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yeyinde · 1 year

Note

I need to be railed by price as the team either walks past or is right next door. So upset he's fictional lmao

honestly, same.

this got away from me a bit, so sorry about that!

warnings: smut, implied near-death experiences, voyeurism, and (??) exhibitionism

For being stationed out in the middle of Siberia, snowed into some long-forgotten gulag on the fringes of the great, inescapable arctic nothingness, the air you breathe has never been hotter.

Balmy heat pulses, throbbing in tandem with each harsh thud of your heart as it snaps like a rubber band against your chest.

It leaks in from the old pellet stove that Gaz managed to get working—somewhat—but the stifling heat that simmers around you, clinging your sweat-slicked skin has less to do with fire, and everything to do with the way your captain fills your cunt until you ache.

"Fuck," he rasps, low and grating, words muffled into the flesh of your neck, when he presses the flat of his teeth. "So wet for me, love. So fucking tight—"

All you can do is dig your nails into his flexing biceps, legs locked around his waist, heels clinging together at the base of his spine, as he fucks you senseless in the middle of a storm.

(And with your teammates beyond the thin wisp of a wall.)

You're supposed to be quiet.

Those are the rules you accepted when he first parted the folds of your pretty cunt with his middle and index finger, and pressed his nose against your throbbing clit, eyes sparking with firebrands when he gazed up at you.

Quiet—because everyone is gathered in the room beside yours, and no one knows that your captain presses the head of his cock against this soft, fleshy place behind your belly button until you see Nirvana painted behind your eyelids like he's trying to fuck you stupid. To batter all logic out of your soft, sensitive head until only he, and the way he fits inside of you, remain.

(And sometimes, you think he is.)

Quiet. Quiet. And yet—

They can all hear you, surely. You're not subtle, and you're not silent, despite the growls in your ears to keep it down, now, love, don't want them all to hear you getting fucked by your captain, do you? Filling your tight pussy with my cock—

How can you be when he pulled you into the empty, rotting cell with a fire in his gaze, and his hands rough on your skin, and said I need to feel you, love. I need to be inside of you. Need to keep you warm.

You try to stay quiet. Try to stifle the moans that spill from your lips with each blunt, brutal thrust of his cock slamming against the plug of your womb. It feels as if he was trying to wrench it open, trying to fit inside the only space left that you haven't felt him, that you hadn't taken him in. And maybe he is. Maybe, this is him trying to split you apart at the seams until you unravel for him; unspooled and raw, and all his, and—

It edges into pain, into hurt and anguish, but the pleasure numbs you into a babbling mess of fuck, captain, it feels so good, please please please—

His fat cock splits you apart until you're a babbling mess drooling into the matted, grimy mattress below, chanting nothing but his name amid the hymnals of pleasure that slip out, unmuffled, and loud.

Stupid. Stupid.

These sparse walls are barely thick enough to stifle a sniffle let alone the way you stutter over his name—P–Pr–i–ahhh—P–Pri–ce—with each sharp thrust of his cock battering your bruised, gummy walls.

He doesn't even try to keep you quiet. Seems, in fact, to fuck you harder, aiming for whichever spot he hit inside of you that made you howl the loudest. Like it's a game. Like he wants them to hear.

And you get it. You get why he's so broken, so stripped, and bare, and fucking you when he knows everyone can hear you, can hear the slick way your cunt opens for his cock; the fleshy slaps of his heavy sack hitting your ass with each deep, hard thrust. The ragged pants broken by your barely stifled moans, or his sharp, smoking grunts.

You get it. You do—

A near miss. A wayward shot.

Soap says you should be resting, that you should be recuperating until you all have to move out, have to abandon this safe haven in the middle of the frigid, white wasteland where nothing but withering black trees grow in sparse thickets and the temperature outside drops low enough to freeze the grey matter in your brain within seconds.

It's scary. Daunting.

But nothing at all compared to the anguish in his voice when he saw you in shades of blue, in red. Lifeless, and cold. So, so cold.

It had taken them pushing you as close to the firepit as possible to bring some life back into your cheeks, and this—

This is all he knows how to do to keep you warm, to keep you from turning the same garish shade of deathly white, grey, as the world outside of these mouldering walls while you're stuck in a place that leaches it from your marrow; rapacious for heat in your body.

He fucks you like he's already lost you. Like you're already blue and grey and—

"Never again," he spits, words an angry snarl in your ear. "Never again—"

So, you let him take. Let him take, and take, and take because he never does. Never for himself.

You offer yourself up to him—however he needs it—and try to stay within the margins of the rules despite the fact that you can feel him bludgeoning into you, further and further until you can feel him in your sternum. Until you can taste him in your throat. Until your lungs are full of sweat and blood and hickory and smoke, and—

"Fuck—"

You choke on the thick press of fingers when he slips them into your mouth, barking out a sharp bite when he pushes his other hand under the swell of your ass to glue your hips together. Closer, closer, but not enough for him despite the stars that erupt behind your eyelids, the too full too much feeling of him grinding against your bruised, battered walls, carving out a place inside of you just for him.

"Gotta keep you warm," he hisses, pressing his damp chest to yours until the scant air is squeezed from your collapsing lungs, and all you can taste, and see, and feel is the graze of his coarse hair over your sensitive flesh when he smothers you under his bulk. "Gotta warm you up—"

They can all hear you. All of them.

And maybe, maybe it's the delirium. The fever. The injury. The ever-present threat of that creeping white death that ghosts along the gaps in the doors, searching for a way in to claim the one that got away, snatched from the brink of icy death.

It must be. It has to be.

But you think you can hear them, too. Under the heaving, desperate gasps in your ear, the broken commands uttered for you to stay quiet, and be good, and stay with him, stay with him, always, always, always, and the slap of his skin branding yours, you can hear it. Low murmurs. Movement.

Gaz sucks in a breath when Price mutters look'it y'takin' me so fuckin' good; needy little cunt won't let g'of me.

Soap groans low when you whimper around the thick, nicotine-stained fingers, nearly gagging, choking when he presses them to the back of your throat.

You hear Ghost shift, the scratch of his denim sliding against the cracked cement when he moves from his spot when you moan low, and broken, and beg for it in a series of please please please pleasepleaseplea—that stick together each time he slides in deep.

The noises from the other room all react to each whimper, moan, mewl, gasp that Price pulls from the depths of your chest as his cock splits you apart until your cunt is full of nothing but him. Until your head is heavy with pleasure, with the explosive chemical slurry of sex and tobacco and almost dying, and him, him—

It's maddening. Impossible.

It has to be in your head. It has to be because the idea, the absurd idea of it all is enough to make you tremble, to make the molten knot in your belly coil, and coil, and—

Price drops his sweat-slicked forehead to your temple, lips brushing against your ear.

"Puttin' on a nice li'show for them, love. Almost makes me think you want them to hear," he murmurs, words rasped out in a whisper. Just for you. Just for you. "I must not be enough to keep y'warm, then. Must need some extra body heat, mm?"

(You hear Soap grunt, the noise a tucked plea of Captain, and of something that sounds like a broken amalgamation of your name, and fuck, and please, and—

And all at once, the rules break. Shatter.)

#mehhh #wrote this while drinking rye on the deck #suffice to say am a little tipsy #dunnoooo if this makes any sense #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x fem reader

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writings-of-dumpy · 3 years

Text

George Weasley and the Girl in Ravenclaw: Part 11

A/N: Last part! I might do an Epilogue but I dunnoooo... Enjoy! Warnings: mentions of death

In the week following the battle at Hogwarts, the Ministry made strides to put itself back together under their new minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. George was proud every day to read about Kingsley’s proposed changes to the ministry centered around extinguishing corruption. He woke up feeling surprisingly rested, but exhaustion crept in on him as he thought about what may lie ahead for him on the day of his father’s, Tonks’, and Lupin’s funeral. He was momentarily distracted from his sinking feelings when he reached for the black box on his dresser that he put in his pocket every day for almost a year now in hopes that the right moment would present itself. With a sigh, he didn’t bother tying his tie just yet and headed to the kitchen for a light breakfast.

“How are you feeling?” a small and gentle voice asked him from the kitchen doorway once he had settled on making a bowl of cereal. Raven had agreed to stay with Fred and George in their flat above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes for a while after George convinced her that staying in the muggle world would only frustrate her, and George was thanking his past self for suggesting it after the battle. George looked and saw her in a simple black dress and her thumbs twiddling. Her lower lip was between her teeth and a severe sense of worry exuded from her. George shrugged and got up from the table with his finished bowl. He didn’t fault her for asking, and he figured he may as well be truthful to one person of all who would ask him that question today.

“I miss him, that’s for sure. I just… I guess it’s just hard to wrap my head around that he’s not going to walk through the door anymore. It’s made me realize so much,” George said. Raven walked toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I know how you feel,” she said to him. When she let go of him, George’s head lowered, and he held her hands in his. After a moment of his thumbs brushing over her fingers, he looked back up at her and his heart ached, but not from grief. Gently, she lifted her hands and tied his black tie for him, which left his eyes to wander and get lost in hers as she concentrated.

“You look very handsome,” she complimented.

George’s face flushed and he smiled. “Thank you. You look lovely.”

Raven smiled sadly and rested her hands on his shoulders, then propped herself up on her toes and kissed his cheek gently, then exited the room.

“If you were looking for the opportune moment, that was it,” Fred said from the other entrance into the kitchen.

“What are you on about?” George asked, feigning innocence.

Fred rolled his eyes and said with a sly smile, “Oh please, like I didn’t see the ring when you brought it home. You set it on the counter and went straight to the loo, what was I supposed to do, Georgie? You know I can’t resist an open bag on the table.”

George let the corner of his mouth turn upward and he shook his head. “So you’ve known this whole time and didn’t say anything?”

“Course not. Didn’t want to embarrass you,” Fred said and patted George’s shoulder.

The three of them locked the doors and apparated to the burrow where George was reminded of Bill’s wedding, but the ambience was much more somber. And rather than a tent, a second building had appeared on the hill outside the house with the name ‘Memento Morti Mortuary’ displayed on a stone plaque. George didn’t ask the specifics of how the funeral house had gotten there, but he assumed that his mother knew what she was doing. He, Fred, and Raven headed into the building and saw that they were not the first to arrive. He saw the rest of his family gathered around towards the front of the room and that three coffins were open behind them. He noticed Ginny’s eyes were watering as she held Harry’s hand. She looked up and as they made eye contact, she rushed to him and gave her brothers a long embrace, then hugged Raven the same.

“I’m glad you all are here. Mum’s strong, but she’ll need the support,” Ginny said and led the way for the three of them to join the group.

George felt his head was in a tank for the entire service. He heard what the man who lead the service was saying (who introduced himself as Morti), but his words held little meaning. The only thing to pull him back to Earth, it seemed, was Raven’s soft hands gently holding his. Partway through Morti’s speech, he felt her hand reach over and clasp his gently. He looked down at their joined hands and he felt a sense of relief and comfort. She paid attention to the speaker and he noticed her thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand in slow motions. The gesture calmed him so he was able to actually listen when his eldest brother, Charlie, got up to speak on their mother’s behalf.

The service brought a sense of closure for George, which he assumed was the intention, but he was very thankful it was over. His hand never left Raven’s, even when they stood up to exit the building and head back to the burrow for a late lunch. He enjoyed the feeling of her hand in his and even though they had been physically close before and shared hugs quite often, this was a new kind of closeness. Not quite as close as the night he had finally kissed her, but he still loved the contact. Her hands were soft and warm in the early summer air that greeted them when they exited the building. The family dispersed throughout the field and once everyone had exited the building and said their goodbyes to the bodies to be buried in Godric’s Hollow, George heard a loud pop from behind him and the building was gone. He would have been more impressed by the magic if he hadn’t just said his final goodbyes to the man who raised and protected him. The loss he felt was insurmountable and he slowed his pace. He couldn’t enter his childhood home without his dad there… not yet anyway.

“George..? Are you okay?” Raven asked from beside him as the distance between the pair and the rest of the group grew larger.

George mustered up all of his courage and looked at her with determination.

“I need to do something that I should have done ages ago, Ven,” George said to her.

Raven’s face crumpled in confusion. George let out a breath and faced his entire body to her and clasped both of her hands in his. The early afternoon sun was only adding to the heat he felt inside of him and allowed him to see better when it hid behind a large cloud.

“I should have told you this four years ago, but my feelings haven’t changed. I’m in love with you. I have been this whole time, and my feelings have only grown. I can’t live without you, and I almost lost you without you knowing how I truly felt. You are my heart,” George poured out to her. With trembling hands, he reached into his pocket and felt the velvet black box that held the ring designed for her. He knelt and watched her hands jump to her lips as he opened it. “Will you marry me?”

George saw her eyes mist over and his world froze when she nodded her head behind her hands that shielded her lips from him. George let out an exhale that he didn’t know he had been holding in and shot up. He wrapped his arms securely around her with one arm around her waist and his free hand supporting the back of her head. Without hesitation, he operated purely on instinct and planted his lips firmly against hers. Their kiss was passionate and full of fervor. Any doubt George had about her feelings for him were washed away. He felt himself needing to breathe, so he pulled his head away from hers and looked at her face with a beaming smile.

“I love you, George,” she said with a breathless smile and a tear running down her face. He wiped it away with his thumb and a grin. Hearing her say those words completed George. His heart felt whole and his spirit was lifted. He looked down and placed the ring on her finger with ease—a perfect fit. Raven didn’t look at it much before she held his face in her hands and kissed him again in pure joy. George couldn’t help himself from smiling and wrapping his arms around her once more. He was truly happy now, and he felt his dad would be proud of him for finally proposing to the girl in Ravenclaw.

#george weasley #george weasley x oc

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kachinnate · 4 years

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are you still doing the setting/trope/sentence prompt game? if so, i'd like to request 1 + O + 30 (preferably kept platonic) if you wanted to, but no pressure either way! i hope your anxiety has/can subside <3

send me prompts!

1 (near death experience) + o (misunderstanding) + (“No, it was my fault for thinking that you might care.”)

“If you’re driving, we could always have this conversation some other time.”

“The reason we’re having this conversation while I’m driving is because my mom’s home and she doesn’t need to hear any of this,” Jared’s voice comes from the other line, sharp.

Evan has since put his phone on speaker and is laying on his bed, his phone on his nightstand. Partially because it makes him slightly less anxious to be on the phone if it isn’t in his hand, and partially because he’s fucking exhausted.

Like, in the sense that he wants to sleep, obviously, but also just. In general. With everything.

It’s been a week since everything with the Murphy’s flickered out - or, well, more like burned up and burst in the inside of the bulb, sending shards of glass everywhere. It simultaneously feels like so long ago, yet like only yesterday everything was fine.

Or.. not fine. Better. Fine. He was okay.

Content within something that was bound to fall apart at any given second.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

“Yes, Jared,” Evan replies, putting stress on both of the words to hopefully convey his exasperation as best he could without Jared seeing his face. “Listen, I’m—”

“No, don’t tell me to listen when you clearly weren’t listening to me just now.”

“Dude,” Evan breathes, the just barely there laugh hysterical in the sense that he didn’t find it funny at all and was honestly ready to cry, actually. “You’re impossible, oh my god.”

“I’m impossible?”

“Yeah, you’re—”

“Are we just disregarding how you’ve been acting, oh, I dunnoooo..” Evan hears a quiet thump. He knows it’s Jared hitting a knuckle against the steering wheel in that way he did when he was talking and wanted to emphasize a point. “the past month?”

“No. That’s actually— that’s literally what we’re talking about, right now.”

“Do you remember how you asked for my help with the emails, and then The Connor Project, and then told me you didn’t need my help, then accused me of doing nothing—” Jared does the same thing, that same laugh that’s not a laugh. “And then had the fucking audacity to ask me to help you with more emails? All the while, like— not actually talking to me about anything else, like. Other than a best friend that doesn’t exist and a girlfriend that— honestly, I never said it, and maybe I should have, but wow you actually going through and dating Zoe? That’s all sorts of fucked, and you know it—”

“—If you’re not going to let me talk, then I don’t see why we’re doing this,” Evan snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, my apologies, be my guest. What say you?” Jared huffs back, sarcastic and aggressive, and Evan really just wants to hang up the phone. This isn’t productive at all.

“Like I said earlier,” Evan starts, and in the back of his mind he scoffs - as per my last email vibes, and then the irony of thinking of emails, of all things. Hah. “I’m sorry about everything with the project, with how I made you and Alana feel, how - how I was abusing your help, okay. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into this whole thing, to, to further this huge fucking mess that I got myself into.”

He takes a breath. “But everything that I - that I said that night? I don’t take any of that back, and I’m not going to, okay, because we’ve never been real friends, have we?” It hurts even himself to say it, but it’s true, is it not? “Your— ‘family friends’, right? For your car insurance? The most we’ve talked in, in forever has been throughout this whole thing. Am I supposed to be hurt by you threatening to tell everyone, and then calling me a shitty friend when you’ve - when you’ve never been too great of a friend to me, either?”

There’s silence for a while, nothing else other than Jared’s noisy radiator.

“If I— why would I have been helping you this whole time if I didn’t consider you my friend, jackass?—”

“Really helping your case, here,” Evan mumbles. He doesn’t know or care whether Jared heard it or not.

“—you really think that I’d endure all of your bullshit for this long if I didn’t care about you?”

“I don’t know!” Evan presses his palms into his eyes, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know, okay, but you sure as hell didn’t act like you cared about me—”

“—Was spending a stupid amount of time at your house all the time helping you write emails pretending to be your dead best friend not good enough for you?”

“You’re kidding me? Like, you’re joking, right?—”

“I - fuck, you know what, no—” Jared cuts himself off. Something about his breathing has.. changed, but Evan can’t pinpoint what. “This is pointless.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“No, no, this is..” Jared ignores him in favor of whatever he’s trying to say. “Yeah, no Evan, you’re right, maybe it was my fault for thinking that you might care— or might’ve, I mean. About me. At all.”

“Jared, stop trying to pin this on just me—!”

“Open your fucking EYES, dude! I’ve been here the entire goddamn time!”

Something about how he says that has Evan blinking several times, stunned into silence.

The radiator hums. It sounds so much louder than it had before.

“I’m shit at showing - showing you that, like, I give a shit, I guess, you’re right about that but you’ve..” Something is different in his voice. Evan can’t pinpoint what that is, either. “This whole time, you’ve just— dragged me along, because I’m the only one who was around, right? Like, I was the first one you came to when Connor fucking— when he took your letter, and then when you started getting entangled into shit, and I thought that maybe you were coming to me because you trusted me or some shit, but no. It’s because I was the only one around, right?”

..and the thing was, Jared wasn’t wrong.

By technicality, those words were true, but the sudden heaviness in Evan’s chest at least makes him want to believe that he’d never meant it like that.

He never meant for any of this to happen, to hurt anyone. And yet..

“Jared,” he manages, the edge in his voice gone all at once. How the fuck was he supposed to follow up to that? “I’m.. that’s not—”

There’s a sudden shrill, awful sound of metal on metal from Jared’s line. Lots of banging and clashing and— Evan doesn’t really know, it’s just loud, and amidst it he swears he hears Jared go ‘shit!—’ but can’t be sure. Wheels screeching. It makes Evan flinch and then suddenly he’s sitting up, looking towards the phone on his nightstand.

Several car honks. Jared makes a choked noise, Evan thinks.

“J-Jared..? Hey, what’s—?!”

The line goes dead.

#tw car accident #ask to tag #evan hansen #jared kleinman #deh #dear evan hansen #i write things #Anonymous #also thank u for ur tags ;w;#ily

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moriavis · 4 years

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My first prompt to you! Um um okay -thinks- OH, uh, if you'd like, Coldflash, biker gang!au? 50s, modern, or futuristic! Up to you ^-^ Maybe they're in opposing gangs and form an alliance? Maybe Barry's their science guy who Len takes an interest in? Maybe Barry's a new meta that the Rogues gang take an interest in recruiting? -flails- I dunnoooo >.

Ha. Ha. OMG, so this has apparently been sitting in my askbox for two years I’M SO SORRY.

Do I have more prompts that are two years or older? Yes. Yes, I do. I’m trying, guys.

For now, I hope you all enjoy this one! Welcome to a No Powers AU where motorcycles are only mentioned sparingly, and everything is PG. ^^; (Also on AO3)

~*~

Everyone in Central City knew to leave the Rogues out of the races. They were intense, unpredictable, and you were more likely to crash your bike trying to avoid their stunts than lose the pink slip fair and square. They brought too much attention to the scene.

Even Cisco agreed, and he was so into Lisa that aliens could see it from space.

Despite the unanimous exclusion, Barry wasn't entirely surprised when the Rogues showed up at the Friday races anyway. "Told you they wouldn't stick to the ban," Oliver murmured.

Barry shrugged. "The Lian Yu team didn't like it either, but they learned."

He folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side as he counted them. Lisa, of course, with an uncustomary sulk on her narrow, gorgeous face; Mardon, easily recognizable with his visor popped up; Rosa Dillon, popping gum loudly as she inspected her nails.

Sara swaggered up to Barry and stood at Oliver's side. "You want me to take care of them?"

Barry shook his head. "No. They're a Central group. They'd be offended if outsiders read them the rulesheet."

Sara snorted and rolled her eyes. "Territorial bastards, all of you."

Barry laughed and ran his hand through his hair. "We're not all that bad. Square up. We're doing this the right way."

The three of them gathered together in a triangle, and Sara said, "On three. One. Two. Three."

Oliver beat Barry's paper with scissors, and Barry scowled good-naturedly as he turned to Sara for the second round and lost again, rock to paper.

"Cheer up, kiddo," Sara said, reaching up on tiptoes to ruffle Barry's hair. "They wouldn't have wanted us to be the ones to send them away."

Barry sighed and turned to the Rogues, who—bizarrely—had stayed back patiently, as if they were waiting for someone.

Barry straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked toward Lisa. "We don't want any trouble with you."

"If it were up to me, we wouldn't be here." Lisa folded her arms over her chest, her glare intensifying.

Barry folded his arms over his chest. "It's not up to you?"

The sound of an engine cut through the air, and he turned to meet the newcomer—his bike was a gorgeous and sleek Ducati, painted in blues and silvers. Barry was impressed despite himself. Whoever the newcomer was sure had a sense of style.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lisa's scowl morph into an amused grin, and then the new rider kicked the stand down and pulled off their helmet.

Barry's breath caught in his throat. He was frozen, catapulted instantly back to the past, where he was fifteen and everything he wanted was encapsulated in the man next door who always had motorcycle grease on his hands.

His palms were sweaty. He wasn't even wearing his good jeans, and he was going to kill Lisa.

"Hey, Lenny." Barry's voice was weak and thready, but he didn't even care, butterflies coming to life in his stomach with a surge of nerves. The narrow blue hazel eyes. The smirk. Oh, god, he'd started going silver.

Leonard gave Barry a slow once over, and Barry gravitated a step or two closer. "It's been a minute, kid."

Barry licked his lips, his heart pounding like a drum. "Yeah, it's… I didn't even know you were back."

"Trainwreck's been blowing up my phone over this racing gig you've got going on. Thought I'd come see what the excitement was all about." He got off his bike and dangled his helmet off one of the handlebars before he turned his attention back to Barry. He stepped closer, and his voice was low in a way that sent shivers down Barry's spine when he spoke again. "Maybe you and I can come to an arrangement."

Barry jerked his head to point out Oliver and Sara. "The arrangement has to make sense to them, too."

Leonard shot them a dismissive glance and fastened his attention back on Barry. "Let 'em race. I'll keep them under control, and anyone who gets too frisky is out. Cross my heart." He drew an X over his heart and smiled, the slow curl of his lips leaving Barry reeling.

Without a word, Barry turned on his heel and walked back over to Oliver and Sara.

"Rawr." Sara arched her eyebrow. "You okay there, Barry? You look like you've been hit by a truck."

"Whatever he said to you, the answer's no." Oliver said, crossing his arms over his chest and glowering past Barry.

Barry gathered himself together with a small shake of his head. "He said that if we let them race, he'll keep them following the rules. He'll take care of anyone who doesn't."

"And you believe him?" Sara asked.

Barry nodded. "Lisa and Len were my neighbors growing up. Lisa's a bit out there, but Len kind of keeps her under control. Mostly."

"Mostly." Oliver frowned. "Yeah, that's exactly what I like to hear about the group that almost got us all arrested."

"I trust him, Ollie," Barry said firmly, narrowing his eyes. "I mean, yeah, chances are Lisa dragged him back to Central because I'm more likely to listen to him, but it'll backfire. She hates being under his thumb."

"That'll be interesting," Sara said, shooting another look toward the Rogues.

"Fine," Oliver spat. "Fine. But only because I trust you." Barry beamed at Oliver, who scowled for good measure and turned back to his bike.

Now that they all agreed, Barry went back to Len. "Okay. They can rejoin. Keep your promise, or they'll be ejected permanently this time."

Axel whooped, punching Mark's shoulder in excitement, and Lisa shook her head, sauntering up to Len's side. "Guess I should've pulled out the big guns months ago."

Barry pursed his lips as he looked at Lisa, but he couldn't find anything else to say, so he just shook his head. "No funny business this time, okay?"

Lisa smiled another one of her enigmatic smiles, and then turned back to the other Rogues. "We're free to mingle, ladies and gentlemen. Have fun, and remember to behave."

It was going to be a disaster.

Barry sighed softly to himself and headed back to his own bike. It took a second for him to realize that Len was walking along with him. Barry turned just enough to see Len without stopping. "Are you racing?"

"Depends," Len said easily, giving Barry that crooked smile that he loved way too much. "Is the Scarlet Speedster going to be on the track?"

"Ugh, you've heard that one, too?"

Len shrugged. "I like the alliteration."

"Well, the answer is no," Barry said firmly. "Not tonight, at least." He steered them away from the noise of the crowd as the races began in earnest, and stole another look. "How long are you staying?"

"Haven't decided yet. 'M staying long enough to make Lisa regret asking me to come back." They laughed together at that, and then fell quiet, watching as Shawna won her race against Zari. Len cleared his throat, and Barry startled, embarrassed that he was so hyper aware of Len, even after all these years. "Lisa told me you went to college in Keystone."

"Uh. Yeah. Aced my classes, too."

"Should I be hurt that you didn't visit me?"

Barry rubbed his hand over his face. Fifteen minutes, and Len was already pulling out all the embarrassing feelings he'd had when he was sixteen. His flustered, agitated longing. He stole another look at Len and promptly flushed when he realized Len was looking at him.

"You know why," he whispered. "You know why I didn't visit."

Len stared at Barry for another long minute, and then nodded once, short and sharp. "Okay."

"Okay," Barry echoed, although he didn't really know what okay was in this context. "Great. It's been nice seeing you again."

"Are you still living with the Wests?"

Barry startled again and fought the urge to just throw up his hands and walk away. This was stupid. He was stupid. He was supposed to be done with this a decade ago, and it was freaking impossible, how Leonard Snart just breezed into his life and made him a skittish teenager all over again. "No, I've… I've got my own place."

Len nodded again, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Do you remember the stink eye Joe used to give Lisa when I brought her over to play with you and Iris?"

"No," Barry said honestly. "Joe was never the one I was looking at."

Len swallowed and looked down at his feet. "Barry, I—"

"Can we just—not do this now?" Barry interrupted, running his hand through his hair as he looked away, toward the next race that was setting up. "I'm embarrassed and we're in public, and I don't want to talk about anything tonight."

"Okay," Len agreed, and Barry was grateful that he could at least follow the flow of his thoughts this time. "Give me your address, and I'll come around. Wednesday, maybe?"

Something blue-screened in Barry's head, and he heard himself say, "Sure. Bring dinner. Pizza or something."

Leonard shot him a cautious—almost grateful?—look and nodded. "I can do that. Wednesday, then."

There was a low droning in Barry's ears as he held out his hand for Len's cell and accessed his contacts. It grew into static when Barry realized Len still had his old number programmed, and he wondered with a brief flash of alarm if he was just going to have a panic attack right here.

Somehow, shockingly, he managed to give Len his phone back and then walked away, toward the other side of the long stretch of road they currently occupied, all like he was a perfectly normal person who knew where his body was. Someone handed him a beer, and he twisted the top off, staring at Len from a distance. His focus was intent on the current race, and Barry struggled to take a calm breath.

"He could pick me up without breaking a sweat," he breathed.

"You better believe it," Lisa said with a laugh, and Barry jolted back to himself in surprise. "You're still a beanpole, honey."

"I can't believe you told him to come back, Lise. He should've had nothing to do with this."

Lisa pouted, twirling her long, dark hair around her finger. "Can't a girl feel bad? It's an apology."

Barry turned to face her, a frown pulling at his mouth. "It's a fucking mind game, and I don't appreciate it."

Lisa dropped the pout. "Maybe I want you guys to be happy together. Ever think of that?"

Barry raked his hand through his hair. "If you brought him back just for me, I'd say you're crueler than I thought you were."

Lisa raised her hand to his shoulder, pausing when he shrugged her off before she even touched him. "Barr, listen—"

"I'm fresh out of ears tonight," Barry admitted. "I'm going to head home. Just… please. Stop trying to help me, okay?"

Lisa's mouth twisted into another small pout, but she nodded and stepped away.

Barry caught Oliver''s eye and silently let him know he was going, and then he went to his bike, unclipping his helmet and straddling the seat with a surge of relief. There was nothing like being on his Triumph—maybe some time out on the road would help clear his head.

He revved the engine once and spun around to face the road. Another second, and it was just him and his bike and the asphalt beneath his wheels.

No Leonard Snart needed.

~*~

Come Wednesday, of course, he was a wreck.

Barry woke up too early, a headache pounding in his temples and a message from STAR Labs about one of the laboratory samples he'd processed the day before. Running into work at least shifted his anxiety from Len into a more tolerable work anxiety, and he was able to focus on the lab's backlog of testing samples.

Around six, he got his first text from Len, a simple: Name the time and your pizza toppings.

He needed time to get home and take a shower, and he was about to ask for pepperoni when it occurred to him that it was pork. 8pm and a veggie lovers?

You remembered. :)

Barry took a deep breath and pressed the phone to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. That little smiley face was going to end him.

Of course. See u later.

Concentration thoroughly shot, Barry turned to some paperwork that needed to be filed and used the rest of his shift to get caught up. He skipped out a little early so he could take a shower before Len came over, and then burned some of his restless energy by picking up around his apartment.

At 8pm exactly, there was a knock on the door. Barry counted to five so he didn't seem so eager, and then answered it. Len was dressed down, in dark jeans and one of those moisture-wick long-sleeved shirts, and a chill of sheer want raced down Barry's spine. Just as Len promised, he was balancing a pizza box and a six pack of beer in his hands.

"Hey," Barry said, like he wasn't falling apart at the seams just from seeing Len again.

"Hey." The corner of Len's mouth curled, and Barry stepped aside to let him in.

"I'll get plates," he said unnecessarily, and he stole a minute to get himself under control as he got plates and napkins. "Get it together, Barry. You can spend one night catching up with him."

Hardly satisfied, Barry grabbed everything and headed back into the living room.

The first few minutes were quiet as they got their food and drinks and started in. Barry was trying to avoid looking at Len without looking like he was trying to avoid looking at Len, and he wasn't entirely sure how successful he was.

After two slices of pizza were eaten in the awkward silence, Len cleared his throat. "What is it that the Central City Citizens do?"

Barry grinned, relaxing against the couch as Len brought up a safe topic. "We do coast to coast drives, some charity. I really want to become a local chapter of BACA, but we have to ride with them for a year before they'll consider us."

Something in Len's face lightened as Barry talked, and he looked down at his plate, fiddling with a bit of leftover crust. "So you don't participate in turf wars."

Barry rolled his eyes. "Len. Of course I don't. We have a zero tolerance policy on drug running and murder. The Rogues even mostly agreed. The races we have aren't exactly legal, although it's a good way to blow off steam and kind of have fun together."

Len nodded, setting his plate on the coffee table and turning his full attention back on Barry. "What got them pushed to the sidelines?"

Barry set his plate down and mirrored Len's position, resting his arm on the armrest of the couch as he curled his foot beneath him. "They're thieves and sometimes they make bad decisions that reflect on the rest of us. Mark and Axel decided to rob a bank and go on a high speed joy ride. Got the attention of the CCPD, and then led them almost directly to the rest of us."

Len frowned. "Looks like they aren't serving any time."

Barry shook his head. "Lise has contacts with some lawyers around town. She got it thrown out of court on a technicality. Which, fine, I don't have any hard feelings. But I will stop their behavior from jeopardizing the rest of us."

Len smiled again and nodded in agreement. "I'm proud of you, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Barry said fiercely, meeting Len's eyes. "And I didn't do it for you."

"Touche." Len cocked his head, turning on the laser-focus that Barry had sometimes envied when it wasn't directly pointed at him. "How are you, Barry?"

"I'm fine." Barry met Len's gaze straight on—he wasn't a child anymore, and he wasn't afraid of looking at someone just because he was attracted to them. "Iris is a reporter now. Lisa still comes over for Sunday dinner at the West house. You're the one who left."

"I didn't leave because of you—"

"It sure felt like it!" And there it was, the hurt and embarrassment bubbling to the surface like a lanced wound, the way it always did when he thought of Leonard. "I told you how I felt, and you were practically gone in a week."

Len sighed. "It was bad timing, but I can't say I was sorry about the way things worked out. You were sixteen. What was I supposed to do?"

Barry bolted to his feet. "I love you!" The words dropped like stones between them, leaving ripples of shock in their wake. "Loved." Barry's voice cracked, and he desperately hoped that lightning would just strike him dead where he stood. "I loved you. You could have at least said goodbye. I'd earned that, at least."

Len looked away from Barry, staring at the carpet with a distant, thoughtful look in his eye. "You're right. You did. I'm not perfect, Barry. Sometimes people just screw up."

Barry sighed and turned away from Len, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought I was over it. That I was over you. And you just waltz back in and turn me inside out like it's nothing."

"It's not nothing." The couch creaked as Len stood, and he took hold of Barry's elbow, turning him around with a gentle touch. His eyes were so dark.

Barry swallowed and struggled to find his courage. "Don't look at me like that. Not unless you're going to do something about it."

Len stared at Barry and raised his hand, brushing his fingertips against Barry's cheek. It sent shivers racing down his neck, goosebumps rising against his skin. "You're always so impatient."

"I know," Barry admitted. "It's something I've been trying to work on." His fingers twitched at his side. "And maybe there's nothing between us. Maybe it's all been built up in my head for so long that real life can't possibly match up—"

Len pressed his fingers to Barry's mouth, halting the flow of words. "I'm going to kiss you now, if that's okay."

Barry responded by stepping into Len's space, curling his fingers around Len's shoulders and pulling him in. It shouldn't have been good—their lips met a little off center, and Len tasted like pizza and beer, but then Len's hand settled into a solid weight against the small of Barry's back, drawing him in, and the heat of Len's body soaked into Barry in a way that made him want to melt.

Len pulled away first, and Barry licked his lips, dropping his head to Len's shoulder in defeat. "Shit," he said wretchedly.

"What?" Len asked, cupping his hand over Barry's nape and stroking the sensitive skin with his thumb.

"I'm so into you," Barry confessed, and he startled when Len began to laugh.

"Really?" Len's voice was rich with warmth and surprise. "When were you going to tell me? I had no idea."

"I can't believe you're mocking me!" Barry protested, raising his head to glare at Len, who pulled him in and pressed a gentle kiss to Barry's jaw that made him melt again. "You're not fair." He turned his face to try to steal another kiss, and paused. "We can't tell Lisa about this."

"We'll play it cool," Len agreed. "It'll drive her crazy."

Barry stepped away and looked earnestly at Len. "I'll slow down. I'll wait until you're comfortable."

Len averted his eyes, his gaze skittering over the coffee table. "I ain't Grandma Esther's china, Barry."

Barry laughed, soft and embarrassed. "Okay. I take your point. Let me put it this way instead. The Diamonds are playing against the Starlings tonight. Do you want to stay and watch?"

Len smiled, so fast Barry would've missed it if he hadn't been watching like a hawk, and nodded. "Sounds good."

"Just so you know," Barry said as they settled back against the sofa and he turned the TV on, "they're going to get absolutely dusted."

Len shot him a glower. "Those are fighting words. You wanna go?"

Barry smiled until Len turned his attention toward the game. A warm, fizzy sort of hope bubbled in his chest. Maybe this time, he'd be lucky.

~*~

#my fic #coldflash #tumblr prompt #a-redharlequin

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astrologysvt · 4 years

Text

SVT Zombie Apocalypse Astro Reading - Part 2

iiasha asked: oh dude that interview & your last post bit abt mingyu got me really curious how you think each member would fare in a zombie apocalypse based on their charts??? (if that's not too much lmao

continued from part 1, here’s the dongsaeng line~ thanks again @iiasha for this 10/10 request. check out my masterlist for part 1!

Seokmin: caregiver #2. similar to wonwoo, he’s got that cancer influence so he’s going to want to maintain moral but he doesn’t have the same clarity wonwoo has. while his well aspected mars makes him strong and capable, he may not be helpful on the front lines considering he doesn’t have any quick-to-action parts of his chart. he has a tendency to think too much. tbh this will frustrate him cuz of his moon square mars. it’d feel like his moon is incapacitating his active, capable mars. he’s like “I SHOULD BE FIGHTING” and mingyu is like, sit down and help me cook, and he’s like “ya u rite.”

Mingyu: i mentioned it in an ask before, but mingyu is certainly capable on all fronts. he’s got such a good mix of energies that allow him to act quickly, while also giving him these super methodical and analytical qualities through his taurus and virgo placements. his strong emphasis on earth and fire while everyone else has so much air will make him capable of acting while everyone else is deliberating, but this dynamic may make him quick to argue with his members as he simply does not understand why they choose NOW TO TALK ABOUT THESE THINGS.

Minghao: so i do think he’s probs savage #3, but the way i see his energies play out in him NOW, i dunnoooo man. he has these very aggressive energies in his sun square mars that’d make him great for zombie combat. but at the same time, he has such an intellectual/logical filter that is so well developed in him now, that he may struggle to access that part of himself. and if he does access it, it will take a serious toll on him if he stays in that mindset for long. so yeah, savage #3 but he’ll start to get zombie cabin fever or whateva.

Seungkwan: so there are parts where i think seungkwan’s leadership will come through with all of that cap, and the parts of him that are so aware, so logical, and so present. with that being said, his chart is very much geared towards people rather than combat lmao. his virgo moon MAY get too high strung, but if he can pull it together i can see him being a “moral” leader in the sense that he’d be able to offer both constructive as well as emotional support. like the invisible backbone to the group.

Vernon: oh man, i think he’s too zen for this tbh. he has such an intellectual chart that is SO not built to process these types of events. you have strategic intellectual like jeonghan, joshua & wonwoo and then creatively intellectual like vernon that can’t really apply his dreamy chart’s skills to these circumstances. he may be great at coming up with unorthodox plans/solutions, but wont be able to help in figuring out how to execute them. will generally need direction, and the chaotic environment may cause him to retreat into his head. needs a buddy at all times.

Chan: so he’s kind of this weird mix of jeonghan, minghao, and vernon. he has this very intellectual chart but he really and truly is more geared to apply these energies to developing an art/skill. not the zombie apocalypse. he is very scathing and strategic through his scorpio mars, but again, he may struggle he keep that mindset for long and mainly applies this to his wits. not to mention, those pisces placements can make him very sensitive and in his head. with that being said, in the end, i think he’ll be able to translate his savage scorpio mars to some incredibly clever zombie take downs.

#seventeen #svt #seokmin #dk #mingyu #minghao #the8 #seungkwan #vernon #hansol #dino #chan #iiasha #answered #requests #i would hyperlink part 1 but whenever i do that it removes my post from the tags >:(

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