listening to beam me up on repeat

Traitor, Part 2

STEVE ROGERS x Plus Size Reader

After an impromptu date with your classmate Steve, things get overly complicated. 

Content: Pining, angst, sacrifice on part of your best friend because let’s be real who hasn’t 

Part 1, Part 3

Pietro is more than a little annoyed, to say the least, when you give him details about your night out with none other than Steve Rogers the following Monday after the movies incident. He’s actually fuming a little, mostly pouting, and giving you a glare from his spot shining the counter top at the diner you two work at. “I can’t believe you went behind my back and kissed the enemy!”

“Steve’s not technically the enemy, I mean… Right?” you respond, pushing the fries on your plate around as you avoid his gaze. “He’s just… the best friend?”

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A Hopeful Dance

For @mummabro: a belated get better soon… ❤️

(AO3 link)

In a dive bar near Tulsa, on the way back to the bunker after a successful hunt for shapeshifters, Dean allows himself to admit that he is in love.

The table top is sticky, there’s a light flickering in the corner of the bar that’s buzzing just the wrong side of irritating, and the jukebox keeps repeating the same three songs.  

But he is there, and Cas is there, and there is no reason to be in any hurry to be anywhere else. Sam’s sleeping off a headache in a motel in walking distance, there are no news stories currently getting their attention, and more importantly than any of that, is the warmth and openness of Cas’ smile.  

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anonymous asked:

Idk if you're still doing prompts but maybe "You’re safe now. I’ve got you." for jackcrutchie, if you want?

Hi! I finally had a chance to write this! I actually have never read or written a JackCrutchie fic, but the ship is lovely and tbh idk why i haven’t gotten into it yet? I’m excited to give it a shot! I basically took the concept from the musical (when Jack mentions that he visited Crutchie, but he was too injured to even come to the window) and I changed it up a little to fit what I wanted. Feedback is appreciated!

79. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”


“Jack! Jack, HELP!”

Crutchie’s pained cries echoed in Jack’s ears as he quietly made his way to the Refuge, hidden in the dark shadows cast by the nearby buildings. He tried to move as quickly and as efficiently as possible, though he was afraid his own heartbeat pounding could possibly wake the guards with how loud it seemed inside his own head. He stopped for a moment, holding his shaking hand against his chest, attempting to calm himself so he could actually come up with a plan.

Taking a large breath, Jack continued on, pressing his back up against the occasional alley wall when he heard voices or saw lights heading in his direction. There was no way he was gonna let his best friend suffer in the Refuge alone while he got to wander free, though guilt stricken as he may be. He simply had to break him out. This whole situation was his fault anyway.

Sighing once more, Jack tried to push away the thoughts of the previous days. The police knocking Romeo off of his feet, Les staring in to his eyes, panicked and scared, Race attempting to take on Oscar and Morris Delancey by himself, Crutchie being hit with his own system of support, the strike falling apart right before Jack’s eyes.

Jack tried to drown out the ringing of the word failure repeating itself over and over again in his head.

“So much for good ol’ Cap’n Jack.” He muttered, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the refuge, a run down brick building with several dark windows scattered around the walls. There was absolutely no light coming from the structure, making Jack curse quietly as he hopped over a knocked over trash can and ran up to the side of the building, immediately backing up against a windowless section of the wall, taking a moment to come up with some sort of idea on how to reach Crutchie.

Glancing upward, Jack caught sight of the fire escape winding its way up toward to top of the Refuge. He pursed his lips. No kid caught in there would attempt to escape down the rickety old thing for fear of being heard, seen, or tattled on, but Jack had escaped Snyder once and he wasn’t afraid to do it again. He just had to have Crutchie with him this time.

God, Crutchie.

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anonymous asked:

Ok so I don't know if you still want people to send you requests, but in case you do: Will during the three-year gap, having intrusive thoughts about Hannibal. I just want him to not be able to forget him despite all the effort. Will being resigned that he can never cut Hannibal out of his life. (Btw, I love AGAGH, it's seriously brilliant)

Oh, anon, thank you for the feedback, and I’m so, so sorry it took me so long to fill this for you!

I’ll be putting all the shorter, drabble or ficlet length fills together on AO3 eventually. For now this is just available here.

    It comes upon him in moments of calm contentment. He will be making the long drive to town on a grey rainy day, and suddenly Hannibal is seated next to him, remarking on his choice of music. Fishing on the lake, enjoying the still silence of the water and the surface of his mind, and Hannibal is right there along with him in the rowboat, making spectacularly painful puns about Will and his lures.

In the evening after dinner, sitting by the fireplace and the sounds of his comfortable home fade away, the walls disappear around him, to be replaced by those of Hannibal’s office. They stand together, feeding papers to the flames, and Will sees the moment his whole world fell apart, though he hadn’t realised it at the time.

“If it was your intention to see me incarcerated, why is it this moment to which you’re forever returning?” Hannibal asks. His eyes are piercing in Will’s memories, a strange, sanguine red.

“You’re in my head,” Will says, letting his eyes fall closed on the scene.

“Mmm,” Hannibal murmurs his agreement. Will can feel the air shift around him as Hannibal moves closer, and then his breath, hot on Will’s neck. “But that does not mean I’m not real.”

He feels real, when his hands touch Will, falling ever so lightly on his shoulders, but this Hannibal understands Will’s motivations far too well. This Hannibal is only another facet of Will himself, the one who won’t fall silent. The one who won’t let Will carry on in this new life wilfully ignoring the jumbled mass of conflicting desires that led to his final confrontation with Hannibal.

The part of Will that sorely regrets rejecting Hannibal as he did.

That part of Will, dressed in Hannibal’s skin, haunts his daily life. Fitting, as Will has mourned his loss as though Hannibal died that day in the snow. He won’t let Will know true happiness here with Molly and Walter, without the constant reminder of what he sacrificed for it.

There is no way to anticipate when he’ll appear, other than when Will has begun to lower his defenses, and then there is no point in trying to fight it. Hannibal will only become more insistent, his barbs sharper and cruel, if Will ignores him.

Tonight he and Molly cuddle on the sofa while Walter regals them with his retelling of baseball practice today, acting out his frantic slide for homebase. Will’s laughter turns to ash on his tongue when a hand that is not Molly’s brushes against the nap of his neck. Hannibal sits opposite of Molly, wedged tightly between the arm of the sofa and Will’s side. For a figment of Will’s imagination, he gives off quite a lot of body heat.

“Just like his father, isn’t he?” Hannibal whispers, mouth close to Will’s ear. He inhales the scent of Will’s aftershave, but does not comment directly. After a long moment, he exhales in a rush. “Tell me, Will, when you throw a ball for him, when you cheer him on from the stands, when he calls you <i>Dad</i>…”

The way Hannibal says the word sends a shiver of revulsion up Will’s spine, and Molly shoots him a concerned look. “Okay babe?” she asks softly.

Will shakes his head dismissively and she just tugs him closer, wraps him up in her arms, drags her hands up and down his back in a comforting gesture. Will rests his head against the swell of her breast and listens to her steady heartbeat, focusses on Walter’s antics until his eyes burn, and Hannibal drifts away to smoke.

He’s back again later that evening, crouching by the bedside in the dark, once Molly is breathing slowly and deeply in sleep. The moonlight streams through the windows, beams catching on dust motes that drift through the air, forming the shape of horns that rise from the crown of Hannibal’s head.

“Tell me, Will,” he repeats, and pauses, giving Will a patronising, knowing grin. “And be honest, because I’ll know if you’re lying.” He taps two fingers playfully against Will’s temple. “Were you playing a role when you killed Randall Tier? When you seduced me? When you warned me? Or is this a role you’re playing now? Loving father, doting husband?

Will listens to Molly’s even breathing. Her ever-cold feet are tucked between his calves, her hands are curled around his t-shirt at the small of his back. Will’s chest is empty, and the sheets are too tight, and the room is closing in around him. He is trapped.

Hannibal is relentless, having found a chink in Will’s armour. “Is this happiness, Will or are you simply ‘faking it until you make it?’”

“You’re in my head,” Will groans, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes when he squeezes them closed tight.

The bed dips under Hannibal’s weight and he leans over Will, blocking out the moonlight and leaving Will in dark, endless night. “That’s how you know I’m right,” he hisses.