#why do i bother bending over backwards to be nice to people who send me this. and worse.

[transboykirito]

you people are fucking insane

[rocorambles]

Perks of the Job

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Non-Con/Rape, Bullying, Coercion, Abuse/Violence, Sexual Assault, Degradation

Prompt: “I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now.”

Summary: You realize far too late that you should have read the fine print of your job contract, questioned the golden egg that had fallen in your lap a little more as you stand face to face with the man you thought you had left far behind in your life. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Sunday, December 6th!) 

Big thank you to @sawamooora for beta-reading this~  

Even by his first year of high school, Oikawa is used to the attention, used to girls smiling and giggling at just a well practiced wink he sends their way. And although no one catches his interest, he thrives on the power he feels, the way he knows he has people so easily wrapped around his fingers with just a few rehearsed lines and a dash of his natural charm. So he’s surprised when he first encounters you. 

Unlike everyone else, you don’t even pause as you pass him in the hallway, don’t even bother to turn for a quick look in his direction.  Unlike like every other female, you keep your face focused forward and continue to class, completely tuning out the gaggle of giggling girls he has surrounding him. And suddenly his interest is peaked as he watches your retreating figure, a sharp gleam in his eyes and a new conquest in sight. 

He uses every trick in the book at first, shooting coy smiles and flirtatious winks your way, cheerfully greeting you each morning at the front gates and walking you right to the doorway of your classroom, sometimes lingering around to exchange small talk if there was time before class started. You’re polite about it, although a bit hesitant, unsure what about you has caught his interest, uncomfortable with the glowering attention you’re receiving from the females around you, but he grits his teeth in frustration when you never reciprocate with anything more than a small smile and superficial words. 

There’s only so long that one can keep a facade, even if it is almost like a second skin and bit by bit, Oikawa’s sheep-like fleece weathers down until snarling fangs and bared teeth are all that remains. You wince as he sharply tugs at your hair, glare as he purposefully knocks the items off your desk onto the floor, and lash out at him to his amusement when he repeatedly closes your locker on you. And although there’s bitterness inside of him that he’s had to resort to such uncouth methods, he can’t help the self satisfied smile when he has all your attention, when your rage filled eyes are locked on him and him alone, when you’re spitting venomous snarls just for him to hear. 

So, he’s quite displeased when third year comes around and suddenly it’s like everyone’s biological clock has suddenly started to rapidly tick. Things are different now that they’ve officially entered adulthood. 

His fangirls are touchier, more clingy, and although he rolls his eyes as they purposefully hike up their skirt and press their bodies against him when they talk, he doesn’t pull away. It wouldn’t be good for his image. And besides, being an adult means having fun doesn’t it? 

So, to the dismay of Iwaizumi and the hoots and hollers of Hanamaki and Matsukawa, he has his fun, sneaking girl after girl into the locker room, the club room, even the equipment room. 

But what infuriates him the most is the way seemingly every male suddenly has their eyes on you, the way your locker is filled to the brim on a daily basis with love notes, the way you’re now always surrounded by a flock of groveling boys all clamoring for your attention, the way he can’t even get close enough to do anything to you anymore, the way you seem to forget he even exists.

And that’s unacceptable. 

He sends his fangirls to do his bidding and although it’s not nearly as satisfying when he’s not the one personally wreaking havoc in your life, when he doesn’t get to see the look of pain and anger in your eyes up close and personal, there’s still a sense of contentment when he sees your tear stained eyes and ruined uniform from afar, the way you seem to shrink in on yourself in shame and embarrassment when you come out of the women’s locker room, the restroom, places only other female students can get to you, where there are no other eyes to protect you. 

But his nails dig into his palms as his fists clench when he sees his fellow male classmates bending over backwards to comfort you, to help you, draping their uniform jackets over your shoulders to hide your disheveled uniform, cooing at your injuries as they gently lead you to the nurse’s office.

And if there’s anything Oikawa hates in the world, it’s losing.

He slams his fist in frustration as he feels you slipping further and further away from him, as he loses against Ushijima, as he loses against Kageyama, as he loses any chance of seeing his dreams of Nationals come true, as he loses in everything that ever mattered to him.

Maybe that’s why he drinks far more than he should at the third year house party, an early graduation party of sorts, a last hurrah before all of you go your separate ways. Maybe that’s why when he sees you, his eyes narrow in determination as he chugs the rest of his drink, despite Iwaizumi’s growl at him to slow down his intake. Maybe that’s why he seeks you out like a bloodhound looking for prey that it’s caught wind of. 

And all he can think of as he corners you in an abandoned section of the house, forcing your body against the wall, feeling you helplessly push against him, watching fear and confusion fill your eyes, is that he needs a win - just one win. 

But of course life has different plans for him and just as he’s shoved his legs between your thighs, just as one of his hands has slipped underneath your shirt to roughly knead one of your breasts, just as he’s crushed his lips against yours in something far too brutal to be considered a kiss, he’s being torn away from you. It’s only Iwaizumi’s familiar voice and face that keeps the ace from getting punched in the face as he snarls at Oikawa to get the fuck away from you and sober up. And all Oikawa sees is red when he briefly glances back once more before turning the corner, only to see his own best friend kindly hovering next to you, gently taking care of you and fixing your clothes for you, an uncharacteristic softness in green eyes as he looks at you. 

Betrayal like he’s never felt before suffocates him as he watches the two of you tentatively begin to dance around each other in an awkward yet endearing courtship. He watches as he loses his best friend, watches as he loses the only woman who’s ever caught his interest, watches as the two of you walk off into your fairytale sunset together, hand in hand, never even glancing back at him as you both go off on your merry way together. 

He’s not proud of the cruel smile that naturally stretches across his face when he hears that the two of you have broken up years later, a brief comment that Hanamaki slips into one of their happy hour catch-ups as the ex-Seijoh third years share a bottle (maybe a few bottles) of sake. But he fakes a look of concern and consolement, trying to conceal his curiosity as he lightly questions Iwaizumi about the break-up, airily asking what the reason was. 

And he secretly grins as he excuses himself to the restroom when he thinks about the depressed slump of the ex-ace’s shoulders, the downcast look on his face. He cherishes his dear friend, but it’s nice to see someone suffer the same way he had, to share the pain of loss, to share the agony of losing you specifically.  

But maybe lost things are meant to be found, he thinks, as he scans the resume handed to him when he enters his office the next morning, chocolate brown eyes gleaming when they see the familiar name neatly typed on the top of the page.  

You're desperate. 

After Iwaizumi and you had broken up, you had insisted on moving out and living on your own. Never mind the fact that Iwaizumi was paying for the majority of your old rent. Never mind the fact that you don't make nearly enough income to survive on your own. You had just wanted a clean break from the handsome man who had been such a large integral part of your life and despite the small part of you that pleaded to give this relationship another chance, to take him up on his offer to stay with him until you're in a better place to support yourself, you packed your bags and left. 

And now here you are, living in an awful part of town, sirens blaring every few minutes, struggling to pay rent for the old decrepit studio that's barely big enough to fit even just your modestly sized bed. But you determinedly make do, putting on your one nice interview outfit and applying your makeup as best as you can despite the cracked bathroom mirror and flickering lights, before taking a deep breath and exiting your apartment. 

You're not even sure how you landed an interview at such a prestigious company. Although being a secretary for one of their higher ups doesn't exactly sound like your dream job, when you saw what the salary range was, you leapt at the opportunity. Screw your pride. If faking a smile and acting like a glorified maid for a disgusting old man meant you were finally able to   afford a decent quality life? So be it. 

Nerves eat at you and your heart pounds as you anxiously wait for the interview to begin, but you're shocked when an employee steps inside the room only to distractedly ask you generic questions, questions you're sure just about anyone could answer, not even pretending to pay attention as he fiddles with his phone in front of you. You can’t help but wonder if this is a good or bad sign. Were you so unqualified that you were just a waste of time? Why even bother bringing you in for an interview if they had intended to turn you away right from the start?

But to your surprise when the quick and simple questioning is done, the interviewer just stands up with a smile and nonchalantly tells you that they'd be in touch soon. And true to his words, your cell phone rings not even a few hours later that same day and you gape as they extend an offer to you with a salary even higher than you had ever imagined, which you eagerly accept, not a trace of doubt or hesitation in your mind. 

You meekly follow the friendly receptionist who leads you through the intimidatingly large office, the smell of coffee and the sounds of keyboards clacking and voices chattering swirling around you as you’re led further and further until you’re finally facing a solitary office, far from the bustling crowd of the main floor, reeking of status and power. And you force a tight smile on your face as you’re left alone, taking a deep breath before timidly knocking and opening the door when a voice beckons you in. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you and if you were jittery before at the prospect of a new job and a new boss, then you’re positively shaking now, trembling like a leaf in the wind when you see a face you hoped you would never see ever again, a face that still haunts you to this day, that brings back painful memories of a tormented childhood. And you wonder if you should quit right here, right now, cursing yourself for not asking more questions about exactly who your employer was, who you’d be working side by side with as their executive assistant. 

You’re so lost in your panicked thoughts that you don’t register the tall figure approaching you, head whipping when your name is called in that lilted sing song voice of his and you shudder as familiar brown eyes gaze down at you. 

“Oikawa…”

He smiles at your shivering figure and your frenzied wide eyes when you register exactly who you’re now working for. Pride soaring in his chest when he sees the impact he still has, the effect he still has on you, even after all these years. And he can’t help but circle around your frozen figure, admiring how you’ve grown and matured since he’d last seen you, purring at the way you instinctively lower your head in unconscious submission, not daring to meet his eyes as he closes his office door, flinching at the sound of the lock clicking in place. 

It just wouldn’t do for anyone to interrupt such a special reunion.  

You’re so predictable, it’s almost laughable. Oikawa has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he leans back against the closed door, blocking your one escape route out of this hell hole you’ve gotten yourself trapped in. It’s amusing listening to you stutter out some feeble attempt at a resignation, listening to you try to convince yourself and him that this must be a mistake, that surely you’re someone else’s secretary, not his, never his. And as cute as it is watching denial and pure terror dance across your face, he tires of your endless blathering and he maliciously grins at how quick you are to snap to attention and silence yourself when he barks at you to shut up. 

But what he isn’t expecting is the sudden fire in your eyes, the resolved steeliness in your demeanor as you glare at him head on and maybe it’s a good thing that you’d spent so much time with Iwaizumi because this is going to be so much more fun than he could have possibly imagined. 

The wolf inside of him gnashes his teeth and howls in amusement as you furiously give him a piece of your mind, rebuke him for how horrible and awful he was throughout highschool, haughtily tell him that this is the real world now and that you’re not going to let him just walk all over you, let him do whatever he wants. In fact, you’re leaving right now. You don’t need him or this stupid job. 

And his grin sharpens as you hold your head up high while you make your way towards him and the door, not even hesitating as you move to shove him aside. But then he pounces and you can’t even scream as you’re suddenly shoved down, gasping as you painfully hit the ground. 

He has to give you some credit though. Clearly dating an athletic trainer has done you some good and he winces just a bit as you thrust your knee into his abdomen, surprised by the force behind it. But the pain only fuels him more, the sharp pang grounding him, helping him concentrate as he pries apart your legs, his knees achingly pressing down into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs as he puts all his weight on top of you, chuckling when you wail at how his kneecaps painfully pin you down. 

And he almost coos proudly at you as you try to sit up, as you try to support your upper body off the ground with your forearms and hands, as you try to find some leverage to get yourself out of your undesirable position. But all it takes is him digging his knee even further into your bruised leg and with a yelp you fall back down, snarling at him with pretty tears welling in the corner of your eyes as he leans forward, pinning you fully with his arms now trapping your wrists on the floor on either side of your head.

“Don’t be like this, cutie. You’re the one who accepted the job. Not my fault you were too dumb to even look into it carefully. But I guess a dumb bitch is always a dumb bitch.”

He smirks at the way his cruel words have you twisting and writhing underneath him with renewed fervor, but like an animal sensing that it’s nearing its end, you surprise him with a last vehement action as you spit in his face when your futile struggle falls flat. And as the thick glob slides down his face, his facade cracks and a sharp cracking sound pierces through the air before you’re suddenly seeing stars as heat rushes through your face from the impact of his palm. 

“Listen to me. You’re going to shut the fuck up and behave. You’re going to stay as my secretary. You’re going to do every fucking thing I tell you to do. You know why? Because I own you. I  could ruin your entire life with a single phone call - with the snap of my fingers. Your entire career, over, with just a single email. Good luck trying to afford even your shitty little apartment when you’re blacklisted from every corporation in this city.”

Oikawa hums in satisfaction when you finally still, fear and uncertainty twirling in your eyes as your bottom lip begins to tremble, liquid pooling in your tear ducts as you shakily stare at him. But he outright laughs in your face when you latch onto your one last hope. 

“Hajime! I’ll tell Haji-”

You break off into a squeal when sharp teeth bury into the crook of your neck, tears streaming down your face as Oikawa leaves a mark that will last for at least a few days and you cringe at the feeling of his warm wet tongue tasting you, staining you. 

“Iwa-chan? I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now. Would he trust his longtime childhood friend, his best friend who he still talks to and hangs out with almost everyday, especially now that you’ve left him all alone? Or would he trust the woman who broke his heart, who led him on for so many years, only to tell him you just “weren’t feeling it” anymore when he was about to propose?” 

He lets out a derisive snort at the hurt in your eyes, the guilt he can practically see smothering you at his words. 

“It’s okay, cutie. Of course you weren’t feeling it with Iwa-chan. You were just waiting for me all this time, right? So don’t worry. Relax. Let me make you feel good and make up for all the lost time, okay?”

And he beams when you don’t even resist in the slightest as he removes your clothing, as he hungrily explores every inch of you, calloused fingertips, lips, teeth, and tongue tracing every bit of you, tasting and feeling everything that’s been out of reach for so long. 

A victorious grin spreads across his face at the slight moan you try to quickly muffle as he drags a wet trail to your nipples, tongue lightly flicking the hardening bud before his lips swoop in and harshly suck. He groans as your hips instinctively buck when his hand begins to toy with your other nipple and he grinds his straining cock against you. 

But he lets out an irritated tsk as your hands feebly push at him, as your quivering voice begs him to stop, quickly silencing you with a rough twist of the nipple between his fingers and a feral warning look as he slides down his pants and boxers just enough for his throbbing cock to spring out. 

And he briefly relishes the way your watery eyes are suddenly captivated by the sight of his impressive length. A sick sense of pride bubbles in his chest at the way you nervously gulp when he lines himself up with your entrance. You barely even have time to blink before he’s brutally slamming himself to the hilt inside of you with one rough thrust. 

He hisses at how tight and warm you are, grits his teeth at the feeling of your nails clawing at his back and arms as he slams himself even deeper. Your pathetic cries make him even harder as you desperately scramble to accommodate his size. 

He drowns himself in the intoxicating feeling of your walls clamping down on him, the sound of your strangled voice screaming his name mixing with the clapping sound of skin meeting skin as he pistons in and out of you relentlessly, starting a brutal pace right from the start, ignoring the terror and hurt laced in your screams as he hones in on your sweet voice repeating his name over and over again, hones in on the fact that every ounce of your attention is on him, that he’s all you can think of and feel in the moment and he wishes this moment could last forever. 

But that’s impossible and he can feel his end approaching, his rhythm becoming erratic, his body tensing, and with a few more slams of his hips against yours, he’s spilling deep inside of you, moaning as he makes a mess of your insides, careful not to let even a single drop escape as he pulls out and quickly slips your panties back on you, trapping his essence inside of you. 

You’re still limp on the floor as he stands up, casually stretching his arms above his head with a yawn before tucking himself back into his pants, brushing himself off as he makes his way to his desk. And he hums as he turns on his computer, not even glancing at the pathetic sight you make, sprawled out, naked aside from the pair of panties he had generously helped you with, your face a mess of dried tears and saliva, your hair a tousled mess. 

But you flinch when he finally speaks as you muster the will to slowly dress yourself, the will to ignore the pounding ache and dripping mess between your legs, his carefree tone tearing your self-esteem to shreds as he just continues typing emails all the while. 

“Hurry up and get to work. That’s what you’re getting paid for after all. You can consider what just happened a perk of the job and I’ll be sure to give you a lot of extra bonuses while you’re with me. Looking forward to working together.” 

Bile rises in your throat at his flippant words and the flirtatious wink he sends your way. For a second you hesitate, staring longingly at the locked door. But even with your back turned to him, you can still feel his piercing gaze boring holes into your soul. You know deep down in your gut that his threat isn’t just empty words, that as hard as life is now, it would be complete and utter hell the moment you stepped out of his office without his permission. You know that in the end, you’d be left with no other option than to come crawling back to him, groveling for mercy when your bank account is running on less than empty, when you’re forced out onto the streets. 

So, as humiliating as it is, you limp over to the smaller desk situated in the corner of the office, every step a crushing blow to your self worth and pride, grimacing as you begin to feel something thick and sticky threaten to leak from between your thighs. And you obediently sit, blinking back the tears as you turn on your own company-issued laptop, shifting uncomfortably as your aching body comes in contact with the solid surface of your chair, raising the ringing phone to your ear. 

“This is Oikawa Tooru’s office. How may I help you?” 

[hxwks-gf]

— pretty boy 

summary: you’re best friends with the new up-and-coming hero, toshinori yagi. pet names are a force of habit for you, and toshinori happens to be “pretty boy”.  despite the nickname, he shows you how serious he is about becoming a hero

pairing: young all-might/toshinori yagi x reader

w/c: 1.9k

warnings: creepy dude grabs the reader against their will, but that’s about it 

requested by: @lady-latte​ (ty for sending this in love!! i need some more toshinori in my life) 

“Hey there, Pretty Boy!” 

The nickname came as smoothly as silk does, falling from your lips and out into the warm summer air like honey dripping from its comb. It was a nickname that had always felt natural, despite its embarrassing nature. If it ever bothered Toshinori Yagi, he never showed it. 

He grinned as you strolled up to him. His blonde hair was sticking out in its usual unruly manner, with the two pieces of bangs that never seemed to lay flat arched over his sweaty forehead. Magnificent blue eyes pierced through your own in the twilight of dusk, cutting straight through the dim glow from the street lamp nearby. 

“What are you doing out here this time of night?” he asked, stretching his bare arms above his head, the muscles bulging in his biceps. 

“Wanted to see what you were up to,” you replied with a matching grin, and you leaned against the fence. “Working out again?” 

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down and picking up a barbell that lay at his feet. He lifted it with ease and began rhythmically curling it into his chest. “School starts again in a few weeks, and I want to make sure I’m absolutely ready for it. Since my Quirk finally activated, I’ve got a lot of training to make up for.” 

You pursed your lips and looked down at the concrete. A dandelion weed was pushing through a crack in the sidewalk, stretching itself and its little yellow petals up towards the darkening sky. You glanced back up to Toshinori and smiled again. “I know you’ll be amazing,” you encouraged, your eyes following the barbell in his hands: up and down and up and down. “I heard you got a new mentor.” 

“I did,” he said, straining against the weight. A drop of sweat slid down his face as he set the barbell down. “She told me to keep it on the low for a bit, so--sworn to secrecy.” He made a show of locking his lips with an invisible key before tossing it out of sight. 

You laughed. “I wasn’t going to ask anyways, dummy. I’m sure you’ll tell me who this amazing new teacher is when the time is right.” After a few seconds, you bit your lip with uncertainty and studied him before asking, “Right?” 

Toshinori wiped his brow again and looked at you. “Of course I’d tell you. You’re my best friend.” 

“Don’t you forget it,” you chuckled, playfully punching his shoulder. Man, he really put on some muscle over the summer, you noticed, rubbing your knuckles as you pulled your arm back. As he stretched his arms up over his head again, you tilted your head to the side. And a good couple inches. “How...how tall are you, now?” you tentatively asked. 

Toshinori relaxed and glanced down at himself. “Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Haven’t measured myself lately.” 

“You really grew over the summer,” you half-heartedly joked, crossing your arms. “Are you...okay?” 

His disposition shifted at the question, and for a moment you saw how tired he really was--but the moment passed, and he was back to being Mr. Walking Sunshine. Toshinori flashed you a toothy grin and gave a thumbs-up, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? All of my dreams are coming true!” 

“Alright, alright,” you conceded. “Just checkin’, Pretty Boy. We wouldn’t want anything happening to the world’s next #1 hero, would we?” 

“You really think I can do it?” he quietly asked, bending down to pack up his weights. His face was hidden from you, but you could hear the doubt in his voice. 

You reached out and placed a hand on his warm shoulder, feeling the muscles flexing beneath your fingertips. “I know you can do it, Toshi.” 

He stood up tall and grinned down at you. “Heh. Thanks, y/n. I know I can always count on you to believe in me.” 

“Race you to the end of the block?” 

“You know you’ll never be able to beat me.” 

“Hey, you’ve got a literal weight to hold you back,” you laughed, already jogging towards the street. “C’mon, that new movie is playing at the theater--loser has to buy the popcorn.” 

“I don’t know why you insist on doing this to yourself, y/n!” Toshinori called out from behind you as you started running. He seemed pretty far back, and you used this as motivation to run faster and harder down the city street towards the movie theater. The summer air sung with cicadas as the early stars came out to twinkle in the sky above you. But just as you were getting into a good rhythm, you heard his thundering footsteps on the sidewalk behind you. 

“I’ll take my popcorn with extra butter!” he shouted at you as he sprinted by, his blonde hair flying in the wind. 

“One day I’ll figure out how you’re cheating!” you shouted back, your lungs already gasping for precious air. 

Toshinori’s face was adorned with a triumphant smile as he flew down the length of the street, his duffle bag full of weights strapped to his back. “--and some yakitori to go with it!” he called over his shoulder at you before disappearing around the corner. 

You slowed down to a jog, and then to a walk, and you breathed heavily to regain your composure. No matter how many times you challenged him, or how many times he insisted on giving you a headstart--he always beat you. Always. 

“You’re going to be the greatest,” you murmured under your breath, deciding to walk the rest of the way to the theater. He usually came back to make sure you were okay, even after beating you. It was almost unfair. 

But before you could make it to the next block, an uneasy feeling crept over your skin, and all of the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Suddenly, the quiet street seemed dark and menacing--nothing like it had been only a few minutes ago. The shadowy corners of the alleys shifted and moved out of the corners of your eyes. It felt like you were being watched. 

Your feet began to move quicker down the sidewalk, and you tried to keep yourself within the glow of the street lamps as much as you could. Just a few more feet and you would turn the corner and see Toshinori standing there with that smile on his face, and you’d be safe--

“Where ya goin’ this time of night?” a gravelly voice chuckled from behind you, and you felt calloused hands roughly grip your arm. “Pretty thing like you should know better than to be walking around this part of town all alone.” 

You froze in fear, your wide, unblinking eyes staring at the end of the block--waiting for Toshi to appear. Any moment now, and he would come charging to your rescue. 

“Hey,” the villain growled, his grip on your arm tightening. “I asked you a question.” 

“Let go of me,” you managed to whisper, still staring at the street corner. “Please.” 

“Yeah? Heh, or what? What are you going to do?” 

You winced in pain as his nails dug into the skin of your arm. “Please,” you said again through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.” 

“I don’t think I will,” the villain chuckled, and began pulling you towards a dark alley. “I want all of your money, and maybe I’ll reconsider.” 

You knew if you used your Quirk in a public setting, you’d get reprimanded by the school and have to face consequences--but you were never taught what the punishment was, if there was any punishment at all, for using your Quirk in self-defense. You didn’t want to lose your shot at a hero’s license--but then again, you also didn’t want to lose your life. 

Just as you were about to activate your Quirk while he dragged you into the alley, you saw Toshinori appear from around the corner. He looked confused, like he wasn’t sure what was taking you so long, or where you even were. But when his eyes landed on you in the grasp of a villain, that confusion was replaced by pure rage, and he charged towards you with a wild snarl on his face. 

“Let go of her!” he bellowed, and for a moment you were taken aback by the sheer anger that exploded out of him. You had never seen him this way before. 

“Hey, hey, take it easy!” the villain stuttered, immediately releasing you and taking a few stumbling steps backward. Toshinori surged past you and grabbed him by the collar, and shoved him up against the building wall. 

“You think you can just weasel your way around here and get away with grabbing people?” Toshinori snarled in the villain’s face. He looked at you over his shoulder. “Did he hurt you? Did he do anything to you?” 

You quickly shook your head. “No, no--he just grabbed my arm. I’m f-fine, Toshi.” The wavering pitch in your voice gave yourself away. 

He narrowed his eyes at you and he turned back to the villain, who was struggling against the iron grip at his throat. 

“If I ever see you bothering anyone in this city again,” Toshi spoke to him, his voice dangerously calm, “I won’t be this nice.” With that, he released the man and looked down at him with disgust. “Now get lost.” 

The man wasted no more time scrambling to his feet and taking off in the other direction. Toshinori immediately went to your side and took your face in his large hands. 

“When you didn’t show up, I got worried,” he said, searching your eyes. That anger and rage was gone; it had now been replaced with concern and fear. “You promise he didn’t hurt you?” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head. “He just grabbed my arm and asked for money, that’s all.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion as he pulled you into his chest for a hug. “I shouldn’t have left you like that, I’m so stupid. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m okay. You saved me, Pretty Boy.” 

He pulled away and looked down at you, his blue eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. With a shaky breath, he put on a reassuring smile and tenderly touched your cheek. “I’ll always be there to save you, alright? I promise.” 

“You’re going to be a great hero,” you whispered, returning the smile. 

He pulled you in for another hug, his eyes glancing down at the bruises forming on your arm from where the man had grabbed you, a reminder that he wasn’t there for you, and he couldn’t protect you. Toshinori Yagi knew, in that moment, that you would never be harmed by anyone else ever again. 

“I like that name, by the way,” Toshi said as the two of you started walking together towards the movie theater. He kept you tucked under a protective arm as he gave you a sideways glance. “You think I’m pretty?” 

You rolled your eyes and smacked him. “You know you’re pretty.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah, but I like hearing it from you.” 

“Alright, fine, you’re pretty.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

[damnlance]

Klance angsty prompt 6 please 👀

Klangst Prompt #6

6. “You’ve never hurt me. Ever”

Summary: Lately, Lance has been stressed beyond the point of breaking… The end of the war was 3 years ago and yet, it’s not enough time to pass for Lance to feel better. Not even close. Everyone has always called him a hero. And since the day they landed back on earth, everyone has gone so far to ask for photos and autographs and all that. These days Lance is sick of it.

Or; the pressures of being the ‘savior of earth’ has been building up inside of Lance, causing him to erupt on any and everyone.

Good thing he has his amazing boyfriend.

-there’s a slow start, but I PROMISE it’s klance so just keep reading!

-also galra (kitten) Keith ?? I love him

-

It all started with a fangirl just a few weeks ago.

Lance decided to walk to his favorite coffee shop one chilly afternoon. He woke up really late and was immediately craving something sweet yet bitter. And since he lives with most of his family, running out of coffee five days after buying a brand new pack of it is very common, especially when no one wants to buy more for whatever reason.

So there Lance was, walking down the street. Hands tucked into his blue lion hoodie (thanks to all the merch the fans of voltron have made over the years), making his way to the closest coffee shop near his home. And then he hears the high pitched squeal of a girl at least 10 feet away from him. Then 9 feet.. then 6.. then 4 because she’s literally running at him with the speed of a hundred cheetahs chasing a gazelle until she’s right there, face to face with Lance.

“Oh my god!!” She yelled, jumping up and down like some 5 year old girl getting a puppy. She was about 5’7, short brown hair and huge blue eyes that almost resembled Lance’s. She wore this giant faux fur coat and beanie to match, and her phone was IN LANCE’S FACE.

She was all over him and it was attracting others to stare their way. Lance tried to calm her down by smiling and using a little of his charm but it was just making the girl fangirl even more. So he took a picture with her to be on his way before the coffee shop got too busy. But she wouldn’t back off. Apparently she wasn’t satisfied with the picture, something about how her eyes were closed? Or how blurry it came out? Lance couldn't remember, he just wanted his coffee.

The girl kept hounding him and following him, demanding that he retake the picture with her. Lance let her down easy, saying how he needed to be someplace important and that he was running late. The girl kept pushing him. Following his every move, right on his heels. Begging, pleading with him to take more pictures because she ‘needed them,’ whatever that meant. Lance tried his hardest to be nice and polite because as a former paladin of voltron and as one of seven someone’s who have saved the entire universe, his image is everything. Without him or his former paladins, there would probably be no earth. So he stopped in his tracks and took a better picture with the girl.

He felt good to see her happy because of something that he had done. Plus he looked really good in that picture, who knew the earth’s natural lighting at 1pm could make his skin look so smooth? Once he gave his approval of the better pic, he was on his way again, hoping that the line to the coffee shop wasn’t even longer now. As he started to fast walk down the busy sidewalk, something yanked him back by the neck and he came crashing down. Literally. He fell right back on his ass and when he looked up, this same crazy girl was looming over him like a mad woman. With his blue hand-knit wool scarf dangling from her grabby hands. The anger that had been simmering in Lance’s gut was at a full blown boil and he was just about ready to explode. So.. he kinda did..

Long and embarrassing story short, Lance yelled at her. He snatched his blue scarf out of her hands so fast, it scared her, and as he rubbed his most likely bruised tailbone, he got in her face and began blaming her for the world's most horrible fan interaction. He was so angry, that he balled his fists, stomped his foot and had veins protruding out of his neck and forehead. He called her names and most likely spit in her face, but he didn’t care. And when he was done, he took a step back and examined the girl in front of him. She was folded in on herself, holding her arms close to her body as her bottom lip quivered and fat, giant tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked so.. mortified. And actually.. scared of him. Like if Lance were to say anything or move a muscle, she’d flinch.

Seconds later, Lance’s face softened into something regretful and he went out to reach for her, to apologize. But, like he knew she would, she flinched. And then hurried away like he was a mad man. All the while crying and clutching her phone to her chest. Lance felt absolutely demolished inside. He tried to go after her but his feet were glued to the cement of the sidewalk. He didn’t even want his coffee anymore.

Thankfully, there were no viral videos or photos or posts about the incident. Lance ended up tracking the girl down a few days later and showered her with all the love he could muster, even taking as many pics as she wanted and liking them on Instagram when she tagged him. But.. something inside him still felt so horrible about the incident. For a moment, Lance had realized that he genuinely hurt that girl for no real reason. He just wanted some coffee but is coffee more important than the people who are thankful and want to show their gratitude for him for everything he did with voltron? If the roles were reversed and he stayed on earth, he would be bending over backwards to let all the paladins know just how thankful he was to live another day on their planet. That girl probably had family, friends, maybe a spouse and kids, and in the midst of that horrible battle 3 years ago, she most likely thought that one of those days would be her last with them.

It broke Lance’s heart thinking about it. He really hurt her. Sure, he made it right and she forgave him, but in that single moment, he actually hurt someone enough to make them cry, to make them run away from him. It was a terrible feeling. It wasn’t Lance. He never wanted that to happen again.

And at the same time.. he.. kinda never wanted to be the savior of earth. Not really.. he just wanted to feel like he had a place in the universe, and to know that he played an important role. That he mattered.

Guess he really matters now..

He sends a long text to Keith with shaky hands.

Message delivered..

The second he walked through the door, his phone rang. It was a three-way call with Hunk and Pidge. Lance pressed the green button to answer and placed the phone to his ear. Immediately, Hunk starts going on and on about how much he misses Lance and when the next time they’ll see each other will be. Lance smiled at his best friend’s inability to ever take a breath between sentences and replied with a warm ‘I miss you too, buddy.’ They got to catching up as Lance ordered his garlic knots and sat down at a private booth near the back of the place. He didn’t want to draw any attention to himself, especially when he got the call from his best friends.

Hunk tells him all the great things that’s been happening at the Garrison and even on the Atlas. He tells him how his restaurant is doing and how his family is doing and how Shay is doing. Pidge catches him up on things with her family, some new inventions she’s been working on, and how being the youngest teacher at the Garrison is going. Lance listens and gives his two cents on everything his friends tell him and honestly, he couldn’t be more happy for them. The way they were able to just get their lives together 3 years after the war is.. incredible. It made him think about everything he’s done since the war ended. Which wasn’t much.. he took over his family’s farm and brought it back to life, he helps out Colleen, Pidge’s mom, with medicine and finding cures to strange space illnesses with plants she has him grow on his farm, and his family’s market wouldn’t be as popular or swarming with business if he didn’t work there. Sad but true. And that’s really it. He hasn’t done much else. Nothing life changing or breathtaking like his friends.

But Hunk and Pidge don’t need to know that. So he simply replies with: “Oh, ya know.. same old, same old,” and hopes it works enough to keep the conversation flowing and follow up questions at bay. It does.

30 minutes into their conversation and Lance is starting to feel a little.. agitated. With the garlic knots consumed and digesting in his stomach, he sits in the booth, alone, listening to his friends go on and on and on about their perfect jobs and their perfect little lives. He gets lost a few times and at one point has literally no idea what they’re talking about. When he tries to ask what or who or even get the slightest details, Pidge lets out a sigh that Lance can’t help but feel like is out of annoyance. Lance sighs back and continues to stay silent because obviously he’s not getting anywhere. Why even bother putting him on a call that Hunk and Pidge could have just had on their own??

Balling his fist, Lance let out a loud, overdramatic sigh. He didn’t care if his friends heard it or how they took it. He was upset. The conversation between his two friends comes to a halt and then awkward silence. Pidge is the first to speak up with a:

“Something you wanna add, Lance?” The annoyance in her voice is very much there and Lance doesn’t miss it. He scoffs loudly and grits his teeth.

“No.” He says, voice deepening in anger.

“Oh really?” Pidge asks, poking the sleeping bear that lies dormant in lance. “Cause it sure sounds like it to me. Why don’t you stop being such a fucking child and tell us what’s bothering you this time??”

Lance damn near growls.

The line has gone quiet now. Hunk’s unsteady breathing is audible but other than that, silence. Lance digs his nails into the skin of his palms and tries to keep the angry tears in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. With a deep shaky breath, he smiles through the pain.

“You know what, Katie,” Lance spits and it makes Hunk gasp. “Fuck YOU and this stupid, shitty attitude you have all the time!”

“Oh, god..” Hunk winces.

“I don’t know what the actual fuck crawled up your ass,” Lance continues, “but I’m sick of it! I've been sick of it for years! I’m sick of keeping my mouth shut and quite frankly, I’m sick of YOU!”

Lance is standing up out of his seat now. His chest heaves up and down as the angry tears have fallen past his face and down his neck. His voice is two octaves deep from anger and the skin of his palm is bloody from how hard he’s digging his nails into it. The place has gone quiet now and Lance can feel multiple pairs of eyes on him. So much for not drawing any attention to himself.

The line is quiet. Then, the sound of a huff of breath. A small laugh.. And then:

“Wow. Nice one, McClain..” Pidge’s voice is small, but so full of something. “Go screw yourself, you asshole.”

The call ends. Whether Pidge or Hunk ended it, is unclear.

Minutes pass, and Lance is still standing in the same place with the phone to his ear. Tears are running down his face, and his Altean marks are buzzing so loud in his ears. His heart is pounding in his ribcage and ice cold sorrow runs through his veins..

He sends a long text to Keith with shaky hands.

Message delivered...

Now, exactly 3 months since that little incident, Lance sits alone in his home. In his childhood bedroom he can’t seem to rearrange because he’s still holding out hope that one day he’ll turn back time and be his child self and get a redo on his life. But hey, it’s better this way. After the whole dilemma with Pidge, Hunk tried to call Lance to help but ended up getting his feelings hurt. Yep. By Lance. Because Lance is a big jerk and can’t stop hurting everyone around him.

So he hasn’t talked to Pidge or Hunk since then. Mostly out of guilt and shame because those two are supposed to be his bestest friends and he hurt them. Nothing he could say or do could make up for his selfish mind and stupid mouth. Lance had this whole plan to go to Shiro about it, to get his advice so Lance could make it all better.

But Pidge being Pidge.. texted the whole thing in their group chat and.. well.. everyone saw it. Shiro, Hunk, Matt, even Keith possibly! It got so bad that Lance’s phone kept going off with alerts from everyone asking what happened and what he said. Curtis tried calling him and left a few messages. Shiro left him a long voicemail. And of course the word traveled so fast that it reached New Altea and Coran got involved. Which caused Romelle to be involved, too. She gossiped to Acxa, who told her girlfriend, who happens to be Lance’s sister, Veronica. Veronica blabbed to Rachel, who blabbed to Marco, who blabbed to Luis.. who blabbed to Lance’s dad.. WHO BLABBED TO LANCE’S MOM. And boy did she have some interesting words for him in the SEVEN, LONG voicemails asking exactly ‘what happened’and ‘why The Holt siblings were so angry with him.’

Everything escalated so fast. Lance can’t even remember what he said. Or why he said it. Since the war ended, it’s been so hard on him. Sure, it’s been hard on everyone, but for Lance it’s been different. Everyone looks up to him for some reason and expects him to do so good and be the hero they all think he is, when in reality? He was just a leg…

Exactly what did he gain from being a paladin of voltron anyway?? Get banged up and bruised almost everyday he was out there? Have people on his case, constantly reminding him how unimportant he was to the team? Pointing out all of his flaws and mistakes and focusing on those when there’s a million other good things he’s done that towers over all the bad shit?? Sure, he returned home to his family who he literally missed and cried for every single day, but he lost the love of his life in the process.

To put it all out there, Lance didn’t really gain anything. He got to travel through space, which was his dream since he was a little kid, and then space chewed him up and spit him out as some fake hero with PTSD and other trauma that will haunt him for the rest of his pathetic life.

So.. these past 3 months.

Lance has been sitting up in his childhood room.

Wishing he could use the power of Altea or something to turn back time.

And be his younger self.

His innocent self.

His happier self.

Back when he wasn’t so fucked up and had dreams and goals.

Back when everyone was proud of him.

Back to when he didn’t know who Allura was or that she even existed. Back to when Voltron didn’t exist either and everything was fucking fine.

Staring up at his ceiling, Lance counts the glow in the dark stars that he’s had up there since he was six years old. Somehow they’re still glowing and Lance is thankful for that because at 3 in the morning when the world is fast asleep and everything is pitch black, he could use the light.

It comforts him. Reminds him of a simpler, more happier time in his life.

Something sharp digs through Lance’s chest as he stares at those fake neon stars, and it hurts really bad. His breathing begins to quicken, matching the beat of his heart, and a lump finds its way up his throat. Tears pool in the rim of his eyes and spill down the corners, streaming down the sides of his face.

And they don’t stop. The stars get blurrier as Lance’s breathing gets heavier. His body begins to tremble with every hiccup of a sob that pours out of him and he’s crying so hard that his brain throbs in his head.

He curls in on himself in his bed and wraps his arms around his torso, crying uncontrollably into his space themed pillow. His Altean marks begin to buzz and glow and he can’t bring himself to care because all he wants to do is disappear.

Disappear from this game called life.

He types a text to Keith with teary eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

Message.. deleted…

As 3 in the morning turns to 4, a pod lands in the grass just a couple yards away from Lance’s farm. Boot covered feet step out of said pod and touch the wet grass waiting for them. It’s still dark out and the only light visible are the fireflies that buzz around a pair of cowboy booted feet. Those booted feet begin to walk, carrying a tall, broad, raven haired stranger up a hill to Lance’s home. The frogs and crickets seem to grow louder as the stranger in black cowboy boots makes their way to the front porch and pulls back the creaky screen door to a cold, locked doorknob. A set of keys are pulled out and a specific blue key is pushed inside the lock, turning and unlocking the door. The stranger walks in and is instantly met.. with..

Crying??

“H-Hello??” The stranger calls out. “Lance?”

The crying stops.

It’s dead quiet..

The door shuts on its own and the echo around the house is eery.

Light footsteps descend the stairs and before they know it, the stranger is being tackled to the ground in a bear hug.

“Ah-! Lance!?” They yell as the duffel bag from their hand falls to the ground.

“Keith!!” Lance yells out, voice rasped from endless crying.

Keith can immediately hear it and wraps his arms around Lance so tight, holding him close. His eyes glow yellow, something that usually happens out of fear, anger, or protectiveness, and his lips protrude to make way for his double set of fangs that are ready to bite any and everyone.

“Lance!” Keith tries to sit up but is pinned to the ground with all of Lance’s dead body weight. “Lance, honey, are you hurt? What’s wrong??”

A hand through curly brown locks and Lance’s crying dies down. He snuggles his face into Keith’s neck and hiccups through a response. Something too incoherent for Keith to make out, but he feels it has something to do with why he was told to go home ASAP.

A few weeks ago, Keith was contacted by Acxa via video chat. They talked and caught up for a few minutes before Acxa told Keith the real reason for her call. She explained that Veronica was having a tough time reaching out to Lance and that he might be in some kind of trouble. Not knowing the full extent of the story, Acxa only told Keith what she heard from Veronica and others. Fearing the worst, Keith packed up his shit and set a course for Earth as fast as he could.

Unfortunately, there were some setbacks on his way over where he had to make a few stops to tend to aliens in need because after all, that’s still his job as a blade member, but when that got finished, Keith hightailed it over. His Galra instincts wouldn't allow him to stay away for much longer anyway and having accepted his galra side a long time ago, it would have been best for everyone to let him go home.

Keith now lays in Lance’s bed, every inch of Lance’s body wrapped up around him like a snake. Keith strokes Lance’s hair soothingly and holds him close to his chest, right over his beating heart. A deep, soothing purr emits itself from Keith’s body and calms Lance’s nerves right down to the bone. Keith knows how much Lance adoreshis Galran features and at this point, Keith would do absolutely anything for Lance to feel better.

They talked about everything that happened and are now in the cuddle stage. Lance has his eyes shut, listening to Keith purr just for him. Long limbs wrapped around every inch of his boyfriend while Keith’s long nails scratch at his scalp, life is so good.

Life is so good with Keith around.

“So,” Keith says, voice as calm as ever. “What exactly did Pidge say?”

“Oh,” Lance answers, his voice quiet as a mouse. “You didn’t see the messages in the group chat?”

“No.” Keith shrugs, laying his cheek against Lance’s forehead. “Been kinda busy.. And I actually don’t understand how a group chat works.”

That rises a chuckle out of Lance as he sits up a bit to reach for his phone on the bedside dresser.

“Idiot,” he whispers with a small smile on his face and it makes Keith light up, his purring becoming a bit louder.

Lance lays back on Keith’s chest as he scrolls through the messages on his phone. When he finds the message from Pidge, Lance clears his scratchy throat and sniffs.

“From Pidgeotto,” he starts, looking at Pidge’s name in their ✨Paladudes✨ group chat. “Just an FYI lance is a.. a total fucking jackass and I am no longer friends with him..”

Keith immediately frowns at that.

Lance continues. “He can suck my big toe for all I care. I’m done with him. Have fun being a lonely loser @LanceyPants.”

“What the fuck?” Keith says, eyes glowing yellow in the dark room. “Why would she say that!?”

Lance shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes again. “Because she was right. I am a jackass..”

“Lance, no!” Keith sits up, bringing Lance with him. They sit side by side as Lance holds himself and looks down at his space blanket. He shrugs once and sniffs.

“Keith, stop,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Look, I said some very hurtful things to her and she lashed out in a perfectly normal way..”

“Normal!?” Keith scoffs, grabbing Lance’s phone and rereading the message again. “Jackass? Loser?? Come on, Lance, she’s completely bullying you and you know it!”

Lance whips around with an angry expression on his face “Because I deserve it!”

The room grows quiet. Keith takes a deep breath and reaches over to grab Lance’s shoulders.

“Calm.” He says, taking a deep breath for Lance to mimic. Lance takes a deep breath with him and lets it out. Keith begins to purr again and it calms Lance even more.

“I.. Sorry..”

Keith nods. He reaches up to cup Lance’s cheek and rubs his thumb across Lance’s tear stained eye.

“You know I would never hurt anyone on purpose..” Lance sniffs. “That’s not who I am. I’m just.. I’m tired of being this symbol of everything strong and good and brave.”

“Mhm,” Keith rubs Lance’s back, leaning in closer to him to nuzzle his forehead. Lance nuzzles back and Keith’s purrs.

“I keep.. I keep hurting everyone I care about..” Lance whispers in a voice so low and fragile, it nearly shatters Keith’s heart.

“That’s not true.” Keith pulls back a little to look into Lance’s teary blue eyes. “Lance, you are the most incredible, selfless, honest person I’ve ever known. You are strong and good and brave even if you don’t mean to be. Or want to be.”

Lance pulls away and stares at his hands. Keith keeps his eyes focused on Lance.

“I know you think you hurt that fangirl from a few months ago.” Keith continues. “Or Pidge. Or Hunk. Or your parents or friend or family or whoever, but you could never hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, right,” Lance shakes his head. “I already did. I hurt everyone.”

“And even if that’s true,” Keith grabs Lance’s hands in his own, “which it’s not, you’re not doing it on purpose. You have a right to your own feelings! And you have a right to speak your mind.”

“And what if that hurts people??” Lance looks up and meets teary eyes to indigo ones. “What if I accidentally hurt my mama or my sisters or brothers, or nieces and nephews because I can’t be who they want me to be, who they think I am!?”

“Lance,” Keith shakes his head.

“What if I hurt you???” Lance’s eyes go wide. He looks Keith up and down and exhales a panicked breath. “God, Keith.. wh-what if I hurt you??”

“Oh, Lancey,” Keith sighs that lovey-dovey sigh where his eyes go all big and black like a cat’s, and the purr in his chest gets louder. “You’ve never hurt me. Ever.”

Lance stares into Keith’s eyes like they’re his lifeline.

“B-but.. but what if-?”

“No more what if’s!” Keith cuts Lance off by covering his mouth with his hand. “Listen to me, Lance. Are you listening??”

Lance nods repeatedly.

“Good,” Keith smiles, all crooked and cute and beautiful. “The only person you ever need to worry about hurting is yourself.”

And there it is. The one thing Lance has been dying to hear without knowing he’d been dying to hear it. It’s like a breath of fresh air, or cool rain on a hot and sweaty day. The permission he needed but didn’t really need. He has a right to care about himself and put himself first but whenever he tries, the guilt eats him alive. Why should he care about himself when he has to care more about others???

No. That’s not the case. It’s never been the case.

“You’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself,” Keith finishes, stroking the endless sea of tears that are falling from Lance’s eyes. He strokes Lance’s glowing Altean marks and leans forward to kiss one softly. Lance trembles slightly, closing his eyes to bask in the moment.

“I’m sure Pidge has gotten over it by now,” Keith reassures. “She just has too much pride to make the first more and apologize. You know how she is.”

“Y-Yeah,” Lance hiccups, nodding.

“And Hunk?” Keith scoffs. “I bet your mailbox is full of letters from him, explaining how sorry he is and hoping you’re doing alright. You know if he can’t reach you from your phone, he has other ways.”

That makes Lance smile.

“There’s probably cookies on the way right now.” He looks into Keith’s eyes, exhaling a small laugh.

“Oh, yeah,” Keith agrees, laughing that angelic laugh and showing off his perfect pearly fangs. Lance’s heart skips a fucking beat.

“And your fangirl?” Keith’s purring stops. “Well, she never should have gotten all up in your space that’s for sure. You had every right to punch her.”

“Keith!” Lance squeaks, face contorting into shock and confusion. “I-I didn’t punch her!”

“Really?” Confusion etches itself all over Keith’s features and he puts a finger to his chin. “I could have sworn I read that in your text.”

“No way, man!” Lance defends, waving his arms around. “Why would I ever in my life-!” He stops mid sentence to see the shit-eating grin plastered on Keith’s face.

“Just kiddin, lil lady,” Keith says in his best southern accent, smiling big and wide.

Lance bursts out into a fit of laughter, hitting Keith’s chest and arms and back. Keith shields himself and laughs, grabbing Lance’s arms and bringing him down onto the mattress. They fall back with Keith looming over Lance, his long raven hair surrounding their faces.

Lance stares up into those beautiful, indigo eyes and sniffs, unable to look away. He reaches up and cups Keith’s face, rubbing his thumb over Keith’s Galran stripe.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Keith asks in his softest voice, eyes roaming from Lance’s teary blue eyes to his luscious lips.

“Yes,” Lance nods, not even bothering to blink because if he does, he’ll miss Keith’s everything.

“Don’t let anyone get you down, my sweetheart.” Keith whispers, leaning in closer. “Ever.”

Lance nods.

“And if they do,” Keith’s face turns serious, indigo eyes going dark. “I’ll bite their throats out and hand them to you on a silver platter.”

“Keith,” Lance exhales, going red in the face and ears. “Holy shit, you can’t just say things l-like that.”

Keith’s hard demeanor falls as he giggles and leans in close. Before they close the gap between their lips, Lance whispers, “And hey. I thought pet names were my thing?”

And Keith kisses him to shut him up.

They kiss like they haven’t seen each other in years and it’s the greatest Lance has ever felt. Keith kisses like he’s starving for it, craving it so much more than air and it’s hot and powerful and so, so damn good.

Lance wraps his arms and legs around Keith’s body and kisses him back with fervor. He allows Keith to make him feel better, and kisses his pain away. Keith pulls away slowly, licking into Lance’s mouth before he does so. Lance lets out a small groan and smiles before he opens his eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, tucking some hair behind Keith’s ear.

“I love you, more,” Keith whispers back, settling himself between Lance’s legs. “Feeling any better?”

“A little,” Lance looks away, sniffling a little. His eyes focus back to Keith’s and a small smile appears on his kiss swollen lips. “But I know a great way you can make me feel all the way better.”

“Oh, yeah,” Keith smirks, burying his face into Lance neck to start kissing slowly. “And what’s that?”

Lance giggles like a little kid, running his hands up and down Keith’s sides. When Keith pulls back, he trails his kisses up the side of Lance’s face and stops at his Altean mark.

“Make love to me,” Lance whispers, rubbing his nose against Keith’s. “Touch me all over and hold me until the sun comes up and just.. love me. Please..”

Keith’s face softens into something full of love and adoration. He moves forward to peck Lance’s lips, then his chin, and then his other Altean mark.

“Anything you want, my sweet..” he kisses Lance’s cheek. “Beautiful..” he kisses Lance’s jaw. “Amazing.. wonderful..”

“Alright, enough!” Lance laughs, slapping Keith in the back. His cheeks are on fire as he closes his eyes when Keith starts nibbling on his neck with his fangs. A chill runs down Lance’s spine and tingles to his toes, making them curl.

Keith sits up one last time and stares at Lance like he’s the world.

“I’ll take good care of you, baby.” He says with the utmost truth in his sultry voice. “I promise. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, letting his tears fall down his face and glowing Altean marks. “Together.”

And as Keith kisses Lance so lovingly, Lance can’t help but be glad that he can’t turn back time to be his younger self. Because with Keith around, he feels all the happiness in the whole world just like he did when he was young.

-END-

(send me a klangst prompt)

[sodadrabbles]

hear me out- one more littleboo but like if they were crying or like going through smt and ranboo just helps//comforts them if that makes sense? GEHDDH okay have a good day :]

THE PEOPLE DEMAND HURT/COMFORT. I SHALL FEED YOU, MY PEOPLE

Also, I wanted to address why I use ‘Ranboo’ in these fics, when referring to the actual CC- We don’t know Ranboo’s real name. I want to respect his wishes and not speculate, because that’s creepy. So, I just use Ranboo. A couple people were asking in my inbox. I know Tubbo said his name was Mark, but that was never confirmed, and, again, I don’t want to speculate on his personal information, that’s WEIRD.

LIttleboo IV: Hurt/comfort or bust.

Pairing: Ranboo x sibling!Reader (gender-neutral)!

Rating: Soft. Bad ending, I’m so sorry (NOT ANGST, IM JUST BAD AT WRITING)

Summary: Being a freshman sucks ass, but Ranboo bought taco bell, it’s all good.

To say today was a bad day would be an understatement. It was probably the most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day of your 14-year-old life. The whole day the universe would launch bad thing after bad thing at you, as if it was somehow testing you in your will to deal with bullshit. Like it was asking you ‘What are you willing to put up with today?’

Your answer was ‘Not fucking this.’

You woke up to your brother shaking you softly, telling you the power had gone out and you were both late. For an upperclassman this wasn’t a big deal- But you were a freshman. Your teachers were going to give you absolute hell for being late, and knowing Ranboo was going to get off scot-free made you a little salty. You had to skip breakfast and had to leave with your hair still a bit messy, barely able to comb through it with your fingers while Ranboo drove you both to school.

Then there was a pop quiz first period- English. You were never terrible at english, but being on the topic of the last three chapters of the book you were reading for class- Chapters which you had not read yet- The test had been a little difficult. Not to mention the hunger clawing at your stomach, and the strange fog that was settled about your thoughts.

You thought you could catch a break through second period and lunch, knowing Chemistry would be an easy day and you could grab something good with your brother, but fate had other plans in mind.

During Chemistry, you were tasked with picking a partner and completing an experiment afterthought worksheet, going over the experiment you had done in class the day before. You were paired with the nice girl sat next to you- At least you thought she was nice. As the teacher dismissed the class to begin talking amongst themselves, you turned to start asking her how her experiment went yesterday. You didn’t have a chance to ask, however, as the girl snapped at you harshly. “Don’t even bother! I’m not doing this assignment. Do it on your own.”

Her voice was pitched and loud, and it caused you to wince back. You tilt your head and try to ask her, but she cuts you off by flicking the paper in your direction. It sends both your papers flying, and you try to catch them, but fail miserably and fall out of your chair unceremoniously. As you fall, your foot comes up to counter balance and you nearly kick the girl in the head- Keyword being nearly. You were sure you were able to stop yourself, and hadn’t touched it, but still the girl screeches and begins screaming bloody murder. The teacher comes over to check what’s going on, the girl sobbing and holding her head.

And then she lies through her teeth.

“Sir, she just kicked me! I was just asking about her experiment and she kicks me!”

She’s sobbing dramatically, and though you’re clearly not at fault, considering it was clear you had fallen out of your chair. Even still the teacher sides with her, giving you a short and disappointing talk about violent behaviour in the classroom, ending with “I have no choice but to give you lunch detention and a zero on the assignment.”

You don’t try to argue- Exhaustion was already settling on your body and you didn’t want to just make the situation worse than it already was. The rest of second period dragged on like a snail. You sat awkwardly at your table, twiddling your thumbs and staring at the walls. You could feel eyes boring into the back of your skull with each passing glance at the students. A few whispers that seemed much too loud yet indecipherable hitting your ears, somehow knowing deep in your soul that the other students were whispering about you. By the time the lunch bell rang you were starting to feel tears prick at your eyes as your own thoughts betrayed you.

During lunch detention, you were at the very least allowed your phone. You texted your brother, alerting him that you had lunch detention. He promised to bring you food before your third period began- The gesture brought a smile to your face. Your third period was your favorite, because Ranboo was also taking that class. US History. You were able to push through detention with Philza’s stream, starting a TTS war with Wilbur in the time you were able to watch. Of course, mentioning you were in detention earned you a little rant from Phil, not doing much to better your mood.

When third period came down to bless you, you could feel the tears welling in your eyes at the happy sight of your tall older brother holding a taco bell bag in his hand. You basically tackled him, nearly knocking him to the ground. His arms flew around you for stability, and you gripped the back of his shirt as an involuntary sob came out of your mouth. 

Ranboo stared down at you with his brows furrowed with concern, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. He pushed you to the side to allow other students to get into the classroom, and released you from the hug to look you in the face. Your eyes were puffy and your cheeks and nose were red, stray tears still rolling down your cheeks. He wiped one away.

“(Y/N), what happened? Why are you crying?” He asked, your eyes avoiding him. You hated to cry in front of people- But the stress of the day weighed heavy on your shoulders. You had just gotten too excited. When you explained this, Ranboo shook his head. “(Y/N) it’s perfectly okay, you don’t have to apologize.”

He hugged you again, and you hugged him back. After standing there for a moment, the annoying ring of the school bell sounded overheard, alerting you that class was starting.

“Tell you what,” Ranboo beamed at you, picking up the bag of food. “We’re gonna go in there, annoy Mr. Anderson, and eat chalupas until we explode. Sound good?”

You smile and nod your head. God, your older brother is so cool.

---

The rest of the day was smooth as it could be. You spent all of third period messing around with Ranboo- The assignment given for the day forgotten as homework that you would sit down and do together before Ranboo had to stream. You feared that your fourth period, Algebra, would once again break you down into a ball of anxiety and terror. But to your pleasant surprise, you would be watching a movie with a substitute for that class.

Your mood had been significantly raised by the time the bell had rung, releasing you from the confines of the building. You packed your things quietly, the hustle and bustle of an emptying school occupying your senses. You had rushed down through the hallways towards to doors leading to student parking. Ranboo was supposed to be waiting for you at the car.

But before you could reach the door, you felt a hand grip your bag, pulling you backwards. Your feet flew out from under you as you fell to the ground, your bag being ripped from your shoulders. You felt you back collide with the cold, tiled ground, pain shooting through spine. 

Shrill giggling sounds from above you. You groan and roll onto your front, staring up at a group of three girls laughing at you. You recognized the one holding your bag from your chemistry class. By the looks of the other two, they were also freshmen. You try to get on your feet, but the girl swings her leg, knocking your hands out from under you. You feel something press against your back. 

The girl from your class laughs as she bends down to look at you. “You thought you could get away with that little stunt?” She sneers, her hand grabbing your face. Not able to think of anything else to do, you snap your jaws, nearly biting her. She screeches and backs away.

“DID YOU JUST TRY TO BITE ME?” She screams, her face twisted in disgust. You feel the presume on your back worsen, and you strain your neck to see who was standing on your back. You recognized the guy as a junior on the soccer team. You vaguely recalled the girl mentioned she was dating a guy on the soccer team. 

You squirm, freeing your hands from underneath you. Just as you were about to grab the guy’s leg, you hear a familiar voice shout. The three girls in front of you scatter like rats- But the soccer player stays. He turns to look at whoever shouted, his chest puffing out as if he’s prepared for a fight. However the color seems to drain from his face when he sees the mystery person- And he runs away like a dog with its tail between its legs.

As you start to stand, someone grabs you by the shoulders and helps you up. You’re met with the mop of brown hair and concerned gray eyes of your older brother. He helps you to your feet, handing you your bag. You thank him as you throw the bag over your shoulders, giving your older brother a tight hug.

You don’t even realize there were tears in your eyes again, until Ranboo tells you to dry your eyes. “Sorry…” You whisper, hand wiping away the water. “I don’t know why I’m crying.

Ranboo smiles at you again, his hand patting the top of your head. You smile at him too, and he leads you out of the school, asking if you’re alright or if anything hurts. You spend the walk to the car feeling grateful you have someone to help you out like that. It has you smiling to entire ride home.

[wevegottogetaway]

Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

                                                        ***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them,  he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

                                                        ***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.  

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

[stxrshxpxd]

here is a gra fic! (srry for the delay i took to send it :)

*

Pairing: 90s graham coxon x reader

Word count: 2.516

Warnings: smut (dom!graham, eating out)

Requested by anon x

* * *

I had gotten so used, and emotionally attached, to these warm summer days. The festivals were definitely my favorite gigs of the tour. The rays of sunshine felt heavy on my skin as we tried to hide away in any shade we could find on the massive field. The tents were like saunas, so everyone was out and about with beers that they desperately tried to keep cold. I felt lucky traveling with one of the artists, meaning we had access to a tour bus with ac. I still preferred being out here with all the people though.

I stood with Damon and Graham and watched as three girls were desperately trying to flirt with them. I tried to work out whether or not Damon would potentially go for either of them. They didn’t seem like his type and he didn’t look very impressed or intrigued.

I tried to contain myself every time the girls switched focus from Damon to Graham for a while. I really didn’t want to be the one to chime in and remind them that he was taken. It turned out I didn’t have to step in, though, because Graham put his hand around my shoulders and pulled me in to a tight side hug when one of the girls got closer with him. I didn’t mind that his tight embrace was making my body even hotter because I enjoyed seeing the excited spark in the girl’s eyes die and turn into jealousy. Hey, it wasn’t my fault Graham had picked me and wasn’t willing to give me up for a mediocre shag with a young fan.

The heat on my skin was suddenly challenged by a stinging cold sensation on my upper arm. I knew without even looking that it was a water balloon. I was confused as I looked in the direction it came from, along with all three girls, Graham and Damon. I was less taken aback, but still confused, when I saw Alex approaching us with two water balloons in his left hand. Dave followed behind him with several ones in his hands and a lit cigarette between his lips. They were both wearing devilish grins.

“That was actually pretty nice, thank you,” I laughed. My arm felt nicely cooled down, apart from the spot where Graham’s hot hand was still holding.

“You were supposed to get angry and fight me,” Alex complained. He began to juggle the remaining balloons in his hands and detected his next target.

“Where’d you even get them?” Damon asked with a lazy laugh as he took a sip from his beer and licked his lips.

Alex and Dave both pointed behind them. I couldn’t see exactly where they were pointing but I assumed it was a tent far away with people who randomly had provided them with water balloons.

“I know who’s gonna wanna fight us,” Alex said and his eyes moved to beside me.

“Yeah, I will and I’m gonna win,” Graham huffed warningly. Alex just found his reaction exciting and he immediately chucked one of the balloons at Graham. It hit him on his shoulder and splashed all over him. A few drops even landed on my face.

Graham was quick to let go of me and run after Alex. I grabbed a tighter grip around the water bottle in my left hand and Damon’s arm in my right as I followed them.

“Oh my god, you’re all children,” Damon laughed and pretended to be bothered but I knew he actually found it funny. He tried to not spill the beer in his hand as I jogged after the other boys and still pulled on his arm.

I finally discovered where they’d gotten the balloons from as they stopped and the war broke out in that exact spot. I snuck past all of them and grabbed one. My target was Alex.

I threw it hard from a close distance and it broke on his back. He jumped and turned around, only to be met with my cocky laugh.

“Oh now you want to fight?” He asked. Neither of us had any balloons left to throw and neither of us dared to bend down to grab one, for whatever reason. We were caught in a ridiculous dead end as neither of us wanted to disregard our dominant positions opposite each other. We began laughing lightly at the situation we’d put ourselves in and chuckled at the absurdity of the fact that no one dared to pick up a water balloon.

Our dead end situation was short lived as Alex and I both got hit with several balloons at once. We spun around to see why everyone had suddenly turned on us. There they stood, Damon, Dave and Graham, all with cocky smirks and a few balloons still in their hands. Dave’s t-shirt was completely soaked through and Damon’s hair was slicked to his forehead while his shirtless torso was stained with small water beads. Graham’s hair was still dry and perfectly fluffy around his pretty face. It bothered me that he had been so good at avoiding getting hit. I figured I had to do something about that.

“Graham,” I said and he looked at me. He still managed to juggle a bottle of beer and a cigarette in his right hand, which annoyed me even more.

“Your hair still looks very good,” I mumbled and walked over to him as I unscrewed the cap of my water bottle.

“Thank you,” he sneered. I knew he saw something coming but he couldn’t tell what.

“Way too good,” I decided and stood up on the tip of my toes to empty my entire bottle of water over his head. He gasped and closed his eyes as the water trickled through his lashes and soaked his head. He looked so cute with his dark hair sticking to his forehead and barely being able to see from under it.

He huffed and raised one of his balloons. He held it right under my chin and I watched him break it in his strong hand. I, too, gasped as the cold water soaked through my top all down my chest.

Graham smirked and inhaled the smoke from his cigarette, and pushed both his fringe out of his face and his glasses back to the root of his nose in one swift movement. I couldn’t deny how hot he looked. I stole the cigarette from his fingers and breathed in a deep inhale. He smirked even wider at the sight and placed his index finger under my chin. He pressed his lips against mine in a slow kiss before I could exhale.

“Wet shirts look good on you,” Graham whispered, sounding surprised.

“Why is that such a surprise?” I laughed and exhaled the smoke in his face.

“It’s not. I never doubted they would,” he said honestly. The pure admiration in his eyes made me believe him.

He kissed me again and his tongue met mine. The drops of water on Graham’s face had already started to sink into his hot pale skin again. It was odd how several weeks of sunshine had barely affected his skintone at all. I loved his pale face and how he would sometimes gain a bit of a red tint on the apples of cheeks when he’d spent too much time in the sun.

Oh, and his hand! It completely shattered every thought in my head as it felt its way up my ribs and stopped on the underside of my breast. He waited a second before massaging it in his hand. I wanted nothing else but for him to keep touching me with his divine hands, but I had to be the sensible one and recognise that there were people staring at us.

“Graham,” I whispered in his ear and giggled softly. He knew exactly what I was going to say.

“My bunk is uncomfortable, but we’ve made it work before,” he said bluntly, his face in my neck. I don’t know why I gasped at his proposition, I had been expecting it ever since the first kiss a few moments ago.

I smirked even though he couldn’t see it. I had nothing to say, so instead I pulled on his arm and steered him in the direction of the bus. My heartbeat got louder and faster with every step we took. I couldn’t wait to have his hands back on me again.

“Hey!” I heard Damon yell behind us. I didn’t want to believe it was directed at us but I knew it was.

“I have to change my shirt,” I lied and shrugged playfully as I turned around to look at him. Damon shook his head and rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what we were up to.

“Please stay in your bunk,” he huffed and turned to look at Graham with an annoyed and borderline disgusted expression. Graham laughed and decided he, too, was too impatient to continue the conversation with Damon. He turned around again and now he was the one pulling my arm.

When entering the bus, we both prayed it would be empty. Thankfully it was. Graham’s hands were immediately back on me before we were even close to his bunk. I pushed on his chest and walked with him towards the back of the bus.

“I miss our bed,” Graham whined and I laughed against his lips before he stopped kissing me and he placed me down on the edge of his bunk. It was a tight space but, like Graham had said, we had made it work before.

“I know,” I chuckled and held the part of his shirt that was still dry up to kiss his stomach. Graham quickly helped me out by tearing the shirt off completely and letting it fall to the floor next to him. I let my hands wander up his torso and I felt the coldness of his damp skin around his shoulder where the first balloon had hit him.

I hooked my fingers into his jeans and pulled them down a bit to kiss more of his skin, but he didn’t let me. I was confused as he squatted down and gave my jaw a few kisses. He cupped my breasts again and this time there was, thankfully, no reason for me to stop him. Graham tried to remove the already tight top and we both giggled as he struggled, with how wet it was. Finally it was off and he was quick to unclasp my bra as well. We were now both topless and he gave my body a light push backwards. As I stared up in the ceiling of his bunk and his lips found my lower stomach, I realised what he was doing.

Graham pulled my denim shorts off much smoother as they were not as soaked as my top. His beautiful plump lips kissed on the outside of my underwear and his warm hands held my thighs apart.

“Graham,” I breathed. I was already impatient and the fact that I couldn’t feel his lips directly on me was just making it worse.

He hummed sheepishly and kissed my inner thighs instead. Water from his hair travelled onto my skin and it made me shudder with goosebumps all over my legs. I squirmed again and reached for his head. I grabbed a chunk of his dripping hair and pulled him back to where I needed him the most.

“Please,” I kept begging. Finally it helped, and he pulled my underwear to the side. I tried my best to see what he was doing but it was hard as my head was in the dark corner of his bunk. I managed to catch a glimpse of him licking his lips before he kissed my clit again. This time I felt his wet lips on me and I couldn’t hold my head up any longer. It collapsed into his pillow again and all I could do was lock my eyes shut as I felt his skilled lips and tongue work wonders on me.

“You taste so good,” Graham mumbled and pushed my hand away from its grip around his hair. He found my other hand as well and intertwined my fingers with his softly, pressing our interlocked hands down in the mattress as he buried his face deeper in my wetness. He sucked and licked and kissed with such skills and with such a perfect mouth, I could barely control my wimpy moans.

“You sound amazing… makes me so hard,” he muttered. His voice rumbled through my entire body and I shivered at his words.

“I think,” he singsonged and took his head away to look at my body. “I want you to come around my cock instead.”

“Yes,” I breathed. It turned into a gasp as Graham wrapped his large hands around my waist and pulled me towards him off the bed. I stood up and I immediately touched his cheeks again and kissed his lips, tasting myself on them. While we kissed he pulled his jeans and boxers down and spun our bodies around so that his back was facing the bunk. With a few awkward giggles and a lot of impatient heavy breathing we were finally both in the bunk. My chest was almost completely pressed to his and I was straddling his hips. I didn’t mind the tight space too much, as it meant we had to be super close and that’s something I absolutely loved.

Graham guided his tip to my entrance and I looked into his eyes under the damp fringe as I sat down on him. I held myself up by my elbows on both sides of his head and began to move my hips over him.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered with such a beautiful breathy voice. I smiled and kissed his lips. Our tongues instantly found each other and were just as much intertwined and in sync as the rest of us. My hair fell around our faces and his hair occasionally stuck to my forehead as it was soaked from the water and we both getting sweatier by the minute.

The closer we got to our highs, the harder it was to keep kissing. Eventually our foreheads were just pressed together and our mouths grazing each other. We both moaned and our breaths could barely escape our lips before they were combined into one.

“Graham,” I moaned. “I’m so close..”

His hands moved to my lower back and held me gently, spreading even more warmth throughout my already sweaty body. I sank down further on him and my face fell from his to beside his head as I twitched through an amazing orgasm. Feeling my walls clench around him pushed Graham over the edge as well and he held my hips down as he came inside me with a few exhausted moans. I grinded on him lazily a few more times and I kissed him again. I couldn’t believe how good beer, cigarettes and sweat could taste just by being on Graham’s pretty lips.

OMG THIS ONE AHBSNSBSBSB its so obvious that i started writing the first part of this about alex but then switched it to gra hahahahahha

thank you!!! <3

[mvnvgedmischief]

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it’s wildly unremarkable.

chapter:  6/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 1 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Remus was unsure what had come over him when he went into the team meeting at Quill. He had a relatively unremarkable morning. It was an early opening shift at the grind, he spent a lot of time in the backroom taking inventory, counting the same product over and over again. He remembered walking out of the backroom to a line at the front door. He didn’t remember how long it took him to fumble with the lock, or shuffle back behind the counter. He didn’t remember why some businessman was yelling at him because his latte, which just came off the milk steamer, wasn’t hot enough. He didn’t remember why he started yelling back, why he was so short. The entire morning felt like a blur. 

Maybe it was all of the emails Sirius had never opened, maybe it was the text from Fenrir that remained unopened on his phone. He had no idea what had caused it, but he felt like he was spiraling out. Had he taken his meds today? All of them? His fingers methodically worked the POS system, his body ran on autopilot, he didn’t know how to handle any of the stress of working with others on something he cared about. He cared so much about this book, and he honestly felt like his toes were being stepped on. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel that way, but he did. It was tiring. He didn’t know how else to handle this other than lashing out. He didn’t want to be a dick about things, he was just so passionate. 

He was so incredibly proud of his healing and his recovery. He was proud of the way he got a handle on his lupus, he was proud of the way his body moved better and worked better. He didn’t know what else to think about or be proud of. He had come so far from the bruised, bloodied boyfriend he was all those months ago. months? years? How long had it really been? Did he even remember? Was he allowed to move on? Was he supposed to? What was he, the perfect victim, supposed to do? 

He knew that he was a high-maintenance author, a high-maintenance person. It was one of the reasons he self-published before. But Quill had been so good about doing what he wanted, everyone except Sirius. Sirius was constantly MIA, who never spoke to him about anything, who had asked him on a date. What kind of mind fuck? Did he even read Remus’s book? Did he even think about the implications of his actions, or what something like this would do to his already fragile psyche? 

He had always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Look at how far that had gotten him. So he wasn’t planning on doing it again. He didn’t want to get hurt, get his heartbroken, fall into all those same holes and pitfalls he’d been so prone to in the past. The way Sirius had ignored him repeatedly, had refused to talk to him, was a red flag. He wasn’t in the business of ignoring those anymore. He didn’t have the energy left to ignore red flags. He had been burned too many times and had no intention of getting burned again. Or at least, he thought that until he picked the fight in the meeting. 

Sure, it might have been petty. It might have been rude to tell Sirius he didn’t like the designs when he did. It might have been uncalled for to tell him that it wasn’t his problem if he couldn’t do his job.  But to be fair, Sirius had been wildly unavailable. Remus wanted to send a message, to remind him that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t getting anywhere with being polite, so he would have no problem making Sirius hear him. He wasn’t going to be kept in the dark on his own book. 

It was unfair, how easily Sirius could get everyone back on his side, after all of the meetings he wasn’t in (Remus had no idea that only the most important meetings even got on Sirius’s calendar, as decided by the rest of the team). He offered a smile and a cordial response, and everyone was back in the palm of his hand. What the fuck? 

But he wasn’t going to press the issue. Not when he was sure that all of these people knew something he didn’t, understood something he’d never get. The whole thing felt patronizing. It exhausted him. Was Sirius so great that he didn’t have to follow the rules everyone else did? The evidence remained to be seen, on Remus’s end. He didn’t know why everyone was always bending over backwards to justify Sirius’s behavior. To begin with, he just wanted to make sure Sirius was alright (the man looked so tired all the time), but at this point, it felt like Sirius was just avoiding him. It was so frustrating to think about what he could have possibly done, was it his book? Was it his past? Was Sirius homophobic? If he was, why had he slept with Remus? Was he repressing himself? Was it some kind of dare? 

Remus felt himself spiraling with catastrophic thoughts about why Sirius hated him as much as he had. He didn’t understand. But James, who was quickly becoming a true friend to him, pulled him out of his spiral with a text inviting him to “family dinner.” Remus didn’t know who would be there, but he was excited to have this large group of new friends through Quill. He was eternally grateful to Lily for helping him get this opportunity. It was such a kind gesture that opened so many career doors and helped him connect with so many people.

He didn't know what to wear that evening. He usually settled on a soft jumper (not too overstimulating) and a pair of plaid slacks. He wanted to look nice because as much as he didn’t want to think about him, he was still quite hooked on Sirius Black. The thought of him catches in his mind, and he thinks he should probably get a meeting on the docket for the next week. He cared too much about this book, and it would probably be best to see what the man comes up with before the next team meeting. He knew it was unreasonable to get irritated as he had in the team meeting, but it stressed him out nonetheless. He didn’t know how to be calm and collected about all of it,  and he felt burned by the way Sirius’s advances suddenly dried up. So he nervously drafted an email asking about it. But as usual, he was met with Sirius’s out-of-office message. So instead of waiting to not be responded to he picked up his phone and dialed Sirius’s number. God, why was he so nervous?

“Sirius Black.” For two people who had spent hours just being vulnerable and intimate, in the act of Sirius falling asleep in his lap, that felt like a clinical greeting, which put him off. 

“We need to get that meeting on the calendar.” It was a question, even though he didn’t phrase it as one. He didn’t want Sirius to have the option of saying no, but he also didn’t know Sirius’s schedule.

“I’m out of office Remus.” Remus found himself getting even more irritated. Was Sirius just avoiding him?

He felt his voice rising, this was hurting his feelings if he was honest. “You’re always out of office. You never answer when I call you, it’s fucking nutty how hard I have to work to get you on the phone.” That wasn’t entirely true. He had heard Sirius was online quite a bit, it just never seemed to be when Remus wanted to talk to him.  

“It wouldn’t be if you could just check the google calendar or get your nose out of my business.” Well, that wasn’t the response Remus was expecting. Get his nose out of Sirius’s business? Had he been caught out for asking around? 

“I don’t think that’s—“ He began, but Sirius was quick to cut him off. This wasn’t fair.

“Stop asking people why I’m not in the office. It’s none of your business. It’s fucking weird. I don’t know you.” Well if his feelings weren’t hurt before, they were after that statement. He wanted to get to know Sirius, that was the whole point.

“I was just–“ Remus wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise. Sirius wasn’t going to let him, and he was finding that incredibly frustrating. He could feel the hot tears welling up in his eyes, even though he was trying to pretend they weren’t there. His breathing was becoming much more shallow, and he found himself picking at the cuticles of his fingers. 

“And for that matter, it shouldn’t matter whether or not I’m remote. It seems to bother you so much, but you were the one who tried to put me on the project. You were the one who asked Marlene about it. I’ve been remote since before you got picked up, it’s not news to anyone else on the team. It’s weird that you’re so concerned with me.” That wasn’t a fair statement. Sirius asked him out, not the other way around. And then seemingly disappeared from not only their conversations but also any and all meetings. 

“You were the one who—“ 

“That was a big fucking mistake.”  The words felt like they cut into Remus like the scars all over his body were mirrored by the internal ones. This conversation was bringing too much up for him and he could tell. 

He paused, trying to stop the flow of tears down his face, to keep Sirius from knowing just how upset he was. They didn’t know each other well enough for that. Sirius was right. “What was the point of it then? Why’d you ask me and then pull this?” His voice sounded far away like it wasn’t his own. He didn’t know why he sounded so small (maybe it was because Sirius made him feel small). 

“I liked you until you started prying into my life. I don’t need more people running around trying to dig up information on me.” More people? Dig up information?  Remus just wanted to know if he was okay. He wanted to know if Sirius was angry with him, or some other such nonsense. He wasn’t trying to pry or dig up information. But he wasn’t going to say that. So instead, he just mumbles “oh” and hangs up. He couldn’t handle the shock to the system that was more confrontation. So instead he mills about his and Lily’s apartment some more, trying to decide what to wear to this family dinner? He settled on his usual wares because he was already so overwhelmed. He couldn’t risk the way the tags of some of his other clothes, or the fabric blends would make him want to crawl out of his skin.  He pulled himself together and left the house, hoping that Sirius wouldn’t make some surprise appearance.

He didn’t understand how he had ended up in this whirlwind, but he was here. He was in James’s home, sitting down to dinner, trying to be chill. He was trying to understand how he had essentially usurped what he understood to be Sirius’s role in the group. He didn’t want to, but seemingly he was because he had no choice but to show up to these plans. These plans at James’s house for dinner seemed sweet, but there were two extra place settings at the table. Remus wondered who the second was from because he was sure one of them was for Sirius. 

Who had been seated at the second place setting? Who did Remus not know? It seemed that all of the people at this table were people who worked at quill, or the one-off adjacent person, such as Marlene’s partner, Dorcas, or Alice and Ted. He didn’t know them, so he was assuming that they didn’t work at Quill.

He followed along as they talked, but he didn’t add much to the conversation. He had nothing to say, really. He felt like he didn’t belong here. These weren’t his friends, they were Sirius’s. It felt like he was intruding after that fight over the phone. But he didn’t really have a choice, it was in his best interest to just go with it because these people were directly responsible for his poetic success. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize his career, so instead, he sat there, staring at the empty chair before him. Was Sirius avoiding him? Had he overstepped his bounds? 

He felt the mask he was used to wearing slide back on because he was stressing himself out. He joined into the conversations around the table mindlessly, he wasn’t going to make a mess of this opportunity. But he wasn’t thinking about it until James made a comment about taking leftovers to Sirius’s home. Clearly, his absence was felt around the room, and Remus couldn’t help but feel responsible. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel guilty, but it wasn’t working. But he went along, in hopes of finding an opportunity to apologize for being so nosy, he just wanted to quell his own fears that Sirius hated him. He was trying to deal with actually being intimate with someone, and vulnerable with someone, after all this time. 

He was shocked when they arrived at Sirius’s home and weren’t allowed in. Was the man agoraphobic? Why did he never leave the house? But he didn’t want to think about it, for fear of being considered nosy all over again. 

“No, lads. Go home. It’s a school night.” That sounded shocking to him. Sirius was 21, he didn’t have a child. Even if he did, there was no way that child could be old enough to go to school. It didn’t make sense.  

“You don’t have a kid,” Remus called, but then his mind roamed back to that first meeting. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Sirius did have a child, and that was the voice he had heard in that meeting. But then he remembers that they had been in Sirius’s house on a Thursday night, and he had seen no evidence of a child. He wouldn’t miss something so big when he had spent so much time in Sirius’s home that day and the day after. 

But Sirius doubled down, so Remus dropped it. He wasn’t going to continue to talk about it with them. He just followed along with the group as they left, piled back into James’s car, and headed back to his house. Peter, Lily, and James were the only people who remained in their home. Lily had mentioned James taking them home later, and Remus wasn’t about to pass on a free ride home instead of paying for the Underground. Especially not after a long night of interacting with people. So he waited around, drinking beers and hanging out. Remus found himself becoming more comfortable, getting to know James and Peter even better. He’s caught off guard when James just answers the phone sitting in the room with them. Remus really felt like a member of the group when he did that. But then he suddenly stood up and walked away from the group, and Remus feels like it’s his fault all over again. 

 “Sirius, I didn’t know. I don’t want you to get him taken from you. I’m sorry.”

Well, that was interesting, because Remus had no idea what any of that meant. Get who taken? By who? He looked at Lily, incredibly confused. She and Peter exchanged a look before he started talking. 

“You were going to find out eventually.”  He began, but then Lily cut him off. 

“Pete, I can explain, don’t worry about it.”  But then Lily’s being cut off with a quick look and a dry laugh from Peter. 

“At least he’ll forgive me. He wouldn’t forgive you. You don’t know him well enough for that, in his chaotic opinion.” He laughs, but it sounds humorless. God, Remus was confused. 

“Sirius is in this messy custody battle over his younger brother.  It’s why he never comes out anymore. He’s trying really hard to keep his younger brother happy and healthy, and in his care despite how often he gets taken to court over it. It’s why he’s only in like half of our meetings,  and why he’s been working remotely. The poor lad has far too much on his plate.” Peter looks so incredibly worried, and Lily’s working her lower lip between her teeth. This was information he absolutely was not supposed to be privy to, and he felt so incredibly stupid for being so self-centered.  

“I– I had no idea.”  He whispers, shaking his head. How had he not understood why Sirius was so tired? Or busy? How had he missed all of the signs and the concern, or not thought through that voice that had sounded so terrified and sad? Why was someone trying to take his brother from him? Why was the council so involved? What did “messy” even mean?  

“Okay but you didn’t hear it from us, okay?” Lily looks terrified. But Remus is already mentally drafting his apology to Sirius, he didn’t want to cause more chaos in the man’s clearly exhausting life. 

So when the conversation shifted away from the absence of Sirius in the group, and when James returned to the group he began drafting an apology. Remus really was pretending that he didn’t hear James saying he was worried about him, that he was alone all the time, and he’d been lashing out. He definitely pretended he didn’t hear the concern in James’s voice as he said “I can’t remember the last time it was this bad.

Remus: I just wanted to apologize for how I was in the meeting, and on the phone earlier. I know I’ve been prying, and I understand it’s not cool. I was worried, and I went about it the wrong  way, and I’m sorry. I also shouldn’t have lashed out in the meeting, I swear it won’t happen again. 

He didn’t expect a response before the  end of the night, but when James was driving him and Lily home, he received a text. 

Sirius: Can we start over? I’m not really in the business of making more enemies these days. 

He wondered what that meant. Who were Sirius’s enemies? Was that related to the people he was engaged in the custody battle with? He was definitely wary of someone dealing with the council consistently, he remembered his own trials and tribulations with the council, when trying to get a restraining order. But he had made too many snap judgements before, so he was trying not to make any now. 

[swiss-cheeze]

Fire Breather || Spencer Reid

Gender: none, they/them.

Warnings: uh, none? Fire/use of fire.

A/N: I based ‘you’ (the reader) after Dustfinger from Inkheart. He is a skilled performer who uses fire, also known as fire-eating, and I just really liked this idea.

He can manipulate Fire in his hands which is something you can do which as well is why in some instances it is mentioned that you do not have a lighter. You are obviously the only one of your kind except you do not really come out of a book unless people want a part two for an extra in-depth thing that you talk with Reid etc.

Description: the team goes to the circus (or fair) for some well-deserved time off. One team member in particular finds themselves rather attached to a certain fire-breather.

-------

The travelling circus was in town, coming in at no better time than now; the BAU’s free weekend.

“Garcia you know I don’t wear that stuff!” Spencer exclaimed as Garcia tried to put glitter onto his cheeks.

“Oh, come one Reid! Just this once! I’ll never ask again!” Garcia exclaimed. Everyone had gathered at Garcia’s house a few hours before leaving for the circus with the technical analyst pretty much forcing everyone into glittery makeup or costumes. Garcia held out her pinkie finger to Reid who reluctantly linked his with hers; sometimes Spencer hated the fact that he took pinkie promises so seriously.

“At least make it purple and silver,” Spencer mumbled as Garcia squealed before gathering some of the sticky makeup and applying it to Spencers cheek.

“wooowww, didn’t know Reid had it in him!” J.J. announced as she stood behind Garcia as Spencer gave J.J. a glare as she called in the rest of the team to witness Spencer’s first-time glitter makeover.

“Pretty Boy looking pretty today!” Derek exclaimed with a grin as Garcia lent back and finished her artwork. A nice splotch of purple and grey glitter sat happily on the apple of Spencers cheek and twirled up his temple. Garcia handed Spencer a hand-held mirror for him to look at her masterpiece.

“I like it,” Spencer said happily with a grin, the rest of the team hollered and clapped the man on the back. Each member of the team looked similar; Emily had purple and orange around her face and collarbones, J.J and Rossi both had green splotches around their cheeks, Hotch had blue and yellow (specifically requested by Jack who also wanted photographic evidence), Morgan had blue and purple around his face and collarbones as Garcia was decked out in all colours and a large tutu. Finally, the team was ready and walking out the door.

Now, most, if not all, circuses included a rather large red and white tent that all the mystery was coined inside. But not this one, oh no, most of the activities, stalls and more stood outside in the nice sunshine. As the team entered the circus (which Spencer dubbed more as a ‘fair’ rather than a circus) they all got roped into their own worlds; J.J. and Emily went straight for the milk bottle throw, Derek and Rossi having a contest on who could get the dumbbell weight the highest (surprisingly Rossi won), Hotch tried his best to get Jack some sort of teddy (he got a stuffed dog) as Garcia and Spencer got propositioned by tall people on stilts and clowns with large smiles.

“Hello hello!” a clown called happily bouncing up to the team, “our lovely fire breather is about to start their show!” the clown grabbed Spencer and Rossi by the wrist before dragging the two towards a crowded area; the team following closely behind, laughing at the disgruntled face Spencer pulled when being touched.

“Come one! Come all!” a voice called; the team weaselled their way through the crowd in order to get the best view, “Come and see the dime of the hour!” you twirled as you spoke, “moi” laughs echoed from the crowd as you began the show. You grabbed your ‘batons’ (handheld ropes with large spheres on the end) and blew softly on the spheres causing them to light with fire. The crowd gave an ‘oooo’ as you slowly started to move the ropes at your sides, at first going in slow circles before twisting and turning in front of you and behind you before becoming the expert and throwing the ropes in the air; each time successfully catching them and continuing your act.

“Shit,” Morgan said under his breath, the team watched on enthralled at your acts which consisted on balancing on a beam while swinging the ropes, twirling two lit hoops, putting fire out in your mouth as well as blowing out large spiels of said fire again. Spencer watched on, a dazed look in his eyes as he watched you constantly lighting things on fire as well as using your mouth to breath fire; all without using any sort of liquid or lighter.

“I need a willing volunteer!” you exclaimed, breathing heavily after engulfing flames into your mouth, steam seemed to spill from your lips as you talked giving a rather dragonesque vibe to your already leather-like outfit. You scanned the crowd as you drunk some water before they landed on Spencer, “you, cutie with the vest!” you exclaimed with a grin, Spencer pointed to himself as his team egged him on and soon pushed him into the circle, you pulled out a nearby chair and instructed Spencer to sit down, “do you give permission for fire to be near you as well as myself and my body?” you asked softly, bending down to Spencers slightly lower level than yourself. The man in question gulped but nodded.

“Yes, wholeheartedly,” Spencer said in a hushed tone, you grinned before grabbing the tools you needed. You blew softly on the two hoops you used earlier before moving around Spencer, moving the hoops around his head and down his body, doing the same to yours while also dancing around the poor doctor. The heat Spencer could feel radiated from the hoops you held in your hands as well as his own blushing, you dipped the hoops in a barrel of water to extinguish them before moving onto a more unused tool you had: fire whips. You blew on the end of both the whips before grasping the handles and…well…doing what you would with whips. The noise cracked around Spencer as he flinched ever so slightly and moved away every now and then but the smile on his face told you not to stop, the crowd awed at your work as you dragged the whips around your own body (seemingly not getting burnt which did catch Spencer attention), before dipping them in the water to extinguish the flames and grasping Spencers hands, pulling him up to stand and bowing with him. The crowd cheered and clapped (the loudest being Spencer’s team) before you sent Spencer back to his place and started cleaning your station, Spencer’s team gripped the skinny man by the waist before hoisting him on Hotch and Derek’s shoulders seamlessly as they cheered for the boy (causing on-lookers to laugh).

“Either you get that fire breathers number, or I will!” Emily said happily as Spencer was finally put on the ground again, the genius thought for a moment before turning back around to your station and walking confidently in your direction.

“Um, excuse-excuse me,” Spencer said, gaining your attention, you smile brightened upon realising who it was.

“Hiya darling!” you exclaimed happily, turning your full attention to the man, “what can I do for you handsome?”

“Um, I was just wondering if I…” Spencer paused, “no, its stupid, sorry to bother you.” And before you knew it the poor boy was walking away with his tail between his legs. You frowned at Spencers sudden loss of confidence before calling out to him.

“Oi! Handsome!” he turned around quickly, a finger pointing to himself in question, “nah the guy with the greying hair behind you-YES YOU!” Spencer blushed as the team laughed, “can I get your number or not?” you questioned. Spencer smiled widely as he nodded quickly and walked back over to you.

“Yes-yes please” Spencer said happily as he handed you a card, you grinned looking down at the card before flipping it between your fingers, having it disappear with a blink of the eye, “you know how to manipulate cards?” Spencer asked in disbelief, you grinned.

“Working in the circus does a lot for you,” you said happily, “listen…” you paused, “we travel the world for six to eight months a year and the rest of the time we spend prepping new attractions and our acts. We’re based here but after our shows we travel-“

“I work for the FBI and I travel to different states in the US almost every week,” Spencer quickly cut in from your rambling, “of course I would want to see you daily but I do believe we can make it work,” you smiled as Spencer talked. Not once has someone ever wanted to try and make time for you or work their timetable around yours, it was always yours around theirs. You couldn’t help yourself as you threw your arms around Spencers neck and hugged the boy tightly, Spencer being Spencer didn’t respond for a second but cautiously wrapped his arms around you, it was loose but still comforting.

“I’m sorry I just…” you quickly broke the hug as you talked and stepped backwards, “we go at a pace we both like,” you said happily before a clown came to your side and whispered something inaudible in your ear, “I have a fire breathing class in a few minutes but we can talk later after the circus is packing up? Walk in the park?” you questioned.

“I would really like that,” Spencer said with a nod and a laugh.

“I’ll send you a flame” you joked before packing away the final things in your bag and walking away, sending Spencer a small wave he reciprocated before walking back to his team, each giving a clap on the back.

You could not help the sigh from escaping you as your shoulders sagged, yes someone liked you, yes someone was willing to put in the time for you and only you. But you would have to tell him what you are eventually.

———

Part 2 of a date with Spencer and telling him what you are? Maybe? Not sure up to you!

[soopersara]

Fuse

Zutara Week 2020: Day 3

AO3 | FFN

@zutaraweek

A rainstorm separates Katara from her friends and when she takes shelter in a nearby barn, she finds Zuko already inside.

Katara liked the rain. Being surrounded by her own element so far from home and so far from a real body of water was nice. She could be perfectly at home anywhere in the world as long as there was water around.

But when it came fast enough that it dislodged her tent stakes from the ground and sent the whole tent, Katara included, rocketing down the slope, she found that she didn't exactly love the rain.

She clambered out of the mangled remains of her tent, aching from her rapid, unceremonious descent into the valley. It hadn't been her idea to pitch her tent so close to the edge. But after Toph had erected an earth tent smack in the middle of the little plateau, there was barely enough space for Sokka's tent on the upper end of the plateau and Katara's on the lower. And then a few minutes of torrential rain had been enough to send her sailing downward like her tent was some sort of flimsy raft.

Scowling, she examined what was left of the tent. The poles were snapped, and the tarp torn straight down the middle. Perfect. It was still raining as hard as ever, and her only shelter was destroyed. Grumbling, she pushed aside the poles. Her sleeping bag was still in one piece, though muddy and wet, and her pack had split down the side, but all its contents appeared to be in one piece. She spread one half of the tarp out flat and dumped her things—the sleeping bag, her clothes, her mending kit, and a few other small packages—into the center. It would be a wet, messy makeshift bag, but with her pack split open, it was the best she had.

Once she had all of her things bundled into a lumpy, dripping mass, she threw it over her shoulder. She'd have to dry everything out once she got back to camp. Sokka's tent wasn't big, but there would be enough room for her to share with him, at least until the rain stopped.

But it seemed that the rain had other plans for her. When she started up the hill, she made it only a few steps before her right foot skidded out from underneath her, and she fell backward, sliding down past the debris that used to be her tent. Ouch. Her whole right side and part of her back felt bruised, and now she was coated in thick, sticky mud to boot.

She pushed herself to her feet again. Climbing clearly wasn't going to work. Even when she tried to freeze a patch of the greasy mud, it was no easier to stand on. She'd never make it all the way back up to the top of the hill while it was raining, and she ached enough already. Even if she healed all of her bruises, it wouldn't do much good if she made it halfway up the hill only to slide back down to the bottom anyway.

Katara bent some of the mud out of her clothes, rain still pelting down on her. Shelter. She had to find shelter somewhere down in the valley to wait out the storm.

And when she looked around, she thought she could make out a distant cluster of buildings through the grayish haze. That would have to do.

Her feet slid through the mud, and thick, slimy clumps of it stuck to the bottoms of her boots, but she slogged on ahead. Cleaning herself up while she was still out in the rain wouldn't help. Nor would bending the rain away from her head. Or mending her bruised and aching limbs. All of that would take energy, and she couldn't afford to spare any until she was inside, out of the rain.

As she drew nearer, the buildings took shape into a farm. She could make out a barn, and a few pens full of moosows and pig deer, and a turkeychicken hutch. She made for the barn. There was probably a house somewhere around here too, a house with people who would be more than willing to let her in—but it was wet and cold, and the rain couldn't last too much longer. There was no use in bothering the people if she would only be here an hour or two. At least she hoped that it would only be an hour or two.

The doors were huge and heavy, and Katara's feet slipped when she tried to pull them open. She grumbled, planted her mud-encrusted boots more firmly, and managed to haul one of them open by a few inches. Good enough. She shoved her makeshift bag through the opening first, then squeezed in after it, wincing when her bruised side bumped against the rough wood. She got wedged in halfway through the opening, and with a grunt of effort, pushed against the wall with all her might until she toppled through the space and the door swung open after her.

Ouch. She hauled herself back to her feet and glared at the now-open door. Perfect. That was typical for today.

But she was inside, finally, and when she bent the water out of her clothes—unfortunately, the mud was so caked into the fabric that she couldn't do much about that—she stayed dry. She crouched to untie her makeshift bag when she heard a footstep behind her, and spun around to see a pair of swords aimed her direction.

"Who are you, and what do you think you're doing here?"

She blinked into the dark interior of the barn. She thought she knew that voice, the harsh, gravelly tone—and then the swords lowered a fraction, and she could make out a pale, pinched face and a huge crimson scar over the left eye.

"Zuko?"

⁂

It took a second for him to recognize the waterbender in the semi-darkness. Though she'd apparently done her best to dry herself off, she was practically coated in mud, her usual braid was—there, but falling apart so badly that it looked more like a disheveled broom than anything else, and she looked much smaller, much less threatening when she was crouched down and not wielding ropes of water.

But then she sprang to her feet, summoning blobs of water to both hands, and recognition landed heavy over him. That was her. That was definitely her.

Of all the rotten luck in the world, Zuko's had to be the worst. It wasn't bad enough that he was crossing an enemy nation alone, practically without supplies and without any way of supporting himself short of stealing. He had no money left, he couldn't convince himself to steal food from families, and to add insult to injury, the Earth Kingdom soldiers had stolen the few meager supplies he'd managed to buy.

Then that little boy had taken Zuko home, and it should have been a bright spot in an otherwise terrible week, but instead, the heaviest rainstorm in months had rolled in overnight, and Zuko was all but stranded in the barn without food, and now—now—

"What are you doing here?" the waterbender demanded.

Zuko let his swords drop a bit. Was he imagining things? He was fairly certain he'd just asked her the same question.

"This is the Earth Kingdom, you don't belong here."

He raised his good eyebrow. "I could say the same for you, waterbender."

She gave an incoherent yell of rage, drawing more water from the deluge outside, encasing her arms with it. "I'm not the enemy. You are. What are you doing here?"

"This is my barn!" Even before the words came out, they felt wrong, and Zuko stopped himself. "I mean, I'm staying here. I don't have a barn."

The waterbender cocked her head to the side, looking just as confused as he felt. "You—you're—" She shook her head and strengthened her stance. "You don't belong here, Zuko. Leave, or I'll find the farmers and tell them that they have a squatter hiding in their barn."

He threw his hands up. The dramatic gesture probably wasn't the best idea with swords still in his hands, he realized when one of the blades smacked into an overhead beam and knocked a cloud of dust down on his head. He coughed and fanned at the air.

"The farmers invited me to stay," he rasped when the dust cleared. "If anyone's a squatter, it's you."

"What?" The waterbender's stance slackened, and Zuko noticed that her right arm moved a little slower, a little stiffer than the left. "Why? Why would they invite you to stay?"

Frankly, Zuko was still wondering the same thing himself. Sure, their son had vouched for him after he'd lied to keep the boy out of trouble, but that was nothing. Certainly not enough to justify giving a ragged drifter like himself a place to sleep. He shrugged. "I helped their kid or something. I don't know. I thought they were going to throw me out last night, but they didn't, so—I'm here."

"How did you help their kid?" She still held her murky globes of water, but her stance looked less fight-ready than before.

Zuko wasn't exactly braced up to fight either, he realized. Aside from the swords in his hands, he was just—standing.

"I saw the kid play a prank on a couple of thugs. I lied to the thugs about what happened."

The waterbender narrowed her eyes at him. For a long moment, he stared back. He didn't owe her any further explanation. He had permission to be here. She didn't. Granted, the family didn't know who he was, but Zuko wouldn't stay long. He couldn't expect more than what they'd already given him, and once the rain passed, he'd leave. But for now, while the storm raged on, he had at least as much right to be here as she did.

Finally, the waterbender spoke again. "Are you going to attack me?"

He huffed. "Depends. Are you going to attack me?"

She didn't quite ease out of her stance, but he watched her waver. She jutted out her chin. "I'm not going back outside in this storm."

He didn't exactly want her to stay—he had enough problems without the waterbender there to rub it in, and he didn't care for company, especially when there was a chance that he'd have to explain her presence to the Earth Kingdom family—but over her shoulder, he could see the rain still coming so hard that the whole world was gray and indistinct. And the waterbender looked miserable. Zuko was many things, but he wasn't a monster.

"I didn't tell you to." He sheathed his swords and crossed his arms.

She shifted, and slowly lowered her hands. "I've got my eye on you," she said, and edged around her pile of supplies, and crouched again, still watching him.

Zuko shook his head. He didn't have the energy to deal with her right now. As miserable as she looked, he didn't feel much better. The rain had started in the night, and since he was staying in the barn, there were no supplies he could find without venturing out into the storm. So he hadn't eaten yet this morning. That made—four days? Almost four days. One bowl of soup in the midafternoon and a scant meal yesterday evening hardly made up for the three days he'd gone without food before, and now his stomach was beginning to cramp again.

He should have moved on already. This family couldn't afford to feed another mouth, and Zuko wouldn't find any better prospects until he left the arid plains behind. Maybe if he'd braved the rain, he could have gotten ahead of the storm and pushed his ostrich horse hard enough to reach richer lands in a few days. Maybe he could already be partway to—wherever he was going. If he knew where that was.

Or maybe he'd just be lost and dripping wet with no more idea of where to go than he had now.

Zuko slumped back into the mound of hay. The waterbender was lucky. At least she had somewhere to go.

He stared up at the rafters, watching from the corner of his eye as the waterbender pulled the moisture out of her supplies and sent it out the door in a smooth, neat wave. She gave a little gasp, and Zuko looked her way again to see her wince and rub her right shoulder.

He shouldn't care. He didn't. He couldn't care about—her.

"What happened?" he asked involuntarily.

She scowled across the barn at him. "I got caught in a rainstorm."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well then you're going to have to be more specific. A lot of things have happened." She tried to kneel and winced again, then settled for resting her weight on her left side.

Zuko sighed and sat up. "Why are you here? Aren't you travelling with the Avatar?"

The waterbender paused in the middle of picking through her things to fix him with a stare. "I am. And I'm not telling you where he is."

That had barely even occurred to him. He was too tired, too hungry, too lost to even consider capturing the Avatar. He wasn't sure he could keep himself alive out here, much less haul the Avatar back to the coast, hire a boat, and—Zuko shook himself. Not now. He couldn't do any of that right now.

"I meant," he amended, "How did you get separated?"

She and her friends had always seemed inseparable, like they actually—actually cared about each other. He swallowed back a pang of envy. Zuko didn't need anyone like that. He was fine on his own.

The waterbender made a face. "An earthbender was a jerk, I set my tent in a bad place, then it rained and my tent tried to find out what it felt like to be a raft." She turned over a small package bound in some type of skin and pulled at the twine holding it shut. "I was at the bottom of the valley before I knew what was happening."

That certainly explained the wincing. The hills around the farm weren't exactly small or gradual. It was a wonder that she wasn't more seriously hurt.

"Uggghhhhhhhh." She let the little package fall open and dropped her head into her hands.

"What?" Zuko pushed himself to his feet again. "What happened?"

She pinched the soggy package by the corner. "My brother didn't close the package after he stole some of my seal jerky."

Oh. Zuko had never eaten seal jerky before, he had no idea what it tasted like, or even if it was worth eating, but his stomach clenched. The thought of food—any food—was almost too much to bear.

The waterbender frowned and passed a hand over her food. A few murky-looking droplets came out, but her expression didn't look any more cheerful than before.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't suppose you have any food?"

Zuko looked away, feeling his own forehead crease. He folded his arms over his empty, complaining stomach. "No."

"Do you want some wet seal jerky before it spoils?"

⁂

Zuko looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. Hey. That was rude. She was offering him some of her extremely limited food supply, and he had the nerve to make faces at her because it wasn't entirely appetizing. She didn't want to eat wet jerky either, but it was the only food either of them had, and she couldn't pull out any more of the moisture. For now, it would be edible, but in another day, it might start to mold or worse. What good would it do to let most of her food spoil when she could share it now?

But if he didn't want it, if he was too proud to share what little food she had, then—then he'd just have to stay hungry.

She scowled at him. "Fine. If it's not good enough for your refined palate, I'll just let the other half go bad. Or maybe the moosows will want a treat when the storm is over."

Zuko's good eyebrow drew downward. He looked—dejected? Almost? Not for the first time, she was struck by how thin his face had become, by the dark rings around his eyes. Or eye. The scarred one looked as normal as it ever did.

"I—" He shook his head and his arms seemed to clamp tighter around his stomach. "If that's what you want to do, fine. See if I care."

Judging by the tension in his voice and the way his shoulders drew up around his ears, he cared a lot. Not that Katara was going to let that change anything. If he was going to be a jerk, she'd be a jerk right back at him.

Zuko stomped back to his pile of hay and slumped into it again, turning his back on her, and curled inward.

Katara poked the soggy mess of jerky and made a face at it. She was hungry, but not that hungry yet. Not hungry enough to eat mushy, soaked jerky. When she found her way back to the others, Sokka was going to get such a lecture about stealing her food and how to close things properly. Maybe if he'd kept his nose out of her stuff or at least closed it when he was through, she wouldn't be here, in a barn, still damp and aching from her unceremonious descent from the top of the hill with no food worth eating and Prince Zuko of all people.

"Why are you even here?" she asked sharply. "Aren't you supposed to be off with your uncle and the rest of your Fire Nation friends?"

Zuko shook his head but didn't turn back toward her.

"What, did they leave you behind?"

That earned her a scowl, but he turned his head away again. "Partly."

Katara stopped. Despite the scowl, he didn't sound particularly angry. "How do you get partly left behind?"

"The Fire Nation tried to take me and my uncle back as prisoners, then left us for dead. Then I left my uncle." He peered back over his shoulder for a second. "It's not complicated."

Easy for him to say. It sounded very complicated to Katara. She pushed herself to her feet, wincing when she put her weight on her bruised leg.

"How long have you been alone?" The question surprised her as it came out, but she decided not to correct herself.

"A week?" His tone was uncertain, and he looked up into the rafters. "Maybe more."

A week. Katara had never been alone that long. Sometimes two or three nights without Sokka when he went hunting back home, but Gran-Gran had always been there. And since leaving home, she'd been surrounded by strangers, but she'd never gone more than one night without Sokka or Aang nearby.

"Do you like being alone?"

Zuko rolled onto his back, his forehead creasing as he stared upward. "I thought I would. But it's—when it's quiet, it's a lot harder to forget that there's nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep." He looked toward the package of ruined jerky by her feet, then dragged his gaze away and set his jaw.

Huh. She watched his fists clench against his stomach. He was hungry. So maybe he wasn't being snobbish about the jerky. Maybe he was just too stubborn to admit that he needed something to eat.

She shifted her weight, and her entire bruised right side protested against the motion. With a pained gasp, she dropped to the ground.

"Waterbender?" Zuko bolted up.

Katara sat clutching her sore leg and glared at him. "Waterbender? Seriously?"

He ignored that and came a little closer, then stopped a few paces away. "Are—uh—are you hurt?"

She grimaced and pulled up the hem of her pants a bit. The bruises on her ankle were impressive. She didn't want to know how the rest looked, especially considering how much worse the ones on her hip and her shoulder felt.

"I think it's safe to say yes." Great. She had really been hoping that she could get away without healing them, without expending the precious energy to mend a few bumps. She summoned fresh rainwater in through the door and held the glowing bulge of water against her shoulder until the ache subsided.

Zuko's eyes went wide. "What are you doing?"

"Healing myself." She frowned in concentration as she worked her way down her arm, clearing the bruises one after another. Just as she'd feared, she could feel the effort draining her energy. Less sore or not, she'd have a much harder time fighting in this state if he decided to attack her.

"Can you do that?"

She waved her now-healed hand through the air. "What does it look like?" Starting on her ankle, she snuck a look up at Zuko. Waterbender. Was that really how he thought of her? "Can't you remember names?"

He flushed. "I—yes, I can remember names. But I was taught manners, and it's rude to speak on familiar terms without permission."

Katara rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. What's my name, then?"

"You're—" he scratched the back of his neck. "You're Katara. I think."

She snuck another glance at him. He was crimson clear back to his ears, and he wouldn't look directly at her.

"Lucky guess," she said, then pulled the excess water away from her leg and tossed it back out the door. Patches of her back still ached almost worse than her shoulder had, but she couldn't reach that far back, and all the other bruises had stopped hurting. Whether they were healed enough to not be visible, she couldn't tell, and she wasn't about to check, not with Zuko standing there. Besides, she was tired now. Tired and hungry. She looked down at the soggy jerky again. It didn't look any more appetizing than it had before.

"Do you want me to use your name?" Zuko asked.

She considered. It sounded strange on his lips. It felt strange to hear him call her by her name. They weren't close, and they weren't going to be. Still— "It's better than waterbender." She peered up at him. "Do you want me to use your name?"

He started. "I—I don't know." He shifted, looking down at his feet. "I can't really use my name here. I was calling myself 'Lee', but then the kid I helped was named Lee too, and—" he shrugged helplessly. "I didn't know what to call myself, so I didn't."

A surprised laugh escaped her. "You didn't come up with a new name?"

Zuko shook his head. "I'm not very good at lying."

That seemed—not entirely untrue, actually. He'd done plenty of terrible things, and Katara wouldn't trick herself into believing that he'd never lied to her, but lying was the least of her concerns when it came to Zuko.

"Then I guess I'll just call you Zuko when no one else is around. Deal?"

He nodded, and Katara gave just a hint of a smile before she looked down again. She heaved a sigh and poked at the jerky. "Any ideas on how to make wet jerky less gross? I doubt you want to eat it like this either."

Zuko froze, and his mouth opened and closed. "Me? Uh—what about me?"

Katara tilted her head a bit to the side. "You're hungry too, aren't you?"

"I—"

"Well, all of my food is going to go bad. I really don't see any reason why I should let that happen when there's enough here for both of us."

Zuko stared for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

She paused only a second before she nodded. It felt right, somehow. Gran-Gran had always taught her not to waste food and to always feed hungry strangers, and Katara had always done her best to stick to that rule. Zuko wasn't exactly a stranger, and he was hardly a friend, but he was hungry. And if he didn't eat with her, the food would be wasted.

Something told her that Gran-Gran might object to that argument, but Katara pushed the thought aside. They were in the Earth Kingdom, so far from any of Zuko's allies that there was nothing he could really do. He couldn't even use his own name safely, and if he was smart, he had to know that firebending out here would be a death sentence. If anything, he was in more danger than she was. And if less-hungry Zuko was also a bit less moody, the risks of sharing food with him seemed more than worthwhile.

"If you can figure out a way to get rid of the sogginess, I'll even let you pick your share. I can't get any more water out of it with my bending."

He took a small step closer and squinted at the mound of jerky.

Katara pushed it closer so he could see without closing the space between them too much.

Zuko scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe if we cooked it?" he offered doubtfully. "As long as no one's around, I could start a fire—"

"The barn looks a little too flammable for that." Even with rainwater seeping in through some of the cracks in the walls, the wood was old and dry as tinder. The hay was dry too. If a spark caught any of it, the storm would extinguish the blaze, but not before the barn collapsed in on them.

"Right. Uh—" He looked around the barn, then drew a slow breath. "Maybe if I just—" He cupped his hands together and a small flame appeared, hovering just over his palms.

For a while, Katara just stared at the fire. She'd never seen firebending quite like this before, quiet and contained, more warm than dangerous. It was odd. In a way, she almost liked it.

She finally dragged her eyes away and met Zuko's gaze, the angles of his face sharpened by the firelight. "Can you hold that for very long?"

He shrugged. "Probably. I've never had to hold a flame for more than a few minutes, but I'm sure I can. It's like meditating."

⁂

It was unlike anything Zuko had ever attempted before. He could hold a flame in his hands, he could use his bending to heat a pot or to boil water, but he'd never tried to hold a cooking fire steady without fuel, maintaining the perfect amount of heat so as not to burn the food or to cook it too slowly. It wasn't easy, and a part of him wished that he'd paid more attention to how Uncle warmed water for tea. The precision, the concentration, the patience it took tested his limits.

But he sat crossed-legged on the ground across from Katara, holding the fire in his hands while she threaded the bits of jerky onto a stick, then roasted them over the flames until they were hot and crackling. His mouth began watering the moment the scent reached him, but he tried not to pay attention to that. Keeping his breathing steady, he stared at his own flames, channeling just enough energy into them to keep the heat even.

He lost track of time, but finally, finally, Katara touched his wrist.

"That's enough. They're all finished."

Zuko exhaled, the flames dissipating, and he leaned back on his hands. He felt as though he'd just finished a fight or a particularly demanding training session. Though he hadn't used his firebending in days and the pent-up energy had been desperate to claw its way out, sustaining the cooking fire drained him more than he'd expected. If his stomach weren't cramping, desperate for food, he'd crawl back into his pile of hay to sleep.

Katara slid the bits of re-cooked jerky into a little mound on their wrapping, then poked them into two separate steaming piles with her makeshift roasting spit.

"Pick your half."

Zuko straightened and blinked, disbelieving, at the mounds of food. They were almost exactly the same. He'd expected her to eat her fill, then leave whatever she didn't want for him, not—this.

"I thought—" He paused and shook his head. "I thought you were going to do that."

"That's not the fair way to share food," Katara answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The person who divides it up always gets last pick. My Gran-Gran taught me that."

It made sense, in an odd sort of way. In Zuko's experience, people were never that dedicated to fairness—or at all—but in a better world, a nicer world, it would make sense.

Tentatively, he pointed to the mound on the left, and Katara pushed it his way without argument.

He hesitated over the food for a few seconds—he knew better than to accept food, or help of any kind, for that matter, from an enemy—but then his hunger won out against the hesitation. The jerky was tough, and it tasted of salt and smoke, unusual to his tastes, but not entirely unpleasant. Most importantly, it was filling. A few bites took the edge off of his hunger, and by the time he was done, Zuko was really, properly full for the first time in days.

Katara finished her last bite a little behind him and washed it down with a long drink from her waterskin.

"Thank you," Zuko blurted out. "You didn't have to share the rest of your food with me, and I just—thanks."

She shrugged and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Technically, you didn't have to let me stay out of the rain here either. I think we're even."

He looked down. It was true, he supposed. He could have tossed her back out into the storm. He had permission to be here, and he could have easily used that to push her out. But in a storm like this—no, he wouldn't do that. Uncle would be ashamed if he had. Of course, Uncle would be ashamed of him for plenty of other things, but Zuko had to stop somewhere. There had to be a line he wouldn't cross, and this seemed as good a point as any.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "With all of your food gone—"

Katara let out a slow sigh and turned to stare out the door and into the rain. "My friends aren't too far away. When the rain stops, I'll find them. They have plenty of food." She stopped, studying him. "And you?"

Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. I guess—I'll probably keep going east. It's supposed to be a lot nicer once you get past the desert. Maybe then it'll be easier to find food." He stared down at the darkened patch where the cooked jerky had left a stain on the skin wrapping. Part of him wished that he'd been able to save some of it for later. With no money, no way of finding his own food, spirits only knew when he'd have another meal. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd be able to eat one more time before he left the farm behind, but after that—

She watched him, her blue gaze unusually soft. "Maybe you'll find your uncle."

He met her eyes for a second. He hoped so. He hoped that Uncle would want him back. Travelling alone was nothing like he'd expected, and even with all the annoyance and frustration that came with the old man's quirks and the extra effort it took to keep the two of them fed, he'd rather be with Uncle again.

"Maybe." He looked away again and cleared his throat. "Uh, since the rain isn't stopping, I think I'm going to try to sleep." His hands clenched on the hem of his tunic, then slowly loosened again. He ought to know better than to let his guard down. He ought to know better than to sleep while the enemy was so near, but looking at Katara now, he didn't see an enemy anymore. Not quite. Not the way he used to. Katara was tired and disheveled, and she could probably still fight him—she could probably still win—but she'd shared her food with him. If she meant him any harm, she wouldn't have bothered. And frankly, Zuko didn't have the energy to keep watch anyway.

"The hay is more comfortable than the ground, so—if you want, you can have that spot."

Katara tilted her head, then looked around him toward the mound of hay. "No, that's fine. I have my sleeping bag."

Zuko nodded and pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. "Okay."

He could feel Katara's eyes on his back as he retreated to the haystack again and settled into the scratchy makeshift bed. But he couldn't sleep and found himself watching her as she spread out her sleeping bag, made one last attempt to pull out the moisture, and started to climb inside. She winced when her back touched the ground, then rolled onto her side, and met Zuko's eyes.

His face warmed. No point in pretending he hadn't been watching her. "Are you okay?" he rasped.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Fine. I guess I still have some bruises left that I couldn't reach." She started to roll onto her back again, winced, and turned her face back toward Zuko again.

"Heat might help," he offered before he had a chance to think.

Katara blinked at him. "It might," she replied slowly. "Are you just saying that, or—"

His face was flaming. "Depends."

"On what?"

He picked at a particularly pointy bit of hay. "If you trust me enough to let me try to help."

For a long moment, Katara stared at him. She shouldn't trust him. It wouldn't make sense for her to take a chance like that. But finally, after an uncomfortably long silence, she sat up and wiggled her way out of her sleeping bag. Draping it over her arm, she crossed over to the haystack and hovered a few steps away.

"Maybe just this once."

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 33- One For Two

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The architechs face their most dangerous battle yet, alone against the Magistrate himself. 

And not all survive.

Warning: This chapter features major character death (temporary), blood, impalement, and other dark themes of death. Please use caution proceeding

______________________________________

“Mumbo? Mumbo wake up.” Grian hisses, his wings puffing up at the sound he hears in the distance. Iskall has already run out of the tent the architechs were in, going in search of the noise. But nothing can muster consciousness from his best friend, and unfortunately Grian must resort to ulterior measures.

 He drags Mumbo’s bedroll out of the tent, clambering to hold the limp form. And takes off into the air. The sudden jolt skyward does wake Mumbo up, and he sheds his bedroll like a butterfly from it’s cocoon. “G-Grian, put me down! This wasn’t funny the first time, it’s not funny now!” 

“Maybe if you weren't’ such a spoon and wake up this wouldn’t happen. Iskall and I heard something. It was getting closer, so he went to look.” Grian chuckles, and can’t help but give Mumbo another scare. He lets go of the multi-mage, but only for a second. Less than that, before he grabs hold of Mumbo by the pits. His cackle is only as loud as Mumbo’s scream, and they both return to the ground. 

The nice, safe, hard ground. Mumbo is still trying to reclaim his heartbeat, though the sound of lightning crashing nearby does little to help. A second later, Iskall runs from the brush of the forest. “It’s a husk, a nue.” 

As if in response to Iskall’s words, an eerie cry bounces off the bark and through the canopy. All three architechs are attracted to the bonechilling noise, the magic of the beast calling them closer. “We have to find it- there has to to be a reason a husk would be here.” Grian states, picking up the pace, following the noise through the forest. Leading him deeper. “Maybe there’s a crystal, or something that Dolios is doing here.” 

Iskall chases after Grian, after the noise, and Mumbo stumbles after them, taking up the rear. Sometimes he catches just a glimpse of the beast, the grey and black stripes or the snake tail passing between brambles and bushes. He can’t stop himself from following the beast, the whimpering cry luring them all deeper and deeper into the woods.Until the trees part, and the moonless sky opens up. 

And sitting in the center of the clearing, an enormous, ebony gem eeks it’s black tendrils into the verdant grass. Iskall peers into the darkness, noting how little the crystal has spread the dark magic. “It’s brand new. It was just placed here.” 

“Perhaps the nue was it’s first victim.” Mumbo shakes his head. 

“Or it was sent with the crystal to protect it as it made root.” Grian adds, stepping forward. His wings ruffle, the feeling of being watched a second too late. 

“Neither, as a matter of fact. It was purely to lure you in.” His voice is so clear, so crisp, running ice down their spines. They turn, eyes settling on Magistrate Dolios and his charismatic, calm smile. He’s sitting on a rock, resting against the boulder like it’s a throne, cheek pressed against the palm of his hand and legs crossed. He almost looks bored, would it not be for the easy smile, the hunger in his eyes. The nue appears beside the magistrate, smoke and ash billowing from the fragmented figure. Dolios reaches out, fingers running from the glowing white eyes of the monkey head, running down the spine, before twisting the cobra tail between his fingers. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A fresh crystal, ready to gather as much magic as it can hold.”

Iskal summons his magic, iskallium energy ricocheting up his arm as he stands ready for battle. “I’m going to destroy that crystal. Then, we’ll destroy you.” 

Dolios’s smile never fades, even as he shakes his head. “You never stop, do you? These past few weeks, you and your band of heathens have been going all over Lairyon, destroying all my hard work. These crystals are important to me, you know. I can’t just replace every last one in the blink of an eye. It takes time.” Dolios stands, striding past the three. The purple fabric of his robes dance along the grass, sauntering to stand before the crystal. “But I’m quite proud of this one. It took me weeks, and you get the honor of being the first people to see it work.” 

Mist swirls from the stone, then strikes out. Like whips, they bend around their master, who continues to smile with his hands tucked behind his back. Grian bowls to the side, knocking Mumbo out of the way before the magic can take hold. Iskall lets loose the ball of energy, sending it flying into the mist. Dispersing it, and crashing into the crystal. Another attack, this time with Grian warding off the magic. In a heavy beat of his wings, slashing the air with wind, he skips above Dolios and the gem, flanking him from the side. 

Dolios shakes his head, not focused on Grian or Iskall. His eyes remain trained on Mumbo, who’s  struggling just to summon his magic. “So much magic, wasted in such a pathetic form. You don’t even know what to do with it all. I don’t need your magic- just the power.” He looks over his shoulder, stepping aside when another sheer wind threatens to even ruin his hair. “The angel, on the other hand. What I wouldn't give for his magic in my repertoire.” 

“You’re no  multi-mage!” Iskall shouts, throwing a rod of iskallium at Dolios’s feet. Giving Mumbo a second to flee, to focus on his magic. “You’re just a mega thief of doom!” 

“Quite the hyperbolic speech, young man.” Dolios snickers, grabbing Iskall by the arm with nothing more than his mind. No matter how hard iskall fights, he can’t get free. “An S-Class of your caliber is quite enticing as well. This whole team you’ve got is stronger than most of those idiots that call themselves the Council.” 

Iskall continues to fight for his freedom, while Grian is battling off the mist that threatens to engulf his friend. Dolios is so focused on capturing Grian, on draining Iskall’s lifeforce that he’s completely ignored Mumbo. Why would he bother? Mumbo can’t even summon his magic at will. 

But if there’s one way to bring Mumbo’s powers to fruition, it’s hurt his friends. Black mist squeezes past the winds that flow from Grian’s wings, striking through Iskall like an arrow through the chest. Iskall stumbles, skin growing grey and pale, flaky. He continues to fight through the pain, despite his strength being sapped. 

Mumbo’s shaking hands go through the motions of summoning his magic. Palms out, coming together and fingers blooming like a flower- or a redstone circuit. Driving his magic from within, organizing it in a way he can control, until the circle glows bright and lightning appears in his hands. 

No one hurts Mumbo’s friends. He gives Dolios a taste of his own medicine, sending the bolt of lightning straight into his chest. Dolios stumbles backwards. Red appears beneath the blue capelet, burn marks and blood crawling from the magistrate’s neck. He turns, eyes boring into Mumbo’s soul, and for a second Mumbo worries if Dolios can drain his power just by looking at him- like a gorgon or something. Dolios only chuckles, brushing his hand and waving the mist away. “I knew it was in there somewhere. You’re just too weak and naive to find true power. Unlike me.” Dolios summons his circle, dark magic coursing through each skittering line and curve. “Don’t make me waste my time on you, I still have to steal the angel’s magic. Just become a good, useful husk alongside your fri-” 

The sound of cracking silences Dolios. The magic circle disappears, the magistrate whipping his curly ponytail around to see what is going on behind him. 

He was so busy berating Mumbo, he didn’t notice Grian and Iskall. Despite Iskall’s weakened state, looking almost husklike, the two S-Class wizards pool together their magic, and launch it into the iskallium spike thrust into the core of the gem. 

It shatters to pieces, fragments raining down over Mumbo and Dolios. The dark magic fizzles and dies, the energy stored in the gem returning to the earth. Where it belongs, rather than trapped in Dolios’s machinations. 

But with each crystal fading back to it’s milky quartz color, the magistrate’s eyes grow darker. An anger fills his eyes, turning his smile into a sneer, lips curling and bearing perfect white teeth. Iskall laughs, whooping and dancing. He already feels so much better, the rosy color returning to his cheeks and the brown of his beard flourishing. “Take that, creep!”

Dolios stares at the broken crystal, then drags his gaze to the architechs. “Do you know how long that took me to corrupt? And you two cretins destroy it on it’s maiden voyage?” He chuckles and closes his eyes. Sts a hand against the sun-shaped clasp at his throat. “I’ll admit, there’s more power in you than I thought, Iskall. Your strength would have been so filling for me and my creation, you’d make such a good husk. Shame I have to kill you now.” 

His eyes snap open, the hungry fervor for blood filling the ambered blue eyes. A predator stalking it’s prey, cornering it for the final blow. His smile holds no joy, none of the calm, charming light it masked the monster with. Now it was a cold snarl, teeth baring for his quarry.

Without a snap or a wave of his hand, Dolios’s circle appears and is cast. Power surges around the magistrate. He crosses the length of the clearing in two long strides. Grabbing Iskall by the collar and pinning him against a tree. “Why don’t you just hang awhile, Iskall?” 

Dolios steps back, a branch has grown through Iskall. Bloodsoaked leaves and wood snagged through clothes. Iskall no longer struggles. He no longer spits curses or taunts. His head is limp, eyes closed. 

Horror is written across Mumbo and Grian’s face. They knew Dolios was a murderer, a monster that was leading all of Lairyon behind a veil of prosperity, but to see it in action…

And he wasn’t done. He turns, and advances towards Mumbo. Grian tries to stop him, blowing gale force wind, but Dolios raises his hand. The blades of grass grow, forming a wall between him and Grian. Not even the feather shaped throwing knives could penetrate the greenery. 

A scream echoes the clearing.

Then the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. From behind the grassy screen, Dolios steps over a limp hand, redstone mixed with blood. The grass shrivels and dies, revealing Mumbo’s body. Despite the blood on his throat, Mumbo’s mustache was still perfectly combed. “Mumbo?” Grian whimpers, “Mumbo wake up.”

A weak whimper escapes Grian, forced to stare at his two best friends dead before him. And him- the guild healer- was unable to stop it. Grian’s vision turns red and purple. Dolios digs his shoes into Grian’s gut, sending him sprawling across the ground. “Now that they’re cared for, let’s get onto more important matters.” 

“I’ll cut you down!” Grian shouts, rising to his feet. Not a thought in his head, singularly focused on one thing- avenge his fallen brethren. One moment, Grian is halfway across the clearing. The next, his fist is colliding with Dolios, the force of a hurricane behind him. As his hand collides with Dolios, a crack of thunder echoes from the storm above. Summoned by Grian’s magic, the anger boiling with his blood. 

Lightning cascades from the sky. Ripping through the air, directed towards the magistrate. Volts of electricity barreling to destroy him where he stumbles back from the punch. 

The lightning strikes. 

Not Dolios. A shimmer of light ripples between the bolt and the magistrate, magical shield turning the lightning back on it’s wizard. The bolt bounces off the light shield, and strikes into Grian’s chest. One second Grian is standing, ready for any battle that Dolios offers. The next, he’s on the ground, body spasming against the shocks that run across his nerves, burns spreading from the impact. “You’re different from the last angel.” Dolios muses, snapping his finger. The husk nue, disappeared in the night until needed by it’s master, presses massive clawed feet onto Grian. Dragging sharp claws into his back and wounding him further. The primate face snarls, foaming for the hope to rip Grian to shreds. “At least you had the dignity to stand and fight. But in the end, I always get my quarry.”

Dolios turns away, flicking his hair over his shoulder and peeking back at Grian. And he starts to walk away. The shadow beast disappears, returning to it’s master’s side. Grian struggles to rise. “Where...get back here! I’m not done with you!” 

“No, but I am done with you. You’ve lost, little bird. You know where to find me- make it easier for yourself, and come without a fight. You’ve lost, just accept it.” Dolios turns away, stepping out of the clearing. 

And Grian is left alone. Left in the destruction, the death. Left in the shattered pieces of the crystal and his life. Left with himself, the only living soul, surrounded by his dead friends. Tears mix with blood, his chest aching and pain growing as he  heaves a sob up his throat before ripping across his lips. They lost. They may have destroyed the crystal, but Dolios got away, leaving only destruction and death in his wake. Like the very magic he spreads across Lairyon. 

Grian stumbles to his feet, his muscles refusing to work against the pain of the lightning bolt and the overwhelming grief. Blood falling from his back, strength sapping away. But this doesn’t have to be the end. Not for Grian, not for Iskall or Mumbo. Grian is a sky angel- a healer beyond all mortals. He just has to be fast enough, strong enough. 

He pulls Iskall free, collapsing under the weight and sorrow. Rolling his friend over, he places his hand on Iskall’s chest and focuses in.

 Light radiates from Grian, and halo appearing over his matted, bloody hair. His wings triple, spreading wide and exuding blinding energy. Each feather is alight in a holy flame, rays beaming from the halo and glowing white eyes opening. The angelic magic twists and dances down from Grian’s wings, running over his own wounds from battle and pulsating through to Iskall. 

Pain sears up Grian’s body, but he ignores it to focus on Iskall. Beneath his hands, Grian feels the wound close. Shrink until all that’s left is a raised scar. And then a heartbeat. Iskall’s chest rises and falls, shallow at first but growing deeper with each new breath. From the clutches of death. Iskall bolts upright, his dying cry falling from his lips. Faced with the sight of Grian’s archangel aura blinding him. 

Grian doesn’t pause, wings beating against the air and ground. He rises into the air, swooping over to Mumbo. Hands shaking, placing gentle fingers against the wound on Mumbo’s neck. Light sweeps from wings to fingertips, cascading across Grian’s own mortal wounds. Light as bright as the noonday sun, ebbing from Grian’s body and flowing into Mumbo’s corpse. 

A gasping breath rasps through Mumbo’s rattled body. He aches, his throat burning like he just choked on something dry and was whipped by a mishappen hand against his adam’s apple. Bright light blinds him. He blinks away the spots in his vision, hand reaching for his throat.

The last thing he remembers is something sharp against his skin, and the Magistrate’s cold, sharp grin in his vision. He doesn’t even know what happened to him until he sits up. Iskall nearly barrels him over, voice swirling around Mumbo but never really reaching him, just a din of death and decay. 

He died. Dolios killed him. Killed Iskall, then him. Cut them down without ever easing his smile. So how is Mumbo still alive? He and Iskall both look around, searching for their healer. They discover Grian crumpled between them both. The halo above his head shatters, light fading and feathers falling apart in the wind. Blood pools beneath Grian, his breath faint, eyes closed. Mumbo presses shaking, pale, cold fingers on the fallen angel’s chest. 

Nothing. No, wait. It’s still there. But faint. 

Iskall and Mumbo don’t waste a second. With Iskall carrying Grian, the architechs flee the forest. Begging for Grian to hold on, just a little longer.

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

Walking away from the clearing, Dolios smiles. That cool, calm smile he knows all of Lairyon is addicted to. Deceived by. He doesn’t need to deal with dragging Grian back to the nearest crystal- he’ll give himself up. Just like they all do, when their hopes are crushed and left with only giving up. Giving in to Dolios. He’ll turn himself in, and save Dolios so much time and effort. 

And Dolios cannot wait to finally have angel magic. He won’t waste such rare, unique abilities by simply sapping Grian’s lifeforce, turning him to a husk. No, he intends to take the magic for his own. Leaving nothing left but sky angel magic. His to claim, growing his repertoire. 

Dolios laughs, and places two crossed fingers over the golden sun that clasps his cape together. “That cretin that calls himself an angel is being quite the nuisance. But alas, I will succeed in taking his magic. And you would want me to succeed, right dear friend?”

He may have won this battle, but the war is far from over. Dolios’s smile fades. They’re getting too strong. Even with those three out of his way, he needs to deal with the hermits. 

Directly

[alpacaparkaseok]

Where you should be

Chapter 5: Latibule

Kinda a shorter one today, but the most important thing about today is it’s two people’s birthdays! Shoutout to Kim Taehyung (idk if you guys have heard of him) and @taylorroe3​! 🥳

Genre: Hobi x oc

Warnings: this series contains stalking, blackmail, and similar stressful/fear inducing situations. Also unrequited love, which is perhaps the most terrifying of all.

Word Count: 2.7k

Latibule(n.): a hiding place, a place of comfort and safety

I’ve learned three very important details since exiting the building.

First, the man’s name is Jihun.

Second, Jihun worked for Source Entertainment’s CEO, So Sung-jin. He was his bodyguard.

And lastly, Jihun has since been fired.

Oh, and one bonus fact: he’s not very happy about it.

“-There is nothing worse than coming home to your wife - who’s six months pregnant, by the way - and telling her that your supposed steady job was suddenly bought out by another company. Except for one thing, maybe.” Jihun glares down at me, continuing to walk around the building. “Would you like to know what’s worse?”

I’m sure he can see me swallowing down the lump in my throat as I slowly nod my head. My hands are shaking and numb from the cold, but I refuse to put them in my pockets in case I need to somehow defend myself.

“What’s worse,” Jihun spits out, “is telling her that your job won’t be under fire. Telling her that So Sung-jin will still keep you, because he’s still the CEO, isn’t he? Why wouldn’t he need a bodyguard anymore? Well, I suppose he does. Just one.”

Everything begins to make sense with that statement. “...but before he had-”

“Eight.” Jihun stops, coming to stand in front of me. “Eight full-time bodyguards for him and the other officers of Source. How do you tell the man you’ve been protecting for years that he should fire everyone else except for you? Tell me, how would I go about going behind my friends’ backs like that?”

I blink up at him, taking a small step back and cursing myself when Jihun notices and steps closer. “I- I don’t know-”

Jihun laughs loudly, the sound harsh. “You don’t know? You?” He bends down just enough so we’re eye-level, and I flinch at what I see behind those eyes. “Don’t act innocent with me, Jung Ha-rin. Did Bighit promise you that all the jobs would be secure for those of us left at Source? Or did you not even bother asking when Jung Hoseok flashed his smile-”

“What do you want from me?!” I shout, seeing red. “I didn’t do anything-”

Jihun smirks, straightening back up as though feeling quite pleased with himself. “80% of the little people at Source lost their jobs thanks to you. Source may not have lost their company, but we lost jobs. Bodyguards, caterers, program coordinators, all gone. Source didn’t need all of us anymore, not when Bighit started taking care of them.”

He’s nearly panting now, but there’s a gleam of victory in his eyes. Like he’s got me right where he wants me.

“I...I’m sorry.” I choke out, my heart thumping like a rabbit. “I really am. I had no idea...I didn’t know. I didn’t think about everyone else. But, I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?”

Jihun’s eyes focus on me like a hawk. I’m sure I’m the little hare now, running for my life while he swoops in with his gleaming talons.

“You know what So Sung-jin said to me when I told him that I couldn’t afford to lose my job?” He pauses for a moment, but continues on with spite dripping from his tongue. “He told me to take it up with her. He said that if I needed a job so badly, I should take it up with the girl who started this whole mess.”

Jihun steps back, laughing a little as he looks to the skies. I take a step backward, but he looks back down at me with a snap of his head, silently daring me to try to run.

“It took me so long to find you, Jung Ha-rin. Bang Si-hyuk was smart, he made sure your ‘promotion’ seemed natural. Who in their right mind would buy out an entire company for one little producer? But there was always something about it that confused me. As it turns out, there were a few of us that were a little suspicious. So while we struggled to find new work, we found each other. And we began to look into things a bit more.”

I remember with a start the other two intruders who had left notes at my studio. They must have been other previous employees at Source. It would appear that Jihun found some friends to investigate with him.

“By the time we began to formulate an idea, you had already disappeared. ‘Sunny’ appeared in your place, but we couldn’t find anything to prove our point. That is, until I saw you outside of your apartment.”

Chills run up and down my spine as I remember all those nights I saw Jihun wandering up and down my street like a hound following a scent.

“It was the only good thing that came out of this mess. You see, my wife left me not long ago. I can hardly provide for our small family, turns out fired bodyguards aren’t in high demand. So now if I want to see my daughter, I have to travel to the other side of Seoul. Luckily for me, that’s where you live. Imagine my luck when I saw that you were not only still around, but that you had Jung Hoseok wrapped around your little finger!”

Jihun takes a moment to glance around, making sure we have no unwanted visitors listening in on our conversation. “So what do I want you to do?” He tilts his head, sizing me up. “Fix this. You’ve proven your ability to worm your way into whatever you want; now it’s time for you to think about somebody else for once in your life.”

“But how-”

“Oh, there you are!” Hajoon sticks his head out the door, smiling at me. “Adora’s looking for you. Everything alright?”

Staring at Hajoon with wide eyes, I shake my head as lightly as possible. “Hajoon, would you mind coming out here for a second?”

As Hajoon steps outside, Jihun chuckles. “It was nice catching up with you, Ha-rin. I’ll email the details to you later, ok? Unless you want me to just send off the photos?”

Jihun looks comfortable in his act, but as he tilts his phone to me I understand why. Right there is perhaps the most incriminating photo of all: me clinging to Hoseok as we sit in his car the night Jihun approached us. How he got a photo of us I have no idea, but I have a hunch that one of his little friends might have been present and with a camera handy.

“No!” I shout, Hajoon faltering in his steps as he nears. “I, uh...I’ll take a look at the email first.”

“Sounds great!” Jihun turns on his heel, waving at me over his shoulder. “See you later!”

I watch as he walks away, his back straight and shoulders back. Hajoon comes to stand beside me, utterly oblivious.

“Adora’s on the-”

“Hajoon.”

“Yes?”

I turn to him, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes. “I...I need to talk to Bang PD. Now.”

♟

“What do you mean-”

“I mean,” I say through gritted teeth, “that this is worse than we thought! And it’s all my stupid fault!”

Bang Si-hyuk stares up at me from his desk, Hajoon standing just outside the closed door to deter any visitors. As soon as I uttered the words ‘blackmail’ and j-hope, he was quick to invite me in.

“Ha-rin, I need you to sit down and breathe for a second. Can you do that?” I begrudgingly take a seat, staring down at my hands. “Thank you. First off, this is not your fault. If anyone is to take the blame, it should be between So So-jin and I. Not you.”

“But he said-”

“Are you really about to believe what some maniac stalker said to you?” Bang Si-hyuk gives me a look that perfectly explains how crazy he thinks that makes me.

I shrug, fighting the tears that have been threatening to fall for a while now. “I...I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Bang PD’s eyes soften for a moment as he takes in my shaken state. “We’ll work through this. I promise. For now, we need to work through this with Hoseok.”

Nearly choking on my spit, I glare up at him. “What? Why? This is about me-”

“And him! He is in those photos as well, Sunny. He’s being exploited too, and he deserves to be aware of the situation.” He leans forward, looking at me with an analyzing stare. “What do you have against Jung Hoseok?”

“...nothing.”

“Good.”

♟

By the time Hobi’s knocking on Bang PD’s door, I feel like I’ve successfully turned into a stone. My neck refuses to move as I hear the door open, my eyes remain trained forward as I offer up a prayer to whoever’s listening.

This is a dream, this is a dream this is-

“Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice,” Mr. Bang says, gesturing for him to take a seat. “How’s it going?”

I can hear the confusion in Hobi’s voice as he takes a seat. “I - great. Things are great. What’s all of this about?”

In my peripheral I can see him looking at me, but I refuse to look at him. The second I do, he’ll see right through me.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed in recent months that Sunny has acquired a bodyguard?”

Hoseok is silent as he processes the information. “Is everything ok?”

If this were a perfect world, I’d be sinking through the floor and disappearing right around now. However, it isn’t, and I’m still stuck here with my cheeks burning red as I dread what’s about to come next.

“We’ve dealt with similar situations in the past, but this time around there are certain factors at play that I must admit we’ve never encountered before. The two of you are close, are you not?”

Our shocked silence answers his question.

“It would appear that a few people with a grudge against Bighit and Sunny have noticed that. Now they are using that information against us.”

Hoseok sits up straight, his gaze jumping between the two of us. “Who? And how? We don’t hardly see each other as is. This is probably just some weird threat, don’t you think?”

Bang PD shakes his head, looking grave. “Sunny, would you mind logging into your email for me?” He motions for me to come around his desk. Rising on shaky legs, it’s a miracle that I’m able to make it over to his side without collapsing.

Hoseok’s gaze is like a hot brand as I log into my email, but I refuse to look at him. Not as the memory of that night in his apartment is playing over and over again in my mind.

Of course all of this had to blow up right as things were finally getting better between us.

“There you go,” I mumble, going back to my seat.

“Hoseok, take a look at this.”

Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to stand beside Bang PD, shuffling past me as he makes his way over to him. I instinctively hold my breath as he leans down to see what’s on the screen.

Hoseok’s eyes shutter as he sees the photos Jihun sent along with the email as a nice little reminder of why I should follow his instructions.

I watch as Hobi shuts down, his worried demeanor slowly turning cold and distant until he strides back to his chair and sits with a determined expression.

“What’s the plan?”

Bang PD leans back in his chair, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Well, first off, I need to know what all of this is about. I understand that photos like these can be misinterpreted, but I can’t help but think that the two of you haven’t been completely honest with me. Is that correct?”

Silence reigns in the office as neither one of us deign to answer him. Bang PD sighs, pulling his phone out and searching for something while we drown in the silence.

My eyes are burning holes into the wooden desk before me, and I wonder for a moment if this is what people standing before the guillotine felt like as they awaited their execution. Bang Si-hyuk sits before us, the unwavering executioner with his list of convictions. As he finds what he was looking for on his phone, I know for a fact that there is nowhere left for me to run. For a year now, I’ve hid everything away. I’ve done it well, I think.

I suppose I could only run for so long.

“Thirteen months ago I received a message from you, Sunny.” Hoseok stiffens beside me as he undoubtedly does the math in his head. We both know what happened thirteen months ago. “You were very worried as you had been spotted with Hoseok. You were quite convincing in asking me to not retaliate against Hoseok, and I didn’t even stop to ask myself why you were so quick to worry about him. You stated, ‘Hoseok is my close friend and has acted as a mentor for me during my time as Bighit. Please do not blame him for his kindness. I understand the terms of my contract, and I still respect them. I do not have feelings for him.’”

The small office has suddenly turned into the unforgiving tundra as Bang PD fixes me with an icy stare. Hoseok remains closed off and cold beside me, although I can see the way his hands have turned into fists against his thighs.

“I need you to realize all that is at stake here, Sunny.” Bang PD looks at me with a hawk’s glare, but I refuse to squirm in my seat like some child. “Were you telling me the truth that night?”

I’m pretty sure Hobi has stopped breathing as he waits to hear my answer. For so long now, I’ve known that I was lying.

For thirteen months, I’ve been living that lie.

I’m so tired.

Were you telling me the truth that night?

For the first time in what feels like ages, I shed the mask I’ve held onto so tightly.

“No.”

Bang PD’s eyes widen. “Am I correct in assuming that at the time of this message, you did indeed harbor feelings for Hoseok?”

So quiet in here. I wonder for a moment if they can hear my heart beating like a hammer. My mouth opens, but no words come out.

“I need an answer, Sunny. If we’re going to make it through this mess, we need to untangle your web of-”

“That’s enough.”

Hoseok’s eyes appear to be aflame as he sits up in his seat, slowly rising until he’s glaring down at Bang Si-hyuk.

“What do you mean-”

“I mean,” Hoseok hisses out, and there I can finally see it. That side of him that I’ve heard people whisper about. “That if you want to get ‘through this mess’, as you so beautifully stated, you don’t need to interrogate people for information you already know. This is a ploy for money and to take down your company, so I’d suggest that you take the necessary action to defend it before it’s too late.”

The frozen tundra has suddenly burst into flames as Hoseok turns to me, a sound that almost sounds like a sigh of relief pushing past his lips as he nods at me. “I think you should head home, it sounds like you’ve had a long day. I’ll have someone bring a car around for you.”

I get up and follow him out, hardly daring to look at him as he holds the door open for me. Band PD sits as his desk in silence as we exit.

Hajoon stands beside the door with a wide-eyed gaze, looking between the two of us as though expecting an explanation.

“Would you please retrieve Ha-rin’s things from her studio and bring them out to my car?”

Hajoon scurries away, and I look up at Hobi to see him slowly starting to calm down. “Your car?” My voice is scratchy as I ask the question, almost sounding like I haven’t spoken in years. 

Hobi’s gaze turns soft as he looks down at me, and I find myself able to breathe easier as I glimpse the kind friend that always showed up with a bag of food at my studio door.

“Can we talk?”

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[twokinkybeans]

Stark On Ice: Starker Figure Skating AU Chapter 1

Summary: Six months ago, the broadcasters asked Tony to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off.

He didn't expect them to take his answer seriously.

Masterpost (to be posted) Find On AO3

---

Chapter One: Let Me Entertain You Tony readjusts his jacket as he walks into the large building that is the Midtown Ice Arena. It’s a few minutes before 7 AM, and he already downed a triple espresso on his way here - amusedly ignoring Happy’s complaints about it being so damn early. He will give the man a raise soon. Tony can’t say he’s a morning person, but having to get up this early every single day for three months in a row helps to get used to it. Today is different, though. He feels jittery and on-edge just thinking about today’s events. It’s the final rehearsal. Tonight he’s going to skate in front of the entirety of the States. He knows many people won’t even bother to watch the TV series, but the idea has him slightly nauseous anyway. His first live show…

Live show.

Tony chuckles sarcastically at himself as he sits down on one of the benches in the changing room. Live show. Six months ago, the broadcasters asked him to participate in Celebrity Spin-Off; an annual TV series where celebrities get paired up with a professional figure skater and compete against each other. Well, he’d laughed in their faces, wondering why they’d even ask. Were they really that stupid? He had better things to do. “If you can find me a male skater who lets me lead, I’m in,” he’d scoffed sarcastically to brush them off. 

He’s still not sure why they took his answer seriously, but they had. Tony Stark doesn’t back out of a promise, though. So, here he is, lacing up his skates after three months of intensive training, ready to work through his choreo together with his assigned partner Peter Parker. From what Tony’s heard, Peter is a pretty big deal in the skating world. He’s a sweet, enthusiastic 21-year-old who has enough talent and skill in pair skating to participate in the Olympics, yet he’d chosen not to. Instead, he tours across the US with Stars On Ice, coaches young kids at Midtown, and has a YouTube channel where he and his partner MJ post routines with traditional gender roles reversed.  Tony admires Peter’s passion. The man doesn’t like other people very fast, but Peter was something else entirely. He’s endearing in a way. It’s easy to like him. Which, thank god, is a positive thing. They’ve had to train together for a minimum of eighteen hours for the past three months - both on ice and off. Tony had been surprised to see that the theory classes and off-rink practice were just as important.

When Tony finishes lacing up his skates he walks towards the rink, finally knowing how to do that without looking like a waddling duck. A smile creeps onto his face when he spots his partner on the ice already. The boy moves around ever so graciously, practicing his triple axel. A few days prior, Peter told him he hadn’t done it in a while, and he and MJ intend to use it in their new YouTube tutorial, so he’s been wanting to perfect his landing. It’s not like he pops it, but the boy isn’t content very easily. Tony enjoys watching him rehearse no matter how he lands. He’s so beautiful out there. Like he was born to skate. After landing perfectly three times, Peter slows down to give himself a short break, and that’s when he spots Tony at the entrance. The man waves awkwardly and Peter grins. “Mornin’, grumpy-head!” Peter laughs as he skates towards him.  “Well, look at you. Always a beaming ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” “You know me too well, Mr. Stark. Hope you didn’t forget to apply your sunscreen today!” Peter jokes, jumping off the ice to give Tony a short hug. Tony hates to admit he likes that Peter greets him like that every single day. The boy isn’t scared of him, unlike most other people. Another reason why Tony likes him. He grunts as a response to the joke and nudges Peter. “Think it’s time to start training. Steve here yet?” Tony asks, looking around to see if he spots their coach. Peter shakes his head. “No, his car broke down a few blocks from Midtown, he’ll be here soon enough. Let’s start warming up so we can dive right into the sequence when he gets here.” “Yes, coach.”

-

“Why- Why do these outfits have to be so glittery,” Tony jests as he eyes himself in the mirror. He’s wearing a tight and stretchy black button-up with thick, gold seams and shiny gold beads all over it. Thank god his pants are a simple plain black. Peter is adjusting his hair right next to him. The metallic gold tee hugs the boy’s skin so incredibly tight that Tony can’t help his gaze from wandering down a little, peeking at the boy’s gorgeous abs. Peter grins as he follows Tony’s gaze. “Well, I guess that’s why,” Peter retorts, and Tony blushes. He sniffs, staring at his own reflection again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Says the man who asked for a male partner. I still don’t-” “Oh shush,” Tony cuts him off playfully and waves his hand in the air. Peter simply chuckles and finishes styling his curls. They’re silent for a moment and Tony’s thoughts wander. He hadn’t meant to stare like that. Yes, he was bisexual but that doesn’t mean he liked Peter like that. They were already making headlines on entertainment websites. He can’t even imagine what’d happen if they’d actually feel something for each other. That’d be insane and highly unprofessional. The kid is too young, and- No. Tony doesn’t even have to make excuses for himself. Peter is nice. That’s it. 

Thinking about them making the news doesn’t exactly settle his nerves. People are interested in them. Tony Stark on skates must be high-end entertainment for many people in itself, but the fact that they’re a male couple… He knows the public’s eye is on them tonight. “So tell me, kid. How does one contain nerves for a show, uh?” Tony asks, trying to keep it casual but failing massively. A gentle smile tugs on Peter’s lips. “Experience. Trusting yourself,” he starts. “You know, Tony. You won’t be flawless tonight. But that’s okay, remember? No one will be. Flawless is not what we aim for. Chemistry. Engaging the public, and-” “-just having fun on the ice,” Tony finishes for him with a nod. Peter has told him this many times before, but the reminder does settle his nerves. Tony’s a beginner, but he’s got the name and his charm. And Peter... They’ve got a pretty good shot. “Exactly. Now, tell me- what are you most nervous about?” “Honestly?” “Well, yes.” “Dropping you.” Peter sighs and takes a step closer to Tony.  “You won’t. You’ve only dropped me once, and I wasn’t even hurt. Even if it were to happen, I know how to take a fall. We’ll be alright. You’re one of the best skaters in this competition. You’re gonna ace this.” “Thank you, Pete. Hey, for what it counts, I’m glad you’re my skating partner.” “And I’m glad you’re mine.”

-

Tony’s throat is dry, his heart beating rapidly in his chest when his fingers tangle into Peter’s. The boy is so close to him, just like during practice. It grounds him. The floor manager smiles at them. “Good luck out there, you ready for it?” Tony nods, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Smile. He should smile. Peter squeezes his hands once and Tony takes a deep breath. He’s got this. They’ve got this. The floor manager signals, “-Standing by…” Oh, God. This is it. Tony sniffs. His hands feel sweaty, his stomach knots together once more. As much as he appears to be comfortable in public, the moment right before always has him on edge. Any moment now. His gaze focused on the floor manager. Waiting for her cue.  “And go!”

Tony forces his most charming smile on his face when he skates forward in unison with Peter, the cheers of the audience enveloping him. They stop in the center of the rink and he guides Peter in front of him. The boy’s arms are crossed in front of his chest. Tony puts a hand on Peter’s right shoulder. It’s quiet for a second, but then the familiar tune starts playing and Tony licks his lips. Peter smirks, pushing his skates into the ice to circle around the man, Tony’s gaze tracking him until he’s in front once again.

Hell is gone and heaven’s here There’s nothing left for you to fear Shake your arse come over here Now scream 

Peter twirls and presses into Tony’s side. They grin at each other and skate forward, towards the edge of the rink. Tony’s nerves finally settle when he focuses on just how smooth Peter glides over the ice. The loud music cuts off the sounds of their blades crushing the frozen surface beneath them, but Tony hears it in his mind instead. He knows exactly where to turn, where to move. Peter sends him a little nod right before they go into the crossovers. Tony doesn’t like crossovers all that much, it makes him feel stiff and uncoordinated. Yet, somehow his body seems to do it on autopilot today, simply mimicking Peter’s lead. 

I’m a burning effigy Of everything I used to be You’re my rock of empathy, my dear

Tony feels powerful in a way, his movements loosening up with every passing second. It’s time for their waltz jump. He turns around to transition into backward crosscuts and then shifts his weight from the right outer edge to the left one, throwing his right leg up in front. He gasps when he feels how smoothly he lifts off the ice. He’s flying through the air, weightless, and a quick glance confirms that Peter is too. When his right foot hits the ice again, he bends his right knee and extends his left leg behind him. The applause envelopes him like a warm blanket and the adrenaline coursing through his veins is an exhilarating sensation. He did it. He did it!

So come on let me entertain you Let me entertain you Let me entertain you

Tony turns around again to find Peter skating in his direction with a proud and goofy grin on his face. Tony’s heart leaps out of his chest when he realizes his partner is just as impressed as he is. Their hands find each other as they increase their speed to make it through another set of crossovers. Tony doesn’t even worry about them anymore at this point. Everything is just fucking amazing. 

Let me entertain you Let me entertain you (let me entertain you) So come on let me entertain you (let me entertain you) Let me entertain you (let me entertain you)

Tony takes a deep breath when he realizes it’s time for their lift. He sets off for his continuous three turns and feels how Peter starts leaning into him. The man prepares for the boy to jump up from the ice gracefully. When Peter does so, he easily catches him and they spin into their rotational lift. Tony loves this one - loves to have Peter in his arms bridal style while spinning around and around and around while remembering his words. Don’t be afraid of the speed. Stalling is falling. Tony doesn’t feel like they’re falling. No, it feels like they’re floating, setting off for space.

Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on Come on come on come on come on

Peter moves slightly, indicating it’s time for Tony to help him back down again. They transition into forward strokes toward the center once more and slow down. Their arms are spread wide proudly. Peter then circles Tony just like he did in the beginning, leaning into Tony’s side when the music comes to an end. He can’t help wrapping an arm around him to pull him in closer, bathing in the applause and the cheers that are thrown their way. Oh my god. They pulled it off. He can’t believe they did it. Of course, he doesn’t have Peter’s finesse but fuck. As Peter would say, they aced it. Together. 

---

Next Chapter: To Be Posted

[tocrackerboxpalace]

Le Rêve - Part 8

Summary: A desperate Paul tries to make things right.

Part 8/8. A big thank you to those of you that have followed along, and I hope you enjoy the ending! :)

With the dreary weather came added traffic, and despite the monetary incentive, the cab ride took a little over an hour and a half.

Paul grumbled a less-than-polite “Thank you” as he pushed his way out of the car and back into the rain, which had slowed to a bearable drizzle now. He waited a moment for the cab to drive off, feeling oddly insecure about his destination. The car disappeared around the bend, and before he could get around to feeling silly about the gesture, Paul leaned over and carefully plucked a handful of flowers from the neighbors’ rosebush. Cautious not to nick himself on the thorns, he arranged them in a disheveled bouquet and took a deep breath.

The thick trees loomed over him as he quickly checked both ways and crossed the street. The long and winding walkway seemed to stretch out for miles in front of him, growing farther away each time he blinked the droplets out of his eyelashes. Never had the walk up the drive seemed so insurmountable.

When Paul finally reached the front door, he noticed his hands were shaking. His pulse picked up as he knocked sharply, and he stepped back to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Paul felt tears of frustration burn against his lower eyelids. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected—he hadn’t called (reasoning being he didn’t think John would have picked up), and who was he to assume that John had simply gone home after what had just happened? Who was he to assume anything?

“Fuck,” Paul murmured aloud, wiping his nose on his sleeve and turning to go. “This is ridiculous.”

He managed to take one step before the sound of a latch rattled through the air, and the door creaked open.

“Paul?”

Paul spun around instantly, whipping the bouquet around his back. “Hm?”

Cynthia eyed the strange angle of Paul’s elbow as she mindlessly dried her hands on a dish rag. She took a cautious half-step out the door eyes flicking around the porch, presumably surveying to see if anyone else had accompanied him.

“It’s bloody miserable out here,” she noted, dropping the air of perplexity in an instant, though her eyes kept trailing to the bend of his arm that hid the flowers. “Come on, let’s get you inside. I was just making supper.”

Shaken out of his daze, Paul adopted a charming, gracious persona and ushered her back inside with an “after you” wave of a hand. Cynthia spun on her heel, throwing the towel over her shoulder and disappearing into the house. Paul followed not far behind, careful to drop the roses into the bushes before ducking under the doorway.

“John’s around here somewhere,” she called over her shoulder as Paul removed his shoes and coat. “Are you two writing together tonight? He’s been in a sour mood ever since he got back from the studio today. I figured he’d cancelled anything.”

Paul felt a massive wave of guilt wash over him. The picture of John’s face, just before he’d run out, burned behind his eyelids: the mixture of fear and shame and disappointment and hurt. Paul had spent the first hour and a half alone in the studio trying to push the image from his mind.

Cynthia blinked at him patiently, and he realized that she was waiting for an answer.

Paul cleared his throat unceremoniously, neither party acknowledging that he hadn’t brought anything besides himself. “Erm, yes. Writing. Maybe he’s forgotten.”

“I wish he’d tell me these things,” she muttered, half to herself, turning back towards the direction of the kitchen. “Be nice to be a bit prepared for guests.”

Paul shot her what he hoped was a convincing smile. “Cyn, am I really a guest to you, after all these years? Besides, ‘m not hungry anyway, thanks.”

She gave him a playful grin over her shoulder in return. “Right. I’d still like to be a good hostess, even if it’s just for family.”

The way she said “family” turned Paul’s stomach inside out. He felt a sudden chill settle over his body, sending a shudder down his spine. The innocent, welcoming, familial smile on Cynthia’s face no longer seemed any of those things, but instead made him want to curl into a ball, or take off running and never look back. It seemed to hit him all at once—Cynthia, Julian, John. A husband and a father. And his best mate. What had he come to accomplish? What did he think was going to happen? Paul suddenly felt nauseous, and the memory of John’s breathy curses as Paul pulled him to the brink of orgasm flashed through his mind.

Shit. What was he doing here?

“Y’know, actually,” Paul started, taking a step back and stumbling over a stray toy that only made him feel worse. “He’s probably in no state to write, if he’s all worked up, so I should really get going, sorry to bother—”

“What are you doing here?”

Paul and Cynthia both froze, neither hearing the man enter the room, but neither missing the bitterness of his voice, either.

John stood a step or two behind Cynthia, almost protectively, peering over her shoulder at Paul with a frostiness he’d only seen in recent arguments. Paul only stared back helplessly, wordlessly, everything that he wanted to say rendered unspeakable in the presence of the third party.

The three of them stood in that arrangement for a solid minute, no one daring to speak. Paul watched Cynthia shift uncomfortably at the tension, witnessing something she was clearly not privy to. To Paul’s relief (or dismay?), she quickly muttered something about checking on the food and excused herself from the hostility.

“We need to talk,” Paul said quietly, as soon as she was out of earshot.

John’s gaze followed his wife’s path out of the entryway. His eyes flicked back to Paul’s, angry, hesitant. Paul held his breath as he waited for the man to explode, exposing himself and his partner and all of the fucked up mess they’d gotten themselves in.

Instead, John sighed defeatedly. “Fine. Let’s go for a walk.”

—

Paul wracked his brain for something to say.

The ground moulded softly to their feet, sticks and leaves dampened by the earlier downpour and less than vocal. There was an eerie echo in the air, the kind of atmosphere that only exists after a heavy rain, when one is made aware of just how earthly the world is. The sounds were naught, the wind was still, the smell fragrant and sharp. Typically a pleasure, the serenity of the environment only seemed to mock the tension between them.

He knew he needed to be the first to talk. In the context of everything that had happened, Paul figured he had needed to be the first to talk a lot. He knew that John was expecting, even if he wasn’t sure of what to expect, and Paul needed to deliver. Something, at least.

But where to start? Because, “Hey, mate, sorry for not saying I love you back,” felt like a pretty shit place to start.

After two more minutes of walking in silence, Paul started to wonder if a place to start was as good as anything.

He cleared his throat, sensing John tense beside him at the sudden sound. Neither lifted their eyes. Now that he had John’s attention, it was now or never.

“I—erm. I’m sorry. For not saying it.”

John shook his head, but the way his features softened in amusement didn’t go unnoticed by Paul, who suddenly felt like crying with relief. Especially at the next remark. “Shit place to start, mate.”

“Figured why beat around the bush, right? Straight to the point, it is,” Paul joked, unable to suppress his giddiness at the tease of normalcy.

“Trying new things, are we?” John quipped, an edge to his voice.

Ah, the tease of normalcy. Exactly as it sounded.

“John, I—”

“Why?” John interrupted, halting suddenly. He turned towards Paul, his eyes dull with smoldering anger. Residual anger accumulated and compressed into the coals that were confronting him now. Paul felt dumbfounded, and a bit fearful.

“I-Why what?”

John gestured helplessly around them. His voice sounded extremely tired. “Why this? All of it?”

Paul heard the question for what it was. Why me?

“I love you.”

“Bullshit.”

“No,” Paul insisted, taking a step forward. They froze, neither knowing what he would do next. John’s eyes were wide, almost as if his fight or flight instinct was scrutinizing Paul’s every move. After a beat of silence, Paul scoffed and stepped backwards once more. “I mean it.”

“Why didn’t you say it?” John sounded pouty, like a child. Insulted.

“Because!” The word came out much stronger than Paul intended, shocking even himself. He took a shaky breath and raised a hand to his mouth to nibble on his thumbnail as he sorted it out. He began to pace, John’s eyes following him back and forth expectantly. He tried again.

“Because, I don’t know what to do with that feeling. I don’t know how to feel about you. I never have. Even from the moment I saw you, and you looked so fit with the guitar and the quiff and the way you were singing ‘Come Go With Me’ directly to me. And you weren’t, but it felt like it. And I’d never been so nervous in my entire life than when I talked to you after. Because you were John, the lad I’d seen on the bus and at the shop and on the streets, the lad I’d heard about but never actually met. And when I did meet you? It was like everything had fallen into place. Me mum, me dad, school, a career, war; all the things in life that were a drag to me weren’t even there anymore. Because I was in a band with the great John Lennon!

“And I came to hate anyone that had you more than I did. I can’t get on with people because of it—Pete Shotton never shut his gob about all your wild misadventures together, and I’d want to punch a bloody hole in the wall when I would see your eyes on Stu during ‘Love Me Tender’. And I feel so fuckin’ bad to this day for the way I treated Geo when he showed us his first song, but I couldn’t have someone else to compete with for you. I couldn’t. Because I need to be around you, John. I need to be yours as much as you are mine.

“And it’s only grown in all the years. At first, I needed you to like me. Then, I needed you to be proud of me. Then I needed you to trust me, as your equal, and come to me for things and with things. And for us to have the silent little conversations, and to be in tune with one another, and to know you better than I know myself and be known by you. And I still need all of those things, but there’s a new element. Now there’s the want.And maybe it started with some stupid fuckin’ dream but my feelings didn’t stay there. And it took a lot of reflection, to put these feelings into perspective. I've had a lot of time to think, recently. But now I recognize them for what they are. And I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, John. No one ever tells you that when you really love someone, there’s a lot more to it than just love. Or maybe all that is love. But if-if this, between us? If it’s not love, then-then I’m not sure what is.”

There was a long beat of silence. John gazed up at him with an unreadable expression.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Paul wrung his hands out in front of him, only now noticing how badly they were shaking. His chest heaved as though he’d only just finished a marathon. Fuck, indeed. “Mm.”

“The roses were cute,” John remarked, after a moment. A teasing smile threatened to envelop his features.

Paul stopped in his tracks, feeling his mouth form a surprised “o” as his mind fought for an excuse. Whatever he expected John to say after all that, that was not it.

Finally, he settled on something just as suave and poetic as his earlier monologue: “Huh?”

“Saw ‘em through the window,” he answered dismissively. “Bit queer. But, cute nonetheless.”

Paul blushed furiously, chastising the all-too-large part of himself that craved romanticism.

“I would’ve forgiven you, anyroad. Even without the roses,” John added quietly, his gaze dropping. He gave the ground a crooked smile. “Maybe not for a while, and maybe not all the way. But I can’t… help me self around you. I can’t explain it. And it’s absolutely awful, y’know. It’s been hard for me, too. Because I know that even if you just…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Used me, I’d still come back to you. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be right pissed for a while. It’d hurt like hell, but not as much as being away from you. Not as much as whatever has happened between us.”

The confession was painful. Paul felt a sharp twinge in his heart, almost as if it was the blade that he’d placed there himself. The idea that these past few weeks John had been moping around, ignoring him, reciprocating every effort to ensure that they were never alone, had been because John had thought he was being used. That Paul wanted him, but not in the same way that he wanted Paul.

He didn’t know what else to do.

John breath hitched as his back slammed into the stone wall, but his gasp was cut short as Paul’s lips devoured his own. His mind short-circuited, nothing more in the world existing at that moment than John, John, John. It’s over now, he wanted to comfort, to take John’s head in his hands and stroke the beautiful auburn hair behind his ears and thumb a stray tear from his cheek before placing a honey-sweet kiss on his trembling lips. You don’t have to feel that way anymore. And all he could do in the moment was try to convey that recognition through the kiss.

Fuck it if it would complicate things. Fuck it if they had to hide. Fuck it if it had to end someday. Because right now, all that mattered was John and Paul. As they were meant to be.

John hesitated only a millisecond before back fervently, almost as if he was afraid they would drift away from one another if he gave it any less effort. His tongue was elusive, licking into Paul’s mouth in all the right places but retreating as Paul chased it with his own. Their torsos were a mess of hands and body, pulling restlessly at one another every which way. Paul couldn’t get enough—he was too deliriously happy that they simply weren’t fighting anymore.

As the desperation began to subside, and the boys realized that they were both finally going to stay, the kisses gradually grew light and chaste. Paul felt lightheaded when they finally broke away for a deep breath. John gazed up at him, perfectly picturesque. His cheeks were flushed, lips pink and shiny, his breath coming out in short puffs between them in the shared air. Neither one of them dared speak, as they’d ruined far less important reunions than this with far too many words. The shared silence said more than words could, anyway. Neither had to explain the gravity of the situation to feel it.

Paul wasn’t sure when it had happened, but their fingers were laced together. Gently, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, he lowered them to the ground. Neither minded too much about the rain or the leaves or the damp dirt as they curled into one another, backs against the stone wall. They spent a long time listening to one another’s breathing as it slowed, watching rivulets of rainwater snake from leaf to leaf before pooling at their feet. Everything was okay.

“Paul?”

“Hm?” His fingers traced lazy circles on the soft underside of John’s forearm. His eyes were open, staring at a beading droplet, but they felt locked in a daze that was a cross between asleep and awake.

“Paul.”

Paul groaned at the insistency, a twinge of annoyance stirring in his chest at the interrupted bliss. “Yes?”

“What now?”

Paul blew a long stripe of air out of his lips. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I rather don’t want to consider it. The implications of it,” he rephrased quickly, panic welling up in his throat at the similarity of another “forget it” line. It threatened to bring a whole mess of neural connections that he simply didn’t want to deal with, namely: the awkwardness of the car ride and his resultantly strained relationship with Brian; the tensions in the group and an explanation for their soon-to-be-easing; the way George’s eyes slipped in between them more often than ever, but this time with an air of trauma; how the hell they were going to keep this to themselves if they were so god-awful at it already. Yes, better not to consider the implications yet.

John nodded in understanding. He waited a moment before speaking again.

“Cyn and I…”

As John trailed off, Paul’s eyes shot wide with alarm. His head whipped around to face John with a terror he hoped didn’t present as dramatic as it felt. No, no, no, why was he bringing her up? Why? When finally, finally everything was going well?

John refused to meet his gaze, and Paul waited patiently for the dreaded words of regret to come.

“We’re done for.”

Paul blinked uncomprehendingly.

“I mean,” John began, scratching the back of his neck. “Not officially, or anythin’. But I can see it. We’ve been cold for a while now, an’ it’s only a matter of time ‘fore she up and leaves me. We haven’t talked about it. But… I’ve been with her for ages, Paul. I know her at this point. There’s nothing left.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Paul asked quietly.

“Because you’re not just some bird, Paul!” John immediately flushed, realizing how silly the words sounded out loud, especially in the wake of their earlier conversation. He tried to backtrack, speaking slowly, explanatory. “I mean—I… Listen. I haven’t been the best to Cyn. There’s been loads of others, but it never meant anything. And you and I? I don’t know what this is.” He laughed, suddenly, as if the realization was just now striking. “Christ, do I not know. But it’s too good and too right. And I feel like I owe it to ya—to us—to cut the ties that may be stronger, even if it’s ties of a meaningless institution. I jus’—I dunno. I don’t want you thinking I keep you around for a good fuck and a song or two.”

Paul felt a wide grin spread across his features, and not only at the messy comment. He elected not the mention the way his stomach flipped upside down at the way John had said “us”. Instead, he chuckled lightly, and fished around in his pocket for a ciggie.

“And what a way with words he has. Ladies and gentleman, the better half of the world’s most famous songwriting duo!”

John scowled playfully. “Oh, piss off. How’s this for a rephrase: On account of our complicated and lustful affair of cosmic proportions, I would love it if you considered yourself an exquisite lady of the night proficient in excellent lovemaking and even more excellent intellectual stimulation and is paid with reciprocation rather than meaningless currency.”

Paul frowned around the fag as he focused on lighting it. “Worse. Much worse.”

John gave him a cheeky wink and flicked the end of his nose, causing Paul to gasp and drop the butt end of the cigarette onto his chest, leaving an angry black mark on the shirt. Paul jerked from the shock and swore. John only cackled at his misfortune.

Paul scowled at the loss of his fresh ciggie and the fading surprise of the burn mark. He hastily brushed at the ring, which he now realized was a minute but fizzling hole, and shot John an accusatory (but, regretfully, uncontrollably good-natured) glare. “You’re a child, Lennon.”

John grinned. “But you love me.”

Paul sighed, and for the first time in weeks, he felt utterly, blissfully, peacefully happy.

“Yes. I do.”

[earnestly-endlessly]

Do you mind doing a list of your favourite modern AUs? A mix is powered and non-powered fics is okay :) TY!

I'm so sorry how late I am with this, but here’s my looooong list of my favourite modern AUs. I hope that you like this list and can find some fics in there that you haven’t read before. Enjoy!

*******

Cherik Modern AU Fic Recs 

Sprich Mit Mir | Talk To Me – dreamweavers

Summary: When Charles meets Erik on a midnight train to London, it’s like all of his Christmases and birthdays have come at once – until Erik opens his mouth, and reveals he cannot speak a word of English.

It isn’t easy to pursue a relationship with someone you need to play Pictionary with just to chat to, but with a little help from Charles’ telepathy, the two language-barrier lovers are determined to make it work.

Come as you are – scarlettblush

Summary: Hospital AU. The one where Charles unknowingly woos a coma patient with Pride and Prejudice. Years later, they meet again.

The Man on the Train – Sophia_Bee

Summary: Charles is heading home from a shift at the busy emergency department of the urban hospital where he works as a nurse. He meets Dr. Erik Lehnsherr on the train, who is clearly interested in Charles, but Charles has a rule. He does not date doctors. Not at all. Never, ever ever. But he does shake his ass at Erik, which might be his downfall.

Eyes on Fire – Black_Betty

Summary: Every once in a while, fashion tycoon Emma Frost invites her favourite male models over to entertain her. And by "entertain", I mean she makes them have kinky consensual sex in front of her....Emma never touches herself when she watches, but she always has a glass of wine with her. Emma likes it best when they eventually forget that she's watching.

Charles and Erik meet each other through Emma...

(I've taken some liberties with the prompt, but all the sex is still there, and it's wholly consensual...and gradually, becomes more than just sex...)

Paper Monsters – Clocks

Summary: Fill for this prompt: Charles meets Erik Lehnsherr, his favorite novelist of all time at a coffee shop, but doesn't know it's him, and Erik just criticizes his own writing in front of his biggest fan.

Order Up - ikeracity

Summary: Charles has a terrible habit of multitasking, and that is probably why he absentmindedly tells the pizza man that he loves him when hanging up. Then the pizza man says it back. And Charles is pretty much smitten from there.

Some Things Are Meant To Be – Ikeracity

Summary: Erik is a famous singer. Charles is a closeted fan. When Raven drags him to Erik's concert, the last thing Charles expects is for Erik to single him out of the crowd, for Erik to look right at him as he sings. And the last, last thing he expects is for Erik to personally serenade him and pull him on stage and kiss him senseless, because some things are meant to be and Erik knows it.

Rumor Mill – Ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends. So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Serendipity – humanveil

Summary: Charles sends a text to the wrong number.

[10:22 AM]

Can we meet for coffee? I just got dumped.

[10:30 AM]

I think you've got the wrong number.

[10:31 AM]

Unless you make a habit of texting people you don't know about this sort of thing?

A Nice Boy (The Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

Frosted Hearts – aesc, palalife

Summary: Emma Frost has 99 problems, but a date ain't one. Specifically, she has no time to play the dating game--which is fine with her, because she'd much rather run it instead. From a set of sleek, silver and white offices on Fifth Avenue and with her trusty, stylish, and silent partner Janos Quested, Emma has built Frosted Hearts into New York City's premiere dating service, built on the principle that money, and a sufficiently rigorous psionic scan, can, in fact, buy you love.

Somewhere in Frosted Hearts's server is one Charles Xavier, genius and geneticist, with the kind of nicely-starched good looks that sell well on brochures for New England prep schools. He's also a telepath who's decided to give up pursuing serious relationships and instead spend his thirties doing what he should have done as a teenager: have a lot of sex with random people. Fortunately for him, Erik Lehnsherr, metallokinetic and engineering executive, has absolutely no time in his heart or his schedule for anything more serious than... well, absolutely nothing romantic at all.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: As teens, Charles was the star of a super popular tween/teen television show and Erik was his best friend. As adults, they're a frighteningly domestic married couple and Alex, Darwin, and Sean are Erik's nosy co-workers.

Impulse Decisions – listerinezero

Summary: Erik wakes up in Las Vegas with a hell of a hangover, a telepath in his bed, and a ring on his finger. Now what?

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

The Proper Care of Actors – afrocurl, Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Curve Fitting – kianspo

Summary: The weird thing is, Charles always introduces Raven as his sister, but he never calls Erik his brother. Erik would be bothered, except he prefers not to think of Charles as his brother, either. He can’t figure it out for four years, and then suddenly he can.

Or. A non-powered AU in which Sharon Xavier never remarries, and Charles 'adopts' not only Raven, but Erik too.

Right Person, Wrong Time – PoppyX

Summary: "TL;DR Charles is an insecure high school student who loses his virginity to the right person at the wrong time, and Erik makes it up to him in a romantic manner."

Favorite Mistake by endingthemes

Summary: Charles Xavier doesn’t think anything of it when he sneaks out without even saying goodbye to his latest one-night stand. What he doesn’t expect is to walk into his new position in the Xavier Industries marketing department and find that his latest hook-up is now his new boss.

I ♥ NY (It’s My Friends I’m Not Sure Of) by oddegg

Summary: For a 1stclass-kink meme promp: Erik is a single, successful man who likes quick sex with no strings attached. Then, he meets college professor Charles and it's love at first sight, at least for him. Charles, who heard of Erik's notorious ways, wants nothing to do with him besides being friends. Cue Erik bending over backwards to steal Charles' heart.

From Westminster With Love - thehoyden

Summary: NATO intelligence says there’s an omega-class telepath who sleeps under Westminster. Major Erik Lehnsherr is about to find out the truth for himself.

Accidentally Welcome to the Rest of Your Lives by kianspo

Summary: Non-powered college AU. Erik and Charles have nothing in common until they end up having sex at someone's party. They don't have much in common after that, either, but find each other a hard habit to quit.

irreconcilable differences (make for surprisingly good bedfellows) – pocky_slash

Summary: Tonight on The Evening Report with Malcolm Stevens, noted geneticist and mutant equality proponent Dr. Charles Xavier faces off with the infamous mutant rights activist Magneto in a live televised debate over the Genetic Nondiscrimination Act.

(At least, if they can stop flirting long enough to stay on topic.)

Mutually Beneficial Transaction – Pookaseraph

Summary: In his sophomore year at Columbia University, Erik, feeling slowly strangled by his mounting college debt, places an add on a sugar daddies website. He doesn't know exactly what to expect from it, but when he's contacted by a man named Charles who seems less creepy than the other people who have responded to his profile, he decides to give it a shot. Charles is nothing like what he expected, and Erik finds himself slowly falling in love with his sugar daddy while trying to find out exactly what caused this amazing guy to buy his emotional and sexual intimacy when he clearly deserves so much more than that.

Made To Be Broken - Yahtzee

Summary: Charles makes a New Year's Resolution: “No more straight men,” Charles repeated as he began scrolling through the apartment directory for Emma’s name. “No more futility. No more pointless hoping and heartbreak. In 2013, I never want to hear the words ‘exception,’ ‘experimenting’ or ‘phase.’ If, God forbid, I hear ‘bicurious’ even once, I may take a hostage.”

Then he goes into the party, and Erik is there.

Anarchy In The U.K. – Yahtzee

Summary: "Good God, Erik thought. The Prince of Wales is gay."

Charles lives in the unceasing glare of the public spotlight, yet keeps his sexual orientation a closely held secret, afraid he could lose his throne and force his deeply troubled younger sister into a role that would crush her. Erik, journalist and world traveler, has been a loner most of his life; he has little patience for closet cases. But a chance meeting in Kenya brings these two opposites together and sets in motion a love affair that will challenge the British monarchy -- and their most deeply held beliefs about who they are, and who they should be.

An Ideal Grace – afrocurl

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a visiting professor at Columbia University, as well as an acclaimed and award winning poet. Charles Xavier is a lead researcher with the Genetics Department who is well on his way to tenure. But what happens when Charles has to cancel a class because half his students abandon him in favour of a mysterious new English Lit professor? Naturally he ends up sitting in in the class, where Professor Lehnsherr mistakes him for a student. It's really too bad Erik has such a strict policy against dating students. It's also too bad Erik doesn't seem to know how to use Google.

An absence which could not be more there – aesc

Summary: He prepared to shift another half-step over to the Current Events section (which would, of course, enrage him) when the teaser positioned by the model's left elbow caught his eye: DATING WHILE TELEPATHIC: WHY I DON'T DO IT.

rooms/shares – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik is single, working a cube job he hates, letting his master's degree in mutant studies collect dust, and living on his best friend's couch. When she kicks him out, he's forced to trawl Craigslist for the least-offensive rooming option within his meagre budget. He never expects a response from the persnickety, high maintenance ad he replies to as a joke, but it's possible this too-nice apartment and mysteriously absent roommate might be the answer to all four of his problems.

Heli Cases –Black_Betty

Summary: "Heli Cases" is a program on PBS whose aim is to educate on the rapidly increasing occurrence of genetic mutation in the general populous by breaking the complex science down into palatable, easy to digest pieces.

It is also the only thing that helps Erik get his fussy daughter to fall asleep.

(Featuring Dadneto, baby Lorna and the struggles of single fatherhood, and Charles as the host of a late night show about genetics.)

Simple and Uncomplicated – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik and Charles had been fuck buddies for some, but when Charles is in an accident he figured their relationship would be over. Erik's visit to his bedside in the hospital changes his assumptions even as he has trouble believing Erik is sincere.

Guilty by Association – Regann

Summary: While investigating the homicide of a John Doe who he suspects might've been murdered while working the streets as a prostitute, Detective Erik Lehnsherr finds an unexpected ally in a hooker named Charles who seems as determined as he to solve the case. As they become more deeply involved both with the case and each other, there's just one thing that Charles neglects to mention -- that he's really an investigative journalist, one quickly convinced that what they're dealing with is more than simple murder. cop!Erik, fake-hooker-slash-reporter!Charles, Modern AU.

This Is Not Comedy – baehj2915

Summary: Written for amarriageoftrueminds' prompt for a Cherik version of Louis CK's tangent about the fuckability of Ewan McGregor.

Naturally the similarities end there. I made this about Erik's full on public lust-filled gay revelation, and the chaos that spirals from there.

Politico – cygnaut

Summary: Modern Genosha Politics AU. In which Erik is l'enfant terrible of the mutant National Assembly, and his staff just wants to get him laid.

Conspiracy of Kisses –  Alaceron

Summary: Seven-year-old Erik needs to keep his telepathic best friend Charles from finding out that he wants to kiss him. But that's okay, because he has a plan - he'll put on a tinfoil hat.

The Pretender – Clocks

Summary: Charles is sick of having his best friend Erik drop to one knee and fake-propose to him in restaurants, just to score a free dessert. He doesn’t know which is worse: the complete embarrassment, or the likelihood that Erik doesn’t mean a word of it.

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Lonesome On the Shelf – ikeracity

Summary: After three years of marriage, Charles has to admit that his relationship with Erik has significantly cooled off. These days, they're barely ever home at the same time and it seems like every conversation they have turns into an argument. Charles misses the way they used to be, misses the spontaneous dinner parties and the surprise morning sex and the wake up calls in the early mornings to catch the sunrise. But it's going to take two of them to fix this marriage, and some days, it seems as if all Erik wants is to be rid of him.

A fic about rekindling marriage.

Math Reasons – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby.

Watch Your Back – swoopswoop

Summary: Bodyguard AU where Erik is overly protective and things aren't as simple as they seem.

Dress Your Family in Plaid and Skinny Jeans – cygnaut

Summary: Erik and Charles meet at the mutant playgroup/parenting support circle and they instantly hit it off. And so do their kids, Lorna and David.

Continue firm and constant – aesc

Summary: Moira hasn't seen her old partner in saving the world from threats human and intergalactic, Erik Lehnsherr, for a few years. When she finally does see him again, she finds a man different from the one who's been with her down in the dark and the dirt and the blood... or maybe he isn't so different after all.

cradles you and connects you to everything – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles and Erik spend a chilly November afternoon in Manhattan doing not much at all. Also, there are cupcakes, chess, and Feelings.

[nicka-nell]

I'm Kiyoomi Sakusa and I'm a germaphobe - Chapter 8: A coffee please

Words: 1.807

Warning: Manga Spoiler

Chapter 7 - The thing about playing volleyball     | Masterlist

(y/n) = your name | (l/n) = last name | (e/c) = eye colour | (h/c) = hair colour

“Omi-kun, what's wrong with you these last few days? Are there any bottlenecks in the disinfectant trade or why do you not disinfect your hands so often in the last few days?” At these words, Atsumu slaps him on the shoulder and looks at his friend with a sweaty grin. "Shut up, Miya." He replies annoyed and speeds up his pace to warm up.

-

Six days have passed in which (y/n) has not heard of Kiyoomi. Whether he adheres to their request or not, she does not know. But she doesn’t want to annoy him with messages either. She’ll see if he gets in touch with her.

The weather today is just wonderful and with a joyful snort (y/n) puts her Bentobox back in her pocket, leans against the back of the bench and closes her eyes. The light summer wind blows her hair backwards and tickles her skin. She could fall asleep like this if she didn’t have to go back to the clinic in five minutes.

“Hey, can I sit down?", a familiar voice gets her out of her thoughts. Slowly she opens her eyes and sees Kiyoomi standing in front of her. “Kiyoomi? Sure, but I have to go now anyway." Nodding he gets a handkerchief out and sits down next to (y/n) on the bench.

“I... I managed to disinfect my hands only a few times a day..." Kiyoomi interrupts the silence. Surprised at his rapid progress, (y/n) looks at him. “Oh really? How nice, and I can believe that?" she laughs with a sarcastic undertone.

“You have to." His answer comes quickly. “And what is the next step?" he adds. “My shift ends today at three, so let’s go somewhere where you might not be so comfortable, where would that be?" With her hands she leans against the bench and bends forward to have a better view of Kiyoomi.

“Cafés, unfamiliar apartments, places with many people like a train station..." Kiyoomi quietly mumbles. „All right, then we’ll go to a coffee shop near here, see you later."She says goodbye and jumps up from the bench and disappears behind the automatically opening hospital door.

As he looks after the young woman, he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket.

Shaking his head, Kiyoomi rolls his eyes before he puts his phone back in his pocket. At a fast pace, he goes home to get ready for the appointment.

-

Shortly before her shift ends, (y/n) writes a message to Kiyoomi with the address of the café and that they should meet there. When she arrives there, she sees Kiyoomi with his hands in his pockets, huddled in the corner like a heap of misery. She hides the grin and goes over to him.

“What's the matter, Kiyoomi?” she asks him. “I hate so many people in one place... Let’s get this over as quickly as possible." He still looks at her with a tortured look on his face. Laughing, she turns away from him and opens the door of the coffee shop.

“Okay, come on." she calls to him while she keeps the front door open. Somewhat hesitantly he enters the room, which appears before him like a warning zone. Now he’s really wondering why he’s doing this to himself.

In the coffee shop, the two sit down at a table at the window and wait for the waiter to come and take their order. “Hello. What can I get you? "Asks a tall young man with a notepad and a pen in his hand. “Hello, I would like a coffee and for my friend here..." Questioning she looks over to Kiyoomi.

“I don't want anything. Thank you." He completes your question and waits for the waiter to leave. The whole situation makes him uncomfortable, and he starts playing his fingers. Petting them, pushing them against each other, or scratching them. Why don’t you want a drink, Kiyoomi?" (y/n) asks thoughtfully and overlaps her legs. “I don’t know how good the glasses are being cleaned here, so I don’t want to drink in coffee shops unless I know the place.” Nodding, she looks at him attentively as the words come out of him.

Again the waiter comes and puts the coffee in front of (y/n) with a smile. But that's not all. He also puts a small bowl of chocolate ice cream and cherries on their table. “This is from that young gentleman over there. I think, he finds you very pretty. Don’t get me wrong, I also think you look good -" he stutters and gestures hastily with his hands.

Irritated, Kiyoomi looks over to the man who has given her this bowl of ice and paid for it. How can he come up with the idea of giving a woman something like that and gaining her attention in this way, when she is with another man. She's not his girlfriend but for outsiders, this could look like a date. However, he doesn’t know why his mood is so bad now.

Laughing, (y/n) puts the ice cream back on the waiter’s tray. “Hahaha you don’t have to apologize. Thank you for your compliment, but... You can eat the ice cream yourself or give it to anyone else here. I don’t want the ice, nor do I want that spineless guy over there looking at me anymore. If he can’t come here himself and send you to me instead, let him find another person for his games.” Her words are coarse but her smile is as tender as a summer breeze.

While the waiter looks at (y/n) with red cheeks and big eyes, Kiyoomi cannot hold back his smiling under the mask. Somewhat irritated, the waiter goes away again and leaves the two alone. (y/n) really is an interesting woman. “Why didn’t you get the ice cream?" Kiyoomi asks curiously. “Didn’t you just listen to me? "She replies with her eyebrows folded together. "Yes, of course yes.” he sighs happily at her expression.

Enjoying, she drinks her coffee and is watched by Kiyoomis eyes. When she puts the cup down again with a joyful look, she supports her elbows on the table, brings her hands together and supports her head on them.

“Show me your hands, Kiyoomi." She smiles. Shortly he flinches, but then takes off his gloves and shows her his hands. They actually look better. The cracks in his skin are on the way to recovery and his skin also looks a little softer. “You’re using the salve, aren’t you?" Her eyes are still on his hands. “And like I said, I disinfected them less." He adds. “You really did something. I’m happy for you, Kiyoomi. But... This place really doesn’t seem pleasant to you, does it?" Her gaze is now on him and her bright (e/c) eyes sparkle at him. “Of course not. There are too many people here, so can we go now? We’ve been here too long." His voice almost sounds annoyed.

Quickly, (y/n) drinks her last sip of coffee and drops her cup. “Yeah, we can go now. But listen Kiyoomi, you will always come into situations where your friends will ask you if you want to go for a drink with them. If you always say no, shut yourself off, you’ll never live a happy life. So your next task will be to do more with other people... Go home to them, take them to dinner, drink, park or whatever." Her voice is calm and friendly as she raises her hand and calls the waiter to her.

Thoughtfully, Kiyoomi looks at (y/n) as she gives the waiter the money for the coffee and a generous tip. When she gets up and stands in front of him, she looks at him with her head tilted to the side. “Do you want to stay?" she asks teasingly. “Then do something with me (y/n). Tomorrow I have my day off, let me know when you’re there and I’ll come to you." He doesn’t know why these words leave his mouth. Maybe it’s because he finds her attractive, maybe it’s because he finds her interesting. He doesn’t know, and that bothers him.

With her eyes widened, she looks over at the black-haired man and begins to laugh. “Actually, I meant other people. Not automatically me, but of course... You can also start visiting me tomorrow. I happened to have my day off tomorrow too.” She pauses for a moment, but then leans up to the table to Kiyoomi.

“But you should realize... Once you’re in my house, you don’t come out that easily." she whispers. He feels the hot air coming out of her mouth on his cheek and notices how his body gains heat. He quickly dodges with the chair to the back and gets up, clears his throat and walks past her and stops at the door. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. When does it suit your time? "His voice is unnaturally high, as it was at her last meeting.

With her arms folded, (y/n) playfully bites her lower lip and approaches Kiyoomi. “Come by at eight o'clock in the evening and I’ll send you the address." She grins and still opens the door with a big grin. “ See you then Kiyoomi." She says goodbye to him with a waving gesture and doesn’t wait for his answer. Because she’s already turned around and is on her way home.

“You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?” He quietly mumbles in front of him and cannot let his eyes off her and her feminine movements. But through the vibrating of his cell phone, his gaze deviates from her, and he takes it out of his pocket.

He can imagine Atsumu’s stupid grin when writing this message really well and rolls his eyes. “Idiot...“ He hisses annoyed and makes his way home to take his sports equipment and to practice for a few more hours in the sports hall with Atsumu, Hinata and Bokuto.

Chapter 9 - I was here, but you weren’t

Taglist: @kara-grayson04​ @suna-allie​