of the questions bouncing around in her brain.

But here he was now... apologizing and bringing her flowers that felt like they were expertly chosen to reflect her and her quirk. If he wouldn't confess his feelings, she'd just have to flush them out of him another way.

"A friendly wager," she moved the flowers to one hand, holding her other out for him to shake. "As an added prize for the winner... what do ya say?"

"Oh, right. That," Sana nodded, feigning innocence as she waved her hand. "Sure, why not?"

He shifted his weight, eyeing her suspiciously. "You never said what the prize would be."

"Why spoil the fun?" Sana wiggled her brows, backing out of the room. "Good luck, 'Suki!" She called as she turned and ran out of the room to rejoin their class. She heard his heavy footsteps trailing behind her, grumbling to himself as she linked arms with Mina.

Today's going to be a great day, she repeated to herself like a mantra, hoping that if she said it enough times, it might come true. But after talking with Bakugou, she realized that the fog of fear and dread and nerves that had been shrouding her all morning had dissipated.

Today's going to be a great day, she reminded herself once again.

And this time, she almost believed it.

¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*･ﾟ¸☾⋆*

After what has to be the worst opening speech in history given by one Katsuki Bakugou, it was time for the first round to begin. Midnight, in all her uncensored glory, revealed the first challenge to be an obstacle race.

Easy right? Wrong.

They were forced into a narrow tunnel, impatiently waiting for the round to begin. The scenario reminded her of the chaos in the hallway after the security breach. Back then, she'd had Bakugou there to help guide her through the crowd with his larger body.

Now, she was on her own.

She grimaced as a bony elbow burrowed into her ribcage, a large shoulder pressing into her's from the other side. This must be part of the challenge, she realized, ducking and shoving her way forward, gliding through the space between hot, sweaty bodies. Hisses and yelps followed her as she activated her quirk, her skin lightly steaming as her body rose to an uncomfortable temperature. She almost didn't notice the chill in the air.

Almost.

"START!" Midnight's voice reverberated throughout the stadium, followed by the snap of her whip.

Sana jumped straight up, keeping her palms parallel to the floor. With a burst of energy from her palms, she soared above the countless students that were now trapped within Shoto's ice.

With a self-satisfied smile, she shot out of the tunnel like a rocket. There was a commotion behind her as her classmates broke through the congestion. She was pleasantly surprised by the number of them that managed to make it straight out of the gate.

For one moment, Mineta was in the lead, only to be sideswiped by a giant green robot. They were dozens of them, appearing out of nowhere to block the only path forward. With minimal difficulty, Sana weaved between their large bodies, staying airborne as ice and metal rained down on the people below.

Present Mic's colorful commentary was nothing but background noise. She wasn't focused on anything but directing her quirk.

Explosions could be heard close by, a loud voice cursing at her and Todoroki. Daring a glance back, she quickly spotted him propelling himself through the air using small bursts from his hands. His feral expression was both hilarious and unnerving.

"Great minds do think alike, huh, Suki?" She called over her shoulder.

"Screw you!" He spat. "I did that shit first!"

She remembered their first day, during the quirk assessment test. Back then, they'd both done similar moves, and now here they were again months later, still imitating and learning from each other.

"Maybe," she eventually conceded. "But I do it better!"

"You-!"

The blonde was cut off as he moved to avoid the robots suddenly collapsing around them. The edges of the metal were still glowing bright orange from the heat used to slice through them like butter. Todoroki isn't holding back, so why should I?

Sana shot Bakugou a wink, her eyes an iridescent pink. "Gotta blast!" She cheerfully saluted with two fingers before flipping him the bird.

"I'LL KILL YOU!"

[lu-twilights-pup]

Some yandere legend headcannon he is stuck in my brain right now

I got you! sorry if this is out of wack or really short!!

DISCLAIMERS:

Yandere, obsessive themes, unhealthy behaviors, unhealthy mindset, implication of violence

Yandere! Legend (some art)

He would not particularly like that he liked you at first

Not for some ‘it’s not like i like you’ reason no, simply bc he didnt plan it

And he rarely gets to keep things that they like. so you won't be going far from his sight

he deserved to have something to obsess over love

but with the way you look at him, of course you were a bit scared shy, but love them all the same

you haven't looked at anyone else like that, so it must be true

and who is he to keep you from what you desire? what you deserve?

they can give you everything in the world and more, burn it to the ground if you so please

his brashness and sarcasm may off put you or even make you dislike him entirely, but that won't stop him, he will worm his way into you life with sweet words and somewhat heartfelt gestures

flowers and candy, your favorite books, bumping into you at your favorite shops and picnic spots.

you would have no choice but to give him the time of day he knows you want to.

he would dazzle you with items for all his adventures and quests, captivating you with magic and ancient secrets

casting spell after spell that he had learned, but never telling you that he slipped in a binding spell somewhere in the mix, between the two of you.

they would act so concerned and puzzled when you came to their door, terrified and upset, unable to explain the paranoia and fear that has crept into your skin

they would hush you and coo and act heartfelt when you told them that you only felt truly safe around him.

and oh once that happened it would be over and done with, you must stay with him, this would be proof.

"Sweetheart, don't worry, I wouldn't let anything happen to you, the only thing you have to think about is you and me" <3

he would use his need to hide for royal soldiers as an excuse to live far far away form any other people.

and who were you to argue when being away from them was oh so excurtiacting

If you mentioned leaving and trying to fight through the anxiety on your own, he would break down and tell you of his adventures and their less fun parts. of companion after companion who abandoned him.

lest you not break his poor battered soul you stay by his side, in his home, on the outskirts of town

and when they did venture with you into town, and a mage told you of a curse placed no your heart, he would shun them and drag you out

spinning a tale of them only wishing to frighten you so that your purchase their protection charms, and if you wanted to buy one after that, you needn't worry

he has hundred fro your to chose form, and would find hundreds more if you didn't like any of them

of course they are all fake, just pretty jewelry for a pretty face, and when they don't work as you venture out, their advice is clear as day

"You're all mine to protect sweetheart, no need to be out and alone, all you need is me, and all I need is you. Stay with me won't you?"

[theorphicangel]

HI LOVE <3 GRATS ON THE 500 ksdfksjdf

can i get “maybe this is it, because I can’t do this anymore” because i wanna be in pain :') i'm a sucker for hurt/comfort but if you wanna kill me with all angst no comfort i will happily die in (angsty) peace <3

hiii kat!! thank you so so much for sending in a prompt! Now I was considering going fully angst but I do want to see you live as my mutual so I settled for comfort 🙏🫡

enjoy :)

send in a prompt for my 500 event!

tw: blood, grief, death, gn! reader

Scarlet blood decorated your skin, imprinted like tattoo ink. It will take you days to scrub it out completely. The fade of crimson never truly disappears.

Each time you went on a mission you never really thought that it would be as god-awful as the last, and most of the time – and most fortunately – you were right.

But not this time.

This time, it was the worst of the worst. Unimaginable. As if the pits of hell collectively decided that out of all days, today would be the perfect time to unleash eternal damnation upon the entire corps.

Today, the universe chose to make you a witness to the most gruesome scenes ever known to the human eye and to let you live with it.

That was truly the worst kind of punishment.

The punishment of being the lucky few who survived after seeing the rampages of hell. The so-called lucky ones who have yet to fully comprehend what they have been through and face immediate backlash from hundreds when returning to the walls. It was only then that you understood the idea that survival was possibly the next thing worse than death.

Heads bowed, a deep sea of dark green cloaks was all the eye could see on the return home. Bodies numb and battered, stomachs empty and nauseous, mental state shattered and fragile, this is all that is left of the Survey Corps.

The contact between each other’s eyes was how communication flowed. After a tragedy like this, only a set of weary eyes could portray the answers to the unspoken questions. In silence, the poor numbers of survivors trailed one after the other, the optimism once held in these hearts were now killed by the fate of the world.

Knuckles tight, your hands gripped the reins of your horse. Your limbs shook, unable to cope with the amount of grief and trauma that you had just seen. It was unbearable, having to go through it time and time again, mission after mission, hope after hope that this time would be the last time that you would see your comrades die.

You don’t think you’d ever reach that point. Internally, you had already decided that this would be the last time. You were done.

Silently, you disappeared from the small crowd. And after tying up your horse in the stable, you slipped away not caring to be present for a register. The worn soles of your boots thunder as you walk down the soulless corridor, cold and empty, only now coming to life.

Making a sharp turn, you meet the closed door of your office. Bloodstained hands meet the cold doorknob and you twist with all the strength that you have in your own drained body to get the door open. You only manage to take a few steps forward before collapsing on your office floor. Like the rest of the headquarters, it’s cold and empty, and there’s already a stack of papers on your table ready to be signed.

For the first minute or two, you realize that you have no energy to cry, instead choosing to slump on the ground, your body melting into the floor.

It’s only a matter of time before it all sinks in. The visions and raw images race back into your mind like a film scene rolling before your eyes. Before you know it your eyes are watering and you’re unable to stop the tears from flowing. Neither are you able to suppress the deep cry inside you. Hands shaking, you can’t stop, like you're not even in control of your own body. You can’t stop no matter how hard you try.

Forcing yourself to take in a breath, the tears only pause momentarily before flowing all over again.

You don’t even know how long he’s been there. You never really noticed your office door open or even hear his steps. Wiping away at your blurry eyes was when you found him there, right there in front of you. He was a splitting image of you. Bloodstained and exhausted.

Inaudibly, he’s beside you on the ground, his nimble, cold fingers gently holding the tips of yours. His face is filled with immediate concern on how much you’re currently shaking, and soon he unbuttons his own cape and wraps it around you, the warmth of it already doing wonders.

Coming to a sudden yet much needed halt, your body has run out of tears. Eyes red, skin patchy, head throbbing, your body has nothing left in you. Miserably, you sit, shaking your head slowly as you hiccup. Levi’s hand slowly rubs circles into your back. Pathetically you rub your eyes one more time, skin irritated by the amount of contact.

“I can’t–”

It merely comes out as a whisper, your throat dry and croaky. It takes you a few times to swallow before you can repeat yourself a little louder.

“I can’t do it.”

Levi raises a brow, his concern never once left his face, not even for a minute. “Can’t do what?”

“This.” you mumble, raising your hands. “They say that after the worst you can’t do it anymore, that it’ll break you and maybe— maybe this is it, because I can’t do this anymore.” Your voice wobbles before the end, breaking off as a new set of fresh tears reach your waterline.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true!” you exclaim, “I’m finished. I can’t keep doing this anymore, Levi. How many people do I have to watch die in front of me before we can reach freedom? It’s like a fucking nightmare I can’t wake up from, and just when I start to get hope, just that tiniest spark of hope inside me, it just fucking dies and I end up with nothing, I end up with nothing, Levi.”

“You don’t have nothing.” He begins, his tone quiet and gentle with you. “You have your squad and—“

“And so what? One day I’ll lose them too and you know it. I can’t keep pretending that I’m strong enough for this, I can’t do it. I’m–” You shut your eyes, tilting your head upwards. The words leave your lips in a whisper. “I’m just so fucking tired of this.”

He gets it. He really and truly does understand where you’re coming from. Even when it feels like nobody understands, he gets it. Because at one point in his life, he had reached that conclusion too.

Levi swallowed thickly letting the silence creep back in after your words. His eyes were casted downwards, searching for an answer, anything to comfort you. It took a few moments before he was ready to say something.

“I know I don’t have the answer, none of us do, and trust me, we’re all tired. Every single one of us. Every single day everyone wakes up and thinks, ‘why am I doing this?’ ‘Why did I choose this path, this endless path of not knowing if I’ll make it to tomorrow?’ But the thing is…we have no choice but to keep going.”

Levi paused for a second. “ I know it doesn’t seem like it but little by little we are making progress. With each and every mission we are coming back with new information and intel in which we didn’t know about before. In fact, I bet you Hange will storm your office tomorrow with something new that they found.”

His words coax out a subtle smile out of you, you could just imagine that happening.

“That is why we do it, so we can get new information, to discover shit that we haven’t even thought about yet. It is a sacrifice but no one who steps foot into the Survey Corps isn’t aware of that.”

Levi took a deep sigh, watching as your tears slow down your cheeks. You felt his exhale of air reach your skin. A reminder he was here, right here with you.

“Keep going, “ He tells you, gently. “For me at least. For us.”

It was possibly the most selfish thing that he had ever asked for in his entire lifetime and the first selfish thing he had asked for but he knew that this was your breaking point.

If he couldn’t get you to promise him this, then there was no hope left for you. Just this once he needed to be selfish and it was all a no brainer for him if it meant saving you in the long run.

His hands cup your face, bloodstained and all. Because of your own blurry eyes you couldn’t catch the way that his eyes welled up.

“Promise me this one thing.” He mumbled. “Promise you’ll keep going for me.”

“Levi–”

“Promise me.” His voice grew loud all of a sudden, echoing off the walls of your quiet office. His tone was stern as if he was giving an order to his squad, the only difference was…you could hear the fear in his voice.

He was only being strict on you because he was so afraid of losing you. That was his own breaking point. And if it ever came to that then that would be it. He wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. He wouldn’t know how to. He’d rather be sacrificed to the titans than ever imagine himself in a scenario like that.

You meet his eyes, fear evident in them. For him you’ll do it. Whatever it takes.

“I promise.”

“Good.” his fingers steadily wiped away the trail of teardrops. “I won’t ever let you down. You remember that, okay?”

You nod, trusting him full heartedly without a second thought.

Again he was being selfish, guiding you down a path that could potentially lead to disaster, but it needed to be done, for the sake of saving you. Could it be something he will potentially regret in the near future?

He doesn’t know. No one does.

But for now, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep you by his side.

Reblogs are much appreciated!!

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[kits-shrine]

Rotten Stinkin' Onions

Below is the sad end! Read at your own peril~

"You're my mate." she protested tearfully "I should have tried harder. Done everything. Done anything." Kit bowed her head in shame "And I didn't even think to try." After what happened to his mother, she'd assumed everything about him that made him, him was gone. But she should have tried "I'm so s-sorry that I left you alone when you needed me most." “You never left me, Kit,” he chided softly, taking her hand into his to kiss them both before placing them over his heart, “you were with me the whole time, right here.” She gave a little sob curling to lay her head against his chest overwhelmed by emotion. The beads brushing against his fingers from around her wrist gave a little shiver a hairline crack spreading on one of them. The crack grew and grew, just like the ones on her poor battered Soul. It was just too much and she was already too weak, she whisper little apologies over and over before she let out a pained gasp... as her Soul shattered and her body turned to stone in his arms.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as the woman he loved lay cold and still in his arms, “Kit,” he tried to shake her, but stone does not yield, “this isn’t funny, Kit,” his breathing grew ragged as the reality that his love was gone slowly sank in. Her hands felt like white-hot branding irons over his erratic heart, “No, not like this,” he moaned quietly, “No. No. No. No. No. NO!” the elf’s soft refutes turning into wails of heart wrenching agony and rage. He was home; they were together, so why? Why was she gone? It was his fault, he thought brokenly, that goddess may have started it, but he, he was the weak-willed one. He hadn’t been strong enough to stop the possession. He abandoned his mate, leaving her to suffer, letting her broken heart slowly consume her Soul until it was too late. He was to blame. Wild magic as turbulent as his emotions rolled off him in waves, tearing at the earth, shredding the slip of paper that rested near them. Though if the silver kitsune siblings were there, Ingall was blind to them in his grief. Leaves trembled, falling from their perches, trunks bowed, and bark cracked, flowers wilted as grass brown; all nature grieved with the Elven King, all felt his loss, all mourned the dear lady who would have been Queen. (edited)

Thick brambles sprouted from the earth, winding around the King and his lost love, barring all from disturbing him in what would be a tomb. It was only when the wickedly thorned vines threatened to choke the Heart did the elf had a moment of clarity, “No,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper; he would not destroy that which his mate had fought so hard to protect in life. He reached inward even as he felt his Spirit beginning to fade, waves of magic pouring from the elf once again, but these were gentle, healing. This magic was born of love, not grief. Brambles receded as the scarring on the great tree healed, bright red flowers blanketed the earth around the Heart. The spider lilies held an otherwordly glow as they swayed in a soft breeze. A bed of clovers rested beneath the lovers, one of stone, the other green growing things delicate purple blooms sprouted from their clasped hands, heliotrope: eternal love.

Summoned both by the destruction of the slip and the chimes of distress from the Heart itself the silver kitsunes looked at the scene in horrified disbelief and heartache. With tears streaming down her face Ginko checked that both were really and truly gone, whilst her brother checked the Heart whose creaking branches sounded like it was crying with them.

At the house Tony had his hands full with a hysterical Byakko, who couldn’t even speak enough for her siblings to understand. But seeing ones parents perish in each others arm in a magical mirror would do that to most any one, but most certainly one as young as she.

The following days and weeks were spent in mourning not only for the kitsunes or for the monsters once they heard the news, but for the very Shrine itself. The elder kitsunes had to not only carry their grief and the children’s grief but there was a rise in Spirit activity drawn by the negative energy drawn by their sadness causing them to get no rest.

With the help of their friends in both their parents worlds to help them through this dark time. Ginko tried to split her attention between caring for the children and the Shrine and her brother the same, though the later swore off ever allowing himself the weakness of having a mate. The twins picked up mantles in truth of being the next Shrine Guardians, working harder than ever to help working through their grief that way. Touma had been taken in largely by Tamashii. The little one was very confused why and where his mother and Ingall had gone and his father seemed to be the only one capable for distracting him overlong. And Bya… Bya was often found curled up against her mama and papa’s side at the Heart’s base more often than not semi catatonic.

Eventually they would perhaps grow past the pain… but it would not be for many years to come.

~sad fin~

True End

Rotten Stinkin' Onions-You are here

Sweet Onions

Wild Onions -

[mochidreambubble]

one more word and you won't survive [Day 5 chapter]

Written for OC x Canon week organised by @theocxcanonweek

Day 5 Prompt:

Tend to Injury /  Mythology AU / “Forgive me…”

Shortest one yet, but I made sure there was silly banter ✨

Maybe the last one for Genshin OC for now.

Ao3 link here.

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

Ajax can’t actually remember the last time someone fussed over him, aside from his family. Even then, he always made sure to arrive home unscathed - or at least that he appeared to be.

It kind of funny of course, to see someone who Childe had decided was timid and soft-spoken at best to actually be not like that at all. Well, he kind of figured when he got slapped after the whole ordeal with Osial - heard that a certain consultant of a funeral parlor received one too…

It was mostly a coincidence, as most of their run-ins happened to be. Perhaps he truly did overdo himself as he let himself wreck a bit of havoc on Seirai Island, but he tended to forget almost anything when in the heat of battle. He only noticed how battered he was when he noticed the trail of blood he was leaving behind…

Pain was never really a big deal to him, not for a long time now. But when a rather flustered Liyuan young master found him wandering around the island shoreline and insisted he sit down right that instant so he could give him a look over, who was he to argue?

“And here I thought you still hated me, Ruyi. I’m touched.”

“If you don’t shut up and sit still, I’m tossing you into the ocean.”

“I’d actually love to see you try.”

That gets him a flick to his forehead, but Ruyi turns his attention quickly away to his other wounds. “Alright, shirt off, you’ve basically bled through it by this point.”

“Have some sympathy for my maiden heart Ruyi, your directness is going to give it a fright.”

Ruyi clicks his tongue and starts to yank on it himself.

“H-Hey, ok, ok, I’ll take it off-”

Once said bloody top is all scrunched up in his lap and Ruyi continues to heal him, all in silence, Childe is simply unable to help himself. “Kind of a waste to have such a sweet face but poor bedside manner, you know?”

“Why? You think you deserve some special service by being a complete battle-hungry idiot?”

“What makes you so sure it wasn’t because I got jumped?”

He receives a look of exasperation, but it morphs into a frown f concern. “Do you know how deep some of your cuts are? It’s a blessing you didn’t bleed out…”

When he simply shrugs, Ruyi gives him a light smack to the head. “I’m serious, why didn’t you just stop?”

“Didn’t realise it was that bad.”

“Unbelievable…”

Childe does feel better, feeling like a sweet spring breeze had washed over him and closed up his wounds. “You know, if you want to keep me out of trouble so badly, why not stick with me?”

“Suuuuure, why not.”

“I’m serious. At least with you around, I could keep fighting longer- Ow, what kind of healer keeps hitting their patient?”

“Please, if you could barely feel these hideous wounds, I don’t believe you could be hurt by that.”

“It hurt my maiden heart! Think of my sweet fragile heart, Ruyi!”

(fin)

[angelfacedarling]

She wants to fight back against his hold on her. Stopping her from finishing this man once and for all. This terrible soul.. Butcher. Her anger in full swing, knowing no limits for this man. She would’ve ended him too, if not for John’s intervention.

As John holds her arms back- she’s slowly calming down, his gentle words like a healing balm for chaotic behavior. Yes, he’s soothing her mind. Filling her with emotions she’d felt before. Love.

Misty’s eyes fade back to the greens he’s so loved before. Pacifying her ever so sweetly. She turned to look at him. As if broken away from her trance. Seeing the way he was nestled against her like that. Sniffing her hair once again. Her perfume. It felt like her heart was finally beating again.

“John..” Her bottom lip quivers as she sucks back tears. They’re flooding her vision- clouding him away. Her rough mask she’d been keeping on finally coming to a sliding collapse. “I thought I was never going to see you again..”

She whimpered, nuzzling right back against his affections. Never wanting to be apart from him. But also- not believing this was real. It felt like a dream to hear his voice. See his face again. It didn’t even matter if he looked different now. He was still her John.

Butcher was still knocked out against the cage. Covered in his own blood. Still purple from his previous asphyxiation. Misty looked back at Butcher and then at John, her eyes pleading suddenly. As if remembering there will be people here soon- looking for him. Maybe even to stop him from killing John. She grabs both of his hands in her own, lips parting once more.

“We need to go now-“ Her tone serious and urgent, beginning to lead him towards the exit. The door no longer there. “My poor, sweet John.. you’re so battered.. are you able to run..?”Her eyes roam across his form, taking in all of the damage. As badly as she wanted to stay back and do worse to Butcher- they desperately needed to leave.

A forest. In the middle of nowhere. Butcher was proving to be a god damn cliche. Almost immediately, Misty had begun her adventure to save John. Soldier Boy’s paid debt and rare kindness would not go to waste. She ran- as fast as her legs would take her, to that not so safe location. Not anymore. Butcher better thank his lucky stars she’s not there yet.

Better yet, Misty had already figured her powers out along the way. Her abilities tested when she’d hoped to accept a ride from a man she thought was kind. Yet, turned out to be just like everyone else around her as of late. Taking justice into her own hands- she’d flipped that vile man’s car- setting it ablaze. An act she wasn’t sure if she would tell anyone. Definitely not John- no, she didn’t want his vision of innocence for her to rot away at her bastardly acts. She’s still not even sure if he would accept her like this- riled up and mad on Temp V.

She took Soldier Boys advice and told no one about her rescue mission. Even more so, her mind was still stuck on his words. A leak.. A leak was behind this? The reason her John was kidnapped and tortured.. or worse.. Revenge was something she’d planned to enact when all of this was over. She was going to tear whoever was the leak to pieces.

The building is small, black and rusted in the distance. It looks like an old shack of some sorts. Yes.. this is the building Soldier Boy described. Where her dear John was being held against his will. Oh John.. her heart yearned for his gentle caressing and soft kiss. How could anyone see him as a monster when he was so gentle to her? Loved her..

She crouches, edging closer and staking out the building. Listening for any sign of multiple voices. Anything to let her know just how many people were in there. Her feet padded closer through the dewy grass, Butchers voice becoming a bit more loud as she drew near.

“Ya know? I’ve thought about this for a long time. You and me..” Butcher can be heard explaining, as if he’s some kind of supervillain in his own right. His Cockney accent low and gravely to the ear. She’s right at the door- waiting to hear his spiel. “Ever’ since you took my sweet Becca from me. I thought about how I wanted to off ya’. But this..”

Her body jumps, hearing what sounds like a loud smack against John. Nothing dense- it had to be Butchers hand. He’s toying with him. Torturing him. Thinking nobody is coming. Well, Butcher..

Misty is thankful for Hughies unknowingly careless ways- leaving the door nice and unlocked. Her hands draw forward, grabbing and ripping the door off its hinges with her newfound telekinetic powers. She watches as Butcher’s eyes meet her own. Ignorant to herself, while like this- engaging in her powers, those beautiful greens have disappeared. Only to be replaced with a fully whited out iris. A symptom of the strain from her psychokinetic powers. She sees John on the floor, battered and beaten. His blonde hair has faded away. He’s - human. Just like her. How she was. .

“Ain’t this a sweet lil’ surprise? Homelander’s shagpiece came all this way to save his sorry arse” Butcher stands menacingly, looking between Misty and John. His figure remains in place, standing above John. Unyielding, not even flinching at Misty. Despite how crazy she’d probably looked right now. “This is rich-“

Misty brings her hand forth immediately, choking Butcher and holding him up against the cage. Curling her fingers to apply even more pressure to the man’s neck. Her eyes low and brows furrowed. This was the man- who for so long- caused John the utmost problems. Even more so- depowering him. Misty knew John had to be feeling so humiliated through it all. So- she will humiliate him. Pressing him against this cage in front of John, snorting and crying against her powers. Gasping for air to fill his once precious lungs.

“You.. are going to suffer for what you’ve done to him..”

[left4deadstuck]

You bite your lower lip. You don't think being straight to the point with Karkat would be a good idea… Though you considered it heavily before ultimately choosing to go with an apology.

Okay… Here it comes.

Dave: hey. Dave: im… sorry Dave: im sorry man

Your voice is quiet. Maybe too quiet, making you think the other didn't hear you. So you look up to glance at the other.

Dave: genuinely i Dave: i didnt think wed see each other like

You don’t get the chance to finish before he raises his hand to cut you off.

Karkat: YOU KNOW IF I WANTED TO WATCH SOMEONE VOMIT THE FLIMSIEST APOLOGY KNOWN TO MAN, I'D GO OUTSIDE AND WATCH ONE OF THE INFECTED ASSHOLES OUT THERE THROW UP THEIR GUTS ONTO THE PAVEMENT. Karkat: AND IT WOULD STILL BE A BETTER "SORRY" THAN ANYTHING YOUR BATTER BRAINED SKULL COULD CONJURE UP RIGHT NOW. Karkat: SO SAVE US BOTH THE EMBARRASSMENT AND SHUT UP FOR GODSAKES

You scowl, back straightening. Goddamnit now you remember. Remember how much of a crabby jackass he is.

Dave: oh Dave: because sitting in the dark while silently death glaring at each other is productive Dave: cause we got all the time in the world to just kick back and do absolutely nothing but seethe at each other Dave: not like i was trying t

Karkat: TO DO WHAT EXACTLY? BE REMORSEFUL? BE ACTUALLY APOLOGETIC WITH NO ULTERIOR MOTIVE DESPITE KNOWING I CAN BE OF USE TO YOU? Karkat: DO YOU HONESTLY TAKE ME FOR SOME KIND OF FUCKING IDIOT?! Karkat: THAT I WOULD EVEN HUMOR THE IDEA THAT YOU'RE ACTUALLY SORRY?!! Karkat: THAT I'LL JUST TOSS MY RESENTMENT AND FRUSTRATION OUT INTO THE ATMOSPHERE BECAUSE POOR OL' STRIDER IS JUST A PATHETIC LUMP OF BRUISES! Karkat: *FAT FUCKING CHANCE.* Karkat: YOU COULD BE FOLDED INTO THE MOST DISGUSTING AND AGONIZING EXAMPLE OF HUMAN ORIGAMI AND I'D STILL BE "SEETHING" Karkat: SO YEAH, *I’M SORRY* THAT I DECIDED NOT TO WASTE MY TIME AND ENERGY HEARING YOUR LOUSY ATTEMPT AT A HEART TO HEART

Dave: … Dave: sigh

Once upon a time Jade had asked you and your mutual group of friends to test out the latest version of her new project. A mental inventory system that had a very convoluted retrieval and sorting system. Luckily her team was quick to fix that after your group’s trials with it.

Jade never really told you exactly why, but you always speculated that some people on her team, or well, someone, didn’t really trust your legitimacy enough when signing your NDA. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised you though, after all you have made a name for yourself with your bizarre level of spectacles you do for the sake of irony.

It did not thrill you to find out the next morning that you would now deal with the living embodiment of “stick up the ass” as your personal bodyguard for however long the trial had to last for. Despite your best efforts to get rid of the guy, you’ve quickly learned a few things about Mr. Vantas here. One of those things being that he is skeptical and stubborn to a fault.

Well, there it goes, your plans being haplessly thrown out the window! Poor sons of bitches didn’t even have a chance-

You hear a snap next to your ear

Karkat: JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU STOP MUMBLING TO YOURSELF FOR A SECOND AND PAY ATTENTION

Dave: what Dave: you have another drawn out monologue about how god awful i am? Dave: are you sure your throat can handle that shakespeare Dave: ya dont exactly have the voice for stage anymore with all that smoke Dave: but lets be real here Dave: its probably a good thing that you cant blow out anyone within a 10 ft radius of you eardrums anymore because you decided to make causal conversation

Karkat: YOU MOUTHY FUCKING PRICK- Karkat: CAN YOU DO THE WORLD Karkat: AND ME ESPECIALLY Karkat: A FUCKING FAVOR TO SHOVE WHATEVER BULLSHIT YOU HAVE IN YOUR WINDPIPE AND FUCKING LET ME TELL YOU WHAT I ACTUALLY WANT TO TELL YOU FOR FIVE FUCKING SECONDS

Dave: ok sir ill be on my best behavior for "five fucking seconds"

Karkat:THANK YOU, GODDAMN. Karkat: AS MUCH AS I WOULD LOVE TO JUST KICK YOUR USELESS ASSES OUT OF MY HOUSE, I DON’T THINK I’LL BE ABLE TO SURVIVE A FIGHT BETWEEN YOUR POTENTIALLY TRIGGER HAPPY HELLSPAWN. Karkat: AND ALTHOUGH I THINK IT’S WITHIN MY RIGHT TO FEEL THIS LEVEL OF BRIGHT HOT ANGER TOWARDS ALL OF YOU… Karkat: SIGHS … I

He looks up at the ceiling as if his next few words are the greatest offense that any higher power could have subjected him to utter.

Karkat: (GOD I MUST BE MORE SICK THAN I THOUGHT.) Karkat: I, FOR SOME REASON THAT SHOULD BE IMPOSSIBLE SEEING AS I HAVE DEALT WITH ENOUGH OF YOUR TOTAL TRASH FIRE OF A PREDICAMENT, BUT HERE I AM EVER THE GLUTTON FOR MORE SELF-INFLICTED MISERY

Dave: yeah yeah i get it Dave: im a dick get to the point

Karkat: I DON’T WANT YOU TO DIE, YOU COMPLETE JACKASS!

Karkat: AND I HATE THAT CAUSE THAT RISKS MY LIFE FOR SOMEONE I ABSOLUTELY DON'T OWE SHIT TO, BUT NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I TRY TO THINK OF A REASON TO JUSTIFY IT TO MYSELF I CAN’T. Karkat: I CAN'T LIVE EASY KNOWING THAT IF SOMEONE DIED, EVEN IF THAT SOMEONE IS FUCKING YOU...I Karkat: I DON'T NEED TO EXPLAIN SURVIVORS GUILT YOU YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT

Dave: oh Dave: uh Dave:th Karkat: NO SHUT THE FUCK UP Karkat: FUCKING Karkat: NO!

Karkat: HAVING A SENSE OF COMPASSION STILL DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT THAT IT’S EITHER I HELP OR I DIE. Karkat: DON’T TAKE THE FACT THAT I SOMEHOW STILL HAVE MY MORALS INTACT AS FLATTERY. Karkat: INSTEAD BURY THAT IDEA SO FAR IN THE WORTHLESS SLUDGE YOU CALL A THOUGHT PROCESS UNTIL IT ATOMIZES INTO NONEXISTEN-!

He must've worked himself up. You watch him as he moves out of your space to turn and hack up a cloud of smoke. Well, if this isn’t just the perfect time to digest the clusterfuck he has given you. While it is great that he is going to help you out, he’s doing it out of fear and as fuck up as it is, it’s an advantage you have over him.

Though is it a good idea to go along with that? That could risk him fucking you all over and abandoning all of you last minute. You could gain his trust, maybe offer him something that he might want, but even then what would you give him, you have no clue if you have anything to offer him, not to mention that again, he could still just ditch the plan when the opportunity shows up.

What are you going to do?

===> AUDIENCE